Silence Dogood
Silence Dogood Attacks Harvard
Of the fourteen Dogood essays that Franklin wrote between April and October of 1722, the one that stands out both as journalism and self-revelation is his attack on the college he never got to attend. Many of the classmates he had bested in grammar school had just entered Harvard, and Franklin could not refrain from poking fun at them. The form he used was an allegorical narrative cast as a dream, similar to that in Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress. Addison had also used the form somewhat clumsily in an issue of The Spectator that Franklin had read, which recounted the dream of a banker about an allegorical virgin named Public Credit.
SILENCE DOGOOD # 4, THE NEW-ENGLAND COURANT, MAY 14, 1722
An sum etiam nunc vel Graec loqui vel Latin docendus?
—Cicero
Sir,
Discoursing the other day at dinner with my reverend boarder, formerly mentioned, (whom for distinction sake we will call by the name of Clerics,) concerning the education of children, I asked his advice about my young son William, whether or no I had best bestow upon him academical learning, or (as our phrase is) bring him up at our college: he persuaded me to do it by all means, using many weighty arguments with me, and answering all the objections that I could form against it; telling me withal, that he did not doubt but that the lad would take his learning very well, and not idle away his time as too many there nowadays do. These words of Clericus gave me a curiosity to inquire a little more strictly into the present circumstances of that famous seminary of learning; but the information which he gave me, was neither pleasant, nor such as I expected.
As soon as dinner was over, I took a solitary walk into my orchard, still ruminating on Clericus’s discourse with much consideration, until I came to my usual place of retirement under the great apple-tree; where having seated my self, and carelessly laid my head on a verdant bank, I fell by degrees into a soft and undisturbed slumber. My waking thoughts remained with me in my sleep, and before I awaked again, I dreamt the following dream.
I fancied I was traveling over pleasant and delightful fields and meadows, and through many small country towns and villages; and as I passed along, all places resounded with the fame of the temple of learning: every peasant, who had wherewithal, was preparing to send one of his children at least to this famous place; and in this case most of them consulted their own purses instead of their children’s capacities: so that I observed, a great many, yea, the most part of those who were traveling thither, were little better than dunces and blockheads. Alas! Alas!
At length I entered upon a spacious plain, in the midst of which was erected a large and stately edifice: it was to this that a great company of youths from all parts of the country were going; so stepping in among the crowd, I passed on with them, and presently arrived at the gate.
The passage was kept by two sturdy porters named riches and poverty, and the latter obstinately refused to give entrance to any who had not first gained the favor of the former; so that I observed, many who came even to the very gate, were obliged to travel back again as ignorant as they came, for want of this necessary qualification. However, as a spectator I gained admittance, and with the rest entered directly into the temple.
In the middle of the great hall stood a stately and magnificent throne, which was ascended to by two high and difficult steps. On the top of it sat learning in awful state; she was appareled wholly in black, and surrounded almost on every side with innuerable volumes in all languages. She seemed very busily employed in writing something on half a sheet of paper, and upon enquiry, I understood she was preparing a paper, called, The New-England Courant. On her right hand sat English, with a pleasant smiling countenance, and handsomely attired; and on her left were seated several antique figures with their faces veiled. I was considerably puzzled to guess who they were, until one informed me, (who stood beside me,) that those figures on her left hand were Latin, Greek, Hebrew, &c. And that they were very much reserved, and seldom or never unveiled their faces here, and then to few or none, though most of those who have in this place acquired so much learning as to distinguish them from English, pretended to an intimate acquaintance with them. I then enquired of him, what could be the reason why they continued veiled, in this place especially: he pointed to the foot of the throne, where I saw idleness, attended with ignorance, and these (he informed me) were they, who first veiled them, and still kept them so.
Now I observed, that the whole tribe who entered into the temple with me, began to climb the throne; but the work proving troublesome and difficult to most of them, they withdrew their hands from the plow, and contented themselves to sit at the foot, with madam idleness and her maid ignorance, until those who were assisted by diligence and a docile temper, had well nigh got up the first step: but the time drawing nigh in which they could no way avoid ascending, they were fain to crave the assistance of those who had got up before them, and who, for the reward perhaps of a pint of milk, or a piece of plumb-cake, lent the lubbers a helping hand, and sat them in the eye of the world, upon a level with themselves.
The other step being in the same manner ascended, and the usual ceremonies at an end, every beetle-scull seemed well satisfied with his own portion of learning, though perhaps he was even just as ignorant as ever. And now the time of their departure being come, they marched out of doors to make room for another company, who waited for entrance: and I, having seen all that was to be seen, quitted the hall likewise, and went to make my observations on those who were just gone out before me.
Some I perceived took to merchandizing, others to traveling, some to one thing, some to another, and some to nothing; and many of them from henceforth, for want of patrimony, lived as poor as church mice, being unable to dig, and ashamed to beg, and to live by their wits it was impossible. But the most part of the crowd went along a large beaten path, which led to a temple at the further end of the plain, called, the temple of theology. The business of those who were employed in this temple being laborious and painful, I wondered exceedingly to see so many go towards it; but while I was pondering this matter in my mind, I spied pecunia behind a curtain, beckoning to them with her hand, which sight immediately satisfied me for whose sake it was, that a great part of them (I will not say all) traveled that road. In this temple I saw nothing worth mentioning, except the ambitious and fraudulent contrivances of Plagius, who (notwithstanding he had been severely reprehended for such practices before) was diligently transcribing some eloquent paragraphs out of Tillotson’s works, &c., to embellish his own.
Now I bethought my self in my sleep, that it was time to be at home, and as I fancied I was traveling back thither, I reflected in my mind on the extreme folly of those parents, who, blind to their children’s dullness, and insensible of the solidity of their skulls, because they think their purses can afford it, will needs send them to the temple of learning, where, for want of a suitable genius, they learn little more than how to carry themselves handsomely, and enter a room genteelly, (which might as well be acquired at a dancing-school,) and from whence they return, after abundance of trouble and charge, as great blockheads as ever, only more proud and self-conceited.
While I was in the midst of these unpleasant reflections, Clericus (who with a book in his hand was walking under the trees) accidentally awaked me; to him I related my dream with all its particulars, and he, without much study, presently interpreted it, assuring me, that it was a lively representation of Harvard college, etcetera. I remain, sir, your humble servant,
Silence Dogood
Silence Dogood’s Recipe for Poetry
When he was in London, Franklin’s brother James saw how Grub Street balladeers would churn out odes and hawk them in the coffee-houses. So he had put Benjamin to work not only pushing type but also producing poetry. Young Benjamin wrote two works based on news stories, both dealing with the sea: one about a family killed in a boating accident, and the other about the killing of the pirate known as Blackbeard. They we
re, as Franklin recalled, “wretched stuff,” but they sold well, which “flattered my vanity.”
Herman Melville would one day write that Franklin was “everything but a poet.” His father Josiah, no romantic, in fact preferred it that way, and he put an end to Benjamin’s versifying. “My father discouraged me by ridiculing my performances and telling me verse-makers were generally beggars; so I escaped being a poet, most probably a very bad one.” A year or so later, Silence Dogood lampooned the formula for poetry and eulogies in Boston.
SILENCE DOGOOD # 7, THE NEW-ENGLAND COURANT, JUNE 25, 1722
Give me the Muse, whose generous Force, Impatient of the Reins,
Pursues an unattempted Course, Breaks all the Critic’s Iron Chains
—Watts
Sir,
It has been the complaint of many ingenious foreigners, who have traveled amongst us, that good poetry is not to be expected in New England. I am apt to fancy, the reason is, not because our countrymen are altogether void of a poetical genius, nor yet because we have not those advantages of education which other countries have, but purely because we do not afford that praise and encouragement which is merited, when any thing extraordinary of this kind is produced among us: upon which consideration I have determined, when I meet with a good piece of New England poetry, to give it a suitable encomium, and thereby endeavor to discover to the world some of its beauties, in order to encourage the author to go on, and bless the world with more, and more excellent productions.
There has lately appeared among us a most excellent piece of poetry, entitled, an elegy upon the much lamented death of Mrs. Mehitebell Kitel, wife of Mr. John Kitel of Salem, &c. It may justly be said in its praise, without flattery to the author, that it is the most extraordinary piece that ever was wrote in New England. The language is so soft and easy, the expression so moving and pathetic, but above all, the verse and numbers so charming and natural, that it is almost beyond comparison,
The muse disdains those links and chains,
Measures and rules of vulgar strains,
And over the laws of harmony a sovereign queen she reigns.
I find no English author, ancient or modern, whose elegies may be compared with this, in respect to the elegance of stile, or smoothness of rhyme; and for the affecting part, I will leave your readers to judge, if ever they read any lines, that would sooner make them draw their breath and sigh, if not shed tears, than these following.
Come let us mourn, for we have lost a wife, a daughter, and a sister,
who has lately taken flight, and greatly we have mist her.
In another place,
Some little time before she yielded up her breath, she said, I never shall hear one sermon more on earth. She kissed her husband some little time before she expired, then leaned her head the pillow on, just out of breath and tired.
But the threefold appellation in the first line
A wife, a daughter, and a sister,
must not pass unobserved. That line in the celebrated Watts,
Gunston the just, the generous, and the young,
is nothing comparable to it. The latter only mentions three qualifications of one person who was deceased, which therefore could raise grief and compassion but for one. Whereas the former, (our most excellent poet) gives his reader a sort of an idea of the death of three persons, viz.
A wife, a daughter, and a sister,
which is three times as great a loss as the death of one, and consequently must raise three times as much grief and compassion in the reader.
I should be very much straitened for room, if I should attempt to discover even half the excellencies of this elegy which are obvious to me. Yet I cannot omit one observation, which is, that the author has (to his honor) invented a new species of poetry, which wants a name, and was never before known. His muse scorns to be confined to the old measures and limits, or to observe the dull rules of critics;
Nor Rapin gives her rules to fly, nor Purcell notes to sing.
—Watts
Now ’tis pity that such an excellent piece should not be dignified with a particular name; and seeing it cannot justly be called, either epic, Sapphic, lyric, or Pindaric, nor any other name yet invented, I presume it may, (in honor and remembrance of the dead) be called the kitelic. Thus much in the praise of kitelic poetry.
It is certain, that those elegies which are of our own growth, (and our soil seldom produces any other sort of poetry) are by far the greatest part, wretchedly dull and ridiculous. Now since it is imagined by many, that our poets are honest, well-meaning fellows, who do their best, and that if they had but some instructions how to govern fancy with judgment, they would make indifferent good elegies; I shall here subjoin a receipt for that purpose, which was left me as a legacy, (among other valuable rarities) by my reverend husband. It is as follows,
A recipe to make a New England funeral elegy.
For the title of your elegy. Of these you may have enough ready made to your hands; but if you should choose to make it your self, you must be sure not to omit the words aetatis suae, which will beautify it exceedingly.
For the subject of your elegy. Take one of your neighbors who has lately departed this life; it is no great matter at what age the party died, but it will be best if he went away suddenly, being killed, drowned, or froze to death.
Having chose the person, take all his virtues, excellencies, &c. And if he have not enough, you may borrow some to make up a sufficient quantity: to these add his last words, dying expressions, &c. If they are to be had; mix all these together, and be sure you strain them well. Then season all with a handful or two of melancholy expressions, such as, dreadful, deadly, cruel cold death, unhappy fate, weeping eyes, &c. Have mixed all these ingredients well, put them into the empty scull of some young Harvard; (but in case you have neer a one at hand, you may use your own,) there let them ferment for the space of a fortnight, and by that time they will be incorporated into a body, which take out, and having prepared a sufficient quantity of double rhymes, such as, power, flower; quiver, shiver; grieve us, leave us; tell you, excel you; expeditions, physicians; fatigue him, intrigue him; &c. You must spread all upon paper, and if you can procure a scrap of Latin to put at the end, it will garnish it mightily; then having affixed your name at the bottom, with a moestus composuit, you will have an excellent elegy.
N.B. This recipe will serve when a female is the subject of your elegy, provided you borrow a greater quantity of virtues, excellencies, &c. sir,
Your servant, Silence Dogood
Silence Dogood Attacks
the Puritan Theocracy
After his brother was jailed for three weeks for criticizing the authorities, Franklin used Mrs. Dogood to attack the link between church and state that was then the very foundation of Massachusetts government. At one point she asks, “Whether a Commonwealth suffers more by hypocritical pretenders to religion or by the openly profane?” Unsurprisingly, she concludes the former is worse, and she aims a barb at the governor, Thomas Dudley, a minister who had become a politician.
SILENCE DOGOOD # 9, THE NEW-ENGLAND COURANT, JULY 23, 1722
Corruptio optimi est pessima.
Sir,
It has been for some time a question with me, whether a commonwealth suffers more by hypocritical pretenders to religion, or by the openly profane? But some late thoughts of this nature, have inclined me to think, that the hypocrite is the most dangerous person of the two, especially if he sustains a post in the government, and we consider his conduct as it regards the public. The first artifice of a state hypocrite is, by a few savory expressions which cost him nothing, to betray the best men in his country into an opinion of his goodness; and if the country wherein he lives is noted for the purity of religion, he the more easily gains his end, and consequently may more justly be exposed and detested. A notoriously profane person in a private capacity, ruins himself, and perhaps forwards the destruction of a few of his equals; but a public hypocrite every day deceives his bett
ers, and makes them the ignorant trumpeters of his supposed godliness: they take him for a saint, and pass him for one, without considering that they are (as it were) the instruments of public mischief out of conscience, and ruin their country for God’s sake.
This political description of a hypocrite, may (for ought I know) be taken for a new doctrine by some of your readers; but let them consider, that a little religion, and a little honesty, goes a great way in courts. ’Tis not inconsistent with charity to distrust a religious man in power, though he may be a good man; he has many temptations to propagate public destruction for personal advantages and security: and if his natural temper be covetous, and his actions often contradict his pious discourse, we may with great reason conclude, that he has some other design in his religion besides barely getting to heaven. But the most dangerous hypocrite in a commonwealth, is one who leaves the gospel for the sake of the law: a man compounded of law and gospel, is able to cheat a whole country with his religion, and then destroy them under color of law: and here the clergy are in great danger of being deceived, and the people of being deceived by the clergy, until the monster arrives to such power and wealth, that he is out of the reach of both, and can oppress the people without their own blind assistance. And it is a sad observation, that when the people too late see their error, yet the clergy still persist in their encomiums on the hypocrite; and when he happens to die for the good of his country, without leaving behind him the memory of one good action, he shall be sure to have his funeral sermon stuffed with pious expressions which he dropt at such a time, and at such a place, and on such an occasion; than which nothing can be more prejudicial to the interest of religion, nor indeed to the memory of the person deceased. The reason of this blindness in the clergy is, because they are honorably supported (as they ought to be) by their people, and see nor feel nothing of the oppression which is obvious and burdensome to every one else.
A Benjamin Franklin Reader Page 3