Surface vs. Substance
The opening lines of “To Penshurst” introduce a distinction between Sidney’s substance and his neighbors’ focus on surface. The poem begins by saying, “Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show.” Jonson goes on to list all the things Sidney’s estate lacks: there’s no “row of polished pillars” or “roof of gold,” no “lantern” or “stair, or courts.” The phrase “envious show” is deliberately ambivalent. The show made by more spectacular houses is designed to provoke envy in onlookers. Yet it is also an expression of envy on the part of the builders, who compare themselves to others and seek to compensate for their insecurity by constructing spectacular homes. In this sense, their houses are pure surface. They conceal the insecure reality of their inhabitants with spectacular ornamentation.
In contrast, Jonson portrays Penshurst as pure substance. Importantly, he doesn’t try to pretend that its physical appearance measures up to that of the newer homes—to do so would be to lower Sidney to their level. Instead, he argues that Penshurst offers “better marks, of soil, of air, / of wood, of water.” These elements are the fundamental elements of the land. Rather than being well-decorated, Penshurst is good in its very essence.
The Great Chain of Being
Many early modern thinkers believed in a “Great Chain of Being”—a hierarchy of everything in existence, beginning with minerals and plants at the bottom, and proceeding all the way to God at the very top of the ladder. The idea was adapted from the writings of Aristotle, who proposed a similar model of the universe. Early modern people, however, used the idea to depict a specifically Christian hierarchical worldview. As well as justifying human exploitation of plants and animals, the Great Chain of Being could also explain the dominance of kings and aristocrats over peasants and serfs. You might be familiar with the idea of the “divine right of kings,” which is one expression of the Great Chain of Being. Basically, people believed that the king’s natural role was as a ruler, in the same way that it’s natural for a lion to hunt a deer.
During the early modern period, people increasingly emphasized the role of love in the Great Chain of Being. People suggested that ideally, hierarchy should be embraced willingly, and those who were subjugated should be loyal and obedient not out of fear, but out of love. That applied not only to religious practice—they believed we should love God and not just fear him—but also to the more earthly dimensions of the chain—servants should love their masters, subjects should love their king.
We see this idea in “To Penshurst” in the willing submission of the animals, as well as the tribute given by the neighbors. Jonson describes the eels flinging themselves onto the shore, desperate to be eaten. Sidney doesn’t have to work to tend his land, but rather merely gathers what the estate willingly provides. Similarly, all the neighbors embrace Sidney’s role as the center of the community, reflexively bringing extravagant gifts. All these images emphasize that Sidney occupies his natural place at the top of his community’s loving social hierarchy. They also implicitly remind us that Sidney has been doing his own part, serving both the king and the God who preside over him. Jonson suggests that when everyone willingly accepts their place in the traditional hierarchy, the world becomes a kind of paradise.
Order and Organization
As we talk about in the “Numerology” section of this guide, “To Penshurst” is meticulously arranged. The number of couplets and the length of the sections are all intentional. That organization is just one dimension of a broader interest in order. Throughout the first half of the poem, Jonson stresses that the entire estate follows a sensible organization. His account of the land divides it into “lower land,” “middle grounds,” “banks,” and “tops.” Each portion of this schematic division of the land aligns with a different kind of animal: the low land is home to grazing animals, the middle to mares and horses, the banks to rabbits, and the tops to edible birds. Similarly, when Jonson describes the fruits that grow at Penshurst, he distinguishes the “early cherry” from the “later plum,” and emphasizes, “fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come.” The time is thus neatly divided into sections, each corresponding to a different fruit.
We can think of this careful organization of the time and the land in terms of the poem’s central distinction between the superficial houses of other nobles and the authenticity of Penshurst. The mansions being constructed at the time this poem was written were meticulously planned, in order to present a perfectly unified appearance that spoke to the wealth and sophistication of the occupant. Penshurst, which was constructed over several centuries, lacked the organization of a centrally-planned house. However, Jonson suggests, it is organized at the more fundamental level of the land and its creatures. Order is not imposed on the estate, but rather natural to it.
