Part I: An Essay On Criticism

This poem is an important work in English literary criticism, guiding critics into the modern era. It was published in 1711 when Pope was a remarkable young 21 years old. It is not an essay in the modern sense, but rather a long poem written in heroic couplets. Pope was aware of a general decline in the state of art and its appreciation in his time, and chose to address the failures of the poets and critics in one long, elegant poem.

This article is the first part of our analysis, covering lines 1 to 200 of the 744-line poem, although we have analyzed the rest of the poem too, including Part 2 and Part 3. In this section, Pope covers the challenges of criticism, the nature of critical taste, the primacy of Nature as the source of artistic principle, the ancient Greeks as guides and models, and the degeneration of the criticism of his time. Pope also stresses the need to understand context to appreciate the classical poets fully, reveals how the masters understood when to flout their own rules to create better art, and praises the classical poets’ exemplary and timeless standards.

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Part I: An Essay On Criticism
Alexander Pope

'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill  Appear in writing or in judging ill;  But, of the two, less dang'rous is th' offence  To tire our patience, than mislead our sense.  Some few in that, but numbers err in this,  Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;  A fool might once himself alone expose,  Now one in verse makes many more in prose.  

       'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none  Go just alike, yet each believes his own.  In poets as true genius is but rare,  True taste as seldom is the critic's share;  Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,  These born to judge, as well as those to write.  Let such teach others who themselves excel,  And censure freely who have written well.  Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,  But are not critics to their judgment too?         Yet if we look more closely we shall find  Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind;  Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;  The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right.  But as the slightest sketch, if justly trac'd,  Is by ill colouring but the more disgrac'd,  So by false learning is good sense defac'd;  Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,  And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools.  In search of wit these lose their common sense,  And then turn critics in their own defence:  Each burns alike, who can, or cannot write,  Or with a rival's, or an eunuch's spite.  All fools have still an itching to deride,  And fain would be upon the laughing side.  If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,  There are, who judge still worse than he can write.  

       Some have at first for wits, then poets pass'd,  Turn'd critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last;  Some neither can for wits nor critics pass,  As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.  Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our isle  As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;  Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,  Their generation's so equivocal:  To tell 'em, would a hundred tongues require,  Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire.         But you who seek to give and merit fame,  And justly bear a critic's noble name,  Be sure your self and your own reach to know,  How far your genius, taste, and learning go;  Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet,  And mark that point where sense and dulness meet.  

       Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit,  And wisely curb'd proud man's pretending wit:  As on the land while here the ocean gains,  In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains;  Thus in the soul while memory prevails,  The solid pow'r of understanding fails;  Where beams of warm imagination play,  The memory's soft figures melt away.  One science only will one genius fit;  So vast is art, so narrow human wit:  Not only bounded to peculiar arts,  But oft in those, confin'd to single parts.  Like kings we lose the conquests gain'd before,  By vain ambition still to make them more;  Each might his sev'ral province well command,  Would all but stoop to what they understand. 

       First follow NATURE, and your judgment frame By her just standard, which is still the same: Unerring Nature, still divinely bright, One clear, unchang'd, and universal light, Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart,  At once the source, and end, and test of art.  Art from that fund each just supply provides, Works without show, and without pomp presides: In some fair body thus th' informing soul With spirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole, Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve sustains; Itself unseen, but in th' effects, remains. Some, to whom Heav'n in wit has been profuse, Want as much more, to turn it to its use; For wit and judgment often are at strife,  Though meant each other's aid, like man and wife. 'Tis more to guide, than spur the Muse's steed; Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed; The winged courser, like a gen'rous horse, Shows most true mettle when you check his course.        Those RULES of old discover'd, not devis'd, Are Nature still, but Nature methodis'd; Nature, like liberty, is but restrain'd By the same laws which first herself ordain'd. 

       Hear how learn'd Greece her useful rules indites, When to repress, and when indulge our flights: High on Parnassus' top her sons she show'd, And pointed out those arduous paths they trod; Held from afar, aloft, th' immortal prize, And urg'd the rest by equal steps to rise. Just precepts thus from great examples giv'n, She drew from them what they deriv'd from Heav'n. The gen'rous critic fann'd the poet's fire, And taught the world with reason to admire.  Then criticism the Muse's handmaid prov'd, To dress her charms, and make her more belov'd; But following wits from that intention stray'd;  Who could not win the mistress, woo'd the maid; Against the poets their own arms they turn'd, Sure to hate most the men from whom they learn'd. So modern 'pothecaries, taught the art By doctor's bills to play the doctor's part,  Bold in the practice of mistaken rules,  Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools.  Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey,  Nor time nor moths e'er spoil'd so much as they:  Some drily plain, without invention's aid, Write dull receipts how poems may be made: These leave the sense, their learning to display, And those explain the meaning quite away.  

 You then whose judgment the right course would steer, Know well each ANCIENT'S proper character; His fable, subject, scope in ev'ry page; Religion, country, genius of his age: Without all these at once before your eyes, Cavil you may, but never criticise. Be Homer's works your study and delight, Read them by day, and meditate by night; Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims bring, And trace the Muses upward to their spring; Still with itself compar'd, his text peruse; And let your comment be the Mantuan Muse. 

       When first young Maro in his boundless mind A work t' outlast immortal Rome design'd, Perhaps he seem'd above the critic's law, And but from Nature's fountains scorn'd to draw: But when t' examine ev'ry part he came, Nature and Homer were, he found, the same. Convinc'd, amaz'd, he checks the bold design, And rules as strict his labour'd work confine, As if the Stagirite o'erlook'd each line. Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem; To copy nature is to copy them. 

       Some beauties yet, no precepts can declare, For there's a happiness as well as care. Music resembles poetry, in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a master-hand alone can reach. If, where the rules not far enough extend, (Since rules were made but to promote their end) Some lucky LICENCE answers to the full Th' intent propos'd, that licence is a rule. Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take, May boldly deviate from the common track. Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend, And rise to faults true critics dare not mend; From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art, Which, without passing through the judgment, gains The heart, and all its end at once attains. In prospects, thus, some objects please our eyes, Which out of nature's common order rise, The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice. But tho' the ancients thus their rules invade, (As kings dispense with laws themselves have made) Moderns, beware! or if you must offend Against the precept, ne'er transgress its end; Let it be seldom, and compell'd by need, And have, at least, their precedent to plead. The critic else proceeds without remorse, Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force. 

       I know there are, to whose presumptuous thoughts Those freer beauties, ev'n in them, seem faults. Some figures monstrous and misshap'd appear, Consider'd singly, or beheld too near, Which, but proportion'd to their light, or place, Due distance reconciles to form and grace. A prudent chief not always must display His pow'rs in equal ranks, and fair array, But with th' occasion and the place comply, Conceal his force, nay seem sometimes to fly. Those oft are stratagems which errors seem, Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream. 

       Still green with bays each ancient altar stands, Above the reach of sacrilegious hands, Secure from flames, from envy's fiercer rage, Destructive war, and all-involving age. See, from each clime the learn'd their incense bring! Hear, in all tongues consenting pæans ring! In praise so just let ev'ry voice be join'd, And fill the gen'ral chorus of mankind! Hail, bards triumphant! born in happier days; Immortal heirs of universal praise! Whose honours with increase of ages grow, As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow! Nations unborn your mighty names shall sound, And worlds applaud that must not yet be found! Oh may some spark of your celestial fire The last, the meanest of your sons inspire, (That on weak wings, from far, pursues your flights; Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes) To teach vain wits a science little known, T' admire superior sense, and doubt their own! 

Summary

This section of ‘An Essay on Criticism’ addresses what Pope perceives as the deplorable state of the arts and criticism of his time. In this memorable poem, he lays out a guide on how to be a good writer, and more importantly, how to be a good critic. Much of this advice centres around classical poets, whom Pope affords a special license with the rules of poetry.

The poem is a didactic poem in heroic couplets that outlines principles for good literary criticism and poetry. In this first section, which covers lines 1 to 200, Pope notes the challenges of criticism: it is as hard to judge well as it is to write well, critical judgment is subjective, true taste is rare, and these combine to create a literary environment overrun with bad critics.

In describing the nature of true judgment, Pope recognizes that most people possess a modicum of innate potential, but then become corrupted by “false learning”. He advises that critics must develop self-awareness, to know the limits of their natural gifts, taste, and education, before trying to judge.

He elevates Nature as the constant and universal standard, the source from which the critics must draw their principles. Good art, he says, draws its essence, form, and purpose from Nature. Pope also advises that artists and critics should temper wild wit with deliberate and measured judgment to make lasting and beautiful work.

Ancient Greece appears to be instrumental in developing Pope’s ideal artistic guidelines. The rules they espoused were not artificial, but the result of close study and systemized organization of Nature’s principles. Later critics strayed from the noble purpose of classical art, out of envy or inadequate learning. In evaluating works of art, some critics either fail to understand the text, while others dissect it to the point that it loses meaning and vitality.

Pope advises that to critique effectively, one must deeply understand the context and character, in addition to the works of classical poets. This is achieved by deep and immersive study to form sound judgment and critical maxims.

He concedes that while the standards of the ancients are like the standards of nature, there are instances where one may go off their beaten track to capture true artistic beauty. However, this rule-breaking is something only experts should attempt, and even so, do sparingly.

He asserts that ancient literary works and their creators are perpetually honored, and their legacy unimpeachable, and for good reason. Their fame spans time and space and is an eternal source of inspiration worldwide. Modern writers, he advises, should be inspired by the fire of these classical poets and learn to admire their deference to their superior intellect.

Expert Commentary

Insights by Ebuka Igbokwe

Bachelors Degree in English Literature

I'd say Pope is a bit of a Homer groupie - so conservative that it is inevitable he would clash with modern poetry. So much innovation has changed the nature of the art since his time, that his outlook now feels quaint, rigid, and at odds with the spirit of poetry itself, which is - at its heart - freedom with language. We can excuse the poem's tone for its didactic purpose, but even didacticism, with its heavy-handed, rule-giving posture, feels alien to modern sensibilities. That said, Pope remains a pleasure to read, even when you disagree with his tone or teachings. There is a sharpness to his phrasing and a music to his couplets that still commands respect.

Historical Context

This lengthy poem was published in the early 18th century. This is known as the Augustan Age, a period shaped by the Enlightenment’s emphasis on reason, order, and logic. Increased political stability, a rising middle class, and a flourishing public sphere (like coffeehouses and periodicals) fuelled a demand for literature that reflected rational thought: the dominant value of the era.

This poem is a hallmark of Neoclassicism, which itself was the artistic expression and cultural manifestation of the Enlightenment’s core ideals. This movement championed classical ideals (from Greco-Roman art) such as balance, restraint, and the “imitation of Nature,” an idealized form of nature, understood as universal truth and harmony. Pope draws extensively from and adapts ideas from classical texts, integrating them into his context.

Structure and Form

A noticeable feature of the poem is how meticulously Pope crafted it, both in its overarching structure and distinct poetic form. It is written as a verse essay: a reasoned didactic argument in poetic form, a formal and intellectual discourse packaged within the vehicle of poetry. It is composed almost entirely of heroic couplets (rhyming pairs of lines) and is written primarily in iambic pentameter. Pope employs Horatian satire, a gentler and more urban style of criticism, rather than the more acerbic Juvenalian satire. Instead of a vehement attack, he uses humour, irony, and wit to show the faults of critics and poets.

Literary Devices

Alexander Pope employed various literary devices in the writing of ‘An Essay on Criticism‘. It is a hallmark of his writing and a key reason for the poem’s enduring impact. He used these devices for aesthetic appeal and to convey his arguments precisely and persuasively.

• Metaphors: These sharpen Pope’s criticism and gave his argument texture. In line 9, he compares judgment to watches, a comparison that makes a subtle point about the subjectivity of judgment. He also describes Nature as a kind of divine architect who wisely set limits, which critics ignore at their peril. When he describes himself as having “weak wings” (line 197), he hints at his limited ability or talent compared to the ancients. Through these examples, it is evident that Pope uses metaphors to create diverse and dynamic imagery within the poem. This transforms the presumably dull form of the “essay” into a feast for the senses.
• Similes: This device helps Pope build clarity and visual resonance through comparison. He describes half-formed critics as “half-form’d insects on the banks of Nile”, as underdeveloped as larvae, an image that ridicules shallow learning as grotesque. His similes translate abstract concepts into vivid, concrete imagery with striking effect.
• Allusions: The poem is rife with allusions to classical figures, texts, and myths. He references Mount Parnassus, the mountain sacred to Apollo and the Muses, representing poetic inspiration. He also alludes to Homer and Aristotle. Virgil is called the “Manutan Muse” and “Maro”. Aristotle, the author of ‘Poetics‘, is also referenced here as the “Stagirite”, owing to being born in Stagira, Greece. “Still green with bay” refers to laurels of bay leaves, a classic symbol of honor, victory, and poetic excellence in ancient Greece and Rome. These allusions contextualise Pope’s argument within his period and highlight his education. This gives him a sense of authority as he highlights the proper and improper writing of poetry and criticism. These allusions serve to ground Pope’s ideas in a Neoclassical context and lend them intellectual weight.

Detailed Analysis, Stanza by Stanza

Lines 1-8

‘Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But, of the two, less dang’rous is th’ offence
To tire our patience, than mislead our sense.
Some few in that, but numbers err in this,
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose,
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

Alexander Pope opens the poem by discussing the challenge of writing and judging creative works. He argues that poor judgment does more harm than poor writing, and we often underestimate the critic’s power and far-reaching influence. The worst danger of a bad poet is causing irritation; the bad critic may, from a point of authority, cause society to develop poor taste. “Some few” poets write in any period, while “ten censure wrong for one”. A point that acknowledges that there are always more critics than writers. This shows that a poet’s foolishness is an isolated case: “Now one in verse” – and many bad critics spread poor judgment – “many more in prose”. Pope draws a distinction between the two forms and categories of writers, emphasising the divide between them.

The clause “but numbers err in this” reads as an aside to the reader. Pope creates a margin for error, alluding to a greater number of critics who are wrong in their criticism. This creates a humorous moment.

Lines 9-18

‘Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In poets as true genius is but rare,
True taste as seldom is the critic’s share;
Both must alike from Heav’n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well.
Authors are partial to their wit, ’tis true,
But are not critics to their judgment too?

Pope moves on from the dangers of errors in art and criticism to the nature of the critic’s sense. He uses a simile to compare human judgment to watches: though all are set differently, “each believes his own”. Taste is inherently a subjective matter. Just as a keen sense of value is rare in critics, Pope notes that true genius in a poet is equally rare. They are natural gifts that “from Heav’n derive their light” and are not simply a learned skill. Pope enjoins the critics who excel in their field to teach others and pass sound judgment. He admits that, similar to how authors are liable to favour their own works, critics can be biased towards their own views.

The use of dental alliteration in “True taste” creates a tone of superiority. Pope uses this to a humorous effect, mocking the critics for what they lack. He acknowledges this sense of humour in the final lines of the stanza: “Authors are partial to their wit, ’tis true”.

This section ends with a rhetorical question. Pope does not expect an answer, because he is already certain that the answer is “yes”. This rhetorical question is designed to make the reader think, asking themselves the question so they may come to the same conclusion as Pope.

Lines 19-26

Yet if we look more closely we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind;
Nature affords at least a glimm’ring light;
The lines, tho’ touch’d but faintly, are drawn right.
But as the slightest sketch, if justly trac’d,
Is by ill colouring but the more disgrac’d,
So by false learning is good sense defac’d;
Some are bewilder’d in the maze of schools,

In this stanza, Pope argues that most people have a nascent but fairly good sense to tell good from bad. This is presented through the metaphors of “seeds of judgment” and “Nature affords a glimm’ring light”. However, this innate sense can be corrupted by poor education to the point that the individuals become worse off and even foolish. He demonstrates this through a simile, comparing poor education to an “ill colouring” of a decent “sketch”.

For the first time, “Nature” is personified, giving “light”, which is a metaphor for inspiration. This emphasises the importance Pope places on nature as an inspiration and topic for poetry. It is personified again, as the will of “Nature” is subverted by schools. It is depicted as a divine entity, having a plan for each person it creates. Those intended to be “fools” are turned into “coxcombs”, which refers to conceited and vain men. This depicts critics as foolish men who are given the tool of language, transforming them into self-appreciating people with high opinions of themselves, and rarely anything else.

The metaphor “maze of schools” works to emphasise the number of them which exist. This is viewed by Pope as in excess, as they do nothing but eradicate “good sense”.

Lines 27-35

And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools.
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can, or cannot write,
Or with a rival’s, or an eunuch’s spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo’s spite,
There are, who judge still worse than he can write.

Note also that “coxcombs” is a double entendre: while it refers to critics as conceited, it also contributes to the nature theming, as it is an alternative spelling for “cockscomb”. This is a flower native to North America, but it is also the word used to refer to the red comb that adorns the top of male chickens’ heads. As such, he also effectively calls critics “cocks”, perhaps due to the negative connotations, but also as they are loud creatures which make much ado about nothing.

The tricolon of “or” as Pope lists the people critics target emphasises the scale of their criticism. They turn critics “in their own defence”, yet attack those around them. Through this, Pope characterises critics as aggressive and vindictive.

Some critics, he says, judge not from truly understanding things, but because they want to appear intelligent, conceal their insecurities, or are simply jealous. They may derive perverse pleasure from putting others down, even when they can’t do any better. Pope compares critics who pass judgment on skills they do not possess.

“If Mævius scribble in Apollo’s spite” alludes to an egregious Roman poet, whom the respected poets Virgil and Horace often mocked for his poor verse and arrogance. Apollo, the Greek and Roman god of poetry, represents true inspiration. Pope argues that while Mævius writes in defiance of poetic standards, there are critics whose judgments are even worse than Mævius’ writing.

Lines 36-45

Some have at first for wits, then poets pass’d,
Turn’d critics next, and prov’d plain fools at last;
Some neither can for wits nor critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn’d witlings, num’rous in our isle
As half-form’d insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish’d things, one knows not what to call,
Their generation’s so equivocal:
To tell ’em, would a hundred tongues require,
Or one vain wit’s, that might a hundred tire.

In this stanza, he summons the image of creatives who show early promise as poets, then turn to critics, and end up ruining their sense of judgment and taste – an ironic descent from intellectual promise to decline in sense. He also presents other individuals who don’t excel at anything specific; they are neither particularly insightful nor good at evaluating things. An example would be someone who tries to give an opinion on art, but has no original ideas or innate wit, resulting in criticisms which are always vague and lack true judgement.

Yet others are only half-baked in their development and have superficial knowledge. With a couple of similes, Pope dehumanises the critics, emphasising his distaste for their craft. Pope likens the first set of critics to mules – a mix of horse and donkey – and the second to larvae on the bank of the Nile. The latter simile conjures imagery of parasites, reflecting the nature of the critics as they feed on the works of actual writers, bringing them down. He declares them too many, and says that describing them would be an immense and exhausting task requiring “a hundred tongues”, an obvious use of hyperbole. A social media platform where millions post half-baked opinions is a modern analogue; trying to address all of them is liable to drive one mad. Pope’s choice of words to describe these failures all carry negative connotations, clearly showing his contempt for them.

Lines 46-51

But you who seek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a critic’s noble name,
Be sure your self and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, taste, and learning go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet,
And mark that point where sense and dulness meet.

In this section, Pope offers crucial advice to anyone who aspires to be a critic worth their salt. In contrast to his previous statements, he acknowledges that there are genuinely good critics, who display good judgement and learning. He emphasizes the importance of self-awareness and discretion. One should know one’s strengths, weaknesses, talents, and knowledge before judging others’ work. For instance, if you know only how to cook simple meals but have never tried gourmet cuisine, you cannot judge a Michelin-star restaurant’s meals. Likewise, a good critic should be deliberate and recognize the boundary between intelligent, reasonable judgment and foolishness. A key trait for such a critic would be honesty about their capabilities, which helps them avoid making uninformed or arrogant judgments.

Lines 52-67

Nature to all things fix’d the limits fit,
And wisely curb’d proud man’s pretending wit:
As on the land while here the ocean gains,
In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains;
Thus in the soul while memory prevails,
The solid pow’r of understanding fails;
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory’s soft figures melt away.
One science only will one genius fit;
So vast is art, so narrow human wit:
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
But oft in those, confin’d to single parts.
Like kings we lose the conquests gain’d before,
By vain ambition still to make them more;
Each might his sev’ral province well command,
Would all but stoop to what they understand.

This section explores the limits of human knowledge. Throughout this essay, Pope uses nature as an extended metaphor to describe both the essence and the process of artistic pursuit. Here, Nature, as a personification, defines the boundaries of intelligence.

In a give-and-take arrangement, a strong mental ability may compensate for the weakness of another. One fine insight of Pope lies in his observation that memory and imagination seem inversely related in development. Lines 54 to 59 use a sustained simile and powerful nature imagery that compares the ebb and flow of the ocean on land to how the different faculties of the mind shift the boundaries of each other. As such, no one can be a master at everything, and it is sound advice to focus on what one is good at. A brilliant brain surgeon should not aspire to be a concert pianist if they hope to be any good. Trying to know too much across domains can cause one to lose what they already know in their field of expertise: “Like kings we lose the conquests gained before”. This simile increases the stakes, emphasising how important Pope views literary criticism.

Some fine metaphors stand out in this section. “The solid pow’r of understanding” makes understanding a stable structure, “where beams of warm imagination play” describes imagination in terms of vibrant, radiant light rays, and “the memory’s soft figures melt away” captures how memory can be ephemeral and easily altered. The contrast of vast art and narrow wit in line 61 is an example of antithesis.

Lines 68-87

First follow NATURE, and your judgment frame
By her just standard, which is still the same:
Unerring Nature, still divinely bright,
One clear, unchang’d, and universal light,
Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart,
At once the source, and end, and test of art.
Art from that fund each just supply provides,
Works without show, and without pomp presides:
In some fair body thus th’ informing soul
With spirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole,
Each motion guides, and ev’ry nerve sustains;
Itself unseen, but in th’ effects, remains.
Some, to whom Heav’n in wit has been profuse,
Want as much more, to turn it to its use;
For wit and judgment often are at strife,
Though meant each other’s aid, like man and wife.
‘Tis more to guide, than spur the Muse’s steed;
Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed;
The winged courser, like a gen’rous horse,
Shows most true mettle when you check his course.

He continues to dissect what makes true art, advising that it must follow Nature’s principles. Think of Nature, used here by Pope, as a universal principle: ergonomic harmony, the way things naturally are. It is inherently right, true, and beautiful. It is not just what is in vogue. If an artist were to draw a face “following nature”, they’d draw one realistic and recognizably human, with the right proportions and features, and not make up something distorted, contrary to the natural rules of anatomy. This retrospectively serves as a humorous foreshadowing of abstract art.

Art gets all of its good ideas from this “fund” of nature. Good art does not show off or try too hard. Like the soul, it works effectively beneath the surface, powering and harmonizing the whole without needing to be seen. Pope points out how too much wit (cleverness, quick ideas, creativity), when not used with judgment (knowing what is appropriate, control, wise application), can ruin the effect of the whole. He uses a spirited horse as a metaphorical example: it shows its best ability, its “mettle”, when its great energy is controlled, rather than when it is spurred on and let to run wild.

Central to this passage’s meaning is the metaphor comparing “Nature” to light and a fund for art, and comparing “art” to an “informing soul” that animates the body. “Wit”, poetic inspiration, is metaphorically a “steed.” This section contains significant allusions. Nature alludes not to the physical world, but to a specific classical concept of universal truth, order, and reason, a Neoclassical idea. “The Muse’s steed”/ “The winger courser” are mythological allusions to the Muses, Greek goddesses of inspiration, and their mount Pegasus, the winged horse born from Medusa’s blood, and symbolize powerful genius requiring control and direction. Pope employs antithesis in contrasting marital relationships defined by “strife” rather than “aid,” and the Muse’s steed performing best while guided rather than when spurred.

Lines 88-91

Those RULES of old discover’d, not devis’d,
Are Nature still, but Nature methodis’d;
Nature, like liberty, is but restrain’d
By the same laws which first herself ordain’d.

Pope emphasizes nature as a principle, a revealed order and structure, and not as some invention. The poet understands the rules of nature and organizes it into a system to create (“Nature methodis’d”). Its importance is emphasised through its repetition in the tricolon form. In lines 90 and 91, he uses an analogy to imply that, as true freedom is not absolute chaos but is defined and protected by laws, nature also operates within its own inherent boundaries.

Lines 92-117

Hear how learn’d Greece her useful rules indites,
When to repress, and when indulge our flights:
High on Parnassus’ top her sons she show’d,
And pointed out those arduous paths they trod;
Held from afar, aloft, th’ immortal prize,
And urg’d the rest by equal steps to rise.
Just precepts thus from great examples giv’n,
She drew from them what they deriv’d from Heav’n.
The gen’rous critic fann’d the poet’s fire,
And taught the world with reason to admire.
Then criticism the Muse’s handmaid prov’d,
To dress her charms, and make her more belov’d;
But following wits from that intention stray’d;
Who could not win the mistress, woo’d the maid;
Against the poets their own arms they turn’d,
Sure to hate most the men from whom they learn’d.
So modern ‘pothecaries, taught the art
By doctor’s bills to play the doctor’s part,
Bold in the practice of mistaken rules,
Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools.
Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey,
Nor time nor moths e’er spoil’d so much as they:
Some drily plain, without invention’s aid,
Write dull receipts how poems may be made:
These leave the sense, their learning to display,
And those explain the meaning quite away.

In distinguishing good from bad literary criticism, Pope anchors his argument in the classical tradition, alluding to “learn’d Greece” and Parnassus, the legendary mountain which was the abode of the Muses. He asserts that this tradition establishes a timeless golden standard for criticism, and its rules for art were divinely inspired. Greece is personified as a wise teacher, and criticism as the “Muse’s handmaid”, implying that, like a devoted assistant, its role is to support, refine, and enhance poetry. The metaphor “fann’d the poet’s fire” builds on this idea, illustrating how good critics nurture and fuel a poet’s creativity.

However, later critics were far from this ideal. Pope uses an analogy – “Who could not win the mistress” (poetry, true art), “woo’d the maid” (criticism) – to describe them, hinting that they became critics after failing to be poets, and thus abuse the critic’s role in spite. Invoking a powerful simile, he compares the incompetent critics to “modern ‘pothecaries”, chemists who, despite limited knowledge, arrogantly play the doctor: misapplying rules, criticizing their superiors, and consequently causing harm. The metaphor of critics “who prey on leaves” suggests that they destroy meaning through hair-splitting dissection, and the claim that they spoil more texts than “time or moths” is clearly hyperbolic. The metaphor “dull receipts how poems may be made” refers to the critics who approach art with a sterile, formulaic method that lacks originality and genuine inspiration.

Lines 118-129

You then whose judgment the right course would steer,
Know well each ANCIENT’S proper character;
His fable, subject, scope in ev’ry page;
Religion, country, genius of his age:
Without all these at once before your eyes,
Cavil you may, but never criticise.
Be Homer’s works your study and delight,
Read them by day, and meditate by night;
Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims bring,
And trace the Muses upward to their spring;
Still with itself compar’d, his text peruse;
And let your comment be the Mantuan Muse.

To truly understand an artist’s work, it pays to know as much as possible about their background. One should consider one’s contemporary audience, societal customs, beliefs, perspectives, and ultimately, one’s aim in writing poetry. If one fails to consider these things, Pope continues, then one is only picking faults (“cavil”) without truly understanding the work. This largely continues with the disparaging of critics featured in Part I. Pope employs a listing device to highlight the numerous factors that one must be learned in before they may criticise. This establishes a high bar, to which Pope unashamedly holds everyone.

When studying the ancients (Homer, for instance), engaging with and immersing yourself in the work is essential. You should not merely skim through the classics. You read Homer carefully, ruminate on his work constantly, and let your understanding grow from that deep reading. You should derive your opinions and principles of good writing from this study. It is from studying the masters that you understand the origins and fundamental principles of the art form. You should go even further: study different parts of the whole and see how they work together in internal harmony. Look for how ideas and themes are developed throughout.

The repetition of “thence” in line 126 is an example of anaphora, highlighting the relationship between reading the works of the ancients, forming one’s opinions, and forming one’s beliefs. Pope goes to lengths to underline this as a process.

The spring metaphor in line 128 suggests a stream with an origin upstream, a source from which poetic inspiration comes, and that studying Homer well opens one’s eyes to see all poetry that comes after more clearly. The alliterative “Mantuan Muse”, in line 129, alludes to Virgil, a Roman poet born in Mantua and greatly influenced by Homer. His Aeneid is seen as a continuation and reinterpretation of Homeric themes. This line suggests that if you have understood the original, your judgment will be as insightful as Virgil’s understanding and expansion on Homer’s work. To develop good taste is about learning from the best.

Lines 130-140

When first young Maro in his boundless mind
A work t’ outlast immortal Rome design’d,
Perhaps he seem’d above the critic’s law,
And but from Nature’s fountains scorn’d to draw:
But when t’ examine ev’ry part he came,
Nature and Homer were, he found, the same.
Convinc’d, amaz’d, he checks the bold design,
And rules as strict his labour’d work confine,
As if the Stagirite o’erlook’d each line.
Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem;
To copy nature is to copy them.

In this section, “Young Maro” refers to Virgil, introduced as the “Manutan Muse” in the last section. Pope suggests that Virgil, confident in his immense talent, initially felt so naturally gifted that he didn’t need to follow rules or learn from other works. Neither the fundamental principles of reality (“Nature’s fountains”) nor established guidelines and critiques of others (“critic’s law”) were worth his attention. His ambition was a timeless work of art, to outlive “immortal Rome,” here personified and exaggerated as eternal.

However, as his ambitious poem progressed, he realized that the principles of “Nature” were perfectly embodied in Homer’s works. These became models of how to capture universal truths in literature.

“The Stagirite” refers to Aristotle, a Greek philosopher known for his systematic approach to logic and literature. He wrote ‘Poetics,’ which outlined principles for tragedy. Pope’s point is that once Virgil grasped this connection between Homer and Nature, he applied those strict rules to his work as if Aristotle himself had guided him, and this discipline and structure benefited his poetry.

Pope breaks a pattern in lines 136-138, which forms a triplet instead of the usual couplets. This likely highlights a turning point in Virgil’s development as an artist, the moment he embraces the disciplined application of rules, a central point in Pope’s argument about the balance between genius and adherence to classical principles.

Pope reiterates that one should respect and value “ancient rules,” those established principles handed down by the classical authors. By studying and learning from the past masters, you are essentially learning how to create art that reflects reality and endures. He concludes that to copy these masters is to copy nature, a hyperbolic statement asserting the high fidelity of their representation of reality.

Lines 141-168

Some beauties yet, no precepts can declare,
For there’s a happiness as well as care.
Music resembles poetry, in each
Are nameless graces which no methods teach,
And which a master-hand alone can reach.
If, where the rules not far enough extend,
(Since rules were made but to promote their end)
Some lucky LICENCE answers to the full
Th’ intent propos’d, that licence is a rule.
Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take,
May boldly deviate from the common track.
Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend,
And rise to faults true critics dare not mend;
From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art,
Which, without passing through the judgment, gains
The heart, and all its end at once attains.
In prospects, thus, some objects please our eyes,
Which out of nature’s common order rise,
The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice.
But tho’ the ancients thus their rules invade,
(As kings dispense with laws themselves have made)
Moderns, beware! or if you must offend
Against the precept, ne’er transgress its end;
Let it be seldom, and compell’d by need,
And have, at least, their precedent to plead.
The critic else proceeds without remorse,
Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force.

After promoting a strict adherence to rules in the last section, Pope takes a different tack here and allows an exception: sometimes you can bend the rules. Some instances of artistic beauty or brilliance can’t be taught or learned from the rule book. They can be grasped directly only by the naturally talented or truly skilled. Rules are, by definition, limited – unable to encompass all the possibilities of beauty in art.

In line 143, Pope uses a simile that compares poetry to music as an art where wild expressions may enhance the art, even when they fall outside the formal rules. For example, in jazz music, a note that breaks music theory may still feel right because it fits the song’s emotion perfectly. This instinctive brilliance is what Pope calls “lucky license”.

The master artist who breaks the rules to capture these rare moments is symbolized by the metaphor of the winged horse, Pegasus, who flies to its destination in a more direct, straight line. Normal horses, bound by the laws of gravity, must follow the contours of the land.

Lines 143-144 and lines 156-157 are examples of enjambment, where the thought begun in one line is completed in the next. This underlines the ability of a true artist to bend the rules, as Pope deviates from the usual punctuated lines.

True critics know not to touch the “faults” of these “great wits” for fear of ruining the art. In breaking conventions, these talented artists may lead to something outstanding, impactful, or brilliant. They may reveal new ways of seeing and representing reality in art; thus, a new rule may be born.

From the chaos outside the guidelines, the artist reaches and “snatch[es] a grace beyond the reach of art”. He creates an artistic effect that touches the heart and strikes a chord within the viewer. The effect cannot be understood by logic or judged. Pope sketches the equivalent of this effect in nature in line 160, with powerful imagery, in the sense of an untamed natural landscape’s wild, dramatic beauty.

“Moderns, beware,” is an apostrophe. Pope calls for caution from his contemporaries. While the ancient master artists might have broken the rules now and then, Pope warns newer artists to be careful. If the new artists must break a rule, it should be rare, necessary, and they should have a strong reason for it. Or have a historical precedent to justify the deviation. Otherwise, critics will be harsh in their criticism, and the reputation of the artists will suffer.

The ancients break rules with a kind of royal prerogative, as Pope illustrates in the simile in line 162. This gives them a much higher sense of authority and importance compared to new artists. Pope elevates them to a position of admiration through the monarchy, but also gives them the power of lawmakers. As they create the laws, they must break them as they please.

Lines 169-180

I know there are, to whose presumptuous thoughts
Those freer beauties, ev’n in them, seem faults.
Some figures monstrous and misshap’d appear,
Consider’d singly, or beheld too near,
Which, but proportion’d to their light, or place,
Due distance reconciles to form and grace.
A prudent chief not always must display
His pow’rs in equal ranks, and fair array,
But with th’ occasion and the place comply,
Conceal his force, nay seem sometimes to fly.
Those oft are stratagems which errors seem,
Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.

This stanza has Pope elaborating on apparent errors in works of art. In a metaphor likening poetic elements to monstrous figures, he asserts that sometimes, what seems like a flow or something “monstrous and misshap’d” in a piece of art is only because we are looking at it too closely, or from the wrong angle. Just as a painting might look strange up close but perfect at the right remove, some artistic choices make sense when viewed in their proper context or “proportion’d to their light, or place”. “Due distance,” in a personification, becomes an active agent that reconciles the figures in harmony, essential for appreciating art.

A “prudent chief”, or a skilled artist, does not always present his abilities in an obvious, straightforward way. This is portrayed through the metaphor of a military parade, as “equal ranks, and fair array” evokes a predictable regularity. Instead, they might sometimes “conceal his force, nay seem sometimes to fly”. He may use subtle techniques or what seem to be mistakes, but are clever strategies designed to make a greater effect.

The last two lines – lines 179-180 – are particularly famous. It is an allusion to a saying from Horace’s ‘Ars Poetica’. Horace’s translated text reads as “even the good Homer nods”, implying that even the great Homer can be inattentive, make mistakes, or write imperfect poetry. Pope twists this cleverly by critiquing this critique, suggesting that maybe it isn’t Homer that errs, but we readers who misread him. What we perceive as errors in great works of art (in Homer’s, for instance) might not be the artist’s flaws but our misunderstandings or limited perspectives. Unaware of the artist’s true intent, we, not the poet, may be the ones dreaming.

Lines 181-200

Still green with bays each ancient altar stands,
Above the reach of sacrilegious hands,
Secure from flames, from envy’s fiercer rage,
Destructive war, and all-involving age.
See, from each clime the learn’d their incense bring!
Hear, in all tongues consenting pæans ring!
In praise so just let ev’ry voice be join’d,
And fill the gen’ral chorus of mankind!
Hail, bards triumphant! born in happier days;
Immortal heirs of universal praise!
Whose honours with increase of ages grow,
As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow!
Nations unborn your mighty names shall sound,
And worlds applaud that must not yet be found!
Oh may some spark of your celestial fire
The last, the meanest of your sons inspire,
(That on weak wings, from far, pursues your flights;
Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes)
To teach vain wits a science little known,
T’ admire superior sense, and doubt their own!

The concluding section expresses several key ideas about the enduring power and influence of great poetry. In line 181, Pope describes the status of classical poetry as unassailable, using the metaphor of an ancient altar beyond the reach of “sacrilegious hands”. These works are safe from destructive elements like fire, war, envy, or even time’s erosion. Of course, Pope often means poetry when he mentions art, which explains his confidence in its indestructibility. In fiery imagery, Pope gives a litany of personified destructive forces like “destructive war,” “all-involving age,” and “envy’s fiercer rage”, which the classical works not only survived but emerged from intact and full of vitality.

“Stil green with bays” is an allusion to the laurel of bay leaves used to crown victors and poets in ancient times, and its greenness reinforces the ever-fresh vitality of the classics. It is often used as a symbol of victory or poetry, the latter of which having particular significance in this context.

Pope says that not only is great art indestructible, but it is also universally appealing. People from all over, speaking different tongues and cultures, come together to honor and celebrate these great writers, or “bards triumphant”. Their fame isn’t limited to one place or time; it grows stronger as time passes. In line 192, it is presented in a simile as a stream that continues to flow and expand.

Line 185 has incense offered by the ambassadors, a metaphor for tribute and praise. It evokes the imagery of offerings made at an altar. Pope heaps lavish praise on these ancients through hyperbole in lines 193-194 and apostrophe in lines 189-190. This means that the mighty names of these great poets will be known and celebrated by people who haven’t even been born, and even in yet-to-be-discovered places. Their impact is truly eternal and universal.

Pope turns to supplication, hoping for just a spark of the ancients’ “celestial fire,” a metaphor for the genius that these great poets had. He describes himself as one who tries to follow in their footsteps, feeling inspired when he reads their work, but growing anxious when he attempts to write his own, in recognition of his inferiority.

He then hopes his work, even with his “weak wings,” a metaphor that suggests his inferiority compared to the ancients, can still serve a purpose. He wants to teach arrogant or “vain wits” a crucial lesson: to appreciate great ideas and be humble about their own abilities. Here, vain is almost personified, but it is more akin to synecdoche. The “wits” come to represent the new artists themselves, reduced to their self-perceived greatest quality. This once again highlights their “vain” nature.

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If you’d like to continue ‘An Essay on Criticism‘, you can visit our analyses of Part 2 and Part 3.