The following study of the development of the religious and political views of Shelley is made with the view to help one in forming a true estimate of his work and character.

That there is a real difficulty in estimating correctly the life and works of Shelley no one acquainted with the varied judgments passed upon him will deny. Professor Trent claims that there is not a more perplexing and irritating subject for study than Shelley.[2] By some our poet is regarded as an angel, a model of perfection; by others he is looked upon as “a rare prodigy of crime and pollution whose look even might infect.” Mr. Swinburne calls him “the master singer of our modern poets,” but neither Wordsworth nor Keats could appreciate his poetry. W. M. Rossetti, in an article on Shelley in the ninth edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica, writes as follows: “In his own day an alien in the world of mind and invention, and in our day scarcely yet a denizen of it, he appears destined to become in the long vista of years an informing presence in the innermost shrine of human thought.” Matthew Arnold, on the other hand, in one of his last essays, writes: “But let no one suppose that a want of humor and a self-delusion such as Shelley’s have no effect upon a man’s poetry. The man Shelley, in very truth, is not entirely sane, and Shelley’s poetry is not entirely sane either.” Views so entirely different, coming as they do from such eminent critics are surely perplexing. Nevertheless, there seems to be a light which can illuminate this difficulty, render intelligible his life and works, and help us to form a just estimate of them. This light is a comprehension of the influence which inspired him in all he did and all he wrote—in a word, a comprehension of his radicalism. A great deal of the difficulty connected with the study of Shelley arises from ignorance concerning radicalism itself. I shall therefore begin by giving a short description of its nature and function.

To many, radicalism is suggestive only of revolution and destruction. In their eyes it is the spouse of disorder and the mother of tyranny. Its devotees are wild-eyed fanatics, and in its train are found social outcasts and the scum of humanity. To others, radicalism presents a totally different aspect. These admit that it has been unfortunate in the quality of many of its adherents, but at the same time they claim that it has proven itself the mainspring of progress in every sphere of human activity. It is depicted as the cause of all the reforms achieved in society. Without it old ideas and principles would always prevail, and stagnation would result. “Conservative politicians,” says Leslie Stephen, “owe more than they know to the thinkers (radicals) who keep alive a faith which renders the world tolerable and puts arbitrary rulers under some moral stress of responsibility.”[3]

Although radicalism is a disposition found in every period of history, still the word itself is of comparatively recent origin. It first came into vogue about the year 1797, when Fox and Horne Tooke joined forces to bring about a “radical reform.” In this epithet one finds the idea of going to the roots of a question, which was characteristic of eighteenth century philosophy. Then the expression seems to have disappeared for a time. In July, 1809, a writer in the Edinburgh Review says: “It cannot be doubted that there is at the moment ... a very general desire for a more ‘radical’ reform than would be effected by a mere change of ministry.”[4] It was not until 1817, however, that the adjective “radical” began to be used substantively. On August 18, 1817, Cartwright wrote to T. Northmore: “The crisis, in my judgment, is very favorable for effecting an union with the radicals, of the better among the Whigs, and I am meditating on means to promote it.” In 1820 Bentham wrote a pamphlet entitled Radicalism Not Dangerous, and in this work he uses the word “radicalists” instead of “radicals.”

For a long time the word “radical” was a term of reproach. Sir Fowell Buxton, speaking of the Radicals, says he was persuaded that their object was “the subversion of religion and of the constitution.”

Since that time a radical has come to mean any root-and-branch reformer; and radicalism itself may be defined as a tendency to abolish existing institutions or principles. As soon as either of these seems to have outlived its usefulness, radicalism will clamor for its suppression. Discontent, then, is a source of radicalism. This, however, is of a dual nature—discontent with conditions and discontent with institutions or principles. Many conservatives indulge in the former, only radicals in the latter. Again radicalism is not a mere “tearing up by the roots,” as the word is commonly interpreted, but is rather, as Philips Brooks writes, “a getting down to the root of things and planting institutions anew on just principles. An enlightened radicalism has regard for righteousness and good government, and will resist all enslavement to old forms and traditions, and will set them aside unless it shall appear that any of these have a radically just and defensible reason for their existence and continuance.”

Radicalism thrives where conditions are favorable to a change in ideals. It aims to establish new institutions or to propagate new principles, and this presupposes new ideals. As the habits of a man tend to correspond to his ideals, so too the institutions of a nation conform in a broad way to its ideals. In England during the Middle Ages the institutions of the country were strongly influenced by the religious ideal; later on, when the nation’s ideal became national glory, they assumed a political character; and now they reflect the dominant influence which the economic ideal has exerted during the past century. The ideals of a people than are bound to undergo changes, and these are sometimes, though not always, for a nation’s good. They are developed in the main by an increase in knowledge and by industrial change. Institutions, however, do not keep pace with this advance in ideals; and as a consequence discontent results and radicalism is born.

Moreover, institutions are never an adequate expression of the ideal. “Men are never as good as the goodness they know. Institutions reveal the same truth. The margin between what society knows and what it is” makes radicalism possible. In his introduction to The Revolt of Islam, Shelley expresses the same thought: “The French Revolution may be considered as one of those manifestations of a general state of feeling among civilized mankind produced by a defect of correspondence between the knowledge existing in society and the improvement or gradual abolition of political institutions.” The greater that this defect of correspondence becomes, the more intense will be the radicalism that inevitably ensues.

Radicals want a change. The extent of this change differentiates them fairly well among themselves. Some would completely sweep away every existing institution. Thus Shelley thought the great victory would be won if he could exterminate kings and priests at a blow.

Let the axe
Strike at the root, the poison-tree will fall[5]

Others would be content with changes of a far less radical character. Burke, in his early life, was the most moderate of these. At a time when the British constitution was sorely in need of reform he said concerning it: “Never will I cut it in pieces and put it in the kettle of any magician in order to boil it with the puddle of their compounds into youth and vigor; on the contrary, I will drive away such pretenders; I will nurse its venerable age and with lenient arts extend a parent’s breath.” Between these two extremes many different degrees of radicalism obtain. In his Ecce, Convertimur ad Gentes, Arnold writes: “For twenty years I have felt convinced that for the progress of our civilization here in England three things were above all necessary: a reduction of those immense inequalities of condition and property among us of which our land system is the cause, a genuine municipal system, and public schools for the middle class.”

A just appreciation of the radicalism of Shelley’s poetry is impossible without a knowledge of the function of radicalism, and so it must be considered a little more in detail.

An attempt to abolish an institution is sure to encounter the opposition of those whose interests are bound up with that institution. The good that it has accomplished in the past is sufficient warrant for defending it against the onslaught of its assailants. Le bien c’est l’ennemi du mieux. No matter how inadequate the institution in question may now be, it will still be championed by the great majority; and were it not for the radicals’ enthusiasm and faith in their cause their opposition would be in vain. As a witty exponent of homespun philosophy expresses it: “Most people would rather be comfortable than be right.” They may see that a change is needed, but they hold on to the old order of things as long as possible. Long before 1789 the French nobility realized that they should give up their claims to exemption from taxation, yet they retained them all until forced to relinquish them. Had the “privileges” been less conservative, the Revolution would never have occurred. It may be said then that radicalism is born of conservatism. Without it might would be right, and anything like justice would be well-nigh impossible.

Another factor in the development of radicalism is the inertia of mind and will of a great many people. Most persons are not easily induced to undertake anything that requires some exertion. They prefer to sit back and let others bear the burdens of the day and its heat. A good example of this is the indifference shown by the French Catholics towards the oppressive legislation of their rulers. Fortunately, however, in those countries where free scope is given to the individual, and where liberty of speech is firmly established, there will always be found some who are ever ready to take the initiative in demanding a change. Their radicalism tends to counteract the influence of this sleeping sickness. It holds up to men the ideal, and inflames them with a desire of attaining it.

Again, the emotions do not move as fast as the intellect. They will cling to their objects long after the intellect has counselled otherwise.

A man convinced against his will
Is of the same opinion still.[6]

Radicalism presents to men an ideal state where everybody is bright and free and happy; and thus helps to detach the affections from beliefs and institutions which are no longer helpful. The emotions may not adhere to the radicals’ scheme, but they are at least freed from their old bondage and can embrace the reforms of the less conservative. The influence that radicalism exerts in this way is a very powerful one. Everybody knows Carlyle’s famous outburst of rhetoric bearing on this point: “There was once a man called Jean Jacques Rousseau. He wrote a book called The Social Contract. It was a theory and nothing but a theory. The French nobles laughed at the theory, and their skins went to bind the second edition of the book.”

The strength of radicalism lies in the fact that it is poetical and philosophical. Through philosophy it makes its influence felt on a country’s leaders, through poetry on the citizens themselves. Andrew Fletcher, of Saltown, has said: “Let me write a country’s songs, and I don’t care who makes its laws.” The poet and the radical are brothers. Both live on abstractions. As soon as they particularize their mission fails; the one ceases to be a poet and the other a radical. In his admirable essay on Shelley, Francis Thompson tells clergymen that “poetry is the preacher to men of the earthly as you of the Heavenly Fairness.” According to Saint-Beuve “the function of art is to disengage the elements of beauty, to escape from the mere frightful reality.” Substitute radicalism for poetry and art in these quotations and they would still be true. Emerson calls the poets “liberating gods.” The ancient bards had for the title of their order: “Those who are free throughout the world.” “They are free and they make free.” This is exactly what one would write about radicals. Poetry and radicalism then go hand in hand. When radicalism is in the ascendant, poetry will throb with the feverish energy of the people. It will not only be more abundant, but it will show more of real life—the stuff of which literature is made. In conservative times questions concerning life do not agitate men’s minds to any great extent. People take things as they find them. Set men a thinking, however, place new ideals before them, and then you get a Shakespeare and a Milton or a galaxy of sparkling gems such as scintillated in the dawn of the nineteenth century.

We find then two tendencies which always exist in any progressive society—radicalism and conservatism. Both have appeared in connection with every phase of thought and human activity. Either, as Emerson has said, is a good half but an impossible whole. One is too impetuous, the other is too wary. The one rushes blindly into the future, the other clings too much to the past. There is constant warfare between the two for the mastery. In a progressive community neither of them is in the ascendant for any length of time. A period of radicalism is inevitably followed by one of conservatism and vice versa. The pendulum swings to one extreme and then back again to the other. As long as human nature will be what it is, our institutions will be defective, and change will be the order of the day. This no doubt results in progress, which Goethe has compared to a movement in a spiral direction.

This action and reaction is reflected in the literature of a nation. No matter what definition of literature we may accept, whether it be Newman’s personal use of language, Swinburne’s imagination and harmony, or Matthew Arnold’s criticism of life, it will always be found that literature is a crystallization of the ideals of the age. This is true both of poetry and of prose. The poet is not an isolated individual. On the contrary, he is peculiarly sensitive to the influences which surround him. He is the revealer and the awakener of these influences. “And the poet listens and he hears; and he looks and he sees; and he bends lower and lower and he weeps; and then growing with a strange growth, drawing from all the darkness about him his own transfiguration, he stands erect, terrible and tender, above all those wretched ones—those of high place as well as those of low, with flaming eyes.”[7]