Throughout the timeline of James Boswell’s body of work, his writing stands out by featuring an excess of acquaintances and friends, and a variety of personalities that influence the author. In being exposed to such an array of traits, Boswell’s personal beliefs are constantly questioned by the circle of intellectuals he surrounds himself with – thus forging a man who finds his own identity by documenting others’. The beginnings of Boswell’s recordings portray a man naively concerned with the falsity of appearance; but in his encounters with an array of people, however, Boswell’s life highlights that the true character of a person lies in their capacity for conviction and self-awareness.
Beginning with his London Journal, Boswell’s foray into the nature of character opens as would the curtains on a stage. The primary content of the journal depicts the theater and performance of appearance – that is, the charade of character. The excerpt opens with the purchase of a sword while in London, bought on credit from the smith. The sword itself is already a signal of Boswell’s need for outward approval; he is walking the urban streets, far from battle of any kind. Yet his location and his social standing demand of him that he buy into the surrounding pompous lifestyle. Upon asking the smith if he would sell it to Boswell on credit, the smith responds, “We know our men. I would have trusted you with the value of a hundred pounds” (2750). The concrete fact that Boswell and the smith are essentially strangers and are unknown to each other is underscored by the hypothetical nature of the statement itself. To say that he “would have” trusted him is an empty judgment of Boswell’s character; “our men” simply refers to men of high social standing, which in this lifestyle is contingent on outward appearance. The author takes the compliment to heart, and casually writes that this was “much to [Boswell’s] honor” (2750) – even though neither party has done anything to warrant honor or demonstrate sincere friendship. The lack of genuine honor is analogous to the entire scene itself: the sword being purchased on credit. The fact that Boswell at the time did not have enough funds to buy the sword, and is being given the benefit of the doubt due to his appearance, is made even more comical by the fact that most of his peers were doing the same thing to maintain an artificial sense of virtue. Essentially, the entire system surrounding the upkeep of a dignified image is a performance in which Boswell takes active part. While it can be argued that this depiction of Boswell might be sincere, as this is an identity that he holds at this moment and believes is a part of him, Richard De Ritter rejects this notion in his essay “‘This Changeableness in Character’: Exploring Masculinity and Nationhood on James Boswell’s Grand Tour” in a statement that also rings true for Boswell’s London Journal: that “The adoption of this identity should not be separated from the context in which it appears: in a deliberately provocative gesture” (12). Boswell’s degree of intent in his performances varies, something that he notices as the journal continues, investigating his own character’s veritableness.
Boswell delves deeper into the idea of “dignity of character”, and the London Journal continues to illustrate his self-reflection. Although the incident with the sword is telling of the false and superficial nature of London life, one section stands out from the rest, offering a glimpse into Boswell’s personal investigation. Although a very brief moment, the author glosses over how his debaucherous excursions “made [him] sought after by everybody for the present hour, but [he] found [himself] a very inferior being” (2751). He acknowledges that although he has become a part of London’s popular circle, he feels misaligned with his true character – “a character very different from what God intended me and I myself chose” (2751), as he explains. Boswell highlights how his preceding focus on reputation and appearance toys with his own self-perception. The character he has maintained for the sake of his standing is at odds with the character he has built up to this point – one taught to follow God, and maintain a sense of self-worth, rather than seeking the validation of others. It is only through this experience that Boswell discovers that dignity cannot be manufactured; it is something that arises from a trust in oneself for what is right or wrong. This growing skepticism towards the performance of dignity is developed in his encounters with Louisa.
Although the first record of Louisa (whose real name was Mrs. Lewis) outlines a playful and flirtatious romp between two “lovers”, the entire situation reeks of deceit and cover-ups, whether or not Boswell is aware of it. The previous meeting between the two consisted of his unsuccessful attempt to consummate their relationship, and this unmet expectation underlines the relationship’s unspoken transactional nature. Upon checking into an inn with Louisa, Boswell states: “I here thought proper to conceal my own name” (2754). Right off the bat, Boswell is uncomfortable with the possibility of being discovered in this state, or perhaps even fears the confrontation that this furtive and immoral behavior may actually be a part of his character. After they finally consummate the relationship, their pillowtalk consists of superficial reminiscings on sex. Louisa speaks in hyperbole asking if Boswell’s performance “was not extraordinary for human nature” (2755), and the author himself concluding that he “surely may be styled a Man of Pleasure” (2755). While Boswell’s earlier London socialite character was necessitated by his environment, his rendezvous with Louisa displays an intentional creation and curation of character for a purpose – to have sex with her. He quite blatantly states that “in [his] own mind [he] was somewhat proud of [his] performance” (2755). “Performance” in this context refers to his abilities in bed, but can be applied to his work in seducing Louisa. This concept of performance as a means to obtain something through dishonesty is foreshadowed in a prior discussion with Sheridan in referring to actors in the London Journal: “people of different characters feel and express their feelings very differently” (2753). That is to say, that people’s motivations (whether spoken or unspoken) affect their behavior, and Boswell’s implied incentives highlight his own lack of self-awareness at this time. This concept is then further demonstrated with Boswell’s second (admittedly less romantic) anecdote with Louisa.
During their second meeting, Boswell politely opens a conversation with Louisa, but the interaction quickly turns sour as the nature of their true characters arise. The author promptly highlights their change in dispositions, as upon telling Louisa that he is very unhappy with her, she exclaims “Nay, dear Sir! [Seeming unconcerned]” (2756). This written aside is a sharp shift in his depiction of the actress, as the woman who was once attentive and sweet is now described as “seeming unconcerned”. The word “seeming” is telling, in that it denotes that this is simply how Boswell is perceiving her at this moment. The true nature of her character is still relatively unclear, as both Boswell and the reader continue to unravel her motivations. As the conversation continues, we see a growing gap between the two in regards to their quality of character and capacity for truth. Echoing Boswell’s situation in purchasing the sword, Louisa expresses concern for herself and the importance of social standing; she worries that she “shall be hurt in the opinion of everybody, and in [her] circumstances” (2756). She greatly fears the idea of her reputation being sullied by both rumors of venereal disease and lack of financial security. Furthermore, even though Boswell confronts her with evidence of disease that cannot be refuted, she stands staunchly in denial of the objective truth. Despite Boswell’s growing contempt for inauthentic character, he himself continues to struggle with his own genuine intentions. In confronting Louisa, the author tells her: “You have used me very ill. I did not deserve it” (2756). This quote is made ironic by the fact that he did, as aforementioned, use her for her body. In their tense back and forth debate of truth and falseness, Boswell hones in on a stronger idea of dignity than he had previously (although it is still tinged by a level of self-gratifying cockiness). “I really behaved with a manly composure and polite dignity that could not fail to inspire an awe” (2756), he says after the argument with Louisa; he demonstrates the growing importance of personal authenticity and inherent trust in oneself, even though it is sullied by a sense of self-righteousness. With the cultivation of his relationship with Johnson, however, Boswell’s genuine character is made more firm.
As Boswell continues his journey in biographical work, he cements his belief that true character arises from an adherence to truth and conviction, derived greatly from his long-standing friendship with Samuel Johnson. One of the most crucial lessons imparted upon Boswell by his friend is that of the value of the opposing argument. Throughout The Life of Samuel Johnson, the biographical subject continually stresses the importance of listening to an opposing argument in order to strengthen your own position on the matter. In discussing David Hume’s rejection of the idea of miracles, Johnson initially starts by telling Boswell to be wary of the belief, but this does not stop Johnson from delving into the validity of the religious argument. “[A]lthough God has made Nature to operate by certain fixed laws,” he states, “it is not unreasonable to think that he may suspend those laws” (2764). The supposed omnipotent and all-powerful nature of God allows for a slew of things to be potentially true, and this is a perspective that must be acknowledged as valid. Johnson adds to his assertion that those who believe in the existence of miracles are not inherently liars for doing so; they are people with full faith in their unwavering stance. Johnson thus implies that this conviction must be honored: “we have strong evidence for the miracles in support of Christianity, as the nature of the thing admits” (2764). This idea is revisited in a conversation with The Club at Streatham, in which the group is talking over the genre of travel narratives. Upon entering a comparison of validity between Tobias Smollet’s Travel in France and Italy (1776) and Philip Thicknesse’s A Year’s Journey through France and Spain (1777), Johnson hearkens back to his earlier lesson, stating that “[a]ll travelers generally mean to tell truth…[Smollet] had found the only town in France where these things could have happened” (2775). Both conversations show that everything is perspective; despite the fact that some things are objectively true or false, Johnson imparts on Boswell and the reader the idea that some truths are personal, and an adherence to your perspective serves as a relative level of evidence to support your argument. This emphasis on acknowledging the full scope of an argument is then reflected in the writing style of Boswell, as the amount of frivolities in his stories grow in realizing that seemingly trivial aspects do in fact matter.
When referring to critics of his writing, Boswell defies their arguments against his records of miniscule details: “I remain firm and confident in my opinion, that minute particulars are frequently characteristic, and always amusing” (2762). The word “characteristic” here is of importance, as it denotes Boswell’s narrowing focus on the truth of individual human dispositions. This quote further displays Johnson’s influence, as the author outwardly states that his perspective is not to be moved. Celia Barnes touches on the author’s extensive specificity in her essay, “A Morbid Oblivion: Samuel Johnson, James Boswell, and Remembering Not to Forget” (2015), positing Boswell’s question to the reader: “[h]ow do we preserve for eternity, Boswell seems to ask, not only what Johnson said, but the man himself, the experience of him? For [Boswell] the answer lies in blending myth and reality, lived experience and textual history” (8). This blending of myth and reality can be seen in the structure and presentation of Boswell’s work as well, primarily in the format given to records of conversations. In combining a theatrical play-like structure with the intimacy of a journal, Boswell redefines what it is to portray both the author and the subject faithfully. The conversation at Streatham is particularly telling, as the back and forth conversation between all parties is reminiscent of a play’s dialogue, but also reflects the reality of character of each person. No comment is left unspoken or omitted – in Boswell’s depiction of raw discussion, he simultaneously curates a microcosm of intellectual performance. The author further defends his detailed accounts and expands upon the power of minutiae in referring to The Life of Samuel Johnson, stating that “[Johnson’s] character is more fully understood and illustrated” (2762). In prioritizing the presentation of the subject’s real character, he exemplifies how human nature is flawed, and a loyalty to one’s truthful essence (flaws and all) shows self-awareness and dignity. Boswell at one point is in discussion with Mrs. Thrale and Johnson on this approach, with her stating that “to discover such weakness exposes a man when he is gone” (2771). Johnson defends Boswell, aptly replying, “Nay, it is an honest picture of human nature” (2771). This honest picture and its nuances are made visible again in Boswell’s writing style and structure after ingesting the perspectives of others.
The fully-realized Boswell is most visible in his later work, as it is chock full of self-deprecation and humility that was not always present prior to his extensive biographical work. This newfound modest tone is most immediately visible in The Life of Samuel Johnson, whereupon introducing the subject, the author prefaces the biography by stating that “the world would probably have had the most perfect example of biography that was ever exhibited” (2761) had Johnson himself written it. This quote is in stark contrast to the tone of “A Scot in London”, in which Boswell believes that a “good share of pride…is very proper and even noble” (2751). The multitude of Boswell’s dispositions is analyzed by De Ritter once more, as he explains that “Boswell’s identity remains divided; ‘mastery’ of the self is only achieved by a simultaneous submission to a self-objectifying, regulatory gaze” (14). Boswell’s humble voice strengthens his perspective, lending itself to the author’s credibility as it portrays his self-awareness. Where some might view Boswell’s change in humility as a sign of inconsistency (and thus a lack of self-confidence), instead it should be considered a mark of being in touch fully with his own nature. In his own words, “as a lady adjusts her dress before a mirror, a man adjusts his character by looking at his journal” (2772). The process of detailed documentation supports his personal growth, as well as providing evidence for the unparalleled importance of faithful expression of the self.
Boswell’s journey in discovering a person’s true quality begins as an off-handed gesture towards himself – intermittently questioning his own values and carefully maintaining an artificially dignified reputation. His London Journal entries depict the author’s initial naivete in the presentation of true character with the pretentiousness of the sword purchase, and his eventual questioning of this perspective in his phony interactions with Louisa. As his circle and conversations expand to include more people and thus more opinions, however, Boswell’s voice grows more modest as he begins to recognize how conviction and a familiarity with oneself is the mark of a person’s quality of character. His writing style and increasingly comprehensive accounts demonstrate his pursuit for self-improvement; in Johnson’s words, “Everything that enlarges the sphere of human powers, that shows man he can do what he thought he could not do, is valuable” (2773) – as shown through Boswell’s literary journey.
Works Cited
Barnes, Celia. “‘A Morbid Oblivion’: Samuel Johnson, James Boswell, and Remembering Not to Forget.” The Age of Johnson: A Scholarly Annual, vol. 23, 2015, pp. 1–19. EBSCOhost, https://search-ebscohost-com.proxy.library.ucsb.edu:9443/login.aspx?direct=true&db=mzh&AN=2016583089&site=ehost-live.
Boswell, James, and Edmund Fuller. The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL. D. Penguin Books, 1979.
Boswell, James, and Frederick A. Pottle. Boswell’s London Journal: 1762-1763. Yale University Press, 2004.
De Ritter, Richard. “‘This Changeableness in Character’: Exploring Masculinity and Nationhood on James Boswell’s Grand Tour.” Scottish Literary Review, vol. 2, no. 1, 2010, pp. 23–40. EBSCOhost, https://search-ebscohost-com.proxy.library.ucsb.edu:9443/login.aspx?direct=true&db=mzh&AN=2012581155&site=ehost-live.
