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Ambrose Bierce, American satirist
February 03, 2012 6:09 PM
By Ron Lora
Think you're a cynic? Compare “The Devil's Dictionary”
Cynic: “A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.”
So wrote Ambrose Bierce, one of the most gifted, and most caustic, satirists in American history. Bierce is in the news because of his recent inclusion in The Library of America, the prestigious series in which are published over 200 volumes of classics by authors from Walt Whitman to Arthur Miller, Mark Twain to James Baldwin.
Born in 1842 in southeastern Ohio near the horseshoe bend of the Ohio River, young Bierce soon moved with his family to Indiana where he grew up before leaving home at 15 to make his way in the world. He enlisted as a Union soldier during the Civil War and fought at Shiloh and Chickamauga. During the march to Atlanta with General William T. Sherman, he was seriously wounded at the Battle of Kenesaw Mountain.
His life was not easy, even after the war. He traveled south and became an agent for the U.S. Treasury in Alabama, then headed west where he worked as a night guard at the U.S. Mint in San Francisco and mined gold in North Dakota. His marriage went bad, largely because of his absences. In addition, his two sons died young, one by suicide, and the other due to complications stemming from alcoholism.
All the while, Bierce wrote prolifically. What he experienced and saw in life, not least the headless bodies, animal-eaten corpses and other ghastly horrors of war, found expression in his literary efforts. One of the epithets given him — “Bitter Bierce” — suggests his frame of mind. What poured from it in essays, fables, realistic short stories, and journalism, was sometimes morbid and misanthropic. Yet his social criticism often rang sharp and true.
It was during his four decades as a journalist, writing for newspaper mogul William Randolph Hearst and for others, that he peppered his newspaper columns with witty, sardonic definitions. Near the end of his life many were collected and published as “The Devil's Dictionary.” When he is remembered today, it is often for that collection.
In it several themes emerge. Among them is politics, as these definitions indicate.
POLITICS: “A strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles. The conduct of public affairs for private advantage.”
DIPLOMACY: “The patriotic art of lying for one's country.”
RADICALISM: “The conservatism of tomorrow injected into the affairs of today.”
Religion roused Bierce's derision. The many suffering situations in life, his own and those of others, led him to conclude that God had abandoned the human race.
PRAY: “To ask that the laws of the universe be annulled in behalf of a single petitioner confessedly unworthy.”
DELUGE: “A notable first experiment in baptism which washed away the sins (and sinners) of the world.”
SAINT: “A dead sinner revised and edited.”
His recurrent illnesses led him to reflect on the fleeting passage of time.
BIRTH: “The first and direst of all disasters.”
YEAR: “A period of three hundred and sixty-five disappointments.”
LIFE: “A spiritual pickle preserving the body from decay. We live in daily apprehension of its loss; yet when lost it is not missed.”
OBLIVION: “… A dormitory without an alarm clock.”
Bierce had reservations about the depth of his friendship with others, not that he thought too highly of himself either.
FRIENDSHIP: “A ship big enough to carry two in fair weather, but only one in foul.”
ALONE: “In bad company.”
There more, but I close with a word that baffled even this intrepid lexicographer:
HASH: “There is no definition for this word — nobody knows what hash is.”
To critics who complained about his impiety he would reply that they should “continue selling shoes, selling pancakes, or selling themselves. As for me, I sell abuse.”
A mystery remains that adds to his reputation. At age 71, not long after his “Collected Works” were published in a dozen volumes, Bierce visited places he had known, including the Civil War battlefields of his youth. In San Antonio he celebrated with former Army comrades, and then crossed the border into Mexico.
His last letter, mailed from Chihuahua, was dated Dec. 26, 1913, after which he disappeared and was never heard from again.
Ron Lora grew up on a farm west of Bluffton and is retired from the history department at The University of Toledo.
Think you're a cynic? Compare “The Devil's Dictionary”
Cynic: “A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.”
So wrote Ambrose Bierce, one of the most gifted, and most caustic, satirists in American history. Bierce is in the news because of his recent inclusion in The Library of America, the prestigious series in which are published over 200 volumes of classics by authors from Walt Whitman to Arthur Miller, Mark Twain to James Baldwin.
Born in 1842 in southeastern Ohio near the horseshoe bend of the Ohio River, young Bierce soon moved with his family to Indiana where he grew up before leaving home at 15 to make his way in the world. He enlisted as a Union soldier during the Civil War and fought at Shiloh and Chickamauga. During the march to Atlanta with General William T. Sherman, he was seriously wounded at the Battle of Kenesaw Mountain.
His life was not easy, even after the war. He traveled south and became an agent for the U.S. Treasury in Alabama, then headed west where he worked as a night guard at the U.S. Mint in San Francisco and mined gold in North Dakota. His marriage went bad, largely because of his absences. In addition, his two sons died young, one by suicide, and the other due to complications stemming from alcoholism.
All the while, Bierce wrote prolifically. What he experienced and saw in life, not least the headless bodies, animal-eaten corpses and other ghastly horrors of war, found expression in his literary efforts. One of the epithets given him — “Bitter Bierce” — suggests his frame of mind. What poured from it in essays, fables, realistic short stories, and journalism, was sometimes morbid and misanthropic. Yet his social criticism often rang sharp and true.
It was during his four decades as a journalist, writing for newspaper mogul William Randolph Hearst and for others, that he peppered his newspaper columns with witty, sardonic definitions. Near the end of his life many were collected and published as “The Devil's Dictionary.” When he is remembered today, it is often for that collection.
In it several themes emerge. Among them is politics, as these definitions indicate.
POLITICS: “A strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles. The conduct of public affairs for private advantage.”
DIPLOMACY: “The patriotic art of lying for one's country.”
RADICALISM: “The conservatism of tomorrow injected into the affairs of today.”
Religion roused Bierce's derision. The many suffering situations in life, his own and those of others, led him to conclude that God had abandoned the human race.
PRAY: “To ask that the laws of the universe be annulled in behalf of a single petitioner confessedly unworthy.”
DELUGE: “A notable first experiment in baptism which washed away the sins (and sinners) of the world.”
SAINT: “A dead sinner revised and edited.”
His recurrent illnesses led him to reflect on the fleeting passage of time.
BIRTH: “The first and direst of all disasters.”
YEAR: “A period of three hundred and sixty-five disappointments.”
LIFE: “A spiritual pickle preserving the body from decay. We live in daily apprehension of its loss; yet when lost it is not missed.”
OBLIVION: “… A dormitory without an alarm clock.”
Bierce had reservations about the depth of his friendship with others, not that he thought too highly of himself either.
FRIENDSHIP: “A ship big enough to carry two in fair weather, but only one in foul.”
ALONE: “In bad company.”
There more, but I close with a word that baffled even this intrepid lexicographer:
HASH: “There is no definition for this word — nobody knows what hash is.”
To critics who complained about his impiety he would reply that they should “continue selling shoes, selling pancakes, or selling themselves. As for me, I sell abuse.”
A mystery remains that adds to his reputation. At age 71, not long after his “Collected Works” were published in a dozen volumes, Bierce visited places he had known, including the Civil War battlefields of his youth. In San Antonio he celebrated with former Army comrades, and then crossed the border into Mexico.
His last letter, mailed from Chihuahua, was dated Dec. 26, 1913, after which he disappeared and was never heard from again.
Ron Lora grew up on a farm west of Bluffton and is retired from the history department at The University of Toledo.
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If you have any questions about what's acceptable, please refer to our user agreement. Thanks.
