Herbert Spencer wrote his autobiography to supplement his philosophical work; it shows chiefly the anxiety of its author to state anew the conclusions he had reached in his studies of ethics and sociology. It is the picture of a man, engrossed in mental efforts, disregarding the part played by emotions and affections, cold, didactic and impersonal. It forms a striking contrast to the autobiography of Darwin which, though not really a book at all, but a chapter included in his Life and Letters, reveals the modesty, effacement and simplicity which were the most lovable and conspicuous qualities of the epoch-making scientist. Far Away and Long Ago, the story of the early life of another English naturalist and one of the most delightful biographies extant, was written to liberate a shut-in personality. It is strange, in view of this book, that less was known about W. H. Hudson at the time of his death a few years ago, than of any writer in Great Britain. But he was the real “solitary-hearted.” Even to the small circle of his literary friends, he was not communicative about himself. Had he lived a half century earlier, he might have found Thoreau sympathetic.
Some autobiographies are written to purge the author’s conscience and mind of sins of youth or of hallucinatory memories. St. Augustine’s and Tolstoi’s Confessions are typical of this kind of self-history. St. Augustine dwells on the dissoluteness of his youth at such length that it is difficult to obtain constructive thought from the narrative. One would be tempted to believe that he found a certain pleasure in recalling the lusts and concupiscences he had left behind when he became converted, did not his later deeds and actions testify to the contrary.
There is no doubt that he was one of the greatest sinners and one of the greatest Saints of antiquity, but his Confessions which reveal exclusively his sins, are little help in aiding the conversion of a soul—unless that soul was of such nature that it would have converted itself; the Confessions are the result of an imagination stirred at the sight of sins and humbled by the telling of them. John Addington Symonds has given a comprehensive characterisation of their author in one of his letters:
“To treat the Confessions of St. Augustine with the same critical coldness of judgment that is brought to bear upon ordinary works of art or literature would be impossible. It stands alone among all the personal Biographies that have ever been written. It speaks to us, not like the ordinary narrative of a man’s life, but like a deep cry of agony; which, once heard, resounds for ever in our ears, imparting its own pathos to all music that we hear, and confusing our utterance when we would express the meaning that it wakens in our soul.”
The motive which prompted Huxley to write his autobiography is found in his desire to set the facts of his life as straight as he knew them, thus refuting what the malice, ignorance or vanity of others might construe them to be. Franklin, on the other hand, was desirous of showing how poverty could be overcome by thrift and shrewdness, and his autobiography has been a model for students of all ages. It is as valuable as a character-building book, as the autobiography of John Stuart Mill is valuable in showing the waste there is in modern education; the latter also wished to have his contribution serve as a tribute to Mrs. Taylor, but both Franklin’s and Mill’s can be classified under the heading of constructive writing, with an objective which embraces a large portion of humanity.
These two works differ widely from the autobiographies of General Grant and Trollope, both of which were prompted by personal motives: the former to pay his debts, the latter to make money. Such motives do not necessarily detract from the charm or merit of an autobiography. Literary merit is not in direct relationship to moral or æsthetical considerations, and an autobiography written in the hope that the world will be improved by its perusal may not be worthy of comparison with one written with obviously personal reasons as its motive.
Many men and women who have made a success of life have been inspired, helped or guided by reading autobiographies during their plastic years. It depends upon the individual’s outlook on life which one helps him. If he is “practical” and material things appeal to him, Franklin’s story does it; if he is beholden to ideals and the spiritual side of his nature is dominant, he finds aid and encouragement in Mark Rutherford’s Autobiography, and Father and Son, by Edmund Gosse; if he is ambitious to be a mighty hunter and slay the wolf called want, he may fortify himself by reading stories like Hamlin Garland’s A Son of the Middle Border, or Episodes Before Thirty, by Algernon Blackwood; if he is inclined to yield to the seductions of science and yet would avoid becoming a human monster like Gottlieb of Arrowsmith he would do well to familiarize himself with Memoirs of My Life, by Francis Galton; if he is “temperamental” and keen to know how the artistic temperament conditions behaviour and how devastating egocentrism may become, he can get enlightenment from My Life, by Richard Wagner. If Samuel Smiles’ book appealed to him in his youth, he will like Mr. J. J. Davis’s The Iron Puddler, or Mr. Roger Detaller’s From a Pitman’s Note-Book; if recutting and revamping the social fabric intrigues him, he will like Mr. Robert Smillie’s My Life for Labour, or the Autobiography of Samuel Gompers; if within his heart there are graved some lines setting forth that this is the land of the brave, the home of the free, the arena of the ambitious, then Professor Pupin’s From Immigrant to Inventor is the book for him; if he is a pessimist and wants to be cured, Sir Harry Johnston’s Story of My Life will help him accomplish it; if he is of a romantic turn of mind, Everywhere, the Memoirs of A. Henry Savage Landor may be tolerated, and if his vindictiveness has never been adequately appeased, Lady Oxford’s Memoirs and particularly those that she wrote when she was called Margot Asquith will be satisfying to him, especially if he is keen to attract and rivet the attention of all mankind: peer, superior and inferior.
Few men to whom one of the fine arts or any branch of the humanities appeal, escape pubescent inquiry concerning such things as the meaning of life, the soundness of traditional religion, the value of convention, the genuineness of the social fabric, the sincerity of morality: and the resulting apprehension and depression in sensitive natures amount oftentimes to despair and disorientation. John Addington Symonds and William Hale White—particularly the latter—are the doctors for such patients. The Early Life of Mark Rutherford, contrary to its deserts, has never been a popular book here or in England. It is a fine presentation of the artistic temperament trying to persuade itself to wear the garments of Puritan dogma, shedding them in moments of indignation and putting them on again when the voice whispered that Puritanism gives the closest expression of the truth about life; it shows the agony of the imaginative genius struggling with the problems of practicality, while in spiritual travail. It appeals especially to the sad and solitary; to those dazed by the glamour of the modern world; to those who, dismayed by its pretentiousness and disgusted by its speciousness, clamour for simplicity or belief. But it has a message for every one who thinks too much of himself, or who is out of alignment with his fellows and the world.
Part II: INTERPRETATIONS
Part II: Interpretations