The Search for God and Guinness

by Stephen Mansfield

  Oddly, even when the sons might bring honor and pride, the fathers are often unable to see it. Abraham Lincoln’s oldest son, Robert, was clearly not his father’s favorite, his deepest affection being reserved for the younger Willie and Tad. So Lincoln kept his distance and friends recounted that he once said “he guessed Bob would do no better than he had.” Yet greatness was in Robert Lincoln, whether his father saw it or not. He would eventually graduate from Harvard, serve as his nation’s Secretary of War and ambassador to the Court of St. James’s, and ultimately chair the board of one of the most successful companies of his day. His was a life well lived, but his famous father never thought it might be so and did not live to see the promise fulfilled.

  There are, of course, those cases where sons and daughters follow on in the way of the family name and bring honor to all that has come before, but these tend to be the exceptions that prove the truth that there is no certain pattern, no way of knowing whether what survives a man will win respect or shame. It seems that the best anyone can do, famous or not, is to love and embed values and then offer to God what cannot be controlled in a child’s life. Perhaps this is the lesson: each generation stands on its own and there is only so much that those who come before them can do to assure a pleasing outcome.

  I thought of this conclusion as I sat in the Guinness Archives and pondered the generations that unfolded after Arthur’s death. He had done more than most to provide for his ten children, but he could not control their outcome, could not assure the character in each of them that is essential to success. So he did the most that any parent can do: he treated them generously and he committed them to God. Some would rise to his hopes. Some would struggle all their days in ways that would have broken his heart. And some, tragically, would live far beneath their material and spiritual legacy. In this, the Guinnesses were like most other families, though their fame and wealth would make their unfolding story one of the great generational tales of all time. Arthur Guinness was buried on a cold January day in 1803. His funeral procession began at his beloved home, Beaumont House, on the north side of Dublin Bay, and rolled through the streets of that thriving city before turning inland. He had chosen to be buried next to his mother, at Oughterard in County Kildare. His gravestone read, “In the adjoining Vault are deposited the mortal remains of Arthur Guinness, late of James’s Gate in the city and of Beaumont in the County of Dublin Esquire who departed his life on the 23rd of January AD 1803.” It was a subdued epitaph for the man of whom the Dublin Evening Post wrote, “The worthy and the good will regret him because his life has been useful and benevolent and virtuous.”

  Fascinating are the lives of the children who gathered that day to mourn their father’s death. There was, first, Hosea, the oldest son. It was his privilege to preside over his father’s funeral because he was a clergyman, a respected minister in the Church of Ireland. Though as the first son he would naturally have inherited his father’s role as head of the thriving brewery, Hosea had instead chosen the church. Arthur was surely glad that a deep faith lived in his oldest son, but he may have been less thrilled with the limited financial prospects of a minister’s life. As he wryly wrote in his will, his oldest son would inherit the family home of Beaumont because he was “not in any line of life whereby he is likely by Industry to enlarge his Property.”

  Hosea was born in 1765, when his father was already a respected figure in Dublin society. Having chosen life in the church early on, Hosea attended Winchester College and Oxford before earning his BA and LLD at Trinity College in Dublin, but a few miles from St. James’s Gate. He became the rector of the parish of St. Werburgh and lived in that city until his death in 1841.

  From a distance it may seem as though Hosea lived a uniquely graced life. He was certainly an esteemed member of the Guinness clan who continued his father’s social concerns by arguing for Catholic equality and sometimes championing the cause of the lower classes. He was also a scholar and classicist, who went so far as to name one of his sons Vicesimus. For many years, Hosea applied his academic skills to trying to establish the Guinness lineage, particularly their claim as part of the Magennis line. Some have seen this as an odd pursuit for a clergyman, but it shows his pride in his father’s work and his devotion to his famous family’s place in history.

  Yet as blessed as Hosea’s life seemed to be, there was also much suffering. His wife bore him twenty children, only six of whom survived to adulthood. One historian has written that the “melancholy procession of small coffins must have imparted a certain somberness to life at the rectory.”

  Then, too, there were the financial pressures. As a Church of Ireland minister, Hosea’s salary was paid by tithes. Since 1801, when the Act of Union had disbanded the Irish Parliament and united the established church, tithes had been required of all citizens. This meant, of course, that Roman Catholics were forced to pay tithes to a church they despised. In protest, they often refused to pay at all, and this would leave clergymen like Hosea in dire financial straits. It was a story that was to replay itself again and again in Guinness history, for many Guinness descendants became clergymen. Because they had become accustomed to a certain standard of living and because their salaries were often woefully inadequate, they turned to their brewery relatives for help. This frequently became a heavy burden to those who tended the firm at St. James’s Gate.

  Even Guinnesses outside of the church and whose prospects seemed bright often found themselves turning, in time, to the company for aid. Elizabeth, the oldest child of Arthur and Olivia Guinness, was among these. She had married well. Her husband was the builder and quarry-master Frederick Darley. In 1809, Darley became the lord mayor of Dublin and this made Elizabeth the city’s First Lady, a role that suited her perfectly. During these years, the Darleys prospered, primarily because the wars of that time created a demand for goods and services the Darleys could provide. In time, though, the wars ended and inflation ravaged Ireland. Frederick and Elizabeth ended up turning to the family company for help, which they received; again, it is a pattern that is repeated often in Guinness history.

  Of Arthur Guinness’s other daughters, the story is much the same. Olivia aside—who was born in 1775 but died when quite young—the two other daughters, Louisa and Mary Anne, each received £2,000 from their father upon his death; but both married clergymen who suffered the same financial troubles as Hosea and also turned to the company time and again.

  Perhaps the most troubling story among those of Arthur’s children is that of Edward Lee, who also stood there by the grave at Oughterard grieving his father’s death. Handsome and charming, Edward was the kind of man who inspired confidence that his character could not sustain. Though the family hoped he would make his mark in the field of law, and eagerly sent him to the best schools for training, by his thirties Edward had not proven himself a capable man. Michele Guinness, in her insightful The Genius of Guinness, has written of Edward that he was “weak and indecisive, easily enticed by gracious living, without enough self-discipline to earn it . . . At thirty-one Edward had not yet distinguished himself in any way. Life was the problem. It failed him, or so he complained. Every family has a black sheep and Edward was the first of a long line.”

  It is not a flattering portrait, particularly when held up against a newspaper account of the day. One Dublin paper reported of him, “He gave bread to several hundred fellow creatures, who prospered under his auspices . . . he was candid and honorable in his dealings, highly esteemed and respected not only as a merchant but as a private gentleman.” Such were the conflicting views of the man.

  What we know with certainty, though, is that Edward decided to invest in a bold ironworks scheme that he thought a sure thing given the demands of war. Clearly, he had realized that he would never succeed at law and so he borrowed heavily and sank all his capital into a plan for ironworks at Palmerston and Lucan. Completely lacking any business skills, by 1811, he was bankrupt and the size of his debts staggered the mind. The family members who
ran the brewery tried to help him but debts such as his were beyond their range. They simply could not clean up the mess and finally Edward was forced to flee to the Isle of Man, a kind of debtors’ island at the time, where the law protected him from prosecution.

  It was a huge blow to the family reputation. A son of Arthur Guinness, brother of the rector of St. Werburgh, had betrayed his creditors and left mountainous debts. Tragically, Edward spent the rest of his days on the Isle of Man, firing off ever more desperate appeals for funds to his family in Ireland. This was not among the more noble episodes in Guinness history, but perhaps it is a valley that makes the heights of that history all the more meaningful.

  With his sisters either passed away, married to unsuccessful businessmen, or bound to clergymen ever in need of assistance, and with most of his brothers either clergymen or foolish investors, the burden of both the family and the brewery fell upon Arthur Guinness II, who is often called Second Arthur. He, along with his younger brothers Benjamin and William Lunell, would not only preserve the brewery but prepare it for a much grander role on the world stage in the decades to come.

  The second Arthur inherited the proprietorship of the family business at St. James’s Gate when he was thirty-five years old. By that time, he had already spent a decade in apprenticeship to his father, as would be the Guinness habit. That decade was a most opportune time to learn the family trade, for during those years the Guinness firm became the largest of Dublin’s brewing companies. In 1800, the brewery had sold some 10,026 thirty-six-gallon barrels of beer. Just three years later, by 1803, that number had doubled. In addition, the two Arthurs had presided over a vast plant expansion and had together made the strategic decision to stop brewing ale in order to concentrate on porter.

  The confidence the first Arthur had in his son is evidenced by the change in name of the Guinness enterprise. Originally, the firm was known as “Arthur Guinness, brewer and flour dealer.” This latter role came from Arthur’s purchase and management of a flour mill in nearby Kilmainham. Obviously the Guinnesses had hopes that the flour business would one day match the success of the brewery. Shortly after this name appeared in the Dublin City Directory, though, the firm’s name was changed in the listing to “Guinness, Arthur and Son, brewers.” This revision occurred in 1794, the year that young Arthur joined his father in the trade.

  Tremendous success graced the early years of the second Arthur’s role as head of the brewery. Though at the time he took the lead, Guinness beer was primarily sold within a day’s ride of Dublin, Arthur shared his father’s dream of expanding the firm’s markets and making Guinness a name brand around the world. Typically, he took counsel, planned, and then executed. By 1816, brewery records contained the boast that Guinness porter “successfully rivaled the London product even in the English metropolis.” But Arthur still wasn’t satisfied. He had helped develop the idea for West India Porter and now he wanted to make his new product a star in the Guinness line. Before long, Guinness was being shipped to Barbados, Trinidad, and even to Sierra Leone in West Africa.

  Arthur’s efforts to expand Guinness’s markets paid off. Not only was the company realizing astonishing profits, but the Guinness name was becoming a noted brand throughout the English-speaking world. Casks of brew were shipped “wherever British troops were serving, and to wherever British expatriates were living.” The brand became particularly popular among soldiers, grateful for a taste of home on far-off battlefields. In Long Forgotten Days, Ethel M. Richardson reported words from the journal of a British cavalry officer wounded at Waterloo:

  When I was sufficiently recovered to be permitted to take some nourishment, I felt the most extraordinary desire for a glass of Guinness, which I knew could be obtained without difficulty. Upon expressing my wish to the doctor, he told me I might take a small glass . . . It was not long before I sent for the Guinness and I shall never forget how much I enjoyed it. I thought I had never tasted anything so delightful. I am confident that it contributed more than anything else to the renewal of my spirit.

  Over the next decades, the Guinness name appeared in Charles Dickens’s Pickwick Papers and was endorsed by the editors of the Morning Post. “Guinness’s Dublin Stout,” the Post article stiffly proclaimed, “is confidently recommended for home consumption and for export, and must, from its age, purity and soundness, ensure the approbation and support of the Public.” Even Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli sang the praises of the brand. In a letter to his sister written on November 21, 1837, the celebrated statesman reported, “There was a division on the Address in Queen Victoria’s first Parliament, 509 to 20. I then left the House at ten o’clock, none of us having dined . . . I supped at the Carlton, with a large party, off oysters and Guinness, and got to bed at half-past twelve o’clock. Thus, ended the most remarkable day hitherto of my life.”

  While the fame of Guinness grew, tumultuous economic times made the second Arthur’s leadership of the firm difficult indeed. There was, first, the end of the Napoleonic War, which meant three hundred thousand men suddenly released from the army and constricting markets for munitions and military wares. As is often the case when a major military effort comes to an end, unemployment rose, business declined, and inflation soared. The United Kingdom entered a period of economic depression and Ireland, as usual, suffered most of all. Adding to Irish woes, the potato crop failed in 1817 and 1819, a harbinger of even greater suffering to come.

  The brewing trade slumped, as well. Guinness had known its best year to date in 1815, when it produced a record 66,672 barrels of brew. Yet, just eight years later, in 1823, the company produced only 27,185 barrels, its worst year since 1804. Through patience and wise management, Guinness would return to its former heights, though it would not do so for many years.

  The second Arthur thrived personally during these years, though he bore burdens that would have crushed lesser men. He had married Anne Lee in 1793, the daughter of Benjamin Lee of Merrion, and by all accounts the union was happy. The couple had three sons: William, born in 1795, Arthur Lee, born in 1797, and Benjamin Lee, born in 1798. It was also during this time that Arthur’s business skills won him a respected role in the field of banking. In 1818, he was appointed the deputy governor of the Bank of Ireland and in 1820 he became its governor. It was a good fit for his temperament and he thrived. Though eventually this role would pull him away from brewing, it would not do so before he endured some difficult family problems.

  It is important to know that the second Arthur Guinness was a man of deep faith. His father’s unswerving piety took root in his soul, where it merged with an evangelical fire. We can hear this even at the end of his life, in a letter he addressed to his sons.

  The continued good account of our Business calls for much thankfulness to Almighty God while we humbly ask for the infinitely higher blessings of His Grace in the Lord Jesus Christ . . . Surely it becomes me to speak of the Lord’s patience and longsuffering towards one so utterly evil and sinful and to pray that I might be enabled through Grace to live every hour under the teaching of the Holy Spirit patiently abiding His time for calling me to that Place [of] Everlasting Rest, the purchase of the precious blood of the Lamb of God for saved sinners.

  This brand of faith was nurtured chiefly at Bethesda Chapel, where Arthur and his family were often to be found on a Sunday morning. The fires of the Great Awakening were still sweeping through Ireland in the second Arthur’s day, and he was a willing vessel of its message. His pastor, a man named Benjamin Matthias, was a bold preacher of revival and reform and wrote books with titles such as An Inquiry into the Doctrines of the Reformation and of the United Church of England and Ireland, respecting the Ruin and Recovery of Mankind. Clearly, Arthur liked his Christianity hard-edged and fiery, and this brand of faith did much to make him the man he was.

  His evangelical beliefs sometimes set him at tension with his Church of Ireland family members. We should remember that the Church of Ireland was essentially the Anglican church on Irish so
il. It is understandable that members of the more staid, liturgical Irish church would feel themselves at odds with the boisterous, sometimes chaotic brand of evangelical revivalism practiced at Bethesda Chapel. It is also understandable that these lines of tension would reveal themselves even in a large and loving family like the Guinnesses.

  Arthur’s faith was more than mere emotion and religious sentimentalism, though, and nowhere is this more evident than in his care for the needy of his family. During his years at the helm of the brewery, he was beset with appeals for funds—from clergy relatives who could not support themselves, from other relatives whose investments had failed them, and from those relatives who could care for themselves but sought support for sons or daughters. It was nearly overwhelming. “I have from various causalities,” Second Arthur wrote in response to one request, “which have, in the act of the Lord’s providence, fallen out, chiefly affecting the property of my many dear Relations, had several individuals and families depending on me solely or partially for support . . . so that although the Lord has been pleased to prosper mine and my sons’ industry, I have not been accumulating as you suppose, and indeed, I think I could not have done so acting as a Christian man.” The truth was that he not only helped his relations from brewery funds but he answered many a request for help from his own pocket, including the repeated appeals from his irresponsible brother, Edward. Clearly, he saw it as his duty to care for his less fortunate family members, though at times he wished they would do more to care for themselves. “May I recommend, my dear Olivia,” he wrote to his sister, “that you keep a systematic account of all your expenditure for in that way you may more easily judge.” This was the gentle prodding of a successful older brother who knew that mismanagement was often at the heart of his family’s woes.

  Give generously though he might, Arthur still endured the wrath of family members who thought him unjust. It was painful; we can feel his anger and distress in one particular letter. It was written to Hosea, his older brother, who had dared to suggest that Arthur was not caring for Edward as he should.