It was now that Swift wrote the two little books which first made him famous.  These were The Battle of the Books and A Tale of a Tub.  The Battle of the Books rose out of a silly quarrel in which Sir William Temple had taken part as to whether the ancient or the modern writers were the best.  Swift took Temple’s side and wrote to prove that the ancient writers were best.  But, as it has been said, he wrote so cleverly that he proved the opposite against his will, for nowhere in the writings of the ancients is there anything so full or humor and satire as The Battle of the Books.

Swift imagines a real battle to have taken place among the books in the King’s library at St. James’s Palace.  The books leave the shelves, some on horseback, some on foot, and armed with sword and spear throw themselves into the fray, but we are left quite uncertain as to who gained the victory.  This little book is a satire, and, like all Swift’s famous satires, is in prose not in poetry.  In the preface he says, “Satire is a sort of glass, wherein beholders do generally discover everybody’s face but their own; which is the chief reason for that kind reception it meets with in the world, and that so very few are offended with it.”  It is not a book that you will care to read for a long time, for to find it interesting you must know both a good deal about Swift’s own times and about the books that fight the battle.

You will not care either for A Tale of a Tub.  And yet it is the book above all others which one must read, and read with understanding, if one would get even a little knowledge of Swift’s special genius.  It was the book, nevertheless, which more than any other stood in his way in after life.

A Tale of a Tub like The Battle of the Books is a satire, and Swift wrote it to show up the abuses of the Church.  He tells the story of three brothers, Peter, Martin and Jack.  Peter represents the Roman Catholic, Martin the Anglican, and Jack the Presbyterian Church.  He meant, he says, to turn the laugh only against Peter and Jack.  That may be so, but his treatment of Martin cannot be called reverent.  Indeed, reverence was impossible to Swift.  There is much good to be said of him.  There was a fierce righteousness about his spirit which made him a better parish priest than many a more pious man.  He hated shams, he hated cant, he hated bondage.  “Dr. Swift,” it was said, “hated all fanatics:  all fanatics hated Dr. Swift."* But with all his uprightness and breadth he was neither devout nor reverent.

Lord Orrery.

When Sir William Temple died Swift went back to Ireland, and after a little time he once more received a Church living there.  But here, as before, his parish was very small, so that sometimes he had only his clerk as congregation.  Then he would begin the service with “Dearly beloved Roger, the Scripture moveth you and me,” instead of “Dearly beloved brethren,” as the Prayer Book has it.