Robert Burton: The Anatomy of Melancholy

[No One]

So before I try and kick-start a couple of extra Poe threads, I have a personal obsession to take care of, namely resuming and completing the reading of Robert Burton’s The Anatomy of Melancholy, which first appeared in 1621.

I had to order this book many years ago, started reading it, and put it down after maybe 40% of its 1100 pages or so. It wasn’t the size of the book that broke my back at the time, but the sheer intensity of its text. To quote a quote: “One of the maddest and most perfectly paranoid, obsessively organized, etceterative assaults on the feeble human powers of concentration ever attempted.” – Angus Fletcher.

I’ve read a few “difficult” books in my time, but none of them came as remotely close to being as demanding of attention as Burton’s beast. It’s as impressive as it is exhaustive (the man was impossibly well read) and while I’m plenty interested in the language and the content, it’s more a matter of finally climbing that mountain. It’s probably been near a decade since I put it down, but now I’m resolved to read just a handful of pages a day (amid whatever else I’m reading) until I can proudly proclaim it finished. I want a bloody medal when/if I do.

Hence this thread (which I’ll try to update at least once a week), to help spur me on, and with any luck a few people might even find some of the content interesting, which I plan to quote scattered pieces of (without the occasional latin phrase included, only the translation). Of course, much of the main body of text will need extensive quoting, because of Burton’s relentless style, and much of it (from a stricly physiological view) is to be taken with a grain of salt. After all, Burton and his many, many sources were still relying on the ancient humours of the body for explanations (to say nothing of looking at Dotage, Madness, Lycanthropia, God, Ghosts, Possession, Witches, Magicians, Inheritance, Diet, Drunkeness, Bad Air, Solitariness, Imagination, Sorrow, Shame, Anger, Ambition, Pride, Study, Education, Calumnies, Loss of Liberty, Poverty, Distemperance – to name a few!). That’s not to say, however, that much of what he says doesn’t have value, because it surely does.

So…while I review the parts I’ve already read to get back up to speed, here are some quotes from the book’s “introduction”, headed Democritus to the Reader (though not all quotes are necessarily from Burton himself, which will be clarified when needed):

* * * * *​

‘When the mind enters a madhouse, Burton shows, however sane it was when it went in, and however hard it struggles to remain sane while there, it can only make the ambient madness more monstrous, more absurd, more bizarrely laughable by its efforts to be rational.’
- Introduction, William H. Gass.

‘Tis my sole plague to be alone,
I am a beast, a monster grown,
I will no light nor company,
I find it now my misery.
The scene is turned, my joys are gone,
Fear, discontent, and sorrows come.
All my griefs to this are folly,
Naught so fierce as Melancholy.
- from the Author’s Abstract.

‘...out of a running wit, an unconstant, unsettled mind. I had a great desire (not able to attain a superficial skill in any) to have some smattering in all, to be a somebody in general knowledge, a nobody in any one subject...as fit to be imprinted in all curious wits, not to be a slave to one science, or dwell altogther in one subject, as most do, but to rove abroad...he who is everywhere is nowhere.’

‘I am not poor. I am not rich; I have little. I want nothing: all my treasure is in Minerva’s tower.’

‘I write of Melancholy, by being busy to avoid Melancholy. There is no greater cause of Melancholy than idleness, “no better cure than business,” as Rhasis holds.’

‘I was not a little offended with this malady, shall I say my mistress Melancholy, my Egeria, or my malus genius?, and for that cause, as he that is stung with a scorpion, I would expel a nail with a nail, comfort one sorrow with another, idleness with idleness, as an antidote out of a serpent’s venom, make an antidote out of that which was the prime cause of my disease.’

* * * * *
​

So ends part one of post one…

 

[No One]

…and here begins part two of post one:

* * * * *​

‘What would he (Democritus) have said to see, hear, and read so many bloody battles, so many thousands slain at once, such streams of blood able to turn mills, through the mad guilt of one person, or to make sport for princes, without any just cause, “for vain titles” (saith Austin), “precendency, some wench, or such-like toy, or out of desire of domineering, vainglory, malice, revenge, folly, madness,” (goodly causes all, for plunging the whole world into an orgy of war and slaughter), whilst statesmen themselves in the meantime are secure at home, pampered with all delights and pleasures, take their ease, and follow their lusts, not considering what intolerable misery poor soldiers endure, their often wounds, hunger, thirst, etc., the lamentable cares, torments, calamities, and oppressions that accompany such proceedings, they feel not, take no notice of it. “So wars are begun, by the persuasion of a few deboshed, hair-brain, poor, dissolute, hungry captains, parasitical fawners, unquiet Hotspurs, restless innovators, green heads, to satisfy one man’s private spleen, lust, ambition, avarice, etc.” ; such causes bring on war with all its crimes. The flower of mankind, proper men, well proportioned, carefully brought up, able both in body and mind, sound, led like so many beasts to the slaughter in the flower of their years, pride, and full of strength, without all remorse and pity, sacrificed to Pluto, killed up as so many sheep, for devil’s food, 40,000 at once. At once, said I, that were tolerable, but these wars last always, and for ages; nothing so familiar as this hacking and hewing, massacres, murders, desolations; the skies re-echo the unwonted noise, they care not what mischief they procure, as that they may enrich themselves for the present; they will so long blow the coals of contention, till all the world be consumed with fire.’

‘To see so many lawyers, advocates, so many tribunals, so little justice; so many magistrates, so little care of common good; so many laws, yet never more disorders; the court a crop of lawsuits, the tribunal a labyrinth, so many thousand suits in one court sometimes, so violently followed! The greatest wrong-doer often administering justice, the most impious in charge of religion, the most ignorant presiding over learning, the most idle over employement, and the most heartless over the distribution of charity! To see a lamb executed, a wolf pronounce sentence…’

‘I confess all (‘tis partly affected) thou canst not think worse of me than I do of myself.’

‘My first argument is borrowed from Solomon, an arrow drawn out of his sententious quiver, “Be not wise in thine own eyes.” And, “Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? More hope is of a fool than of him.” Isaiah pronounceth a woe against such men, “that are wise in their own eyes, and prudent in their own sight.” For hence we may gather that it is a great offence, and men are much deceived that think too well of themselves, an especial argument to convince them of folly. “Many men” (saith Seneca) “had been without question wise, had they not had an opinion that they had attained to perfection of knowledge already, even before they had gone half-way,” too forward, too ripe, too quick and ready, in a trice they are wise, they are pious, they are husbands, fathers, priests, qualified and ambitious for every station, they had too good a conceit of themselves, and that marred all; all their geese are swans, and that manifestly proves them to be no better than fools.’

‘Never so much cause of laughter as now, never so many fools and madmen.’

‘Heretofore, learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are villified by base and illiterate scribblers, that either write from vainglory, need, to get money, or as parasites to flatter and collogue with some great men, they put out trifles, trash, nonsense. Amongst so many thousand authors you shall scarce find one, by reading of whom you shall be any whit better, but rather much worse, by which he is rather infected than anyway perfected.’

‘I do not arrogate, I will not derogate, I am none of the best, I am none of the meanest of you.’

‘”We can judge a man’s character much better from his conversation than his physiognomy” ‘twas old Cato’s rule.’

‘Tis the common doom of all writers, I must (I say) abide it; I seek not applause; I court not the favour of the fickle crowd; again, I am not so ugly, I would not be villified. Sufficient praise for me if thou disdainest me not, O worthy reader.’

* * * * *​

I think that’ll do for now – but more to follow (just from the introduction!).

 

[GOLLUM]

HMMM...interesting stuff.

I have the NYRB edition(s) of this unqualified masterpiece and I too have previously dipped into Burton's writings but never to the extent of trying to read his magnum opus from cover to cover.

I wish you well in your quest. This is certainly a major 'European' work of ANY ere, some would even say ever, hence my pleasure in seeing someone post about it.

I shall follow this thread with interest.

Cheers.

 

[J Riff]

Nice opinion of writers.
you shall scarce find one, by reading of whom you shall be any whit better, but rather much worse, by which he is rather infected than anyway perfected.’

Kickstart that EAP!- and good 75word story this month.

 

[j d worthington]

Actually, from reading a fair amount of Poe's criticism, I'd say he and Burton weren't too far from agreement on this one, though Poe would have modified it a tiny bit....

I hadn't even seen this thread until this afternoon, or I'd have been in here earlier.... Yes, I keep meaning to get to Burton's opus, but so far it has been bumped back as a bit less pressing, though still a part of my research (his writing has, after all, had an impact on many a writer whom I'm dealing with -- even RAH comments on it at least once).

I have a copy of the eighth edition (printing 1857) sitting on the shelf next to my bed, and pull it out periodically just to look at ruefully... realizing how much time it will take to read that one, and what a block that will form... yet sooooo tempted..... Perhaps I'd best move it on up and get it read this year, along with going through the entire Spectator by Addison and Steele (not to mention Browne's Hydriotaphia as a whole).....

In any event, very glad to see such a thread here.....

 

[No One]

Thanks for the encouragement It'll probably be needed!

I've also got a NYRB edition, which I understand had to be specially ordered in from a university, but it's nothing special. Mention of J.D's eighth edition has me drooling though...oh, but that must be a beautiful thing.

And it's strange that J-Riff should mention my 75-word story this month (thanks by the way), because it might just be that I first came across the term 'White Crow' in this very book (I hadn't a clue until going through some old notes and quotes that I'd taken down years ago). Maybe the story subconsciously turned my eye back to it.

As it is I'm still scanning through the parts I've already read, which for the most part are a blur. Best I revise a touch before presuming to continue.

Note: wasn't familiar with Browne's Hydriotaphia, but a quick glance about google seems to put it in very high esteem indeed. Appreciate the mention, J.D., I may have to look into it...

 

[j d worthington]

You are quite welcome. It is generally referred to as "Urn Burial", but Hydriotaphia, Urn Burial, or a Discourse of the Sepulchral Urns lately found in Norfolk, is the proper title. While what I have is a fairly old edition, it is not one which uses the original orthography, which is a pity. I am not one who prefers modernised spellings if I can have the original; the closer to what the writer put down, the better, in my view. Besides, it aids in giving an extra seasoning of the time and place where it was written... even when the author insists on some... dubious archaisms (as with Spenser).

At any rate, Browne's English is among the most beautiful I can recall; but it isn't for lazy readers, either. It requires concentration and an appreciation for use of language just as one would have a refined appreciation for a truly good wine....

On my edition of Burton's little opus... yes, it is a lovely book; quite exquisite originally; though, also having been a library book, it has seen a bit of wear and tear (not too much, though... it is in surprisingly good condition for such an old volume, despite someone having used tape to protect the spine....)

On a side note: I will admit that, reading this sort of thing in these older editions/printings, adds a great deal to my pleasure in them. The very scent of the paper and binding calls up other times, other days, and other ways, and helps to transport me to that time. (Which is one of the reasons I am so very fond of my 1699 printing of Garth's The Dispensary and 1795 printing of Johnson's Idler. Of course, finding them for reasonable to ridiculously low prices only adds to the pleasure.....)

 

[No One]

Even refreshing my memory with small sections of the text is a little bit daunting and foreboding of what’s to come once I properly resume. It should be noted that the following passage is a MILD sample of Burton’s rigourousness :


‘Voluntary solitariness is that which is familiar with melancholy, and gently brings on like a siren, a shoe-ing horn, or some sphinx to this irrevocable gulf; a primary cause, Piso calls it. Most pleasant it is at first, to such as are to melancholy given, to lie in bed whole days, and keep their chambers, to walk alone in some solitary grove, betwixt wood and water, by a brook side, to meditate upon some delightsome and pleasant subject, which shall affect them most; a pleasing dotage, and a most flattering delusion. A most incomparable delight it is so to melancholize, and build castles in the air, to go smiling to themselves, acting an infinite variety of parts, which they suppose and strongly imagine they represent, or that they see acted or done. It is delightful at first, saith Lemnius, to conceive and meditate of such pleasant things sometimes, “present, past, or to come,” as Rhasis speaks. So delightsome these toys are at first, they could spend whole days and nights without sleep, even whole years alone in such contemplations and phantastical meditations, which are like unto dreams, and they will hardly be drawn from them, or willingly interrupt; so pleasant their vain conceits are, that they hinder their ordinary tasks and necessary business, they cannot address themselves to them, or almost to any study or employment, these phantastical and bewitching thoughts so covertly, so feelingly, so urgently, so continually set upon, creep in, insinuate, possess, overcome, distract, and detain them, they cannot, I say, go about their more necessary business, stave off or extricate themselves, but are ever musing, melancholizing, and carried along; as he (they say) that is led round a heath with a Puck in the night, they run earnestly on in this labyrinth of anxious and solicitous melancholy meditations, and cannot well or willingly refrain, or easily leave off, winding and unwinding themselves as so many clocks, and still pleasing their humours, until at last the scene is turned upon a sudden by some bad object, and they, being now habituated to such vain meditations and solitary places, can endure no company, can ruminate of nothing but harsh and distasteful subjects. Fear, sorrow, suspicion, a rustic bashfulness, discontent, cares, and weariness of life surprise them in a moment, and they can think of nothing else, continually suspecting; no sooner are their eyes open, but this infernal plague of melancholy seizeth on them, and terrifies their souls, representing some dismal object to their minds, which now by no means, no labour, no persuasions they can avoid, the deadly arrow still remains in their side, they may not be rid of it, they cannot resist.’

Should be fun

 

[No One]

An interesting point raised by Burton (I still recall reading it years ago because it was one the few times I’ve ever had confirmed a Christian view of ancient and foreign gods). Being a devout Christian himself it’s not surprising that he should assert the point when speaking of various types of devils and fiends, but it’s proof that insofar as personal religion is concerned, personal intelligence does not factor:

“These can corrupt the air, and cause plagues, sickness, storms, shipwrecks, fires, inundations. At Mons Draconis in Italy, there is a most memorable example in Jovianus Pontanus: and nothing so familiar (if we believe those relations of Saxo Grammaticus, Olaus Magnus, Damianus á Goes) as for witches and sorcerors, in Lapland, Lithuania, and all over Scandia, to sell winds to mariners, and cause tempests, which Marcus Paulus the Venetian relates likewise of the Tartars. These kinds of devils are much delighted in sacrifices (saith Porphyry), held all the world in awe, and had several names, idols, sacrifices, in Rome, Greece, Egypt, and at this day tyrranize over and deceive those ethnics and Indians, being adored and worshipped for gods.”

 

[No One]

As of the past few days, I've officially resumed reading the book. As of this writing, all is going well . Very well in fact, which is why I want to point out the section I'm currently reading.

For those who are not obsessed with reading the whole book, I'd strongly recommend Burton's Digression of Air (Second Partition, Section two), which is a truly staggering piece of speculation on the many unanswered questions of Burton's day, from the migration of birds (with one claim supposing that they dwell underwater during the winter), to the nature and dimensions of Hell within the core of the Earth (or if Hell exists there in the first place), to questions of the fabric of space and distant stars, and much, much, much more.

He emphatically lists and ponders the underlying causes that might dictate the differences in geographical features and species across continents and countries, in the way that only Burton seems to be able to do. It seems a crying shame that someone as limitlessly curious as him shouldn't have so many of the answers available as we do today.