Meditations in Westminster Abbey by Joseph Addison | Meditations in Westminster Abbey | Joseph Addison | Analysis | Summary | Key Points | Word Meaning | Questions Answers | Critical Appreciation | Free PDF Download – Easy Literary Lesson
Meditations in Westminster Abbey
When I am in a serious humour, I very often walk by myself in Westminster Abbey; where the gloominess of the place, and the use to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, and the condition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable. I yesterday passed a whole afternoon in the churchyard, the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the tombstones and inscriptions that I met with in those several regions of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that he was born upon one day and died upon another: the whole history of his life being comprehended in those two circumstances, that are common to all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers of existence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the departed persons; who had left no other memorial of them, but that they were born, and that they died. They put me in mind of several persons mentioned in the battles of heroic poems, who have sounding names given them, for no other reason but that they may be killed, and are celebrated for nothing but being knocked on the head.
The life of these men is finely described in holy writ, by the path of an arrow, which is immediately closed up and lost.
Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the digging of a grave; and saw in every shovel-full of it that was thrown up, the fragment of a bone or skull intermixed with a kind of fresh-mouldering earth, that some time or other had a place in the composition of a human body. Upon this, I began to consider with myself what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together under the pavement of that ancient cathedral; how men and women, friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbled among one another, and blended together in the same common mass; how beauty, strength, and youth, with old age, weakness, and deformity, lay undistinguished in the same promiscuous heap of matter.
After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality, as it were, in the lump, I examined it more particularly by the accounts which I found on several of the monuments. Some of them were covered with such extravagant epitaphs, that, if it were possible for the dead person to be acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises which his friends have bestowed upon him. There are others so excessively modest, that they deliver the character of the person departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by that means are not understood once in a twelvemonth. In the poetical quarter, I found there were poets who had no monuments, and monuments which had no poets. I observed, indeed, that the present war had filled the church with many of those uninhabited monuments, which had been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were perhaps buried in the plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean.
I could not but be very much delighted with several modern epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of expression and justness of thought, and therefore do honour to the living as well as to the dead. As a foreigner is very apt to conceive an idea of the ignorance or politeness of a nation from the turn of their public monuments and inscriptions, they should be submitted to the perusal of men of learning and genius, before they are put in execution. Sir Cloudesley Shovel’s monument has very often given me great offence. Instead of the brave rough English admiral, which was the distinguishing character of that plain, gallant man, he is represented on his tomb by the figure of a beau, dressed in a long periwig, and reposing himself upon velvet cushions under a canopy of state. The inscription is answerable to the monument; for, instead of celebrating the many remarkable actions he had performed in the service of his country, it acquaints us only with the manner of his death, in which it was impossible for him to reap any honour. The Dutch, whom we are apt to despise for want of genius, show an infinitely greater taste of antiquity and politeness in their buildings and works of this nature, than what we meet with in those of our own country. The monuments of their admirals, which have been erected at the public expense, represent them like themselves, and are adorned with rostral crowns and naval ornaments, with beautiful festoons of seaweed, shells, and coral.
But to return to our subject. I have left the repository of our English kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall find my mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I know that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations: but, for my own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy; and can, therefore, take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful ones. By this means, I can improve myself with those objects which others consider with terror. When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow. When I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together.
Meditations in Westminster Abbey Analysis
“When I am in a serious humour, I very often walk by myself in Westminster Abbey;”
Addison explains that when he feels thoughtful or reflective, he often visits Westminster Abbey. The Abbey, being a place of burial and worship, naturally invites serious contemplation.
“where the gloominess of the place, and the use to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, and the condition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable.”
The atmosphere in the Abbey—its dark, somber architecture, and the fact that it houses the dead—evokes a sense of melancholy in him. However, this melancholy is not depressing but rather leads to deep reflection that Addison finds pleasant.
“I yesterday passed a whole afternoon in the churchyard, the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the tombstones and inscriptions that I met with in those several regions of the dead.”
Addison shares that he spent an afternoon exploring the churchyard, cloisters, and church. He entertained himself by reading the tombstones and inscriptions, which are markers of those who have passed away.
“Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that he was born upon one day and died upon another: the whole history of his life being comprehended in those two circumstances, that are common to all mankind.”
He notices that most tombstones simply record two facts: the birth and death dates of the person buried. Addison reflects on how entire lives are reduced to just these two common details, which apply to everyone.
“I could not but look upon these registers of existence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the departed persons; who had left no other memorial of them, but that they were born, and that they died.”
Addison views these simple inscriptions as a form of satire or irony, as they reflect how little is remembered of these individuals. Despite their whole lives, they are only remembered for having been born and died, leaving no lasting legacy.
“They put me in mind of several persons mentioned in the battles of heroic poems, who have sounding names given them, for no other reason but that they may be killed, and are celebrated for nothing but being knocked on the head.”
He compares these tomb inscriptions to characters in epic poems, who are often only given grand names so they can be killed in battle. Their significance in the story is limited to their deaths, just as the tombs only commemorate the end of a person’s life.
“The life of these men is finely described in holy writ, by the path of an arrow, which is immediately closed up and lost.”
Addison refers to a Biblical description of life as being like the path of an arrow. The arrow leaves no lasting trace after passing through the air, just as life leaves little behind after death.
“Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the digging of a grave;”
Entering the Abbey, Addison witnesses the digging of a new grave. He finds himself watching this solemn task.
“and saw in every shovel-full of it that was thrown up, the fragment of a bone or skull intermixed with a kind of fresh-mouldering earth, that some time or other had a place in the composition of a human body.”
As the grave is being dug, bits of bones and skulls are mixed with the earth. These remains were once part of a living human body, highlighting how bodies decompose over time and mix with the soil.
“Upon this, I began to consider with myself what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together under the pavement of that ancient cathedral;”
Addison starts to think about the countless numbers of people buried beneath the floor of Westminster Abbey. These are people from all walks of life, but in death, they are all blended together.
“how men and women, friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbled among one another, and blended together in the same common mass;”
He reflects on how, in death, there is no distinction between people. Men and women, friends and foes, clergy and soldiers—all are mixed together in the same earth. This highlights the ultimate equality of death, where societal divisions no longer matter.
“how beauty, strength, and youth, with old age, weakness, and deformity, lay undistinguished in the same promiscuous heap of matter.”
Beauty, strength, and youth, once valued in life, lie indistinguishable from old age, weakness, and deformity in death. Everything that once defined a person is now gone, and all are reduced to the same state.
“After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality, as it were, in the lump, I examined it more particularly by the accounts which I found on several of the monuments.”
After thinking about death in general terms, Addison shifts his attention to specific monuments and epitaphs, examining them in more detail.
“Some of them were covered with such extravagant epitaphs, that, if it were possible for the dead person to be acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises which his friends have bestowed upon him.”
He notices that some epitaphs are overly grand, and if the deceased were alive, they might feel embarrassed by the exaggerated praise given by their loved ones.
“There are others so excessively modest, that they deliver the character of the person departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by that means are not understood once in a twelvemonth.”
Other epitaphs are so modest that they are written in Greek or Hebrew, languages few people understand. As a result, their meaning remains unknown most of the time.
“In the poetical quarter, I found there were poets who had no monuments, and monuments which had no poets.”
In the section dedicated to poets, Addison observes an irony: some great poets have no monuments, while some monuments commemorate people who aren’t remembered for their poetry.
“I observed, indeed, that the present war had filled the church with many of those uninhabited monuments, which had been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were perhaps buried in the plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean.”
Addison notes that the recent war has led to many empty monuments in the Abbey. These monuments commemorate people who died in battle far from home, like in Blenheim or at sea, whose bodies were never recovered.
“I could not but be very much delighted with several modern epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of expression and justness of thought, and therefore do honour to the living as well as to the dead.”
Addison appreciates many of the modern epitaphs, praising their elegance and thoughtfulness. These epitaphs not only honor the deceased but also reflect well on those who wrote them.
“As a foreigner is very apt to conceive an idea of the ignorance or politeness of a nation from the turn of their public monuments and inscriptions, they should be submitted to the perusal of men of learning and genius, before they are put in execution.”
Addison points out that foreigners often judge the intelligence or refinement of a nation based on its monuments and inscriptions. Therefore, he argues that such monuments should be carefully reviewed by learned and talented people before being finalized.
“Sir Cloudesley Shovel’s monument has very often given me great offence.”
Addison expresses particular dissatisfaction with the monument of Sir Cloudesley Shovel, an English admiral. He finds the monument inappropriate and offensive.
“Instead of the brave rough English admiral, which was the distinguishing character of that plain, gallant man, he is represented on his tomb by the figure of a beau, dressed in a long periwig, and reposing himself upon velvet cushions under a canopy of state.”
The monument, instead of reflecting Shovel’s rough and brave nature as a military man, portrays him as a fashionable gentleman, lounging on velvet cushions under an elegant canopy. Addison sees this as a misrepresentation of Shovel’s true character.
“The inscription is answerable to the monument; for, instead of celebrating the many remarkable actions he had performed in the service of his country, it acquaints us only with the manner of his death, in which it was impossible for him to reap any honour.”
Similarly, the inscription on the monument focuses on Shovel’s manner of death, which was not particularly honorable, instead of highlighting his many accomplishments in service to his country.
“The Dutch, whom we are apt to despise for want of genius, show an infinitely greater taste of antiquity and politeness in their buildings and works of this nature, than what we meet with in those of our own country.”
Addison contrasts the English monuments with those in Holland, noting that the Dutch, despite being viewed as lacking creativity, actually show more taste and refinement in their public monuments.
“The monuments of their admirals, which have been erected at the public expense, represent them like themselves, and are adorned with rostral crowns and naval ornaments, with beautiful festoons of seaweed, shells, and coral.”
He praises the Dutch monuments of their admirals, which are decorated with appropriate naval symbols like seaweed, shells, and rostral crowns, representing their naval careers accurately and tastefully.
“But to return to our subject. I have left the repository of our English kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall find my mind disposed for so serious an amusement.”
Addison notes that he has not yet explored the section of Westminster Abbey where English kings are buried, saving that for another visit when he feels in the right mood for such a solemn reflection.
“I know that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations: but, for my own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy;”
Addison acknowledges that such meditations on death might be unsettling for some people, especially those prone to fear or depression. However, he insists that while he is serious, he does not experience sadness or melancholy from such reflections.
“and can, therefore, take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful ones.”
He explains that he can appreciate both the solemn and joyous aspects of life, finding value in each. This allows him to contemplate death without fear or sorrow.
“By this means, I can improve myself with those objects which others consider with terror.”
Addison suggests that, by looking at death without fear, he is able to grow and learn from these reflections, which others might find terrifying.
“When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me;”
When he sees the tombs of great and powerful people, any feelings of envy he might have had vanish. Death equalizes everyone, making power and status meaningless.
“when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out;”
Similarly, when he reads the epitaphs of beautiful people, any excessive desires or longing for beauty disappear, as beauty, too, fades with death.
“when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion;”
When he comes across inscriptions reflecting the grief of parents for their lost children, he feels deep compassion and sympathy for their suffering.
“when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow.”
When he sees the tombs of parents, Addison reflects on the futility of mourning too deeply, since all people will eventually follow the same path into death.
“When I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind.”
Addison reflects on the irony of seeing kings buried alongside the people who overthrew them, or intellectual rivals lying side by side. Even religious figures, who once caused divisions, are now united in death. He is struck by the insignificance of human competition, conflict, and pride when viewed from the perspective of mortality.
“When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together.”
When Addison sees the various dates on the tombs, some from recent times and some from centuries ago, he contemplates the idea of a “great day” (likely a reference to Judgment Day) when all people, regardless of when they lived, will stand together as equals in death.
