The Search for God and Guinness

by Stephen Mansfield

  My dear Hosea,

  I feel myself placed in a painful and delicate situation when called upon to address my Elder Brother, and a brother who I do so sincerely love and respect upon the subject of his pecuniary concerns but my situation by which I am unavoidably obliged to act as the Family Banker forces me to speak plainly . . . What claim had Edward upon the Trade? Had he rendered any service to the Trade to entitle him to an annuity, and was it for a given period of years? Certainly not; upon what could he have founded “expectation of future advantage from continuance in the House.” Surely upon nothing.

  Fortunately, Arthur was a self-examining evangelical and did not allow offenses to take root in his heart. Instead, he sought to offer all of his pursuits to God. As he wrote to his son, Benjamin, “recollect that although diligence in our worldly calling is our indispensable duty as Christians, yet we have higher than these to engage our attention for we have a Heavenly calling in Christ Jesus and to this our supreme diligence is required.” It was this “diligence in our worldly calling,” which certainly included his management of the brewery, that allowed Arthur to take the firm to new heights. Though in 1821, still recovering from the depression, Guinness sold 30,519 barrels of porter; by 1828 that number had increased to 42,384. In a matter of years, the company would surpass every other brewer in Ireland in producing 68,357 barrels in one year. This was in 1833, and it has continued to be the largest ever since.

  It is hard to know exactly why, around 1820, the second Arthur Guinness decided to leave his duties at the brewery and give himself completely to banking and finance. Perhaps he felt the brewery was on an upward course and could be tended by others. Perhaps he was weary of the constant carping about money within his own family and he wanted a break. Then, too, he may have been exhausted with the religious tensions that wracked not only his own family but his nation as a whole.

  Though the Guinnesses were strong defenders of Catholic civil rights, they nevertheless came under vicious assault from the very people they sought to help. This was likely due to a forgery that occurred in 1812. In that year, radical antipapist groups sent petitions to the British government opposing concessions for Catholics. One of the petitions included the forged names of several Guinness family members. The second Arthur was so incensed that he offered a five-hundred-pound reward for anyone who could name the forger. The damage was done, though. Catholics grew suspicious despite the fact that even the local press insisted that signing such a petition was contrary to all that the Guinnesses had stood for. Embarrassed, the Catholic Board passed a resolution defending the Guinness family as entitled to the “confidence, gratitude and thanks of the Catholics of Ireland.”

  Radical Catholics weren’t appeased. In October of 1813, a popular Catholic satirical journal printed this piece of verse attacking the head of the Guinness clan:

  To be sure did you hear

  Of the heresy beer

  That was made for to poison the Pope?

  To hide the man a sin is

  His name is Arthur Guinness

  For Salvation he never can hope.

  The assault grew sillier still. Some Catholics were swayed by the claim of a Dr. Brennan, who insisted that Guinness beer had been “impregnated” with 136 thousand tons of Bibles and 501 thousand cartloads of hymnbooks and Protestant catechisms. He claimed that Guinness was an “anti-popery porter” that no good Catholic ought to consume. It was an attempt to damage Guinness sales more than it was a genuine assault on Protestantism, and it failed to achieve its aim.

  Arthur Guinness ii (the second Arthur)

  Still, the Protestant– Catholic tensions wore at Arthur and he drifted ever further away from the firm and toward his banking and financial pursuits. Increasingly, his two younger sons, Arthur Lee and Benjamin Lee, ran the company in their father’s frequent absences. His oldest son, William, had chosen the life of a clergyman, making him the second Guinness heir to the brewery to choose a life of religious service instead.

  Now in his seventies, the second Arthur spent much of his time at Beaumont House, which he had purchased from his brother Hosea. During these years, he had the odd experience of having five unmarried daughters at home. Tending them and entertaining friends became his pastime. He sought a quieter life than he had known, enjoying his grandchildren and gently guiding his sons as they ran the brewery. Though as governor of the Bank of Ireland he had once hosted King George IV, Arthur came to eschew public life and he gradually soured on politics. When his son was asked to stand for Parliament, Arthur urged caution.

  You will recollect that on two occasions a similar suggestion was conveyed to me, backed on both occasions by offers on the part of gentlemen who were candidates themselves and who offered to resign in my favor. I then felt, and now feel, that the office of sitting in Parliament of a great city and especially such a city as Dublin where party and sectarian strife so signally abound and more especially if filled by one engaged in our line of business, is fraught with difficulty and danger.

  Yet, as much as the second Arthur may have sought a peaceful retirement, two events kept him from it. The first was the request of his son, Arthur Lee, to be released from his partnership in the brewery. This was a blow and the second Arthur grieved over his son’s decision. It seems that Arthur Lee, the third Arthur, had not managed his affairs well and was hopelessly in debt. Moreover, he knew that he did not have the makings of a strong manager and that his interests lay elsewhere, in the arts and philosophy. Arthur Lee was devastated at the thought of injuring his father. A letter that survives reveals his torment.

  My dear Father,

  I well know it is impossible to justify to you my conduct if you will forgive me, it is much to ask, but I already feel you have and I will ever be sincerely grateful . . . I know not what I should say, but do my dear Father believe me I feel deeply . . . the extreme and undeserved kindness you have ever, and now, more than ever shown me.

  Believe me above all that “for worlds” I would not hurt your mind, if I could avoid it—of all the living. Your feelings are most sacred to me, this situation, in which I have placed myself, has long caused me the acutest pain and your wishes on the subject must be religiously obeyed for me.

  The second Arthur was moved by the plight of his son and chose to release him from his partnership in the firm and pay off his debts. His generosity allowed his son to buy a house just outside of Dublin. But the father could not have been pleased with how the son lived in the years that followed. Arthur Lee began drinking deeply from the mysticism of the ancient world. He collected paintings and composed pantheistic verse. He began to see himself as something of a Greek god and went about dressed to play the part. In truth, he became silly and effeminate. It was embarrassing, both to the family and to the aging second Arthur. His greatest concern, of course, was for his son’s soul. He hoped for “some token of his being awakened to a sense of the value of the Gospel of the Lord Jesus and to an embracing of those invaluable truths.” Such a token did not quickly appear.

  The second Arthur’s mind was soon distracted from the disappointing behavior of his son by the horrible potato blight that began to decimate Ireland. The potato crop of 1845 had failed, and famine—because a third of the population depended solely on the potato for food—spread quickly. The suffering was astonishing and hearts turned with hope to the next year’s crop. But soon the black marks of the blight appeared again and the discerning knew that the plague of a generation had begun. Thousands upon thousands died horribly while governments vacillated. Rotting corpses clogged alleyways and filled the air with a nauseating stench. Tales circulated of mothers who murdered their children to spare them torment.

  From his retirement, Arthur brought the matter to Benjamin Lee’s attention. “How awful do the accounts from Ireland continue,” he wrote, “and how evident is it that the exertions of the Government need to be aided by those of private individuals.” This was the good-hearted Arthur at his most naïve. He assumed, as many of his s
ocial class did, that the government was doing something. It wasn’t. Then, in 1848, the blight struck again and the sufferings of the Irish were enough to drive men to madness. Thousands tried to leave the country, only to die on crowded boats. Hunger and disease beset hundreds of thousands more and now tales circulated of mothers who ate their children in the insanity of their starvation. Ireland became a hell of its own and the second Arthur tried to stir his son into action.

  In the London Record of last evening there is a letter from a correspondent who had been visiting Connemara and was just returned to another part of Galway, presenting a picture of the state of the destitution in Connemara exceeding in horror and misery anything we have before observed. May the Lord in his infinite mercy direct our Government and all individuals also possessing means to do so to the use of measures to relieve if possible the sufferings of our wretched poor people. I wish to know of any mode in which we might be able to aid in the work. You know my dear Ben that my purse is open to the call.

  From his perch atop the Guinness brewery in Dublin, Benjamin Lee had trouble understanding the scope of the crisis. In time, he did respond, though, and both the family and the brewery gave generously to save lives. Oddly, it was the foppish Arthur Lee who led the way. From his home outside of Dublin—where he was nearer the more grievous suffering of the rural areas—he went to great lengths to help the peasants in his region and to care for those who served on his estate. Families heading for certain death survived as a result. So grateful were his workers that they erected a small obelisk made of Connemara marble in his honor and engraved it with these words:

  1847

  TO ARTHUR LEE GUINNESS ESQ STILLORGAN PARK

  To mark the veneration of his faithful labourers who in a period of dire distress were protected by his generous liberality from the prevailing destitution.

  This humble testimonial is respectfully dedicated consisting of home material.

  Its colour serves to remind that the memory of benefits will ever remain green in Irish hearts.

  It is satisfying to know that not only was the second Arthur Guinness allowed to play a role in alleviating his nation’s suffering, but also that from old age he looked out on a life, a family, and a brewery that moved him to prayerful gratitude. “My bodily health and my mental vigour are both preserved to a degree very unusual at the age of nearly 84,” he wrote. “Every step of my protracted journey has been marked on the part of my God with Mercy.” Then, too, there was the success of the many charities he served, from an organization designed to improve the lot of chimney sweeps to the Farming Society of Ireland to the cause of Meath Hospital, which his father had also served. For these and other services to his people, the Freeman’s Journal called him “our most distinguished citizen.” Writing to Benjamin Lee, thankful that the brewery under his son’s leadership prospered more than ever, Arthur wrote, “We have much cause for continued thanksgiving to our God ‘who giveth us all things richly to possess.’”

  The second Arthur died in June of 1855 at the age of 87. His was a good life, lived for the glory of his God and to extend the legacy of his family to future generations. Understanding that he lived for a purpose beyond this world, the people of Dublin honored him with this elegy.

  Now Dublin City’s into mourning thrown,

  Its leading member to the grave is cast!

  Is gone—for ever fled—

  This honor’d man is dead—

  Of rich and poor throughout the land

  Fam’d Guinness was the pride.

  Dead—no—he lives on some more glorious shore,

  He lives—but ah! he lives to us no more.

  With his father dead and his brother, Arthur Lee, out of the business, Benjamin Lee took the reins of the Guinness brewery in a typically bold and energetic manner. He had begun as an apprentice when he was sixteen years old. Six years later, he had made partner. His gifts were evident to everyone and it was widely known that while the second Arthur tended banking concerns, his son Benjamin had presided over the dramatic expansion of the firm after 1840.

  Even before his father’s death, he had distinguished himself outside the company. In 1851, he had been elected lord mayor of Dublin. His election was celebrated with a pomp that the first Arthur would not have approved. Still, Benjamin was cut from different cloth and lived in a different age. The second Arthur understood, though when his son declined to run for Parliament out of concern for his wife, Bessie’s, ill health, the father was pleased and told his son he blessed God for “the measure of his Grace which has led you to this happy decision.”

  Benjamin stepped into the leadership of the firm with the confidence of a man stepping onto the stage of his destiny. His change of residence may be the best symbol of his intention to lead the company in a style of his own. He moved his family out of the residence at Number 1 Thomas Street, which was nearly across the street from the brewery, and he turned that building into offices. He then purchased a luxurious town home at 80 St. Stephen’s Green in a fashionable Dublin neighborhood. Not long after, he bought the adjoining house, number 81, tore down the dividing wall between the two properties, and created a new and lavish mansion. It soon was headquarters for the brand of regal hospitality that marked a new generation of Guinnesses.

  His leadership of the company was equally unique and transforming. As Derek Wilson has written in his invaluable Dark and Light: The Story of the Guinness Family, “The changes that occurred in the life of Benjamin Guinness and the brewery in the thirteen years between his father’s death and his own merit the description ‘revolutionary.’” He was determined to expand the reach of Guinness and expand it dramatically. He began by targeting foreign markets. Involving his cousins, Edward and John Burke, both excellent strategists, Benjamin created an international distribution agency that began marketing Guinness abroad. By 1860, Guinness was being sold as far away as Australia and South Africa.

  Yet the most dramatic growth of the Guinness brand during Benjamin’s years of leadership was at home in Ireland. Taking advantage of developments in railroad transportation and improvements in Ireland’s canals, Benjamin engineered a 400 percent increase in market share within his homeland. This tightened connection to the homeland was symbolized by the decision to use the Irish harp as the Guinness emblem. This came in 1862 and would prove to be one of the most brilliant marketing decisions the company ever made.

  The harp model for the Guinness symbol had long sat at Trinity College and was dearly treasured by the Irish people. Called Brian Bóraimhe’s harp, it was the musical instrument associated with the legendary tenth-century High King of Ireland who delivered his land from the Danes. One historian has called the harp the “most revered inanimate object in Ireland.” It is hard to describe the degree of national pride that this symbol inspired. Brian Bóraimhe (often anglicized to “Boru”) was beloved among the Irish because, as later romantics recounted, it was “he that released the men of Erin [Ireland] and its women from the bondage and inequity of the foreigners.” Guinness chose the symbol as its own at a time when interest in Gaelic arts was increasing around the world and when Irish national pride was emerging from the bruising it had sustained during potato famines and the departure of a million people for other lands. Now adorned by this symbol of Irish heritage and courage, Guinness sales soared at home and abroad, where many an expatriate Irishman drank Guinness as a patriotic act.

  With Guinness markets expanding and with the company now an international symbol of Irish pride and ingenuity, Benjamin Lee thrived. He became the richest man in Ireland, was elected to Parliament, and purchased a home on Park Lane in London that became a center of gracious living and hospitality. His charming manner won many a friend among England’s upper class. This was good for Ireland, good for Guinness, and, of course, good for Benjamin Lee: he would become the first Guinness to receive a knighthood.

  The esteem in which he was held is captured in a book from the time, titled Fortunes Made in Business Or Lif
e Struggles of Successful People. Its author is anonymous but it was written with the purpose of many a book in that thriving industrial age—to inspire personal achievement in a time of unprecedented opportunity. Men as diverse as Carnegie and Krupp, Rothschild and Rockefeller, are described in its pages, all with an eye to distilling the characteristics of greatness and success.

  In the airy phrases of that time, the book proclaims that “Benjamin Lee Guinness was in full control of an undertaking that under his energetic guidance promised to reach proportions that the original founder of the business could never have dreamt of.” The decision to market abroad, for example, was due to the fact that Benjamin “had carefully thought out the whole matter before embarking upon so serious a change in the policy and traditions of the firm, and in order to adapt the Guinness product to the conditions of an export trade, and to the somewhat different taste prevailing in other countries, introduced fresh varieties of porter solely for purpose of export.”

  The resulting success forced expansion at the plant, of which—according to the book—Benjamin Lee was master: “He erected new buildings for making and storing malt and hops, introduced vessels of such huge proportions as had never before been seen for mashing purposes, provided an entirely fresh supply of water, had immense new boilers put in for heating, also gigantic fermenting tuns, coolers of fabulous capacity, and a number of other machines, making together such an assemblage of brewing plant as could be seen elsewhere.”

  Probably correctly, the book attributes much of the astonishing success of Guinness in Benjamin Lee’s years to his personal style of management. The description that follows is not only typical of portrayals of Benjamin Lee from the time but is also filled with just the type of insight into business genius that readers of Benjamin Lee’s time were looking for.