S s :> * I g 1 OF-CAIIFO^ <$& -UNIVER^ " * I I I 8 I 3 S B -< ty 2- AOS-ANCElfj> ^l 1 Sa3AINfl-3l\V N I I I * p I 1 l 1 . dOS-ANGElfjV 1 * 3 fe %139NY-SOV^ ^/HBAWMfl? ^E-UNIVERS/A. .vlOS-ANCElfjVx g^ ^p- 5 x-w>a 8 g i i s & i i I i g s s I 3 % I 1 1 5 . John Bun.. 1828. THE PHILOSOPHY OF RHETORIC GEORGE CAMPBELL, D. D. F. R. S. EDINBURGH, PRINCIPAL OK THE HARISCflAL . . . , Certo sciaut homines, artes inveniendi solidas et vcras adolescere et increraenta sumere cum ipsis inventis. _.,. S(r - fni . L . c . 3 . WITH THE AUTHOR'S LAST ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS. COMPLETE iy OXE VOLUME. PUIXTEO FOR WILLIAM BAYN KS AND SOX, PAT KUN OSTI'R ROW ; AX1J JOHN BL-MPUS, HOi ' AND TO BE HAD OF AT.L THE BOOKS I ' 1823. Printed by W. M'Dowall, Pemberton Row. Stack Annex 5" 041 PREFACE. THERE are several reasons which have induced the Author of the following sheets, to give the Public some account of their origin and progress, previously to their coming under its examination. They are a series of Essays closely connected with one another, and written on a subject, in the examination of which, he has at in- tervals employed himself for a considerable part of his life. Considered separately, each may justly be termed a whole, and complete in itself; taken together, they are constituent parts of one Work. The Author entered on this inquiry as early as the year 1750; and it was then that the two first Chapters of the first Book were com- posed. These he intended as a sort of groundwork to the whole. And the judicious Reader will perceive, that, in raising the superstructure, he has entirely con- formed to the plan there delineated. That first outline he showed soon after to several of his acquaintance, some of whom are still living. In the year 1757, it was read to a private literary society, of which the Author had the honor to be a member. It was a difference in his situation at that time, and his connection with the IJ1 /**** VI PREFACE. gentlemen of that society, some of whom have since honorably distinguished themselves in the republic of letters, that induced him to resume a subject, which he had so long laid aside. The three following years all the other chapters of that Book, except the third, the sixth, and the tenth, which have been but lately added, (rather as illustrations and confirmations of some parts 'of the work, than as essential to it), were composed, and submitted to the judgment of the same ingenious friends. All that follows on the subject of Elocution, hath also undergone the same review. Nor has there been any material alteration made on these, or any addition to them, except in a few instances of notes, examples, and verbal corrections, since they were composed. It is also proper to observe here, that since transcrib- ing the present Work for the press, a manuscript was put into, his hands by Doctor Beattie, at the very time that, in order to be favored with the Doctor's opinion of this Performance, the Author gave him the first Book for his perusal. Doctor Beattie's Tract is called " An '' Essay on Laughter and Ludicrous Writing." Whilst the Author carefully perused that Essay, it gave him a very agreeable surprise to discover, that on a question so nice and curious, there should, without any previous communication, be so remarkable a coincidence of sen- timents in every thing wherein their subjects coincide. A man must have an uncommon confidence in his own faculties, (I might have said in his own infallibility) who is not sensibly more satisfied of the justness of their procedure, especially in abstract matters, when he dis- covers such a concurrence with the ideas and reasoning of writers of discernment. The subject of that piece is PREFACE. Vil indeed Laughter in general, with an inquiry into those qualities in the object, by which it is excited. The in- vestigation is conducted with the greatest accuracy, and the theory confirmed and illustrated by such a variety of pertinent examples, as enable us to scrutinize his doc- trine on every side, and view it in almost every possible light. He does not enter into the specific characters whereby wit and humor are discriminiated, which are the chief considerations here. His design leads him to consider rather those particulars wherein they all agree, than those wherein they differ. He treats of ludicrous objects and ludicrous writing, with a view to account for the superior copiousness and refinement of modern ridicule. When philosophical acuteness is hap- pily united with so great richness of fancy and mastery in language, the obscurity in which a subject was for- merly involved, vanishes entirely, and a reader unac- quainted with all other theories and hypotheses, can hardly be persuaded that there was ever any difficulty in the question. But there is reason to think, that the world will soon be favored with an opportunity of judg- ing for itself, in regard to the merits of that perform- ance. One reason, though not the only one, which the Author has for mentioning the manner wherein the com- position of this Work has been conducted, and the time it has taken, is, not to enhance its value with the Public, but to apologize in some measure for that inequality in the execution and the style, with which, he is afraid, it will be thought chargeable. It is his purpose in this Work, on the one hand, to exhibit, he does not say, a correct map, but a tolerable sketch of the human mind ; Vlii PREFACE. and, aided by the lights which the poet and the orator so amply furnish, to disclose its secret movements, tracing its principal channels of perception and action, as near as possible, to their source : and, on the other hand, from the science of human nature, to ascertain, with greater precision, the radical principles of that art, whose object it is, by the use of language, to operate on the soul of the hearer, in the way of informing, convinc- ing, pleasing, moving, or persuading. In the prosecu- tion of a design so extensive, there are two extremes to be shunned. One is, too much abstraction in investigat- ing causes ; the other, too much minuteness in specify- ing effects. By the first, the perspicuity of a perform- ance may be endangered; by the second, its dignity may be sacrificed. The Author does not flatter himself so far as to imagine, that he hath succeeded perfectly in his endeavours to avoid either extreme. In a work of this kind, it is impossible that every thing should be alike perspicuous to every reader, or that all the parts should be equally elevated. Variety in this respect, as well as in others, is perhaps, on the whole, more pleasing and more instructive, than too scrupulous an uniformity. To the eye the interchange of hill and dale beautifies the prospect ; and to the ear there is no music in monotony. The Author can truly say, that he has endeavoured, as much as he could, in the most abstruse questions to avoid obscurity ; and in regard to such of his remarks as may be thought too minute and particular, if just, they will not, he hopes, on a re-examination, be deemed of no consequence. Those may serve to illustrate a general observation, which are scarcely worth notice as subjects cither of censure or of praise. Nor is there any thing PREFACE. IX in this Book, which, in his opinion, will create even the smallest difficulty to persons accustomed to inquire into the faculties of the mind. Indeed, the much greater part of it will, he is persuaded, he level to the capacity of all those readers (not perhaps the most numerous class) who think reflection of some use in reading, and who do not read merely with the intention of killing time. He begs leave to add, that, though his subject be elo- quence, yet, as the nature of his work is didactical, wherein the understanding only is addressed, the style in general admits no higher qualities than purity and per- spicuity. These were therefore his highest aim. The best ornaments out of place are not only unbecoming but offensive. Nor can any thing be farther from his thoughts than to pretend to an exemption from such positive faults in expression, as, on the article of Elocu- tion, he hath so freely criticised in the best English au- thors. He is entirely sensible, that an impropriety or other negligence in style will escape the notice of the writer, which hardly escapes that of any body else. Next to the purpose of illustrating the principles and canons which he here submits to the judgment of the Public, the two following motives weighed most with the Author, in inducing him to use so much freedom in regard to the writings of those for whom he has the highest veneration. One is, to show that we ought in writing, as in other things, carefully to beware of impli- cit attachment and servile imitation, even when they seem to be claimed by the most celebrated names. The other is, to evince, that we are in danger of doing great injustice to a work, by deciding hastily on its merit from a collection of such oversights. If the critic be rigorous X PREFACE. in marking whatever is amiss in this way, what author may abide the trial ? But though such slips are not to be regarded as the sole or even principal test of demerit in literary productions, they ought not to be altogether overlooked. Whatever is faulty in any degree, it were better to avoid. And there are consequences regarding the language in general, as well as the success of particu- lar works, which should preserve verbal criticism from being considered as beneath the attention of any author. An author, so far from having reason to be offended, is doubtless'obliged to the man who, free from captious pe- tulance, candidly points out his errors, of what kind soever they be. C O N T EN T S. INTRODUCTION Page 1 BOOK I. THE NATURE AND FOUNDATIONS OF ELOQUENCE. CHAP. I. Eloquence in the largest acceptation defined, its more general forms exhibited, with their different Objects, Ends, and Characters 13 CHAP. II. Of Wit, Humor, and Ridicule. 20 SECT. I. Of wit 21 SECT. II. Of humor. 28 SECT. III. Of ridicule 34 CHAP. III. The Doctrine of the preceding Chapter defended. 41 SECT. I. Aristotle's account of the ridiculous explained. . ib. SECT. II. Hobbes's account of laughter examined 43 CHAP. IV. Of the Relation which Eloquence bears to Logic and to Grammar. 46 CHAP. V. Of the different Sources of Evidence, and the dif- ferent Subjects to which they are respectively adapted. . . 49 SECT. I. Of intuitive evidence 50 Part I. Mathematical axioms ib. Part II. Consciousness 52 Part III. Common Sense ib. SECT. II. Of deductive evidence 58 Part I. Division of the subject into scientific and moral, with the principal distinctions between them ib. Part II. The nature and origin of experience 62 Part III. The subdivisions of moral reasoning 65 1. Experience jj>. Xll CONTENTS. 2. Analogy Page 68 3. Testimony 69 4. Calculation's of chances 71 Part IV. The superiority of scientific evidence re-ex- amined 73 CHAP. VI. Of the Nature and Use of the scholastic Art of syllogizing 77 CHAP. VII. Of the Consideration which the Speaker ought to have of the Hearers as Men in general 87 SECT. I. As endowed with understanding 88 SECT. II. As endowed with imagination 89 SECT. III. As endowed with memory 91 SECT. IV. As endowed with passions 93 SECT. V. The circumstances that are chiefly instrumental in operating on the passions 98 Part I. Probability ib. Part II. Plausibility ib. Part III. Importance 103 Part IV. Proximity of time ib. Part V. Connexion of place 105 Part VI. Relation to the persons concerned ib. Part VII. Interest in the consequences 106 SECT. VI. Other passions as well as moral sentiments useful auxiliaries 107 SECT. VII. How an unfavorable passion must be calmed. . 110 CHAP. VIII. Of the consideration which the Speaker ought to have of the Hearers as such Men in particular 112 CHAP. IX. Of the consideration which the Speaker ought to have of himself. 113 CHAP. X. The different kinds of Public Speaking in use among the moderns, compared, with a view to their different advantages in respect of eloquence 116 SECT. I. In regard to the Speaker ib. SECT. II. In regard to the Persons addressed 119 SECT. III. In regard to the Subject. 121 SECT. IV. In regard to the Occasion 124 SECT. V. In regard to the End in view 125 CHAP. XI. Of the cause of that Pleasure which we receive from objects or representations that excite Pity and other Painful Feelings 130 SECT. I. The different Solutions hitherto given by Philoso- phers examined 131 Part I. The first Hypothesis. . ib. CONTENTS. Xlii Part II. The second Hypothesis Page 133 Part III. The third Hypothesis 136 Part IV. The fourth Hypothesis. 141 SECT. II. The Author's Hypothesis on this subject. . . . 147 BOOK II. THE FOUNDATIONS AND ESSENTIAL PROPERTIES OF ELOCUTION. CHAP. I. The Nature and Characters of the Use which gives Law to Language 159 SECT. I. Reputable Use 161 SECT. II. National Use 165 SECT. III. Present Use. 167 CHAP. II. The Nature and Use of Verbal Criticism, with its principal Canons 171 SECT. I. Good Use not always uniform in her decisions. . 173 Canon the first 175 Canon the second 177 Canon the third 178 Canon the fourth 179 Canon the fifth 180 SECT. II. Every thing favored by good Use, not on that ac- count worthy to be retained 181 Canon the sixth v-V r .YI 182 Canon the seventh* 185 Canon the eighth 186 Canon the ninth 187 CHAP. III. Of Grammatical Purity 190 SECT. I. The Barbarism 192 Part I. By the use of Obsolete Words ib. Part II. By the use of New Words 193 Part III. By the use of good Words new modelled. . . 196 SECT. II. The Solecism 201 SECT. III. The Impropriety 212 Part I. Impropriety in Single Words 213 Part II. Impropriety in Phrases 224 CHAP. IV. Some Grammatical Doubts in regard to English Construction stated and examined 227 CHAP. V. Of the Qualities of Style strictly rhetorical. . . 237 CHAP. VI. Of Perspicuity 239 SECT. I. The Obscure 241 Parti. From Defect. ib. XIV CONTENTS. Part II. From bad Arrangement Page 243 Part III. From using the same word in different senses. 246 Part IV. From an uncertain reference in Pronouns and Relatives 247 Part V. From too artificial a Structure of the Sentence. 248 Part VI. From Technical Terms ib. Part VII. From long Sentences 249 SECT. II. The Double Meaning 250 Part I. Equivocation ib. Part II. Ambiguity 255 SECT. III. The Unintelligible 268 Part 1. From Confusion of Thought ib. Part II. From Affectation of Excellence 270 Part III. From Want of Meaning 272 Under this the various kinds of nonsense : 1. The Puerile 273 2. The Learned 274 3. The Profound 278 4. The Marvellous ib. CHAP. VII. What is the cause that nonsense so often escapes being detected, both by the writer and by the reader? . . 281 SECT. I. The Nature and Power of Signs, both in speaking and in thinking ib. SECT. II. The Application of the preceding Principles. , 290 CHAP. VIII. The extensive Usefulness of Perspicuity. ... 299 SECT. I. When is Obscurity apposite, if ever it be apposite, and what kind? ib. SECT. II. Objections answered 304 CHAP. IX. May there not be an excess of Perspicuity? . . 309 BOOK III. THE DISCRIMINATING PROPERTIES OF ELOCUTION. CHAP. I. Of Vivacity as depending on the Choice of Words. 313 SECT. I. Proper Terms 314 SECT. II. Rhetorical Tropes 321 Part I. Preliminary Observations concerning Tropes. . ib. Part II. The different sorts of Tropes conducive to Vivacity 328 1. The less for the more general ib. 2. The most interesting circumstance distinguished. 329 3. Things sensible for things intelligible 332 CONTENTS. XV 4. Things animate for things lifeless Page 334 Part 3. The use of those Tropes which are obstructive to Vivacity 339 SECT. III. Words considered as Sounds 346 Part I. What are articulate Sounds capable of imitating, and in what degree? ib. Part I. In what esteem ought this kind of imitation to be held, and when ought it to be attempted? .... 359 CHAP. II, Of Vivacity as depending on the number of the Words 361 SECT. I. This quality explained and exemplified ib. SECT. II. The principal offences against Brevity considered. 366 Part I. Tautology 367 Part II. Pleonasm 369 Part III. Verbosity 372 CHAP. III. Of Vivacity as depending on the Arrangement of the words 381 SECT. 1. Of the nature of Arrangement, and the principal division of Sentences ib. SECT. II. Simple Sentences 384 SECT. III. Complex Sentences 398 Part I. Subdivision of these into Periods and loose Sen- tences ib. Part II. Observations on Periods, and on the use of An- tithesis in the Composition of Sentences 402 Part III. Observations on loose Sentences 412 Part IV. Review of what has been deduced above in re- gard to arrangement 414 CHAP. IV. Of the connectives employed in combining the parts of a Sentence 415 SECT. I. Of Conjunctions ib. SECT. II. Of other Connectives 422 SECT. III. Modern languages compared with Greek and La- tin, particularly in regard to the composition of sentences. 430 CHAP. V. Of the connectives employed in combining the sen- tences in a discourse 435 SECT. I. The necessity of connectives for this purpose. . ib. SECT. II. Observations on the manner of using the connec- tives in combining sentences 436 INTRODUCTION. ALL art is founded in science, and the science is of little value which does not serve as a foundation to some beneficial art. On the most sublime of all sciences, theology and ethics, is built the most important of all arts, the art of living. The abstract mathe- matical sciences serve as a ground-work to the arts of the land- measurer and the accountant; and in conjunction with natural philosophy, including geography and astronomy, to those of the architect, the navigator, the dialist, and many others. Of what consequence anatomy is to surgery, and that partof physiology which teaches the laws of gravitation and of motion, is to the ar- tificer, is a matter too obvious to need illustration. The general remark might, if necessary, be exemplified throughout the whole circle of arts, both useful and elegant. Valuable knowledge therefore always leads to some practical skill, and is perfected in it. On the other hand, the practical skill loses much of its beau- ty and extensive utility, which does not originate in knowledge. There is by consequence a natural relation between the sciences and the arts, like that which subsists between the parent and the offspring. I acknowledge indeed that these are sometimes unnaturally se- parated; and that by the mere influence of example on the one hand, and imitation on the other, some progress may be made in an art, without the knowledge of the principles from which it sprang. By the help of a few rules, which men are taught to use mechanically, a good practical arithmetician may be formed, who neither knows the reasons on which the rules he works by were first established, nor evertninks it of any moment to inquire into them. In like manner, we frequently meet with expert ar- tisans, who are ignorant of the six mechanical powers, which* i 2 INTRODUCTION. though in the exercise of their profession they daily employ, they do not understand the principles whereby, in any instance, the re- sultof their application is ascertained. The propagation of the arts may therefore be compared more justly to that variety which takes place in the vegetable kingdom, than to the uniformity which obtains universally in the animal world; for, as to the anomalous race ofzoophytes, I do not comprehend them in the num- ber. It is not always necessary that the plant spring from the seed, a slip from another plant will often answer the purpose. There is, however, a very considerable difference in the expec- tations that may justly be raised from the different methods fol- lowed in the acquisition of the art. Improvements, unless in ex- traordinary instances of genius and sagacity, are not to be ex- pected from those who have acquired all their dexterity from imi- tation and habit. One who has had an education no better than that of an ordinary mechanic, may prove an excellent manual operator; but it is only in the well instructed mechanician, that you would expect to find a good machinist. The analogy to ve- getation above suggested, holds here also. The off-set is com- monly no more than a mere copy of the parent plant. It is from the seed only you can expect, with the aid of proper culture, to produce new varieties, and even to make improvements on the spe- cies. " Expert men," says Lord Bacon, " can execute and judge " of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the " plots and marshalling of affairs, come best from those that " are learned." Indeed, in almost every art, even as used by mere practitioners, there are certain rules, as hath been already hinted, which must carefully be followed, and which serve the artist instead of prin- ciples. An acquaintance with these is one step, and but one step towards science. Thus in the common books of arithmetic, in- tended solely for practice, the rules laid down for the ordinary operations, as for numeration, or numerical notation, addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, and a few others, which are sufficient for all the purposes of the accountant, serve instead of principles; and, to a superficial observer, may be thought to su- persede the study of any thing further. But their utility reaches a very little way, compared with that which results from the know- ledge of the foundations of the art, and of what has been, not unfit- ly, styled arithmetic universal. It may be justly said, that, with- out some portion of this knowledge, the practical rules had never been invented. Besides, if by these the particular questions which come exactly within the description of the rule may be sol- INTRODUCTION. 3 ved, by the other such general rules themselves, as serve for the solution of endless particulars, may be discovered. The case I own is somewhat different with those arts which are entirely founded on experiment and observation, and are not de- rived, like pure mathematics, from abstract and universal axioms. But even in these, when we rise from the individual to the species, from the species to the genus, and thence to the most extensive orders and classes, we arrive, though in a different way, at the knowledge of general truths, which, in a certain sense, are also scientific, and answer a similar purpose. Our acquaintance with nature and its laws is so much extended, that we shall be enabled, in numberless cases, not only to apply to the most profitable pur- poses the knowledge we have thus acquired, but to determine be- fore-hand, with sufficient certainty, the success of every new ap- plication. In this progress we are like people, who, from a low and narrow bottom, where the view is confined to a few acres, gradually ascend a lofty peak or promontory. The prospect is perpetually enlarging as we mount, and when we reach the sum- mit, the boundless horizon, comprehending all the variety of sea and land, hill and valley, town and country, arable and desert, lies under the eye at once. Those who in medicine have scarcely risen to the discernment of any general principles, and have no other directory but the experiences gained in the first and lowest stage, or as it were at the foot of the mountain, are commonly distinguished by the name of empirics. Something similar may be said to obtain in the other liberal arts; for in all of them more enlargement of mind is ne- cessary, than is required for the exercise of those called me- chanical. The character directly opposite to the empiric is the visionary; for it is not in theology only that there are visionaries. Of the two extremes I acknowledge that the latter is the worse. The first founds upon facts, but the facts are few, and commonly in his reasonings, through his imperfect knowledge of the subject, misapplied. The second often argues very consequentially from principles, which, having no foundation in nature, may justly be denominated the illegitimate issue of his own imagination. He in this resembles the man of science, that he acts systema- tically, for there are false as well as true theorists, and is influen- ced by certain general propositions, real or imaginary. But the difference lies here, that in the one they are real, in the other imaginary. The system of the one is reared on the firm basis of experience, the theory of the other is no better than a castle in the air. I mention characters only in the extreme, because in this B2 4 INTRODUCTION. manner they are best discriminated. In real life, however, any two of these, sometimes all the three, in various proportions, may be found blended in the same person. The arts are frequently divided into the useful, and the polite, fine, or elegant; for these words are, in this application, used sy- nonymously. This division is not coincident with that into the mechanical and the liberal. Physic, navigation, and the art of war, though properly liberal arts, fall entirely under the deno- mination of the useful ; whereas painting and sculpture, though requiring a good deal of manual labor, and in that respect more nearly related to the mechanical, belong to the class denominated elegant. The first division arises purely from the consideration of the end to be attained, the second from the consideration of the means to be employed. In respect to the end, an art is either useful or elegant; in respect of the means, it is either mechani- cal or liberal. The true foundation of the former distribution is, that certain arts are manifestly and ultimately calculated for profit or use ; whilst others, on the contrary, seem to terminate in pleasing. The one supplies a real want, the other only grati- fies some mental taste. Yet in strictness, in the execution of the useful arts, there is often scope for elegance, and the arts call- ed elegant are by no means destitute of use. The principle dif- ference is, that use is the direct and avowed purpose of the former, whereas it is more latently and indirectly effected by the latter. Under this class are commonly included, not only the arts of the painter and the statuary, but those also of the musician and the poet. Eloquence and architecture, by which last term is always understood more than building merely for accommodation, are to be considered as of a mixed nature, wherein utility and beau- ty have almost equal influence. The elegant arts, as well as the useful, are founded in experi- ence, but from the difference of their nature, there arises a con- siderable difference both in their origin and in their growth. Necessity, the mother of invention, drives men, in the earliest state of society, to the study and cultivation of the useful arts; it is always leisure and abundance which lead men to seek gratifi- cations no way conducive to the preservation either of the indi- vidual or of the species. The elegant arts, therefore, are doubt- less to be considered as the younger sisters. The progress of the former towards perfection is, however, much slower than that of the latter. Indeed, with regard to the first, it is impossible to say, as to several arts,Avhatis the perfection of the art; since we are incapable of conceiving how far the united discernment and INTRODUCTION. 5 industry of men, properly applied, may yet carry them. For some centuries backwards, the men of every age have made great and unexpected improvements on the labors of their prede- cessors. And it is very probable that the subsequent age will pro- duce discoveries and acquisitions, which we of this age are as lit- tle capable of foreseeing-, as those who preceded us in the last century were capable of conjecturing the progress that would be made in the present. The case is not entirely similar in the fine arts. These, though later in their appearing, are more rapid in their advancement. There may, indeed, be in these a degree of perfection beyond what we have experienced: but we have some conception of the very utmost to which it can proceed. For in- stance, where resemblance is the object, as in a picture or a sta- tue, a perfect conformity to its archetype, is a thing at least con- ceivable. In like manner, the utmost pleasure of which the ima- gination is susceptible by a poetical narrative or exhibition, is a ^hing, in my judgment, not inconceivable. We Britons, for ex- ample, do, by immense degrees, excel the ancient Greeks in the arts of navigation and ship-building; and how much farther we may still excel them in these, by means of discoveries and im- provements yet to be made, it would be the greatest presumption in any man to say. But as it requires not a prophetic spirit to discover, it implies no presumption to affirm, that we shall never excel them so far in poetry and eloquence, if ever in these re- spects we come to equal them. The same thing might probably be affirmed in regard to painting-, sculpture, and music, if we had here as ample a fund of materials for forming a comparison. But let it be observed, that the remarks now made regard only the advancement of the arts themselves; for though the useful are of slower growth than the other, and their utmost perfection cannot always be so easily ascertained, yet the acquisition of any one of them by a learner, in the perfection which it has reached at the time, is a much easier matter than the acquisition of any of the elegant arts; besides, that the latter require much more of a certain happy combination in the original frame of spirit, commonly called genius, than is necessary in the other. Let it be observed further, that as the gratification of taste is the immediate object of the fine arts, their effect is in a manner instantaneous, and the quality of any new production in these is immmediately judged by every body; for all have in them some rudiments of taste, though in some they are improved by a good, in others corrupted by a bad education, and in others al- most suppressed by a totaj want of education. In the useful arts, 6 INTRODUCTION. on the contrary, as more time and experience are requisite for discovering the means by which our accommodation is effected, so it generally requires examination, time, and trial, that we may be satisfied of the fitness of the work for the end proposed. Tn these we are not near so apt to consider ourselves as judges, unless we be either artists, or accustomed to employ and examine the works of artists in that particular profession. I mentioned some arts that have their fundamental principles in the abstract sciences of geometry and arithmetic, and some in the doctrine of gravitation and motion. There are others, as the medical and chirurgical arts, which require a still broader founda- tion of science in anatomy, the animal oeconomy, natural history, diseases, and remedies. Those arts, which, like poetry, are pure- ly to be ranked among the elegant, as their end is attained by an accommodation to some internal taste, so the springs by which alone they can be regulated, must be sought for in the nature of the human mind, and more especially in the principles of the ima- gination. It is also in the human mind that we must investigate the source of some of the useful arts. Logic, whose end is the discovery of truth, is founded in the doctrine of the understand- ing; and ethics, (under which may be comprehended economics, politics, and jurisprudence), are founded in that of the will. This was the idea of Lord Verulam*, perhaps the most com- prehensive genius in philosophy that has appeared in modern times. But these are not the only arts which have their founda- tion in the science of human nature. Grammar too, in its gene- ral principles, has a close connexion with the understanding, and the theory of the association of ideas. But there is no art whatever that hath so close a connexion with all the faculties and powers of the mind, as eloquence, or the art of speaking, in the extensive sense in which I employ the term. For, in the first place, that it ought to be ranked among the po- lite or fine arts, is manifest from this, that in all its exertions, with little or no exception> (as will appear afterwards), it requires the aid of the imagination. Thereby it not only pleases, but by pleas- * Doctrina circa intellectum, atque ilia altera circa voluntatem hominis, in na- talibus suis tanquam gemellae sunt. Etenim illuminationis puritas et arbitrii li bertas simul inceperunl, siraul corruerunt. Neque datur in universilate rerum tarn intima sympathia quam ilia Veri etiJoni. Venimus jam ad doctrinam circa usura et objecta facultatum animae humartae. Ilia duas babet partes easque no- tissimas, et consensu receptas; Logicam et Ethicam. Logica de intellectu et ratione; Ethica dc voluntate, appetitu, et affectibus dissent. Altera decreta, al- tera actiones progignit. De Any, Sci. 1. v. c. i. INTRODUCTION. 7 ing commands attention, rouses the passions, and often at last sub- dues the most stubborn resolution. It is also a useful art. This is certainly the case, if the power of speech be a useful faculty, as it professedly teaches us how to employ that faculty with the greatest probability of success. Further, if the logical art, and the ethical, be useful, eloquence is useful, as it instructs us how these arts must be applied for the conviction and the per- suasion of others. It is indeed the grand art of communication not of ideas only, but of sentiments, passions, dispositions, and purposes. Nay, without this, the greatest talents, even wisdom it- self, lose much of their lustre, and still more of their usefulness. " The wise in heart," saith Solomon, " shall be called prudent, but the sweetness of the lips increaseth learning*." By the for- mer a man's own conduct may be well regulated, but the latter is absolutely necessary for diffusing valuable knowledge, and en- forcing right rules of action upon others. Poetry indeed is properly no other than a particular mode or form of certain branches of oratory. But of this more afterwards. Suf- fice it only to remark at present, that the direct end of the former, whether to delight the fancy as in epic, or to move the passions as in tragedy, is avowedly in part the aim, and sometimes the im- mediate and proposed aim, of the orator. The same medium lan- guage is made use of, the same general rules of composition, in narration, description, argumentation, are observed; and the same tropes and figures, either for beautifying or for invigorating the diction, are employed by both. In regard to versification, it is more to be considered as an appendage, than as a constituent of poetry. In this lies what may be called the more mechanical part of the poet's work, being at most but a sort of garnishing, and by far too unessential to give a designation to the kind. This parti- cularity in form, to adopt an expression of the naturalists, consti- tutes only a variety, and not a different species. Now though a considerable proficiency in the practice of the oratorical art may be easily and almost naturally attained, by one in whom clearness of apprehension is happily united with sensi- bility of taste, fertility of imagination, and a certain readiness in language, a more thorough investigation of the latent energies, if I may thus express myself, whereby the instruments employed by eloquence produce their effect upon the hearers, will serve con- siderably both to improve the taste, and to enrich the fancy. By the former effect we learn to amend and avoid faults in composing and speaking, against which the best natural, but uncultivated * Prov. xvi. si. 8 INTRODUCTION. parts, give no security; and by the latter, the proper mediums are suggested, whereby the necessary aids of topics, arguments, il- lustrations, and motives, may be procured. Besides, this study, properly conducted, leads directly to an acquaintance with our- selves; it not only traces the operations of the intellect and ima- gination, but discloses the lurking springs of action in the heart. In this view it is perhaps the surest and the shortest, as well as the pleasantest way of arriving at the science of the human mind. Tt is as an humble attempt to lead the mind of the studious inqui- rer into this track, that the following sheets are now submitted to the examination of the public. When we consider the manner in which the rhetorical art hath arisen, and been treated hi the schools, we must be sensible, that in this, as in the imitative arts, the first handle has been given to criticism by actual performances in the art. The principles of our nature will, without the aid of any previous and formal instruc- tion, sufficiently account for the first attempts. As speakers ex- isted before grammarians, and reasoners before logicians; so doubtless there were orators before there were rhetoricians, and poets before critics. The first impulse towards the attainment of every art is from nature. The earliest assistance and direction that can be obtained in the rhetorical art, by which men operate on the minds of others, arises from the consciousness a man has of what operates on his own mind, aided by the sympathetic feelings, and by that practical experience of mankind, which individuals, even in the rudest state of society, are capable of acquiring. The next step is to observe and discriminate, by proper appellations, the different attempts, whether modes of arguing, or forms of speech, that have been employed for the purposes of explaining, convincing, pleasing, moving, and persua- ding. Here we have the beginnings of the critical science. The third step is to compare, with diligence, the various effects, favor- able or unfavorable, of those attempts, carefully taking into con- sideration every attendant circumstance, by which the success appears to have been influenced, and by which one may be ena- bled to discover to what particular purpose each attempt is adapt- ed, and in what circumstances only to be used. The fourth and last is to canvass those principles in our nature, to which the va- rious attempts are adapted, and by which, in any instance, their success, or want of success, may be accounted for. By the first step the critic is supplied with materials. By the second, the materials are distributed and classed, the forms of argument, the tropes and figures of speech, with their divisions and subdi- INTRODUCTION. 9 visions, are explained. By the third, the rules of composition are discovered, or the method of combining and disposing the seve- ral materials,so as that they may be perfectly adapted to the end in view. By the fourth, we arrive at that knowledge of human na- ture, which, beside its other advantages, adds both weight and evidence to all precedent discoveries and rules. The second of the steps abovementioned, which, by the way, is the first of the rhetorical art, for all that precedes is properly supplied by Nature, appeared to the author of Hudibras the ut- most pitch that had even to his time been attained : For all a rhetorician's rules Teach nothing but to name his tools*. In this, however, the matter hath been exaggerated by the sa- tirist. Considerable progress had been made by the ancient Greeks and Romans, in devising the proper rules of composition, not on- ly in the two sorts of poesy, epic and dramatic, but also in the three sorts of orations, which were in most frequent use among them, the deliberative, the judiciary, and the demonstrative. And I must acknowledge, that, as far as I have been able to dis- cover, there has been little or no improvement in this respect made by the moderns. The observations and rules transmitted to us from these distinguished names in the learned world, Aristo- tle, Cicero, and Quintilian, have been for the most part only trans- lated by later critics, or put into a modish dress and new ar- rangement. And as to the fourth and last step, it may be said to bring us into a new country, af which, though there have been some successful incursions occasionally made upon its frontiers, we are not yet in full possession. The performance which, of all those I happen to be acquainted with, seems to have advanced farthest in this way, is the Ele- ments of Criticism. But the subject of the learned and ingenious author of that work, is rather too multifarious to admit so narrow a scrutiny as would be necessary for a perfect knowledge of the several parts. Every thing that is an object of taste, sculpture, painting, music, architecture, and gardening, as well as poetry and eloquence, come within his plan. On the other hand, though his subject be more multiform, it is in respect of its connexion with the mind less extensive than that here proposed. All those particular arts are examined only on that side, wherein there is found a pretty considerable coincidence with one another; name- ly as objects of taste, which, by exciting sentiments of grandeur, beauty, novelty, and the like, are calculated to delight the imagi- Parti. Canto 1. 10 INTRODUCTION. nation. In this view, eloquence comes no farther under consi- deration, than as a fine art, and adapted, like the others above- mentioned, to please the fancy, and to move the passions. But to treat it also as an useful art, and closely connected with the understanding and the will, would have led to a discussion foreign to his purpose. I am aware, that, from the deduction given above, it may be urged, that the fact as here represented, seems to subvert the principle formerly laid down, and that as practice in the heart has given the first scope for criticism, the former cannot justly be con- sidered as deriving light and direction from the latter; that, on the contrary, the latter ought to be regarded as merely affording a sort of intellectual entertainment to speculative men. It may be said, that this science, however entertaining, as it must derive all its light and information from the actual examples in the art, can never in return be subservient to the art, from which alone it has received whatever it has to bestow. This objection, however specious, will not bear a near examination. For let it be observ- ed, that though in all the arts the first rough drafts, or imperfect attempts, that are made, precede every thing that can be termed criticism, they do not precede every thing- that can be termed knowledge, which every human creature that is not an idiot, is every day, from his birth, acquiring by experience and observa- tion. This knowledge must of necessity precede even those rudest and earliest essays; and if in the imperfect and indigested state in which knowledge must always be found in the mind that is ra- ther self-taught than totally untaught, it deserves not to be dig- nified with the title of Science, neither does the first awkward at- tempt in practice merit to be honored with the name of Art. As is the one, such is the other. It is enough for my purpose, that something must be known, before any thing in this way, with a view to an end, can be undertaken to be done. At the same time it is acknowledged, that as a man is much more an active than a contemplative being, and as generally there is some view to action, especially in uncultivated minds, in all their observations and inquiries, it cannot be doubted that, in composition, the first attempts would be in the art, and that after- wards, from the comparison of different attempts with one another, and the consideration of the success with which they had been severally attended, would arise gradually the rules of criticism. Nor can it, on the other hand, be pleaded with any appearance of truth, that observations derived from the productions of an art, can be of no service for the improvement of that art, and conse- INTRODUCTION. 11 quently of no benefit to future artists. On the contrary, it is thus that every art, liberal or mechanical, elegant or useful, except those founded in pure mathematics, advances towards perfection. From observing similar but different attempts and experiments, and from comparing their effects, general remarks are made, which serve as so many rules for directing future practice; and from comparing such general remarks together, others still more general are deduced. A few individual instances serve as a foundation to those observations, which, when once sufficiently established, extend their influence to instances innumerable. It is in this way that, on experiments comparatively few, all the phy- siological sciences have been reared; it is in this way that those comprehensive truths were first discovered, which have had such an unlimited influence on the most important arts, and given man so vast a dominion over the elements, and even the most refrac- tory powers of nature. It is evident, therefore, that the artist and the critic are reciprocally subservient, and the particular province of each is greatly improved by the assistance of the other. But it is not necessary here to enter farther into this subject; what I shall have occasion afterwards to advance on the acquisi- tion of experience, and the manner of using it, will be a sufficient illustration. THE PHILOSOPHY OF RHETORIC. BOOK I. THE NATURE AND FOUNDATIONS OF ELOQUENCE. CHAP. 1. Eloquence in the largest acceptation defined, its more general forms exhibited, with their different objects, ends, and characters. IN speaking there is always some end proposed, or some effect which the speaker intends to produce in the hearer. The word Eloquence in its greatest latitude denotes, * That art or talent by which the discourse is adapted to its end*.' All the ends of speaking are reducible to four; every speech being intended to enlighten the understanding, to please the imagination, to move the passions, or to influence the will. Any one discourse admits only one of these ends as the prin- cipal. Nevertheless, in discoursing on a subject, many things may be introduced, which are more immediately and apparently directed to some of the other ends of speaking, and not to that which is the chief intent of the whole. But then these other and immediate ends are in effect but means, and must be rendered conducive to that which is the primary intention. Accordingly, the propriety or the impropriety of the introduction of such se- condary ends, will always be inferred from their subserviency or want of subserviency to that end, which is, in respect of them, the ultimate. For example, a discourse addressed to the un- * " Dicere secundum virtutem orationis. Scientia bene diceudi." Quint i - lian. The word Eloquence, in common conversation, is seldom used in such a comprehensive sense. I have, however, made choice of this definition on a double account: 1st, It exactly corresponds to Tully's idea of a perfect orator ; " Optimus est orator qui dicendo animos audientium et docet, et delectat, et permovet." idly, It is best adapted to the subject of these papers. See the note on page 16-7. 14 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 1. derstanding, and calculated to illustrate or evince some point purely speculative, may borrow aid from the imagination, and admit metaphor and comparison, but not the bolder and more striking figures, as that called vision or fiction*, prosopopreia, and the like, which are not so much intended to elucidate a subject, as to excite admiration. Still less will it admit an ad- dress to the passions, which, as it never fails to disturb the ope- ration of the intellectual faculty, must be regarded by every intelligent hearer as foreign at least, if not insidious. It is ob- vious, that either of these, far from being subservient to the main design, would distract the attention from it. There is indeed one kind of address to the understanding, and only one, which, it may not be improper to observe, disdains all assistance whatever from the fancy. The address I mean, is mathematical demonstration. As this doth not, like moral rea- soning, admit degrees of evidence, its perfection in point of eloquence, if so uncommon an application of the term may be allowed, consists in perspicuity. Perspicuity here results en- tirely from propriety and simplicity of diction, and from accu- racy of method, where the mind is regularly, step by step, con- ducted forwards in the same tract, the attention no way diverted, nothing left to be supplied, no one unnecessary word or idea introduced!. On the contrary, an harangue framed for affecting the hearts or influencing the resolves of an assembly, needs greatly the assistance both of intellect and of imagination. In general it may be asserted, that each preceding species, in the order above exhibited, is preparatory to the subsequent; that each subsequent species is founded on the preceding; and that thus they ascend in a regular progression. Knowledge, the object of the intellect, furnisheth materials for the fancy; the fancy culls, compounds, and, by her mimic art, disposes these materials so as to affect the passions ; the passions are the natural spurs to volition or action, and so need only to be * By vision or fiction is understood, that rhetorical figure of which Quinti- lian says, " Quas ^xvrxa-t'xs Graeci vocant, nos sane visiones appellamus, per " quas imagines rerum absentium ita reprsesentantur animo, ut eas cernere oculis " ac praesentes habere videamur." t Of this kind Euclid hath given us the most perfect models, which have not, I think, been sufficiently imitated by later mathematicians. In him you find the cxactest arrangement inviolably observed, the properest and simplest, and by consequence, the. plainest expressions constantly used, nothing deficient, nothing superfluous; in brief, nothing which in more, or fewer, or other words, or words otherwise disposed, could have been better expressed. Chap. L OF RHETORIC. 16 right directed. This connexion and dependency will better ap- pear from the following observations. When a speaker addresseth himself to the understanding^ he proposes the instruction of his hearers, and that, either by ex- plaining some doctrine unknown, or not distinctly comprehended by them, or by proving some position disbelieved or doubted by them. In other words, he proposes either to dispel ignorance or to vanquish error. In the one, his aim is their information ; in the other, their conviction. Accordingly the predominant qua- lity of the former is perspicuity; of the latter, argument. By that we are made to know, by this to believe. The imagination is addressed by exhibiting to it a lively and beautiful representation of a suitable object. As in this exhi- bition, the task of the orator may, in some sort, be said, like that of the painter, to consist in imitation, the merit of the work re- sults entirely from these two sources ; dignity, as well in the subject or thing imitated, as in the manner of imitation ; and resemblance, in the portrait or performance. Now the principal scope for this class being in narration and description, poetry, which is one mode of oratory, especially epic poetry, must be ranked under it. The effect of the dramatic, at least of tragedy, being upon the passions, the drama falls under another species, to be explained afterwards. But that kind of address of which I am now treating, attains the summit of perfection in the sub- lime, or those great and noble images, which, when in suitable coloring presented to the mind, do, as it were, distend the ima- gination with some vast conception, and quite ravish the soul. The sublime, it may be urged, as it raiseth admiration, should be considered as one species of address to the passions. But this objection, when examined, will appear superficial. There are few words in any language (particularly such as relate to the operations and feelings of the mind) which are strictly uni- vocal. Thus admiration, when persons are the object, is com- monly used for a high degree of esteem ; but when otherwise applied, it denotes solely an internal taste. It is that pleasur- able sensation which instantly arises on the perception of mag- nitude, or of whatever is great and stupendous in its kind. For there is a greatness in the degrees of quality in spiritual sub- jects, analogous to that which subsists in the degrees of quan- tity in material things. Accordingly, in all tongues, perhaps without exception, the ordinary terms, which are considered as literally expressive of the latter, are also used promiscuously to denote the former. Now admiration, when thus applied, doth 16 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh I. not require to its production, as the passions generally do, any reflex view of motives or tendencies, or of any relation either to private interest, or to the good of others ; and ought therefore to be numbered among those original feelings of the mind, which are denominated by some the reflex senses, being of the same class with a taste for beauty, an ear for music, or our moral sen- timents. Now the immediate view of whatever is directed to the imagination (whether the subject be things inanimate or animal forms, whether characters, actions, incidents, or manners) terminates in the gratification of some internal taste ; as a taste for the wonderful, the fair, the good ; for elegance, for novelty, or for grandeur. But it is evident, that this creative faculty, the fancy, fre- quently lends her aid in promoting still nobler ends. From her exuberant stores most of those tropes and figures are extracted, which, when properly employed, have such a marvellous effica- cy in rousing the passions, and by some secret, sudden, and in- explicable association, awakening all the tenderest emotions of the heart. In this case, the address of the orator is not ulti- mately intended to astonish by the loftiness of his images, or to delight by the beauteous resemblance which his painting bears to nature; nay, it will not permit the hearers even a moment's leisure for making the comparison, but as it were by some magical spell, hurries them, ere they are aware, into love, pity, grief, terror, desire, aversion, fury, or hatred. It therefore as- sumes the denomination of Pathetic*, which is the characteristic of the third species of discourse, that addressed to the passions. Finally, as that kind, the most complex of all, which is cal- culated to influence the will, and persuade to a certain conduct, is in reality an artful mixture of that which proposes to convince the judgment, and that which interests the passions, its distin- guishing excellency results from these two, the argumentative and the pathetic incorporated together. These acting with unit- ed force, and, if I may so express myself, in concert, constitute that passionate eviction, that vehemence of contention, which is admirably fitted for persuasion, and hath always been regarded as the supreme qualification in an oratorf. It is this which * I am sensible that this word is commonly used in a more limited sense, for that only which excites commiseration. Perhaps the word impassionate would answer better. t This animated reasoning the Greek rhetoricians termed Tttimms which from signifying the principal excellency in an orator, came at length to denote oratory itself. And as vehemence and eloquence became synonymous, the latter, Chap. I OF RHETORIC. 17 bears down every obstacle, and procures the speaker an irre- sistible power over the thoughts and purposes of his audience. It is this which hath been so justly celebrated as giving one man an ascendant over others, superior even to what despotism itself can bestow ; since by the latter the more ignoble part only, the body and its members are enslaved; whereas from the dominion of the former, nothing is exempted, neither judgment nor affec- tion, not even the inmost recesses, the most latent movements of the soul. What opposition is he not prepared to conquer, on whose arms reason hath conferred solidity and weight, and pas- sion such a sharpness as enables them, in defiance of every ob- struction, to open a speedy passage to the heart? It is not, however, every kind of pathos, which will give the orator so great an ascendency over the minds of his hearers. All passions are not alike capable of producing this effect. Some are naturally inert and torpid ; they deject the mind, and indispose it for enterprise. Of this kind are sorrow, fear, shame, humility. Others, on the contrary, elevate the soul, and stimu- late to action. Such are hope, patriotism, ambition, emulation, anger. These, with the greatest facility, are made to concur in direction with arguments exciting to resolution and activity; suitably to this way of thinking, was sometimes defined the Art of Persuasion. But that this definition is defective, appears even from their own writings, since in a consistency with it their rhetorics could have comprehended those orations called Demonstrative, the design of which was not to persuade, but to please, Yet it is easy to discover the origin of this defect, and that both from the nature of the thing, and from the customs which obtained among both Greek? and Romans. First, from the nature of the thing, For to persuade presupposes in some degree, and therefore may be understood to imply, all the other talents of an orator, to enlighten, to evince, to paint, to astonish, to inflame: but this doth not hold inversely ; one may explain with clearness, and prove with energy, who is incapable of the sublime, the pathetic, and the vehement ; besides, this power of persuasion, or, as Cicero calls it, " posse voluntates hominum impel- " lere quo velis, unde velis, deducere," as it makes a man master of his hearers, is the most considerable in respect of consequences. Secondly, from ancient cus- toms. All their public orations were ranked under three classes, the demon- strative, the judiciary, and the deliberative. In the two last it was impossible to rise to eminence without that important talent, the power of persuasion. These were in much more frequent use than the first, and withal the surest means of advancing both the fortune and the fame of the orator ; for as on the judiciary the lives and estates of private persons depended, on the deliberative hung the resolves of senates, the fate of kingdoms, nay of the most renowned re- publics the world ever knew : consequently, to excel in these, must have been the direct road to riches, honors, and preferment. No wonder then that per* suasion should almost wholly engross the rhetorician's notice. C 18 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. and are, consequently, the fittest for producing-, what, for want of a better term in our language, I shall henceforth denominate the Vehement. There is, besides, an intermediate kind of pas- sions, which do not so congenially and directly either restrain us from acting, or incite us to act; but, by the art of the speaker, can, in an oblique manner, be made conducive to either. Such are joy, love, esteem, compassion. Nevertheless, all these kinds may find a place in suasory discourses, or such as are intended to operate on the will. The first is properest for dissuading; the second, as hath been already hinted, for persuading; the third is equally accommodated to both. Guided by the above reflections, we may easily trace that con- nection in the various forms of eloquence, which was remarked on distinguishing them by their several objects. The imagi- nation is charmed by a finished picture, wherein even drapery and ornament are not neglected ; for here the end is pleasure. Would we penetrate farther, and agitate the soul, we must ex- ibit only some vivid strokes, some expressive features, not de- corated as for show, (all ostentation being- both despicable and hurtful here), but such as appear the natural exposition of those bright and deep impressions, made by the subject upon the speaker's mind ; for here the end is not pleasure, but emotion. Would we not only touch the heart, but win it entirely to co- operate with our views, those affecting lineaments must be so interwoven with our argument, as that, from the passion excited, our reasoning may derive importance, and so be fitted for com- manding attention; and by the justness of the reasoning, the passion may be more deeply rooted and enforced ; and that thus, both may be made to conspire in effectuating that persuasion which is the end proposed. For here, if I may adopt the school- men's language, we do not argue to gain barely the assent of the understanding, but, which is infinitely more important, the con- sent of the will*. To prevent mistakes, it will not be beside my purpose further to remark, that several of the terms above explained, are some- times used by rhetoricians and critics in a much larger and more vague signification, than has been given them here. Sub- limity and vehemence, in particular, are often confounded, the * This subordination is beautifully and concisely expressed by Hersan in Rol- lin, "Je concl us que la veritable eloquence est eel le qui persuade; qu'elle ne " persuade ordinairement qu'en touchant; qu'elle ne touche que par des choses " et par des idecs palpables." Ctutp. I. OF RHETORIC. 19 latter being considered as a species of the former. In this man- ner has this subject been treated by that great master Longinus, whose acceptation of the term Sublime is extremely indefinite, importing an eminent degree of almost any excellence of speech, of whatever kind. Doubtless, if things themselves be under- stood, it does not seem material what names are assigned them. Yet it is both more accurate, and proves no inconsiderable aid to the right understanding of things, to discriminate by dif- ferent signs such as are truly different. And that the two qualities above mentioned are of this number is undeniable, since we can produce passages full of vehemence, wherein no image is presented, which, with any propriety, can be termed great or sublime*. In matters of criticism, as in the abstract sciences, it is of the utmost consequence to ascertain with precision the meanings of words, and, as nearly as the genius of the language in which one writes will permit, to make them correspond to the boundaries assigned by Nature to the thing signified. That the lofty and the vehement, though still distinguishable, are sometimes combined, and act with united force, is not to be de- nied. It is then only that the orator can be said to fight with weapons, which are at once sharp, massive, and refulgent; which, like Heaven's artillery, dazzle while they strike; which over- power the sight and the heart in the same instant. How admi- rably do the two forenamed qualities, when happily blended, correspond in the rational to the thunder and lightning in the * Tor an instance of this, let that of Cicero against Antony suffice. " Tu " istis faucibus, istis lateribus, ista gladiatoria totius corporis firmitate, tantum " viui in Hippiae nuptiis exhauscras, ut tibi necesse esset in populi Romani con " spectu vomere postridie. O rem non modo visu foedam, sed etiam auditu ! " Si inter coenam, in tuis immanibus iilis poculis, hoc tibi accidisset, quis non " turpe duceret? In coetu vero populi Romani, negotium publicum gerens, ma- " gister equitum, cui ructare turpe esset, is vomens, frustis esculentis, vinum re- " dolentibus, gremium suum et totum tribunal implevit." Here the vivacity of the address, in turning from the audience to the person declaimed against, the energy of the expressions, the repetition, exclamation, interrogation, and climax of aggravating circumstances, accumulated with rapidity upon one another, display, in the strongest light, the turpitude of the action, and thus at once convince the judgment, and fire the indignation. It is therefore justly styled vehement. But what is the image it presents? The reverse in every respect of the sub- lime; what, instead of gazing ou with admiration, we should avert our eyes from with abhorrence. For, however it might pass in a Roman senate, I ques- tion whether Ciceronian eloquence itself could excuse the uttering of such things in any modern assembly, not to say a polite one. With vernacular expressions, answering to these, " vomere, ructare, frustis esculentis vinum redolentibus," our more delicate ears would be immoderately shocked. In a case of this kind, the more lively the picture is, so much the more abominable it is. f 20 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. natural world, which are not more awfully majestical in sound and aspect, than irresistible in power*. Thus much shall suffice for explaining the spirit, the intent, and the distinguishing qualities of each of the forementioned sorts of address; all \vhich agree in this, an accommodation to affairs of a serious and important nature. CHAP. II. OF WIT, HUMOR, AND RIDICULE. THIS article, concerning eloquence in its largest acceptation,! can- not properly dismiss without making some observations on another * A noted passage in Cicero's oration for Cornelius Bal bus, will serve as an example of the union of sublimity with vehemence. Speaking of Pompey, who had rewarded the valor and public services of our orator's client, by making him a Roman citizen, he says, " Utrum enim, inscientem vultis contra feclera " fecisse, an scientem? Si scientem, O nomen nostri imperii ! O populi Romani " excellens dignitas ! O Cneii Pompeii sic late longeque diffusa laus, ut ejus glo- " riae domicilium communis imperii finibus terminetur ! O nationes, urbes, po- " puli, reges, tetrarchae, tyranni, testes Cneii Pompeii non solum virtutis in bel- " lo, sed etiam religionis in pace: vos denique mutee regiones imploro, et sola " terrarum ultimarum : vos maria, portus, insulae, littoraque. Quae est enim ora, " quae sedes, qui locus, in quo non exstent hujits cum fortitudinis, turn vero hu- " manitatis, turn animi, turn consilii, impressa vestigia? Hunc quisquam incre- " dibili quadam atque inaudita gravitate, virtute, constantia praeditum, foedera " scientem neglexisse, violasse, rupisse, dicere audebit?" Here every thing con- spires to aggrandize the hero, and exalt him to something more than mortal in the minds of the auditory; at the same time, every thing inspires the most per- fect veneration for his character, and the most entire confidence in his integrity and judgment. The whole world is exhibited as no more than a sufficient theatre for such a superior genius to act upon. How noble is the idea! All the nations and potentates of the earth are, in a manner, produced as witnesses of his valor and his truth. Thus the orator at once fills the imagination with the immensity of the object, kindles in the breast an ardor of affection and grati- tude, and by so many accumulated evidences, convinces the understanding, and silences every doubt. Accordingly, the effect which the words above quoted, and some other things advanced in relation to the same personage, had upon the audience, as we learn from Quintilian, was quite extraordinary. They extorted from them such demonstrations of their applause and admiration, as he acknow- ledges to have been but ill-suited to the place and theoccasion. He excuses it, how- ever, because he considers it, not as a voluntary, but as a necessary consequence of the impression made upon the minds of the people. His words are remark- able, " Atque ego illos credo qui aderant, nee sensisse quid facerent, nee sponte " judicioque plausisse; sed velut mente captos, et quo essent in loco iguaros, " erupisse in hunc voluntatis affectum." Lib. viii. cap. .3. Without doubt, a considerable share of the effect ought to be ascribed to the immense advantage which the action and pronunciation of the orator would give to his expression. Cfutp. II. OF RHETORIC. 21 genus of oratory, in many things similar to the former, but which is naturally suited to light and trivial matters. This also may be branched into three sorts, corresponding to those already discussed, directed to the fancy, the passions, and the will; for that which illuminates the understanding, serves as a common foundation to both, and has here nothing peculiar. This may be styled the eloquence of conversation, as the other is more strictly the eloquence of declamation*. Not, indeed, but that wit, humor, ridicule, which are the essentials of the former, may often be successfully admitted into public harangues. And, on the other hand, sublimity, pathos, vehemence, may sometimes enter the pre- cincts of familiar converse. To justify the use of such distinctive appellations, it is enough that they refer to those particulars which are predominant in each, though not peculiar to either. SECTION 1. Of Wit. To consider the matter more nearly, it is the design of wit to ex- cite in the mind an agreeable surprise, and that arising, not from any thing marvellous in the subject, but solely, from the imagery she employs, or the strange assemblage of related ideas presented to the mind. This end is effected in one or other of these three ways : first, in debasing things pompous or seemingly grave ; I say seemingly grave, because to vilify what is truly grave, has something shocking in it, which rarely fails to counteract the end ; secondly, in aggrandizing things little and frivolous ; thirdly, in setting ordinary objects, by means not only Demote but apparently contrary, in a particular and uncommon point of viewf . This will be better understood from the following observations and ex- amples. * In the latter of these the ancients excel ; in the former, the moderns. De- mosthenes and Cicero, not to say, Homer and Virgil, to this day remain unri- valled, and in all antiquity, Lucian himself not excepteti, we cannot find a match for Swift and Cervantes. t I know no language which affords a name for this species of imagery, but the English. The French esprit or bel esprit, though on some occasions rightly translated Wit, hath commonly a signification more extensive and generical. It must be owned, indeed, that in conformity to the style of French critics, the term Wit, in English writings, hath been sometimes used with equal latitude. But this is certainly a perversion of the word from its ordinary sense, through an excessive deference to the manner and idiom of our ingenious neighbours. In- deed, when an author varies the meaning in the same work, he not only occasions perplexity to his reader, but falls himself into an apparent inconsistency. An 22 THE PHILOSOPHY. Booh I. The materials employed by wit in the grotesque pieces she ex- hibits, are partly derived from those common fountains of whatever is directed to the imaginative powers, the ornaments of elocution, and the oratorical figures, simile, apostrophe, antithesis, metaphor ; partly from those she in a manner appropriates to herself, irony, hyperbole, allusion, parody, and (if the reader will pardon my de- scending so low) paronomasia*, and pun. The limning- of wit dif- fers from the rhetorical painting above described in two respects. One is, that in the latter there is not only a resemblance requisite in that particular on which the comparison is founded, but there must also be a general similitude in the nature and quality of that which is the basis of the imagery, to that which is the theme of dis- course. In respect of dignity, or the impression they make upon the mind, they must be things homogeneous. What has magnifi- cence, must invariably be portrayed by what is magnificent ; ob- jects of importance by objects important; such as have grace by things graceful: whereas the witty, though requiring an exact likeness in the first particular, demands, in the second, a contrariety rather, or remoteness. This enchantress exults in reconciling con- tradictions, and in hitting on that special light and attitude where- in you can discover an unexpected similarity in objects, which, at first sight, appear the most dissimilar and heterogeneous. Thus high and low are coupled, humble and superb, momentous and trivial, common and extraordinary. Addison, indeed, observesf, that wit is often produced, not by the resemblance, but by the op- position of ideas. But this, of which, however, he hath not given us an instance, doth not constitute a different species, as the re- pugnancy in that case will always be found between objects in other respects resembling; for it is to the contrast of dissimilitude error of this kind in Mr. Pope has been lately pointed out by a very ingeniou and judicious critic. " In the essay on criticism it is said, " True wit is nature to advantage dressed : " But immediately after this the poet adds, " For works may have more wit than does 'em good. " Now let us substitute the definition in the place of the thing, arid it will stand " thus: A work may have more of nature dressed to advantage, than will do it " good. This is impossible; and it is evident, that the confusion arises from the " poet's having annexed two different ideas to the same word." Webb's Re- marks on the Beauties of Poetry, Dialogue ii. * Paronomasia is properly that figure which the French call jeu de mots. Such as " Inceptio est amentium, haud amantium." Ter. Andr. " Which tempted our attempt." Milt. B. i. " To begird the Almighty's throne, beseech- ing or besieging." B. v. t Spectator, Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 23 and likeness, remoteness and relation in the same objects, that its peculiar effect is imputable. Hence we hear of the flashes and the sallies of wit, phrases which imply suddenness, surprise, and con- trariety. These are illustrated in the first by a term which implies an instantaneous emergence of light in darkness ; in the second, by a word which denotes an abrupt transition to things distant. For we may remark in passing, that thoi'gh language be older than criticism, those expressions adopted by the former to elucidate matters of taste, will be found to have a pretty close conformity to the purest discoveries of the latter. Nay, of so much consequence here are surprise and novelty, that nothing is more tasteless, and sometimes disgusting, than a joke that has become stale by frequent repetition. For the same reason, even a pun or happy allusion will appear excellent when thrown out extempore in conversation, which would be deemed execrable in print. In like manner, a witty repartee is infinitely more pleas- ing than a witty attack. For though, in both cases, the thing may be equally new to the reader or hearer, the effect on him is greatly injured, when there is ground to suppose, that it may be the slow production of study and premeditation. This, however, holds most with regard to the inferior tribes of witticisms, of which their readiness is the best recommendation. The other respect in which wit differs from the illustrations of the graver orator, is the way wherein it affects the hearer. Sub- limity elevates, beauty charms, wit diverts. The first, as hath been already observed, enraptures, and as it were, dilates the soul ; the second diffuseth over it a serene delight; the third tickles the fancy, and throws the spirits into an agreeable vibration. To these reflections I shall subjoin examples in each of the three sorts of wit above explained. It will, however, be proper to premise, that if the reader should not at first be sensible of the justness of the solutions and expli- cations to be given, he ought not hastily to form an unfavorable conclusion. Wherever there is taste, the witty and the humorous make themselves perceived, and produce their effect instantane- ously; but they are of so subtle a nature, that they will hardly en- dure to be touched, much less to undergo a strict analysis and scru- tiny. They are like those volatile essences, which, being too deli- cate to bear the open air, evaporate almost as soon as they are ex- posed to it. Accordingly, the wittiest things will sometimes be made to appear insipid, and the most ingenious frigid, by scruti- nizing them too narrowly. Besides, the very frame of spirit proper for being diverted with the laughable in objects, is so different 4 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L from that which is necessary for philosophizing on them, that there is a risk, that when we are most disposed to inquire into the cause, we are least capable of feeling the effect; as it is certain, that when the effect hath its full influence on us, we have little inclina- tion for investigating the cause. For these reasons, I have resolved to be brief 1 in my illustrations, having often observed, that, in such nice and abstract inquiries, if a proper hint do not suggest the matter to the reader, he will be but more perplexed by long and elaborate discussions. Of the first sort, which consists in the debasement of things great and eminent, Butler, amongst a thousand other instances, hath given us those which follow : And now had Phoebus in the lap Of Thetis, taken out his n:ip : And, like a lobster boiled, the morn From black to red began to turn*. Here the low allegorical style of the first couplet, and the simile used in the second, afford us a just notion of this lowest species, which is distinguished by the name of the Ludicrous. Another specimen from the same author you have in these lines : Great on the bench, great in the saddle, That could as well bind o'er as swaddle, Mighty he was at both of these, And styled of war, as well as peace: So some rats of amphibious nature. Are either for the land or water-f- ill this coarse kind of drollery, those laughable translations or para- phrases of heroic and other serious poems, wherein the authors are said to be travestied, chiefly abound. To the same class those instances must be referred, in which, though there is no direct comparison made, qualities of real dig- nity and importance are degraded, by being coupled with things mean and frivolous* as in some respect standing in the same pre- dicament. An example of this I shall give from the same hand. For when the restless Greeks sat down So many years, before Troy town, And were renowned, as Homer writes, For well-soaled boots J, no less than fights ||.l I shall only observe further, that this sort, whose aim is to debase, delights in the most homely expressions, provincial idioms, and cant phrases. * Hudibras, Part ii. Canto 2. f Ibid, Part i. Canto 1. \ In allusion to the 'Evxnp.iSff 'A^a/oi, an expression which frequently oc- tufs both in the Iliad and in the Odyssey. U Hudibras, Part i. Canto & Cliap. II. OF RHETORIC. 25 The second kind, consisting in the aggrandizement of little things, which is by far the most splendid, and displays a soaring imagination, these lines of Pope will serve to illustrate : As Berecynthia, while her offspring vie In homage to the mother of the sky, Surveys around her, in the blest abode, An hundred sous, and every son a god : Not with less glory mighty Dulness crowned, Shall take through Grub-street her triumphant round ; And her Parnassus glancing o'er at once, Behold an hundred sons, and each a dunce*. This whole similitude is spirited. The parent of the celestials is contrasted by the daughter of night and chaos ; heaven by Grub- street ; gods by dunces. Besides, the parody it contains on a beau- tiful passage in Virgil, adds a particular lustre to itf. This species we may term the Thrasonical, or the Mock-majestic. It affects the most pompous language, and sonorous phraseology, as much as the other affects the reverse, the vilest and most grovelling dialect. I shall produce another example from the same writer, which is; indeed, inimitably fine. It represents a lady employed at her toilet, attended by her maid, under the allegory of the celebration of some solemn and religious ceremony. The passage is rather long for a quotation, but as the omission of any part would be a real mutilation, I shall give it entire. And now unveiled, the toilet stands displayed, Each silver vase in mystic order laid. First, robed in white, the nymph intent adores, With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers. A heavenly image in the glass appears, To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears ; The inferior priestess, at her altar's side, Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride; Unnumbered treasures opes at once, and here The various offerings of the world appear; From each she nicely culls with curious toil, And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil. This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. The tortoise here and elephant unite, Transformed to combs, the speckled, and the white. * Dunciad,B.iik t The passage is this, Felix prole virum, qualis Berecynthia mater Invehitur curru Phrygias turrita per urbes, Laeta deum partu, centum complexa nepotes, Omiies tcelicolas, omnes supera alta teneiites. JNEIS, vi 26 THE PHILOSOPHY Book /. Here files of pins extend f.heir shining rows, Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet doux. Now awful beauty puts on all its arms ; The fair each moment rises in her charms, Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, And calls forth all the wonders of her face; Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes*. To this class also we must refer the application of grave reflec- tions to mere trifles. For that great and serious are naturally associ- ated by the mind, and likewise little and trifling, is sufficiently evin- ced by the common modes of expression on these subjects used in every tongue. An apposite instance of such an application we have from Philips, My galligaskins, that have long withstood The winter's fury and encroaching frosts, By time subdued, (what will not time subdue !) An horrid chasm disclose t- Like to this, but not equal, is that of Young, One day his wife, (for who can wives reclaim!) Levelled her barbarous needle at his fame \ . To both the preceding kinds the term Burlesque is applied, but es- pecially to the first. Of the third species of wit, which is by far the most multifarious, and which results from what I may call the queerness or singular- ity of the imagery, I shall give a few specimens that will serve to mark some of its principal varieties. To illustrate all would be im- possible. The first I shall exemplify, is where there is an apparent con- trariety in the thing she exhibits as connected. This kind of con- trast we have in these lines of Garth, Then Hydrops next appears amongst the throng; Bloated aud big she slowly sails along : But like a miser in excess she 's poor; And pines for thirst amidst her watery store ||. The wit in these lines doth not so much arise from the comparison they contain of the dropsy to a miser, (which falls under the de- scription that immediately succeeds), as from the union of con- traries they present to the imagination, poverty in the midst of opulence, and thirst in one who is already drenched in water. A second sort, is where the things compared are what with dialecticians would come under the denomination ofdisparates, be- " Rape of the Lock, Canto 1. - t Splendid Shitting. \ Universal Passion. j| Dispensary. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 27 ing such as can be ranked under no common genus. Of this [ shall subjoin an example from Young, Health chiefly keeps an Atheist in the dark; A fever argues better than a Clarke : Let but the logic in his pulse decay, The Grecian he'll renounce, and learn to pray*. Here, by implication, health is compared to a sophister, or dark- ener of the understanding, a fever to a metaphysical disputant, a regular pulse to false logic, for the word logic in the third line is used ironically. In other words, we have here modes and sub- stances, the affections of body, and the exercise of reason strange- ly, but not insignificantly linked together; strangely, else the sentiment, however just, could not be denominated witty; signi- ficantly, because an unmeaning jumble of things incongruous would not be wit, but nonsense. A third variety in this species springs from confounding art- fully the proper and the metaphorical sense of an expression. In this way, one will assign as a motive, what is discovered to be perfectly absurd, when but ever so little attended to; and yet, from the ordinary meaning- of the words, hath a specious appear- ance on a single glance. Of this kind you have an instance in the subsequent lines, While thus the lady talked, the knight Turned the outside of his eyes to white, As men of inward light are wont To turn their optics in upon 'tf. For whither can they turn their eyes more properly than to the .light? A fourth variety, much resembling the former, is when the ar- gument or comparison (for all argument is a kind of comparison) is founded on the supposal of corporeal or personal attributes in what is strictly not susceptible of them, as in this, But Hudibras gave him a twitch As quick as lightning in the breech, Just in the place where honor's lodged As wise philosophers have judged; Because a kick in that place more Hurts honor than deep wounds before J . Is demonstration itself more satisfactory? Can any thing be hurt but where it is? However, the mention of this as the sage deduc- Universal Passion. t Hudibras, Part iii. Canto J. J Hudibra?, Part ii. Canto 3. 28 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. tion of philosophers, is no inconsiderable addition to the wit. In- deed, this particular circumstance belongs properly to the first species mentioned, in which high and low, great and little, are coupled. Another example not unlike the preceding you have in these words, What makes morality a crime, The most notorious of the time; Morality, which both the saints And wicked too cry out against? 'Cause grace and virtue are within Prohibited degrees of kin : And therefore no true saint allows They shall be suffered to espouse*. When the two foregoing instances are compared together, we should say of the first, that it has more of simplicity and nature, and is therefore more pleasing; of the second, that it has more of ingenuity and conceit, and is consequently more surprising. The fifth and only other variety 1 shall observe, is that which ariseth from a relation not in the things signified, but in the signs, of all relations, no doubt, the slightest. Identity here gives rise to puns and clinches. Resemblance to quibbles, cranks, and rhymes. Of these, I imagine, it is quite unnecessary to exhibit specimens. The wit here is so dependent on the sound, that it is commonly incapable of being transfused into another language, and as, among persons of taste and discernment, it is in less re- quest than the other sorts above enumerated, those who abound in this, and never rise to any thing superior, are distinguished by the diminutive appellation of witlings. Let it be remarked in general, that from one or more of the three last mentioned varieties, those plebeian tribes of witticism, the conundrums, the rebuses, the riddles, and some others, are lineally, though perhaps not all legitimately, descended. I shall only add, that I have not produced the forenamed varieties as an exact enumeration of all the subdivisions, of which the third spe- cies of wit is susceptible. It is capable, I acknowledge, of being almost infinitely diversified; and it is principally to its various ex- hibitions, that we apply the epithets sportive, spritely, ingenious, ac- cording as they recede more or less from those of the declaimer. SECTION II. Of Humor. As wit is "the painting, humor is the pathetic, in this inferior sphere * Hudibras, Part hi. Canto 1. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 2& of eloquence. The nature and efficacy of humor may be thus un- ravelled. A just exhibition of any ardent or durable passion, excit- ed by some adequate cause, instantly attacheth sympathy, the com- mon tie of human souls, and thereby communicates the passion to the breast of the hearer. But when the emotion is either not violent or not durable, and the motive not any thing real, but imaginary, or at least quite disproportionate to the effect; or when the passion displays itself preposterously, so as rather to obstruct than to pro- mote its aim; in these cases a natural representation, instead of fel- low feeling, creates amusement, and universally awakens contempt. The portrait in the former case we call pathetic, in the latter humo- rous*. It was said, that the emotion must be either not violent or not durable. This limitation is necessary, because a passion extreme in its degree, as well as lasting, cannot yield diversion to a well- disposed mind, but generally affects it with pity, not seldom with a mixture of horror and indignation. The sense of the ridiculous, though invariably the same, is in this case totally surmounted by a principle of our nature, much more powerful. The passion which humor addresseth as its object, is, as hath been signified above, contempt. But it ought carefully to be noted, that every address, even every pertinent address to contempt, is not humorous. This passion is not, less capable of being excited by the severe and tragic, than by the merry and comic manner. * It ought to be observed, that this term is also used to express any lively strictures of such specialities in temper and conduct, as have neither moment enough to interest sympathy, nor incongruity enough to excite contempt. In this case, humor not being addressed to passion, but to fancy, must be consider- ed as a kind of moral painting, and differs from wit only in these two things: first, in that, character alone is the subject of the former, whereas all things whatever full within the province of the latter; secondly, humor paints more simply by direct imitation, wit more variously by illustration and imagery. Of this kind of humor, merely graphical, Addison hath given us numberless ex- amples in many of the characters he hath so finely drawn, and little incidents he hath fo pleasantly related in his Tatlers and Spectators. I might remark of the word humor, as! did of the term wit, that we scarcely find in other languages a word exactly correspondnig. The Latin facetia seems to come the nearest. Thus Cicero, " Huic generi orationis aspergentur eliam sales, qui in dicendo " nimiurn quantum valent: quorum duo genera sunt, unum facetiarum, alterum " dicacitatis: utetur utroque, sed altero in narrando aliquid venuste, altero in ja- " ciendo mittendoque ridioulo; cujus genera plura suut." Orator, 26. Here one would think, that the philosopher must have had in his eye the different provinces of wit and humor, calling the former ' dicacitas,' the latter facetiae.' It is plain, however, that, both by him and other Latin authors, these two words are often confounded. There appears, indeed, to be more uniformity in the use that is made of the second term, than in the application of the first. 30 THE PHILOSOPHY Book. I. The subject of humor is always character, but not every thing- in character; its foibles generally, such as caprices, little extrava- gancies, weak anxieties, jealousies, childish fondness, pert- ness, vanity, and self-conceit. One finds the greatest scope for exercising this talent in telling familiar stories, or in acting any whimsical part in an assumed character. Such an one, we say, has the talent of humoring a tale, or any queer manner which he chooseth to exhibit. Thus we speak of the passions in tragedy, but of the humors in comedy; and even to express passion as appearing in the more trivial occurrences of life, we commonly use this term, as when we talk of good humor, ill humor, peevish or pleasant humor; hence it is that a capricious temper we call humorsome, the person possessed of it a humorist, and such facts or events as afford subject for the humorous, we denominate comical. Indeed, comedy is the proper province of humor. Wit is called in solely as an auxiliary, humor predominates. The comic poet bears the same analogy to the author of the mock-heoric, that the tragic poet bears to the author of the epic. The epos recites, and advancing with a step majestic and sedate, eugageth all the no- bler powers of imagination, a sense of grandeur, of beauty, and of order; tragedy personates, and thus employing a more rapid and animated diction, seizeth directly upon the heart. The lit- tle epic, a narrative intended for amusement, and addressed to all the lighter powers of fancy, delights in the excursions of wit: the production of the comic muse being a representation, is circumscribed by narrower bounds, and is all life and activity throughout. Thus Buckingham says with the greatest justness of comedy, Humor is all. Wit should be only brought To turu agreeably some proper thought*. The pathetic and the facetious differ not only in subject and effect, as will appear upon the most superficial review of what hath been said, but also in the manner of imitation. In this the man of humor descends to a minuteness which the orator disdains. The former will often successfully run into downright mimicry, and exhibit peculiarities in voice, gesture, and pronunciation, which in the other would be intolerable. The reason of the dif- ference is this: That we may divert by exciting scorn and con- tempt, the individual must be exposed; that we may move by in- teresting the more generous principles of humanity, the language * Essay on Poetry. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 31 and sentiments, not so much of the individual, as of human na- ture, must be displayed. So very different, or rather opposite, are these two in this respect, that there could not be a more ef- fectual expedient for undoing the charm of the most affecting re- presentation, than an attempt in the speaker to mimic the perso- nal singularities of the man for whom he desires to interest us. On the other hand, in the humorous, where the end is diversion, even overacting, if moderate, is not improper. It was observed already, that, though contempt be the only passion addressed by humor, yet this passion may with propriety and success be assailed by the severer eloquence, where there is not the smallest tincture of humor. This it will not be beside our purpose to specify, in order the more effectually to show the difference. Lord Bollingbroke, speaking of the state of these kingdoms from the time of the Restoration, has these words: (jievrot xatTa na.aot.v xaxlxv' XA rov aii //.of/a*' TO yaig ytfo'tov i?tv a/AafTtjfia n ml oiiff^os tyci$i>yoy, x* liiOvs TO yihoiov iTgoa-u'rrM txtvy^got ri xxt S/zaTfa/*/xo a.it.v oiivm. f Oil v^oyov, aXXi TO vith incre- dibility. Thus, in order to satisfy the mind, in most cases, truth, and in every case what bears the semblance of truth, must be presented to it. This holds equally, whatever be the declared aim of the speak- er. I need scarcely add, that to prove a particular point, is often occasionally necessary in every sort of discourse, as a subordinate end conducive to the advancement of the principal. If then it is the business of logic to evince the truth; to convince r.n auditory, which is the province of eloquence, is but a particular application of the logician's art. As logic therefore forges the arms which eloquence teacheth us to wield, we must first have recourse to the former, that being made acquainted with the materials of which her weapons and armour are severally made, we may know their respective strength and temper, and when and how each is to be used. Now, if it be by the sense or soul of the discourse that rhetoric holds of logic, or the art of thinking and reasoning, it is by the ex- pression or body of the discourse that she holds of grammar, or the art of conveying our thoughts in the words of a particular language. The observation of one analogy naturally suggests another. As the soul is of heavenly extraction, and the body of earthly, so the sense of the discourse ought to have its source in the invariable nature of truth and right; whereas the expression can derive its energy only from the arbitrary conventions of men, sources as unlike, or rather as widely different, as the breath of the Almighty and the dust of the earth. In every region of the globe, we may soon discover, that peo- ple feel and argue in much the same manner, but the speech of one nation is quite unintelligible to another. The art of the logician is accordingly, in some sense, universal, the art of the grammarian is always particular and local. The rules of argumentation laid down by Aristotle, in his Analytics, are of as much use for the discovery of truth in Britain or in China, as they were in Greece; but Priscian's .rules of inflection and construction can assist us in learning no lan- guage but Latin. In propriety there cannot be s-uch a thing as" an universal grammar, unless there were such a thing as an universal lang-uage. The term hath sometimes, indeed, been applied to a col- lection of observations on the similar analogies that have been dis- covered in all tongues, ancient and modern, known to the author* Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 49 of such collections. I do not mention this liberty in the use of the term with a view to censure it. In the application of technical or learned words, an author hath greater scope, than in the application of those which are in more frequent use, and is only then thought censurable, when he exposeth himself to be misunderstood. But it is to my purpose to observe, that as such collections convey the know- ledge of no tongue whatever, the name grammar, when applied to them, is used in a sense quite different from that which it has in the common acceptation ; perhaps as different, though the subject be lan- guage, as when it is applied to a system of geography. Now, the grammatical art hath its completion in syntax; the ora- torical, as far as the body or expression is concerned, in style. Syn- tax regards only the composition of many words into one sentence; style, at the same time that it attends to this, regards further, the com- position of many sentences into one discourse. Nor is this the only difference; the grammarian, with respect to what the two arts have in common, the structure of sentences, requires only purity; that is, that the words employed belong to the language, and that they be construed in the manner, and used in the signification, which cus- tom hath rendered necessary for conveying the sense. The orator requires also beauty and strength. The highest aim of the former is the lowest aim of the latter; where grammar ends, eloquence begins. Thus the grammarian's department bears much the same relation to the orator's, which the art of the mason bears to that of the architect. There is, however, one difference that well deserves our notice : as in architecture it is not necessary that he who designs should execute his own plans, he may be an excellent artist in this way, who would .handle very awkwardly the hammer and the trowel. But it is alike incumbent on the orator to design and to execute. He must, there- fore, be master of the language he speaks or writes, and must be ca- pable of adding to grammatic purity those higher qualities of elocu- tion, which will render his discourse graceful and energetic. So much for the connexion that subsists between rhetoric and these parent arts, logic and grammar. CHAP. V. OF THE DIFFERENT SOURCES OF EVIDENCE, AND THE DIFFERENT SUB- JECTS TO WHICH THEY ARE RESPECTIVELY ADAPTED. LOGICAL truth consisteth in the conformity of our conceptions to their archetypes in the nature of things. This conformity is per- 50 THE PHILOSOPHY Boolt. 7. ceived by the mind, either immediately on a bare attention to the ideas under review, or mediately by a comparison of these with other related ideas. Evidence of the former kind is called intuitive; of the latter, deductive. SECTION I. Of Intuitive Evidence. PART I. Mathematical Axioms. OF intuitive evidence there are different sorts. One is, that which results purely from intellection*. Of this kind is the evidence of these propositions, ' One and four make five.' ' Things equal to the same thing are equal to one another.' * The whole is greater than a part;' and, in brief, all axioms in arithmetic and geometry. These are, in effect, but so many different expositions of our own general no- tions, taken in different views. Some of them are no other than de- finitions, or equivalent to definitions. To say, ' One and four make five,' is precisely the same as to say, * We give the name five to one added to four.' In fact, they are all, in some respect, reducible to this axiom, ' Whatever is, is.' I do not say they are deduced from it, for they have in like manner that original and intrinsic evidence, which makes them, as soon as the terms are understood, to be per- ceived intuitively. And if they are not thus perceived, no deduction of reason will ever confer on them any additional evidence. Nay, in point of time, the discovery of the less general truths has the pri- ority, not from their superior evidence, but solely from this consi- deration, that the less general are sooner objects of perception to us, the natural progress of the mind in the acquisition of its ideas being from particular things to universal notions, and not inversely. But I affirm, that, though not deduced from that axiom, they may be considered as particular exemplifications of it, and coincident with it, inasmuch as they are all implied in this, that the properties of our * I have here adopted the term intellection rather than perception, because, though not so usual, it is both more apposite and less equivocal. Perception is employed alike to denote every immediate object of thought, or whatever is ap- prehended by the mind, our sensations themselves, and those qualities in body suggested by our sensations, the ideas of these upon reflection, whether remem- bered or imagined, together with those called general notions, or abstract ideas. It is only the last of these kinds which are considered as peculiarly the object of the understanding, and which, therefore, require to be distinguished by a pecu- liar name. Obscurity arising from an uncommon word is easily surmounted, whereas ambiguity, by misleading us, ere we are aware, confounds our notion of the subject altogether. Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 51 clear and adequate ideas can be no other than what the iniud clearly perceives them to be. But, in order to prevent mistakes, it will be necessary further to illustrate this subject. It might be thought, that if axioms were propositions perfectly identical, it would be impossible to advance a step, by their means, beyond the simple ideas first perceived by the mind. And it must be owned, if the predicate of the proposition were nothing but a repetition of the subject, under the same aspect, and in the same or synonymous terms, no conceivable advantage could be made of it for the furtherance of knowledge. Of such pro- positions as these, for instance, ' Seven are seven,' ' Eight are eight,' and ' Ten added to eleven, are equal to ten added to eleven,' it is manifest, that we could never avail ourselves for the improvement of science. Nor does the change of the name make any alteration in point of utility. The propositions, * Twelve are a dozen,' ' Twen- ty are a score,' unless considered as explications of the words do- zen and score, are equally insignificant with the former. But when the thing, though in effect coinciding, is considered under a differ- ent aspect; when what is single in the subject, is divided in the predicate, and conversely ; or when what is a whole in the one, is regarded as a part of something else in the other; such propositions lead to the discovery of innumerable, and apparently remote rela- tions. One added to four may be accounted no other than a defini- tion of the word five, as was remarked above. But when I say, ' Two added to three are equal to five,' I advance a truth, which, though equally clear, is quite distinct from the preceding. Thus, if one should affirm, * Twice fifteen make thirty,' and again, ' Thir- teen added to seventeen make thirty,' no body would pretend that he had repeated the same proposition in other words. The cases are entirely similar. In both, the same thing is predicated of ideas which, taken severally, are different. From these again result other equations, as, One added to four are equal to two added to three,' and * Twice fifteen are equal to thirteen added to seventeen.' Now it is by the aid of such simple and elementary principles, that the arithmetician and the algebraist proceed to the most aston- ishing discoveries. Nor are the operations of the geometrician es- sentially different. By a very few steps you are made to perceive the equality, or rather the coincidence of the sum of the two angles, formed by one straight line falling on another, w r ith two right an- gles. By a process equally plain, you are brought to discover, first, that if one side of a triangle be produced, the external angle will be equal to both the internal and opposite angles, and then, that all the angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles. So much for the nature and use of the first kind of intuitive evidence resulting from pure intellection. 52 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh 1. PART II. Consciousness. THE next kind is that which ariseth from consciousness. Hence every man derives the perfect assurance that he hath of his own ex- istence. Nor is he only in this way assured that he exists, but that he thinks, that he feels, that he sees, that he hears, and the like. Hence his absolute certainty in regard to the reality of his sensations and passions, and of every thing whose essence consists in being perceived. Nor does this kind of intuition regard only the truth of the original feelings or impressions, but also many of the judgments that are formed by the mind, on comparing these one with another. Thus the judg-ments we daily and hourly form concerning resemblances or disparities in visible objects, or size in things tangible, where the odds is considerable, dark- er or lighter tints in colors, stronger or weaker tastes or smells, are all self-evident, and discoverable at once. It is from the same principle, that in regard to ourselves we judge infallibly concerning the feelings, whether pleasant or painful, which we derive from what are called the internal senses, and pronounce concerning beauty or deformity, harmony or discord, the elegant or the ridiculous. The difference between this kind of intuition and the former, will appear on the slightest reflection. The former concerns only abstract no- tions or ideas, particularly in regard to number and extension, the objects purely of the understanding; the latter concerns only the existence of the mind itself, and its actual feelings, impressions or affections, pleasures or pains, the immediate subjects of sense, taking that word in the largest acceptation. The former gives rise to those universal truths, first principles or axioms, which serve as the foun- dation of abstract science; whereas the latter, though absolutely es- sential to the individual, yet as it only regards particular perceptions, which represent no distinct genus or species of objects, the judg- ments resulting thence cannot form any general positions to which a chain of reasoning may be fastened, and consequently are not of the nature of axioms, though both similar and equal in respect of evidence. PART III. Common Sense. THE third sort is that which ariseth from what hath been termed, properly enough, Common Sense*, as being an original source of * The first among the mcderns who took notice of this principle, as one of Ckap. V. OF RHETORIC. 53 knowledge common to all mankind. I own, indeed, that in differ- ent persons it prevails in different degrees of strength ; but no hu- man creature hath been found originally and totally destitute of it, who is not accounted a monster in his kind ; for such, doubtless, the genuine springs of our knowledge, was Buffier, a French philosopher of the present century, in a book entitled, "Traite des premieres veritez;" one who, to an uncommon degree of acuteuess in matters of abstraction, added that solidity of judgment which hath prevented in him, what had proved the wreck of ma- ny great names in philosophy, his understanding becoming the dupe of his in- genuitv . This doctrine hath lately, in our own country, been set in the clearest light, and supported by invincible force of argument, by two very able writers in the science of man, Dr Reid, in his "Inquiry into the Human Mind," and Dr Beattie.in his "Essay on the Immutability of Truth." I beg leave to remark in this place, that, though for distinction's sake I use the term common sense in a more limited signification than either of the authors last mentioned, there appears to be no real difference in our sentiments of the thing itself. I am not ignorant that this doctrine has been lately attacked by Dr. Priestley in a most extraordinary manner, a manner which no man, who has any regard to the name either of Englishman or of philosopher, will ever desire to see imitated, in this or any other country. I have read the performance, but have not been able to discover the author's sentiments in relation to the principal point in dispute. He says ex- pressly, [Examination of Dr Reid's Inquiry, &c. p. 1 19.] " Had these writers," Messieurs Reid, Beattie, and Oswald, " assumed, as the elements of their common " seuse, certain truths which are so plain, that no man could doubt of them, " (without entering into the ground of our assent to them,) their conduct would " have been liable to very little objection." And is not this the very thing which these writers have done ? What he means to signify by the parenthesis, " (without entering into the ground of our assent to them,)" it is not easy to guess. By a ground of assent to any proposition, is commonly understood, a reason or argument in support of it. Now, by his own hypothesis, there are truths so plain, that no man can doubt of them. If so, what ground of assent beyond their own plainness ought we to seek; what beside this can we ever hope to find, or what better reason needs be given for denominating such truths the dictates of common sense? If something plainer could be found to serve as evi- dence of any of them, then this plainer truth would be admitted as the first prin- ciple, and the other would be considered as deduced by reasoning. But not withstanding the mistake in the instance, the general doctrine of primary truths would remain unhurt. It seems, however, that though their conduct would have been liable to very little, it would have been liable to some objection. " All that could have been said would have been, that, without any necessity, " they had made an innovation in the received use of a term." I have a better opinion of these gentlemen than to imagine, that if the thing which they contend for be admitted, they will enter into a dispute with any person about the name; though, in my judgment, even as to this, it is not they, but he, who is the inno- vator. He proceeds, " For no person ever denied, that there are self-evident " truths, and that these must be assumed, as the foundation of all our reasoning. " I never met with any person who did not acknowledge this, or heard of any ' argumentative treatise that did not go upon the supposition of it." Now, if 54 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh L are all idiots and changelings. By madness, a disease which inukes terrible havoc on the faculties of the mind, it may be in a great measure, but is never entirely lost. It is purely hence that we derive our assurance of such truths as this be the case, 1 would gladly know what is the great point he controverts. Is it, whether such self-evident truths shall be denominated principles of common sense,~or be distinguished by some other appellation? Was it worth any man's while to write an octavo of near 400 pages, for the discussion of such a question as this? And if, as he assures us, they have said more than is necessary, in proof of a truth which he himself thinks indisputable, was it no more than necessary in Dr Priestley to compose so large a volume, in order to convince the world that too much had been said already on the subject? I do not enter into the exami- nation of his objections to some of the particular principles produced as primary truths. An attempt of this kind would be foreign to my purpose ; besides, that the authors he has attacked are better qualified for defending their own doctrine, and, no doubt, will do it, if they think there is occasion. 1 shall only subjoin two remarks on this book. The first is, that the author, through the whole, con- founds two things totally distinct, certain associations of ideas, and certain judg- ments implying belief, which, though in some, are not in all cases, and, therefore, not necessarily connected with association. And if so, merely to account for the association, is in no case to account for the belief with which it is attended. Nay, admitting his plea, [page 86.] that, by the principle of association, not only the ideas, but the concomitant belief may be accounted for, even this does not invalidate the doctrine he impugns. For, let it be observed, that it is one thing to assign a cause, which, from the mechanism of our nature, has given rise to a particular tenet or belief, and another thing to produce a reason by which the understanding has been convinced. Now, unless this be done as to the principles in question, they must be considered as primary truths in respect of the understanding, which never deduced them from other truths, and which is under a necessity, in all her moral reasonings, of founding upon them. In fact, to give any other account of our conviction of them, is to confirm, instead of con- futing the doctrine, that in all argumentation they must be regarded as primary truths, or truths which reason never inferred, through any medium, from other truths previously perceived. My second remark is, that though this examiner has, from Dr Reid, given us a catalogue of first principles, which he deems unworthy of the honorable place assigned them, he has nowhere thought proper to give us a list of those self-evident truths, which, by his own account, and in his own express words, " must be assumed as the foundation of all our reasoning." How much light might have been thrown upon the subject by the contrast? Perhaps we should have been enabled, on the comparison, to discover some distinctive characters in his genuine axioms, which would have preserved us from the dan- ger of confounding them with their spurious ones. Nothing is more evident than that, in whatever regards matter of fact, the mathematical axioms will not answer. These are purely fitted for evolving the abstract relations of quantity. This he in effect owns himself, [page 39]. It would have been obliging, then, and would have greatly contributed to shorten the controversy, if he had given us at least a specimen of those self-evident principles, which, in his estimation, are the non plus ultra, of moral reasoning. Chap. F. OF RHETORIC. 55 these : * Whatever has a beginning has a cause/ ' When there is in the effect.a manifest adjustment of the several parts to a certain end, there is intelligence in the cause.' * The course of nature will be the same to-morrow that it is to-day ; or, The future will resemble the past.' ' There is such a thing as body ; or, There are material substances independent of the mind's conceptions.' * There are other intelligent beings in the universe beside me.' * The clear representations of my memory, in regard to past events, are indubitably true.' These, and a great many more of the same kind, it is impossible for any man by reasoning to evince, as might easily be shown, were this a proper place for the discussion. And it is equally impossible, without a full conviction of them, to ad- vance a single step in the acquisition of knowledge, especially in all that regards mankind, life, and conduct. I am sensible that some of these, to men not accustomed to in- quiries of this kind, will appear at first not to be primary principles, but conclusions from other principles ; and some of them will be thought to coincide with the other kinds of intuition above men- tioned. Thus the first, ' Whatever hath a beginning hath a cause,' may be thought to stand on the same footing with mathematical axioms. I acknowledge, that in point of evidence they are equal, and it is alike impossible in either case for a rational creature to withhold his assent. Nevertheless, there is a difference in kind. All the axioms in mathematics are but the enunciations of certain properties in our abstract notions, distinctly perceived by the mind, but have no relation to any thing without themselves, and can never be made the foundation of any conclusion concerning actual existence ; whereas, in the axiom last specified, from the existence of one thing we intuitively conclude the existence of another. This proposition, however, so far differs, in my apprehension, from others of the same order, that I cannot avoid considering the op- posite assertion as not only false, but contradictory ; but I do not pretend to explain the ground of this difference. The faith we give to memory may be thought, on a superficial view, to be resolvable into consciousness, as well as that we give to the immediate impressions of sense. But on a little attention one may easily perceive the difference. To believe the report of our senses doth, indeed, commonly imply, to believe the existence of certain external and corporeal objects, which give rise to our particular sensations. This, I acknowledge, is a principle which doth not spring from consciousness, (for consciousness cannot ex- tend beyond sensation), but from common sense, as well as the as- surance we have in the report of memory. But this wa not in- 56 THE PHILOSOPHY Bonk L tended to be included under the second branch of intuitive evi- dence. By that firm belief in sense, which I there resolved into consciousness, I meant no more than to say, I am certain that I see, and feel, and think, what I actually see, and feel, and think. As in this I pronounce only concerning- my own present feeling's, whose essence consists in being- felt, and of which I am at pre- sent conscious, my conviction is reducible to this axiom, or coin- cident with it, ' It is impossible for a thing to be and not to be at the same time.' Now when I say, I trust entirely to the clear report of my memory, I mean a good deal more than, * I am certain that my memory gives such a report, or represents things in such a manner,' for this conviction I have indeed from con- sciousness, but I mean, ' I am certain that things happened heretofore at such a time, in the precise manner in which I now remember that they then happened.' Thus there is a reference in the ideas of memory to former sensible impressions, to which there is nothing analogous in sensation. At the same time, it is evident that remembrance is not always accompanied with this full convic- tion. To describe, in words, the difference between those lively signatures of memory, which command an unlimited assent, and those fainter traces which raise opinion only, or even doubt, is per- haps impracticable ; but no man stands in need of such assistance to enable him in fact to distinguish them, for the direction of his own judgment and conduct. Some may imagine, that it is from experience we come to know what faith in every case is due to me- mory. But it will appear more fully afterwards, that unless we had implicitly relied on the distinct and vivid informations of that faculty, we could not have moved a step towards the acquisition of experience. It must, however, be admitted, that experience is of use in assisting- us to judge concerning the more languid and con- fused suggestions of memory ; or, to speak more properly, con- cerning the reality of those things, of which we ourselves are doubtful, whether we remember them or not. In regard to the primary truths of this order, it may be urged, that it cannot be affirmed of them all at least, as it may of the ax- ioms in mathematics, or the assurances we have from consciousness, that the denial of them implies a manifest contradiction. It is, perhaps, physically possible, that the course of nature will be in- verted the very next moment ; that my memory is no other than a delirium, and my life a dream; that all is mere illusion; that I am the only being in the universe, and that there is no such thing as body. Nothing can be juster than the reply given by Buffier, Cliap. V. OF RHETORIC. 57 " It must be owned," says he*, " that to maintain propositions, the " reverse of the primary truths of common sense, doth not imply a " contradiction, it only implies insanity." But if any person, on account of this difference in the nature of these two classes of ax- ioms, should not think the term intuitive so properly applied to the evidence of the last mentioned, let him denominate it, if he please, instinctive : I have no objection to the term ; nor do I think it derogates in the least from the dignity, the certainty, or the im- portance of the truths themselves. Such instincts are no other than the oracles of eternal wisdom. For, let it be observed farther, that axioms of this last kind are as essential to moral reasoning, to all deductions concerning life and existence, as those of the first kind are to the sciences of arith- metic and geometry. Perhaps it will appear afterwards, that, without the aid of some of them, these sciences themselves would be utterly inaccessible to us. Besides, the mathematical axioms can never extend their influence beyond the precincts of abstract knowledge, in regard to number and extension, or assist us in the discovery of any matter of fact : whereas, with knowledge of the latter kind, the whole conduct and business of human life is prin- cipally and intimately connected. All reasoning necessarily sup- poses that there are certain principles in which we must acquiesce, and beyond which we cannot go, principles clearly discernible by their own light, which can derive no additional evidence from any thing besides. On the contrary supposition, the investigation of truth would be an endless and a fruitless task ; we should be eter- nally proving, whilst nothing could ever be proved ; because, by the hypothesis, we could never ascend to premises which require no proof. " If there be no first truths," says the author lately quotedf, " there can be no second truths, nor third, nor indeed any " truth at all." So much for intuitive evidence, in the extensive meaning which hath here been given to that term, as including every thing whose evidence results from the simple contemplation of the ideas or per- ceptions which form the proposition under consideration, and re- quires not the intervention of any third idea as a medium of proof. This, for order's sake, I have distributed into three classes, the truths of pure intellection, of consciousness, and of common sense. The first may be denominated metaphysical, the second physical, the third moral; all of them natural, original, and unaccountable. * Premieres Verilez, Parti. Chap. 11. fib. Dessein de 1' ouvrage. 58 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. ' SECTION II. Of Deductive Evidence. PART I. Division of the subject into Scientific and Moral, with the principal distinctions betiveen them. ALL rational or deductive evidence is derived from one or other of these two sources : from the invariable properties or relations of general ideas ; or from the actual, though perhaps variable, con- nexions subsisting among things. The former we call demonstra- tive, the latter moral. Demonstration is built on pure intellection, and consisteth in an uninterrupted series of axioms. That propo- sitions formerly demonstrated are taken into the series, doth not in the least invalidate this account ; inasmuch as these propositions are all resolvable into axioms, and are admitted as links in the chain ; not because necessary, but merely to avoid the useless prolixity which frequent and tedious repetitions of proofs formerly given would occasion. Moral evidence is founded on the principles we have from consciousness and common sense, improved by expe- rience ; and as it proceeds on this general presumption or moral axiom, that the course of nature in time to come, will be similar to what it hath been hitherto, it decides, in regard to particulars, con- cerning the future from the past, and concerning things unknown from things familiar to us. The first is solely conversant about number and extension, and about those other qualities which are measurable by these. Such are duration, velocity, and weight. With regard to such qualities as pleasure and pain, virtue and vice, wisdom and folly, beauty and deformity, though they admit de- grees, yet, as there is no standard or common measure, by which their differences and proportions can be ascertained and expressed in numbers, they can never become the subject of demonstrative reasoning. Here rhetoric, it must be acknowledged, hath little to do. Simplicity of diction, and precision in arrangement, whence results perspicuity, are, as was observed already*, all the requi- sites. The proper province of rhetoric is the second, or moral evi- dence ; for to the second belong- all decisions concerning fact, and things without us. But that the nature of moral evidence may be better understood, it will not be amiss to remark a few of the most eminent differences between this and the demonstrative. The first difference that occurs is in their subjects. The^ubject of the one is, as hath been observed, abstract independent truth, or the unchangeable and necessary relations of ideas; that of the * Chap. I. Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 59 other, the real, but often changeable and contingent connexions that subsist among things actually existing. Abstract truths, as the properties of quantity, have no respect to time or to place, no dependence on the volition of any being, or on any cause whatever, but are eternally and immutably the same. The very reverse of all this generally obtains with regard to fact. In consequence of what has been now advanced, assertions opposite to truths of the former kind are not only false, but absurd. They are not only not true, but it is impossible they should be true, whilst the meanings of the words (and consequently the ideas compared) remain the same. This doth not hold commonly in any other kind of evi- dence. Take, for instance, of the first kind, the following affir- mations, ' The cube of two is the half of sixteen.' * The square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the sides.' ' If equal things be taken from equal things, the remainders will be equal.' Contrary propositions, as, ' The cube of two is more than the half of sixteen.' ' The square of the hypotenuse is less than the sum of the squares of the sides.' ' If equal things be taken from equal things, the remainders will be unequal,' are chargeable, not only with falsity, but with absurdity, being inconceivable and contradictory. Whereas, to these truths which we acquire by mo- ral evidence, Ctesar overcame Pompey.' * The sun will rise to- morrow.' ' All men will die,' the opposite assertions, though untrue, are easily conceivable withovit changing, in the least, the import of the words, and therefore do not imply a contradiction. The second difference I shall remark is, that moral evidence ad- mits degrees, demonstration doth not. This is a plain consequence of the preceding difference. Essential or necessary truth, the sole object of the latter, is incompatible with degree. And though ac- tual truth, or matter of fact, be the ultimate aim of the former, like- lihood alone, which is susceptible of degree, is usually the utmost attainment. Whatever is exhibited as demonstration, is either mere illusion, and so no evidence at all, or absolutely perfect. There is no medium. In moral reasoning we ascend from possibility, by an insensible gradation, to probability, and thence, in the same man- ner, to the summit of moral certainty. On this summit, or on any of the steps leading to it, the conclusion of the argument may rest. Hence the result of that is, by way of eminence, denominated science; and the evidence itself is termed scientific ; the result of this is fre- quently (not always) entitled to no higher denomination than opi- nion. Now, in the mathematicial sciences, no mention is ever made of opinions. The third difference is, that in the one there never can be any 60 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh I. contrariety of proofs; in the other, there not only may be, but al- most always is. If one demonstration were ever capable of being- refuted, it could be solely by another demonstration, this being- the only sort of evidence adapted to the subject, and the only sort by which the former could be matched. But, to suppose that contra- ries are demonstrable, is to suppose that the same proposition is both true and false, which is a manifest contradiction. Consequent- ly, if there should ever be the appearance of demonstration on op- posite sides, that on the one side must be fallacious and sophistical. It is not so with moral evidence, for, unless in a few singular instan- ces, there is always real, not apparent evidence on both sides. There are contrary experiences, contrary presumptions, contrary testimo- nies, to balance against one another. In this case, the probability, upon the whole, is in the proportion which the evidence on the side that preponderates bears to its opposite. We usually say, indeed, that the evidence lies on such a side of the question, and not on the reverse ; but by this expression is only meant the overplus of evi- dence, on comparing both sides. In like manner, when we affirm of an event, that it is probable, we say, The contrary is only possible, al- though, when they are severally considered, we do not scruple to say, This is more probable than that; or, The probabilities on one side outweigh those on the other. The fourth and last difference I shall observe is, that scientific evidence is simple, consisting of only one coherent series, every part of which depends on the preceding, and, as it were, suspends the following : moral evidence is generally complicated, being in reality a bundle of independent proofs. The longest demonstration is but one uniform chain, the links whereof, taken severally, are not to be regarded as so many arguments, and consequently, when thus taken, they conclude nothing; but taken together, and in their pro- per order, they form one argument, which is perfectly conclusive. It is true, the same theorem may be demonstrable in different ways* and by different mediums; but as a single demonstration, clearly understood, commands the fullest conviction, every other is super- fluous. After one demonstrative proof, a man may try a second, purely as an exercise of ingenuity, or the better to assure himself that he hath not committed an oversight in the first. Thus it may serve to warrant the regular procedure of his faculties, but not to make an addition to the former proof, or supply any deficiency per- ceived in it. So far is it from answering this end, that he is no sooner sensible of a defect in an attempt of this nature, than the whole is rejected as good for nothing, and carrying with it no de- gree of evidence whatever. In moral reasoning, on the contrary Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 61 there is often n combination of many distinct topics of argument, no way dependent on one another. Each hath a certain portion of evidence belonging- to itself, each bestows on the conclusion a par- ticular degree of likelihood, of all which accumulated, the credibi- lity of the fact is compounded. The former may be compared to an arch, no part of which can subsist independently of the rest. If you make any breach in it, you destroy the whole. The latter may be compared to a tower, the height whereof is but the aggregate of the heights of the several parts reared above one another, and so may be gradually diminished, as it was gradually raised. So much for the respective natures of scientific and of moral evidence, and those character istical qualities which discriminate them from each other. On a survey of the whole, it seems indubi- table, that if the former is infinitely superior in point of authority, the latter no less excels in point of importance. Abstract truth, as far as it is the object of our faculties, is almost entirely confined to quantity, concrete or discrete. The sphere of demonstration is narrow, but within her sphere she is a despotic sovereign, her sway is uncontrolable. Her rival, on the contrary, hath less power, but wider empire. Her forces, indeed, are not always irresistible; but the whole world is comprised in her dominions. Reality or fact comprehends the laws and the works of nature, as well as the arts and the institutions of men; in brief, all the beings which fall under the cognizance of the human mind, with all their modi- fications, operations, and effects. By the first, we must acknow- ledge, when applied to things, and combined with the discoveries of the second, our researches into nature in a certain line are facilitated, the understanding is enlightened, and many of the arts, both ele- gant and useful, are improved and perfected. Without the aid of the second, society must not only suffer, but perish. Human na- ture itself could not subsist. This organ of knowledge, which ex- tends its influence to every precinct of philosophy, and governs in most, serves also to regulate all the ordinary, but indispensible concernments of life. To these it is admirably adapted, notwith- standing its inferiority in respect of dignity, accuracy, and perspi- cuity. For it is principally to the acquisitions procured by ex,pe- rience, that we owe the use of language, and the knowledge of al- most every thing that makes the soul of a man differ from that of a new-born infant. On the other hand, there is no despot so abso- lute, as not to be liable to a check on some side or other; and that the prerogatives of demonstration are not so very considerable, as on a cursory view one is apt to imagine; that this, as well as every other operation of the intellect, must partake in the weakness incident to 62 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. all our mental faculties, and inseparable from our nature, I shall af- terwards take an opportunity particularly to evince. PART II. The nature and origin of Experience. I SHOULD now consider the principal tribes comprehended under the general name of moral evidence; but, that every difficulty may be removed, which might retard our progress in the proposed dis- cussion, it will be necessary, in the first place, to explore more ac- curately those sources in our nature, which give being to experi- ence, and consequently to all those attainments, moral and intellec- tual, that are derived from it. These sources are two, sense and memory. The senses, both external and internal, are the original inlets of perception. They inform the mind of the facts, which in the present instance, are situated within the sphere of their activi- ty, and no sooner discharge their office in any particular instance, than the articles of information exhibited by them, are devolved on the memory. Remembrance instantly succeeds sensation, insomuch that the memory becomes the sole repository of the knowledge re- ceived from sense ; knowledge which, without this repository, would be as instantaneously lost as it is gotten, and could be of no ser- vice to the mind. Our sensations would be no better than the fleeting pictures of a moving object on a camera obscura, which leave not the least vestige behind them. Memory therefore is the only original voucher extant, of those past realities for which we had once the evidence of sense. Her ideas are, as it Avere, the prints that have been left by sensible impressions. But from these two faculties, con- sidered in themselves, there results to us the knowledge only of in- dividual facts, and only of such facts as either heretofore have come, or at present do come under the notice of our senses. Now, in order to render this knowledge useful to us, in discover- ing the nature of things, and in regulating our conduct, a further process of the mind is necessary, which deserves to be carefully at- tended to, and may be thus illustrated. I have observed a stone fall to the ground, when nothing intervened to impede its motion. This single fact produces little or no effect on the mind beyond a bare remembrance. At another time, I observe the fall of a tile, at ano- ther of an apple, and so of almost every kind of body in the like situation. Thus my senses first, and then my memory, furnish me with numerous examples, which, though different in every other particular, are similar in this, that they present a body mo- ving downwards, till obstructed either by the ground or by some intervenient object. Hence my first notion of gravitation. For, with regard to the similar circumstances of different facts, as by y. OF RHETORIC. 63 the repetition such circumstances are more deeply imprinted, the mind acquires a habit of retaining them, omitting those circum- stances peculiar to each, wherein their differences consist. Hence, if objects of any kind, in a particular manner circumstanced, are remembered to have been usually, and still more if uniformly, succeeded by certain particular consequences, the idea of the former, in the supposed circumstance introduced into the mind, immediately associates the idea of the latter; and if the object itself, so circumstanced, be presented to the senses, the mind in- stantly anticipates the appearance of the customary consequence. This holds also inversely. The retention and association, above explained, are called Experience. The anticipation is in effect no other than a particular conclusion from that experience. Here we may remark, by the way, that though memory gives birth to experience, which results from the comparison of facts remem- bered, the experience of habitual association remains, when the individual facts on which it is founded are all forgotten. 1 know from an experience, which excludes all doubt, the power of fire in melting silver, and yet may not be able at present to recollect a particular instance in which I have seen this effect produced, or even in which I have had the fact attested by a credible witness. Some will perhaps object, that the account now given makes our experimental reasoning look like a sort of mechanism, necessarily resulting from the very constitution of the mind. I acknowledge the justness of the remark, but do not think that it ought to be re- garded as an objection. It is plain, that our reasoning in this way, if you please to call it so, is very early, and precedes all reflection on our faculties, and the manner of applying them. Those who at- tend to the progress of human nature through its different stages, and through childhood in particular, will observe, that children make great acquisitions in knowledge from experience, long before they attain the use of speech. The beasts also, in their sphere, im- prove by experience, which hath in them just the same foundations of sense and memory as in us, and hath, besides, a similar influence on their actions. It is precisely in the same manner, and with the same success, that you might train a dog, or accustom a child, to ex- pect food on your calling to him in one tone of voice, and to dread your resentment, when you use another. The brutes have evidently the rudiments of this species of rationality, which extends as far in them as the immediate purposes of self-preservation require, and which, whether you call it reason or instinct, they both acquire and use in the same manner as we do. That it reaches no farther in them, seems to arise from an original incapacity of classing, and (if 64 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. I may use the expression) generalising their perceptions; an exer- cise which to us very quickly becomes familiar, and is what chiefly fits us for the use of language. Indeed, in the extent of this capa- city, as much, perhaps, as in any thing, lies also the principal natu- ral superiority of one man over another. But that we may be satisfied, that to this kind of reasoning, in its earliest and simplest form, little or no reflection is necessary, let it be observed, that it is now universally admitted by opticians, that it is not purely from sight, but from sight aided by experience, that we derive our notions of the distance of visible objects from the eye. The sensation, say they, is instantaneously followed by a conclusion or judgment founded on experience. The point is determined from the different phases of the object, found in former trials to be connected with different distances, or from the effort that accompanies the differ- ent conformations we are obliged to give the organs of sight, in order to obtain a distinct vision of the object. Now, if this be the case, as I think hath been sufficiently evinced of late, it is manifest, that this judgment is so truly instantaneous, and so perfectly the result of feeling and association, that the forming of it totally escapes our notice. Perhaps, in no period of life will you find a person, that, on the first mention of it, can be easily persuaded, that he derives this knowledge from experience. Every man will be ready to tell you, that he needs no other witnesses than his eyes, to satisfy him that objects are not in contact with his body, but are at different dis- tances from him as well as from one another. So passive is the mind in this matter, and so rapid are the transitions which, by this ideal attraction, she is impelled to make, that she is, in a manner, unconscious of her own operations. There is some ground to think, from the exact analogy which their organs bear to ours, that the discovery of distance from the eye is attained by brutes in the same manner as by us. As to this, however, I will not be positive. But though, in this way, the mind acquires an early perception of the most obvious and necessary truths, without which the bo- dily organs would be of little use; in matters less important, her procedure is much slower, and more the result of voluntary ap- plication; and as the exertion is more deliberate, she is more con- scious of her own activity, or, at least, remembers it longer. It is then only that in common style we honor her operation with the name of reasoning; though there is no essential difference between the two cases. It is true, indeed, that the conclusions in the first way, by which also in infancy we learn lang-uage, are commonly more to be regarded as infallible, than those effected in the second. Cha P' V ' OF RHETORIC. 65 PART III. The subdivisions of Moral Reasoning. BUT to return to the proposed distribution of moral evidence. Under it I include these three tribes, experience, analogy, and testimony. To these I shall subjoin the consideration of a fourth, totally distinct from them all, but which appears to be a mixture of the demonstrative and the moral; or rather a particular appli- cation of the former, for ascertaining the precise force of the lat- ter. The evidence I mean is that resulting from calculations concerning chances. I. Experience. The first of these I have named peculiarly the evidence of experience, not with philosophical propriety, but in compliance with common language, and for distinction's sake. Analogical reasoning is surely reasoning from a more indirect experience. Now, as to this first kind, our experience is either uniform or various. In the one case, provided the facts on which it is founded be sufficiently numerous, the conclusion is said to be morally certain. In the other, the conclusion, built on the greater number of instances, is said to be probable, and more or less so, according to the proportion which the instances on that side bear to those on the opposite. Thus we are perfectly assured, that iron thrown into the river will sink, that deal will float; be- cause these conclusions are built on a full and uniform experience. That, in the last week of December next, it will snow in any part of Britain specified is perhaps probable; that is, if, on inquiry or recollection, we are satisfied that this hath more frequently happened than the contrary ; that some time in that month it will snow is more probable, but not certain; because, though this con- clusion be founded on experience, that experience is not uniform: lastly, that it will snow some time during winter will, I believe, on the same principles, be pronounced certain. It was affirmed, that experience, or the tendency of the mind to associate ideas under the notion of causes, effects, or adjuncts, is never contracted by one example only. This assertion, it may be thought, is contradicted by the principle on which physiolo- gists commonly proceed, who consider one accurate experiment in support of a particular doctrine as sufficient evidence. The better to explain this phenomenon, and the farther to illustrate the nature of experience, I shall make the following observations. First, whereas sense and memory are conversant only about in- dividuals, our earliest experiences imply, or perhaps generate the notion of a species, including all those individuals which have 66 THE PHILOSOPHY Book /. the most obvious and universal resemblance. From Charles, Thomas, William, we ascend to the idea of man; from Britain, France, Spain, to the idea of kingdom. As our acquaintance with nature enlarges, we discover resemblances, of a striking and important nature, between one species and another, which natu- rally begets the notion of a g'enus. From comparing' men with beasts, birds, fishes, and reptiles, we perceive that they are all alike possessed of life, or a principle of sensation and action, and of an organized body, and hence acquire the idea of animal; in like manner, from comparing kingdoms with republics and aristocra- cies, we obtain the idea of nation; and thence again rise in the same track to ideas still more comprehensive. Further, let it be remembered, that by experience we not only decide concerning the future from the past, but concerning things uncommon from things familiar, which resemble them. Now to apply this observation : A botanist, in traversing the fields, lights on a particular plant, which appears to be of a species he is not acquainted with. The flower, he observes, is monopetalous, and the number of flowers it carries is seven. Here are two facts that occur to his observation; let us consider in what way he will be disposed to argue from them. From the first he does not hesi- tate to conclude, not only as probable, but as certain, that this in- dividual, and all of the same species, invariably produce monope- talous flowers. From the second, he by no means concludes, as either certain or even probable, that the flowers which either this plant, or others of the same species carry at once, will always be seven. This difference, to a superficial inquirer, might seem capricious, since there appears to be one example, and but one in either case, on which the conclusion can be founded. The truth is, that it is not from this example only that he deduces these inferences. Had he never heretofore taken the smallest notice of any plant, he could not have reasoned at all from these remarks. The mind recurs instantly from the unknown to all the other known species of the same genus, and thence to all the known genera of the same order or tribe; and having experi- enced in the one instance a regularity in every species, genus, and tribe, which admits no exception; in the other, a variety as boundless as is that of season, soil, and culture; it learns hence to mark the difference. Again, we may observe, that, on a closer acquaintance with those objects wherewith we are surrounded, we come to discover that they are mostly of a compound nature, and that not only as containing a complication of those qualities called accidents, as gravity, mobility, Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 67 color, extension, figure, solidity, which are common almost to all matter, not only as consisting of different members, but as compre- hending a mixture of bodies, often very different in their nature and properties, as air, fire, water, earth, salt, oil, spirit, and the like. These, perhaps, on deeper researches, will be found to consist of materials still simpler. Moreover, as we advance in the study of nature, we daily find more reason to be convinced of her constancy in all her operations, that like causes, in like circumstances, always produce like effects, and inversely like effects always flow from like causes. The inconstancy which appears at first in some of nature's works, a more improved experience teacheth us to account for in this manner. As most of the objects we know are of a complex nature, on a narrower scrutiny we find, that the effects ascribed to them ought often solely to be ascribed to one or more of the com- ponent parts; that the other parts noway contribute to the produc- tion ; that, on the contrary, they sometimes tend to hinder it. If the parts in the composition of similar objects were always in equal quantity, their being compounded would make no odds; if the parts, though not equal, bore always the same proportion to the whole, this would make a difference ; but such as in many cases might be computed. In both respects, however, there is an immense variety. Perhaps every individual differs from every other individual of the same species, both in the quantities and in the proportions of its con- stituent members and component parts. This diversity is also found in other thing's, which, though hardly reducible to species, are ge- nerally known by the same name. The atmosphere in the same place at different times, or at the same time in different places, dif- fers in density, heat, humidity, and the number, quality, and propor- tion of the vapors or particles with which it is loaden. The more, then, we become acquainted with elementary natures, the more we are ascertained by a general experience of the uniformity of their operations. And though perhaps it be impossible for us to attain the knowledge of the simplest elements of any body, yet, when any thing appears so simple, or rather so exactly uniform, as that we have observed it invariably to produce similar effects; on discovering any new effect, though but by one experiment, we conclude, from the general experience of the efficient, a like constancy in this energy as in the rest. Fire consumes wood, melts copper, and hardens clay. In these instances it acts uniformly, but not in these only. I have always experienced hitherto, that whatever of any species is consumed by it once, all of the same species it will consume upon trial at any time. The like may be said of what is melted, or har- dened, or otherwise altered by it. If then, for the first time, I try 68 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh I. the influence of fire on any fossil, or other substance, whatever be the effect, I readily conclude, that fire will always produce a simi- lar effect on similar bodies. This conclusion is not founded on this single instance, but on this instance compared with a general ex- perience of the regularity of this element in all its operations. So much for the first tribe, the evidence of experience, on which I have enlarged the more, as it is, if not the foundation, at least the criterion of all moral reasoning whatever. It is, besides, the prin- cipal organ of truth in all the branches of physiology, (I use the word in its largest acceptation), including natural history, astro- nomy, geography, mechanics, optics, hydrostatics, meteorology, medicine, chemistry. Under the general term I also comprehend natural theology and psychology, which, in my opinion, have been most unnaturally disjoined by philosophers. Spirit, which here comprises only the Supreme Being and the human soul, is surely as much included under the notion of natural object as body is, and is knowable to the philosopher purely in the same way, by ob- servation and experience, II. Analogy. The evidence of analogy, as was hinted above, is but a more indirect experience, founded on some remote simili- tude. As things, however, are often more easily comprehended by the aid of example than by definition, I shall in that manner illustrate the difference between experimental evidence and analo- gical. The circulation of the blood in one human body is, I shall suppose, experimentally discovered. Nobody will doubt of this being a sufficient proof from experience, that the blood circulates in evey human body. Nay, further, when we consider the great similarity which other animal bodies bear to the human body, and that both in the structure and in the destination of the several or- gans and limbs; particularly when we consider the resemblance in the blood itself, and blood vessels, and in the fabric and pulsation of the heart and arteries, it will appear sufficient experimental evi- dence of the circulation of the blood in brutes, especially in qua- drupeds. Yet, in this application, it is manifest, that the evidence is weaker than in the former. But should I from the same experi- ment infer the circulation of the sap in vegetables, this would be called an argument only from analogy. Now, all reasonings from experience are obviously weakened in proportion to the remoteness of the resemblance subsisting between that on which the argument is founded, and that concerning which we form the conclusion. The same thing may be considered in a different way. I have learned from experience, that like effects sometimes proceed from objects which faintly resemble, but not near so frequently as from ob- Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 69 jects which have a more perfect likeness. By this experience I am enabled to determine the degrees of probability from the degrees of similarity in the different cases. It is presumable that the for- mer of these ways has the earliest influence, when the mind, un- accustomed to reflection, forms but a weak association, and conse- quently but a weak expectation of a similar event from a weak re- semblance. The latter seems more the result of thought, and is better adapted to the ordinary forms of reasoning. It is allowed, that analogical evidence is at best but a feeble support, and is hardly ever honored with the name of proof. Never- theless, when the analogies are numerous, and the subject admits not evidence of another kind, it doth not want its efficacy. It must be owned, however, that it is generally more successful in silencing objections, than in evincing truth, and on this account may more properly be styled the defensive arms of the orator, than the offensive. Though it rarely refutes, it frequently repels refu- tation, like those weapons which, though they cannot kill the enemy, will ward his blows *. III. Testimony The third tribe is the evidence of testimony, which is either oral or written. This also hath been thought by some, but unjustly, to be solely and originally derived from the same source, experience f. The utmost, in regard to this, that can be affirmed with truth, is, that the evidence of testimony is to be considered as strictly logical, no farther than human veracity in general, or the veracity of witnesses of such a character, and in such\ circumstances in particular, is supported, or perhaps more properly, hath not been refuted by experience. But that testimony, antecedently to experience, hath * natural influence on belief, is undeniable. In this it resembles memory; for though the defects and misrepresentations of memory are corrected by experience, yet that this faculty hath an innate evidence of its own, we know from this: that if we had not previously given an implicit faith to me- mory, we had never been able to acquire experience. This will appear from a revisal of its nature, as explained above. Nay, it must be owned, that in what regards single facts, testimony is more adequate evidence than any conclusions from experience. * Dr. Butler, iu bis excellent treatise called "The analogy of Religion, natural and revealed, to the constitution and course of nature," hath shewn us, how useful this mode of reasoning may be rendered, by the application he hath so successfully made of it, for refuting the cavils of infidelity. 1 1 had occasion to make some reflections on this subject formerly. See Dis- sertation on Miracles, Part i. Sect. 1. There are several ingenious observations on the same subject in Reid's Inquiry, Ch. vi. Sect. 23. 70 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh 1. The immediate conclusions from experience are general, and run thus: ' This is the ordinary course of nature/ * Such an event may ' reasonably be expected, when all the attendant circumstances ' are similar.' When we descend to particulars, the conclusion necessarily becomes weaker, being 1 more indirect. For though all the known circumstances be similar, all the actual circumstances may not be similar; nor is it possible in any case to be assured, that all the actual circumstances are known to us. Accordingly, expe- rience is the foundation of philosophy; which consists in a collec- tion of general truths, systematically digested. On the contrary, the direct conclusion from testimony is particular, and runs thus : ' This is the fact in the instance specified.' Testimony, therefore, is the foundation of history, which is occupied about individuals. Hence we derive our acquaintance with past ages, as from expe- rience we derive all that we can discover of the future. But the former is dignified with the name of knowledge, \vhereas the latter is regarded as matter of conjecture only. When experience is applied to the discovery of the truth in a particular incident, we call the evidence presumptive; ample testimony is accounted a po- sitive proof of the fact. Nay, the strongest conviction built mere- ly on the former is sometimes overturned by the slightest attack of the latter. Testimony is capable of giving us absolute certainty (Mr. Hume himself being judge *) even of the most miraculous fact, or of what is contrary to uniform experience. For, perhaps, in no other instance can experience be applied to individual events, with so much certainty, as in what rebates to the revolutions of the heavenly bodies. Yet, even this evidence, he admits, may not only be counterbalanced, but destroyed by testimony. But to return. Testimony is a serious intimation from another, of any fact or observation, as being what he remembers to have seen, or heard, or experienced. To this, when we have no positive reasons of mistrust or doubt, we are, by an original principle of our nature, (analogous to that which compels our faith in memory), led to give an unlimited assent. As on memory alone is founded the merely personal experience of the individual, so on testimony, in concurrence with memory, is founded the much more extensive experience, which is not originally our own, but derived from others f. By the first, I question not, a man might acquire all the knowledge necessary for mere animal support, in that rudest state of human nature (if ever such a state existed) which was without speech, and without society; to the last, in conjunction with the * Essay of Miracles, p. 2. f Dissertation on Miracles, Part i. Sect. 2. Cltap.V. OF RHETORIC, fjfj otlier, we are indebted for every thing which distinguishes the man from the brute, for language, arts, and civilization. It hath been observed, that from experience we learn to confine our belief in human testimony within the proper bounds. Hence we are taught to consider many attendant circumstances, which serve either to corroborate or to invalidate its evidence. The reputation of the attester, his manner of address, the nature of the fact attested, the occasion of giving- the testimony, the possible or probable design in giving it, the disposition of the hearers to whom it was given, and several other circumstances, have all considerable influence in fixing the degree of credibility. But of these I shall have occa- sion to take notice afterwards. It deserves likewise to be attended to on this subject, that in a number of concurrent testimonies, (in cases wherein there could have been no previous concert) there is a probability distinct from that which may be termed the sum of the probabilities resulting from the testimonies of the witnesses, a pro- bability which would remain even though the witnesses were of such a character as to merit no faith at all. This probability ariseth purely from the concurrence itself. That such a concurrence should spring from chance, is as one to infinite; that is, in other words, morally impossible. If therefore concert be excluded, there remains no other cause but the reality of the fact. Now to this species of evidence, testimony, we are first imme- diately indebted for all the branches of philology, such as history, civil, ecclesiastic, and literary: grammar, languages, jurispru- dence, and criticism; to which I may add revealed religion, as far as it is to be considered as a subject of historical and critical in- quiry, and so discoverable by natural means : and secondly, to the same source we owe, as was hinted above, a great part of that light which is commonly known under the name of experience, but which is, in fact, not founded on our own personal observations, or the notices originally given by our own senses, but oa the at- tested experiences and observations of others. So that as hence we derive entirely our knowledge of the actions and productions of men, especially in other regions, and in former ages; hence also we derive, in a much greater measure than is commonly imagined, our acquaintance with Nature and her works. Logic, rhetoric, ethics, economics, and politics, are properly branches of pneumatology, though very closely connected with the philological studies above enumerated. - IV. Calculations of Chances. The last kind of evidence I proposed to consider, was that resulting from calculations of chances. Chance is not commonly understood either in philoso- 72 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. phic or in vulgar language to imply the exclusion of a cause, but our ignorance of the cause. It is often employed to denote a bare possibility of an event, when nothing is known either to produce or to hinder it. But in this meaning it can never be made the sub- ject of calculation. It then only affords scope to the calculator, when a cause is known for the production of an effect, and when that effect must necessarily be attended with this, or that, or the other circumstance; but no cause is known to determine us to re- gard one particular circumstance in preference to the rest, as that which shall accompany the supposed effect. The effect is then considered as necessary, but the circumstance as only casual or contingent. When a die is thrown out of the hand, we know that its gravity will make it fall; we know also, that this, together with its cubical figure, will make it lie so, when intercepted by the table, as to have one side facing upwards. Thus far we proceed on the certain principles of an uniform experience ; but there is no principle which can lead me to conclude, that one side rather than another will be turned up. I know that this circumstance is not without a cause; but is, on the contrary, as really effected by the previous tossing which it receives in the hand or in the box, as its fall and the manner of its lying are by its gravity and figure. But the various turns or motions given it, in this manner, do inevitably escape my notice; and so are held for nothing. I say, therefore, that the chance is equal for every one of the six sides. Now, if five of these were marked with the same figure, suppose a dag- ger [f3, and only one with an asterisk *], I should, in that case, say, there were five chances that the die would turn up the dagger, for one that it would turn up the asterisk. For the turning up each of the six sides being equally possible, there are five cases in which the dagger, and only one in which the asterisk would be uppermost. This differs from experience, inasmuch as I reckon on the proba- bility here, not from numbering and comparing the events, after repeated trials, but, without any trial, from balancing the possibili- ties on both sides. But though different from experience, it is so similar, that we cannot wonder that it should produce a similar effect upon the mind. These different positions being considered as equal, if any of five shall produce one effect, and but the sixth another, the mind weighing the different events, resteth in an ex- pectation of that in which the greater number of chances concur; but still accompanied with a degree of hesitancy, which appears proportioned to the number of chances on the opposite side. It is much after the same manner that the mind, on comparing its own Clutp. V. OF RHETORIC. 73 experiences, when five instances favor one side, to one that favors the contrary, determines the greater credibility of the former. Hence in all complicated cases, the very degree of probability may be arithmetically ascertained. That two dice marked in the common way will turn up seven, is thrice as probable as that they will turn up eleven, and six times as probable as that they will turn up twelve*. The degree of probability is here determined demon- stratively. It is indeed true, that such mathematical calculations may be founded on experience, as well as upon chances. Examples of this we have in the computations that have been made of the value of annuities, insurances, and several other commercial arti- cles. In such cases, a great number of instances is necessary, the greatest exactness in collecting them on each side, and due care that there be no discoverable peculiarity in any of them, which would render them unfit for supporting a general conclusion. PART IV. The superiority of scientific evidence re-examined. AFTER the enumeration made in the first part of this section, of the principle differences between scientific evidence and moral, I sig- nified my intention of resuming the subject afterwards, as far at least as might be necessary to shew, that the prerogatives of de- monstration are not so considerable, as on a cursory view one is apt to imagine. It will be proper now to execute this intention. I could not attempt it sooner, as the right apprehension of what is to be advanced, will depend on a just conception of those things which have lately been explained. In the comparison referred to, I con- trasted the two sorts of evidence, as they are in themselves, without considering the influence which the necessary application of our fa- culties in using both, has, and ought to have, on the effect. The observations then made in that abstracted view of the subject, ap- pear to be well founded. But that view, I acknowledge, doth not comprehend the whole with which we are concerned. It was observed of memory, that as it instantly succeeds sensa- tion, it is the repository of all the stores from which our experience * Call one die A., the other B. The chances for seven are, A l. B 6. A 2. B 5. A3. B 4. A 4. B 3. A ft. B 2. A 6. B 1. The chances for eleven are, A 6. B 5. A 5. B 6. The only chance for twelve is A 6. B 6. The 1st is to the -2d, as six to 2 ; to the 3d, as 6 to 1. 74 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. is collected, and that without an implicit faith in the clear represen- tations of that faculty, we could not advance a step in the acquisi- tion of experimental knowledge. Yet we kaow that memory is not infallible; nor can we pretend, that in any ease there is not a phy- sical possibility of her making- a false report. Here, it may be said, is an irremediable imbecility in the very foundation of moral reason- ittg. But is it less so in demonstrative reasoning? This point de- serves a careful examination. It was remarked concerning the latter, that it is a proof consist- ing of an uninterrupted series of axioms. The truth of each is in- tuitively perceived as we proceed. But this process is of necessi- ty gradual, and these axioms are all brought in succession. It must then be solely by the aid of memory, that they are capable of pro- ducing conviction in the mind. Nor by this do I mean to affirm, that we can remember the preceding steps, with their connexions, so as to have them all present to our view at one instant; for then we should, in that instant, perceive the whole intuitively. Our re- membrance, on the contrary, amounts to no more than this, that the perception of the truth of the axiom to which we are advanced in the proof, is accompanied with a strong impression on the memory, of the satisfaction that the mind received from the justness and re- gularity of what preceded. And in this we are under a necessity of acquiescing; for the understanding is no more capable of contem- plating and perceiving at once the truth of all the propositions in the series, than the tongue is capable of uttering them at once. Before we make great progress in geometry, we come to demonstra- tions, wherein there is a reference to preceding demonstrations ; and in these perhaps to others that preceded them. The bare reflection, that as to these we once were satisfied, is accounted by every learner, and teacher too, as sufficient. And if it were not so, no advancement at all could be made in this science. Yet, here again, the whole evi- dence is reduced to the testimony of memory. It may be said that, along with the remembrance now mentioned, there is often in the mind, a conscious power of recollecting the several steps, when- ever it pleases; but the power of recollecting them severally and successively, and the actual, instantaneous recollection of the whole, are Avidely different. Now what is the consequence of this induction? It is plainly this, that, in spite of the pride of mathesis, no demonstration what- ever can produce, or reasonably ought to produce, a higher degree of certainty, than that which results from the vivid representations of memory, on which the other is obliged to lean. Such is here the natural subordination, however rational and purely intellectual the Cfutp. V. OF RHETORIC. 75 former may be accounted, however mysterious and inexplicable the latter. For it is manifest, that without a perfect acquiescence in such representations, the mathematician could not advance a single step beyond his definitions rtnd axioms. Nothing therefore is more certain, however inconceivable it appeared to Dr. Priestley, than what M r as affirmed by Dr. Oswald, that " the possibility of error attends the most complete demonstration." If from theory we recur to fact, we shall quickly find, that those most deeply versed in this sort of reasoning, are conscious of the justness of the remark now made. A geometrician, I shall sup- pose, discovers a new theorem, which, having made a diagram for the purpose, he attempts to demonstrate, and succeeds in the at- tempt. The figure he hath constructed is very complex, and the demonstration long. Allow me now to ask Will he be so perfectly satisfied on the first trial, as not to think it of importance to make a second, perhaps a third, and a fourth? Whence arises this diffi- dence? Purely from the consciousness of the fallibility of his own faculties. But to what purpose, it may be said, the reiterations of the attempt, since it is impossible for him, by any efforts, to shake off his dependence on the accuracy of his attention, and fidelity of his memory? Or, what can he have more than reiterated testimonies of his memory, in support of the truth of its former testimony? I acknowledge, that after a hundred attempts he can have no more. But even this is a great deal. We learn from ex- perience, that the mistakes or oversights committed by thd mind in one operation, are sometimes, on a review, corrected in a second, or perhaps in a third. Besides, the repetition, when no error is discovered, enlivens the remembrance, and so strengthens the con- viction. But for this conviction, it is plain that we arc in a great measure indebted to memory, and in some measure even to .experience. Arithmetical operations, as well as geometrical, are in their na- ture scientific; yet the most accurate accountants are very sen- sible of the possibility of committing a blunder, and therefore rarely fail, for securing the matter when it is of importance, to prove what they have done, by trying to effect the same thing another way. You have employed yourself, I suppose, in resolv- ing- some difficult problem by algebra, and are convinced that your solution is just. One whom you know to be an expert alge- braist, carefully peruses the whole operation, and acquaints you that he hath discovered an error in your procedure. You are that instant sensible that your conviction was not of such an impreg- nable nature, but that his single testimony, in consequence of the 76 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh I. confidence you repose in his experienced veracity and skill, makes a considerable abatement in it. Many cases might be supposed of belief founded only on moral evidence, which it would be impossible thus to shake. A man of known probity and good sense, and (if you think it makes an ad- dition of any moment in this case) an astronomer and philosopher, bids you look at the sun as it goes down, and tells you, with a serious countenance, that the sun which sets to-day will never rise again upon the earth. What would be the effect of this de- claration? Would it create in you any doubts? 1 believe it might as to the soundness of the man's intellects, but not as to the truth of what he said. Thus, if we regard only the effect, demonstra- tion itself doth not always produce such immoveable certainty, as is sometimes consequent on merely moral evidence. And if there are, on the other hand, some well-known demonstrations, of so great authority, that it would equally look like lunacy to impugn, it may deserve the attention of the curious, to inquire how far, with respect to the bulk of mankind, these circumstan- ces, their having stood the test of ages, their having obtained the universal suffrage of those who are qualified to examine them, (things purely of the nature of moral evidence), have contributed to that unshaken faith with which they are received. The principal difference then, in respect of the result of both kinds, is reduced to this narrow point. In mathematical reason- ing, provided you are ascertained of the regular procedure of the mind, to affirm that the conclusion is false, implies a contradiction ; in moral reasoning, though the procedure of the mind were quite unexceptionable, there still remains a physical possibility of the falsity of the conclusion. But how small this difference is in reali- ty, any judicious person, who but attends a little, may easily dis- cover. The geometrician, for instance, can no more doubt, whether thebook called Euclid's Elements is a human composition, whether its contents were discovered and digested into the order in which they are there disposed by human genius and art, than he can doubt the truth of the propositions therein demonstrated. Is he in the smallest degree surer of any of the properties of the circle, than that, if he take away his hand from the compasses, with which he is describing it on the wall, they will immediately fall to the ground. These things affect his mind, and influence his practice, precisely in the same manner. So much for the various kinds of evidence, whether intuitive or deductive; intuitive evidence, as divided into that of pure intellec- tion, of consciousness, and of common sense, under the last of Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 77 which that of memory is included; deductive evidence, as divided into scientific and moral, with the subdivisions of the latter into experience, analogy, and testimony, to which hath been added, the consideration of a mixed species concerning chances. So much for the various subjects of discourse, and the sorts of evic- tion of which they are respectively susceptible. This, though peculiarly the logician's province, is the foundation of all convic- tion, and consequently of persuasion too. To attain either of these ends, the speaker must always assume the character of the close and candid reasoner: for though he may bean acute logician who is no orator, he will never be a consummate orator who is no logician. CHAP. VI. OF THE NATURE AND USE OF THE SCHOLASTIC ART OF SYLLOGIZING. HAVING in the preceding chapter endeavoured to trace the outlines of natural logic, perhaps with more minuteness than in such an in- quiry as this was strictly necessary, it might appear strange to pass over in silence the dialectic of the schools; an art which, though now fallen into disrepute, maintained for a tract of ages the highest repu- tation among the learned. What was so long regarded, as teaching the only legitimate use and application of our rational powers in the acquisition of knowledge, ought not surely, when we are employ- ed in investigating the nature and the different sorts of evidence, to be altogether overlooked. It is long since I was first convinced by what Mr Locke hath said on the subject, that the syllogistic art, with its figures and moods, serves more to display the ingenuity of the inventor, and to ' exercise the address and fluency of the learner, than to assist the diligent inquirer in his researches after truth. The method of pro- ving by syllogism appears, even on a superficial review, both un- natural and prolix. The rules laid down for distinguishing the conclusive from the inconclusive forms of argument, the true syU logism from the various kinds of sophism, are at once cumbersome to the memory, and unnecessary in practice. No person, one may venture to pronounce, will ever be made a reasoner, who stands in need of them. In a word, the whole bears the manifest indications of an . artificial and ostentatious parade of learning, calculated for giving the appearance of great profundity to what in fact is very shallow. Such, I acknowledge, have been, of a long time, my sen- 78 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. timents on the subject. On a nearer inspection, I cannot say I have found reason to alter them, though I think I have seen a little fur- ther into the nature of this disputative science, and consequently into the grounds of its futility. I shall, therefore, as briefly as pos- sible, lay before the reader a few observations on the subject, and so dismiss this article. Permit me only to premise in general, that I proceed all along on the supposition, that the render hath some previous acquaintance with school logic. It would be extremely superfluous in a work like this, to give even the shortest abridgment that could be made of an art so well known, and which is still to be found in many thou- sand volumes. On the other hand, it is not necessary that he be an adept in it, a mere smattering' will sufficiently serve the present purpose. My first observation is, that this method of arguing has not the least affinity to moral reasoning-, the procedure in the one being the very reverse of that employed in the other. In moral reasoning we proceed by analysis, and ascend from particulars to universals; in syllogizing we proceed by synthesis, and descend from universals to particulars. The analytic is the only method which we can follow in the acquisition of natural knowledge, or of whatever regards ac- tual existences; the synthetic is more properly the method that ought to be pursued in the application of knowledge already ac- quired. It is for this reason it has been called the didactic method, as being' the shortest way of communicating the principles of a science. But even in teaching, as often as we attempt not barely to inform, but to convince, there is a necessity of recurring to the tract, in which the knowledge we would convey was first attained. Now, the method of reasoning by syllogism more resembles ma- thematical demonstration, wherein, from universal principles, called axioms, we deduce many truths, which, though general in their na- ture, may, when compared with those first principles, be justly styled particular. Whereas, in all kinds of knowledge, wherein experience is our only guide, we can proceed to general truths, solely by an induction of particulars. Agreeably to this remark, if a syllogism be regular in mood and figure, and if the premises be true, the conclusion is infallible The whole foundation of the syllogistic art lies in these two axioms: ' Things which coincide with the same thing, coincide with one ano- ther;' and ' Two things, whereof one does, and one does not coin- ' cide with the same thing, do not coincide \vith one another.' On the former rest all the affirmative syllogisms, on the latter all the negative. Accordingly, there is no more mention here of probability Cha?. VL P RHETORIC. 70 and of degrees of evidence, than in the operations of geometry and algebra. It is true, indeed, that the term probable may be admit- ted into a syllogism, and make an essential part of the conclusion, and so it may also in an arithmetical computation; foot this does not in the least affect what was advanced just now; for, in all such cases, the probability itself is assumed in one of the premises: where- as, in the inductive method of reasoning, it often happens, that .from certain facts we can deduce only probable consequences. I observe secondly, that though this manner of arguing" has more of the nature of scientific reasoning, than of moral, it has, neverthe- less, not been thought worthy of being adopted by mathematicians, as a proper method of demonstrating their theorems. I am satisfied that mathematical demonstration is capable of being moulded into the syllogistic form, having made the trial with success on some pro- positions." But that this form is a very incommodious one, aad has many disadvantages, but not one advantage of that commonly prac- tised, will be manifest to every one who makes the experiment. It is at once more indirect, more tedious, and more obscure. I may add, that if into those abstract sciences one were to introduce some specious fallacies, such fallacies could be much more easily sheltered under the awkward verbosity of this artificial method, than under the elegant simplicity of that which has hitherto been used. My third remark, which, by the way, is directly consequent on the two former, shall be, that in the ordinary application of this art, to matters with which we can be made acquainted only by experi- ence, it can be of little or no utility. So far from leading the mind, agreeably to the design of all argument and investigation, from thing's known to things unknown, and by things evident to things obscure; its usual progress is, on the contrary, from things less known to things better known, and by things obscure to things evi- dent. But that it may not be thought that I do injustice to the art by this representation, I must entreat, that the few following con- siderations may be attended to. When in the way of induction, the mind proceeds from indivi- dual instances to the discovery of such truths as regard a species, and from these again, to such as comprehend a genus, we may say with reason, that as we advance, there may be in every succeeding step, and commonly is, less certainty than in the preceding ; but in no instance whatever can there be more. Besides, as the judgment formed concerning the less general, was anterior to that formed con- cerning the more general, so the conviction is more vivid arising from both circumstances; that, being less general, it is more dis- tinctly conceived, and being earlier, it is more deeply imprinted. 80 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 1. Now the customary procedure in the syllogistic science is, as was re- marked, the natural method reversed, being from general to spe- cial, and consequently from less to more obvious. In scientific reasoning the case is very different, as the axioms or universal truths from which the mathematician argues, are so far from being the slow result of induction and experience, that they are self-evi- dent. They are no sooner apprehended than necessarily assented to. But to illustrate the matter by examples, take the following spe- cimen in Barbara, the first mood of the first figure : All animals feel; All horses are animals; Therefore all horses feel. It is impossible that any reasonable man, who really doubts whe- ther a horse has feeling, or is a mere automaton, should be convin- ced by this argument. For, supposing he uses the names horse and animal, as standing in the same relation of species and genus, which they bear in the common acceptation of the words, the argument you employ is, in effect, but an affirmation of the point which he denies, couched in such terms as include a multitude of other simi- lar affirmations, which, whether true or false, are nothing to the pur- pose. Thus, 'all animals feel,' is only a compendious expression for all horses feel, all dogs feel, all camels feel, all eagles feel, and so through the whole animal creation. I affirm besides, that the pro- cedure here is from things less known to things better known. It is possible that one may believe the conclusion who denies the ma- jor: but the reverse is not possible; for, to express myself in the language of the art, that may be predicated of the species, which is not predicable of the genus ; but that can never be predicated of the genus which is not predicable of the species. If one, therefore, were under such an error in regard to the brutes, true logic, which is always coincident with good sense, would lead our reflections to the indications of perception and feeling given by these animals, and the remarkable conformity which in this respect, and in respect of their bodily organs, they bear to our own species. It may be said, that if the subject of the question were a crea- ture much more ignoble than the horse, there would be no scope for this objection to the argument. Substitute, then, the word oys- ters for horses in the minor, and it will stand thus, All animals feel; All oysters are animals ; Therefore all oysters feel. In order to give the greater advantage to the advocate for this scholastic art, let us suppose the antagonist does not maintain the Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 81 opposite side from any favor to Descartes' theory concerning brutes, but from some notion entertained of that particular order of beings, which is the subject of dispute. It is evident, that though he should admit the truth of the major, he would regard the minor as merely another manner of expressing the conclusion; for he would conceive an animal no otherwise than as a body endowed with sensation or feeling. Sometimes, indeed, there is not in the premises any position more generic, under which the conclusion can be comprised. In this case you always find that the same proposition is exhibited in dif- ferent words ; insomuch that the stress of the argument lies in a mere synonyma, or something equivalent. The following is an example : The Almighty ought to be worshipped ; f God is the Almighty ; Therefore God ought to be worshipped. It would be superfluous to illustrate that this argument could have no greater influence on the Epicurean, than the first mentioned one would have on the Cartesian. To suppose the contrary, is to sup- pose the conviction effected by the charm of a sound, and not by the sense of what is advanced. Thus also, the middle term and the subject frequently correspond to each other ; as the definition, description, or circumlocution, and the name. Of this I shall give an example in Disamis, as, in the technical dialect, the third mood of the third figure is denominated; Some men are rapacious; All men are rational animals; Therefore some rational animals are rapacious. Who does not perceive that ' rational animals' is but a periphrasis for men? It may be proper to subjoin one example at least in negative syllo- gisms. The subsequent is one in Celarent, the second mood of the first figure : Nothing violent is lasting; But tyranny is violent; Therefore tyranny is not lasting. Here a ' thing violent' serves for the genus of which ' tyranny' is a species; and nothing can be clearer than that it requires much less experience to discover, whether shortness of duration be justly attributed to tyranny the species, than whether it be justly predi- cated of every violent thing. The application of what was said on the first example to that now given is so obvious, that it would be losing time to attempt further to illustrate it. , A . .. ; ;-|3CjaJl-.-fc-. 1H fejjgl, 82 THE PHILOSOPHY .Boo* I Logicians have been at pains to discriminate the regular and con- sequential combinations of the three terms, as they are called, from the irregular and inconsequent. A combination of the latter kind, if the defect be in the form, is called a paralogism ; if in the sense, a sophism; though sometimes these two appellations are confounded. Of the latter, one kind is denominated pctitio principii, which is commonly rendered in English 'a begging of the question,' and is defined, the proving of a thing by itself, whether expressed in the same or in different words; or, which amounts to the same thing, assuming in the proof the very opinion or principle proposed to be proved. It is surprising that this should ever have been by those artists styled a sophism, since it is in fact so essential to the art, that there is always some radical defect in a syllogism, which is not chargeable with this. The truth of what I now affirm, will ap- pear to any one, on the slightest review of what has been evinced in the preceding part of the chapter. The fourth and last observation I shall make on this topic, is, that the proper province of the syllogistical science is rather the adjustment of our language, in expressing- ourselves on subjects previously known, than the acquisition of knowledge in things themselves. According to M. du Marsais, " Reasoning consists in " deducing, inferring, or drawing a judgment from other judg- " ments already known; or rather, in shewing that the judgment " in question has been already formed implicitly, insomuch that " the only point is to develope it, and shew its identity with some " anterior judgment*." Now I affirm, that the former part of this definition suits all deductive reasoning, whether scientifical or moral, in which the principle deduced is distinct from, however closely related to, the principles from which the deduction is made. The latter part of the definition, which begins with the words ' or ' rather,' does not answer as an explication of the former, as the author seems to have intended ; but exactly hits the character of syllogistic reasoning, and indeed of all sorts of controversy merely verbal. If you regard only the thing signified, the argument con- veys no instruction, nor does it forward us in the knowledge of things a single step. But if you regard principally the signs, it may serve to correct misapplications of them, through inadvertency or otherwise. In evincing the truth of this doctrine, I shall begin with a simple * Le raisonnement consiste a deduire, a inferer, a tirer un jugement d'autres jugemens deja connus; ou plut6t a faire voir que le jugement dont il s'agit, a deja etc porte d'une maniere implicite; des sorte qu'il n'est plus question que de le developer, et d'en faire voir 1'identite avec quelque jugemeut anterieur. - Logique, Art. 7. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 83 illustration from what may happen to any one in studying a foreign tongue. I learn from an Italian and French dictionary, that the Italian word pecora corresponds to the French word brebis, and from a French and English dictionary, that the French brebis cor- responds to the English sheep. Hence I form this argument, Pecora is the same with brebis ; Brebis is the same with sheep; Therefore pecora is the same with sheep. This, though not in mood and figure, is evidently conclusive. Nay more, if the words pecora, brebis, and sheep, under the notion of signs, be regarded as the terms, it has three distinct terms, and contains a direct and scientifi cal deduction from this axiom, * Things ' coincident with the same thing, are coincident with one another.' On the other hand, let the things signified be solely regarded, and there is but one term in the whole, namely the species of quadruped, denoted by the three names above mentioned. Nor is there, in this view of the matter, another judgment in all the three propositions but this identical one, ' A sheep is a sheep/ Nor let it be imagined that the only right application can be in the acquisition of strange languages. Every tongue whatever gives scope for it, inasmuch as in every tongue the speaker labors under great inconveniences, especially on abstract questions, both from the paucity, obscurity, and ambiguity of the words on the one hand ; and from his own misapprehensions, and imperfect acquain- tance with them on the other. As a man may, therefore, by an artful and sophistical use of them, be brought to admit in certain terms, what he would deny in others, this disputatious discipline may, under proper management, by setting in a stronger light the inconsistencies occasioned by such improprieties, be rendered instru- mental in correcting them. It was remarked above*, that such pro- positions as these, ' Twelve are a dozen/ ' Twenty are a score,' unless considered as explications of the words dozen and score, are quite insignificant. This limitation, however, it was necessary to add; for those positions which are identical when considered purely as relating to the things signified, are nowise identical when regarded purely as explanatory of the names. Suppose that through the imperfection of a man's knowledge in the language, aided by another's sophistry, and perhaps his own inattention, he is brought to admit of the one term, what he would refuse of the other, such an argument as this might be employed, Twelve, you allow, are equal to the fifth part of sixty ; Now a dozen are equal to twelve; Therefore a dozen are equal to the fifth part of sixty. * Chap. v. Sect i. Part 1. 84 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. I mark the case rather strongly, for the sake of illustration ; for I am sensible, that in what regards things so definite as all names of number are, it is impossible for any one who is not quite ignorant of the tongue, to be misled. But the intell igent reader Avill easily conceive, that in abstruse and metaphysical subjects, wherein the terms are often both extensive and indefinite in their signification, and sometimes even equivocal, the most acute and wary may be en- tangled in them. In further confirmation of my fourth remark, I shall produce an example in Camestres, the second mood of the second figure : All animals are mortal ; But angels are not mortal ; Therefore angels are not animals. When the antagonist calls an angel an animal, it must proceed from one or other of these two causes, either from an error in re- gard to the nature of the angelic order, or from a mistake as to the import of the English word ' animal.' If the first be the case, namely, some erroneous opinion about angels, as that they are em- bodied spirits, generated and corruptible like ourselves ; it is evi- dent that the forementioned syllogism labors under the common defect of all syllogisms. It assumes the very point in question. But if the difference between the disputants be, as it frequently happens, merely verbal, and the opponent uses the word animal, as another name for living creature, and as exactly corresponding to the Greek term*, arguments of this sort may be of service for setting the impropriety of such a misapplication of the English name in a clearer light. For let it be observed, that though Nature hath strongly marked the principal differences to be found in dif- ferent orders of beings, a procedure which hath suggested to men the manner of classing things into genera and species, this does not hold equally in every case. Hence it is, that the general terms in different languages do not always exactly correspond. Some nations, from particular circumstances, are more affected by one property in objects, others by another. This leads to a different distribution of things under their several names. Now, though it is not of importance that the words in one tongue exactly corres- pond to those in another, it is of importance that in the same tongue uniformity in this respect be, as much as possible, observed. Errors in regard to the signs tepd not only to retard the progress of know- ledge, but to introduce errors in regard to the things signified. Now by suggesting the different attributes comprised in the definition of the term, as so many mediums in the proof, an appeal is made to * Zo Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 85 the adversary's practice in the language. In this way such mediums may be presented, as will satisfy a candid adversary, that the ap- plication he makes of the term in question, is not conformable to the usage of the tongue. On the other hand it is certain, that in matters of an abstract and complex nature, where the terms are comprehensive, indefinite, not in frequent use, and consequently not well ascertained, men may ar- gue together eternally, without making the smallest impression on each other, not sensible all the while, that there is not at bottom any difference between them, except as to the import of words and phrases. I do not say, however, that this is a consequence peculiar to this manner of debating, though perhaps oftener resulting from it, on account of its many nice distinctions, unmeaning subtleties, and mazy windings, than from any other manner. For it must be owned, that the syllogistic art has at least as often been employed for imposing fallacies on the understanding, as for detecting those imposed. And though verbal controversy seems to be its natural province, it is neither the only method adapted to such discussions, nor the most expeditious. To conclude then, what shall we denominate the artificial system, or organ of truth, as it has been called, of which we have been treat- ing? Shall we style it, the art of reasoning? So honorable an ap- pellation it by no means merits, since, as hath been shewn, it is ill adapted to scientific matters, and for that reason never employed by the mathematician ; and is utterly incapable of assisting us in our researches into nature. Shall we then pronounce it the science of logomachy, or in plain English, the art of fighting with words, and about words? And in this wordy warfare, shall we say that the rides of syllogizing are the tactics? This would certainly hit the matter more nearly; but I know not how it happens, that to call any thing logomachy or altercation, would be considered as giving bad names; and when a good use may be made of an invention, it seems unrea- sonable to fix an odious name upon it, which ought only to discri- minate the abuse. I shall therefore only title it, the scholastic art of disputation *. It is the schoolmen's science of defence. When all erudition consisted more in an acquaintance with words, * It answers to that branch of logic which Lord Verulam styles " Doctriiia de elenchis hernienioe; " concerning which he affirms, " Dedimus ei nomen ex usu, " quia verus ejus usus est plane redargulio, et cautio circa usum verborum. Qui- " nimo partem illam de praedicamentis, si recte instituatur, circa cautiones de " non confundendis aut transponendis definitionum et divisionum terminis, prae- " cipuum usum sortiri existimamns, et hue etiam referri malumus." De Aug. Sci. lib. v. c. 4. 86 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. and an address in using them, than in the knowledge of things, dexterity in this exercitatiou conferred as much lustre on the scho- lar, as agility in the tilts and tournaments added glory to the knight. In proportion as the attention of mankind has been drawn off to the study of Nature, the honors of this contentious art have faded, and it is now almost forgotten. There is no reason to wish its revival, as eloquence seems to have been very little benefited by it, and philosophy still less. Nay, there is but too good reason to affirm, that there are two evils at least which it has gendered. These are, first, an itch of disputing on every subject, however incontrovertible; the other, a sort of philosophic pride, which will not pennit us to think that we believe any thing, even a self-evident principle, without a pre- vious reason or argument. In order to gratify this passion, we invariably recur to words, and are at immense pains to lose our- selves in clouds of our own raising. We imagine we are advanc- ing and making wonderful progress, while the mist of words, in which we have involved our intellects, hinders us from discerning that we are moving in a circle all the time*. * How ridiculous are the efforts which some very learned and judicious men have made, in order to evince that w hatever begins to exist must have a cause. One argues, ' There must have been a cause to determine the time and place,' as though it were more evident that the accidents could not be determined without a cause, than that the existence of the thing could not be so determined. Ano- ther insists very curiously, that if a thing had no cause, it must have been the cause of itself; a third, with equal consistency, that nothing must have been the cause. Thus, by always assuming the absolute necessity of a cause, they demon- strate the absolute necessity of a cause. For a full illustration of the futility of such pretended reasonings, seethe Treatise of Human Nature, B .i. Part iii. Sect. 3. I do not think they have succeeded better, who have attempted to assign a reason for the faith we have in this principle, that the future will resemble the past. A late author imagines, that he solves the difficulty at once, by saying, that what is now time past, was once future; and that though no man has had ' experience of what is future, every man has had experience of what was fu- ture.' Would it then be more perspicuous to state the question thus, How ' come we to believe that what is future, not what was future, will resemble the ' past?' Of the first he says expressly, that no man has had experience, though almost in the same breath he tells us, not very consistently, ' The answer is suf- * ficient, have we not always found it to be so?' an answer which appears to me not more illogical than ungrammatical. But admitting with him, that to consider time as past or future (though no distinction can be more precise) is on- ly puzzling the question; let us inquire whether a reason can be assigned, for judging that the unknown time will resemble the known. Suppose our whole time divided into equal portions; call these portions A, B, C, D, E, F, G. Of these the three first have been experienced, the remaining four are not. The three first 1 found to resemble oneanother, but how must I argue with regard to Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 87 CHAP. VII. OF THE CONSIDERATION WHICH THE SPEAKER OUGHT TO HAVE OF THE HEARERS, AS MEN IN GENERAL. RHETORIC, as was observed already, not only considers the sub- ject, but also the hearers and the speaker*. The hearers must be considered in a twofold view, as men in general, and as such men in particular. As men in general, it must be "allowed there are certain princi- ples in our nature, which, when properly addressed and managed, give no inconsiderable aid to reason in promoting belief. Nor is it just to conclude from this concession, as some have hastily done, that oratory may be defined, The art of deception.' The use of such helps will be found, on a stricter examination, to be in most cases quite legitimate, and even necessary, if we would give reason herself that influence which is certainly her due. In order to evince the truth considered by itself, conclusive arguments alone are re- quisite; but in order to convince me by these arguments, it is more- over requisite that they be understood, that they be attended the rest? Shall I say, B was like A, therefore D will be like C ; or, if you think it strengthens the argument, shall I say, C resembled A and B, therefore D will resemble A, B, and C. I would gladly know what sort of reasoning, scientih'- cal or moral, this could be denominated; or what is the medium by which the conclusion is made out? Suppose, further,! get acquainted with D, formerly un- known, and find that it actually resembles A, B, and C, how can this furnish me with any knowledge of E, F, and G, things totally distinct? The resem- blance, 1 have discovered in D to A, B, and C, can never be extend- ed to any thing that is not D, nor any part of D, namely to E, F, and G; unless you assume this as the medium, that the unknown will resemble the known; or which is equivalent, that the future will resemble the past. So ' far is this principle, therefore, from being deduced from particular experiences, that it is fundamental to all particular deductions from experience, in which we could not advance a single step without it. We are often misled, in cases of this nature, by a vague and popular use of words, not attending to the nicer differences in their import in different situations. If one were to ask me, Have you then no reason to believe that the future will resemble the past?' I should certainly answer, ' 1 have the greatest reason to believe it' And if the question had been concerning a geometrical axiom, I should have returned the same answer. By reason we often mean, not an argument, or medium of proving but a ground in human nature on which a particular judgment is founded. Nay* further, as no progress in reasoning can be made where there is no foundation, (and first principles are here the sole foundation), I should readily admit, that the man who does not believe such propositions, if it were possible to find such a man, is perfectly irrational, and consequently not to be argued with. * Chap. IV. 88 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. to, that they be remembered by me; and in order to persuade rne by them to any particular action or conduct, it is further requisite, that by interesting me in the subject, they may, as it were, be felt. It is not therefore the understanding alone that is here concerned. If the orator would prove successful, it is necessary that he eng-age in his service all these different powers of the mind, the imagination, the memory, and the passions. These are not the supplanters of reason, or even rivals in her sway; they are her handmaids, by whose ministry she is enabled to usher truth into the heart, and procure it there a favorable reception. As handmaids, they are liable to be seduced by sophistry in the garb of reason, and some- times are made ignorantly to lend their aid in the introduction of falsehood. But their service is not on this account to be dispensed with; there is even a necessity of employing it, founded in our na- ture. Our eyes, and hands, and feet will give us the same assistance in doing mischief as in doing good; but it would not therefore be better for the world, that all mankind were blind and lame. Arms; are not to be laid aside by honest men, because carried by as- sassins and ruffians; they are to be used the rather for this very reason. Nor are those mental powers of which eloquence so much avails herself, like the art of war or other human arts, perfectly in- different to good and evil, and only beneficial as they are rightly employed. On the contrary, they are by nature, as will perhaps appear afterwards, more friendly to truth than to falsehood, and more easily retained in the cause of virtue, than in that of vice* SECTION I. Men considered as endowed with Understanding. BUT to descend to particulars; the first thing to be studied by the speaker is, that his arguments may be understood. If they be * " Notandum est enim, affeetus ipsos ad boiiuni apparens semper ferri, atque " hac ex parte aliquid habere cum ralione commune : verum illud interest; quod " affeetus intuentur preecipue bonum in prcesentia ; ratio prospiciens in longum, " etiam futurum, et in summit. Ideoque cum quae in prsesentia obversentur, im- " pleant phantasiam fortius, succumbit pierumque ratio et subjugatur. Sed post- " quam eloquentia et suasionum vi effectum sit, ut futura etrcmota constituantur " et conspiciautur tanquam prsesentia, turn demum abeunte in partes rationis " phantasia, ratio fit superior. Concludamus igitur, 11011 deberi magis vitio ver- " ti Rhetorics, quod deteriorem parteni cohonestare sciat; quam Dialectics " quod sophisraata couciimare doceat. Quis enim nescit, contrarioruni eandem ' rationem esse, licet usu opponautur?" De Aug. Sci. lib. vi. c. 3. Ta inroxii^ttat fffaiyiJiMT* K^C ofAOius t%fi t a^A* ct;;i ToX-nQ-n K, fix G&.TIU Ty fyvtrii eua'v\)*.oyi$-oTef ^ iri6vurega,, us s tiVm. tl o on /xtyaXa jSXa^mn o ^t!>(Mtos miitut ry roia.vTf Svxa/Ai/ Tut Xoywv, TBTO TS xoivov If/ xala Trtxvrun run d.yx9uv wX^ fTijf, ^ piaA/j-a XT rui ^t)or//AwTT " isto delectus est, ut ille in dolore cruciatuque moriens, perangusto freto divisa " servitutis ac libertatis jura cognoscerct ; Italia autem alumuum suuni, servitu- " tis extreme summoque supplicio afFectum videret. 7. Facinus est vincire " civem Romanum, scelus verberare, prope parricidiuni necare, quid dicaui, in " crucem tollere ? verbo satis digno tarn nefaria res appellari nullo modopotest. *' 8. Non fuit his omnibus iste contentus. Spectet, inquit, patriam, in conspectn " legum libertatisque moriatur. Q. Non tu hoc loco Gavium, non uiiuin homi- " nem, nescio quern, civem Rornanum, sed commuuem libertatis et civitatis " causam in ilium cruciatum et crucem egisti. 10. Jam vero videte hominis " audaciam. Nonne enim graviter tulisse arbitramini, quod illam civibus Ro- " manis crucem non posset in foro, non in comitio, non in rostris defigere. "11. Quod enim his locis in provincia sua, celebritate simillimum, regione proxi- " mum potuit, elegit. 12. Monumentum sceleris, audaciueque suse voluit esse in " conspectu Italiae, vestibulo Siciliae, prsetervectione omnium, qui ultro citroque " navigarent." 1 3." Paulo ante, judices, lachry mas in morte misera atque indig- " nissima navarchorum non tenebamus, et recte ac merito sociorum innocentium " miseria commovebamur. 14. Quid nunc in nostro sanguine tandem facere " debemr.s? nani civium Ronianoruni sanguis conjunctus existimandus est." 15. " Omnes hoc loco cives Roman!, et qui adsunt, et qui ubicunque sunt, ves- " tram severitatem desiderant, vestram fidern implorant, vestrum auxilium requi- " nint. 16. Omnia sua jura, commoda, auxilia, totam denique libertatem in " vestris sententiis versari arbitrantur." J shall point out the pathetic circum- stances exemplified in this passage, observing the order wherein they were enu- merated. 1 have numbered the sentences in the quotation to prevent repetition in referring to them It must be remarked first of all, that in judiciary orations, such as this, the proper place for plausibility is the narration ; for probability, the confirmation or proof: the other five, though generally admissible into cither of those places, shine principally in the peroration. I shall show how the orator hath availed himself of these in the passage now cited. First, importance; and that first in respect of the enormity of the action, No. 7; of the disposition of the actor, No. 3,9, 10; and to render probable what might otherwise appear merely conjectural, No. 4, 5, 8, 11, 12; in respect of consequences, their great- ness, No. 1,2; where the crime is most artfully, though implicitly, represented as subversive of all that was dear to them, liberty, the right of citizens, their most valuable laws, and that idol of the people, the tribunitian power; their extent, No. \b, 16. Secondly, proximity of time; there is but an insinuation of this circumstance in the word tandem, No. 2. There are two reasons which Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 109 usually considered, and aptly enough, as being likewise a species of reasoning. This concession, however, doth not imply, that by any reason- ing we are ever taught that such an object ought to e that by the powers of rhetoric you may produce in mankind almost any change more easily than this. It is not unprecedented, that one should persuade a multitude, from mistaken motives of religion, to act the part of ruffians, fools, or madmen ; to perpetrate the most extravagant, nay, the most flagitious actions ; to steel their hearts against humanity, and the loudest calls of natural affection, but where is the eloquence that will gain such an ascendant over a multitude, as to persuade them, for the love of God, to be wise, and just, and good? Happy the preacher, whose sermons, by the blessing of Heaven, have been instrumental in producing even a few such instances ! Do but look into the annals of church-history, and you will soon be convinced of the surprising difference there Chap. X. OF RHETORIC. 127 is in the two cases mentioned, the amazing facility of the one, and the almost impossibility of the other. As to the foolish or mad extravagancies hurtful only to themselves, to which numbers may be excited by the powers of persuasion, the history of the flagellants, and even the history of monachism, af- ford many unquestionable examples. But wliat is much worse, at one time you see Europe nearly depopulated at the persuasion of a fanatical monk, its inhabitants rushing armed into Asia, in order to fight for Jesus Christ, as they termed it, but as it proved in fact, to disgrace, as far as lay in them, the name of Christ and of Chris- tian amongst infidels ; to butcher those who never injured them, and to whose lands they had at least no better title, than those whom they intended, by all possible means, to dispossess ; and to give the world a melancholy proof, that there is no pitch of brutality and rapacity, to which the passions of avarice and ambition, consecrat- ed and inflamed by religious enthusiasm, will not drive mankind. At another time you see multitudes, by the like methods, worked up into a fury against their innocent countrymen, neighbours, friends, and kinsmen, glorying in being the most active in cutting the throats of those who were formerly held dear to them. Such were the crusades preached up but too effectually, first against the Mahometans in the East, and next against Christians, whom they called heretics, in the heart of Europe. And even in our own time, have we not seen new factions raised by popular declaimers, \vhose only merit was impudence, whose only engine of influence was calumny and self-praise, whose only moral lesson was malevolence? As to the dogmas whereby such -have at any time affected to discriminate themselves, these are commonly no other than the shibboleth,' the watchword of the party, worn for distinction's sake as a badge, a jargon unintelligible alike to the teacher and to the learner. Such apostles never fail to make proselytes. For who would not purchase heaven at so cheap a rate ? There is nothing that people can more easily afford. It is only to think very well of their leader and of themselves, to think very ill of their neighbour, to calumniate him freely, and to hate him heartily. I am sensible that some ^ill imagine, that this account throws an insuperable obstacle in our way, as from it one will naturally infer that oratory must be one of the most dangerous things in the world, and much more capable of doing ill than good. It needs but some reflection to make this mighty obstacle entirely vanish. Very little eloquence is necessary for persuading people to a conduct, to which their own depravity hath previously given them a bias. How soothing is it to them not only to have their minds made easy under 128 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. the indulged malignity of their disposition, but to have that very malignity sanctified with a good name. So little of the oratorical talents is required here, that those who court popular applause, and look upon it as the pinnacle of human glory to be blindly followed by the multitude, commonly recur to defamation, especially of su- periors and brethren, not so much for a subject on which they may display their eloquence, as for a succedaneum to supply their want of eloquence, a succedaneum which never yet was found to fail. I knew a preacher who, by this expedient alone, from being long the aversion of the populace, on account of his dulness, awkwardness, and coldness, all of a sudden became their idol. Little force is ne- cessary to push down heavy bodies placed on the verge of a decli- vity, but much force is requisite to stop them in their progress, and push them up. If a man should say, that becanse the first is more frequently ef- fected than the last, it is the best trial of strength, and the only suitable use to which it can be applied, we should at least not think him remarkable for distinctness in his ideas. Popularity alone, therefore, is no test at all of the eloquence of the speaker, no more than velocity alone would be, of the force of the external impulse originally given to the body moving. As in this the direction of the body, and other circumstances, must be taken into the account ; so in that, you must consider the tendency of the teaching, whether it favors or opposes the vices of the hearers. To head a sect, to in- fuse party spirit, to make men arrogant, uncharitable, and male- volent, is the easiest task imaginable, and to which almost any blockhead is fully equal. But to produce the contrary effect, to subdue the spirit of faction, and that monster, spiritual pride, with which it is invariably accompanied, to inspire equity, moderation, and charity into men's sentiments and conduct with regard to others, is the genuine test of eloquence. Here its triumph is truly glorious, and in its application to this end lies its great utility : The gates of hell are open night and day ; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way : But to return, and view the cheerful skies ; In this the mighty task and labor lies *. DRYDEN. Now in regard to the comparison, from which I fear I shall be thought to have digressed, between the forensic and senatorian elo- quence, and that of the pulpit, I must not omit to observe, that in Facilis descensus Averni Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis: Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras, Hie labor, hoc opus est. VIRG. lib. vi. Chap. X. OF RHETORIC. 129 what I say of the difference of the effect to be produced by the last mentioned species, I am to be understood as speaking of the effect intended by preaching- in general, and even of that which, in whole or in part, is, or ought to be, either more immediately or more re- motely, the scope of all discourses proceeding from the pulpit. I am, at the same time, sensible, that in some of these, beside the ultimate view, there is an immediate and outward effect which the sermon is intended to produce. This is the case particularly in charity-sermons, and perhaps some other occasional discourses. Now of these few, in respect of such immediate purpose, we must admit, that they bear a pretty close analogy to the pleadings of the advo- cate, and the orations of the senator. Upon the whole of the comparison I have stated, it appears mani- fest, that in most of the particulars above enumerated, the preacher labors under a very great disadvantage. He hath himself a more delicate part to perform than either the pleader or the senator, and a character to maintain which is much more easily injured. The au- ditors, though rarely so accomplished as to require the same accu- racy of composition, or acuteness in reasoning, as may be expected in the other two, are more various in age, rank, taste, inclinations, sentiments, prejudices, to which he must accommodate himself. And if he derives some advantages from the richness, the variety, and the nobleness of the principles, motives, and arguments, with which his subject furnishes him, he derives also some inconveniences from this circumstance, that almost the only engine by which he can operate on the passions of his hearers, is the exhibition of abstract qualities, virtues, and vices, whereas that chiefly employed by other orators, is the exhibition of real persons, the virtuous and the vicious. Nor are the occasions of his addresses to the people equally fitted with those of the senator and of the pleader for ex- citing their curiosity and rivetting their attention. And finally, the task assigned him, the effect which he ought ever to have in view, is so great, so important, so durable, as seems to bid defiance to the strongest efforts of oratorical genius. Nothing is more common than for people, I suppose without re- flecting, to express their wonder, that there is so little eloquence amongst our preachers, and that so little success attends their preaching. As to the last, their success, it is a matter not to be ascertained with so much precision, as some appear fondly to ima- gine. The evil prevented, as well as the good promoted, ought here, in all justice, to come into the reckoning. And what that may be, it is impossible in any supposed circumstances to deter- mine. As to the first, their eloquence, I acknowledge, that for 130 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. my own part, considering how rare the talent is among men in general, considering all the disadvantages preachers labor under, not only those above enumerated, but others arising from their dif- ferent situations, particularly considering the frequency of this ex- ercise, together with the other duties of their office, to which the fixed pastors are obliged, I have been of a long time more disposed to wonder, that we hear so many instructive and even eloquent sermons, than that we hear so few. CHAP. XL OF THE CAUSE OF THAT PLEASURE WHICH WE RECEIVE FROM OB- JECTS OR REPRESENTATIONS THAT EXCITE PITY AND OTHER PAINFUL FEELINGS. IT hath been observed already*, that without some gratification in hearing, the attention must inevitably flag. And it is manifest from experience, that nothing tends more effectually to prevent this con- sequence, and keep our attention alive and vigorous, than the pa- thetic, which consists chiefly in exhibitions of human misery. Yet that such exhibitions should so highly gratify us, appears some- what mysterious. Every body is sensible, that of all qualities in a work of genius, this is that which endears it most to the generality of readers. One would imagine, on the first mention of this, that it were impossible to account for it otherwise than from an innate principle of malice, which teacheth us to extract delight to our- selves from the sufferings of others, and as it were to enjoy their calamities. A very little reflection, however, would suffice for correcting this error; nay, without any reflection, we may truly say, that the common sense of mankind prevents them effectually from falling into it. Bad as we are, and prone as we are to be hur- ried into the worst of passions by self-love, partiality, and pride; malice is a disposition, which, either in the abstract, or as it dis- covers itself in the actions of an indifferent person, we never con- template without feeling a just detestation and abhorrence, being ready to pronounce it the ugliest of objects. Yet this sentiment is not more universal, than is the approbation and even love that we bestow on the tender-hearted, or those who are most exquisitely susceptible of all the influence of the pathetic. Nor are there any two dispositions of which human nature is capable, that have ever * Chapter IV. Chap. XI. OF RHETORIC. 131 been considered as farther removed from each other, than the ma- licious and the compassionate are. The fact itself, that the mind derives pleasure from representations of anguish, is undeniable ; the question about the cause is curious, and hath a manifest relation to my subject. I purposed indeed, at first, to discuss this point in that part of the sixth chapter which relates to the means of operating on the passions, with which the present inquiry is intimately connected. Finding afterwards that the discussion would prove rather too long an interruption, and that the other points which came naturally to be treated in that place, could be explained with sufficient clear- ness, independently of this, I judg-ed it better to reserve this ques- tion for a separate chapter. Various hypotheses have been devised by the ingenious, in order to solve the difficulty. These I shall first briefly examine, and then lay before the reader what appears to me to be the true solution. Of all that have entered into the subject, those who seem most to merit our regard, are two French critics, and one of our own country. SECTION I. The different Solutions hitherto given by Philoso- phers, examined. PART I The first Hypothesis. ABBE du Bos begins his excellent reflections on poetry and paint- ing, with that very question which is the subject of this chapter, and in answer to it supports at some length* a theory, the sub- stance of which I shall endeavour to comprise in a few words. Few thing's, according to him, are more disagreeable to the mind, than that listlessness into which it falls, when it has nothing to occupy it, or to awake the passions. In order to get rid of this most painful situation, it seeks with avidity every amusement and pursuit; business, gaming, news, shows, public executions, ro- mances ; in short, whatever will rouse the passions, and take off the mind's attention from itself. It matters not what the emotion be, only the stronger it is, so much the better. And for this reason, those passions, Avhich, considered in themselves, are the most afflict- ing and disagreeable, are preferable to the pleasant, inasmuch as they most effectually relieve the soul from that oppressive languor which preys upon it in a state of inactivity. They afford it ample occupation, and by giving play to its latent movements and springs * Reflexions critiques sur la Poesie et sur la Peinture, Sect. i. ii. iii. 132 THE PHILOSOPHY. 00 h I. of action, convey a pleasure which more than counterbalances the pain. I admit with Mr. Hume *, that there is some weight in these ob- servations, which may sufficiently account for the pleasure taken in gaming, hunting, and several other diversions and sports. But they are not quite satisfactory, as they do not assign a sufficient reason why poets, painters, and orators exercise themselves more in actuating the painful passions than in exciting the pleasant. These, one would think, ought in every respect to have the advan- tage, because, at the same time that they preserve the mind from a state of inaction, they convey a feeling that is allowed to be agree- able. And though it were granted, that passions of the former kind are stronger than those of the latter, (which doth not hold in- variably, there being perhaps more examples of persons who have been killed with joy, than of those who have died of grief), strength alone will not account for the preference. It by no means holds here, that the stronger the emotion is, so much the fitter for this purpose. On the contrary, if you exceed but ever so little a certain measure, instead of that sympathetic delightful sorrow, which makes affliction itself wear a lovely aspect, and engages the mind to hug it, not only with tenderness, but with transport, you only excite horror and aversion. " It is certain," says the author last quoted, very justly f, " that the same object of distress which " pleases in a tragedy, were it really set before us, would give the " most unfeigned uneasiness, though it be then the most effectual " cure of languor and indolence." And it is more than barely possible, even in the representations of the tragedian, or in the de- scriptions of the orator or the poet, to exceed that measure. I ac- knowledge, indeed, that this measure or degree is not the same to every temper. Some are much sooner shocked with mournful re- presentations than others. Our mental, like our bodily appetites and capacities, are exceedingly various. It is, however, the busi- ness of both the speaker and the writer, to accommodate himself to what may be styled the common standard ; for there is a common standard in what regards the faculties of the mind, as well as in what concerns the powers of the body. Now if there be any qua- lity in the afflictive passions, besides their strength, that renders them peculiarly adapted to rescue the mind from that torpid, but coiTosive rest which is considered as the greatest of evils, that qua- lity ought to have been pointed out: for till then, the phenomenon under examination is not accounted for. The most that can be con- * Essay on Tragedy. t Ibid. Chap. XL OF RHETORIC. 133 eluded from the Abbe's premises, is the utility of exciting passion of some kind or other, but nothing- that can evince the superior fitness of the distressful affections. PART II. The second Hypothesis. THE next hypothesis is Fontenelle's *. Not having the original at hand, at present, I shall give Mr. Hume's translation of the pas- sage, in his Essay on Tragedy above quoted. " Pleasure and pain, " which are two sentiments so different in themselves, differ not so " much in their cause. From the instance of tickling it appears, " that the movement of pleasure pushed a little too far, becomes " pain ; and that the movement of pain, a little moderated, becomes " pleasure. Hence it proceeds, that there is such a thing as a sor- " row, soft and agreeable. It is a pain weakened and diminished. " The heart likes naturally to be moved and affected. Melancholy "' objects suit it, and even disastrous and sorrowful, provided they " are softened by some circumstance. It is certain that, on the " theatre, the representation has almost the effect of reality; but " yet it has not altogether that effect. However we may be hurried " away by the spectacle, whatever dominion the senses and imagi- " nation may usurp over the reason, there still lurks at the bottom " a certain idea of falsehood in the whole of what we see. This " idea, though weak and disguised, suffices to diminish the pain " which we suffer from the misfortunes of those whom we love, " and to reduce that affliction to such a pitch as converts it into a " pleasure. We weep for the misfortunes of a hero to whom we " are attached. In the same instant we comfort ourselves by re- " fleeting, that it is nothing but a fiction : and it is precisely that " mixture of sentiments, which composes an agreeable sorrow, and " tears, that delight us. But as that affliction which is caused by " exterior and sensible objects, is stronger than the consolation " which arises from an internal reflection, they are the effects and " symptoms of sorrow, which ought to prevail in the composition." I cannot affirm that this solution appears to me so just and con- vincing, as it seems it did to Mr. Hume. If this English version, like a faithful mirror, reflect the true image of the French original, 1 think the author in some degree chargeable with what in that language is emphatically enough styled verbiage, a manner of .writing very common with those of his nation, and with their imi- tators in ours. The only truth that I can discover in his hypothesis, * ReBections sur la Poetique, Sect, xxxvi. 134 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. lies in one small circumstance, which is so far from being- applicable to the whole case under consideration, that it can properly be ap- plied but to a very few particular instances, and is therefore no so- lution at all. That there are at least many cases to which it cannot be applied, the author last mentioned declares himself to be per- fectly sensible. But let us examine the passage more narrowly. He begins with laying it down as a general principle, that however different the feelings of pleasure and of pain are in themselves, they differ not much in their cause; that the movement of pleasure pushed a little too far, becomes pain; and that the movement of pain a little mode- rated, becomes pleasure. For an illustration of this he gives an example in tickling. I will admit that there are several other similar instances, in which the observation to appearance holds. The warmth received from sitting near the fire by one who hath been almost chilled with cold is very pleasing ; yet you may increase this warmth, first to a disagreeable heat, and then to burning, which is one of the greatest torments. It is nevertheless extremely hazard- ous, on a few instances, and those not perfectly parallel to the case in hand, to found a general theory. Let us make the expe- riment, 'how the application of this doctrine to the passions of the mind will answer. And for our greater security against mistake, let us begin with the simplest cases in the direct, and not in the reflex or sympathetic passions, in which hardly ever any feeling or affection comes alone. A merchant loseth all his fortune by a ship- wreck, and is reduced at one stroke from opulence to indigence. His grief, we may suppose, will be very violent. If he had lost half his stock only, it is natural to think he would have borne the loss more easily; though still he would have been affected: perhaps the loss of fifty pounds he would have scarcely felt; but I should be glad to know how much the movement of passion must be mo- derated; or, in other words, as the difference ariseth solely from the different degrees of the cause, how small the loss must be, when the sentiment or feeling of it begins to be converted into a real pleasure: for to me it doth not appear natural that any the most trifling loss, were it of a single shilling, should be the subject of positive delight. But to try another instance, a gross and public insult commonly provokes a very high degree of resentment, and gives a most pun- gent vexation to a person of sensibility. I would gladly know, whether a smaller affront, or some slight instance of neglect or con- tempt, gives such a person any pleasure. Try the experiment also on friendship and hatred, and you will find the same success. As Chap. XL OF RHETORIC. 135 the warmest friendship is highly agreeable to the mind, the slight- est liking is also agreeable, though in a less degree. Perfect hatred is a kind of torture to the breast that harbours it, which will not be found capable of being mitigated into pleasure ; for there is no de- gree of ill-will without pain. The gradations in the cause and in the effect, are entirely correspondent. Nor can any just conclusion be drawn from the affections of the body, as in these the consequence is often solely imputable to a cer- tain proportion of strength, in the cause that operates, to the pre- sent disposition of the organs. But though I cannot find that in any uncompoimded passion the most remote degrees are productive of such contrary effects, I do not deny that when different passions are blended, some of them pleasing and some painful, the pleasure or the pain of those which predominate, may, through the wonderful mechanism* of our mental frame, be considerably augmented by the mixture. The only truth which, as I hinted already, I can discover in the preceding hypothesis, is, that the mind in certain cases avails it- self of the notion of falsehood, in order to prevent the represent- ation or narrative from producing too strong an effect upon the imagination, and consequently to relieve itself from such an excess of passion, as could not otherwise fail to be painful. But let it be observed, that this notion is not a necessary concomitant of the plea- sure that results from pity and other such affections, but is merely accidental. It was remarked above, that if the pathetic ex- ceeds a certain measure, from being very pleasant it becomes very painful. Then the mind recurs to every expedient, and to disbe- lief amongst others, by which it may be enabled to disburden it- self of what distressed! it. And indeed, whenever this recourse is had by any, it is a sure indication that, with regard to such, the poet, orator, or historian hath exceeded the proper measure. But that this only holds when we are too deeply interested by the sympathetic sorrow, will appear from the following considera- tions: first, from the great pains often taken by writers (whose de- sign is certainly not to shock, but to please their readers) to make the most moving stories they relate, be firmly believed: secondly, from the tendency, nay fondness of the generality of mankind, to believe what moves them, and their averseness to be convinced that it is a * The word mechanism applied to the miud, ought not reasonably to give of- fence to any. I only use the term metaphorically for those effects in the opera- tion of the mental faculties, produced in consequence of such fixed laws as are independent of the will, It hath here therefore no reference to the doctrine of Ihc materialist, a system which, in my opinion, is not only untenable, but absurd. 136 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 1. fiction. This can result only from the consciousness that, in ordi- nary cases, disbelief, by weakening- their pity, would diminish, in- stead of increasing 1 their pleasure. They must be very far then from entertaining Fontenelle's notion, that it is necessary to the producing- of that pleasure; for we cannot well suspect them of a plot ag-ainst their own enjoyment: thirdly, and lastly, from the de- light which we take in reading or hearing the most tragical narra- tions of orators and historians, of the reality of which we entertain no doubt; I might add, in revolving in our own minds, and in relat- ing to others disastrous incidents, which have fallen within the compass of our own knowledge, and as to which, consequently, we have an absolute assurance of the fact. PART III The third Hypothesis. THE third hypothesis which I shall produce on this subject, is Mr. Hume's. Only it ought to be remarked previously, that he doth not propose it as a full solution of the question, but rather as a supplement to the former two, in the doctrine of both which, he ? in a great measure, acquiesces. Take his theory in his own words. He begins with putting the question, "What is it then, which, in " this case," that is, when the sorrow is not softened by fiction, " raises a pleasure from the bosom of uneasiness, so to speak ; and " a pleasure, which still retains all the features and outward symp- " toms of distress and sorrow? I answer: This extraordininary ef- " feet proceeds from that very eloquence, with which the melan- " choly scene is represented. The genius required to paint objects " in a lively manner, the art employed in collecting all the pathetic " circumstances, the judgment displayed in disposing them; the " exercise, I say, of these noble talents, together with the force of " expression, and beauty of oratorial numbers, diffuse the highest " satisfaction on the audience, and excite the most delightful move- " ments. By this means, the uneasiness of the melancholy pas- " sions is not only overpowered and effaced by something stronger " of an opposite kind, but the whole movement of those passions is " converted into pleasure, and swells the delight which the elo- " quence raises in us. The same force of oratory employed on an " uninteresting subject, would not please half so much, or rather " would appear altogether ridiculous; and the mind, being left in " absolute calmness and indifference, would relish none of those " beauties of imagination or expression, which, if joined to pas- " siori, give it such exquisite entertainment. The impulse of vehe- " mence arising from sorrow, compassion, indignation, receives a Cliap. XL OF RHETORIC. 137 " new direction from the sentiments of beauty. The latter, being " the predominant emotion, seize the whole mind, and convert the " former into themselves, or at least tincture them so strongly, as to- " tally to alter their nature: and the soul being, at the same time, " roused by passion, and charmed by eloquence, feels on the whole " a strong movement, which is altogether delightful." I am sorry to say, but truth compels me to acknowledge, that I have reaped no more satisfaction from this account of the matter, than from those which preceded it. I could have wished indeed, that the author had been a little more explicit in his manner of ex- pressing himself; for I am not certain that I perfectly comprehend his meaning. Atone time he seems only to intend to say, that it is the purpose of eloquence, to the promoting of which its tropes and figures are wonderfully adapted, to infuse into the mind of the hear- er such compassion, sorrow, indignation, and other passions, as are, notwithstanding their original character when abstractly considered, accompanied with pleasure. At another time it appears rather his design to signify, though he doth not plainly speak it out, that the discovery made by the hearer, of the admirable art and ingenuity of the speaker, and of the elegance and harmony of what is spoken, gives that peculiar pleasure to the mind, which makes even the painful passions become delightful. If the first of these be all that he intended to affirm, he hath told us indeed a certain truth, but nothing new or uncommon; nay more, he hath told us nothing that can serve in the smallest degree for a solution of the difficulty. Who ever doubted, that it is the design and work of eloquence to move the passions, and to please? The question which this naturally gives rise to, is, How doth elo- quence produce this effect? This, I believe, it will be acknowledg- ed to do principally, if not solely, agreeably to the doctrine ex- , plained above *, by communicating lively, distinct, and strong ideas of the distress which it exhibits. By a judicious, yet natural ar- rangement of the most affecting circumstances, by a proper selection of the most suitable tropes and figures, it enlivens the ideas raised in the imagination to such a pitch as makes them strongly resemble the perceptions of the senses, or the transcripts of the memory. The question then, with which we are immediately concerned, doth obviously recur, and seems, if possible, more mysterious than be- fore : for how can the aggravating of all the circumstances of misery in the representation, make it be contemplated, with pleasure? One would naturally imagine, that this must be the most effectual * Chap. VI. 138 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. method for making- it give still greater pain. How can the height- ening of grief, fear, anxiety, and other uneasy sensations, render them agreeable? Besides, this ingenious author has not adverted, that his hypo- thesis, instead of being supplementary to Fontenelle's, as he appears to have intended, is subversive of the principles on which the French critic's theory is founded. The effect, according to the latter, re- sults from moderating, weakening, softening, and diminishing the passion: according to the former, it results from what is directly opposite, from the arts employed by the orator for the purpose of exaggerating, strengthening, heightening, and inflaming the passion. Indeed, neither of these writers seems to have attended sufficient- ly to one particular, which of itself might have shown the insuffi- ciency of their systems. The particular alluded to is, that pity, if it exceed not a certain degree, gives pleasure to the mind, when excited by the original objects in distress, as well as by the repre- sentations made by poets, painters, and orators: and, on the con- trary, if it exceed a certain degree, it is on the whole painful, whether awakened by the real objects of pity, or roused by the exhibitions of the historian or of the poet. Indeed, as sense operates much more strongly on the mind than imagination does, the excess is much more frequent in the former case than in the latter. Now in attempting to give a solution of the difficulty, it is plain, that all our theorists ought regularly and properly to begin with the former case. If in that, which is the original and the simplest, the matter is sufficiently accounted for, it is accounted for in every case, it being the manifest design both of painting and of oratory, as nearly as possible, to produce the same affections which the very objects represented would have produced in our minds: where- as, though Mr Hume should be admitted to have accounted fully for the impression made by the poet and the orator, we are as far as ever from the discovery of the cause why pity excited by the objects themselves, when it hath no eloquence to recommend it, is on the whole, if not excessive, a pleasant emotion. But if this celebrated writer intended to assert, that the discovery of the oratory, that is, of the address and talents of the speaker, is what gives the hearer a pleasure, which, mingling itself with pity, fear, indignation, converts the whole, as he expresseth it, into one strong movement, which is altogether delightful ; if this be his sentiment, he hath indeed advanced something extraordinary, and entirely new. And that this is his opinion, appears, I think, ob- liquely, from the expressions which he useth " The genius re- " quired, the art employed, the judgment displayed, along with Chap. XL OF RHETORIC. 139 " the force of expression, and beauty of oratorial numbers, diffuse " the highest satisfaction on the audience." Again, " The impulse " or vehemence arising from sorrow, compassion, indignation, re- " ceives a new direction from the sentiments of beauty." If this then be a just solution of the difficulty, and the detection of the speaker's talents and address be necessary to render the hearer susceptible of this charming sorrow, this delightful anguish, how grossly have all critics and rhetoricians been deceived hitherto? These, in direct opposition to this curious theory, have laid it down in their rhetorics as a fundamental maxim, that " it is essential to " the art to conceal the art*;" a maxim too, which, in their es- timation, the orator, in no part of his province, is obliged to such a scrupulous observance of, as in the pathetic f. In this the speaker, if he would prove successful, must make his subject totally engross the attention of the hearers; insomuch that he himself, his genius, his art, his judgment, his richness of language, his harmony of num- bers, are not minded in the least . Never does the orator obtain a nobler triumph by his eloquence, than when his sentiments, and style, and order appear so naturally to arise out of the subject, that every hearer is inclined to think, he could not have either thought or spoken otherwise himself, when every thing, in short, is exhibited in such a manner, As all might hope to imitate with ease; Yet while they strive the same success to gain, Should find their labor and their hopes are vain. FRANCIS. As to the harmony of numbers, it ought no further to be the speak- er's care, than that he may avoid an offensive dissonance or halting in his periods, which, by hurting the ear, abstracts the attention from the subject, and must by consequence serve to obstruct the effect. Yet, even this, it may be safely averred, will not tend half .so much to counteract the end, as an elaborate harmony, or a flow- * Artis cst celare artem. t Eff'ugienda igirur in hac praecipue parte omnis calliditatis suspicio: nibil videatur fictuni, nihil solicitum: onmia potius a causa, quam ab oratore profecta credantur. Sed hoc pati non possumus, et perire artem putamus, nisi appareat : cum desinat ars esse, si apparet. QUINT. Inst. lib. iv. cap. 2. t Ubi res agitur, et vera dimicatio est, ultimus sit famae locus. Propterea non debet quisquam, ubi maxima rerum momenta versantur, de verbis esse soli- citus. Neque hoc eo pertinet, ut in his nullus sit ornatus, sed uti pressior et se- verior, eo minus confessus, praecipue ad materiam accommodatus. QUINT. Inst. lib. viii. cap. 3. Ut sibi quivis Speret idem; sudet multum, frustraque laboret, Ausus idem. HOR. De Arte Poet. 140 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh I. ing elocution, which carries along with it the evident marks of ad- dress and study *. Our author proceeds all along on the supposition that there are two distinct effects produced by the eloquence on the hearers; one the sentiment of beauty, or (as he explains it more particularly) of the harmony of oratorial numbers, of the exercise of these noble talents, genius, art, and judgment; the other, the passion which the speaker purposeth to raise in their minds. He maintains, that when the first predominates, the mixture of the two effects becomes ex- ceedingly pleasant, and the reverse when the second is superior. At least, if this is not what he means to assert and vindicate, I des- pair of being able to assign a meaning to the following expressions: " The genius required to paint , the art employed in collect- " ing , the judgment displayed in disposing , diffuse the highest " satisfaction on the audience, and excite the most delightful move- " ments. By this means the uneasiness of the melancholy passions " is not only overpowered and effaced by something stronger of an " opposite kind, but the whole movement of those passions is con- *' verted into pleasure, and swells the delight which the eloquence " raises in us." Again, " The impulse or vehemence arising from " sorrow receives a new direction from the sentiments of beauty. " The latter being the predominant emotion, seize the whole mind, " and convert the former ." Again, " The soul being at the " same time roused with passion, and charmed by eloquence, feels " on the whole ." And in the paragraph immediately suc- ceeding, " It is thus the fiction of tragedy softens the passion, by " an infusion of a new feeling, not merely by weakening or dimi- " nishingthe sorrow." Now to me it is manifest, that this notion of two distinguishable, and even opposite effects, as he terms them, produced in the hearer by the eloquence, is perfectly imaginary; that, on the contrary, whatever charm or fascination, if you please to call it so, there is in the pity excited by the orator, it ariseth not from any extrinsic sentiment of beauty blended with it, but intimately from its own nature, from those passions which pity necessarily as- sociates, or, I should rather say, includes. But do we not often hear people speak of eloquence as moving * Commoveaturne quisquam ejus fortuna, quern tumidum ac sui jactantem, et ambitiosum institorem eloquentiae in ancipiti sorte videat? Non: imo oderitreum vcrba aucupantem, et anxium de fama ingenii, et cui esse diserto vacet. QUINT. jib. xi. cap. 1. Ubi vero atrocitate, invidia, miseratione pugnandum est, quis ferat oontrapositis et paritercadentibus, et consimilibus, jrascentem, flentcnj, rogantem ? cum in his rebus cura verborum deroget affectibus fidem: et ubicunque ars os- tenlatur, veritas abesse videatur. Ibid. rap. 3. Chap. XI. OF RHETORIC. 141 them greatly, and pleasing them highly at the same time? Nothing more common. But these are never understood by them, as two original, separate, and independent effects, but as essentially con- nected. Push your inquiries but ever so little, and you will find all agree in affirming, that it is by being moved, and by that solely, that they are pleased: in philosophical strictness, therefore, the plea- sure is the immediate effect of the passion, and the passion, the im- mediate effect of the eloquence. But is there then no pleasure in contemplating the beauty of com- position, the richness of fancy, the power of numbers, and the ener- gy of expression? There is undoubtedly. But so far is this plea- sure from commixing with the pathos, and giving a direction to it, that, on the contrary, they seem to be in a great measure incompati- ble. Such indeed is the pleasure which the artist or the critic en- joys, who can coolly and deliberately survey the whole; upon whose passions the art of the speaker hath little or no influence, and that purely for this reason, because he discovers that art. The bulk of hearers know no further than to approve the man who affects them, who speaks to their heart, as they very properly and emphatically term it, and to commend the performance by which this is accom- plished. But how it is accomplished, they neither give themselves the trouble to consider, nor attempt to explain*. PART IV The fourth Hypothesis. LASTLY, to mention only one other hypothesis; there are who main- * The inquiry contained iu this chapter was written long before I had an op- portunity of perusing a very ingenious English Commentary and Notes on Ho- race's Epistles to the Pisos and to Augustus, iu which Mr Hume's sentiments on this subject are occasionally criticised. The opinions of that commentator, in regard to Mr Hume's theory, coincide in every thing material with mine. This author considers the question no farther than it relates to the representations of tragedy, and hath, by confining his view to this single point, been led to lay great- er stress on Fontenelle's hypothesis, than, for the solution of the general phe- nomenon, it is entitled to. It is very true that our theatrical entertainments com- monly exhibit a degree of distress which we could not bear to witness in the objects represented. Consequently the consideration that it is but a picture, and not the original, a fictitious exhibition, and not the reality, which we contem- plate, is essential for rendering the whole, 1 may say, supportable as well as plea- sant. But even iu this case, when it is necessary to our repose to consider the scenical misery before us as mere illusion, we are generally better pleased to consider the things represented as genuine fact. It requires, indeed, but a fur- ther degree of affliction to make us even pleased to think that the copy never had any archetype iu nature. But when this is the case, we may truly say, that the poet hath exceeded and wrought up pity to a kind of horror. 142 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. tain that compassion is " an example v of unmixed selfishness and " malignity," and may be " resolved into that power of imagina- " tion, by which we apply the misfortunes of others to ourselves;" that we are said " to pity no longer than we fancy ourselves to suf- " fer, and to be pleased only by reflecting- that our sufferings are " not real ; thus indulging a dream of distress, from which we can " awake whenever we please, to exult in our security, and enjoy " the comparison of the fiction with truth*." This is no other than the antiquated doctrine of the philosopher of Malmesbury, rescued from oblivion, to which it had been fast descending, and republished with improvements. Hobbes indeed thought it a sufficient stretch, in order to render the sympathetic sorrow purely selfish, to define it " imagination or fiction of future " calamity to ourselves, proceeding from the sense of another man's " calamity f." But in the first quotation \ve have another kind of fiction; namely, that we are at present the very sufferers ourselves, the identical persons whose cases are exhibited as being so deplo- rable, and whose calamities we so sincerely lament. There were some things hinted in the beginning of the chapter, in relation to this paradoxical conceit, which I should not have thought it neces- sary to resume, had it not been adopted by a late author, whose pe- riodical essays seemed to entitle him to the character of an ingeni- ous, moral, and instructive writer:}:. For though he hath declined entering formally into the debate, he hath sufficiently shown his sentiments on this article, and hath endeavoured indirectly to sup- port them. I doubt not that it will appear to many of my readers as equally silly to refute this hypothesis and to defend it. Nothing could be- tray reasonable men into such extravagancies, but the dotage with which one is affected towards every appendage of a favorite sys- tem. And this is an appendage of that system which derives all the affections and springs of action in the human mind from self- love. In almost all system-builders of every denomination, there is a vehement desire of simplifying their principles, and reducing all to one. Hence in medicine, the passion for finding a catholicon, or cure of all diseases; and in chemistry, for discovering the true alcahest, or universal dissolvent. Nor have our moralists entirely escaped the contagion. One reduceth all the virtues to prudence, and is ready to make it clear as sunshine, that there neither is nor can be another source of moral good, but a right conducted self- love; another is equally confident, that all the virtues are but dif- * Adventurer, No. 110. f Hum. Nat. chap. ix. sect. 10. \ Mawkoswortli. Chap. XL OF RHETORIC. 143 ferent modifications of disinterested benevolence; a third will de- monstrate to you that veracity is the whole duty of man; a fourth, with more ingenuity, and much greater appearance of reason, as- sures you, that the true system of ethics is comprised in one word sympathy. But to the point in hand: it appears a great objection to the selfish system, that in pity we are affected with a real sorrow for the sufferings of others, or at least that men have universally understood this to be the case, as appears from the very words and phrases expressive of this emotion to be found in all known lan- guages. But to one who has thoroughly imbibed the principles and spirit of a philosophic sect, which hath commonly as violent an appetite for mystery, (though under a different name, for with the philosopher it is paradox), as any religious sect whatever; how paltry must an objection appear, which hath nothing to support it but the conviction of all mankind, those only excepted whose minds have been perverted by scholastic sophistry? It is remarkable, that, though so many have contended that some fiction of the imagination is absolutely necessary to the production of pity, and though the examples of this emotion are so frequent (I hope in the theorists themselves no less than in others), as to give ample scope for examination, they are so little agreed what this fic- tion is. Some contend only, that, in witnessing tragedy, one is un- der a sort of momentary deception, which a very little reflection can correct, and imagines that he is actually witnessing those distresses and miseries which are only represented in borrowed characters, and that the actors are the very persons whom they exhibit. This sup- position, I acknowledge, is the most admissible of all. That chil- dren and simple people, who are utter strangers to theatrical amuse- ments, are apt at first to be deceived in this manner is undeniable. That therefore, through the magic at power (if I may call it so) of na- tural and animated action, a transient illusion somewhat similar may be produced in persons of knowledge and experience, I will not take upon me to controvert. But this hypothesis is not neces- sarily connected with any particular theory of the passions. The persons for whom we g*rieve, whether the real objects or only their representatives mistaken for them, are still other persons, and not ourselves. Besides, this was never intended to account but for the degree of emotion in one particular case only. Others, therefore, Avho refer every thing to self, will have it, that, by a fiction of the mind, we instantly conceive some future and si- milar calamity as coming upon ourselves ; and that it is solely this conception, and this dread, which call forth all our sorrow and our 144 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. tears. Others, not satisfied with this, maintain boldly, that we con- ceive ourselves to be the persons suffering 1 the miseries related or represented, at the very instant that our pity is raised. When na- ture is deserted by us, it is no wonder that we should lose our way in the devious tracks of imagination, and not know where to settle. The first would say, * When I see Garrick in the character of * King Lear, in the utmost agony of distress, I am so transported * with the passions raised in my breast, that I quite forget the tra- * gedian, and imagine that my eyes are fixed on that much injured ' and most miserable monarch.' Says the second, ' I am not in * the least liable to so gross a blunder ; but I cannot help, in con- * sequence of the representation, being struck with the impres- * sion, that I am soon to be in the same situation, and to be used ' with the like ingratitude and barbarity.' Says the third, ' The ' case is still worse with me; for I conceive myself, and not the 4 player, to be that wretched man at the very time that he is acted. ' I fancy that I am actually in the midst of the storm, suffering all * his anguish, that my daughters have turned me out of doors, and * treated me with such unheard of cruelty and injustice.' It is exceedingly lucky that there do not oftener follow terrible con- sequences from these misconceptions. It will be said, ' they are ' transient, and quickly cured by recollection.' But however transient, if they really exist, they must exist for some time. Now, if unhappily, a man had two of his daughters sitting near him at the very instant he were under this delusion, and if, by a very na- tural and consequential fiction, he fancied them to be Goneril and Regan, the effects might be fatal to the ladies, though they were the most dutiful children in the world. It hath never yet been denied, (for it is impossible to say what will be denied), that pity influences a person to contribute to relieve the object when it is in his power. But if there is a mistake in the object, there must of necessity be a mistake in the direction of the relief. For instance, you see a man perishing with hunger, and your compassion is raised ; now you will pity no longer, say these acute reasoners, than you fancy yourself to suffer. You yourself properly are the sole object of your own pity, and as you desire to relieve the person only whom you pity, if there be any food within your reach, you will no doubt devour it voraciously, in or- der to allay the famine which you fancy you are enduring; but you will not give one morsel to the wretch who really needs your aid, but who is by no means the object of your regret, for whom you can feel no compunction, and with whose distress (which is quite a foreign matter to you) it is impossible you should be affect- Chap. XL OF RHETORIC. 145 ed, especially when under the power of a passion consisting- of unmixed selfishness and malignity. For though, if you did not pity him, you would, on cool reflection, give him some aid, perhaps from principle, perhaps from example, or perhaps from habit, un- luckily this accursed pity, this unmixed malignant selfishness in- terposeth, to shut your heart against him, and to obstruct the pious purpose. I know no way of eluding this objection but one, which is indeed a very easy way. It is to introduce another fiction of the imagi- nation, and to say, that when this emotion is raised, I lose all con- sciousness of my own existence and identity, and fancy that the pitiable object before me, is my very self; and that the real I, or what I formerly mistook for myself, is some other body, a mere spectator of my misery, or perhaps nobody at all. Thus unknow- ingly I may contribute to his relief, when under the strange illu- sion which makes me fancy, that, instead of giving to another, I am taking to myself. " But if the man be scrupulously honest, he will certainly restore to me when I am awake, what 1 gave him uninten- tionally in my sleep. That such fictions may sometimes take place in madness, which almost totally unhinges our mental faculties, I will not dispute ; but that such are the natural operations of the passions in a sound state, when the intellectual powers are unimpaired, is what no man would have ever either conceived or advanced, that had not a dar- ling hypothesis to support. And by such arguments, it is certain, that every hypothesis whatever may equally be supported. Sup- pose I have taken it into my head to write a theory of the mind ; and, in order to give unity and simplicity to my system, as well as to recommend it by the grace of novelty, I have resolved to deduce all the actions, all the pursuits, and all the passions of men from self-hatred, as the common fountain. If to degrade human nature be so great a recommendation, as we find it is to many speculators, as well as to all atheists and fanatics, who happen, on this point, I know not how, to be most cordially united, the theory now suggest- ed is by no means deficient in that sort of merit from which one might expect to it the very best reception. Self-love is certainly no vice, however justly, the want of love to our neighbour be ac- counted one ; but if any thing can be called vicious, self-hatred is undoubtedly so. Let it not be imagined, that nothing specious can be urged in favor of this hypothesis What else, it may be pleaded, could in- duce the miser to deny himself not only the comforts, but even al- most the necessaries of life, to pine for want in the midst of plenty, 146 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. to live in uuintermitted anxiety and terror? All the world sees that it is not to procure his own enjoyment, which he invariably and to the last repudiates. And can any reasonable person be so simple as to believe that it Is for the purpose of leaving- a fortune to his heir, a man whom he despises, for whose deliverance from perdition he would not part with half-a-crown, and whom, of all mankind next to himself, he hates the most? What else could in- duce the sensualist to squander his all in dissipation and debauch- ery; to rush on ruin certain and foreseen? You call it pleasure. But is he ignorant, that his pleasures are more than ten times counterbalanced by the plagues and even torments which they bring? Does the conviction, or even the experience of this, deter him ? On the contrary, with what steady perseverance, with what determined resolution, doth he proceed in his career, not intimi- dated by the haggard forms which stare him in the face, poverty and infamy, disease nnd death ? What else could induce the man who is reputed covetous, not of money, but of fame, that is of wind, to sacrifice his tranquillity, and almost all the enjoyments of life, to spend his days and nights in fruitless disquietude and endless care? Has a bare name, think you, an empty sound, such incon- ceivable charms ? Can a mere nothing serve as a counterpoise to solid and substantial good ? Are we not rather imposed on by ap- pearances, when we conclude this to be his motive ? Can we be senseless enough to imagine, that it is the bubble reputation (which, were it any thing, a dead man surely cannot enjoy,) that the soldier is so infatuated as to seek even in the cannon's mouth? Are not these, therefore, but the various ways of self-destroying, to which, according to their various tastes, men are prompted by the same universal principle of self-hatred ? If you should insist on certain phenomena, which appear to be irreconcileable to my hypothesis, I think I arn provided with an an- swer. You urge our readiness to resent an affront or injury, real or imagined, which we receive, and which ought to gratify instead of provoking us, on the supposition that we hate ourselves. But may it not be retorted, that its being a gratification is that which excites our resentment, inasmuch as we are enemies to every kind of self-indulgence? If this answer will not suffice, I have another, which is excellent. It lies in the definition of the word reveng'e. Revenge, I pronounce, may be justly * deemed an example of un- ' mixed self-abhorrence and benignity, and may be resolved into * that power of imagination, by which we apply the sufferings that * we inflict on others to ourselves ; we are said to wreak our ven- Vgeance no longer than we fancy ourselves to suffer, and to be sa- Chap. XL - OF RHETORIC. 147 ' tiated by reflecting, that the sufferings of others are not really ' ours ; that we have been but indulging a dream of self-punish- * ment, from which, when we awake and discover the fiction, our * anger instantly subsides, and we are meek as lambs.' Is this ex- travagant? Compare it, I pray you, with the preceding explica- tion of compassion, to which it is a perfect counterpart. Consider seriously, and you will find that it is not in the smallest degree more manifest, that another and not ourselves is the object of our resent- ment when we are angry, than it is that another and not ourselves is the object of our compassion when we are moved with pity. Both indeed have a self-evidence in them, which, whilst our minds remain unsophisticated by the dogmatism of system, extorts from us an unlimited assent. SECTION II The Author's Hypothesis on this subject. WHERE so many have failed of success, it may be thought pre- sumptuous to attempt a decision. But despondency in regard to a question which seems to fall within the reach of our faculties, and is entirely subjected to our observation and experience, must ap- pear to the inquisitive and philosophic mind, a still greater fault than even presumption. The latter may occasion the introduction of a false theory, which must necessarily come under the review and correction of succeeding philosophers. And the detection of error proves often instrumental to the discovery of truth. Whereas the former quashes curiosity altogether, and influences one implicitly to abandon an inquiry as utterly undeterminable. I shall therefore now offer a few observations concerning the passions, which, if rightly apprehended and weighed, will, I hope, contribute to the solution of the present question. My first observation shall be, that almost all the simple passions of which the mind is susceptible, may be divided into two classes : the pleasant, and the painful. It is at the same time acknowledged, that the pleasures and the pains created by the different passions, differ considerably from one another, both in kind and degree. Of the former class are love, joy, hope, pride, gratitude; of the lat- ter, hatred, grief, fear, shame, anger. Let it be remarked, that by the name pride in the first class, (which I own admits a variety of acceptations) no more is meant here than the feeling which we have on obtaining the merited approbation of other meri, in which sense it stands in direct opposition to shame in the second class, or the feeling which we have when conscious of incurring the de- served blame of others. In like manner, gratitude, or the resent- L* 148 THE PHILOSOPHY Bwk / ment of favor, is opposed to anger, or. the resentment of injury. To the second class I might have added desire and aversion, which give the mind some uneasiness or dissatisfaction with its present state ; but these are often the occasion of pleasure, as they are the principal spurs to action, and perhaps more than any other passion, relieve the mind from that languor, which, according to the just remark of Abbe du Bos, is perfectly oppressive. Besides, ns they are perpetually accompanied with some degree of either hope or fear, generally with both, they are either pleasant or painful, as the one or the other preponderates. For these reasons, they may be considered as in themselves of an indifferent or intermediate kind. The second observation is, that there is an attraction or associa- tion among the passions, as well as among the ideas of the mind. Rarely any passion comes alone. To investigate the laws of this attraction, would be indeed a matter of curious inquiry, but it doth not fall within the limits of the present question. Almost all the other affections attract or excite desire or aversion of some sort or other. T^he passions which seem to have the least influence on these, are joy and grief; and of the two, joy, I believe, w r ill be ac- knowledged to have less of the attractive power than grief. Joy is the end of desire, and the completion of hope : therefore, when attained, it not only excludes occasion for the others, but seems, for a while at least, to repel them, as what would give an imperti- nent interruption to the pleasure resulting from the contemplation of present felicity, with which the mind, under the influence of joy, is engrossed. Grief hath a like tendency. When the mind is overwhelmed by this gloomy passion, it resists the instigations of desire, as what would again, to no purpose, rouse its activity ; it disdains hope, it even loaths it as a vain and delusive dream. The first suggestions of these passions seem but as harbingers to the cutting recollection of former flattering prospects, once too fondly entertained, now utterly extinct, and succeeded by an insupportable and irremediable disappointment, which every recollection serves but to aggravate. Nay, how unaccountable soever it may appear, the mind seems to have a mournful satisfaction in being allowed to indulge its anguish, and to immerse itself w r holly in its own afflic- tions. But this can be affirmed of sorrow only in the extreme. When it begins to subside, or when originally, but in a weak de- gree, it leads the mind to seek relief from desire, and hope, and other passions. Love naturally associates to it benevolence, which is one species of desire, for here no more is meant by it than a desire of the happiness of the person loved. Hatred as naturally ' Chap. XL OF RHETORIC. 149 associates malevolence or malice, which is the desire of evil to the person hated*. My third observation is, that pain of every kind generally makes a deeper impression on the imagination than pleasure does, and is longer retained by the memory. It is a common remark of every people and of every age, and consequently hath some foundation in human nature, that benefits are sooner forgotten than injuries, and favors than affronts. Those who are accustomed to attend the theatre will be sensible, that the plots of the best tragedies which they have witnessed, are better remembered by them, than those of the most celebrated comedies. And indeed every body that re- flects may be satisfied, that no story takes a firmer hold of the me- mory than a tale of woe. In civil history, as well as in biography, it is the disastrous and not the joyous events, which are oftenest re- collected and retailed. The fourth observation is, that from a group of passions (if 1 may so express myself) associated together, and having the same object, some of which are of the pleasant, others of the painful kind ; if the pleasant predominate, there ariseth often a greater and a more dur- able pleasure to the mind, than would result from these, if alotfe and unmixed. That the case is so, will, I believe, on a careful in- quiry, be found to be a matter of experience ; how it happens to be so, I am afraid, human sagacity will never be able to investigate. This observation holds especially when the emotions and affec- * The ambiguity and even penury of all languages in relation to our internal feelings, make it very difficult in treating of them, to preserve at once perspicuity and accuracy. Benevolence is sometimes used, perhaps with little variation from its most common import, for charity or universal love; and love itself will be thought by some to be properly defined by the desire or wish of the happi- ness of its object As to the first, it is enough that 1 have assigned the precise meaning in which I use the term; and in regard to the second, those who are duly attentive to what passes within their own breasts will be sensible, that by love, in the strictest acceptation, is meant a certain pleasurable emotion excited in the mind by a suitable object, to which the desire of the happiness of the ob- ject is generally consequent. The felicity of the object may however be such, as to leave no room for any desire or wish of ours in regard to it. This holds particularly in our love to God. Besides, there may be a desire of the happiness of others, arising from very different causes, where there is nothing of that senti- ment or feeling which is strictly called love. I own at the same time, that the term love is also often used to denote simply benevolence or good-will ; as when we are commanded to love all men, known and unknown, good and bad, friend- ly and injurious. To that tender emotion which qualities supposed am iabl done can excite, the precept surely doth not extend. These things I thought Jt necessary to observe, in order to prevent mistakes ina case which requires so much precision. 150 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. tions raised in us are derived from sympathy, and have not directly self for the object. Sympathy is not a passion, but that quality of the soul which renders it susceptible of almost any passion, by communication from the bosom of another. It is by sympathy we rejoice with them that rejoice, and weep with them that weep. This faculty, however, doth not act with equal strength in these opposite cases, but is much weaker in the first than in the second. It would perhaps be easier to assign the intention of nature in this difference, than the cause of the difference. The miserable need the aid and sympathy of others ; the happy do not. I must fur- ther observe on this subject, what I believe was hinted once already, that sympathy may be greatly strengthened or weakened by the influence of connected passions. Thus love associates to it bene- volence, and both give double force to sympathy. Hatred, on the contrary, associates to it malice, and destroys sympathy. There are consequently several reasons why a scene of pure un- mixed joy in any work of genius, cannot give a great or lasting pleasure to the mind. First, sympathetic joy is much fainter and more transient than sympathetic grief, and they are generally the sympathetic passions, which are infused by poets, orators, painters, and historians: secondly, joy is the least attractive of all the affec- tions. It perhaps can never properly be said to associate to it de- sire, the great spring of action. The most we can say is, that when it begins to subside, it again gives place to desire, this passion being of such a nature, as that it can hardly for any time be ba- nished from the soul. Hence it is, that the joy which has no other foundation but sympathy, quickly tires the mind, and runs into satiety. Hence it is also, that dramatic writers, and even romance writers, make a scene of pure joy always the last scene of the piece, and but a short one. It may just be mentioned, thirdly, not indeed as an argument, (for of its weakness in this respect I am very sensible), but as an illustration from analogy, that every thing in nature is heightened and set off by its contrary, which, by giving scope for comparison, enhances every excellence. The colors in painting acquire a double lustre from the shades; the harmony in music is greatly improved by a judicious mixture of discords. The whole conduct of life, were it necessary, might ex- emplify the position. A mixture of pain then seems to be of con- sequence to give strength and stability to pleasure. The fifth observation is, that under the name pity ' may be in- cluded all the emotions excited by tragedy. In common speech all indeed are included under this name, that are excited by that Chap. XI. F RHETORIC. 151 species of eloquence which is denominated the pathetic. The pas- sions moved by tragedy have been commonly said to be pity and terror. This enumeration is more popular than philosopical, even though adopted by the Stagyrite himself. For what is pity but a participation by sympathy in the woes of others, and the feelings naturally consequent upon them, of whatever kind they be, their fears as well as sorrows : whereas, this way of contradistinguish- ing terror from pity, would make one who knew nothing of tragedy but from the definition, imagine, that it were intended to make us compassionate others in trouble, and dread mischief to ourselves. If this were really the case, I believe there are few or none who would find any pleasure in this species of entertainment. Of this there occurs an example, when, as hath sometimes happened, in the midst of the performance, the audience are alarmed with the sudden report that the house hath taken fire, or when they hear a noise which makes them suspect that the roof or walls are falling. Then indeed terror stares in every countenance ; but such a terror as gives no degree of pleasure, and is so far from coalescing with the passions raised by the tragedy, that, on the contrary, it expels them altogether, and leaves not in the mind, for some time at least, another idea or reflection, but what concerns personal safety. On the other hand, if all the sympathetic affections excited by the theatrical representation were to be severally enumerated, I cannot see, why hope, indignation, love and hatred, gratitude and resentment should not be included as well as fear. To account then for the pleasure which we find in pity, is, in a great measure, to give a solution of the question under review. I do not say that this will satisfy in every case. On the contrary, there are many cases in which Abbe duBos' account above recited, of the pleasure arising from the agitation and fluctuation of the passions, is the only solution that can be given. My sixth and last observation on this head is, that pity is not a simple passion, but a group of passions strictly united by asso- ciation, and as it were blended by centering in the same object. Of these some are pleasant, some painful ; commonly the pleasant preponderate. It hath been remarked already, that love attracts benevolence, benevolence quickens sympathy. The same attraction takes place inversely, though not, perhaps, with equal strength. Sympathy engages benevolence, and benevolence love. That be- nevolence, or the habit of wishing happiness to another, from what- ever motive it hath originally sprung, will at length draw in love, might be proved from a thousand instances. In the party-divisions which obtain in some countries, it often 152 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L happens, that a man is at first induced to take a side, purely from a motive of interest; for some time, from this motive solely, he wishes the success of the party with which he is embarked. From a habit of wishing this, he will continue to wish it, when, by a change of circumstances, his own interest is no longer connected with it ; nay, which is more strange, he will even contract such a love and attachment to the party, as to promote their interest in di- rect opposition to his own. That commiseration or sympathy in woe hath still a stronger tendency to engage our love, is evident. This is the only rational account that can be g-iven why mothers of a humane disposition generally love most the sickliest child in the family, though perhaps far from being the loveliest in respect either of temper or of other qualities. The habit of commiseration habituates them to the feeling and exertion of benevolence. Bene- volence, habitually felt and exerted, confirms and augments their love. " Nothing," says Mr. Hume*, " endears so much a friend, as " sorrow for his death. The pleasure of his company has not so " powerful an influence." Distress to the pitying eye diminishes every fault, and sets off every good quality in the brightest colors. Nor is it a less powerful advocate for the mistress than for the friend: often does the single circumstance of misfortune subdue all resentment of former coldness and ill-usage, and make a languid and dying passion revive and flame out with a violence which it is impossible any longer to withstand. Every body acknowledges, that beauty is never so irresistible as in tears. Distress is commonly sufficient with those who are not very hard-hearted or pityless, (for these words are nearly of the same import), to make even enmity itself relent. There are then in pity these three different emotions: first, commiseration, purely painful; secondly, benevolence, or a de- sire of the relief and happiness of the object pitied, a passion, as was already observed, of the intermediate kind; thirdly, love, in which is always implied one of the noblest and most exquisite plea- sures, whereof the soul is susceptible, and which is itself, in most cases, sufficient to give a counterpoise of pleasure to the whole. For the further confirmation of this theory, let it be remarked, that orators and poets, in order to strengthen this association and union, are at pains to adorn the character of him for whom they would engage our pity, with every amiable quality, which, in a consistency with probability, they can crowd into it. On the con- trary, when the character is hateful, the person's misfortunes are * Essay on Tragedy. Chap. XL OF RHETORIC. 152 unpitied. Sometimes they even occasion a pleasure of a very dif- ferent kind; namely, that which the mind naturally takes in view- ing- the just punishment of demerit. When the character hath such a mixture of good and odious qualities, as that we can nei- ther withhold our commiseration, nor bestow our love, the mind is then torn opposite ways at once, by passions which, instead of uniting-, repel one another. Hence the piece becomes shocking and disgustful. Such, to a certain degree, in my judgment, the tra- gedy of 'Venice Preserved,' wherein the hero, notwithstanding several good qualities, is a villain and a traitor, will appear to every well-disposed mind. All the above cases, if attended to, will be found exactly to tally with the hypothesis here suggested. All the answer then which I am able to produce, upon the whole, and which results from the foregoing observations, is this: The principal pleasure in pity ariseth from its own nature, or from the nature of those passions of which it is compounded, and not from any thing extrinsic or adventitious. The tender emotions of love which enter into the composition, sweeten the commiseration or sympathetic sorrow ; the commiseration gives a stability to those emotions, with which otherwise the mind would soon be cloyed, when directed towards a person, imaginary, unknown, or with whom we are totally unacquainted. The very benevolence or wish of contributing to his relief, affords an occupation to the thoughts, which agreeably rouses them. It impels the mind to devise expedi- ents by which the unhappy person (if our pity is excited by some present calamitous incident) may be, or (if it is awaked by the art of the poet, the orator, or the historian) might have been relieved from his distress. Yet the whole movement of the combined affec- tions is not converted into pleasure; for though the uneasiness of the melancholy passions be overpowered, it is not effaced by some- thing stronger of an opposite kind. Mr. Hume, indeed, in his manner of expressing himself on this article, hath not observed either an entire uniformity, or his usual precision. I should rather say, from some dubiousness in relation to the account he was giving, he seems to have in part retracted what he had been establishing, and thus leaves the reader with an alternative in the decision. First he tells us, that " the whole " movement of those [melancholy] passions is converted into plea- " sure." Afterwards, "the latter, [the sentiments of beauty] being " the predominant emotion, seize the whole mind, and convert the " former [the impulse or vehemence arising from sorrow, compas- " sion, indignation,] into themselves ;" he adds, by way of cor- 154 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L rection, " or at least tincture them so strongly, as totally to alter " their nature." Again, " The soul feels, on the whole, a strong- " movement, which is altogether delightful." All this, I acknow- ledge, appears to me to be neither sufficiently definite, nor quite intelligible. But passing that, I shall only subjoin, that the combination of the passions in the instance under our examination, is not like the blending of colors, two of which will produce a third, wherein you can discern nothing of the original hues united in producing it; but it rather resembles a mixture of tastes, when you are quite sensible of the different savors of the ingredients. Thus, blue and yellow mingled make green, in which you discover no tint of either; and all the colors of the rainbow blended constitute a white, which to the eye appears as simple and original as any of them, and perfectly unlike to each. On the other hand, in eating meat with salt, for instance, we taste both distinctly; and though the latter singly would be disagreeable, the former is rendered more agreeable by the mixture than it would otherwise have been. I own, indeed, that certain adventitious circumstances may con- tribute to heighten the effect. But these cannot be regarded as essential to the passion. They occur occasionally. Some of them actually occur but seldom. Of this sort is the satisfaction which ariseth from a sense of our own ease and security, compared with the calamity and the danger of another. 'Tis pleasant, safely to behold from shore The rowling ship, and hear the tempest roar: Not that another's pain is our delight; But pains unfelt produce the pleasing sight. 'Tis pleasant also to behold from far The moving legions mingled in the war*. The poet hath hit here on some of the very few circumstances, in which it would be natural to certain tempers, not surely the most humane, to draw comfort, in the midst of sympathetic sorrow, from such a comparison. The reflection, in my opinion, occurs almost only when a very small change in external situation, as a change in place to the distance of a few furlongs, would put us into the ". .-.ri-iAfci?" Suave mari magno, turbantibus sequora ventis, E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem. Non quia vexari quemquam est jucunda voluptas, Sed quibus ipse rualis careas, quia cernere suave est. Suave etiam belli certamina magna tueri Per campos instructa, tua sine parte pericli. LUCRET. lib. 3. Chap. XL OF RHETORIC. 155 same lamentable circumstances which we are commiserating in others. Even something of this kind will present itself to our thoughts, when there is no particular object to demand our pity. A man who, in tempestuous weather, sits snug in a close house, near a good fire, and hears the wind and rain beating upon the roof and win- dows, will naturally think of his own comfortable situation, com- pared with that of a traveller, who, perhaps, far from shelter, is exposed to all the violence of the tempest. But in such cases, a difference, as I said, in a single accidental circumstance, which may happen at any time, is all that is necessary to put a man in the same disastrous situation, wherein he either sees or conceives others to be. And the very slightness of the circumstance which would have been sufficient to reverse the scene, makes him so ready to congra- tulate with himself on his better luck. Whereas, nothing is less natural, and I will venture to say, less common than such a reflec- tion, when the differences are many, and of a kind which cannot be reckoned merely accidental ; as when the calamity is what the person pitying must consider himself as not liable to, or in the re- motest hazard of. A man who, with the most undissembled com- passion, bewails the wretched and undeserved fate of Desdemona, is not apt to think of himself, how fotunate he is, in not being the wife of a credulous, jealous, and revengeful husband; though per- haps a girl, who hath lately rejected a suitor of this character, will reflect with great complacency on the escape she has made. Another adventitious source of pleasure is, the satisfaction that results from the conscious exercise of the humane affections, which it is our duty to cherish and improve. I mention this as adventitious, because, though not unnatural, I do not imagine that the sensations of sympathetic sorrow, either always or immediately, give rise to this reflection. Children, and even savages, are susceptible of pity, who think no more of claiming any merit to themselves on this score, than they think of claiming merit from their feeling- the natural appetites of hunger and thirst. Nay, it is very possible that persons may know its power and sweetness too, when, through the influence of education and bad example, they consider it as a weakness or blemish in their disposition, and as such endeavour to conceal and stifle it. A certain degree of civilization seems to be necessary, to make us thoroughly sensible of its beauty and utility, and conse- quently, that it ought to be cultivated. Bigotry may teach a man to think inhumanity, in certain circumstances, a virtue. Yet nature will reclaim, and may make him, in spite of the dictates of a mis- guided conscience, feel all the tenderness of pity to the heretic, 156 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 1. who, in his opinion, has more than merited the very worst that can be inflicted on him. I acknowledge, that, on the other hand, when the sentiment comes generally to prevail, that compassion is in itself praiseworthy, it may be rendered a source of much more self-satisfaction to the vain- glorious, than reasonably it ought to yield. Such persons gladly lay hold of every handle which serves to raise them in their own esteem. And I make no doubt that several, from this very motive, have exalted this principle as immoderately as others have vilified it. Every good man will agree, that this is the case when people consider it as either a veil for their vices, or an atonement for the neglect of their duty. For my own part, I am inclined to think, that those who are most ready to abuse it thus, are not the most remarkable for any exercise of it, by which society can be profited. There is a species of deception in the case, which it is not beside the purpose briefly to unravel. It hath been observed, that sense invariably makes a stronger impression than memory, and memory a stronger than imagination ; yet there are particular circumstances which appear to form an exception, and to give an efficacy to the ideas of imagination, be- yond what either memory or sense can boast. So great is the ano- maly which sometimes displays itself in human characters, that it is not impossible to find persons who are quickly made to cry at seeing a tragedy, or reading a romance, which they know to be fic- tions, and yet are both inattentive and unfeeling in respect of the actual objects of compassion who live in their neighbourhood, and are daily under their eye. Nevertheless, this is an exception from the rule, more in appearance than in reality. The cases are not parallel: there are certain circumstances which obtain in the one, and have no place in the other; and to these peculiarities the dif- ference in the effect is solely imputable. What follows will serve fully to explain my meaning. Men may be of a selfish, contracted, and even avaricious dispo- sition, who are not what we should denominate hard-hearted, or in- susceptible of sympathetic feeling. Such will gladly enjoy the lux- ury of pity (as Hawkesworth terms it) when it nowise interferes with their more powerful passions; that is, when it comes unaccom- panied with a demand upon their pockets. With the tragic or the romantic hero or heroine, they most cordially sympathize, because the only tribute which wretches of their dignity exact from them is sighs and tears. And of these their consciences inform them, to their inexpressible consolation, that they are no niggards. But the Chap. XL OF RHETORIC. 157 case is totally different with living objects. Barren tears and sighs will not satisfy these. Hence it is that people's avarice, a most for- midable adversary to the unhappy, is interested to prevent their be- ing moved by such, and to make them avoid, as much as possible, every opportunity of knowing or seeing them*. But as that can- not always be done, as commiseration is attended with benevolence, and as benevolence itself, if not gratified by our giving relief when it is in our power, embitters the pleasure which would otherwise re- sult from pity, as the refusal is also attended with self-reproach; a person of such a temper, strongly, and for the most part effectu- ally, resists his being moved. He puts his ingenuity to the rack, in order to satisfy himself that he ought not to be affected. He is certain, that the person is not a proper object of beneficence, he is convinced that his distress is more pretended than real; or, if that cannot be alleged, the man hath surely brought it on himself by his vices, therefore he deserves to suffer, and is nowise entitled to our pity; or at least he makes not a good use of what may charitably, but injudiciously, be bestowed upon him. Such are the common shifts by which selfishness eludes the calls of humanity, and chooses to reserve all its worthless stock of pity for fictitious objects, or for those who, in respect of time, or place, or eminence, are beyond its reach. For these reasons, I am satisfied that compassion alone, especially that displayed on occasion of witnessing public spectacles, is at best but a very weak evidence of philanthropy. The only proof that is entirely unequivocal, is actual beneficence, when one seeks * In the parable of the compassionate Samaritan, Luke x. 30. &c. this dispo- sition to shun the sight of misery, which one is resolved not to redress, is finely touched in the conduct of the priest and the Levite, who, when they espied a person naked, wounded, and almost expiring on the road, are said to have "passed by on the other side." Indeed, in the account given of the Levite in our version, there is something, which, to me, has a contradictory appearance. He " came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side." There is not a vestige of this inconsistency in the original, which says simply, Ix9w xa iS, dvrnrap- S&flix, the meaning of which plainly is " travelling that way, and seeing one " in this wretched plight, he kept on the other side of the road, and passed on." In such a case, a man who is not quite obdurate, would avoid the cutting reflec- tion, that he knows any thing of the matter. And though he must be conscious that he knew a little, and might have known more if he would ; he is glad to gloss his inhumanity, even to himself, with some pretext of hurry or thoughtlessness, or any thing that may conceal the naked truth, a truth which he is as averse to discover in himself, as he is to see in another the misery which he is determined not *o relieve. 158 THE PHILOSOPHY. Book L out the real objects of commiseration, not as a matter of self-indul- gence, but in order to bring relief to those who need it, to give hope to the desponding, and comfort to the sorrowful, for the sake of which one endures the sight of wretchedness, when, instead of giving pleasure, it distresseth every feeling heart. Such, however, enjoy at length a luxury far superior to that of pity, the god- like luxury of dispelling grief, communicating happiness, and do- ing good. PHILOSOPHY OF RHETORIC, BOOK II. THE FOUNDATIONS AND ESSENTIAL PROPERTIES OF ELOCUTION. CHAP. I. The Nature and Characters of the Use which gives Law to Language. ELOQUENCE hath always been considered, and very justly, as having a particular connection with language. It is the intention of eloquence to convey our sentiments into the minds of others, in order to produce a certain effect upon them. Language is the on- ly vehicle by which this conveyance can be made. The art of speaking then is not less necessary to the orator, than the art of thinking. Without the latter, the former could not have existed. Without the former, the latter would be ineffective. Every tongue whatever is founded in use or custom, Whose arbitrary sway Words and the forms of language must obey*. FRANCIS. Language is purely a species of fashion, (for this holds equally of every tongue), in which, by the general, but tacit consent of the people of a particular state or country, certain sounds come to be appropriated to certain things, as their signs, and certain ways of inflecting and combining those sounds come to be established, as denoting the relations which subsist among the things signified. It is not the business of grammar, as some critics seem prepos- terously to imagine, to give law to the fashions which regulate our speech. On the contrary, from its conformity to these, and from that alone it derives all its authority and value. For, what is the grammar of any language? It is no other than a collection of gene- .Usus Quern penes arbitrium est et jus et norma loquendi. HOR. De Arte Poet. 160 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. ral observations methodically digested, and comprising- all the modes previously and independently established, by which the sig- nifications, derivations, and combinations of words in that language are ascertained. It is of no consequence here to what causes ori- ginally these modes or fashions owe their existence, to imitation, to reflection, to affectation, or to caprice; they no sooner obtain and become general, than they are laws of the language; and the gram- marian's only business is to note, collect, and methodise them. Nor does this truth concern only those more comprehensive analo- gies or rules, which affect whole classes of words, such as nouns, verbs, and the other parts of speech ; but it concerns every indivi- dual word, in the inflecting or the combining of which a particular mode hath prevailed. Every single anomaly, therefore, though de- parting from the rule assigned to the other words of the same class, and on that account called an exception, stands on the same basis, on which the rules of the tongue are founded, custom having pre- scribed for it a separate rule*. The truth of this position hath never, for aught I can remember, been directly controverted by any body; yet it is certain, that both critics and grammarians often argue in such a way as is altogether inconsistent with it. What, for example, shall we make of that complaint of Dr. Swift, " that our language, in many instances, of- " fends against every part of grammar f?" Or what could the Doc- tor's notion of grammar be, when he expressed himself in this man- ner? Some notion, possibly, he had of grammar in the abstract, an universal archetype by which the particular grammars of all dif- ferent tongues ought to be regulated. If this was his meaning, I cannot say whether he is in the right, or in the wrong, in this accu- sation. I acknowledge myself to be entirely ignorant of this ideal grammar; nor can I form a conjecture where its laws are to be learnt. One thing, indeed, every smatterer in philosophy will tell us, that there can be no natural connexion between the sounds of any lan- guage, and the things signified, or between the modes of inflection and combination, and the relations they are intended to express. Perhaps he meant the grammar of some other language; if so, the charge was certainly true, but not to the purpose, since we can say, with equal truth, of every language, that it offends against the * Thus in the two verbs ' call' and ' shall,' the second person singular of the former is 'callest,' agreeably to the general rule, the second person singular of the latter is ' shalt' agreeably to a particular rule affecting that verb. To say 'shallest' for 'shalt,' would be as much a barbarism, though according to the general rule, as to say, 'calf for 'callest,' which is according to no rule. t Letter to the Lord High Treasurer, &c. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 161 grammar of every other language whatsoever. If he meant the English grammar, I would ask, whence has that grammar derived its laws? If from general use, (and I cannot conceive another origin), then it must be owned, that there is a general use in that language as well as in others ; and it were absurd to accuse the language, which is purely what is conformable to general use in speaking and writ- ing, as offending against general use. But if he meant to say, that there is no fixed, established, or general use in the language, that it is quite irregular, he hath been very unlucky in his manner of expressing himself. Nothing is more evident, than that where there is 110 law, there is no transgression. In that case, he ought to have said, that it is not susceptible of grammar; which, by the way, would not have been true of English, or indeed of any the most uncultivated language on the earth. It is easy then to assign the reason, why the justness of the com- plaint, as Doctor Lowth observes*, has never yet been questioned; it is purely, because, not being understood, it hath never been mind- ed. But if, according to this ingenious gentleman, the words ' our language' have, by a new kind of trope, been used to denote those who speak and write English, and no more hath been intended than to signify, that our best speakers, and most approved authors frequently offend against the rules of grammar, that is, against the general use of the language, I shall not here enter on a discussion of the question. Only let us rest in these as fixed principles, that use, or the custom of speaking, is the sole original standard of con- versation, as far as regards the expression, and the custom of writing is the sole standard of style; that the latter comprehends the former, and something more; that to the tribunal of use, as to the supreme authority, and consequently, in every grammatical controversy, the last resort, we are entitled to appeal from the laws and the decisions of grammarians; and that this order of subordination ought never, on any account, to be reversed f . But if use be here a matter of such consequence, it will be ne- cessary, before advancing any farther, to ascertain precisely what it is. We shall otherwise be in danger, though we agree about the name, of differing widely in the notion that we assign to it. SECTION I. Reputable Use. IN what extent then must the word be understood? It is some- * Preface to his Introduction to English Grammar. t Non ratione mtitur aaalogia, sed exeaiplo; nee lex cst loquendi, sedobser- vatio; ut ipsam aaalogiam nulla res aliafecerit, quam coosuetudo. QUINT. Insf. lib. i. c. 6. M 162 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. times called general use; yet is it not manifest that the generality of people speak and write very badly? Nay, is not this a truth that will be even generally acknowledged? It will be so, and this very acknowledgment shews that many terms and idioms, may be com- mon, which, nevertheless, have not the general sanction, no, nor even the suffrage of those that use them. The use here spoken of, implies not only currency, but vogue. It is properly reputable custom. This leads to a distinction between good use and bad use in lan- guage, the former of which will be found to have the approbation of those who have not themselves attained it. The far greater part of mankind, perhaps ninety-nine of a hundred, are, by reason of poverty and other circumstances, deprived of the advantages of education, and condemned to toil for bread, almost incessantly, in some narrow occupation. They have neither the leisure nor the means of attaining any knowledge, except what lies within the con- tracted circle of their several professions. As the ideas which oc- cupy their minds are few, the portion of the language known to them must be very scanty. It is impossible that our knowledge of words should outstrip our knowledge of things. It may, and often doth, come short of it. Words may be remembered as sounds, but cannot be understood as signs, whilst we remain unacquainted with the things signified. Hence it will happen, that in the lower walks of life, from the intercourse which all ranks occasionally have with one another, the people will frequently have occasion to hear words of which they never had occasion to learn the meaning. These they will pick up and remember, produce and misapply. But there is rarely any uniformity in such blunders, or any thing determinate in the senses they give to words which are not within their sphere. Nay, they are not themselves altogether unconscious of this defect. It often ariseth from an admiration of the manner of their superiors, and from an ill judged imitation of their way of speaking, that the great- est errors of the illiterate, in respect of conversation, proceed. And were they sensible how widely different their use and application of such words is, from that of those whom they affect to imitate, they would renounce their own immediately. But it may be said, and said with truth, that in such subjects as are within their reach, many words and idioms prevail among the populace, which, notwithstanding a use pretty uniform and exten- sive, are considered as corrupt, and like counterfeit money, though common, not valued. This is the case particularly with those terms and phrases which critics have denominated vulgarisms. Their Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 163 use is not reputable. On the contrary, we always associate with it such notions of meanness, as suit those orders of men amongst whom chiefly the use is found. Hence it is, that many who have contract- ed a habit of employing such idioms, do not approve them; and though, through negligence, they frequently fall into them in con- versation, they carefully avoid them in writing, or even in a solemn speech on any important occasion. Their currency, therefore, is without authority and weight. The tattle of children hath a cur- rency, but, however universal their manner of corrupting words may be among themselves, it can never establish what is accounted use in language. Now, what children are to men, that precisely the ignorant are to the knowing. From the practice of those who are conversant in any art, elegant or mechanical, we always take the sense of the terms and phrases belonging to that art; in like manner, from the practice of those who have had a liberal education, and are therefore presumed to be best acquainted with men and things, we judge of the general use in language. If in this particular there be any deference to the prac- tice of the great and rich, it is not ultimately because they are greater and richer than others, but because, from their greatness and riches, they are imagined to be wiser and more knowing. The source, therefore, of that preference which distinguishetb good use from bad in language, is a natural propension of the human mind to believe, that those are the best judges of the proper signs, and of the proper application of them, who understand best the things which they represent. But who are they that in the public estimation are possessed of this character? This question is of the greatest moment for ascertain- ing that use, which is entitled to the epithets reputable and good. Vaugelas makes them in France to be " the soundest part of the " court, and the soundest part of the authors of the age*." With us Britons, the first part at least of this description will not answer. In France, which is a pure monarchy, as the dependance of the in- ferior orders is much greater, their submission to their superiors^ and the humble respect which in every instance they shew them, seem, in our way of judging, to border even upon adoration. With us, on the contrary, who in our spirit, as well as in the constitu- tion of our government, have more of the republican than of the monarchical, there is no remarkable partiality in favor of courtiers. * " Voicy comme on definit le bon usage. C' est la fac.on de parler de la plus " saine partie de la cour, conformement a la fa9on d'ecrire de la plus saine par- " tie des auteurs du terns." Preface aux Remarques sur la Langue FranQoise. 1.6'J; THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. At least their being such rarely enhanceth our opinion, either of abilities or of their virtues. I would not by this be understood to signify, that the primary principle which givesrise to the distinction between good use and bad in language,- is different in different countries. It is not originally, even in France, a deference to power, but to wisdom. Only it must be remarked, that the tendency of the imagination is to accu- mulate all great qualities into the same character. Wherever we find one or two of these, we naturally presume the rest. This is particularly true of those qualities, which, by their immediate con- sequences, strongly affect the external senses. We are in a man- ner dazzled by them Hence it happens, that it is difficult even for a man of discernment, till he be better instructed by experience, to restrain a veneration for the j udgment of a person of uncommon splendor and magnificence; as if one who is more powerful and opulent than his neighbours, were of necessity wiser too. Now this original bias of the mind some political constitutions serve to strengthen, others to correct. But without resting the matter entirely on the difference in res- pe<;t of government between France and Britain, the British court is commonly too fluctuating an object. Use in language requires firmer ground to stand upon. No doubt, the conversation of men of rank and eminence, whether of the court or not, will have its influence. And in what concerns merely the pronunciation, it is the only rule to which we can refer the matter in every doubtful case; but in what concerns the words themselves, their construction and application, it is of importance to have some certain, steady, and well-known standard to recur to, a standard which every one hath access to canvass and examine. And this can be no other than authors of reputation. Accordingly we find that these are, by universal consent, in actual possession of this authority, as to this tribunal, when any doubt arises, the appeal is always made. I choose to name them, authors of reputation, rather than good authors, for two reasons: first, because it is more strictly conforma- ble to the truth of the case. It is solely the esteem of the public, and not their intrinsic merit; (though these two go generally toge- ther), which raises them to this distinction, and stamps a value on their language. Secondly, this character is more definitive than the other, and therefore more extensively intelligible. Between two or more authors, different readers will differ exceedingly, as to the preference in point of merit, who agree perfectly as to the respec- tive places they hold in the favor of the public. You may find persons of a taste so particular, as to prefer Parnel to Milton ; but you will hardly find a person that will dispute the superiority of the latter Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 165 in the article of fame. For this reason, I affirm, that Vaugelas' de- finition labors under an essential defect; inasmuch as it may be difficult to meet with two persons whose judgments entirely coin- cide in determining who are the sounder part of the court, or of the authors of the age. I need scarcely add, that when I speak of reputation, I mean not only in regard to knowledge, but in regard to the talent of communicating knowledge. I could name writers, who, in respect of the first, have been justly valued by the public, but who, on account of a supposed deficiency in respect of the se- cond, are considered as of no authority in language. Nor is there the least ground to fear, that we should be cramped here within too narrow limits. In the English 1 tongue there is a plentiful supply of noted writings in all the various kinds of com- position, in prose and verse, serious and ludicrous, grave and fa- miliar. Agreeably then to this first qualification of the term, we must understand to be comprehended under general use, whatever modes of speech are authorised as good by the writings of a great number, if not the majority of celebrated authors. SECTION II. National Use. ANOTHER qualification of the term use which deserves our atten- tion, is that it must be national. This I consider in a twofold view, as it stands opposed both to provincial and to foreign. In every province there are peculiarities of dialect, which affect not only the pronunciation and the accent, but even the inflection and the combination of words, whereby their idiom is distinguished both from that of the nation, and from that of every other province. The narrowness of the circle to which the currency of the words and phrases of such dialects is confined, sufficiently discriminates them from that which is properly styled the language, arid which commands a circulation incomparably wider. This is one reason, I imagine, why the term use, on this subject, is commonly accompa- nied with the epithet general. In the use of provincial idioms, there is, it must be acknowledged, a pretty considerable concurrence both of the middle and of the lower ranks. But still this use is bound- ed by the province, county, or district, which gives name to the dia- lect, and beyond which its peculiarities are sometimes unintelligible, and always ridiculous. But the language, properly so called, is found current, especially in the upper and the middle ranks, over the whole British empire. Thus, though in every province, they ridicule the idiom of every other province, they all vail to the En- glish idiom, and scriiple not to acknowledge its superiority over their own. 166 THE PHILOSOPHY Soak II. For example, in some parts of Wales, (if we may credit Shake- speare*), the common people say goot for good ; in the South of Scot- land they say gude, and in the North, gueed. Wherever one of these pronunciations prevails, you will never hear from a native ei- ther of the other two; but the word good is to be heard every where from natives as well as strangers; nor do the people ever dream that there is any thing laughable in it, however much they are disposed to laugh at the county-accents and idioms which they discern in one another. Nay more, though the people of distant provinces do not understand one another, they mostly all understand one who speaks properly. It is a just and curious observation of Dr Kenrick, that " the case of languages, or rather speech, being ** quite contrary to that of science, in the former the ignorant un- " derstand the learned, better than the learned do the ignorant ; in " the latter, it is otherwise f." Hence it will perhaps be found true, upon inquiry, notwithstand- ing its paradoxical appearance, that though it be very uncommon to speak or write pure English, yet, of all the idioms subsisting amongst us, that to which we give the character of purity, is the commonest. The faulty idioms do not jar more with true English, than they do with one another; so that, in order to our being satis- fied of the truth of the apparent paradox, it is requisite only that we remember that these idioms are diverse one from another, though they come under the common denomination of impure. Those who wander from the road may be incomparably more than those who travel in it; and yet, if it be into a thousand different by-paths that they deviate, there may not in any one of these be found so many as those whom you will meet upon the king's highway. What hath been now said of provincial dialects, may, with very little variation, be applied to professional dialects, or the cant which is sometimes observed to prevail among those of the same profes- sion or way of life. The currency of the latter cannot be so exact- ly circumscribed as that of the former, whose distinction is purely local; but their use is not on that account either more extensive or more reputable. Let the following serve as instances of this kind. Advice, in the commercial idiom, means information or intelligence; nervous, in open defiance of analogy, doth in the medical cant, as Johnson expresseth it, denote, having weak nerves; and the word turtle, though pre-occupied time immemorial by a species of dove, is, as we learn from the same authority, employed by sailors and gluttons to signify a tortoise J. * Fluellen in Henry V. t Rhet. Gram. Chap. ii. Sect. 4. J See those words in the English Dictionary. Chap. L OF RHETORIC. 167 It was remarked, that national might also be opposed to foreign. I imagine it is too evident to need illustration, that the introduction of extraneous words and idioms, from other languag-es and fo- reign nations, cannot be a smaller transgression against the estab- lished custom of the English tongue, than the introduction of words and idioms peculiar to some precincts of England, or at least some- where current within the British pale. The only material differ- ence between them is, that the one is more commonly the error of the learned, the other of the vulgar. But if, in this view, the for- mer is entitled to greater indulgence, from the respect paid to learning; in another view, it is entitled to less, as it is much more commonly the result of affectation. Thus, two essential qualities of usage, in regard to language, have been settled, that it be both reputable and national. SECTION HI. Present Use. BUT there will naturally arise here another question, * Is not use, * even good and national use, in the same country, different in dif- ' ferent periods'? And if so, to the usage of what period shall we * attach ourselves, as the proper rule? If you say the present, as ' it may reasonably be expected thai you will, the difficulty is not ' entirely removed. In what extent of signification must we un- * derstand the word present ? How far may we safely range in quest 4 of authorities? or, at what distance backwards from this moment ' are authors still to be accounted as possessing a legislative voice ' in language?' To this, I own, it is difficult to give an answer with all the precision that might be desired. Yet it is certain, that when we are in search of precedents for any word or idiom, there are certain mounds which we cannot overleap with safety. For in- stance, the authority of Hooker or of Raleigh, however great their merit and their fame be, will not now be admitted in support of a term or expression, not to be found in any good writer of a later date. In truth, the boundary must not be fixed at the same distance in every subject. Poetry hath ever been allowed a wider range than prose; and it is but just, that, by an indulgence of this kind, some compensation should be made for the peculiar restraints she is laid under by the measure. Nor is this only a matter of convenience to the poet, it is also a matter of gratification to the reader. Diversi- ty in the style relieves the ear, and prevents its being tired with the too frequent recurrence of the rhymes, or sameness of the metre. But still there are limits to this diversity. The authority of Milton 168 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. and of Waller, on this article, remains as yet unquestioned. 1 should not think it prudent often to introduce words or phrases, of which no example could be produced since the days of Spenser and of And even in prose, the bounds are not the same for every kind of composition. In matters of science, for instance, whose terms, from the nature of the thing, are not capable of such a currency as those which belong to ordinary subjects, and are within the reach of ordinary readers, there is no necessity of confining an author with- in a very narrow circle. But in composing pieces which come un- der this last denomination, as history, romance, travels, moral essays, familiar letters, and the like, it is safest for an author to consider those words and idioms as obsolete, which have been disused by all good authors, for a longer period than the age of man ex- tends to. It is not by ancient, but by present use, that our style must be regulated. And that use can never be denominated present, which hath been laid aside time immemorial, or, which amounts to the same thing, falls not within the knowledge or remembrance of any now living*. This remark not only affects terms and phrases, but also the de- clension, combination, and construction of words. Is it not then surprising to find, that one of Lowth's penetration should think a single person entitled to revive a form of inflection in a particular word, which had been rejected by all good writers, of every deno- mination, for more than a hundred and fifty years f? But if pre- sent use is to be renounced for ancient, it will be necessary to de- termine at what precise period antiquity is to be regarded as a rule. One inclines to remove the standard to the distance of a century and a half; another may, with as good reason, fix it three centuries backwards, and another six. And if the language of any of these periods is to be judged by the use of any other, it will be found, no * Nam fuerit pene ridiculum malle sermonem quo locuti sunt homines, quam quo loquantur. QUINT. Inst lib. i. c. 6. t Introd. &c. In a note on the irregular verb sit, he says, " Dr Middleton hath, " with great propriety, restored the true participle sitten." Would he not have acted with as great propriety, had he restored the true participles pight for pitched, raught for reached, blent for blended, and shright for shrieked, on full as good authority, the authority of Spenser, one of the sweetest of our ancient bards? And why might not Dr. Lowth himself, have, with great propriety, restored the true participles hitten, casten, letten, ptitten, setten, shutten, slitten, splitten, founden, grounden, of the verbs hit, cast, let, put, set, shut, slit, split, find, grind; for it would not be impossible to produce antiquated authors in support of all these. Besides, they are all used to this day in some provincial dialects. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 169 doubt, entirely barbarous. To me it is so evident, either that the present use must be the standard of the present lang-uage, or that the language admits no standard whatsoever, that I cannot conceive a clearer or more indisputable principle, from which to bring an argument to support it. Yet it is certain, that even some of our best critics and grammarians talk occasionally, as if they had a notion of some other standard, though they never give us a single hint to direct us where to search for it. Doctor Johnson, for example, in the preface to his very valuable Dictionary, acknowledges properly the absolute domi- nion of custom over language, and yet, in the explanation of par- ticular words, expressed! himself sometimes in a manner that is in- consistent with this doctrine, " This word," says he in one place, " though common, and used by the best writers, is perhaps barba- " rous*." I have always understood a barbarism in speech to be a term or expression totally unsupported by the present usage of good writers in the language. A meaning very different is sug- gested here, but what that meaning is, it will not be easy to conjec- ture. Nor has this celebrated writer given us, on the word barba- rous, any definition of the term which will throw light on his appli- cation of it in the passage quoted. I entirely agree with Doctor Priestley, that it will never be the arbitrary rules of any man, or bo- dy of men whatever, that will ascertain the language f, there being no other dictator here but use. It is indeed easier to discover the aim of our critics in their ob- servations on this subject, than the meaning of the terms which they employ. These are often employed without precision; their aim, however, is generally good. It is, as much as possible, to give a check to innovation. But the means which they use for this purpose, have sometimes even a contrary tendency. If you will replace what hath been long since expunged from the language, and extirpate what is firmly rooted, undoubtedly you yourself be- come an innovator. If you desert the present use, and by your ex- ample, at least, establish it as a maxim, that every critic may revive at pleasure old-fashioned terms, inflections, and combinations, and make such alterations on words as will bring them nearer to what he supposeth to be the etymon, there can be nothing fixed or stable on the subject. Possibly you prefer the usage that prevailed in the reign of Queen Elizabeth ; another may, with as good reason, have a partiality for that which subsisted in the days of Chaucer. * See the word Nowadays, t Preface to his Rudiments of English Grammar. 170 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. And with regard to etymology, about which grammarians make so much useless bustle, if every one hath a privilege of altering words, according to his own opinion of their origin, the opinions of the learned being on this subject so various, nothing but a general chaos can ensue. On the other hand it may be said, * Are we to catch at every new ' fashioned term and phrase which whim or affectation may invent, ' and folly circulate? Can this ever tend to give either dignity to ' our style, or permanency to our language ?' It cannot surely. This leads to a further explanation and limitation of the term ' pre- ' sent use,' to prevent our being misled by a mere name. It is pos- sible, nay, it is common, for men, in avoiding one error, to run into another and a worse *. There is a mean in every thing. I have pur- posely avoided the expressions ' recent use ' and * modern use,' as these seem to stand in direct opposition to what is ancient. But I used the word present, which, in respect of place, is always opposed to absent, and in respect of time to past or future, that now have no existence. When, therefore, the word is used of language, its proper contrary is not ancient but obsolete. Besides, though I have acknowledged language to be a species of mode or fashion, as doubtless it is, yet, being much more permanent than articles of apparel, furniture, and the like, that, in regard to their form, are under the dominion of that inconstant power, I have avoided also using the words fashionable and modish, which but too generally convey the ideas of novelty and levity. Words, therefore, are by no means to be accounted the worse for being old, if they are not obsolete; neither is any word the better for being new. On the contrary, some time is absolutely necessary to con- stitute that custom or use, on which the establishment of words depends. If we recur to the standard already assigned ; namely, the writ- ings of a plurality of celebrated authors; there will be no scope for the comprehension of words and idioms which can be denomi- nated novel and upstart. It must be owned, that we often meet with such terms and phrases in newspapers, periodical pieces, and political pamphlets. The writers to the times, rarely fail to have their performances studded with a competent number of these fan- tastic ornaments. A popular orator in the House of Commons hath a sort of patent from the public, during the continuance of his po- pularity, for coining as many as he pleases. And they are no * In vitium ducit culpae fuga, si caret arte. HOR. De Arte Poet. Cftai>.IL OF RHETORIC. 171 sooner issued, than they obtrude themselves upon us from every quarter, in all the daily papers, letters, essays, addresses, &c. But this is of no significancy. Such words and phrases are but the in- sects of a season at the most. The people, always fickle, are just as prompt to drop them, as they were to take them up. And not one of a hundred survives the particular occasion or party struggle which gave it birth. We may justly apply to them what Johnson says of a great number of the terms of the laborious and mercan- tile part of the people, " This fugitive cant cannot be regarded as " any part of the durable materials of a language, and therefore " must be suffered to perish, with other things unworthy of pre- " servation*." As use, therefore, implies duration, and as even a few years are not sufficient for ascertaining the characters of authors, I have, for the most part, in the following sheets, taken my prose examples, neither from living authors, nor from those who wrote before the Revolution ; not from the first, because an author's fame is not so firmly established in his lifetime; nor from the last, that there may be no suspicion that the style is superannuated. The vulgar translation of the Bible I must indeed except from this restriction. The continuance and universality of its use throughout the British dominions, affords an obvious reason for the exception. Thus I have attempted to explain what that use is, which is the sole mistress of language, and to ascertain the precise import and extent of these her essential attributes, reputable, national, and present, and to give the directions proper to be observed in searching for the laws of this empress. In truth, grammar and criticism are but her ministers; and though, like other ministers, they would sometimes impose the dictates of their own humor upon the people, as the commands of their sovereign, they are not so often successful in such attempts, as to encourage the frequent repetition of them. CHAP. II. THE NATURE AND USE OF VERBAL CRITICISM, WITH ITS PRINCIPAL CANONS. THE first thing in elocution that claims our attention, is purity ; all its other qualities have their foundation in this. The great stand- * Preface to his Dictionary. 172 THE PHILOSOPHY. Book If, arcl of purity is use, whose essential properties, as regarding lan- guage, have been considered and explained in the preceding chap- ter. But before I proceed to illustrate and specify the various offences against purity, or the different ways in which it may be violated, it will be proper to inquire so much further into the na- ture of the subject, as will enable us to fix on some general rules or canons, by which, in all our particular decisions, we ought to be directed. This I have judged the more necessary, as many of the verbal criticisms which have been made on English authors, since the beginning of the present century, (for in this island we had little or nothing of the kind before), seem to have proceeded either from no settled principles at all, or from such as will not bear a near examination. There is this further advantage in begin- ning with establishing certain canons, that, if they shall be found reasonable, they will tend to make what remains of our road both shorter and clearer than it would otherwise have been. Much in the way of illustration and eviction may be saved on the particular remarks. And if, on the contrary, they should not be reasonable, and consequently the* remarks raised on them should not be well founded, no way that I can think of, bids fairer for detecting the fallacy, and preventing every reader from being misled. A fluent and specious, but superficial manner of criticising, is very apt to take at first, even with readers whom a deliberate examination into the principles on which the whole is built, would quickly undeceive. ' But,' it may be said, ' if custom, which is so capricious and * unaccountable, is every thing in language, of what significance ' is either the grammarian or the critic ?' Of considerable signi- ficance notwithstanding; and of most then when they confine them- selves to their legal departments, and do not usurp an authority that doth not belong to them. The man who, in a country like ours, should compile a succinct, perspicuous, and faithful digest of the laws, though no lawgiver, would be universally acknow- ledged to be a public benefactor. How easy would that import- ant branch of knowledge be rendered by such a work, in compa- rison of what it must be, when we have nothing to have recourse to but a labyrinth of statutes, reports, and opinions. That man also would be of considerable use, though not in the same degree, who should vigilantly attend to every illegal practice that were begin- ning to prevail, and evince its danger by exposing its contrariety to law. Of similar benefit, though in a different sphere, are grammar and criticism. In language, the grammarian is properly the com- piler of the digest; and the verbal critic, the man who seasonably notifies the abuses that are creeping in. Both tend to facilitate the Cluip. II. OF RHETORIC. 173 study of the tongue to strangers, and to render natives more perfect in the knowledge of it, to advance general use into universal, and to give a greater stability at least, if not a permanency, to custom, the most mutable thing in nature. These are advantages which, with a moderate share of attention, may be discovered from what hath been already said on the subject: but they are not the only advan- tages. From what I shall have occasion to observe afterwards, it will probably appear, that these arts, by assisting to suppress every unlicensed term, and to stigmatize every improper idiom, tend to give greater precision, and consequently more perspicuity and beauty to our style. The observations made in the preceding chapter, might easily be converted into so many canons of criticism, by which, whatever is repugnant to reputable, to national, or to present use, in the sense wherein these epithets have been explained, would be condemned as a transgression of the radical laws of the language. But on this subject of use, there arise two eminent questions, the determi- nation of which may lead to the establishment of other canons not less important. The first question is this, * Is reputable, national, * and present use, which, for brevity's sake, I shall hereafter simply ' denominate good use, always uniform in her decisions?' The se- cond is, ' As no term, idiom, or application, that is totally unsup- ' ported by her, can be admitted to be good; is every term, idiom, ' and application that is countenanced by her, to be esteemed 4 good, and therefore worthy to be retained?' SECTION I. Good Use not always uniform in her decisions. IN answer to the former of these questions, I acknowledge, that in every case there is not a perfect uniformity in the determinations, even of such use as may justly be denominated good. Wherever a considerable number of authorities can be produced in support of two different, though resembling modes of expression for the same thing, there is always a divided use ; and one cannot be said to speak barbarously, or to oppose the usage of the language, who conforms to either side*. This divided use hath place sometimes * The words nowise, noway, and noways, afford a proper instance of this di- vided use. Yet our learned and ingenious lexicographer hath denominated all those who either write or pronounce the word noways, ignorant barbarians. These ignorant barbarians (but he hath surely not adverted to this circumstance) are only Pope, and Swift, and Addison, and Locke, and several others of our most celebrated writers. This censure is the more astonishing, that even in this form which he has thought fit to repudiate, the meaning assigned to it is strictly 174 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. in single words, sometimes in construction, and sometimes in ar- rangement. In all such cases there is scope for choice ; and it be- longs, without question, to the critical art, to lay down the prin- ciples, by which, in doubtful cases, our choice should be directed. There are, indeed, some differences in single words, which ought still to be retained. They are a kind of synonymas, and afford a little variety, without occasioning any inconvenience whatever*. In arrangement too, it certainly holds, that various manners suit various styles, as various styles suit various subjects, and various sorts of composition. For this reason, unless when some obscu- rity, ambiguity, or inelegance is created, no disposition of words which hath obtained the public approbation, ought to be altogether rejected. In construction the case is somewhat different. Purity, perspicuity, and elegance generally require, that in this there be the strictest uniformity. Yet differences here are not only allow- able, but even convenient when attended with correspondent differ- ences in the application. Thus the verb to found, when used lite- rally, is more properly followed by the preposition on, as, * The ' house was founded on a rock ;' in the metaphorical application, it is often better with in, as in this sentence, ' They maintained, that dominion is founded in grace.' Both sentences would be badly expressed, if these prepositions were transposed, though there are perhaps cases wherein either would be good. In those instances, therefore, of divided use, which give scope for option, the follow- ing canons are humbly proposed, in order to assist us in assigning the preference. Let it, in the mean time, be remembered, as a point always presupposed, that the authorities on the opposite sides are equal, or nearly so. When those of one side greatly prepon- derate, it is in vain to oppose the prevailing usage. Custom, when wavering, may be swayed, but when reluctant will not be forced. And in this department a person never effects so little, as when he attempts too much f. conformable to that which etymology, according to his own explication, would suggest. See Johnson's Dictionary on the words nowise and way, particularly the senses of way, marked with these numbers, 15, 16, 18, and 19. * Such are, subterranean and subterraneous, homogeneal and homogeneous, authentic and authentical, isle and island, mount and mountain, clime and cli- mate, near and nigh, betwixt and between, amongst and among, amidst and amid. Nor do I see any hurt that would ensue from adding nowise and noway to the number. t For this reason it is to no purpose with Johnson to pronounce the word news a plural, (whatever it might have been in the days of Sidney and Ra- leigh), since custom hath evidently determined otherwise. Nor is the observation Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 175 Canon I. The first canon, then, shall be When use is divid- ed as to any particular word or phrase, and the expression used by one part hath been pre-occupied, or is in any instance suscep- tible of a different sig-nification, and the expression employed by the other part never admits a different sense, both perspicuity and variety require, that the form of expression which is in every in- stance strictly univocal, be preferred. For this reason aught, signifying any thing, is preferable to ought, which is one of our defective verbs ; by consequence, mean- ing consequently, is preferable to of consequence, as this expres- sion is often employed to denote momentous or important. In the prepositions toward and towards, and the adverbs forward and for- wards, backward and backwards, the two forms are used indiscri- minately. But as the first form in all these is also an adjective, it is better to confine the particles to the second. Custom, too, seems at present to lean this way. Besides and beside serve both as conjunctions and as prepositions*. There appears some ten- dency at present to assign to each a separate province. This ten- dency ought to be humored by employing only the former as the conjunction, the latter as the preposition. This principle likewise leads me to prefer extemporary as an ad- jective to extempore, which is properly an adverb, and ought, for the sake of precision, to be restrained to that use. It is only of late that this last term begins to be employed adjectively. Thus we say, with equal propriety, an extemporary prayer, an extem- porary sermon, and, he prays extempore, he preaches extempore. I know not how Dr. Priestley hath happened to mention the term extemporary, in a way which would make one think he considered it as a word peculiar to Mr. Hume. The word hath evidently been in good use for a longer time than one thinks of searching back in quest of authorities, and remains in good use to this day. By the on the letter [s] in his Dictionary well founded, that " it seems to be established " as a rule, that no noun singular should end with an (>] single;" the words alms, amends, summons, sous, genus, species, genius, chorus, and several others, shew the contrary. For the same reason the words averse and aversion, are more properly construed with to than with from. The examples in favor of the latter preposition, are beyond comparison outnumbered by those in favor of the former. The argument from etymology is here of no value, being taken from the use of another language. If by the same rule we were to regulate all nouns and verbs of Latin original, our present syntax would be overturned. It is more conformable to English analogy with to; the words dislike and hatred, nearly synonymous, are thus construed. * These nearly correspond to the conjunction praterea, and the preposition prater in Latin. 176 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. same rule we ought to prefer scarcely, as an adverb, to scarce, which is an adjective; and exceedingly, as an adverb, to exceed- ing, which is a participle. For the same reason also I am inclined to prefer that use, which makes ye invariably the nominative plural of the personal pronoun thou, and you the accusative, when applied to an actual plurality. When used for the singular num- ber, custom hath determined that it shall be you in both cases. This renders the distinction rather more important, as for the most part it would shew directly whether one or more were addressed ; a point in which we are often liable to mistake in all modern lan- guages. . From the like principle, in those verbs which have for the participle passive both the preterit form and one peculiar, the peculiar form ought to have the preference. Thus, I have gotten, I have hidden, I have spoken, are better than I have got, I have hid, I have spoke*. From the same principle I think ate is pre- ferable in the preterit tense, and eaten in the participle, to eat, which is the constant form of the present, though sometimes also used for both the others. But though in this judgment concerning the participles, I agree entirely \vith all our approved modern grammarians, I can by no means concur with some of them in their manner of supporting it. " We should be immediately shocked," says one of the best of themf , " at I have knew, I have saw, I have gave, &c. but our " ears are grown familiar with I have wrote, I have drank, I have " bore, &c. which are altogether as barbarous." Nothing can be more inconsistent, in my opinion, with the very first principles of grammar, than what is here advanced. This ingenious g-entleman surely will not pretend, that there is a barbarism in every word which serves for preterit and participle both, else the far greater part of the preterits and participles of our tongue are barbarous. If not, what renders many of them, such as loved, hated, sent, brought, good English when employed either way ? I know no answer that can be given, but custom ; that is, in other words, our ears are familiarised to them by frequent use. And what was ever meant by a barbarism in speech, but that which shocks us by vio- lating the constant usage in speaking or in writing ? If so, to be equally barbarous, and to be equally shocking, are synonymous ; whereas to be barbarous, and to be in familiar use, are a contra- diction in terms. Yet in this manner does our author often ex- * Yet I should prefer T have held, helped, melted, to I have holden, hoi- pen, molten, these last participles being now obsolete. Holden is indeed still used when we speak formally of courts or public meetings. t Lowth's Introduction to English Grammar. Chap, II. OF RHETORIC. 177 press himself. " No authority," says he in another place, " is " sufficient to justify so manifest a solecism." No man needed less to be informed, that authority is every thing in language, and that it is the want of it alone that constitutes both the barbarism and the solecism. Canon II. The second canon is In doubtful cases regard ought to be had in our decisions to the analogy of the language. For this reason I prefer contemporary to cotemporary. The general use in words compounded with the inseparable preposition con, is to retain the [n] before a consonant, and to expunge it before a vowel or an [h] mute. Thus we say condisciple, con- juncture, concomitant; but co-equal, co-eternal, co-incide, co-heir. I know but one exception, which is co-partner. But in dubious cases we ought to follow the rule, and not the exception. If by the former canon the adverbs backwards and forwards are pre- ferable to backward and forward ; by this canon, from the prin- ciple of analogy, afterwards and homewards should be preferred to afterward and homeward. Of the two adverbs thereabout and thereabouts, compounded of the particle there and the preposi- tion, the former alone is analogical, there being no such word in the language as abouts. The same holds of hereabout and where- about. In the verbs to dare and to need, many say, in the third person present singular, dare and need, as ' he need not go ;' 'he dare not do it.' Others say, dares and needs. As the first usage is exceedingly irregular, hardly any thing less than uniform prac- tice could authorise it. This rule supplies us with another reason for preferring scarcely and exceedingly as adverbs, to scarce and exceeding. The phrases ' Would to God,' and 'Would God,' can both plead the authority of custom ; but the latter is strictly analogical, the former is not. It is an established idiom in the English tongue, that any of the auxiliaries, might, could, would, should, did, and had, with the nominative subjoined, should express sometimes a supposition, sometimes a wish : which of the two it expresses in any instance is easily discovered from the context. Thus the ex- pression, ' Would he but ask it of me,' denotes either ' If he would,' or I wish that he would but ask it of me.' Would God ' then, is properly, ' I wish that God would,' or ' O that God would.' The other expression it is impossible to reconcile to analogy in any way*. For a like reason the phrase ' ever so,' as when we say, ' though he * What has given rise to it is evidently the French Plat a Dieu, of the same import. But it has not been adverted to (so servile commonly are imitators), that the verb plaire is impersonal, and regularly construed with the preposition a; neither of which is the case with the English will and would. M 178 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. ' were ever so good,' is preferable to * never so.' In both these decisions I subscribe to the judgment of Dr. Johnson. Of the two phrases ' in no wise ' in three words, and ' nowise ' in one, the last only is conformable to the present genius of the tongue. The noun wise, signifying manner, is quite obsolete. It remains now only in com- position, in which, along with an adjective or other substantive, it forms an adverb or conjunction. Such are sidewise, lengthwise, coastwise, contrariwise, likewise, otherwise. These always preserve the compound form, and never admit a preposition ; consequently, nowise, which is an adverb of the same order, ought analogically to be written in one word, and not to be preceded by in. In very an- cient style all these words were uncompounded, and had the prepo- sition. They said ' in like wise,' and * in other wise *.' And even if custom at present were uniform, as it is divided, in admitting in be- fore nowise, it ought to be followed, though anomalous. In these matters it is foolish to attempt to struggle against the stream. AH that I here plead for is, that when custom varies, analogy should decide the question. In the determination of this particular instance I differ from Dr. Priestley. Sometimes whether is follow- ed by no, sometimes by not. For instance, some would say, * Whether he will or no;' others, Whether he will or not.' Of these it is the latter only that is analogical. There is an ellipsis of the verb in the last clause, which when you supply, you find it necessary to use the adverb not, ' Whether he will or will not. I shall only add, that by both the preceding canons we ought al- ways to say rend in the present of the indicative and of the in- finitive, and never rent, as is sometimes done. The latter term hath been preoccupied by the preterit and the participle passive, besides that it is only in this application that it can be said to be used analogically. For this reason, the active participle ought al- ways to be rending, and not renting. Canon III. The third canon is When the terms or expressions * In proof of this I shall produce a passage taken from the Prologue of the English translation of the Legenda Aurea, which seems to have been made towards the end of the fifteenth century. " 1 haue submysed my selfe to trans- " late into Engylsshe the legende of sayntes vvhyche is called legenda aurea in " latyn ; That is to saye, the golden legeude. For in lyke wyse as golde is moost " noble aboue all other metallys ; in lyke wyse is thys legende holden moost " noble aboue all other werkes." About the time that our present version of the scriptures was made, the old usage was wearing out. The phrase ' in like ' wise' occurs but once, (Matth. xxi. 24.) whereas the compound term ' like- ' wise' occurs frequently. We find in several places, 'on this wise,' ' in any ' wise,' and in no wise.' The two first phrases are now obsolete, and the third seems to be in the state which Dr. Johnson calls obsolescent. Chap. II. / OF RHETORIC. 179 are in other respects equal, that ought to be preferred which is most agreeable to the ear. This rule hath perhaps a greater chance of being observed than any other, it having been the general bent for some time to avoid harsh sounds and unmusical periods. Of this we have many ex- amples. Delicateness hath very properly given way to deli- cacy; and for a like reason authenticity will probably soon displace authenticalness, and vindictive dispossess vindicative altogether. Nay, a regard to sound hath, in some instances, had an influence on the public choice, to the prejudice of both the former canons, which one would think ought to be regarded as of more importance. Thus the term ingenuity hath obtained, in preference to ingeniousness, -though the former cannot be deduc- ed analogically from ingenious, and had besides been preoccu- pied, and consequently would be equivocal, being a regular deri- vative from the term ingenuous, if the newer acceptation had not before now supplanted the other altogether. Canon IV. The fourth canon is In cases wherein none of the foregoing rules gives either side a ground of preference, a regard to simplicity (in which I include etymology when manifest) ought to determine our choice. Under the name simplicity I must be understood to comprehend also brevity; for that expression is always the simplest, which, with equal purity and perspicuity, is the briefest. We have, for instance, several active verbs which are used either with or without a prepo- sition indiscriminately. Thus we say either accept or accept of, admit or admit of, approve or approve of; in like manner address or address to, attain or attain to. In such instances it will hold, I suppose pretty generally, that the simple form is preferable. This appears particularly in the passive voice, in which every one must see the difference. His present was accepted of by his friend.' ' His excuse was admitted of by his master.' * The magistrates ' were addressed to by the townsmen,' are evidently much worse than ' His present was accepted by his friend.' * His excuse was * admitted by his master.' * The magistrates were addressed by ' the townsmen.' We have but too many of this awkward, dis- jointed sort of compounds, and therefore ought not to multiply them without necessity. Now, if once the preposition should obtain in the active voice, the rules of syntax will absolutely require it in the passive. Sometimes indeed the verb hath two regimens, and then the preposition is necessary to one of them, as, * I address my- ' self to my judges.' * They addressed their vows to Apollo.' But of such cases I am not here speaking. N2 180 THE PHILOSOPHY Book H. Both etymology and analogy, as well as euphony and simplicity, determine us in preferring subtract to substract, and consequently subtraction to substraction*. Canon V. The fifth and only other canon that occurs to me on the subject of divided use, is In the few cases wherein neither per- spicuity nor analogy, neither sound nor simplicity, assists us in fix- ing our choice, it is safest to prefer that manner which is most con- formable to ancient usage. This is founded on a very plain maxim, that in language, as in several other things, change itself, unless when it is clearly ad- vantageous, is ineligible. This affords another reason for preferring that usage which distinguishes ye as the nominative plural of thou, when more than one are addressed, from you the accusa- tive. For it may be remarked, that this distinction is very regu- larly observed in our translation of the Bible, as well as in all our best ancient authors. Milton too is particularly attentive to it. The words causey and causeway are at present used promiscuously, though I do not know whether there be any difference but in the spelling. The old way is causey, which, as there appears no good reason for altering it, ought to be held the best. The alteration, I suppose, hath sprung from some mistaken notion about the etymo- logy; but if the notion had been just, the reason would not have been sufficient. It tends, besides, either to introduce a vitiated pronunciation, or to add to the anomalies in orthography (by far too numerous already) with which the language is encumbered. Much the same may be said of jail and goal, jailer and goaler. That jail and jailer have been first used is probable, from the vul- gar translation of the Bible f. The quotations on the other side from Shakespeare, are not much to be minded, as it is well known that his editors have taken a good deal of freedom with his ortho- graphy. The argument, from its derivation from the French geole, is very puerile. For the same reason we ought to write jarter, and * Subtract is regularly deduced from the supine subtraction of the Latin verb subtralio, in the same way as act from actum, the supine of ago, and translate from translatum the supine of transfero. But it would be quite unexampled to derive the English verb from the French soustraire. Besides, there is not ano- ther instance in the language of a word beginning with the Latin preposition sub, where the sub is followed by an s, unless when the original word com- pounded with a preposition, begins with an s. Thus we say subscribe from sub and scribo, subsist from sub and sisto, substitute from sub and statuo. But we cannot say substract from sub and straho, there being no such word. There can be no doubt, therefore, that a mistaken etymology, arising from an affinity to the French term, not in the verb, but in theverbal noun, has given rise to thisharsh anomaly. t Acts xvi. 23. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 181 not garter, and plead the spelling of the French primitive j artier e. Nor would it violate the laws of pronunciation in English more to sound the [ja] as though it were written [ga], than to sound the [ga] as though it were written [ja]. SECTION II. Every thing favored by ijood Use, not on that ac- count worthy to be retained. 1 COME now to the second question for ascertaining both the extent of the authority claimed by custom, and the rightful prerogatives of criticism. As no term, idiom, or application, that is totally un- supported by use, can be admitted to be good; is every term, idiom, and application, that is countenanced by use, to be esteemed good, and therefore worthy to be retained ? I answer, that though nothing in language can be good from which use withholds her approba- tion, there may be many things to which she gives it, that are not in all respects good, or such as are worthy to be retained and imi- tated. In some instances custom may very properly be checked by criticism, which hath a sort of negative, and, though not the censorian power of instant degradation, the privilege of remon- strating, and by means of this, when used discreetly, of bringing what is bad into disrepute, and so cancelling it gradually; but which hath no positive right to establish any thing. Her power too is like that of eloquence; she operates on us purely by persua- sion, depending for success on the solidity, or at least the specious- ness of her arguments; whereas custom hath an unaccountable and irresistible influence over us, an influence which is prior to per- suasion, and independent of it, nay sometimes even in contradic- tion to it. Of different modes of expression, that which comes to be favored by general practice may be denominated best, because established ; but it cannot always be said with truth, that it is es- tablished because best. And therefore, though I agree in the ge- neral principles maintained by Priestley* on this subject, I do not concur in this sentiment as holding universally, that " the best " forms of speech will in time establish themselves by their own " superior excellence." Time and chance have an influence on all things human, and on nothing more remarkably than on lan- guage ; insomuch that we often see that, of various forms, those will recommend themselves, and come into general use, which, if abstractly considered, are neither the simplest nor the most agree- able to the ear, nor the most conformable to analogy. And though * Preface to the Rudiments of English Grammar. 182 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. we cannot say properly of any expression which has the sanction of good use, that it is barbarous, we must admit that, in other re- spects, it may be faulty. It is therefore, I acknowledge, not without meaning, that Swift, in the proposal above quoted*, affirms, that " there are many gross " improprieties, which, though authorised by practice, ought to " be discarded." Now, in order to discard them, nothing more is necessary than to disuse them. And to bring us to disuse them, both the example and the arguments of the critic will have their weight. A very little attention will satisfy every reasonable person of the difference there is between the bare omission, or rather the not employing of what is used, and the introduction of what is un- usual. The former, provided what you substitute in its stead be pro- per, and have the authority of custom, can never come under the ob- servation, or at least the reprehension of a reader; whereas the latter shocks ovir ears immediately. Here, therefore, lies one principal pro- vince of criticism, to point out the characters of those words and idioms, which deserve to be disfranchised, and consigned to perpetual oblivion. It is by carefully filing off all roughnesses and inequalities, that languages, like metals, must be polished. This indeed is an effect of taste. And hence it happens, that the first rudiments of taste no sooner appear in any people, than the language begins, as it were of itself, to emerge out of that state of rudeness, in which it will ever be found in uncivilised nations. As they improve in arts and sciences, their speech refines ; it not only becomes richer and more comprehen- sive, but acquires greater precision, perspicuity, and harmony. This effect taste insensibly produces among the people, long before the language becomes the object of their attention. But when criti- cism hath called forth their attention to this object, there is a pro- bability that the effect will be accelerated. It is, however, no less certain, on the other hand, that in the declension of taste and science, language will unavoidably degene- rate, and though the critical art may retard a little, it will never be able to prevent this degeneracy. I shall therefore subjoin a few remarks under the form of canons, in relation to those words or expressions, which may be thought to merit degradation from the rank they have hitherto maintained, submitting these remarks en- tirely, as every thing of the kind must be submitted, to the final determination of the impartial public. Canon VI. The first canon on this subject is All words and * For ascertaining the English tongue; see the Letter to the Lord High Treasurer. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 183 phrases which are remarkably harsh and imharmouious, and not absolutely necessary, may justly be judged worthy of this fete. I call a word or phrase absolutely necessary, when we have no synonymous words, in the event of a dismission, to supply its place, or no way of conveying properly the same idea without the aid of circumlocution. The rule, with this limitation, will, I be- lieve, be generally assented to. The only difficulty is, to fix the criteria by which we may discriminate the obnoxious words from all others. It may well be reckoned that we have lighted on one criterion, when we have found a decompound or term composed of words already compounded, whereof the several parts are not easily, and therefore not closely united. Such are the words bare-faced-ness, shame-faced-ness, un-success-ful-ness, dis-interest-ed-ness, wrong- headed-ness, tender-hearted-ness. They are so heavy and drawl- ing, and withal so ill-compacted, that they have not more vivacity than a periphrasis, to compensate for the defect of harmony. Another criterion is, when a word is so formed and accented as to render it of difficult utterance to the speaker, and consequently disagreeable in sound to the hearer. This happens in two cases: first, when the syllables which immediately follow the accented syllable, are so crowded with consonants, as of necessity to retard the pronunciation. The words questionless, chroniclers, con- venticlers, concupiscence, remembrancer, are examples of this. The accent in all these is on the antepenultimate, for which reason the two last syllables ought to be pronounced quick ; a thing scarce- ly practicable, on account of the number of consonants which oc- cur in these syllables. The attempt to quicken the pronunciation, though familiar to Englishmen, exhibits to strangers the appear- ance of awkward hurry, instead of that easy fluency to be found in those words wherein the unaccented syllables are naturally short. Such are levity, vanity, avidity, all accented in like manner on the antepenultimate. The second case in which a similar disso- nance is found, is when too many syllables follow the accented syllable. For though these be naturally short, their number, if they exceed two, makes a disagreeable pronunciation. Examples of this are the words primarily, cursorily, summarily, peremp- torily, peremptoriness, vindicative ; all of which are accented on the fourth syllable from the end. It is to be wished, that the use which now prevails in regard to the manner of accenting some words, would alter, as we cannot afford to part with every term that is liable to exception in this respect. Nor is a change here to be de- spaired of, since we find it hath happened to several words already, 184 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. as the places which they occupy in ancient poetry sufficiently evince. A third criterion is, when a short or unaccented syllable is repeat- ed, or followed by another short or unaccented syllable very much resembling. This always gives the appearance of stammering 1 to the pronunciation. Such are the words holily, farriering, sillily. We have not many words chargeable with this fault : nay, so early have the people been sensible of the disagreeable sound occasioned by such recurrences, that it would appear they have added the ad- verbial termination to very few of our adjectives ending in ly. I believe there are no examples extant of heavenlily, godlily, time- lily, dailily. Johnson hath given us in his dictionary the word lowlily, which is as bad as any of them, but without quoting au- thorities. In these and suchlike, the simple forms, as heavenly, godly, timely, daily, homely, courtly, comely, seem always to have served both for adjective and adverb; though this too hath its inconvenience. It deserves our notice, that the repetition of a syllable is never offensive, when either one or both are long, as in papa, mama, murmur, tartar, barbarous, lily. Besides the cases aforesaid, I know of none that ought to dispose us to the total disuse of words really significant. A little harsh- ness by the collision of consonants, which, nevertheless, our organs find no difficulty in articulating, and which do not suggest to the hearer the disagreeable idea either of precipitation or of stammer- ing, are by no means a sufficient reason for the suppression of an useful term. The monosyllables judg'd, drudg'd, grudg'd, which some have thought very offensive, appear not in the least exception- able, compared with the words above mentioned. It would not do well to introduce such hard and strong sounds too frequently ; but when they are used sparingly and properly, they have even a good effect. Variety in sound is advantageous to a language: and it is convenient that we should have some sounds that are rough and masculine, as well as some that are liquid and feminine. I observe this the rather, because I think there is at present a greater risk of going too far in refining, than of not going far enough. The ears of some critics are immoderately delicate. A late essayist *, one who seems to possess a considerable share of ingenuity and taste, proposes the utter extirpation of encroach, encroachment, inculcate, purport, methinks, and some others, the precise meaning of which, we have no single words in English that perfectly express. * Sketches by Launcelot Temple, Esq.; of late republished and owned by Dr. Armstrong. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 185 An ear so nice as to be hurt by these, appears to me in the same light as a stomach so squeamish as to nauseate our beef and beer, the ordinary food of the country. Such ears, I should say, are not adapted to our speech, nor such stomachs to our climate. This humor, were it to become general, would have a very unfavorable aspect to the language; and it might admit a question, whether, on such principles, if an expurgation of the vocabulary were attempted, there would remain one third of the whole stock, that would not be deemed worthy of excision. This would be particularly incon- venient, if every body were as much an enemy as this gentleman seems to be, to all new-fashioned terms and phrases. We should hardly have words enow left for necessary purposes*. Canon VII. The second canon on this subject is When ety- mology plainly points to a signification different from that which the word commonly bears, propriety and simplicity both require its dismission. * I shall only observe here by the way, that those languages which are allow- ed to be the most susceptible of all the graces of harmony, have admitted many ill-sounding words. Such are in Greek (nrhxyxvifyarSxt, <7r(>oey!-ato-9& ly- XgifAipSeif, xtxoDtoxx, (jufji.i[*.iiiAci>of. In the two last one finds a dissonant recur- rence of the same letter to a degree quite unexampled with us. There is, however, such a mixture of long and short syllables, as prevents that difficulty of utterance which was remarked in some English words. Such are also in Latin, dixisses, spis- sissimus, percrebrescebantque. The last of these words is very rough, and the two first have as much of the hissing letters as any English word whatever. The Italian is considered, and I believe justly, as the most musical of all languages, yet there are in it some sounds which even to us, accustomed to a dialect boisterous like our weather, appear harsh and jarring. Such are incrocicchiare, sdruccioloso, spreyiatrice. There is a great difference between words which sound harshly, but are of easy pronunciation to the natives, and those words which even to na- tives occasion difficulty in the utterance, and consequently convey some idea of awkwardness to the hearer, which is prejudicial to the design. There are in the languages of all countries, many words which foreigners will find a difficulty in pronouncing, that the natives have no conception of. The Greeks could not ea- sily articulate Ihe Latin terminations in ans and ens. On the other hand, there were many sounds in Greek which appeared intolerable to the Latins, such as words beginning with /*, and cs, or a-, though belonging to different syllables, and interposed be- tween vowels, are offensive, nor can they easily pronounce them. Instead of apto, and lecto, and Alexandra, they must say atto, and letto, and Allessandro. Yet these very people begin some of their words with the three consonants sdr, which to our ears are pefectly shocking. It is not therefore so much harshness of sound, as difficulty of utterance, that should make some words be rejected altogether. The latter tends to divert our attention, and consequently to ob- struct the effect. The former hath not this tendency, unless they be obtruded on us too frequently 186 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. I use the word plainly, because, when the etymology is from an ancient or foreign language, or from obsolete roots in our own lan- guage, or when it is obscure or doubtful, no regard should be had to it. The case is different, when the roots either are, or strongly appear to be, English, are in present use, and clearly suggest ano- ther meaning*. Of this kind is the word beholden, for obliged or indebted. It should regularly be the passive participle of the verb to behold, which would convey a sense totally different. Not that I consider the term as equivocal, for in the last acceptation it hath long since been disused, having been supplanted by beheld. But the formation of the word is so analogical, as to make it have at least the appearance of impropriety, when used in a sense that seems na- turally so foreign to it. The word beholding, to express the same thing, is still more exceptionable than the other, and includes a real impropriety, being an active form with a passive signification. To vouchsafe, as denoting to condescend, is liable to a similar ex- ception, and for that reason, more than for its harshness, may be dispensed with. Coaction and coactive, as signifying compulsion and compulsive, though regularly deduced from the Latin coactum, have so much the appearance of being compounded of the English words action and active, with the inseparable preposition co, which would give them a meaning quite different, that one can scarcely hear them without some tendency to mistake the sense. The verb to unloose, should analogically signify to tie, in like manner as to untie signifies to loose. To what purpose is it then, to retain a term, without any necessity, in a signification the reverse of that which its etymology manifestly suggests? In the same way to annul and to disannul, ought by analogy to be contraries, though irregu- larly used as synonymous. The verb to unravel, commonly indeed, as well as analogically, signifies to disentangle, to extricate; some- times, however, it is absurdly employed to denote the contrary, to disorder, to entangle, as in these lines in the address to the goddess of Dulness, Or quite unravel all the reasoning thread, And hang some curious cobweb in its stead *. All considerations of analogy, propriety, perspicuity, unite in per- suading us to repudiate this preposterous application altogether. Canon VIII. The third canon is When any words become ob- solete, or at least are never used, except as constituting part of par- ticular phrases, it is better to dispense with their service entirely, and give up the phrases. The reasons are: first, because the disuse in ordinary cases ren- * Dunciad, B. i. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 187 ders the term somewhat indefinite; and occasions a degree of obscurity; secondly, because the introduction of words which never appear but with the same attendants, gives the style an air of vulgarity and cant. Examples of this we have in the words lief, dint, whit, moot, pro, and con, as ' I had as lief go myself,' for * I ' should like as well to go myself.' * He convinced his antagonist ' by dint of argument,' that is, * by strength of argument.' ' He ' made them yield by dint of arms,' * by force of arms.' ' He * is not a whit better,' * no better.' ' The case you mention is a ' moot point,' * a disputable point.' * The question was strenu- * ously debated pro and con,' ' on both sides.' Canon IX. The fourth and last canon I propose, is All those phrases, which, when analyzed grammatically, include a solecism, and all those to which use hath affixed a particular sense, but which, when explained by the general and established rules of the language, are susceptible either of a different sense or of no sense, ought to be discarded altogether. It is this kind of phraseology which is distinguished by the epi- thet idiomatical, and hath been originally the spawn, partly of ig- norance, and partly of affectation. Of the first sort, which includes a solecism, is the phrase, ' I had rather do such a thing,' for * I * would rather do it.' The auxiliary had, joined to the infinitive active do, is a gross violation of the rules of conjugation in our lan- guage, and though good use may be considered as protecting this expression from being branded with the name of a blunder, yet as it is both irregular and unnecessary, I can foresee no inconvenience that will arise from dropping it. I have seen this idiom criticised in some essay, whose name I cannot now remember, and its origin very naturally accounted for, by supposing it to have sprung from the contraction I'd, which supplies the place both of I had, and of I would, and which hath been at first ignorantly resolved into I had, when it ought to have been I would. The phrase. thus frequently mistaken, hath come at length to establish itself, and to stand on its own foot*. * Whether with Johnson and Lowth we should consider the phrases by this means, by that means, it is a means, as liable to the same exception, is perhaps more doubtful. Priestley considers the word means as of both numbers, and of such nouns we have several examples in the language. But it may be objected, that as the singular form mean is still frequently to be met with, this must inevit- ably give to the above phrases an appearance of solecism, in the judgment of those who are accustomed to attend to the rules of syntax. But however this may in- duce such critics to avoid the expressions in question, no person of taste, I presume, will venture so far to violate the present usage, and consequently to shock the ears of the gener ality of readers, as to say, ' By this mean,' or ' By that mean.' 188 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. Of the second sort, which, when explained grammatically, leads to a different sense from what the words in conjunction commonly bear, is, * He sings a good song,' for ' he sings well.' The plain meaning of the words as they stand connected is very different, for who sees not that a good song may be ill sung? Of the same stamp is, He plays a good fiddle,' for ' he plays well on the fiddle.' This seems also to involve a solecism. We speak indeed of playing a tune, but it is always on the instrument. Nothing can be more common or less proper than to speak of a river's emptying itself. Dr Johnson, in his dictionary, explains the verb to empty, as importing to evacuate, to exhaust. Amongst his authorities we have this sentence from Arbuthnot: " The Euxine " sea is conveniently situated for trade, by the communication it has " with Asia and Europe, and the great navigable rivers that empty " themselves into it." Passing the word rivers as a metonymy for their channels, are these ever ' evacuated or exhausted?' To say a river falls into the sea, or a ship falls down the river, is entirely proper, as the motion is no other than a fall down a real though gen- tle declivity. Under the third sort, which can scarcely be considered as literal- ly conveying any sense, may be ranked a number of vile, but com- mon phrases, sometimes to be found in good authors, like shooting at rovers, having a month's mind, currying favor, dancing attendance, and many others. Of the same kind also, though not reprehensible in the same degree, is the idiomatical use that is sometimes made of certain verbs, as stand, for insist, * He stands upon security ; ' take, for understand, in such phrases as these, ' You take me,' and * as * I take it;' hold, for continue, as ' He does not hold long in one * mind.' But of all kinds, the worst is that wherein the words, when construed, are susceptible of no meaning at all. Such an expression is the following, ' There were seven ladies in the com- * pany, every one prettier than another,' by which it is intended, I suppose, to denote that they were all very pretty. One prettier, implies that there is another less pretty, but Avhere every one is prettier, there can be none less, and consequently none more pretty. Such trash is the disgrace of any tongue. Ambitiously to display nonsensical phrases of this sort, as some writers have affected to do, under the ridiculous notion of a familiar and easy manner, is not to set off the riches of a language, but to expose its rags. As such idioms, therefore, err alike against purity, simplicity, perspicuity, and elegance, they are entitled to no quarter from the critic. A few of these in the writings of good authors, I shall have occasion to point out, when I come to speak of the solecism and the im- propriety. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 189 So much for the canons of verbal criticism, which properly suc- ceed the characters of good use, proposed in the preceding chapter for the detection of the most flagrant errors in the choice, the con- struction, and the application of words. The first five of these ca- nons are intended to suggest the principles by which our choice ought to be directed, in cases wherein use itself is wavering; and the four last to point out those farther improvements which the cri- tical art, without exceeding her legal powers, may assist in produ- cing. There are, indeed, who seem disposed to extend her autho- rity much farther. But we ought always to remember, that as the principal mode of improving a language, which she is empowered to employ, is by condemning and exploding, there is a considera- ble danger, lest she carry her improvements this way too far. Our mother-tongue, by being too much impaired, maybe impoverished, and so more injured in copiousness and nerves, than all our refine- ments will ever be able to compensate. For this reason there ought, in support of every sentence of proscription, to be an evident plea from the principles of perspicuity, elegance, or harmony. If so, the want of etymology, whatever be the opinion of some grammarians, cannot be reckoned a sufficient ground for the suppres- sion of a significant term, which hath come into good use. For my part, I should think it as unreasonable to reject, on this account, the assistance of an expressive word, which opportunely offers its service, when perhaps no other could so exactly answer my purpose, as to refuse the needful aid of a proper person, because he could give no account of his family or pedigree. Though what is called cant, is generally, not necessarily, nor always, without etymology, it is not this defect, but the baseness of the use which fixeth on it that disgraceful appellation. No absolute monarch hath it more in his power to nobilitate a person of obscure birth, than it is in the power of good use to ennoble words of low or dubious extraction; such, for instance, as have either arisen, nobody knows how, like fib, banter, bigot, fop, flippant, among the rabble, or like flimsy, sprung from the cant of manufacturers. It is never from an attention to etymology, which would frequently mislead us, but from custom, the only infallible guide in this matter, that the meanings of words in present use must be learnt. And indeed, if the want in question were material, it would equally affect all those words, no inconsider- able part of our language, whose descent is doubtful or unknown. Besides, in no case can the line of derivation be traced backwards to infinity. We must always terminate in some words of whose genealogy no account can be given *. * Dr. Johnson, who, notwithstanding his acknowledged learning, penetration, 190 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. It ought, at the same time, to be observed, that what hath been said on this topic, relates only to such words as bear no distinguish- able traces of the baseness of their source ; the case is quite differ- ent in regard to those terms, which may b$ said to proclaim their vile and despicable origin, and that either by associating disagreeable and unsuitable ideas, as bellytimber, thorowstitch, dumbfound ; or by betraying some frivolous humor in the formation of them, as transmogrify, bamboozle, topsyturvy, pellmell, helterskelter, hur- lyburly. These may all find a place in burlesque, but ought never to shew themselves in any serious performance. A person of no birth, as the phrase is, may be raised to the rank of nobility, and, which is more, may become it; but nothing can add dignity to that man, or fit him for the company of gentlemen, who bears indelible marks of the clown in his look, gait, and whole behaviour. CHAP. III. OF GRAMMATICAL PURITY. IT was remarked formerly *, that though the grammatical art bears much the same relation to the rhetorical, which the art of the mason bears to that of the architect, there is one very memorable differ- ence between the two cases. In architecture it is not necessary that he who designs should execute his own plans ; he may there- fore be an excellent artist in this way, who has neither skill nor practice in masonry; on the contrary, it is equally incumbent on the orator to design and to execute. He ought therefore to be master of the language which he speaks or writes, and to be ca- pable of adding to grammatic purity, those higher qualities of elo- cution, which will give grace and energy to his discourse. I and ingenuity, appears sometimes, if I may adopt his own expression, " lost in lexicography," hath declared the name punch, which signifies a certain mixed liquor very well known, a cant word, because, being to appearance without ety- mology, it hath probably arisen from some silly conceit among the people. The name sherbet, which signifies another known mixture, he allows to be good, be- cause it is Arabic; though, for aught we know, its origin among the Arabs hath been equally ignoble or uncertain. By this way of reckoning, if the word punch, in the sense wherein we use it, should by any accident be imported into Arabia, and come into use there, it would make good Arabic, though it be but cant English; as their sherbet, though in all likelihood but cant Arabic, makes good English. This, I own, appears to me very capricious. * Chap. II. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 191 propose, then, in the first place, byway of laying the foundation*, to consider that purity which he hath in common with the gramma- rian, and then proceed to consider those qualities of speech which are peculiarly oratoricaj. It was also observed before f, that the art of the logician is uni- versal, and the art of the grammarian particular. By consequence, my present subject being language, it is necessary to make choice of some particular tongue, to which the observations to be made will be adapted, and from which the illustrations to be produced will be taken. Let English be that tongue. This is a preference to which it is surely entitled from those who write in it. Pure En- glish, then, implies three things; first, that the words be English; secondly, that their construction, under which, in our tongue, ar- rangement also is comprehended, be in the English idiom; thirdly, that the words and phrases be employed to express the precise meaning which custom hath affixed to them. From the definition now given, it will be evident on reflection, that this is one of those qualities, of which, though the want ex- poses a writer to much censure, the possession hardly entitles him to any praise. The truth is, it is a kind of negative quality, as the name imports, consisting more in an exemption from certain blemish- es, than in the acquisition of any excellence. It holds the same place among the virtues of elocution, that justice holds among the moral virtues. The more necessary each is, and the more blame- able the transgression is, the less merit has the observance. Grace and energy, on the contrary, are like generosity and public spirit. To be deficient in these virtues, is not treated as criminal; but to be eminent for the practice of them, is accounted meritorious. As, there- fore, in what regards the laws of purity, the violation is much more conspicuous than the observance, I am under the disagreeable ne- cessity of taking my illustrations on this article, solely from the former. Purity, it was said, implies three things. Accordingly, in three different ways it may be injured. First, the words used may not be English. This fault hath received from grammarians the deno- mination of barbarism. Secondly, the construction of the sentence may not be in the English idiom. This hath gotten the name of solecism. Thirdly, the words and phrases may not be employed to * Solum quidem ct quasi fundamentum oratoris, vides locutionem emendatam et Latinam. Cic. DeClar. Orat. The same holds equally of any language which the orator is obliged to use. t Book I. Chap. iv. 192 THE PHILOSOPHY BoohH. express the precise meaning which custom hath affixed to them This is termed impropriety*. SECTION I. The Barbarism. ' ' ' .#*$ THE reproach of barbarism may be incurred by three different ways ; by the use of words entirely obsolete, by the use ef words entirely new, or by new formations and compositions from simple and pri- mitive words in present use. PART I By the use of Obsolete Words. ' v ,'< , ' _i;.-s r V _<-!*<;>" OBSOLETE words, though they once were English, are not so now; though they were both proper and expressive in the days of our forefathers, are become as strange to our ears, as many parts of their garb would be to our eyes. And if so, such words have no more title than foreign words, to be introduced at present; for though they are not so totally unknown as to occasion obscurity, a fault which I shall consider afterwards, their appearance is so unusual, and their form is so antiquated, that, if not perfectly ridiculous, they at least suggest the notion of stiffness and affectation. We ought, therefore, not only to avoid words, that are no longer under- stood by any but critics and antiquaries, such ashight, cleped, uneath, erst, whilom ; we must also, when writing in prose, and on serious subjects, renounce the aid of those terms, which, though not unin- telligible, all writers of any name have now ceased to use. Such are behest, fantasy, tribulation, erewhile, whenas, peradventure, self- same, anon. All these offend more or less against the third cri- terion of good use formerly given f, that it be such as obtains at present. Some indulgence, however, on this, as well as on several other articles, as was hinted already, must be given to poets on many accounts; and particularly on account of the peculiar inconvenien- ces to which the laws of versification subject them. Besides, in treating some topics, passages of ancient story for example, there may be found sometimes a suitableness in the introduction of old words. In certain kinds of style, when used sparingly and with judgment, they serve to add the venerable air of antiquity to the narrative. In burlesque also, they often produce a good effect. But it is admitted on all sides, that this species of writing is not strictly subjected to the laws of purity. * Quiutilian hath suggested this distribution. Tnstit. lib. i. cap. 5. Depre- hendat quee barbara, quae impropria, qute contra Icgem loquendi composita. t Book. II. Chap. i. Sect. iii. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 193 PART II By the use of New Words. ANOTHER tribe of barbarisms, much more numerous, is constituted by new words. Here indeed the hazard is more imminent, as the tendency to this extreme is more prevalent. Nay, our language is in greater danger of being overwhelmed by an inundation oif foreign words, than of any other species of destruction. There is, doubtless, some excuse for borrowing the assistance of neighbours, when their assistance is really wanted, that is, when we cannot do our business without it; but there is certainly a meanness in choosing to be in- debted to others, for what we can easily be supplied with out of our own stock. When words are introduced by any writer from a sort of necessity, in order to avoid tedious and languid circumlocu- tions, there is reason to believe they will soon be adopted by others convinced of the necessity, and will at length be naturalized by the public. But it is to be wished, that the public would ever reject those which are obtruded on it merely through a licentious affec- tation of novelty. And of this kind certainly are most of the words and phrases which have, in this century, been imported from France. Are not pleasure, opinionative, and sally, as expressive as volupty, opiniatre, and sortiel Wherein is the expression last resort, inferior to dernier resort; liberal arts, to beaux arts; and polite literature, to belles lettres ? Yet some writers have arrived at such a pitch of futility, as to imagine, that if they can but make a few trifling changes, like aimable for amiable, politesse for politeness, delicatesse for delicacy, and hauteur for haughtiness, they have found so many gems, which are capable of adding a wonderful lustre to their works. With such, indeed, it is in vain to argue; but to others, who are not quite so unreasonable, I beg leave to suggest the following remarks. First, it ought to be remembered, that the rules of pronunciation and orthography in French, are so different from those which obtain in English, that the far greater part of the French words lately in- troduced, constitute so many anomalies with us, which, by loading the grammatical rules with exceptions, greatly corrupt the simpli- city and regularity of our tongue. Nor is this the only way in which they corrupt its simplicity; let it be observed further, that one of the principal beauties of any language, and the most essential to simplicity, results from this: That a few plain and primitive words called roots, have, by an ana- logy, which hath insensibly established itself, given rise to an infinite number of derivative and compound words, between which and the primitive, anu oetween the former and their conjugates, there is a 194- THE PHILOSOPHY Book 11. resemblance in sense, corresponding to that which there is in sound. Hence it will happen, that a word may be very emphatical in the language to which it owes its birth, arising from the light that is reflected on it by the other words of the same etymology; which, when it is transplanted into another language, loses its em- phasis entirely. The French \vord eclaircissement, for instance, is regularly deduced thus: Eclaircissement, eclaircisse, eclair- cir, eclair, clair, which is the etymon, whence also are de- scended, clairement, clarte, clarifier, clarification, eclairer. The like may be observed in regard to connoisseur, reconnoitre, agre- mens, and a thousand others. Whereas, such words with us look rather like strays than like any part of our own property. They are very much in the condition of exiles, who, having been driven from their families, relations, and friends, are compelled to take re- fuge in a country were there is not a single person with whom they can claim a connexion, either by blood or by alliance. But the patrons of this practice will probably plead, that as the French is the finer language, ours must certainly be improved by the mixture. Into the truth of the hypothesis from which they argue, I shall not now inquire. It sufficeth for my present pur- pose, to observe, that the consequence is not logical, though the plea were just. A liquor produced by the mixture of two liquors of different qualities, will often prove worse than either. The Greek is, doubtless, a language much superior in riches, harmony, and variety, to the Latin; yet, by an affectation in the Romans of Greek words and idioms, (like the passion of the English for what- ever is imported from France), as much, perhaps, as by any thing, the Latin was not only vitiated ; but lost almost entirely, in a few centuries, that beauty and majesty which we discover in the writ- ings of the Augustan age. On the contrary, nothing contributed more to the preservation of the Greek tongue in its native purity for such an amazing number of centuries, unexampled in the his- tory of any other language, than the contempt they had of this practice. It was in consequence of this contempt, that they were the first who branded a foreign term in any of their writers with the odious name of barbarism. But there are two considerations which ought especially to weigh with authors, and hinder them from wantonly admitting such ex- traneous productions into their performances. One is, if these fo- reigners be allowed to settle amongst us, they will infallibly sup- plant the old inhabitants. Whatever ground is given to the one, is so much taken from the other. Is it then prudent in a writer, to foment a humor of innovation which tends to make the language of his country still more changeable, and consequently to render Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 195 the style of his own writings the sooner obsolete? Nor let it be imagined, that this is not a necessary consequence. Nothing can be juster than Johnson's manner of arguing on this subject, in re- gard to what Swift a little chimerically proposeth, that though new words be introduced, none should be permitted to become obsolete*. For what makes a word obsolete, but a general, though tacit agree- ment to forbear it? And what so readily produces this agreement, as another term which hath gotten a vogue and currency, and is always at hand to supply its place? And if thus, for some time, a word is overlooked or neglected, how shall it be recalled, when it hath once, by disuse, become unfamiliar, and, by unfamiliarity, un- pleasing? The other consideration is, that if he should not be followed in the use of those foreign words which he hath endeavoured to usher into the language, if they meet not with a favorable reception from the public, they will ever appear as spots in his work. Such is the appearance which the terms opine, ignore, fraicheur, adroitness, opiniatry, and opiniatrety, have at present in the writings of some ingenious men. Whether, therefore, he be, or be not imitated, he will himself prove a loser at last. I might add to these, that as borrowing naturally exposeth to the suspicion of poverty, this po- verty will much more readily, and more justly too, be imputed to the writer than to the language. Inventors in the arts, and discoverers in science, have an indis- putable title to give names to their own inventions and discoveries. When foreign inventions and discoveries are imported into this is- land, it is both natural and reasonable that the name should accom- pany the thing. Nay, in regard even to evils of foreign growth, I should not object to the observance of the same rule. Were any one to insist, that we have not in our language words precisely cor- responding to the French galimatias, phebus, verbiage^ gascon- ade, rodomontade, I should not contend with him about it; nor should I perhaps dislike, that the very name served to show, that these plants are natives of a ranker soil, and did not originally be- long to us. But if the introduction of exotic words were never ad- mitted, except in such cases, or in order to supply an evident want amongst ourselves, we should not at present have one such term where we have fifty. The advice of the poet with regard to both the before-mentioned sorts of barbarism, is extremely good In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold; Alike fantastic, if too new or old: Be not the first by whom the uew are try'd, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside f- * Preface to the Dictionary. t Pope's Essay on Criticism. 196 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. PART III. By the use of good Words new modelled. THE third species of barbarism, is that produced by new forma- .tions and compositions from primitives in present use. I acknow- ledge, that when the English analogy is observed in the derivation or composition, and when the new-coined word is wanted in the language, greater liberty ought to be given on this article than on the former. The reason of the difference will appear from what hath been said already. But still this is a liberty which needs an excuse from necessity, and is in no case pardonable, unless the words be at least not disagreeable to the ear, and be so analogically form- ed, that a reader, without the help of the context, may easily disco- ver the meaning * . Now, if the plea of necessity be requisite, what quarter is due to such frivolous innovations as these, incumberment f , portic f , mar- tyrised f, eucharistyf, analyse f, connexityf, stoicianf , platoni- cianf, peripatetician f , py thagorician f , fictiousj, majestatic, ac- ception||, which were intended solely to express what had always been at least as well expressed by encumbrance, portico, martyr'd, eucharist, analysis, connexion, stoic, platonist, peripatetic, pytha- gorean, fictitious, majestic, acceptation. And if any regard is due to the ear, what shall we say of I cannot call it the composition, but the collision of words which are naturally the most unfit for coalescing, like saintauthors, saintprotectrices, architectcapacity, commentatorcapacity, authorcharacter, and many others forged in the same taste, to be found in the pages of a late right honorable au- thor 51? And lastly, if the analogy of the language must be pre- served in composition, to what kind of reception are the following entitled, all fabricated in the same shop, selfend, selfpassion, selfaf- fections, selfpractice, homedialect, bellysense, and mirrourwriting? It may, indeed, be urged, that the pronoun self is used in compo- sition with such latitude, that one can scarcely err in forming new words with its assistance. But this is a mistake. New words may be formed by it; but they must be formed analogically. And the analogy of these formations may be understood from observing, that when analyzed thus, they ought regularly to exhibit the same mean- ing. Make one's self, himself, herself, itself, or themselves, as the * There are some words of recent introduction, which come so much under this description, that it might be accounted too fastidious in the critic, entirely to reject them. Such are continental, sentimental, originality, criminality, capabi- lity, to originate, to figure, to adduce, and perhaps a few others. t Bolingbroke. \ Prior. Spe ctator, No. 580. || Hammond, f Shaftesbury. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 197 sense requires, follow the last word in the compound, with the pre- position intervening, with which the word, whether noun or parti- ciple, is usually construed. If the word be a substantive, the pre- position is commonly of, if the passive participle, by, and if the ac- tive participle, no preposition is requisite. Thus selflove is the love of one's self. In the same way are resolved, selfhate, selfmurder, selfpreservation. When we say of a man that he is selfcondemned, we mean, that he is condemned by himself. A selfconsuming fire is a fire consuming- itself. Now to apply this observation, what is the meaning- of the end of one's self, the passion of one's self, the affections of one's self, and die practice of one's self? And if some meaning may be affixed to any of these expressions, it is easy to perceive, that it is not the meaning of the author. Yet I can remember but two compounds that have obtained in English, which are not formed according to the analogy above explained. One is selfwilled, signifying per- verse, and now little used ; the other is selfexistence, a favorite word of some metaphysicians, which, if it signify any thing more than what is properly and clearly expressed by independency and eter- nity, signifies I know not what. In new formations, however, the rule ought to be followed, and not the exceptions. But what shall be said of such monsters, as selfpractice, bellysense, and mirrour- writing? These, indeed, might have been regarded as flowers of rhetoric in the days of Cromwell, when a jargon of this sort was much in vogue, but are extremely unsuitable to the chaster language of the present age. Again, under this class may be ranked another modern refine- ment, I mean the alterations that have been made by some- late wri- ters on proper names, and some other words of foreign extraction, and on their derivatives, on pretence of bringing them nearer, both in pronunciation and in spelling, to the original names, as they ap- pear in the language from which those words were taken. In or- der to answer this important purpose, several terms which have maintained their place in our tongue for many centuries, and which are known to every body, must be expelled, that room may be made for a set of uncouth and barbarous sounds, with which our ears are unacquainted, and to some of which it is impossible for us so to adapt our organs, accustomed only to English, as rightly to articu- late them. It hath been the invariable custom of all nations, as far as 1 know; it was particularly the custom of the Grecians and the Ro- mans, when they introduced a foreign name into their language, to make such alterations on it, as would facilitate the pronunciation to 198 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. their own people, and render it more analogous to the other words of their tongue. There is an evident convenience in this practice; but where the harm of it is, I am not able to discover. No more can I divine what good reason can be alleged for proscribing the name Zoroaster, till of late universally adopted by English authors, who had occasion to mention that eastern sage, and the same, ex- cept in termination, that is used in Greek and Latin classics. Is Zerdusht, which those people would substitute in its place, a more musical word? Or is it of any consequence to us, that it is nearer the Persian original? Will this sound give us a deeper insight than the other into the character, the philosophy, and the history of the man? On the same principles we are commanded by these refiners to banish Confucius, for the sake of Con-fut-cee, and never again, on pain of the charge of gross ignorance, to mention Mahomet, Mahometan, Mahometism, since Mohammed, Mohammedan, Moham- medism are ready to sup ply their room. Mussulman must give place to inoslem, hegira to hejra, and alcoran to koran. The dervis too is turned a dirvesh, and the bashaw is transformed into a pacha. But why do our modern reformers stop here? Ought not this re- formation, if good for any thing 1 , to be rendered more extensively useful? How much more edifying would holy- writ prove to read- ers of every capacity, if, instead of those vulgar corruptions, Jacob and Judah, and Moses and Elijah, we had the satisfaction to find in our Bibles, as some assure us that the words ought to be pro- nounced, Yagnhakob and Yehuda, andMoschech and Eliyahu? Nay, since it seems to be agreed amongst our oriental scholars, that the Hebrew jod sounds like the English y before a vowel, and that their vau is the same with the German w, the word Jehovah ought also to be exploded, that we may henceforth speak of the Deity more reverently and intelligibly, by the only authentic name Yehowah. A reform of this kind was indeed, for the benefit of the learned, attempted abroad more than two centuries ago, by a kindred genius of those modern English critics, one Pagninus, a Dominican friar. In a translation which this man made of the Scriptures, into a sort of Monkish gibberish that he called Latin, he hath, in order to satisfy the world of the vast importance and uti- lity of his work, instead of Eve, written Chauva, and, for Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel given us Jesahiahu, Irmeiahu, Jechezechel. But I know not how it hath happened, that in this he hath had few imitators among men of letters. Probably upon the trial, peo- ple have discovered that they were just as much edified by the old names as by the new. Again, why this reformation should be confined almost entirely Chap. HI. OF RHETORIC. 199 to proper names, for my part, I can discover no good reason. Ap- pellatives are doubtless entitled to a share. Critics of this stamp ought, for example, boldly to resolve, in spite of inveterate abuses and plebeian prejudices, never, whilst they breathe, either to write or to pronounce the words pope, popery, and popedom, but instead of them, pape, papery, atid papedom; since, whether we derive these words immediately from the French*, the Latin f, or the Greek, still it appears that the o is but a base usurper of a place which rightfully belongs to the a. The reason assigned for say- ing koran, and not alcoran, is truly curious. Al, say they, is the Arabic article, and signifies the; consequently, if we should say the alcoran, we should fall into a gross perissology. It is just as if we said the the book. A plain illiterate man would think it suffi- cient to reply, What though al signifies the in Arabic, it hath no signification in English, and is only here the first syllable of a name which use hath appropriated, nojnatter how, to a particular book. But if ye who are such deep scholars, and wonderful improvers of your mother-tongue, are determined to exclude this harmless syl- lable from alcoran, act at least consistently, and dismiss it also from alchymy, alcove, alembic, algebra, almanac, and all the other words in the language that are derived in the same way, and from the same source. Indeed, it is not easy to say where ye will stop ; for if ye attend to it, ye will find many words of Latin or French orig in, which stand equally in need of reformation . It is necessary to add, that if the public give way to a humor of this kind, there will be no end of innovating. When some critics * Pape. t Papa. t Suppose one of these Aristarchs advancing in such ingenious refinements, and thus criticising on the word aversion: 'This substantive is by divers ' authors diversely construed. Some any aversion to a change, others aversion from * a change : both, 1 affirm, from a blind attachment to vernacular idioms, have * alike deviated into the most ugly and deformed faults. This judgment, how se- ' vere soever, I am able to support by an irrefragable argument. Aversion, ac- * col-ding to its etymology, denotes turning from. The first syllable a is, in the ' original language, a preposition signifying from. It would therefore be absurd ' to conjoin in the same phrase with it the preposition to, which hath a contra- ' ry signification : and to use from after aversion, would render the expression ' hideously pleonastic. In defiance therefore of a habitude, which, however an- ' cient and universal, is flie offspring of ignorance, we must, if we would ' speak correctly, either say aversion a change, the first syllable a having the ' force of the preposition, or cutting off this prepositive, we must say, version ' from a change.' If any should think this representation exaggerated, let him compare the reasoning with that which hath been seriously used for mutilating the word alcoran, and he will find it in all respects the same. It is, I acknow- ledge, of no consequence, whether we say alcoran, or koran; but it is of conse- quence that such a illy argument shall not be held a sufficient ground for inno- vation. 200 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. first thought of reforming the word bashaw, one would have it bas- sa, another pacha, and a third pasha; and how many more shapes it may yet be transformed into, it is impossible to say. A late his- toriographer hath adopted just the half of Sale's reformation of the name Mahomet. He restores the vowels to the places which they formerly held, but admits his alteration of the consonants, never writing either Mahomet or Mohammed, but Mahommed. In regard to such foreign names of persons, offices, eras, and rites, it would be obliging in writers of this stamp, to annex to their works a glossary, for the sake of the unlearned, who can- not divine whether their newfangled terms belong to things for- merly unknown, or are no more than the old names of things fami- liar to them, newly vamped and dressed. Surely, if any thing de- serves to be branded with the name of pedantry, it is an ostenta- tion of erudition, to the reproach of learning, by affecting singula- rity in trifles. I shall just mention another set of barbarisms, which also comes under this class, and arises from the abbreviation of polysyllables, by lopping off all the syllables except the first, or the first and se- cond. Instances of this are, hyp for hypocondriac, rep for repu- tation, ult for ultimate, penult for penultimate, incog for incognito, hyper for hypercritic, extra for extraordinary. Happily all these affected terms have been denied the public suffrage. I scarcely know any such that have established themselves except mob, for mobile*. And this it hath effected at last, notwithstanding the unrelenting zeal with which it was persecuted by Dr. Swift, where- ever he met with it. But as the word in question hath gotten use, the supreme arbitress of language, on its side, there would be as much obstinacy in rejecting it at present, as there was perhaps fol- ly at first in ushering it upon the public stage. As to the humor of abbreviating, we need say very little, as it seems hardly now to subsist amongst us. It only arose in this is- land about the end of the last century, and when, in the beginning of the present, it assumed to figure in conversation, and even some- * As I am disposed to think that, in matters of this kind, the public is rarely in the wrong, it would not be difficult to assign a plausible reason for this prefer- ence. First, the word mobile, from which it is contracted, can scarcely be call- ed English, and, I suspect, never had the sanction of the public voice. Second- ly, there is not another word in the language that expresseth precisely the same idea, a tumultuous and seditious route : the word mobility, adopted by some writers, is a gross misapplication of the philosophical term, which means only susceptibility of motion; lastly, the word mob is fitter than either of those for giving rise, according to the analogy of our tongue, to such convenient deriva- tives, as to mob, mobbed, mobbish, mobber. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 201 times to appear in print, it was so warmly attacked by Addison and Swift, and other writers of eminence, that since then it hath been in general disgrace, hardly daring to appear in good company, and never shewing itself in books of any name. The two classes of barbarisms last mentioned, comprehending new words, and new formations from words still current, offend against use, considered both as reputable and as national. There are many other sorts of transgression which might be enumerated here, such as vulgarisms, provincial idioms, and the cant of par- ticular professions. But these are more commonly ranked among the offences against elegance, than among the violations of gram- matical purity, and will therefore be considered afterwards. SECTION II Tlie Solecism. I NOW enter on the consideration of the second way by which the purity of the style is injured, the solecism. This is accounted by grammarians a much greater fault than the former, as it displays a greater ignorance of the fundamental rules of the language. The sole aim of grammar is to convey the knowledge of the language; consequently, the degree of grammatical demerit in every blunder can only be ascertained by the degree of deficiency in this know- ledge which it betrays. But the aim of eloquence is quite another thing. The speaker or the writer doth not purpose to display his knowledge in the language, but only to employ the language which he speaks or writes, in order to the attainment of some further end. This knowledge he useth solely as the instrument or means by which he intends to instruct, to please, to move, or to persuade. The degree of demerit therefore, which, by the orator's account, is to be found in every blunder, must be ascertained by a very different measure. Such offence is more or less heinous, precisely in proportion as it proves a greater orsmaller obstruction to the speaker's or writer's aim. Hence it happens, that when solecisms are not very glaring, when they do not darken the sense, or suggest some ridiculous idea, the rhetorician regards them as much more excusable than barbarisms. The reason is, the former is accounted solely the effect of negli- gence, the latter of affectation. Negligence in expression, often the consequence of a noble ardor in regard to the sentiments, is at the worst a venial trespass, sometimes it is even not without energy ; affectation is always a deadly sin against the laws of rhetoric. It ought also to be observed, that in the article of solecisms, much greater indulgence is given to the speaker than to the writer ; and to the writer who proposeth to persuade or move, greater allow- 202 THB PHILOSOPHY Bonk 11. ances are made, than to him who proposeth barely to instruct or please. The more vehemence is required by the nature of the subject, the less correctness is exacted in the manner of treating- it. Nay, a remarkable deficiency in this respect is not near so preju- dicial to the scope of the orator, as a scrupulous accuracy, which bears in it the symptoms of study and art. Eschines is said to have remarked, that the orations of his rival and antagonist Demos- thenes smelled of the lamp; thereby intimating that their style and composition were too elaborate. If the remark is just, it con- tains the greatest censure that ever was passed on that eminent orator. But, as the intermediate degrees between the two extremes are innumerable, both doubtless ought to be avoided. Grammatical inaccuracies ought to be avoided by a writer, for two reasons. One is, that a reader will much sooner discover them than a hearer, however attentive he be. The other is, as writing im- plies more leisure and greater coolness than is implied in speaking, defects of this kind, when discovered in the former, will be less ex- cused, than they would be in the latter. To enumerate all the kinds of solecism into which it is possible to fall, would be both a useless and an endless task. The trans- gression of any of the syntactic rules is a solecism; and almost every rule may be transgressed in various ways. But as novices only are capable of falling into the most flagrant solecisms, such, I mean, as betray ignorance in the rudiments of the tongue, I shall leave it to grammarians to exemplify, and class the various blun- ders of this sort which may be committed by the learner. All I propose to do at present, is to take notice of a few less observable, which writers of great name, and even of critical skill in the lan- guage, have slidden into through inattention; and which, though of the nature of solecism, ought perhaps to be distinguished by the softer name inaccuracy*. The first of this kind I shall observe is a mistake of the plural number for the singular, " The zeal of the seraphim breaks forth * I am sensible, that in what concerns the subject of this section, I have been in a great measure prevented by the remarks of Lowth and Priestley, and some other critics and grammarians, who have lately favored the world with their observations. Since reading their publications, I have curtailed considerably what I had prepared on this article; for though I had rarely hit upon the same examples, there was often a coincidence in the matter, inasmuch as the species of fault animadverted on, was frequently the same. 1 have now almost entirely confined myself to such slips as have been overlooked by others, I say alnwst entirely, for when any error begins to prevail, even a single additional remon- strance may be of consequence; and in points on which critics are divided, I thought it not unreasonable to offer my opinion. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 203 " in a becoming warmth of sentiments and expressions, as the " character which is given us of him denotes that generous scorn " and intrepidity which attends heroic virtue*." Cherub and se- raph are two nouns in the singular number transplanted into our language, directly from the Hebrew. In the plural we are authorised, both by use and by analogy, to say either cherubs and seraphs, ac- cording to the English idiom, or cherubim and seraphim, accord- ing to the oriental. The former suits better the familiar, the latter the solemn style. It is surprising that an author of Mr. Addison's discernment, did not, in criticising Milton, take notice of a dis- tinction which is every where so carefully observed by the poet. I shall add to this remark, that as the words cherubim and seraphim are plural, the terms cherubims and seraphims, as expressing the plural, are quite improper. Yet these barbarisms occur sometimes in our translation of the Bible; which, nevertheless, doth not once adopt the plural form cherubim and seraphim to express the sin- gular; though one would naturally imagine, that this error must originally have given rise to the other. Inaccuracies are often found in the way wherein the degrees of comparison are applied and construed. Some of these, I suspect, have as yet escaped the animadversion of all our critics. Before I produce examples, it will be proper to observe, that the compara- tive degree implies commonly a comparison of one thing with one other thing; the superlative, on the contrary, always implies a comparison of one thing with many others. The former, conse- quently, requires to be followed by the singular number, the latter by the plural. In our language, the conjunction than must be in- terposed between the things compared in the former case, the pre- position of is always used in the latter. The following is an example of wrong construction in the com- parative : " This noble nation hath of all others admitted fewer cor- " ruptions f." The word ' fewer' is here construed precisely as if it were the superlative. Grammatically thus : ' This noble nation hath ' admitted fewer corruptions than any other.' Sometimes indeed the comparative is rightly followed by a plural ; as in these words, * He is wiser than we.' But it cannot be construed with the pre- position of before that to which the subject is compared. There is one case, and but one, wherein the aforesaid preposition is pro- per after the comparative, and that is, when the words following the preposition comprehend both sides of the comparison ; as, ' He * is the taller man of the two.' In these words ' the two' are in- * Spectator, No. 327. t Swift's Mechanical Operations. 204 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. eluded he and the person to whom he is compared. It deserves our notice also, that in such cases, and only in such, the compara- tive has the definite article ' the' prefixed to it, and is construed precisely as the superlative ; nay, both degrees are in such cases used indiscriminately. We say rightly, either ' This is the weaker * of the two,' or ' the weakest of the two.' If, however, we may form a judgment from the most general principles of analogy, the former is preferable, because there are only two things compared. I shall subjoin to this an inaccuracy in a comparison of equality, where, though the positive degree only is used, the construction must be similar to that of the comparative, both being followed by conjunctions which govern no case. " Such notions would be " avowed at this time by none but rosicrucians, and fanatics as mad " as them*." Grammatically ' they,' the verb ' are' being under- stood. That the particles, 'as' after the positive, and ' than' after the comparative, are conjunctions and not prepositions, seems never to have been questioned by any grammarian or critic before Dr. Priestley. I readily acknowledge, that it is use which must decide the point ; nor should I hesitate a moment in agreeing to the notion he suggests, if it were supported by what could be justly deno- minated general and reputable use. But to me it is manifest, that both the most numerous and the most considerable authorities are on the opposite side; and therefore, that those instances which he produceth in favor of that hypothesis, ought to be regarded mere- ly as negligences of style, into which (as I shall have occasion to observe more fully in the sequel) even the best writers will some- times fall. That in the colloquial dialect, as Johnson calls it, such idioms frequently occur is undeniable. In conversation you will perhaps ten times oftener hear people say, ' There 's the books you * wanted,' than * There are the books ;' and ' You was present,' when a single person is addressed, than * You were present.' Yet good use is always considered as declaring solely for the last mode of expression in both cases. The argument drawn from the French usage (which, by the way, hath no authority in our tongue) is not at all apposite f. * Bolingbrokc's Ph. Fr. 24. t The oblique cases of their personal pronouns, answering to our me, thee, and him, are me, te, and IK, not moi, toi, and lui. In these last we have the inde- finite form, which serves indifferently, as occasion requires, for either nomina- tive or accusative, and to which there is nothing in our language that exactly corresponds. Thus, to express in French, ' Ye and I are relations,' we must say, ' Lui et moi, nous sommes parens.' But in English, ' Him and me, we are re- Chap. HI. OF RHETORIC. 205 But supposing good use were divided on the present question, I acknowledge that the first and second canons proposed on this subject *, would determine me to prefer the opinion of those who consider the aforesaid particles as conjunctions. The first directs us in doubtful cases to incline to that side in which there is the least danger of ambiguity* In order to illustrate this point, it will be necessary to observe, that the doubt is not properly stated by say- ing with Dr. Priestley, that the question is, whether the nomina- tive or accusative ought to follow the particles than and as; but, whether these particles are, in such particular cases, to be regarded as conjunctions or prepositions. For, on either supposi- tion, it must be admitted, that in certain circumstances the accusa- tive ought to follow, and not the nominative. But I insist, that as in such cases there is a difference in the sense; uniformly to con- sider those particles as conjunctions, is the only way of removing the ambiguity. Thus I say properly, ' I esteem you more than they.' I say properly also, * I esteem you more than them,' but in a sense quite different. If than is understood as a conjunction, there can be nothing ambiguous in either sentence. The case of the pronoun determines at once the words to be supplied. The first is, * I esteem you more than they esteem you.' The second is, * I es- 4 teem you more than I esteem them.' But this distinction is con- founded if you make than a preposition, which, as in every instance it will require the oblique case, will by consequence render the expression equivocal. For this reason, I consider that quotation from Smollet, (who is, by the bye, the only authority alleged on this question) " Tell the cardinal, that I understand poetry better " than him," as chargeable not so much with inaccuracy, as with im- propriety. The sense it expresseth, is clearly, * I understand ' poetry better than I understand him.' But this is not the sense of the author. The second canon leads directly to the same deci- lations,' would be insufferable. The nominatives je, tu, il, are never used by them, but when immediately adjoined to the verb, prefixed in affirming, or af- fixed in interrogating. In every other situation the indefinite form must supply their place. Le Clerc thus renders a passage of Scripture, (Rev. I. 18.) " Moi " qui vis presentement, j'ai etc mort." But who that understands English would say, ' Me who live at present, I have been dead.' Let this serve also as an answer to the plea for these vulgar, but unauthorised idioms, It is me, It is him, from the C'est moi, cest lui, of the French. I shall observe in passing, that one of Priestley's quotations in support of these phrases, is defensible on a different principle, and therefore not to his purpose. ' It is not me you are in love with.' The me is here governed by the preposition with. ' It is not with me you are in love.' Such transpositions are frequent in our language. * Book II. Chap. ii. Sect. 1. 206 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. sion, as it teacheth us to prefer what is most agreeable to analogy. Now that is always most repugnant to analogy, which tends most to multiply exceptions. Consequently, to consider the particles em- ployed in this manner of stating a comparison as conjunctions, (which they are universally admitted to be in every other case), is more analogical, than to consider them as changing their usual de- nomination and character in such instances. But to proceed ; incorrectness in using the superlative degree appears in the subsequent quotation: "The vice of covetousness is " what enters deepest into the soul of any other *." An instance of the same fault 1 shall g'ive from a writer of no small merit for harmony and elegance : " We have a profession set apart for the " purposes of persuasion, wherein a talent of this kind would prove " the likeliest perhaps of any otherf." I do not here criticise on the word other in those examples, which, in my opinion, is like- wise faulty after the superlative ; but this fault comes under ano- ther category. The error I mean at present to point out, is the superlative followed by the singular number, " the deepest of " any other," " the likeliest of any other." We should not say, ' the * best of any man,' or * the best of any other man,' for ' the best * of men.' We may indeed say, * He is the oldest of the family.' But the word family is a collective noun, and equivalent to all in the house. In like manner it may be said, ' The eyes are the * worst of his face.' But this expression is evidently deficient. The face is not the thing with which the eyes are compared, but contains the things with which they are compared. The sentence, when the ellipsis is supplied, stands thus, Of all the features of * his face, the eyes are the worst.' Both the expressions above censured, may be corrected by sub- stituting the comparative in room of the superlative : ' The vice 4 of covetousness is what enters deeper into the soul than any * other ;' and ' We have a profession set apart for the purposes of * persuasion, wherein a talent of this kind would prove likelier * perhaps than any other.' It is also possible to retain the super- lative, and render the expression grammatical. ' Covetousness is ' what of all vices enters the deepest into the soul ;' and, ' where- * in a talent of this kind would perhaps of all talents prove the ' likeliest.' In the following example we have a numeral adjective, which doth not belong to any entire word in the sentence as its substan- tive, but to a part of a word. " The first project was to shorten " discourse by cutting polysyllables into onej." The term one re- * Guardian, No. 19. t Fitz-Osborne's Letters, B. i.l. 24. J Voyage to Laputa. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 207 lates to syllable, a part of the word polysyllables. This is quite ungrammatical. The expression is likewise exceptionable on the score of propriety, but of this afterwards. There is an error of the same kind in the following passage from Addison, " My Christian and sirname begin and end with the same " letters*." The word Christian is here an adjective, which hath for its substantive the last syllable of the word sirname. The ex- pression is also exceptionable on the score of perspicuity, of which afterwards. Sometimes the possessive pronoun does not suit the antecedent. " Each of the sexes," says Addison, " should keep within its par- " ticular bounds, and content themselves to exult within their re- " spective districts!." Themselves and their cannot grammatically refer to each, a singular. Besides the trespass here is the more glar- ing, that these pronouns are coupled with its, referring to the same noun. In no part of speech do good writers more frequently fall into mistakes than in the verbs. Of these I shall give some specimens out of a much greater number which might be collected. The first shall be of a wrong tense, " Ye will not come unto me that ye ' might have life:}:." In two clauses thus connected, when the first verb is in the present or the future, the second, which is dependent on it, cannot be in the past. The words, therefore, ought to have been translated, ' that ye may have life.' On the contrary, had the first verb been in the preterit, the second ought to have been so too. Thus, * Ye would not come to me,' or, ' Ye did not come to ' me, that ye might have life,' is entirely grammatical. In either of these instances, to use the present tense would be erroneous. When the first verb is in the preterperfect, or the present perfect, as some call it, because it liath a reference both to the past and to the present, the second, I imagine, may be in either tense. Thus, * Ye have not come to me that ye might,' or, * that ye may * have life,' seem equally unexceptionable. Let it be observed, that, in expressing abstract or universal truths, the present tense of the verb ought, according to the idiom of our lang-uage, and perhaps of every language, always to be em- ployed. In such cases, the verb in that form has no relation to time, but serves merely as a copula to the two terms of the propo- sition. The case is different with the past and the future, in which the notion of time is always comprehended. Yet this peculiarity in the present hath sometimes been overlooked, even by good au- thors, who, when speaking of a past event which occasions the * Spectator, No. 505, O. t Freeholder, No. 38. t John v. 40. THE PHILOSOPHY Book H. mention of some general truth, are led to use the same tense in enunciating the general truth, with that which had been employed in the preceding part of the sentence. Of this we have the follow- ing example from Swift, which shall serve for the second instance of inaccuracy in the verbs. " It is confidently reported, that two " young gentlemen of real hopes, bright wit, and profound judg- " ment, who, upon a thorough examination of causes and effects, " and by the mere force of natural abilities, without the least tinc- " ture of learning-, have made a discovery, that there was no God, " and generously communicating their thoughts for the good of " the public, were some time ago, by an unparalleled severity, and " upon I know not what obsolete law, broke for blasphemy*." Properly " have made a discovery that there is no God." The third example shall be of a wrong mood : " If thou bring " thy gift to the altar,and there rememberest that thy brother hath " ought against theef." The construction of the two verbs bring and rememberest ought to be the same, as they are both under the regimen of the same conjunction if. Yet the one is in the sub- junctive mood, the other in the indicative. The fourth instance shall be the omission of an essential part of one of the complex tenses, the writer apparently referring to a part of the verb occurring in a former clause of the sentence, al- though the part referred to will not supply the defect, but some other part not produced. Of this the following is an example : " I shall do all I can to persuade others to take the same mea- " sures for their cure which I havej." Here we have a reference in the end to the preceding verb take. Yet it is not the word take which will supply the sense, but taken. This participle, therefore, ought to have been added. The fifth specimen in the verbs shall be of a faulty reference to a part to be mentioned : " This dedication may serve for almost " any book, that has, is, or shall be published." Has in this place being merely a part of a complex tense, means nothing without the rest of the tense. Yet the rest of the tense is not to be found in the sentence. We cannot say, ' any book that has published,' no more can we say, * that has be published.' Corrected it would run thus, ' that has been, or shall be published.' The word is ought to be expunged, as adding nothing to the sense. I shall next produce a few instances of inaccuracy, which result from coupling words together, and assigning to them a common regimen, when use will not admit that they be construed in the * An Argument against abolishing Christianity. t Matt. v. 2S. t Guardian, No. 1. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 209 same manner. The following- is an example in the construction of adjectives: " Will it be urg-ed, that the four gospels are as old, " or even older than tradition* ?" The words as old and older can- not have a common regimen ; the one requires to be followed by the conjunction as, the other by than. If he had said, * as old as ' tradition, and even older;' there would have been no error. The comparative, in this case, is not construed with the preceding words, but with words which, being ascertained by the preceding, are properly enough understood. I shall exemplify the same inaccuracy in the construction of verbs : " It requireth few talents to which most men are not born, " or at least may not acquiref." Admitting that the words to which are rightly construed with the passive participle born, they cannot be construed with the active verb acquire. For it ought to be noted, that the connexion between the preposition and the noun or pronoun governed by it, is so intimate, that there cannot be a reference to the one without the other. The last clause, therefore, ought to run thus, ' or which at least they may not acquire.' The repetition of the relative makes the insertion of the personal pro- noun necessary. There is an error of the same kind in the sentence following : " The court of Chancery frequently mitigates, and breaks the teeth V of the common law." What is the regimen of the active verb mitig-ates ? Regularly it ought to be, ' the teeth of the common law,' as these words make the regimen of the other active verb breaks, with which the former is coupled. But as this manner of construing the sentence would render the expression highly im- proper, if not nonsensical, it is evidently the author's view, that the verb mitigates should be construed with these words ' the common law,' which, being in construction with the preposition of, (or, as some would call it, in the genitive), cannot serve grammatically as the regimen of an active verb. " Give the Whigs," says the candid Dean of Saint Patrick's, " but power enough to insult their sovereign, engross his favours to " themselves, and to oppress and plunder their fellow-subjects ; " they presently grow into good humour, and good language to- " wards the'crown ." I do not like much ' grow into good humour,' for growing good-humoured, but ' grow into good language' is in- sufferable. I shall add to these an instance in the syntax of nouns: " There * Bolingb. Phil. Es. iv. S. 19- t Swift on Conversation. J Spectator, No. 564. Examiner, N. 35. p 210 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. " is never wanting' a set of evil instruments, who, either out of mad " zeal, private hatred, or filthy lucre, are always ready*." We say properly, ' a man acts out of mad zeal, or out of private hatred ;' but we cannot say, if we would speak English, ' he acts out of ' filthy lucre.' He ought, therefore, to have substituted in the place of the two last words the term avarice, or love of filthy lucre, either of which expressions would have been rightly construed with the preposition. Of the same kind nearly is the following specimen in the govern- ment of a substantive: " There is one that will think herself ob- " liged to double her kindness and caresses of mef." The word kindness requires to be followed by either to or for, and cannot be construed with the preposition of. We often find something irregular in the management of the pre- positions ; for instance, in the omission of one altogether : " He la- " inented the fatal mistake the world had been so long in using silk- " wonnsj." Another in is necessary to complete the construction, whether we suppose the in mentioned to belong- to the preceding words, or to, the succeeding. But as it would have sounded harsh- ly to subjoin another in immediately after the former, it w^ould have been better to give the sentence another turn ; as, " He lamented " the fatal mistake in which the world had been so long, in using " silk-worms ." We have a similar omission, though not of a preposition, in the expression following : "That the discoursing on politics shall be " looked upon as dull as talking on the weather ||." Syntax abso- lutely requires, that the sentence in this form should have another as immediately before the first. At the same time it must be own- ed, that this would render the expression very inelegant. This di- lemma might have been avoided by giving another turn to the con- cluding part, as thus, ' shall be looked upon as equally dull ' with talking on the weather.' Of an error in the wrong choice of a preposition, these words of the same author will furnish an example : " The greatest masters " of critical learning differ among one another 51." Had he said, ' differ among themselves,' the expression would have been fault- less. But the terms themselves and one another, though frequently synonymous, rarely admit the same construction. We cannot say, ' one differs among another.' But we may say, * one differs from ' another,' or 'with anotfier;' the former to express a difference * Swift's Sermort on False Witness. t Spect. No. 490. T. | Voyage to Laputa. Ibid. II Freeholder, No. 38. ^ Spect. No. 321. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 211 in opinion, the latter a quarrel or breach. It ought, therefore, to have been in the above-cited passage, ' differ from one another.' I shall only add an instance or two of inaccuracy in the con- junctions and the adverbs; first, in the conjunctions: <* A petty " constable will neither act cheerfully or wisely *." Properly. * act neither cheerfully nor wisely.' Neither cannot grammati- cally be followed by or. An example of incorrectness in the adverbs, you have in the pas^ sage following : " Lest I should be charged for being worse than " my word, I shall endeavour to satisfy my reader, by pursuing " my method proposed ; if peradventure he can call to mind what " that method wasf." The adverb peradventure, expressing a degree of evidence or credibility, cannot regularly be construed with the hypothetical conjunction if. It is only to affirmations and negations, not to bare suppositions, that all the adverbs denoting certainty, probability, or possibility, properly belong. The following passage in the common version of the Bible is liable to the same censure : " Micaiah said, If thou certainly re- " turn in peace, then hath not the Lord spoken by me:}:/' The translators in this, as in some other places, have been misled by a well-meant attempt to express the force of a hebraisin, which in many cases cannot be expressed in our language. I shall conclude this article with a quotation from an excellent author, of which, indeed, it would not be easy to say in what part the solecism may be discovered, the whole passage being so per- fectly solecistical : " As he that would keep his house in repair, " must attend every little breach or flaw, and supply it immedi- " ately, else time alone will bring all to ruin ; how much more the " common accidents of storms and rain ? He must live in perpe- " tual danger of his house falling about his ears ; and will find it " cheaper to throw it quite down, and build it again from the " ground, perhaps upon a new foundation, or at least in a new " form, which may neither be so safe nor so convenient as the " old." It is impossible to analyze this sentence grammatical- ly, or to say whether it be one sentence or more. It seems, by the conjunction as, to begin with a comparison, bat we have not a single hint of the subject illustrated. Besides, the introducing of the interrogation, * How much more ?' after else, which could be Swift's Free Thoughts, &c. t Shaftcsbnry, Vol. Ill Misc. ii Cb. 8. { 2 Chron. xviii. 27. Saci, iu his French translation, hath expressed the sense of the original with more simplicity and propriety : " Michee rcpartit, " Si vous rev'enez en paix, le seigneur n'a point parle par nut botiche." Project for the Advancement of Religion. Last sentence. P* 212 THE PHILOSOPHY Soak II. regularly followed only by an affirmation or negation ; and the in- coherency of the next clause, ' He must live ' render it indeed all of a piece. So much for the solecism, of which examples might be multi- plied almost without end. Let those produced suffice for a speci- men. It is acknowledged, that such negligences are not to be considered as blemishes of any moment in a work of genius, since those, and even worse, may be discovered, on a careful examina- tion, in the most celebrated writings. It is for this reason acknow- ledged also, that it is neither candid nor judicious to form an opi- nion of a book from a few such specks, selected perhaps from the distant parts of a large performance, and brought into our view at once. Yet, on the other hand, it is certain, that an attention to these little things ought not to be altogether disregarded by any writer. Purity of expression hath but a small share of merit; it hath, however, some share. But it ought especially to be remem- bered, that, on the account of purity, a considerable part of the merit discovered in the other virtues of elocution, to which it con- tributes, ought undoubtedly to be charged. The words of the lan- guage constitute the materials with which the orator must work ; the rules of the language teach him by what management those materials are rendered useful. And what is purity but the right using of the words of the language by a careful observance of the rules. It is therefore justly considered as essential to all the other graces of expression. Hence, not only perspicuity and vivacity, but even elegance and animation derive a lustre. SECTION III. The Impropriety. V litfi-i/iMJfi tfif'/K' I COME now to consider the third and last class of faults against purity, to which I gave the name of impropriety. The barbarism is an offence against etymology, the solecism against syntax, the impropriety against lexicography. The business of the lexicogra- pher is to assign to every word of the language, the precise mean- ing or meanings which use hath assigned to it. To do this is as really a part of the grammarian's province, though commonly exe- cuted by a different hand, as etymology and syntax. The end of every grammar is to convey the knowledge of that language of which it is the grammar. But the knowledge of all the rules, both of derivation, under which inflection is included, and of construc- tion, nay, and of all the words in the language, is not the knowledge of the language. The words must be known, not barely as sounds, but as signs. We must know to what things respectively they Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 213 are appropriated. Thus, in our own tongue, we may err egregioiis- ly against propriety, and consequently against purity, though all the words we employ be English, and though they be construed in the English idiom. The reason is evident : they may be mis- applied ; they may be employed as signs of things to which use hath not affixed them. This fault may be committed either in single words or in phrases. 3T . HI. OF RHETORIC. 217 least to the word owing, which, though an active participle, is frequently, and as some think, inaccurately, employed in a passive sense. Thus, in order to avoid a latent error, if it be an error, he hath run into a palpable absurdity; for what can be more absurd than to say, that the title of sages is due more to ignorance than to knowledge? It had been better to give the sentence another turn, and to say, ' It took its rise perhaps more from the ignorance of ' the scholars, than from the knowledge of the masters.' I shall add the improper use of the word surfeit, in the follow- ing quotation from Alison's Voyage round the World : " We thought " it prudent totally to abstain from fish, the few we caught at " our first arrival, having surfeited those who eat of them*." I should not have mentioned, indeed I should not have discovered, this impropriety in that excellent performance, which would have passed with me for an expression somewhat indefinite, had it not been for the following passage in a late publication : " Several of " our people were so much disordered by eating of a very fine-look- " ing fish, which we caught here, that their recovery was for a " long time doubtful. The author of the account of Lord Anson's " Voyage says, that the people on board the Centurion thought it " prudent to abstain from fish, as the few which they caught at " their first arrival, surfeited those who eat of them. But not at- " tending sufficiently to this caution, and too hastily taking the " word surfeit in its literal and common acceptation, we imagined " that those who tasted the fish, when Lord Anson first came hither, " were made sick merely by eating too much ; whereas, if that had " been the case, there would have been no reason for totally abstain- " ing, but only eating temperately. We, however, bought our " knowledge by experience, which we might have had cheaper; for " though all our people who tasted this fish, eat sparingly, they " were all soon afterwards dangerously ill f ." I have given this passage entire, chiefly because it serves to shew, both that an inac- curacy, apparently trifling, may, by misleading the reader, be pro- ductive of very bad consequences; and that those remarks, which tend to add precision and perspicuity to our language, are not of so little moment as some, who have not duly considered the sub- ject, would affect to represent them. To this class we may reduce the idiotism, or the employing of an English word in a sense which it bears in some provincial dia- lect, in low and partial use, or which perhaps the corresponding word bears in some foreign tongue, but unsupported by general * Alison's Voyage, B. iii. c. *. t Byron's Voyage, Chap. xi. 218 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. use in our own language. An example of this we have in the Word impracticable, when it is used for impassable, and applied to roads; an application which suits the French idiom, but not the English. Of the same kind, are the following gallicisms of Bolingbroke: " All this was done, at the time, on the occasion, and by the per- " sons I intend*," properly mean. " When we learn the names of " complex ideas and notions, we should accustom the rnind to de- " compound them, that we may verify them, and so make them our " own, as well as to learn to compound others f." Decompound he hath used here for analyze, misled by the meaning- of the French word decomposer, which is not only different from the sense of the English word, but contrary to it. To decompound, is to compound of materials already compounded. The use made of the verb arrive in the subsequent passage, is also exceptionable in the same way: " I am a man, and cannot " help feeling any sorrow that can arrive at man:}:." In English, it should be, ' happen to man.' To hold, signifying to use, and applied to language; to give in- to, signifying to adopt, in the figurative sense of that word ; are other expressions frequently employed by this author, and of late by se- veral others, which fall under the same censure. Even our cele- brated translator of the Iliad hath not been clear of this charge. Witness the title he hath given to a small dissertation prefixed to that work: " A view" he calls it, "of the epic poem;" in which short title there are two improprieties. First, the word poem, which always denotes with us a particular performance, is here used, agreeably to the French idiom, for poetry in general, or the art which characterizes the performance; secondly, the definite article the is employed, which, though it be always given to abstracts in French, is never so applied in English, unless with a view to ap- propriate them to some subject. And this, by the way, renders the article with us more determinative than it is in French, or perhaps in any other tongue . Accordingly, on the first hearing of the ti- tle above mentioned, there is no English reader who would nof suppose, that it were a critical tract on some particular epic poem, and not on that species of poesy. Another error of the same kind is the latinism. Of this, indeed, the examples are not so frequent. Foppery is a sort of folly much more contagious than pedantry; but as they result alike from af- * Of the State of Parties, f Phil. Es. i. Sect. 4. J Spectator, No. 502. T. Accordingly Bossu hath styled his performance on the same subject, Traiti In poeme epique It is this title, I suppose, which hath misled the English poet. Chap. HI. OF RHETORIC. 219 fectation, they deserve alike to be proscribed. An instance of the latter is the word affection, when applied to things inanimate, and signifying the state of being affected by any cause. Another in- stance is the word integrity, when used for entireness. But here I think, a distinction ought to be made between the familiar style and that of philosophical disquisition. In the latter, it will be rea- sonable to allow a greater latitude, especially in cases wherein there may be a penury of proper terms, and wherein, without such in- dulgence, there would be a necessity of recurring too often to peri- phrasis. But the less, even here, this liberty is used, it is the better. To these properly succeeds that sort of the vulgarism*, in which only a low and partial use can be pleaded in support of the ap- plication that is made of a particular word. Of this you have an example in the following quotation: " Tis my humble request " you will be particular in speaking to the following points f ." The preposition ought to have been on. Precisely of the same stamp is the on't for of it, so much used by one class of writers. The pronoun it is by a like idiom made sometimes to follow neuter verbs, as in the following passage: " He is an assertor of liberty and proper- " ty ; he rattles it out against popery and arbitrary power, and priest- " craft and high church J." The auxiliaries should, should have, and should be, are sometimes used in the same improper manner. I am not sensible of the ele- gance which Dr Priestley seems to have discovered in the expres- sion " The general report is that he should have said" for " that he said." It appears to me not only as an idiomatical ex- pression, but as chargeable both with pleonasm, and with ambiguity. For what a man said, is often very different from what he should have said. I shall finish all that I propose to offer on the idiotism, when I have observed, that these remarks are not to be extended to the precincts of satire and burlesque. There indeed a vulgar, or even what is called a cant expression, will sometimes be more emphati- cal than any proper term whatsoever. The satirist may plead his privilege. For this reason the following lines are not to be consider- ed as falling under this criticism, Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grows romantic, I must paint it. * I say that sort of the vulgarism, because, when the word is in no acceptation in good use, it is a sort that partakes of the barbarism; but when a particular application of a good word is current only among the lower classes, it belongs to the impropriety. t Guardian, No. 57. t Swiffs Project for the Advancement of Religion. Pope. 220 THE PHILOSOPHY Rook II. It remains to give some instances wherein sound and sense both concur in misleading us. Of this the word enough is an example, which is frequently confounded with enow, and used for it. Both denote sufficiency, the former in quantity or in degrees of quality, the latter in number. Thus we say properly, * We have courage * enough, and ammunition enough; but we have not men enow.* The derivatives falseness, falsity, falsehood, from the root false, are often by mistake employed for one another, though in the best use they are evidently distinguished. The first, falseness, is proper- ly used in a moral sense for want of veracity, and applied only to persons; the other two are applied only to things. Falsity denotes that quality in the abstract, which may be defined contrariety to truth. Falsehood is an untrue assertion. The word negligence is improperly used in the following passage: " The negligence of " this leaves us exposed to an uncommon levity in our usual con- " versation *." He ought to have said neglect. The former im- plies the habit, the latter denotes the act; perhaps in this case I should say the instance; for an act of a habit of not doing hath itself the appearance of impropriety. Precisely of the same kind is the misapplication of the word con- science in this quotation: " The conscience of approving one's " self a benefactor to mankind, is the noblest recompence for being " so f ." Properly the consciousness ; the former denotes the fa- culty, the latter a particular exertion. This impropriety is reversed in the citation following: " I appre- " herid that all the sophism, which has been, or can be employed, " will not be sufficient to acquit this system at the tribunal of rea- " sonj." For sophism he should have said sophistry; this de- notes fallacious reasoning, that only a fallacious argument. This error is of the same kind with poem for poetry, which was re- marked above. Sometimes the neuter verb is mistaken for the active : " What " Tully says of \var, may be applied to disputing; it should be al- " ways so managed, as to remember, that the only end of it is peace ." Properly remind us. Sometimes, again, the active verb is mistaken for the neuter " I may say, without vanity, that there is not a gentleman in En- " gland better read in tomb-stones than myself, my studies having " laid very much in church-yards 1 1." Properly lien or lain. The active verb lay for the neuter lie, is so frequently to be met with in some very modern compositions, as to give room for suspecting * Spect. No. 76. t vSpect. No. 588. t Bol. Ph. F. 0. Pope's Thoughts on various Subjects. || Spect. No. 518. Chap. HI. OF RHETORIC. 221 that it is an idiom of the cockney language, or of some provincial dialect. In that case it might have been classed under the idiotism. Perhaps under the same predicament ought also to be ranked the word plenty, used adjectively for plentiful, which indeed appears to me so gross a vulgarism, that I should not have thought it wor- thy a place here, if I had not sometimes found it in works of con- siderable merit. The relative whom, in the following quotation, is improperly used for which, the former always regarding persons, the latter always things : " The exercise of reason appears as little " in them, as in the beasts they sometimes hunt, and by whom they " are sometimes hunted*." I shall add but two instances more of impropriety in single words, instances which I have reserved for this place, as being somewhat peculiar, and therefore not strictly reducible to any of the classes above mentioned; instances too, from authors of such eminence in respect of style, as may fully convince us, if we are not already convinced, that infallibility is not more attainable here than in other articles. " As I firmly believe the divine precept, delivered by " the Author of Christianity, ' there is not a sparrow falls to the " ground without my Father,' and cannot admit the agency of chance " in the government of the world, I must necessarily refer every " event to one cause, as well the danger as the escape, as well the " sufferings as the enjoyments of lifef." There is very little affi- nity, either in sense or in sound, between precept and doctrine; and nothing but an oscitaucy, from which no writer whatever is uniform- ly exempted, can account for so odd a misapplication of a familiar term. The words in connexion might have shewn the error. It is the doctrines of our religion that we are required to believe, and the precepts that we are required to obey. The other example is, " Their success may be compared to that of a certain prince, who " placed, it is said, cats and other animals, adored by the Egyp- " tians, in the front of his army, when he invaded that people. A " reverence for these phantoms made the Egyptians lay down their " arms, and become an easy conquest J." What the author here intended to say, it is hard to conjecture; but it is unquestiona- ble, that in no sense whatever can cats and other animals be called phantoms. I shall now, before I proceed to consider impropriety as it ap- pears in phrases, make a few reflections on those principles which most frequently betray authors into such misapplications in the use * Bolingbroke, Ph. Es. ii. Sect. 2. t General Introduction to the Account of the Voyages of Commodore Byron, &c. by Hawkesworth. } Bolingbroke, Ph. Es. iv. Sect. 1. 222 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. of single words. As to that which hath been denominated the vul- garism, its genuine source seems to be the affectation of an easy, familiar, and careless manner. The writers who abound in this idiom generally imagine, that their style must appear the more na- tural, the less pains they bestow upon it. Addison hath exactly hit their notion of easy writing: " It is," says he, " what any man " may easily write." But these people, it would seem, need to be informed, that ease is one thing, and carelessness is another; nay, that these two are so widely different, that the former is most com- monly the result of the greatest care. It is like ease in motion, which, though originally the effect of discipline, when once it hath become habitual, has a more simple and more natural appearance, than is to be observed in any manner which untutored Nature can produce. This sentiment is well expressed by the poet: But ease in writing flows from art, not chance; As those move easiest who have learnt to dance *. True ease in composition, accompanied with purity, differs as much from that homely manner which affects the familiarity of low phrases and vulgar idioms, as the appearance of a woman that is plainly but neatly dressed, differs from that of a slattern. But this affectation is to be considered as the spring of one species of impropriety only. All the rest, unless when chargeable on inadvertency, as they sometimes doubtless are, seem naturally to flow from one or other of these two sources, which are almost diametrically opposite to the former. One is, the love of novelty; /the other, a fondness for variety. The former, when excessive, tends directly to misguide us, by making us disdain the beaten track, for no other reason but be- cause it is the beaten track. The idea of vulgarity, in the imagina- tions of those who are affected by this principle, is connected with every thing that is conceived as customary. The genuine issue of this extreme, much worse, I acknowledge, than the former, is not only improprieties, but even absurdities, and fustian, and bombast. The latter, to wit, a fondness for variety, produceth often the same effect, though more indirectly. It begets an immoderate dread of be- coming tedious, by repeating too frequently the same sound. In order to avoid this, a writer resolves at any rate to diversify his style, let it cost what it will. And, indeed, this fancied excellence usually costs more than it is worth. Very often propriety and perspicuity both are sacrificed to it. It is justly observed by Abbe Girardf, that when a perform- * Pope's Imitations. | Synoaymes Francois. Preface. Map. III. OF RHETORIC. 223 ance grows dull through an excess of uniformity, it is not so much because the ear is tired by the frequent repetition of the same sound, as because the mind is fatigued by the frequent recurrence of the same idea. If, therefore, there be a remarkable paucity of ideas, a diversity of words will not answer the purpose, or give to the work the agreeable appearance of variety. On the contrary, when an author is at great pains to vary his expressions, and for this purpose even deserts the common road, he will, to an intelli- gent reader, but the more expose his poverty, the more he is soli- citous to conceal it. And, indeed, what can more effectually be- tray a penury of words, than to be always recurring to such as custom hath appropriated to purposes different from those for which we use them? Would the glitter of jewels which we know to be stolen, produce an opinion of the wearer's affluence ? And must not such alienations of words, if I may be allowed the me- taphor, awaken a suspicion of some original defects which have given occasion to them? We should hardly say that a house were richly furnished, I am sure we could not say that it were well fur- nished, where we found a superfluity of utensils for answering- some purposes, and a total want of those adapted to other purposes not less necessary and important. We should think, on the contrary, that there were much greater appearance both of opulence and of taste, where, though there were little or nothing superfluous, no vessel or piece of furniture useful in a family were wanting. When one is obliged to make some utensils supply purposes to which they were not originally destined; when, for instance, "the copper " pot boils milk, heats porridge, holds small beer, and, in case of " necessity, serves for a jorden*;" there are always, it must be confessed, the strongest indications of indigence. On the contrary, when every real use hath some instrument or utensil adapted to it, there is the appearance, if not of profusion, of what is much more valuable, plenty. In a language there may be great redundancies, and, at the same time, great defects. It is infinitely less important to have a num- ber of synonymous words, which are even sometimes cumbersome, than to have very few that can be called homonymous, and, con- sequently, to have all the differences which there are in things, as much as possible, marked by corresponding differences in their signs. That this should be perfectly attained, I own is impossible. The varieties in things are infinite, whereas the richest language hath its limits. Indeed, the more a people improve in taste and know- * Swift. 224 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. ledge, they come the more, though by imperceptible degrees, to make distinctions in the application of words which were used pro- miscuously before. And it is by thus marking the delicate differ- ences of things, which, in a ruder state, they overlooked, more than by any other means, that their language is refined and polish- ed. Hence it acquires precision, perspicuity, vivacity, energy. It would be no difficult task to evince, as partly it may be collected from what hath been observed already, that our own language hath from this source received greater improvements in the course of the last century and of the present, than from the accession of new words, or perhaps from any other cause. Nothing-, then, surely, can serve more to corrupt it, than to overturn the barriers use hath erected, by confounding words as synonymous, to which distinct significations have been assigned. This conduct is as bad policy with regard to style, as it would be with regard to land, to convert a great part of the property into a common. On the contrary, as it conduceth to the advancement of agriculture, and to the increase of the annual produce of a country, to divide the commons, and turn them into property, a similar conduct, in the appropriation of words, renders a language more useful and expressive. PART II. Impropriety in Phrases. I COME now to consider the improprieties which occur in phrases. The first of this kind of which I shall take notice is, when the ex- pression, on being grammatically analyzed, is discovered to con- tain some inconsistency. Such is the phrase ' of all others' after the superlative, common with many English writers. Interpreted by the rules of syntax, it implies that a thing is different from itself. Take these words for an example, " It celebrates the church of " England, as the most perfect of all others*." Properly, either 4 as more perfect than any other,' or ' as the most perfect of all ' churches.' This is precisely the same sort of impropriety into which Milton hath fallen in these words, Adam, The comeliest man of men since born His sons. The fairest of her daughters Evef. And in these, The loveliest pair That ever since in love's embraces met J. Use, indeed, may be pleaded for such expressions, which, it must * Swift's Apology for the Tale of a Tub. t Paradise Lost. t Ib. B. l\ 7 . Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 225 be acknowledged, use hath rendered intelligible. But still the general laws of the language, which constitute the most extensive and important use, may be pleaded against them. Now, it is one principal method of purifying a language, to lay aside such idioms as are inconsistent with its radical principles and constituent rules ; or as, when interpreted by such principles and rules, exhibit ma- nifest nonsense. Nor does the least inconvenience result from this conduct, as we can be at no loss to find expressions of our mean- ing, altogether as natural, and entirely unexceptionable. Sometimes, indeed, through mere inattention, slips of this kind are committed, as in the following instance : " I do not reckon that " we want a genius more than the rest of our neighbours*." The impropriety here is corrected by omitting the words in italics. Another oversight, of much the same kind, and by the same au- thor, we have in the following passage : " I had like to have got- " ten one or two broken heads for my impertinence f." This una- voidably suggests the question, How many heads was he possessed of? Properly, ' I was once or twice like to have gotten my head broken.* Another from the same work, being a passage formerly quoted for another purpose, is this, " The first project was to shorten dis- " course by cutting polysyllables into onej." One thing- may be cut into two or more ; but it is inconceivable that, by cutting, two or more things should be made one. Another, still from the same hand, " I solemnly declare, that I " have not wilfully committed the least mistake^." The words used here are incompatible. A wrong wilfully committed is no mistake. Addison hath fallen into an inaccuracy of the same kind, in the following lines : So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains Of rushing torrents and descending rains ||. A stream may doubtless be at one time limpid, and at another foul, which is all that the author meant ; but we cannot properly call it a pure limpid stream, when it is foul with stains. So much for those improprieties which involve in them some absurdity. I shall next illustrate those by which an author is made to say one thing when he means another. Of this kind I shall produce only one example at present, as I shall have occasion afterwards of considering the same fault under the article of perspicuity : " I * Swift's Proposal for ascertaining the English Tongue. t Voyage to Brobdignag. t Voyage to Laputa. Remarks on the Barrier Treaty. || Cato. Q 226 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. " will instance in one opinion, which I look upon every man ob- " liged in conscience to quit, or in prudence to conceal; I mean, " that whoever arguas in defence of absolute power in a single " person, though he offers the old plausible plea, that it is his opi- " nion, which he cannot help, unless he be convinced, ought in all " free states to be treated as the common enemy of mankind*." From the scope of the discourse it is evident, he means, that who- ever hath it for his opinion, that a single person is entitled to ab- solute authority, ought to quit or conceal that opinion ; because, otherwise, he will in a free state deserve to be treated as a com- mon enemy. Whereas, if he says any thing, he says, that whoever thinks that the advocates for absolute power ought to be treated as common enemies, is obliged to quit or conceal that opinion; a sen- timent very different from the former. The only species of impropriety that remains to be exemplified, is that wherein there appears some slight incongruity in the com- bination of the words, as in the quotations following: " When you " fall into a man's conversation, the first thing you should consi- " der is, f." Properly, ' fall into conversation with a ' man.' " I wish, Sir, you would animadvert frequently on the " false taste the town is in, Math relation to plays as well as operas ." Properly, * the false taste of the town.' " The presence of the Deity, and the care such an august cause " is to be supposed to take about any action ." The impropriety here is best corrected by substituting the word being in the place of cause ; for though there be nothing improper in calling the Deity an august Cause, the author hath very improperly connected with this appellative some words totally unsuitable; for who ever heard of a cause taking care about an action? I shall produce but one other instance: " Neither implies that " there are virtuous habits and accomplishments already attained " by the possessor, but they certainly show an unprejudiced capa- " city towards them||." In the first clause of this sentence, there is a gross inconsistency; we are informed of habits and accomplish- ments that are possessed, but not attained; in the second clause there is a double impropriety, the participial adjective is not suited to the substantive with which it is construed ; nor is the subsequent preposition expressive of the sense. Supposing, then, that the word possessor hath been used inadvertently for person, or some other general term, the sense may be exhibited thus: ' Neither im- ' plies that there are virtuous habits and accomplishments already * Sentiments of a Church of England Man. f Spect. No. 49. t Ik. No. 22. Pope's View of the Epic Poem. !1 Guardian, No. 34. Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 227 * attained by this person; but they certainly show that his mind * is not prejudiced against them, and that it hath a capacity of at-' * taining them.' Under this head I might consider that impropriety which results from the use of metaphors, or other tropes, wherein the similitude to the subject, or connection with it, is too remote; also, that which results from the construction of words with any trope, which are not applicable in the literal sense. The former errs chiefly against vivacity, the latter against elegance. Of the one, therefore, I shall have occasion to speak, when I consider the catachresis, of the other when I treat of mixed metaphor. I have now finished what was intended on the subject of gram- matical purity; the first, and, in some respect, the most essential of all the virtues of elocution. I have illustrated the three different ways in which it may be violated; the barbarism, when the words employed are not English; the solecism, when the construction is not English; the impropriety, when the meaning, in which any English word or phrase is used by a writer or speaker, is not the sense which good use hath assigned to it. CHAP IV. SOME GRAMMATICAL DOUBTS IN REGARD TO ENGLISH CONSTRUCTIOtf STATED AND EXAMINED. BEFORE I dismiss this article altogether, it will not be amiss to consider a little some dubious points in construction, on which our critics appear not to be agreed. One of the most eminent of them makes this remark upon the neuter verbs: " A neuter verb cannot become a passive. In a " neuter verb the agent and the object are the same, and cannot " be separated even in imagination ; as in the examples to sleep, to " walk; but when the verb is passive, one thing is acted upon by " another, really or by supposition different from it*." To this is subjoined in the margin the following note: " That some neuter " verbs take a passive form, but without a passive signification, has " been observed above. Here we speak of their becoming both in " form and signification passive, and shall endeavour further to il- " lustrate the rule by example. To split, like many other English " verbs, has both an active and a neuter signification ; according * Short Introduction, &c. Sentence*. Q2 22 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II, " to the former we say, The force of gunpowder split the rock; " according to the latter, The ship split upon the rock: and con- " verting the verb active into a passive, we may say, The rock was " split by the force of gunpowder; or, The ship was split upon the " rock. But we cannot say with any propriety, turning the verb " neuter into a passive, The rock was split upon by the ship." This author's reasoning, so far as concerns verbs properly neu- ter, is so manifestly just, that it commands a full assent from every one that understands it. I differ from him only in regard to the application. In my apprehension, what may grammatically be named the neuter verbs, are not near so numerous in our tongue as he imagines. I do not enter into the difference between verbs abso- lutely neuter, and intransitively active. I concur with him in think- ing, that this distinction holds more of metaphysics than of gram- mar. But by verbs grammatically neuter, I mean such as are not followed either by an accusative, or by a preposition and a noun ; for I take this to be the only grammatical criterion with us. Of this kind is the simple and primitive verb to laugh ; accordingly, to say he was laughed, would be repugnant alike to grammar and to sense. But give this verb a regimen, and say, to laugh at, and you alter its nature, by adding to its signification. It were an abuse of words to call this a neuter, being as truly a compound active verb in English, as deridere is in Latin, to which it exactly corresponds in meaning. Nor doth it make any odds that the preposition in the one language precedes the verb, and is conjoined with it, and in the other follows it, and is detached from it. The real union is the same in both. Accordingly he was laughed at is as evidently good En- glish, as derisus fuit is good Latin. Let us hear this author himself, who, speaking of verbs com- pounded with a preposition, says expressly, " In English the pre- " position is more frequently placed after the verb, and separate " from it, like an adverb; in which situation it is no less apt to af- " feet the sense of it, and to give it a new meaning; and may still " be considered as belonging to the verb, and a part of it. As, to " cast is to throw; but to cast up, or to compute an account, is " quite a different thing: thus, to fall on, to bear out, to give over, " &c." Innumerable examples might be produced, to show that such verbs have been always used as active or transitive compounds, call them which you please, and therefore as properly susceptible of the passive voice. I shall produce only one authority, which, I am persuaded, the intelligent reader will admit to be a good one. It is no other than this ingenious critic himself, and the passage of his which I have in view will be found in the very quotation above Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 229 made: " When the verb is passive, one thing is acted upon by ano- " ther." Here the verb to act upon is undoubtedly neuter, if the verb to split upon be neuter in the expression censured ; and con- versely, the verb to split upon is undoubtedly active, if the verb to act upon be active in the passage quoted. Nor can any thing be more similar than the construction: " One thing is acted upon by " another." " The rock is split upon by the ship." After all, I am sensible that the latter expression is liable to an exception, which cannot be made against the former. I therefore agree with the author in condemning it, but not in the reason of pronouncing this sentence. The only reason that weighs with me is this The active sense of the simple verb to split, and the sense of the compound to split upon, are, in such a phrase as that above- mentioned, apt to be confounded. Nay, what is more, the false sense is that which is first suggested to the mind, as if the rock and not the ship had been split. And though the subsequent words remove the ambiguity, yet the very hesitancy which it occasions, renders the expression justly chargeable, though not with solecism, with what is perhaps worse, obscurity and inelegance. That we may be satisfied, that this and no other is the genuine cause of censure, let us borrow an example from some verb, which in the simple form is properly univocal. To smile is such a verb, be- ing a neuter, which, in its primitive and uncompounded state, never receives an active signification ; but to smile on is with us, accord- ing to the definition given above, a compound active verb, just as arridere* (to which it corresponds alike in etymology and mean- ing) is in Latin. Accordingly, we cannot say, he was smiled, in any sense. But to say, he was smiled on, as in the following ex- ample, " He was smiled on by fortune in every stage of life," is entirely unexceptionable. Yet the only difference between this and the phrase above criticised, ariseth hence, that there is something ambiguous in the first appearance of the one, which is not to be found in the other. And, indeed, when the simple and primitive verb has both an active signification and a neuter, (as is the case with the verb split), such an ambiguous appearance of the compound in the passive, is an invariable consequence. I shall observe further, in order to prevent mistakes on this sub- ject, that there are also in our language compound neuter, as well * I know that the verb arrideo is accounted neuter by Latin lexicographers. The reason lies not in the signification of the word, but purely in this circum- stance, that it governs the dative and not the accusative. But with this distinc- tion we have no concern. That it is active in its import is evident from this, (hat it is used by good authors in the passive. 230 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. as compound active verbs. Such are, to go up, to come down, to fall out. These properly have no passive voice; and though some of them admit a passive form, it is without a passive signification. Thus, he is gone up, and he has gone up, are nearly of the same im- port. Now the only distinction in English between the active com- pound and the neuter compound, is this: the preposition in the for- mer, or more properly the compound verb itself, hath a regimen, in the latter it hath none. Indeed these last may be further compound- ed by the addition of a preposition with a noun, in which case, they also become active or transitive verbs; as in these instances, He * went up to her,' * She fell out with them.' Consequently, in giv- ing a passive voice to these there is no solecism. We may say, * She * was gone up to by him,' ' They were fallen out with by her.' But it must be owned, that the passive form, in this kind of decomposite verbs, ought always to be avoided as inelegant, if not obscure. By bringing three prepositions thus together, one inevitably creates a certain confusion of thought ; and it is not till after some painful atten- tion, that the reader discovers two of the prepositions to belong to the preceding verb, and the third to the succeeding noun. The prin- cipal scope of the foregoing observations on the passage quoted from Dr Lowth, is to point outtheonly characteristical distinction between verbs neuter and verbs active, which obtains in our language. To these I shall subjoin a few things, which may serve for as- certaining another distinction in regard to verbs. When a verb is used impersonally, it ought undoubtedly to be in the singular num- ber, whether the neuter pronoun be expressed or understood ; and when no nominative in the sentence can regularly be construed with the verb, it ought to be considered as impersonal. For this reason, analogy as well as usage favor this mode of expression ** The conditions of the agreement were as follows;" and not as follow. A few late writers have inconsiderately adopted this last form through a mistake of the construction. For the same reason we ought to say, " I shall consider his censures, so far only as con- " cerns my friend's conduct;" and not ' so far as concern.' It is manifest that the word conditions in the first case, and censures in the second, cannot serve as nominatives. If we give either sentence another turn, and instead of as, say such as, the verb is no longer impersonal. The pronoun such is the nominative, whose number is determined by its antecedent. Thus, we must say, ' They were * such as follow,' ' such of his censures only as concern my friend.' In this I entirely concur with a late anonymous remarker on the language. I shall only add on this subject, that the use of impersonal verbs Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 231 was much more frequent with us formerly than it is now. Thus, it pleaseth me, it grieveth me, it repenteth me, were a sort of imper- sonals, for which we should now say, I please, I grieve, I repent. Methinks and methought, at present, as meseemeth and meseemed anciently, are, as Johnson justly supposes, remains of the same prac- tice*. It would not be easy to conjecture what hath misled some writers so far as to make them adopt the uncouth term methoughts, in contempt alike of usage and of analogy, and even without any co- lorable pretext that I can think of, for thoughts is no part of the verb at all. I shall now consider another suspected idiom in English, which is the indefinite use sometimes made of the pronoun it, when applied in the several ways following : first to persons as well as to things ; secondly, to the first person and the second, as well as to the third ; and thirdly, to a plural as well as to a singular. Concerning the second application and the third, Dr. Johnson says in his Dictiona- ry, "This mode of speech, though used by good authors, and sup- " ported by the the il y a of the French, has yet an appearance of " barbarism." Dr. Lowth doubts only of the third application. " The phrase," says he, " which occurs in the following examples, " though pretty common, and authorised by custom, yetseems to be " somewhat defective in the same way." He had been specifying inaccuracies arising from disagreement in number. The examples alluded to are Tis these that early taint the female soulf. 'Tis they that give the great Atrides' spoils; 'Tis they that still renew Ulysses' toils f, ' V* !*'' Who was't came by? Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word, Macduflfis fled to England . Against the first application, to persons as well as to things, nei- ther of those critics seems to have any objection; and it must be owned, that they express themselves rather sceptically, than dog- matically, about the other two. Yet, in my judgment, if one be censurable, they all are censurable; and if one be proper, they all are proper. The distinction of genders, especially with us, is as essential as the distinction of persons or that of numbers. I say, especially with us, because, though the circumstances be few wherein the gender can be marked, yet, in those few, our language, perhaps more than any other tongue, follows the dictates of pure Nature. The masculine * The similar use of impersonal verbs, and the il me sembleof the French, ren- der this hypothesis stilt more probable. f pope. t Prior. $ Shakopeare. 232 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. pronoun he, it applies always to males, or at least to persons, (God and angels, for example), who, in respect of dignity, are conceived as males; the feminine she, to females; and unless where the style is figurative, the neuter it to things, either not susceptible of sex, or in which the sex is unknown. Besides, if we have recourse to the Latin syntax, the genuine source of most of our grammatical scruples, we shall find there an equal repugnancy to all the appli- cations above rehearsed*. But, to clear up this matter as much as possible, I shall recur to some remarks of the last mentioned critic, concerning the significa- tions and the uses of the neuter it: "The pronoun it," he tells us, " is sometimes employed to express first, the subject of any inqui- " ry or discourse; secondly, the state or condition of any thing or " person ; thirdly, the thing, whatever it be, that is the cause of any " effect or event, or any person considered merely as a cause, with- " out regard to proper personality." In illustration of the third use, he quotes these words, You heard her say herself, it was not I 'Twas I that killed herf. The observations of this author concerning the neuter pronoun, are, as far as they go, unexceptionable. He ought to have added to the word personality in the third use, the words gender or number. The example which he hath given, shows that there is no more re- gard to gender, than to personality ; and that there ought to be no more regard to number, than to either of the former, may be evinced from the considerations following. When a personal pronoun must be used indefinitely, as in asking a question whereof the subject is unknown, there is a necessity of using one person for all the persons, one gender for all the genders, and one number for both numbers. Now in English, custom hath consigned to this indefinite use, the third person, the neuter gen- der, and the singular number. Accordingly, in asking a question, nobody censures this use of the pronoun, as in the interrogation, Who is it? Yet by the answer it may be found to be I or he, one or many. But whatever be the answer, if the question be proper, it is proper to begin the answer by expressing the subject of inquiry in the same indefinite manner wherein it was expressed in the ques- tion. The words it is are consequently pertinent here, whatever be the words which ought to follow, whether I or he, we or they J. Nay, this way of beginning the answer by the same indefinite ex- * In Latin idfuit ille would be as gross a solecism, as id f nit cyo, or idfuit vos. t Shakespeare. I In this observation I find 1 have the concurrence of Dr. Priest ley. Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 233 pression of the subject that was used in the question, is the only method authorised in the language, for connecting these two toge- ther, and showing that what is asserted, is an answer to the ques- tion asked. And if there be nothing faulty in the expression, when it is an answer to a question actually proposed, there can be no fault in it, where no question is proposed. For every answer, that is not a bare assent or denial, ought, independently of the question, to contain a proposition grammatically enunciated ; and every affir- mation or neg-ation ought to be so enunciated, as that it might be an answer to a question. Thus by a very simple sorites it can be proved, that if the pronoun it may be used indefinitely in one case, it may in every case. Nor is it possible to conceive even the sha- dow of a reason, why one number may not as well serve indefinite- ly for both numbers, as one person for all the persons, and one g-ender for all the genders. That which bath made more writers scrupulous about the first of these applications than about the other two, is, I imagine, the ap- pearance not of the pronoun, but of the substantive verb in the singular, adjoined to some term in the plural. In order to avoid this supposed incongruity, the translators of the Bible have in one place stumbled on a very uncouth expression : " Search the scrip- " tures, for in them ye think ye have eternal life; and they are " they which testify of me*." In the other applications they have not hesitated to use the indefinite pronoun it, as in this expression : " It is I, be not afraid f." Yet the phrase ' they are they ' in the first quotation, adopted to prevent the incongruous adjunction of the verb in the singular, and the subsequent noun or pronoun in the plural, is, I suspect, no better English, than the phrase I am I would have been in the second, by which they might have pre- vented the adjunction not less incongruous of the third person of the verb to the first personal pronoun. If there be any difference in respect of congruity, the former is the less incongruous of the two. The latter never occurs, but in such passages as those above quoted; whereas nothing is commoner than to use the substantive verb as a copula to two nouns differing in number; in which case it generally agrees with the first. " His meat was locusts and wild " honey J," is a sentence which I believe nobody ever suspected to be ungrammatical. Now as every noun may be represented by a pronoun, what is grammatical in those, must, by parity of reason, be grammatical in these also. Had the question been put, * What ' was his meat?' the answer had undoubtedly been proper, * It was * John v. 39. t Matt xiv. 27. \ Matt. iii. 4. 234 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 11. * locusts and wild honey/ And this is another arg'ument which in my apprehension is decisive. But " this comes," as Dr. Lowth expresseth himself in a similar case, " of forcing- the English under the rules of a foreign lan- " guage, with which it has little concern*." A convenient mode of speech which custom hath established, and for which there is pretty frequent occasion, ought not to be hastily given up, especially when the language doth not furnish us with another equally simple and easy to supply its place. I should not have entered so minutely into the defence of a practice sufficiently authorised by use, but in order, if possible, to satisfy those critics, who, though both inge- nious and acute, are apt to be rather more scrupulous on the article of language, than the nature of the subject will admit. In every tongue there are real anomalies which have obtained the sanction of custom; for this at most hath been reckoned only dubious. There are particularly some in our own, which have never, as far as I know, been excepted against by any writer, and which, never- theless, it is much more difficult to reconcile to the syntactic order, than that which I have been now defending. An example of this is the use of the indefinite article, which is naturally singular, be- fore adjectives expressive of number, and joined with substantives in the plural. Such are the phrases following, a few persons, a great many men, a hundred or a thousand ships. There is another point, on which, as both the practice of writers, and the judgment of critics seem to be divided, it may not be im- proper to make a few remarks. It is the way of using the infinitive after a verb in the preterit. Some will have it that the verb governed ought to be in the past, as well as the verb governing ; and others that the infinitive ought to be in what is called the pre- sent, but Avhat is in fact indefinite in regard to time. I do not think that on either side the different cases have been distinguished * The English hath little or no affinity in structure either to the Latin or to the Greek. It much more resembles the modern European languages, especi- ally the French. Accordingly we find in it an idiom very similar to that which hath been considered above. I do not mean the il y a, because the is part of an active verb, and the words that follow in the sentence, are its regimen; con- sequently no agreement in person and number is required. But the idiom to which I allude is the il est, as used in the following sentence, " II est des ani- " maux qui semblent reduits au toucher; il en est qui semblent participer a " notre intelligence." Contemplation de la nature par Bounet. I am too zea- lous an advocate for English independency, to look on this argument as conclu- sive. But I think it more than a sufficient counterpoise to all that can be plead- ed on the other side from the syntax of the learned languages. Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 235 with sufficient accuracy. A very little attention will, I hope, enable us to unravel the difficulty entirely. Let us begin with the simplest case, the infinitive after the pre- sent of the indicative. When the infinitive is expressive of what is conceived to be either future in regard to the verb in the present, or contemporary, the infinitive ought to be in the present. Thus, * I intend to write to my father to-morrow.' ' He seems to be a ' man of letters.' In the first example the verb to write, expresses what is future in respect of the verb intend. In the second, the verb to be expresses what is equally present with the verb seems. About the propriety of such expressions there is no doubt. Again, if the infinitive after the verb in the present, be intended to ex- press what must have been antecedent to that which is expressed by the governing verb, the infinitive must be in the preterperfect, even though the other verb be in the present. Thus, * From his 4 conversation he appears to have studied Homer with great care * and judgment.' To use the present in this case, and say, * He ' appears to study Homer ' would overturn the sense. The same rule must be followed when the governing verb is in the preterit ; for let it be observed, that it is the tense of the governing verb only that marks the absolute time; the tense of the verb governed marks solely its relative time with respect to the other. Thus I should say, ' I always intended to write to my fa- ' ther, though I have not yet done it.' * He seemed to be a man ' of letters.' ' From a conversation I once had with him, he ap- ' peared to have studied Homer with great care and judgment.' Propriety plainly requires, that in the two first instances the in- finitive should be in the present tense, and in the third instance in the preterit. Priestley has not expressed himself on this subject with preci- sion. ' I found him better than I expected to find him,' is the only proper analogical expression. ' Expected to have found him,' is ir- reconcileable alike to grammar and to sense. Indeed all verbs ex- pressive of hope, desire, intention, or command, must invariably be followed by the present and not the perfect of the infinitive. Every body would perceive an error in this expression : * It is long since I ' commanded him to have done it.' Yet * expected to have found ' is no better. It is as clear that the finding must be posterior to the ex- pectation, as that the obedience must be posterior to the command. But though the anonymous remarker formerly quoted is in the right as to the particular expressions criticised by him, he decides too generally, and seems to have imagined that in no case ought the preterperfect of the infinitive to follow the preterit of the in- 236 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh If. dicative. If this was his opinion he was egregiously mistaken. It is however agreed on both sides, that, in order to express the past with the defective verb ought, we must use the perfect of the infinitive, and say, for example, * he ought to have done it;' this in that verb being the only possible way of distinguishing the past from the present. There is only one other observation of Dr. Lowth, on which, before I conclude this article, I must beg leave to offer some remarks. " Phrases like the following, though very common, are " improper: Much depends upon the rule's being observed ; and " error will be the consequence of its being neglected. For here " is a noun and a pronoun representing it, each in the possessive " case, that is, under government of another noun, but without " other noun to govern it : for being observed, and being neglect- " ed, are not nouns: nor can you supply the place of the posses- " sive case by the preposition of before the noun or pronoun*." For my part, notwithstanding what is here very speciously urged, I am not satisfied that there is any fault in the phrases censured. They appear to me to be perfectly in the idiom of our tongue, and such as on some occasions could not easily be avoided, unless by recurring to circumlocution, an expedient which invariably tends to enervate the expression. But let us examine the matter more nearly. This author admits that the active participle may be employed as a noun, and has given some excellent directions regarding the manner in which it ought to be construed, that the proper distinc- tion may be preserved between the noun and the gerund. Phrases like these, therefore, he would have admitted as unexceptionable, * Much depends upon their observing of the rule, and error will be * the consequence of their neglecting of it.' Now, though I allow both the modes of expression to be good, I think the first simpler and better than the second. Let us consider whether the former be liable to any objections, which do not equally affect the latter. One principal objection to the first is, ' You cannot supply the ' place of the possessive case by the preposition of before the noun * or pronoun.' Right; but before you draw any conclusion from this circumstance, try whether it will not equally affect both ex- pressions ; for if it does, both are on this account to be rejected, or neither. In the first, the sentence will be made to run thus, * Much * depends upon the being observed of the rule, and error will be * the consequence of the being neglected of it.' Very bad without * Introduction, &c. Sentences, Note on the 6th Phrase. . OF RHETORIC. 237 question. In the second, thus, ' Much depends upon the observ- * ing of them of the rule, and error will be the consequence of * the neglecting of them of it.' Still worse. But it may be thought that as, in the last example, the participial noun gets a double re- gimen, this occasions all the impropriety and confusion. I shall therefore make the experiment on a more simple sentence. ' Much * will depend on your pupil's composing, but more on his reading * frequently.' Would it be English to say, * Much will depend on ' the composing of your pupil, but more on the reading of him * frequently?' No certainly. If this argument then prove any thing, it proves too much, and consequently can be no criterion. The only other objection mentioned is, that * being observed and * being neglected, are not nouns.' It is acknowledged that, in the common acceptation of the word, they are not nouns but passive participles ; neither is the active participle commonly a noun, nei- ther is the infinitive of the verb active or passive, a noun. Yet the genius of the tongue permits that all these may be construed as nouns in certain occurrences. The infinitive in particular is em- ployed substantively when it is made either the nominative or the regimen of a verb. Now in this way not the infinitive only, but along with it all the words in construction are understood [as one compound noun, as in the examples following : * To love God and ' our neighbour is a duty incumbent on us all,' and * The gospel * strongly inculcates on us this important lesson, to love God and * our neighbour.' But in no other situation can such clauses sup- ply the place of nouns. They are never used in construction with other nouns followed by a preposition. The quotation brought from Spencer, is, I suspect, a mere Grecism, which was not in his time more than it is at present conformable to the English idiom. * For' is the only preposition that seems ever to have been con- strued with such clauses, after another verb. And even this usage is now totally laid aside. I am of opinion, therefore, upon the whole, that as the idiom in question is analogical, supported by good use, and sometimes very expedient, it ought not to be entirely reprobated. CHAP. V. OF THE QUALITIES OF STYLE STRICTLY RHETORICAL. PURITY, of which I have treated at some length in the two pre- ceding chapters, may justly be denominated grammatical truth. It 238 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. consisteth ' in the conformity of the expression to the sentiment which the speaker or the writer intends to convey by it, as moral truth consisteth in the conformity of the sentiment intended to be conveyed, to the sentiment actually entertained by the speaker or the writer; and logical truth, as was hinted above, in the confor- mity of the sentiment to the nature of things. The opposite to logical truth, is properly error; to moral truth, a lie; to gramma- tical truth, a blunder. Now the only standard by which the con- formity implied in grammatic truth must be ascertained in every language, is, as hath been evinced *, reputable, national, and pre- sent use, in that language. But it is with the expression as with the sentiment, it is not enough to the orator that both be true. A sentence may be a just exhibition, according to the rules of the language, of the thought intended to be conveyed by it, and may therefore, to a mere gram- marian, be unexceptionable; which to an orator may appear extreme- ly faulty. It may, nevertheless, be obscure, it may be languid, it may be inelegant, it may be flat, it may be unmusical. It is not ultimately the justness either of the thought or of the expression, which is the aim of the orator; but it is a certain effect to be pro- duced in the hearers. This effect as he purposeth to produce in them by means of language, which he makes the instrument of conveying his sentiments into their minds, he must take care in the first place that his style be perspicuous, that so he may be sure of being understood. If he would not only inform the understanding, but please the imagination, he must add the charms of vivacity and elegance, corresponding to the two sources from which, as was observed in the beginning of this work f, the merit of an address of this kind results. By vivacity, resemblance is attained; by elegance, dignity of manner. For as to the dignity of the subject itself, or thing imitated, it concerns solely the thought. If he pur- poses to work upon the passions, his very diction, as well as his sentiments, must be animated. Thus, language and thought, like body and soul, are made to correspond, and the qualities of the one exactly to co-operate with those of the other. But though the perfection of the body consists, as was formerly observed:}:, in its fitness for serving the purposes of the soul, it is at the same time capable of one peculiar excellence, as a visible ob- ject. The excellence I mean, is beauty, which evidently implies more than what results from the fitness of the several organs and * Book IT. Chap. i. t Book I. Chap. i. \ Book 1. Chap. iv. Chap. VL OF RHETORIC, members for answering- their respective ends. That there is a beau- ty in the perceived fitness of means to their end, and instruments to their use, is uncontrovertible. All that I contend for here is, that this is not the whole of what is implied in the term beauty. The eyes of one person may be much inferior in this respect to those of another, though equally fit for all the purposes of vision. The like may be said of every other feature. Analogous to this there is an excellence of which language is susceptible as an audible ob- ject, distinct from its aptitude for conveying the sentiments of the orator with light and energy into the minds of the hearers. Now as music is to the ear what beauty is to the eye, I shall, for want of a more proper term, denominate this excellence in style, its music; though I acknowledge the word is rarely used with so great latitude. Thus it appears, that beside purity, which is a quality entirely grammatical, the five simple and original qualities of style, consi- dered as an object to the understanding, the imagination, the pas- sions, and the ear, are perspicuity, vivacity, elegance, animation-, and music. CHAP. VI. OF PERSPICUITY. OF all the qualities above mentioned, the first and most essential is perspicuity*. Every speaker doth not propose to please the imagination, nor is every subject susceptible of those ornaments which conduce to this purpose. Much less is it the aim of every speech to agitate the passions. There are some occasions, therefore, on which vivacity, and many on which animation of style are not necessary; nay, there are occasions on which the last especially would be improper. But whatever be the ultimate intention of the orator, to inform, to convince, to please, to move, or to persuade, still he must speak so as to be understood, or he speaks to no pur- pose. If he do not propose to convey certain sentiments into the minds of his hearers, by the aid of signs intelligible to them, he may as well declaim before them in an unknown tongue. This pre- rogative the intellect has above all the other faculties, that whe- ther it be or be not immediately addressed by the speaker, it must be regarded by him either ultimately or subordinately : ultimately, when the direct purpose of the discourse is information, or convic- t Prima est eloquentiae virtus perspicuilas. QUINT. 240 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. tion; subordinately, when the end is pleasure, emotion, or per- suasion. There is another difference also between perspicuity and the two last mentioned qualities, vivacity and animation, which deserves to be remarked. In a discourse wherein either or both of these are re- quisite, it is not every sentence that requires, or even admits them ; but every sentence ought to be perspicuous. The effect of all the other qualities of style is lost without this. This being to the un- derstanding what light is to the eye, ought to be diffused over the whole performance. In this respect it resembles grammatical pu- rity, of which I have already treated, but it is not in this respect only that it resembles it. Both are best illustrated by shewing the different ways wherein they may be lost. It is for these reasons that, though perspicuity be more properly a rhetorical than a grammati- cal quality, I thought it better to include it in this book, which treats of the foundations and essential or universal properties of elocution, than to class it with those which are purely discriminative of par- ticular styles. Indeed, if language were capable of absolute perfection, which it evidently is not; if words and things could be rendered exact counterparts to each other; if every different thing in nature had a different symbol by which it were expressed ; and every differ- ence in the relations of things had a corresponding difference in the combinations of words, purity alone would secure perspicu- ity, or rather these two would entirely coincide. To speak gram- matically would, in that case, convey infallibly and perspicuously the full meaning of the speaker, if he had any meaning, into the mind of every hearer who perfectly understands the language. There would not be even a possibility of mistake or doubt. But the case is widely different with all the languages that ever were, are, or will be in the world. Grammatical purity, in every tongue, conduceth greatly to per- spicuity, but it will by no means secure it. A man may in respect of it speak unexceptionably, and yet speak obscurely, or ambigu- ously; and though we cannot say, that a man may speak properly, and at the same time speak unintelligibly, yet this last case falls more naturally to be considered as an offence against perspicuity than as a violation of propriety. For when the meaning is not dis- covered, the particular impropriety cannot be pointed out. In the three different ways, therefore, just now mentioned, perspicu- ity may be violated. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 241 SECTION I The Obscure. PART I From Defect. THIS is the first offence against perspicuity, and may arise from several causes. First, from some defect in the expression. There are in all languages certain elliptical expressions, which use hath established, and which, therefore, very rarely occasion darkness. When they do occasion it, they ought always to be avoided. Such are, in Greek and Latin, the frequent suppression of the substan- tive verb, and of the possessive pronouns; I was going to add, and of the personal pronouns also: but, on reflection, I am sensible, that, in the omission of them in the nominative, there is properly no ellipsis, as the verb, by its inflection, actually expresses them. Accordingly, in these languages, the pronoun in the nominative is never rightly introduced, unless when it is emphatical. But the idiom of most modern tongues, English and French particularly, will seldom admit such ellipsis*. In Italian and Spanish they are pretty frequent. Often, indeed, the affectation of conciseness, often the rapidity of thought natural to some writers, will give rise to still more material * The French, I imagine, have gone to the other extreme. They require in many instances a repetition of pronouns, prepositions, and articles, which, as they add nothing to the perspicuity, must render the expression languid. There are some cases in which this repetition is consequential on the very construction of their language. For example, we say properly in English, my father and mo- ther; because the possessive pronoun having no distinction of gender, and so hav- ing but one form, is alike applicable to both: the case being different with them, renders it necessary to follow a different rule, and to say, man pere et ma mere. But it is not to instances of this sort that the rule is limited. Custom with them hath extended it to innumerable cases, wherein there is no necessity from con- struction. With us it is enough to say, She was robbed of her clothes and ' jewels.' With them the preposition and the pronoun must both be repeated, de ses habits et de sesjoiaux. Again, with them it is not sufficient to say, The woman whom you know and love,' but whom you know and whom you love' que vous connoissez et que vous aimez. In like manner, the relatives in French must never be omitted. They often are in English, and when the omission oc- casions no obscurity, it is not accounted improper. An expression like this would in their tongue be intolerable : ' You are obliged to say and do all you can.' It must be ' to say and to do all that which you can.' de dire et defaire tout ce que vous savez. But though in several instances the critics of that nation have refined on their language to excess, and by needless repetitions have some- times enervated the expression, their criticisms, when useful in assisting us to shun any obscurity or ambiguity, deserve to be adopted. 242 THE PHILOSOPHY Souk IL defects in the expression. Of these I shall produce a few examples: " He is inspired," says an eminent writer, " with a true sense of " that function, when chosen from a regard to the interests of piety " and virtue*." Sense in this passage denotes an inward feeling, or the impression which some sentiment makes upon the mind. Now a function cannot be a sentiment impressed or felt. The expression is therefore defective, and ought to have been, ' He is inspired with ' a true sense of the dignity, or of the importance of that function.' " You ought to contemn ail the wit in the world against you f." As the writer doth not intend to signify that all the wit in the world is actually exerted against the person whom he addresses, there is a defect in the expression, though perhaps it will be thought Chargeable with redundancy at the same time. More plainly thus, ' You ought to contemn all the wit that can be employed against ' you.' " He talks all the way up stairs to a visitj." There is here also a faulty omission, which, if it cannot be said to obscure the sense, doth at least withhold that light whereof it is susceptible. If the word visit ever meant person or people, there would be an am- biguity in the sentence, and we should imagine this the object talked to; but as that cannot be the case, the expression is rather to be accounted lame, there being no verb in it with which the words to a visit can be construed. More explicitly thus, ' He talks all * the way as he walks up stairs to make a visit.' " Arbitrary " power," says an elegant writer, " I look upon as a greater evil " than anarchy itself, as much as a savage is a happier state of life " than a slave at the oar." Neither savage nor slave can be de- nominated a state of life, though the states in which they live may properly be compared. " This courage among the adversaries of " the court," says the same writer in another piece, " was inspired " into them by various incidents, for every one of which, I think, the " ministers, or, if that was the case, the minister alone is to answer ||." ' If that was the case' Pray, what is he supposing to have been the case? To the relative that I can find no antecedent, and am left to guess that he means if there was but one minister. " When a man " considers not only an ample fortune, but even the very necessa- " ries of life,- his pretence to food itself at the mercy of others, he " cannot but look upon himself in the state of the dead, with his " case thus much worse, that the last office is performed by his ad- " versaries instead of his friends %" There is a double ellipsis in * Guardian, No. 13. t Ib. No. 53. \ Spectator, No. 2. Sentiments of a Church of England man. I! Free Thoughts on the Present State of Affairs. ^f Spect. No. 456. T. Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 243 this sentence. Yon must first supply * as being' before the words " at the mercy," and insert as before " in the state of the dead." " I " beg- of you," says Steele, " never let the glory of our nation, who " made France tremble, and yet has the gentleness to be unable to " bear opposition from the meanest of his own countrymen, be ca- " lumniated in so impudent a manner, as in the insinuation that he " affected a perpetual dictatorship*." At first reading^ one is at a loss to find an antecedent to the pronouns who, his, and he. On reflection, one discovers that the phrase ' the glory of our nation' is figurative, and denotes a certain illustrious personage. The trope is rather too adventurous, without some softening clause, to suit the idiom of our tongue. The sense would have appeared immediately, had he said, ' Never let the man, who may justly be styled the ' glory of our nation .' The instances now given will suffice to specify the obscurities in style, which arise from deficiency. The same evil may also be oc- casioned by excess. But as this almost invariably offends against vivacity, and only sometimes produreth darkness, there will be a more proper occasion of considering it afterwards. Another cause of obscurity is a bad choice of words. When it is this alone which renders the sentence obscure, there is always ground for the charge of impropriety, which hath been discussed already. PART II. From bad Arrangement. ANOTHER source of obscurity is a bad arrangement of the words. In this case the construction is not sufficiently clear. One often, on first hearing the sentence, imagines, from the turn of it, that it ought to be construed one way, and on reflection finds that he must construe it another way. Of this, which is a blemish too common even in the style of our best writers, I shall produce a few exam- ples: " It contained," says Swift, " a warrant for conducting me " and my retinue to Traldragdubb or Trildrogdrib, for it is pro- " uounced both ways, as near as 1 can remember, by a party often " horsef." The words "by a party often horse" must be construed with the participle conducting, but they are placed so far from this word, and so near the verb pronounced, that afc-first they suggest a meaning perfectly ludicrous. " I had several men died in my ship of calentures ." The preposition of must be construed with the verb died, and not, as the first appearance would suggest, with the noun ship immediately preceding. More clearly thus, * I had * Guardian, No. 53. f Voyage to Laputa. \ Voyage to the Honyhuhnnis. 244 THE PHILOSOPHY , Book 1L ' several men in my ship who died of calentures/ I shall remark, by the way, that though the relatives who and which may, agreea- bly to the English idiom, be sometimes omitted in the oblique cases, to omit them in the nominative, as in the passage last quoted, al- most always gives a maimed appearance to the expression. ** I " perceived it had been scowered with half an eye*." The situa- tion of the last phrase, which is besides a very bad one, is liable to the same exception. " I have hopes that when Will confronts him, " and all the ladies in whose behalf he engages him, cast kind looks " and wishes of success at their champion, he will have some " shamef." It is impossible not to imagine, on hearing the first part of the sentence, that Will is to confront all the ladies, though afterwards we find it necessary to construe this clause with the fol- lowing verb. This confusion is removed at once by repeating the adverb when, thus, * I have hopes that when Will confronts him, * and when all the ladies cast kind looks .' The subsequent sentence is liable to the same exception : " He advanced against the " fierce ancient, imitating his address, his pace and career, as well " as the vigour of his horse, and his own skill Mould allow}." The clause " as well as the vigour of his horse," appears at first to belong- to the former part of the sentence, and is afterwards found to be- long to the latter. In all the above instances of bad arrangement, there is what may be justly termed a constructive ambiguity; that is, the words are so disposed in point of order, as would render them really ambiguous, if, in that construction which the expression first suggests, any meaning were exhibited. As this is not the case, the faulty order of the words cannot properly be considered, as ren- dering the sentence ambiguous, but obscure. It may indeed be argued, that, in these and the like examples, the least reflection in the reader will quickly remove the obscurity. But why is there any obscurity to be removed? Or why does the writer require more attention from the reader, or the speaker from the hearer, than is absolutely necessary? It ought to be remem- bered, that whatever application we must give to the words, is, in fact, so much deducted from what we owe to the sentiments. Be- sides, the effort that is exerted in a very close attention to the lan- guage, always weakens the effect which the thoughts were intended to produce in the mind. " By perspicuity," as Quintilian justly observes, " care is taken, not that the hearer may understand, if he " will; but that he must understand, whether he will or not." * Guardian, No. 10. f Specta.or.No. 20. t Battle of the Books. Non ut intelligere possit, sed ne omnino possit non intelligere curandum. Instit. lib. viii. cap. 2. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 245 Perspicuity originally and properly implies transparency, such as may be ascribed to air, glass, water, or any other medium, through which material objects are viewed. From this original and proper sense it hath been metaphorically applied to lang-uage, this being, as it were, the medium, through which we perceive the notions and sentiments of a speaker. Now, in corporeal things, if the medium through which we look at any object be perfectly transparent, our whole attention is fixed on the object; we are scarcely sensible that there is a medium which intervenes, and can hardly be said to per- ceive it. But if there be any flaw in the medium, if we see through it but dimly, if the object be imperfectly represented, or if we know it to be misrepresented, our attention is immediately taken off the object, to the medium. We are then desirous to discover the cause, either of the dim and confused representation, or of the misrepre- sentation of things which it exhibits, that so the defect in vision may be supplied by judgment. The case of language is precisely simi- lar. A discourse, then, excels in perspicuity, when the subject en- grosses the attention of the hearer, and the diction is so little minded by him, that he can scarcely be said to be conscious, that it is through this medium he sees into the speaker's thoughts. On the contrary, the least obscurity, ambiguity, or confusion in the style, instantly removes the attention from the sentiment to the expression, and the hearer endeavours, by the aid of reflection, to correct the imperfec- tions of the speaker's language. So much for obviating the objections which are frequently raised against such remarks as I have already made, and shall probably hereafter make, on the subject of language. The elements which enter into the composition of the hugest bodies are subtile and in- considerable. The rudiments of every art and science exhibit at first, to a learner, the appearance of littleness and insignificancy. And it is by attending to such reflections, as to a superficial observer would appear minute and hypercritical, that language must be im- proved, and eloquence perfected *. I return to the causes of obscurity, and shall only further observe, concerning the effect of bad arrangement, that it generally obscures the sense, even when it doth not, as in the preceding instances, sug- gest a wrong construction. Of this the following will suffice for an example: " The young man did not want natural talents; but " the father of him was a coxcomb, who affected being a fine gen- " tleman so unmercifully, that he could not endure in his sight, or " the frequent mention of one, who was his son, growing into man- * The maxim Natura se potissimum prodit in mfnimit, is not confined to phy- siology. 246 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. " hood, and thrusting him out of the gay world*." It is not easy to disentangle the construction of this sentence. One is at a loss at first to find any accusative to the active verb endure; on further examination it is discovered to have two, the word mention, and the word one, which is here closely combined with the preposition of, and makes the regimen of the noun mention. I might observe also the vile application of the word unmercifully. This, together with the irregularity of the reference, and the intricacy of the whole, ren- ders the passage under consideration, one of those which may, with equal justice, be ranked under solecism, impropriety, obscurity, or inelegance. PART III, From using the same word in different senses. ANOTHER source of obscurity, is when the same word is in the same sentence used in different senses. This error is exemplified in the following quotation: " That he should be in earnest it is " hard to conceive ; since any reasons of doubt, which he might " have in this case, would have been reasons of doubt in the " case of other men, who may give more, but cannot give more evident, signs of thought than their fellow-creatures f." This errs alike against perspicuity and elegance; the word more is first an adjective, the comparative of many; in an instant it is an adverb, and the sign of the comparative degree. As the reader is not ap- prized of this, the sentence must appear to him, on the first glance, a flat contradiction. Perspicuously either thus, ' who may * give more numerous, but cannot give more evident signs ,' or thus, * who may give more, but cannot give clearer signs.' It is but seldom that the same pronoun can be used twice or oftener in the same sentence, in reference to different things, with- out darkening the expression. It is necessary to observe here, that the signification of the personal, as well as of the relative pronouns, and even of the adverbs of place and time, must be determined by the things to which they relate. To use them, therefore, with reference to different things, is in effect to employ the same word in different senses ; which, when it occurs in the same sentence, or in sentences closely connected, is rarely found entirely compatible with perspicuity. Of this I shall give some examples. " One " may have an air which proceeds from a just sufficiency and " knowledge of the matter before him, which may naturally pro- " duce some motions of his head and body, _which might become * Spectator, No. 496. T. t Bolingb. Ph. Es. i. Sect. 9- Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 247 " the bench better than the bar*." The pronoun which is here thrice used in three several senses; and it must require reflection? to discover, that the first denotes an air, the second sufficiency and knowledge, and the third motions of the head and body. Such ia the use of the pronouns those and who in the following sentence of the same writer: " The sharks, who prey upon the inadvertency " of young heirs, are more pardonable than those, who trespass " upon the good opinion of those, who treat with them upon the " foot of choice and respect f." The same fault here renders a very short sentence at once obscure, inelegant, and unmusical. The like use of the pronoun they in the following sentence, almost occa- sions an ambiguity : " They were persons of such moderate intel- " lects, even before they were impaired by their passion^" The use made of the pronoun it in the example subjoined, is liable to the same exception: " If it Were spoken with never so great " skill in the actor, the manner of uttering that sentence could " have nothing in it, which could strike any but people of the " greatest humanity, nay, people elegant and skilful in observa- " tions upon it ." To the preceding examples I shall add one wherein the adverb when, by being used in the same manner, oc- casions some obscurity: " He is inspired with a true sense of that " function, when chosen from a regard to the interests of piety " and virtue, and a scorn of whatever men call great in a transitory " being, when it comes in competition with what is unchangeable " and eternal ||." 'M tii.i ...'> : :u^; '' '!' -: li PART IV. From an uncertain reference in Pronouns and Relatives. A CAUSE of obscurity also arising from the use of pronouns and relatives, is when it doth not appear at first to what they refer. Of this fault I shall give the three following instances : " There are " other examples," says Bolingbroke, " of the same kind, which " cannot be brought without the utmost horrour, because in them " it is supposed impiously, against principles as self-evident as any " of those necessary truths, which are such of all knowledge, that " the supreme Being commands by one law, what he forbids by " another %" It is not so clear as it ought to be, what is the ante* cedent to such. Another from the same author, " The laws of Na- " ture are truly what my Lord Bacon styles his aphorisms, laws of * Guardian, No. 13. t Guardian, No. 73. t Spectator, No SO. Spectator, No. 502. || Guardian, No. IS. f Bolingb, Phil. Fr. 20. 348 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. " laws. Civil laws are always imperfect, and often false deductions " from them, or applications of them ; nay, they stand in many " instances in direct opposition to them*." It is not quite obvious, on the first reading, that the pronoun them in this passage doth always refer to the laws of Nature, and they to civil laws. " When " a man considers the state of his own mind, about which every " member of the Christian world is supposed at this time to be " employed, he will find that the best defence against vice, is pre- " serving the worthiest part of his own spirit pure from any great " offence against it f." It must be owned that the darkness of this sentence is not to be imputed solely to the pronoun. PART V. From too artificial a Structure of the Sentence. ANOTHER cause of obscurity is when the structure of the sentence is too much complicated, or two artificial ; or when the sense is too long suspended by parentheses. Some critics have been so strongly persuaded of the bad effect of parentheses on perspicuity, as to think they ought to be discarded altogether. But this, I imagine, is also an extreme. If the parenthesis be short, and if it be introduced in a proper place, it will not in the least hurt the clearness, and may add both to the vivacity and to the energy of the sentence. Others, again, have carried their dislike to the pa- renthesis only so far as to lay aside the hooks by which it is com- monly distinguished, and to use commas in their place. But this is not avoiding the fault, if it be a fault, it is only endeavouring to commit it so as to escape discovery, and may therefore be more justly denominated a corruption in writing than an improvement. Punctuation, it will readily be acknowledged, is of considerable assistance to the reading and pronunciation. No part of a sentence requires to be distinguished by the manner of pronouncing it, more than a parenthesis; and consequently, no part of a sentence ought to be more distinctly marked in the pointing. ;.!*' a PART VI. From Technical Terms. ANOTHER source of darkness in composing, is the injudicious in- troduction of technical words and phrases, as in the following pas- sage: Tack to the larboard, and stand off to sea, Veer starboard sea and land J . * Phil. Fr. 9. f Guardian, No. 19. $ Dry den's ^neid. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 24-9 What an absurd profusion, in an epic poem too, of terms which few beside seamen understand ! In strict propriety, technical words should not be considered as belonging to the language ; because not in current use, nor understood by the generality even of read- ers. They are but the peculiar dialect of a particular class. When those of that class only are addressed, as in treatises on the prin- ciples of their art, it is admitted, that the use of such terms may be not only convenient, but even necessary. It is allowable also in ridicule, if used sparingly, as in comedy and romance. PARTVU. From long Sentences. THE last cause of obscurity I shall take notice of, is very long sen- tences. This rarely fails to be conjoined with some of the other faults before mentioned. The two subsequent quotations from two eminent writers, will serve sufficiently to exemplify more than one of them. The first is from Bolingbroke's Philosophy: " If we are " so, contrary to all appearances, (for they denote plainly one sin- " gle system, all the parts of which are so intimately connected, and " dependent one on another, that the whole begins, proceeds, and " ends together), this union of a body and a soul must be magical " indeed, as Doctor Cudworth calls it, so magical, that the hypo- " thesis serves to no purpose in philosophy, whatever it may do in " theology; and is still less comprehensible, than the hypothesis " which assumes, that although our idea of thought be not includ- " ed in the idea of matter or body, as the idea of figure is, for in- " stance, in that of limited extension; yet the faculty of thinking, " in -all the modes of thought, may have been superadded by Omni- " potence to certain systems of matter: which it is not less than " blasphemy to deny ; though divines and philosophers, who deny " it in terms, may be cited ; and which, whether it be true or no, " will never be proved false by a little metaphysical jargon about " essences, and attributes, and modes *." The other quotation is from Swift's letter to the Lord High Treasurer, containing a proposal for correcting, improving, and ascertaining the English tongue: " To this succeeded that licentiousness which entered with the " Restoration, and from infecting our religion and morals, fell to " corrupt our language, (which last was not like to be much im- " proved by those who at that time made up the court of king " Charles the second; either such who had followed him in his " banishment; or who had been altogether conversant in the dia- * Essay i. Section 1. 250 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 1L " lect of those fanatic times; oryoungmen who had been educated in " the same company), so that the court (which used to be the stand - " ard of propriety and correctness of speech) was then (and 1 " think, hath ever since continued) the worst school in Eng-land " for that accomplishment; and so will remain, till better care be " taken in the education of our young" nobility, that they may set " out into the world with some foundation of literature, in order " to qualify them for patterns of politeness." There are, indeed, cases in which even a long period will not create obscurity. When this happens, it may almost always be remarked, that all the prin- cipal members of the period are similar in their structure, and would constitute so many distinct sentences, if they were not united by then* reference to some common clause in the beginning- or the end. SECTION ll. Tlic Double Meaning. IT was observed, that perspicuity might be violated, not only by obscurity, but also by double meaning-. The fault in this case is not that the sentence conveys darkly or imperfectly the author's meaning, but that it conveys also some other meaning, which is not the author's. His words are susceptible of more than one interpre- tation. When this happens, it is always occasioned, either by using some expression which is equivocal; that is, hath more meanings than one affixed to it ; or by ranging the words in such an order, that the construction is rendered equivocal, or made to exhibit dif- ferent senses. To the former, for distinction's sake, I shall assign the name of equivocation ; to the latter, I shall appropriate that of ambiguity. PART. I. Equivocation. I BEGIN with the first. When the word equivocation denotes, as in common language it generally denotes, the use of an equivocal word or phrase, or other ambiguity, with an intention to deceive, it doth not differ essentially from a lie. This offence falls under the reproof of the moralist, not the censure of the rhetorician. Again, when the word denotes, as, agreeably to etymology, it may denote, that exercise of wit which consists in the playful use of any term or phrase in different senses, and is denominated pun, it is amenable indeed to the tribunal of criticism, but cannot be regarded as a vio- lation of the laws of perspicuity. It is neither with the liar nor with the punster that I am concerned at present. The only spe- cies of equivocation that comes under reprehension here, is that Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 251 which takes place, when an author undesignedly employs an ex- pression susceptible of a sense different from the sense he intends to convey by it. In order to avoid this fault, no writer or speaker can think of disusing all the homonymous terms of the language, or all such as have more than one signification. To attempt this in any tongue, ancient or modern, would be to attempt the annihilation of the greater part of the lang-uage; for, in every language, the words strictly univocal will be found to be the smaller number. But it must be admitted, as a rule in elocution, that equivocal terms ought ever to be avoided, unless where their connection with the other words of the sentence instantly ascertains the mean- ing. This, indeed, the connexion is often so capable of effecting, that the hearer will never reflect that the word is equivocal, the true sense being the only sense which the expression suggests to his mind. Thus the word pound signifies both the sum of twenty shillings sterling, and the weight of sixteen ounces avoirdupois. Now if you tell me, that you rent a house at fifty pounds, or that you have bought fifty pounds of meat in the market, the idea of weight will never present itself to my mind in the one case, or the idea of money in the other. But it frequently happens, through the in- advertency of writers, that the connected words in the sentence do not immediately ascertain the sense of the equivocal term. And though an intelligent reader may easily find the sense on reflection, and with the aid of the context, we may lay it down as a maxim, that an author always offends against perspicuity, when his style re- quires that reflection from his reader. But I shall proceed to il- lustrate, by examples, the fault of which I am treating. An equi- vocation, then, may be either in a single word or in a phrase. As to the former, there is scarcely any of the* parts of speech, in which you will not find equivocal terms. To begin with parti- cles: the preposition of denotes sometimes the relation which any affection bears to its subject; that is, the person, whose affection it is; sometimes the relation which it bears to its object. Hence this expression of the apostle hath been observed to be equivocal: " I " am persuaded that neither death nor life shall be able to se- " parate us from the love of God *." By the love of God, say inter- preters, may be understood, either God's love to us, or our love to God. It is remarkable, that the genitive case in the ancient lan- guages, and the prepositions corresponding to that case in the mo- dern languages, are alike susceptible of this double weaning-. Only, * Romans, viii. 38, &c. 252 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. as to our own language, we may observe in passing, that of late the preposition of is more commonly put before the subject, and to be- fore the object of the passion. But this is not the only way in which the preposition of may be equivocal. As it sometimes de- notes the relation of the effect to the cause, sometimes that of the accident to the subject, from this duplicity of signification, there will also, in certain circumstances, arise a double sense. You have an example in these words of Swift: " A little after the reformation " ofLuther*." It may indeed be doubted, whether this should not rather be called an impropriety, since the reformation of a man will suggest much more readily a change wrought on the man, than a change wrought by him. And the former of these senses it could not more readily suggest, if the expression in that sense were not more conformable to use. My next instance shall be in the conjunctions: " They were " both much more ancient among the Persians than Zoroaster or " Zerdushtf." The or here is equivocal. It serves either as a copulative to synonymous words, or as a disjunctive of different things. If, therefore, the reader should not know that Zoroaster and Zerdusht mean the same person, he will mistake the sense. In coupling appellatives, there is not the same hazard, it being ge- nerally manifest to those who know the language, whether the words coupled have the same signification. If, nevertheless, in any case it should be doubtful, an attention to the ensuing rules may have its utility. If the first noun follows an article, or a preposi- tion, or both, the article, or the preposition, or both, should be repeated before the second, when the two nouns are intended to denote different things; and should not be repeated, when they are intended to denote the same thing. If there be neither article nor preposition before the first, and if it be the inten- tion of the writer to use the particle or disjunctively, let the first noun be preceded by either, which will infallibly ascertain the meaning. On the contrary, if, in such a dubious case, it be his design to use the particle as a copulative to synonymous words, the piece will rarely sustain a material injury, by his omitting both the conjunction and the synonyma. The following is an example in the pronouns: " She united the " great body of the people in her and their common interest J." The word her may be either the possessive pronoun, or the accusa- tive case of the personal pronoun. A very small alteration in the order totally removes the doubt. Say, " in their and her common Median. Operal. t Bol. Subst. of Letters to Mr. de Pouilly. } Idea of a Patriot King. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 253 " interest." The word her thus connected, can be only the pos- sessive, as the author doubtless intended it should be in the passage quoted. An example in substantives: " Your majesty has lost all hopes " of any future excises by their consumption*." The word con- sumption has both an active sense and a passive. It means either the act of consuming, or the state of being consumed. Clearly, thus : ' Your majesty has lost all hopes of levying any future ex- ' cises on what they shall consume.' In adjectives: " As for such animals as are mortal or noxious, " we have a right to destroy them f." Here the false sense is sug- gested more readily than the true. The word mortal, therefore, in this sentence, might justly be considered as improper; for though it sometimes means destructive, or causing death, it is then almost invariably joined with some noun expressive of hurt or danger. Thus we say, a mortal poison, a mortal wound, a mortal disease, or a mortal enemy ; but the phrases mortal creature, mortal animal, or mortal man, are always understood to imply creature, animal, or man, liable to death. In verbs: " The next refuge was to say, it was overlooked by " one man, and many passages wholly written by another}." The word overlooked sometimes signifies revised, and sometimes neglect- ed. As it seems to be in the former sense that this participle is used here, the word revised ought to have been preferred. Another in- stance in verbs: " I have furnished the house exactly according to " your fancy, or, if you please, my own; for I have long since " learnt to like nothing but what you do." The word do in this passage may be either the auxiliary, or, as it might be termed, the supplementary verb, and be intended only to supersede the repeti- tion of the verb like; or it may be the simple active verb, which answers to the Latin/acere, and the Frenchyim-e. In the next quotation the homonymous term may be either an adjective or an adverb, and admits a different sense in each accep- tation : Not only Jesuits can equivocate ||. If the word only is here an adverb, the sense is, * To equivocate is 4 not the only thing that Jesuits can do.' This interpretation, though not the author's meaning, suits the construction. A very small alteration in the order gives a proper and unequivocal, though a prosaic expression of this sense : * Jesuits can not only equivo- cate.' Again, if the word only is here an adjective (and this * Guardian, No. 52. t Guardian, No. 61. J Spect. No. 19- Ibid. No. 627. II Dryden's Hind and Panther. 254 THE PHILOSOPHY Book IT. doubtless is the author's intention), the sense is, ' Jesuits are not 4 the only persons who can equivocate.' But this interpretation suits ill the composition of the sentence. The only other instance of this error in single words I shall produce, is one in which, on the first glance, there appears room to doubt whether a particular term ought to be understood literally or metaphorically. The word handled in the following passage will illustrate what I mean: " Thus much I thought fit to premise, before I resume the sub- " ject, which I have already handled, I mean the naked bosoms of " our British ladies*." Sometimes, indeed, a thing like this may be said archly and of design, in which case it falls not under this animadversion. It was remarked above, that there are not only equivocal words in our language, but equivocal phrases. ' Not the least,' and ' not the smallest,' are of this kind. They are sometimes made to imply not any; as though one should say, not even the least, not so much as the smallest; and sometimes again to signify a very gTeat, as though it were expressed in this manner, far from being the least or smallest. Thus they are susceptible of two significations that are not only different but contrary. We have an instance in the following passage: " Your character of universal guardian, joined " to the concern you ought to have for the cause of virtue and re- " ligion, assure me, you will not think that clergymen, when in- " jured, have the least right to your protection f." This sentence hath also the disadvantage taken notice of in some of the preceding quotations, that the sense not intended by the writer occurs to the reader much more readily than the author's real meaning. ' Nothing- less than' is another phrase which, like the two former, is suscepti- ble of opposite interpretations. Thus, " He aimed at nothing less " than the crown," may denote either, * Nothing Avas less aimed ' at by him than the crown;' or,' Nothing inferior to the crown 1 could satisfy his ambition.' All such phrases ought to be total- ly laid aside. The expression ' will have mercy' is equivocal in the following passage of the vulgar translation of the Bible : " I will " have mercy, and not sacrifice J." The expression commonly de- notes ' I will exercise mercy;' whereas it is in this place employ- ed to signify ' I require others to exercise it.' The sentiment, therefore, ought to have been rendered here, as we find it express- ed in the prophetical book alluded to, " I desire mercy and not " sacrifice ." When the phrase in question happens to be followed * Guardian, No. 116. f Guardian, No. 80. | Matt. ix. 13. ^ Hos. vi. 6. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 255 by the preposition on or upon before the object, there is nothing 1 equivocal in it, the sense being ascertained by the connection. So much for equivocal words and phrases. PART II. Ambiguity. I COME now to consider that species of double meaning- which ariseth, not from the use of equivocal terms, but solely from the construction, and which I therefore distinguished by the name of ambiguity. This, of all the faults against perspicuity, it is in all languages the most difficult to avoid. There is not one of the parts of speech which may not be so placed, as that, agreeably to the rules of grammar, it may be construed with different parts of the sentence, and by conseojuence made to exhibit different senses. Be- sides, a \vriter intent upon his subject, is less apt to advert to those imperfections in his style which occasion ambiguity, than to any other. As no term or phrase he employs, doth of itself suggest the false meaning, a manner of construing his words different from that which is expressive of his sentiment, will not so readily occur to his thoughts; and yet this erroneous manner of construing them, may be the most obvious to the reader. I shall give examples of ambiguities in most of the parts of speech, beginning with the pronouns. As the signification of the pronouns (which by themselves express only some relation) is ascertained merely by the antecedent to which they refer, the greatest care must be taken, if we would ex- press ourselves perspicuously, that the reference be unquestiona- ble. Yet the greatest care on this article will not always be effec- tual. There are no rules which either have been, or, I suspect, can be devised in any language, that will in all circumstances fix the relations of the pronouns in such a manner as to prevent ambiguity altogether. I shall instance first in the pronoun who, begging that the reader will observe its application in the two following senten- ces: " Solomon the son of David, who built the temple of Jerusa- " lem, was the richest monarch that ever reigned over the people " of God;" and " Solomon the son of David, who was perse- " cuted by .Saul, was the richest monarch." In these two sen- tences, the who is similarly situated ; yet, in the former, it relates to the person first mentioned; in the latter, to the second. But this relation to the one or to the other, it would be impossible for any reader to discover, who had not some previous knowledge of the history of those kings. In such cases, therefore, it is better to give another turn to the sentence. Instead of the first, one might say, 256 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. " Solomon the son of David, and the builder of the temple of Je- " rusalem, was the richest monarch/' The conjunction and makes the following words relate entirely to Solomon, as nothing- had been affirmed concerning David. It is more difficult to avoid the am- biguity in the other instance, without adopting some circumlocution that will flatten the expression. In the style that prevailed in this island about two centuries ago, they would have escaped the am- biguous construction in some such way as this, ' Solomon, the son * of David, even of him whom Saul persecuted, was the richest .' But this phraseology has, to modern ears, I know not what air of for- mality that renders it intolerable. Better thus, * Solomon, whose ' father David was persecuted by Saul, was the richest .' The following quotation exhibits a triple sense, arising from the same cause, the indeterminate use of the relative: Such were the centaurs of Ixion's race, Who a bright cloud for Juno did embrace *. Was it the centaurs, or Ixion, or his race, that embraced the cloud? I cannot help observing further on this passage, that the relative ought grammatically, for a reason to be assigned afterwards, rather to refer to centaurs than to either of the other two, and least of all to Ixion, to which it was intended to refer f. But there is often an ambiguity in the relatives who, which, that, whose, and whom, even when there can be no doubt in regard to the antecedent. This arises from the different ways wherein the lat- ter is affected by the former. To express myself in the language of grammarians, these pronouns are sometimes explicative, sometimes determinative. They are explicative, >vhen they serve merely for the illustration of the subject, by pointing out either some property * Denham's Progress of Learning. f Let it not be imagined that in this particular our tongue has the disadvan- tage of other languages. The same difficulty, as far as my acquaintance with them reaches, affects them all ; and even some modern tongues in a higher degree than ours. In English, one is never at a loss to discover whether the reference be to persons or to things. In French and Italian the expression is often ambiguous in this respect also. In a French devotional- book I find this pious admonition: " Conservez vous dans 1'amour de Dieu, qui pent vous garantir de toute chute." I ask whether the antecedent here be 1'amour or Dieu, since the relative qui is of such extensive import as to be applicable to either. The expression would be equally ambiguous in Italian, " Conservatevi nell' amor di Dio, che vi puo con- " servare senza iatoppo." In English, according to the present use, there would be no ambiguity in the expression. If the author meant to ascribe this energy to the devout affection itself, he would say, " Keep yourselves in the love of God, " which can preserve you from falling ;" if to God, the great object of our love, he would say, " who can preserve you." This convenient distinction was not, however, uniformly observed with us till about the middle of the last century. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 257 or some circumstance belonging to it, Reaving it, however, to be un- derstood in its full extent. Of this kind are the following examples " Man, who is born of woman, is of few days and full of trouble." " Godliness, which with contentment is great gain, has the promise " both of the present life and of the future." The clause, " who " is born of woman," in the first example, and * which with con- " tentment is great gain" in the second, point to certain properties in the antecedents, but do not restrain their signification. For, should we omit these clauses altogether, we could say with equal truth, " Man is of few days and full of trouble." " Godliness has the " promise both of the present life and of the future." On the other hand, these pronouns are determinative, when they are employed to limit the import of the antecedent, as in these instances: " The man " that endureth to the end, shall be saved." " The remorse, which " issues in reformation, is true repentance." Each of the relatives here confines the signification of its antecedent to such only as are possessed of the qualification mentioned. For it is not affirmed of every man that he shall be saved ; nor of all remorse, that it is true repentance. From comparing the above examples, it may be fairly collected, that with us the definite article is of great use for discriminating the explicative sense from the determinative. In the first case it is rarely used, in the second it ought never to be omitted, unless when something still more definitive, such as a demonstrative pronoun, supplies its place*. The following passage is faulty in this respect: * In this respect the articles are more subservient to perspicuity in our tongue than in many others. In French, a writer must give the article indiscriminately in all the instances above specified. Thus, " L'homme, qui est ne de la femtnet " vit trespeu de terns, etil est rempli de miseres;" and " L'homme, qui perseve- " rera jusqu'a la fin, sera sauve." In like manner, " La piete, qui jointe avec " le contentement est un grand gain, a les proinesses de la vie presente, et de celle " qui est a veuir;" and " I/e remore, qui aboutit a la reformation, est le vrai " repentir." The like indistinctness will be found to obtain in Italian and some other modern languages, and arises, in a great measure, fromtheir giving the arti- cle almost invariably to abstracts. In some instances, there appears of late a ten- dency in writers, especially on politics, to give up this advantage entirely ; not by adding the article to abstracts, but (which equally destroys the distinction) by omitting it when the term has a particular application. How often do we now find, even in books, such phrases as the following? ' This was an un- ' dertaking too arduous for private persons unaided by government.' 4 It is hard to say what measure administration will next adopt.' As in both cases it is the present government and the present administration of the country of the author that is meant, these nouns ought to have the definite article prefixed to them, and can scarcely be called English without it. The former of these words is indeed frequently used in the abstract, in which case it never has the article, as thus-' s 258 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 11. " I know that all words which are signs of complex ideas, '-furnish "matter of mistake ami cavil*." As words, the antecedent, has neither; the article nor a demonstrative pronoun to connect it with the subsequent relative, it would seem that the clause " which are " signs pf complex ideas," were merely explicative, and that the subject words were to be understood in the utmost latitude. This could not be the writer's sense, as it would be absurd to affirm of all words, that they are signs of complex ideas. He ought therefore to- have said either, " I know that all the words which are signs of " complex ideas," or " I know that all those words which are " signs " .Either of these ways makes the clause beginning wjth the relative serve to limit the import of the antecedent. , There are . certain cases, it must be owned, wherein the antece- dent would require the article, even though the relative were intend- ed solely for explication, as in these words of the Psalmist: " My " goodness extendeth not to thee ; but to the saints, and to the ex- " cellent ones, in whom is all my delight f." The last clause is probably not restrictive, the words saints and excellent ones neces- sarily requiring the article. Now when such antecedents are follow- ed by a determinative, they ought, for distinction's sake, to be attended with the demonstrative pronoun, as thus, ' but to ' those saints, and to those excellent ones in whom .' Through not attending to this circumstance, the translators of the Bible have rendered the following passage ambiguous, even in re- gard to the antecedent: " There stood by me this. night the angel of " God, whose I am, and whom I serve J." The relatives here whose and whom refer more regularly to angel than to God. This, however, is not agreeable to the sense of the apostle. The words, therefore, ought to have been translated ' an angel of the * God,' or * .of that God, whose I am, and whom I serve .' For though the term God in strict propriety can be applied only to one, and may therefore be thought to stand on the same footing with proper names, it is, in the common way of using it, an appel- lative, and follows the construction of appellatives. Thus we say, " the God of Abraham," " the God of armies." Besides, Paul in ' Government is absolutely necessary in all civilized societies.' ', He published ' tracts on various subjects, on religion, government, trade, &c.' Abuses, such as that here criticised, greatly hurtful to perspicuity and precision, arise first, in conversation, thence they creep into newspapers, thence into pamphlets, and at last unwarily find admission into books. * Bolingbroke's Dissertation on Parties, Let. 12. t Psalm xvi. 2, 3. J Acts xxvii. 23. a 0iS, t//*i\ xxi Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC, the passage quoted was speaking to heathens ; and this circum- stance gives an additional propriety to the article. For an instance of ambiguity in the construction of the pronoun his, I shall borrow an example from a French grammarian*; for though an equivocal word can rarely be translated by an equivo- cal word, it is very easy, when two languages have a considerable degree of similarity in their structure and analogy, to transfer an ambiguity from one to the other. The instance I mean is this, " Lisias promised to his father never to abandon his friends." Were they his own friends, or his father's, whom Lisias promised never to abandon? This sentence rendered literally would be ambiguous in most modern tongues f. In the earliest and simplest times, the dramatic manner in which people were accustomed to relate the plainest facts, served effectually to exclude all ambiguities of this sort from their writings. They would have said Lisias gave a pro- ' mise to his father in these words, I will never abandon my friends,* if they were his own friends of whom he spoke ; * your friends,' if they were his father's. It is, I think, to be regretted, that the moderns have too much departed from this primitive simplicity. It doth not want some advantages besides that of perspicuity. It is often more picturesque, as well as more affecting; though, it must be owned, it requires so many words, and such frequent repeti- tions of he said, he answered, and the like, that the dialogue, if long, is very apt to grow irksome. But it is at least pardonable to adopt this method occasionally, where it can serve to remove an ambig'uity. As the turn which Buffier gives the sentence in French, in order to avoid the double meaning, answers equally well in En- glish, I shall here literally translate it. On the first supposition, ' Lisias, speaking of his friends, promised to his father, never to * abandon them.' On the second supposition, * Lisias, speaking of ' his father's friends, promised to his father, never to abandon them}.' * Buffier. t It would not be ambiguous in Latin. The distinction which obtains in that tongue between the pronouns suu* and ejus, would totally preclude all doubt. | I even think that the turn of the sentence is easier in English than in French: " Lisias, parlant des amis de son pere a son pere meme, lui promit de " ne les abandoner jamais." It may be thought that, on the first supposition, there is a shorter way of removing the doubt. ' Ses propres amis' in French, and his own friends' in English, would effectually answer the end. But let it be observed, that the introduction of this appropriating term hath an exclu- sive appearance with regard to others, that might be very unsuitable. I observe further, that the distinction in English between his and her, precludes several 260 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh 11. It is easy to conceive, that, in numberless instances, the pronoun he, will, in like manner, be ambiguous, when two or more males happen to be mentioned in the same clause of asentence. In such a case, we ought always either to give another turn to the expres- sion, or to use the noun itself, and not the pronoun; for when the repetition of a word is necessary, it is not offensive. The trans- lators of the Bible, have often judiciously used this method; I say judiciously, because, though the other method be on some occa- sions preferable, yet, by attempting the other, they would have run a much greater risk of destroying that beautiful simplicity, which is an eminent characteristic of the language of holy writ. I shall take an instance from the speech of Judah to his brother Joseph in Egypt : " We said to my lord, The lad cannot leave his father ; " for if he should leave his father, his father would die*." The words his father are in this short verse thrice repeated, and yet are not disagreeable, as they contribute to perspicuity. Had the last part of the sentence run thus, ' If he should leave his father, he ' Would die,' it would not have appeared from the expression, whe- ther k was the child or the parent that would die. Some have imagin- ed, that the pronouh ought always regularly to refer to the nearest preceding nQun of the same gender and number. But this notion is founded in a mistake, and doth not suit the idiom of any language ancient or modern. From the rank that some words maintain in the sentence, if I may be allowed that expression, a reader will have a natural tendency to consider the pronoun as referring to them, without regard to their situation. In support of this obser- vation, I shall produce two examples. The first shall be of the neuter singular of the third personal pronoun : " But I shall leave " this subject to your management, and question not but you will " throw it into such lights, as shall at once improve and entertain " your reader f." There is no ambiguity here, nor would it, on the most cursory reading, enter into the head of any person of common ambiguities that affect most other European tongues. Suppose the promise had been made to the mother instead of the father, the simple enunciation of it would be equally ambiguous in French as in the other case: " Lisias promit a " sa mere de n'abandoner jamais ses amis," is their expression, whether they be his friends or hers, of whom he speaks. If it were a daughter to her father, the case would be the same with them, but different with us. I may remark here, by the way, how much more this small distinction in regard to the ante- cedent conduces to perspicuity, than the distinctions of gender and number in regard to the nouns with which they are joined. As to this last connection, the place of the pronoun always ascertains it, so that, for this purpose at least, the change of termination is superfluous. * Genesis xliv. 22. t Spectator, No. 628. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 261 sense, that the pronoun it relates to management, which is nearer, and not to subject, which is more remote. Nor is it the sense only that directs us in this preference. There is another principle by which we are influenced. The accusative of the active verb is one chief object of attention in a sentence ; the regimen of that accu- sative hath but a secondary value ; it is regarded only as explana- tory of the former, or at most as an appendage to it. This consi- deration doth not affect those only who understand grammar, but all who understand the language. The different parts of speech, through the power of custom, produce their effect on those who are ignorant of their very names, as much as on the grammarian him- self; though it is the grammarian alone who can give a rational ac- count of these effects. The other example I promised to give, shall be of the same number and person, in the noted complaint of Cardinal Wolsey immediately after his disgrace : Had I but scrv'd my God, with half the zeal I serv'd my king; he would not in mine age Have left me nnked to mine enemies*. Here, thoug'h the word king is adjoining, and the word God at some distance, the pronoun he cannot so regularly refer to that noun as to this. ' The reason is, the whole of the second clause beginning with these words, ' with half the zeal,' maintains but a subordinate rank in the sentence, as it is introduced in explication of the first, and might be omitted, not indeed without impairing, but without de- stroying the sense. Yet neither the rank in the sentence, nor the nearness of position, will invariably determine the import of the relative. Sometimes, indeed, as was observed by the French au- thor last quoted, the sense of the words connected is sufficient to remove the ambiguity, though the reader should have no previous knowledge of the subject. And, doubtless, it is equally reason- able to admit a construction, which, though naturally equivocal, is fixed by the connection, as to admit an equivocal term, the sense whereof is in this manner ascertained. Of an ambig-uity thus re- moved, the following will serve for an example: " Alexander bav- " ing conquered Darius, made himself master of his dominions." His may refer grammatically either to Alexander, or to Darius, but as no man is said to make himself master of what was previously his own, the words connected prevent the false sense from present- ing itself to the reader. But it is not the pronouns only that are liable to be used ambi- guously. There is in adjectives particularly, a great risk of ain- * Shakespeare. 262 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. biguity, when they are not adjoined to the substantives to which they belong. This hazard, it must be owned, is greater in our language than in most others, our adjectives having no declension whereby case, number, and gender are distinguished. Their rela- tion, therefore, for the most part, is not otherwise to be ascertained but by their place. The following sentence will serve for an ex- ample: " God heapeth favors on his servants ever liberal and " faithful." Is it God or his servants that are liberal and faithful? If the former, say, ' God, ever liberal and faithful, heapeth favors ' on his servants.' If the latter, say either ' God heapeth favors * on his ever liberal and faithful servants,' or* his servants who * are ever liberal and faithful.' There is another frequent cause of ambiguity in the use of adjectives, which hath been as yet, in our language, very little attended to. Two or more are sometimes made to refer to the same substantive, when, in fact, they do not belong to the same thing, but to different things which, being of the same kind, are expressed by the same generic name. I explain myself by an example : " Both the ecclesiastic and secular powers con- " curred in those measures." Here the two adjectives ecclesiastic and secular relate to the same substantive powers, but do not relate to the same individual things; for the powers denominated ecclesi- astic are totally different from those denominated secular. Indeed, the reader's perfect knowledge of the difference, may prevent his attending to this ambiguity, or rather impropriety of speech. But this mode of expression ought to be avoided, because, if admitted in one instance, where the meaning perhaps is clear to the generality of readers, a writer will be apt inadvertently to fall into it in other instances, where the meaning is not clear, nay, where most readers will be misled. This too common idiom may be avoided either by repeating the substantive, or by subjoining the substantive to the first adjective, and prefixing the article to the second as well as to the first. Say either, ' Both the ecclesiastic powers and the secular * powers concurred in those measures;' or, which is perhaps pre- ferable, * Both the ecclesiastic powers and the secular concurred in * those measures.' The substantive being posterior to the first ad- jective, and anterior to the second, the second, though it refers, cannot, according to grammatical order, belong to it. The substan- tive is therefore understood as repeated; besides, the repetition of the article has the force to denote that this is not an additional epi- thet to the same subject, but belongs to a subject totally distinct, though coming under the same denomination. There is, indeed, one phrase liable to the aforesaid objection, which use hath so firm- ly established, that, I fear, it would savor of affectation to alter. Chap. VI OF RHETORIC. The phrase I mean is,"'* The lords spiritual and temporal in parli;i- ** ment assembled." Nevertheless,- when it is not expected thai we should express ourselves in the style of the law, and when we are not quoting either a decision of the house of peers,- or an act of parliament, I imagine it would be better to say, 'The spiritual ' lords and the temporal.' On the contrary, wherever the two ad- jectives are expressive of qualities belonging to a subject, not only specifically, but individually the same, the other mode of speech Is' preferable, which makes them belong also to the same noun. Thus we say properly, " The high and mighty states of Holland," be- cause it is not some of the states that are denominated high, and others of them mighty, but both epithets are given alike to all. It would therefore be equally faulty here to adopt such an arrange- ment as would make a reader conceive them to be different. In cases wherein the article is not used, the place of the substantive ought to shew whether both adjectives belong to the same thing; or to different things having the same name. In the first case, the substantive ought either to precede both adjectives, or to follow both ; in the second, it ought to follow the first adjective, and may be repeated after the second, or understood, as will best suit the harmony of the sentence, or the nature of the composition; for the second adjective cannot grammatically belong to the noun which follows the first, though .. that noun may properly suggest to the reader the word to be supplied. Thus I should say rightly, ' It is * the opinion of all good and wise men, that a vicious person can- ' not enjoy true happiness ;' because I mean to signify, that this is the opinion of those to whom both qualities, goodness and wisdom, are justly attributed. But the following passage in our version of the sacred text, is not so proper: " Every scribe instructed into the " kingdom of heaven, is like an householder, who bringeth out of " his treasure things new and old*." Both epithets cannot belong to the same things. Make but a small alteration in the order, and say ' new things and old,' and you will add greatly both to the per- spicuity and to the propriety of the expression. In cases similar to the example last quoted, if a preposition be necessary to the con- struction of the sentence, it ought to be repeated before the second adjective. Thus, 'Death is the common lot of all, of good men * and of bad.' But when both adjectives express the qualities of an identical subject, it is better not to repeat the preposition. 'Hit " prince gave encouragement to all honest and industrious artificers " of neighbouring nations to come and settle amongst his subjects.' * Matlhrw xiii. ">*. THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. Here both qualities honesty and industry are required in every arti- ficer encouraged by the prince. I shall observe lastly, on this ar- ticle, that though the adjectives relate to different things, if no substantive be expressed, it is not necessary to repeat the preposi tion. The reason is, that in such cases the adjectives are used substantively, or, to speak more properly, are real substantives. Thus we may say either, ' Death is the inevitable fate of good and ' bad, rich and poor, wise and foolish,' or * of good and of bad, ' of rich and of poor.' When the definite article is prefixed to the first adjective, it ought to be repeated before the second, if the ad- jectives are expressive of qualities belonging to different subjects ; but not if they refer to the same subject. Thus we say rightly, ' How immense the difference between the pious and the profane.' * I address myself only to the intelligent and attentive.' In the former, the subjects referred to are manifestly different; in the lat- ter, they coincide, as both qualities are required in every hearer; The following passage is by consequence justly censurable. The exceptionable phrases are distinguished by the character : " Wisdom " and folly, the virtuous and the vile, the learned and ignorant, " the temperate and debauched, all give and return the jest*." For the same reason, and it is a sufficient reason, that he said 'the * virtuous and the vile,' he ought to have said ' the learned and the ' ignorant, the temperate and the debauched.' I proceed to give examples in some of the other parts of speech. The construction of substantive nouns is sometimes ambiguous. Take the following instance: " You shall seldom find a dull fellow " of good education, (but if he happen to have any leisure upon his " hands) will turn his head to one of those two amusements for all fools " of eminence, politics or poetry f." The position of the words, poli- tics or poetry, makes one at first imagine, that along with the term eminence, they are affected by the preposition of, and construed with fools. The repetition of the to after eminence would have to- tally removed the ambiguity. A frequent cause of this fault in the construction of substantives, especially in verse, is when both what we call the nominative case and the accusative are put before the verb. As in nouns those eases are not distinguished either by in- flection or by prepositions, so neither can they be distinguished in such instances by arrangement. The rising tomb a lofty column bore $. Did the tomb bear the column, or the column the tomb? And thus the son the ferveut sire addrest. * Brown on the Characteristics, Ess. 1, Sect. 5. t Spectator, No. 43. t Pope's Odyssey, Book 12. Ibid. Book 19- Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 265 This, though liable to the same objection, may be more easily recti- fied, at least in a considerable measure. As the possessive pronoun is supposed to refer to some preceding noun, which, for distinction's sake, I have here called the antecedent, though the term is not often used in so great latitude, it is always better to be construed with the accusative of the verb, and to refer to the nominative as its antecedent. The reason is, the nominative, to which it most na- turally refers, whether actually preceding or not, is always conceiv- ed in the order of things to precede. If then it was the son who spoke, say, And thus the son his fervent sire addrest. If the father, And thus his Son the fervent sire addrest. In confirmation of this, let us consider the way in which we should express ourselves in plain prose, without any transposition of words. For the first, * Thus the son addressed his father;' for the second, * Thus the father addressed his son;' are undoubtedly good: whereas, to say in lieu of the first, ' Thus his son addressed ' the father;' and in lieu of the second, Thus his father ad- ' dressed the son,' are not English. By the English idiom, there- fore, the possessive pronoun is, in such instances, more properly joined to the regimen of the verb than to the nominative. If this practice were universal, as it is both natural and suitable to the ge- nius of our tongue, it would always indicate the construction where- ever the possessive pronoun could be properly introduced. For this reason I consider the two following lines as much clearer of the charge of ambiguity than the former quotation from the same work: Young Itylus, his parent's darling joy, Whom chance misled the mother to destroy*. For though the words whom and the mother are both in the accu- sative, the one as the regimen of the active verb misled, the other as the regimen of the active verb destroy, yet the destroyer or agent is conceived in the natural order as preceding the destroy- ed or patient. If, therefore, the last line had been, Whom chance misled his mother to destroy ; it would have more naturally imported, that the son destroyed his mother; as it stands, it more naturally imports, agreeably to the po- et's design, that the mother destroyed her son; there being in this last case no access for the possessive pronoun. I acknowledge, however, that uniform usage cannot, (though both analogy and uti- * Pope's Odyssey, Book 19- 266 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh 11. lity may) be pleaded in favor of the distinction now made. I there- fore submit entirely to the candid and judicious, the propriety of observing it for the future. The following is an example of ambiguity in using conjunctions: " At least my own private letters leave room for a politician, well ** versed in matters of this nature, to suspect as much, as a penetra- " ting friend of mine tells me*." The particle as, which in this sentence immediately precedes the words " a penetrating friend," makes frequently a part of these compound conjunctions, as much as, as well as, as far as. It will therefore naturally appear at first to belong to the words as much, which immediately precede it. But as this is not really the case, it ought to have been otherwise situated ; for it is not enough that it is separated by a comma, these small distinctions in the pointing being but too frequently overlook- ed. Alter the arrangement then, and the expression will be no longer ambiguous: ' At least my own private letters, as a penetrat- * ing friend of mine tells me, leave room for a politician well ver- ' sed in matters of this nature to suspect as much.' In the suc- ceeding passage the same author gives us an example of ambig-ui- ty, in the application of an adverb and a conjunction: " I beseech " you, sir, to inform these fellows, that they have not the spleen, " because they cannot talk without the help of a glass, or convey " their meaning to each other without the interposition of cloudsf." The ambiguity here lies in the two words not and because. What follows because, appears, on the first hearing, to be the rea- son why the person here addressed, is desired to inform these fel- lows, that they are not splenetic; on the second, it appears to be the reason why people ought to conclude, that they are not; and on the third, the author seems only intending to signify, that this is not a sufficient reason to make any body conclude that they are. This error deserves our notice the more, that it is often to be found even in our best writers. Sometimes a particular expression is so situated, that it may be construed with more or less of another particular expression which precedes it in the sentence, and may consequently exhibit different senses: " He has, by some strange magic, arrived at the value of " half a plumb, as the citizens call a hundred thousand pounds J." Is it a plumb, or half a plumb which the citizens call " a hundred " thousand pounds?" " I will spend a hundred or two pounds " rather than be enslaved ." This is another error of the same sort, but rather worse. Hundred cannot regularly be understood be- * Spcct. No. 48. f Spcct. No. .53. t Tatler, No. 10. Swift to Sh?ridan. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 267 tween the adjective two and its substantive pounds. Besides, the indefinite article a, cannot properly express one side of the alterna- tive, and supply the place of a numeral adjective opposed to two. The author's meaning would have been better expressed either of these ways: ' I will spend one or two hundred pounds,' or *I ' will spend one hundred pounds or two, rather than be enslaved.' In the former case it is evident, that the words hundred pounds be- long to both numeral adjectives; in the latter, that they are under- stood after the second. The reference and construction of the conclu- ding words in the next quotation, is very indefinite: "My Christian " and surname begin and end with the same letters*." Doth his Christian name begin with the same letter that his surname begins with, and end with the same letter that his surname ends with? or, Doth his Christian name end with the same letter with which it begins, and his surname also end with the same letter with which it begins? or, lastly, Are all these four letters, the first and the last of each name, the same letter f? Sometimes a particular clause or expression is so situated, that it may be construed with different members of the sentence, and thus exhibit different meanings: " It has not a word," says Pope," but " what the author religiously thinks in it ." One would at first imagine his meaning to be, that it had not a word which the author did not think to be in it. Alter a little the place of the two last words, and the ambiguity will be removed: * It has not a word * in it, but what the author religiously thinks.' Of the same kind also is the subsequent quotation : " Mr. Dryden makes a very hand- " some observation on Ovid's writing a letter from Dido to ./Eneas, ' in the following words ." Whether are " the following words," the words of Dido's letter, or of Dryden's observation? Before you read them, you will more readily suppose them to be the words of the letter; after reading them, you find they are the words of the ob- servation. The order ought to have been, ' Mr. Dryden, in the ' following words, makes a very handsome observation on Ovid's * writing a letter from Dido to ^Eneas.' I shall conclude this section with an instance of that kind of am- biguity which the French call a squinting construction || ; that is, when a clause is so situated in a sentence, that one is at first at a loss to know whether it ought to be connected with the words which * Spect. No. 505 O. t An example of the first is Andrew Askew ; of the second, Hczckiah Thrift ; and of the third, Norman Nelson. \ Guardian, No. 4. Spect. No. 62. - l| Construction louche. THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. go before, or with those which come after. Take the following- passage for an example: " As it is necessary to have the head clear " as well as the complexion, to be perfect in this part of learning, " I rarely mingle with the men, but frequent the tea-tables of the * ladies *." Whether, " to be perfect in this part of learning, is it " necessary to have the head clear as well as the complexion'?" or, " To be perfect in this part of learning, does he rarely mingle with " the men, but frequent the tea-tables of the ladies?" Which ever of these be the sense, the words ought to have been otherwise ranged. SECTION III The Unintelligible. I HAVE already considered two of the principal and most common offences against perspicuity ; and come now to make some remarks on the third and last offence, mentioned in the enumeration formerly given. It was observed, that a speaker may not only express him- self obscurely, and so convey his meaning imperfectly to the mind of the hearer; that he may not only express himself ambiguously, and so, along with his own, convey a meaning entirely different; but even express himself unintelligibly, and so convey no meaning at all. One would, indeed, think it hardly possible, that a man of sense, who perfectly understands the language which he useth, should ever speak or write in such a manner as to be altogether unintelligible. Yet this is what frequently happens. The cause of this fault in any writer, I take to be always one or other of the three following; first, great confusion of thought, which is com- monly accompanied with intricacy of expression; secondly, affec- tation of excellence in the diction ; thirdly, a total want of meaning. I do not mention as one of the causes of this imputation, a penury of language; though this, doubtless, may contribute to produce it. In fact I never found one who had a justness of apprehension, and was free from affectation, at a loss to make himself understood in his native tongue, even though he had little command of language, and made but a bad choice of words. PART I. From Confusion of Thought. THE first cause of the unintelligible in composition, is confusion of thought. Language, as hath been already observed, is the medium through which the sentiments of the writer are perceived by the reader. And though the impurity or the grossness of the medium * Guardian, No. 10. Ciuip. VI. OF RHETORIC, will render the image obscure or indistinct, yet no purity in the medium will suffice for exhibiting a distinct and unvarying image of a confused and unsteady object. There is a sort of half-formed thoug-hte, which we sometimes find writers impatient to give the world, before they themselves are fully possessed of them. Now if the writer himself perceive confusedly and imperfectly the senti- ments he would communicate, it is a thousand to one, the reader will not perceive them at all. But how then, it may be asked, shall he be qualified for discovering the cause, and distinguishing in the writer between a confusion of thought, and a total want of mean- ing? I answer, that in examples of this kind, the cause will, some- times, not always, be discovered by means of an attentive and fre- quent perusal of the words and context. Some meaning, after long poring, will perhaps be traced ; but in all such cases we may be said more properly to divine what the author would say, than to understand what he says; and therefore all such sentences deserve to be ranked among the uiutelligible. If a discovery of the sense be made, that it is made ought rather to be ascribed to the sagacity of the reader, than to the elocution of the writer. This species of the unintelligible (which, by the way, differs not in kind, but in degree, from the obscurity already considered, being no other than that bad quality in the extreme,) I shall exemplify first in simple, and afterwards in complex sentences. First, in simple sentences : " I have observed," says Sir Richard Steele, who, though a man of sense and genius, was a great master in this style, " that the superiority among these," he is speaking of some coffee-house politicians, '* proceeds from an opinion of " gallantry and fashion*." This sentence considered in itself, evi- dently conveys no meaning. First, it is not said, whose opinion, their own, or that of others ; secondly, it is not said, what opinion, or of what sort, favorable or unfavorable, true or false, but in ge- neral an opinion of gallantry and fashion, which contains no defi- nite expression of any meaning. With the joint assistance of the context, reflection, and conjecture, we shall perhaps conclude, that the author intended to say, that the rank among these politicians, was determined by the opinion generally entertained of the rank ' in point of gallantry and fashion that each of them had attained/ But no part of this is expressed. Another specimen: " And as to " a well-taught mind, when you've said an haughty and proud " man, you have spoke a narrow conception, little spirit, and des- " picable carriage f." Here too it is possible to guess the intention of the author, but not to explain the import of the expression. * Spectator, No. 49. t Guardian, No. 20. 270 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. Take the two following examples of complex sentences from the same hand: " I must confess we live in an age wherein a few emp- " ty blusterers carry away the praise of speaking, while a crowd " of fellows overstocked with knowledge are run down by them: " I say, overstocked, because they certainly are so, as to their ser- " vice of mankind, if from their very store they raise to themselves " ideas of respect and greatness of the occasion, and I know not " what, to disable themselves from explaining their thoughts*." The other example, is, " The serene aspect of these writers, joined " with the great encouragement I observe is given to another, or, " what is indeed to be suspected, in which he indulges himself, con- " firmed me in the notion I have of the prevalence of ambition this " way f ." But, leaving this, Avhich is indeed the dullest species of the unintelligible, I proceed to the second class, that which arises from an affectation of excellence. PART II. From Affectation of Excellence. IN this there is always something figurative; but the figures are remote, and things heterogeneous are combined. I shall exemplify this sort also, first in a few more simple sentences, and then in such as are more complex. Of the former, take the following instances: " This temper of soul," says the Guardian, speaking of meekness and humility, " keeps our understanding tight about usj." Whe- ther the author had any meaning in this expression, or what it was, I shall not take upon me to determine; but hardly could any thing more incongruous in the way of metaphor, have been imagined. The understanding is made a girdle to our other mental faculties, for the fastening of which girdle, meekness and humility serve for a buckle. " A man is not qualified for a butt, who has not a good " deal of wit and vivacity, even in the ridiculous side of his cha- " racter." It is only the additional clause in the end that is here exceptionable. What a strange jumble! A man's wit and vivacity placed in the side of his character. Sometimes in a sentence suffi- ciently perspicuous, we shall find an unintelligible clause inserted, which, as it adds not to the sense, serves only to interrupt the read- er, and darken the sentiment. Of this the following passage will serve for an example : " I seldom see a noble building, or any " great piece of magnificence and pomp, but I think, how little is " all this to satisfy the ambition, or to fill the idea, of an immortal " soul ||." Pray, what addition does the phrase " to fill the idea" ; V: * Spect. No. 484. f Guardian, No. 1 . \ Guardian, No. 1 . Spect. No. 47. || Pope's Thoughts on various Subjects. Chap. VL 3 OF RHETORIC. 271 make to. the sense; or what is the meaning of it? I shall subjoin, for the sake of variety, one poetical example from Dryden, who, speaking- of the universal deluge, says, Yet when that flood in its own depths was drown'd, It left behind it false and slippery ground *. The first of these lines appears to me marvellously nonsensical. It informs us of a prodigy never heard of or conceived before, a drowned flood; nay, which is still more extraordinary, a flood that was so excessively deep, that after leaving nothing else to drown, it turned felo-de-se, and drowned itself. And, doubtless, if a flood can be in danger of drowning in itself, the deeper it is, the dan- ger must be the greater. So far at least, the author talks conse- quentially. His meaning expressed in plain language (for the line itself hath no meaning) was probably no more than this : * When ' the waters of the deluge had subsided.' I proceed to give examples of a still higher order, in sentences more complicated. These I shall produce from an author, who, though far from being deficient in acuteness, invention, or vivacity, is perhaps, in this species of composition, the most eminent of all that have written in the English language: " If the savour of " things lies cross to honesty, if the fancy be florid, and the appe- " tite high towards the subaltern beauties and lower order of " worldly symmetries and proportions, the conduct will infallibly " turn this latter way f ." This is that figure of speech which the French critics call galimatias, and the English comprehend under the general name bombast, and which may not improperly be de- fined the sublime of nonsense. You have lofty images and high- sounding words, but are always at a loss to find the sense. The meaning, where there is a meaning, cannot be said to be commu- nicated and adorned by the words, but is rather buried under them. Of the same kind are the two following quotations from the same author: " Men must acquire a very peculiar and strong habit of " turning their eye inwards, in order to explore the interior re- " gions and recesses of the mind, the hollow caverns of deep " thought, the private seats of fancy, and the wastes and wilder- " nesses, as well as the more fruitful and cultivated tracks of " this obscure climate J." A most wonderful way of telling us, that it is difficult to. trace the operations of the mind. Tin's may serve to give some notion of the figure which the French Phoebus, no offence to the Grecian who is of a very different family, is capable of making in an English dress. His lordship proceeds in * Panegyric on the coronation of King Charles II. t Characteristics, Vol. III. Misc. ii. Chap. 2. J Ibid. Misc. iv. Chap. 2. 272 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. his owh inimitable manner, or rather in what follows hath outdone hinwelf: " But what can one do? or how dispense with these darker " disquisitions, and moon-light voyages, when we have to deal with " a sort of moon-blind wits, who, though very acute and able in " their^kind, may be said to renounce day-light, and extinguish " in a manner the bright visible outward world, by allowing us to " know nothing beside what we can prove by strict and formal " demonstration*." It must be owned, the condition of those wits is truly deplorable, for though very acute and able in their kind, yet, being moon-blind, they cannot see by night, and having re- nounced day-light, they will not see by day : so that, for any use they have of their eyes, they are no better than stone-blind. It is astonishing too, that the reason for rendering a moonlight voyage indispensible, is that we have moon-blind persons only for our com- pany, the very reason which to an ordinary understanding would seem to render such a voyage improper. When one narrowly ex- amines a piece of writing of this stamp, one finds one's self pre- cisely in the situation of the fox in the fable, turning over, and considering the tragedian's mask f , and can hardly refrain from ex- claiming in the same words: How vast a head is here without a brain } ! PART III. From Want of Meaning. I COME now to the last class of the unintelligible, which proceeds from a real want of meaning in the writer. Instances of this sort are even in the works of good authors much more numerous than is commonly imagined. But how shall this defect be discovered? There are indeed cases, in which it is hardly discoverable; there are cases, on the contrary, in which it may be easily discovered. There is one remarkable difference between this class of the unin- telligible, and that which was first taken notice of, proceeding from confusion of thought, accompanied with intricacy of expres- sion. When this is the cause of the difficulty, the reader will not fail, if he be attentive, to hesitate at certain intervals, and to re- trace his progress, finding himself bewildered in the terms, and at a loss for the meaning. Then he will try to construe the sentence, and to ascertain the significations of the words. By these means, * Characteristics, Vol. III. Misc. iv. Chap. 2. t Persona tragica is commonly rendered so; but it was very different from what is called a mask with us. It was a case which covered the whole head, and had a face painted on it suitable to the character to be represented by it. t O quanta species, inquit, ast cerebrum non habet! Phrcdrus. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 273 and by the help of the context, he will possibly come at last at what the author would have said. Whereas, in that species of the unintelligible which proceeds from a vacuity of thoug-ht, the re- verse commonly happens. The sentence is generally simple in its structure, and the construction easy. When this is the case, pro- vided words glaringly unsuitable are not combined, the reader pro- ceeds without hesitation or doubt. He never suspects that he does not understand a sentence, the terms of which are familiar to him, and of which he perceives distinctly the grammatical order. But if he be by any means induced to think more closely on the subject, and to peruse the words a second time more attentively; it is pro- bable that he will then begin to suspect them, and will at length discover, that they contain nothing-, but either an identical propo- sition, which conveys no knowledge, or a proposition of that kind, of which one cannot so much as affirm, that it is either true or false, And this is justly allowed to be the best criterion of nonsense*. It is, indeed, more difficult to distinguish sentences of this kind from those of the second class of the unintelligible already discussed, in which the darkness is chiefly imputable to an affectation of ex- cellence. But in these matters it is not of importance to fix the boundaries with precision. Sometimes pompous metaphors and sonorous phrases are injudiciously employed to add a dignity to the most trivial conceptions ; sometimes they are made to serve as a vehicle for nonsense. And whether some of the above citations fall under the one denomination or the other, would scarcely be worth while to inquire. It hath been observed, that in madmen there is as great a variety of character, as in those who enjoy the use of their reason. In like manner, it may be said of nonsense, that, in writing it, there is as great scope for variety of style, as there is in writing sense. I shall therefore not attempt to give specimens of all the characters of style which this kind of compo- sition admits. The task would be endless. Let it suffice to specify some of the principal. 1. The Puerile. The first I shall mention is the puerile, which * Of all that is written in this style, we may justly say in the words of Lord Verulam (De Aug. Sci. L. vi. C. 2.) applying to a particular purpose the words of Horace, Tantum series juncturaque poller, Tantum de medio sumptis accedit honoris; ut speciem artis, nescio cujus, pneclaran ssepe:iumero reportent ea, quoe si sol- vantur, segregentur, et denudentur, ad nihilura fere recasura forent. As to the causes of the deception there is in this manner of writing, I shall attempt thejnvestigation of them in the following chapter. 274 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. is always produced when an author runs on in a specious verbosity, amusing his reader with synonymous terms and identical proposi- tions, well-turned periods, and high-sounding words ; but, at the same time, using those words so indefinitely, that the latter can either affix no meaning to them at all, or may almost affix any meaning to them he pleases. " If 'tis asked," says a late writer, " Whence arises this harmony or beauty of language? what are " the rules for obtaining it? The answer is obvious Whatever " renders a period sweet and pleasant, makes it also graceful ; a " good ear is the gift of Nature, it may be much improved but not " acquired by art; whoever is possessed of it will scarcely need dry " critical precepts to enable him to judge of a true rhythmtis, and " melody of composition: just numbers, accurate proportions, a " musical symphony, magnificent figures, and that decorum, which " is the result of all these, are unison to the human mind ; we are " so framed by nature, that their charm is irresistible. Hence all " ages and nations have been smit with the love of the muses*." Who can now be at a loss to know whence the harmony and beauty of language arises, or what the rules for obtaining it are? Through the whole paragraph, the author proceeds in the same careless and desultory manner, not much unlike that of the tritical essay upon the faculties of the mind; affording at times some glimmerings of sense, and perpetually ringing the changes on a few favorite words and phrases. A poetical example of the same signature, in which there is not even a glimpse of meaning-, we have in the following lines of Dryden : From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began: From harmony to harmony Thro' all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in man f. In general it may be said, that in writings of this stamp, we must accept of sound instead of sense, being assured at least, that if we meet with little that can inform the judgment, we shall find no- thing that will offend the ear. 2. The Learned. Another sort I shall here specify, is the learned nonsense. I know not a more fruitful source of this spe- cies, than scholastical theology. The more incomprehensible the subject is, the greater scope has the declaimer to talk plausibly without any meaning. A specimen of this I shall give from an * Geddes on the Composition of the Ancients, See*. 1 . t Song for St. Cecilia's day, 168?. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 275 author, who whould have escaped this animadversion, had he not introduced from the pulpit a jargon which (if we can say, without impropriety, that it was fit for any tiling-,) was surely fitter for the cloister. For what cannot in the least contribute to the instruction of a Christian society, may afford excellent matter of contempla- tive amazement to dronish monks. " Although we read of several " properties attributed to God in scripture, as wisdom, goodness, " justice, &c. we must not apprehend them to be several powers, " habits, or qualities, as they are in us ; for as they are in God, " they are neither distinguished from one another, nor from his " nature or essence in whom they are said to be. In whom, I say, " they are said to be : for, to speak properly, they are not in him, " but are his very essence or nature itself; which, acting severally " upon several objects, seems to us to act from several properties " or perfections in him; whereas, all the difference is only in our " different apprehensions of the same thing. God in himself is a " most simple and pure act, and therefore cannot have any thing " in him, but what is that most simple and pure act itself; which, " seeing it bringeth upon every creature what it deserves, we con- " ceive of it as of several divine perfections in the same almighty " Being. Whereas God, whose understanding is infinite as him- " self, doth not apprehend himself under the distinct notions of " wisdom, or goodness, or justice, or the like, but only as Jeho- " vali*." How edifying must it have been to the beam's to be made acquainted with these deep discoveries of the men of science ; divine attributes, which are no attributes, which are totally distinct and perfectly the same; which are justly ascribed to God, being ascribed to him in scripture, but do not belong to him; which are something and nothing, which are the figments of human imagina- tion, mere chimeras, which are God himself, which are the actors of all things ; and which, to sum up all, are themselves a simple act ! " Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without know- " ledge f ?" Can the tendency of such teaching be any other than to perplex and to confound, and even to throw the hearers into uni- versal doubt and scepticism? To such a style of explication these lines of our British bard, addressed to the patroness of sophistry as well as dulness, are admirably adapted: Explain upon a thing, till all men doubt it; And write about it, goddess, and about it J. Of the same kind of school-metaphysics are these lines of CowJey : Nothing is there to cx>me, and nothing past, But an eternal now does always last . *Beveridge's Sermons. f Jobxxxviii.2. \ Dunciad. Davideis, Book 1. 276 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. What an insatiable appetite has this bastard philosophy for absur- dity and contradiction! A < now' that lasts ; that is, an instant which continues during- successive instants ; an eternal now, an instant that is no instant, and an eternity that is no eternity. I have heard of a preacher, who, desirous to appear very profound, and to make observations on the commonest subjects, which had never occurred to any body before, remarked, as an instance of the goodness of providence, that the moments of time come successively, and not simultaneously or together, which last method of coining- would, he said, occasion infinite confusion in the world. Many of his audience concluded his remark to be no better than a bull : and yet, it is fairly defensible on the principles of the schoolmen; if that can be called principles which consists merely in words. Accord- ing to them, what Pope says hyperbolically of the transient dura- tion and narrow range of man, is a literal description of the eternity and immensity of God: His time a moment, and a point his space *. I remember to have seen it somewhere remarked, that mankind being necessarily incapable of making a present of any thing to God, have conceived, as a succedaneous expedient, the notion of destroying what should be offered to him, or at least of rendering it unfit for any other purpose. Something similar appears to have taken place in regard to the explanations of the divine nature and attributes, attempted by some theorists. On a subject so transcen- dant, if it be impossible to be sublime, it is easy to be unintelligible. And that the theme is naturally incomprehensible, they seem to have considered as a full apology for them in being perfectly ab- surd. In the former case, what people could not in strictness be- stow upon their Maker, they could easily render unfit for the use of men ; and in the latter, if one cannot grasp what is above the reach of reason, one can without difficulty say a thousand things which are contrary to reason. But though scholastic theology be the principal, it is not the only subject of learned nonsense. In other branches of pneuma- tology we often meet with rhapsodies of the same kind. I shall take an example from a late right honorable writer, who, though he gives no quarter to the rants of others, sometimes falls into the ranting strain himself: " Pleasures are the objects of self-love ; " happiness that of reason. Reason is so far from depriving us " of the first, that happiness consists in a series of them : and as " this can be neither attained nor enjoyed securely out of society, * Essay on Man, Ep. i. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 277 " a due use of our reason makes social and self-love coincide, or " even become in effect the same. The condition wherein we are " born and bred, the very condition so much complained of, pre- " pares us for this coincidence, the foundation of all human hap- " piness; and our whole nature, appetite, passion, and reason " concur to promote it. As our parents loved themselves in us, " so we love ourselves in our children, and in those to whom we " are most nearly related by blood. Thus far instinct improves " self-love. Reason improves it further. We love ourselves in " our neighbours, and in our friends too, with Tully's leave ; for " if friendship is formed by a kind of sympathy, it is cultivated " by good offices. Reason proceeds. We love ourselves in loving " the political body whose members we are ; and we love ourselves, " when we extend our benevolence to all mankind. These are the " genuine effects of reason *." I would not be understood to sig- nify, that there is no. meaning in any clause of this quotation, but that the greater part of it is unmeaning; and that the whole, in- stead of exhibiting a connected train of thought, agreeably to the author's intention, presents us only with a few trifling- or insignifi- cant phrases speciously strung together. The very first sentence is justly exceptionable in this respect. Had he said, " Pleasure is " the object of appetite, happiness that of self-love," there had been some sense in it; as it stands, I suspect, there is none. Pope, the great admirer and versifier of this philosophy, hath succeeded much better in contra-distinguishing the provinces of reason and passion, where he says, Reason the card, but passion is the galef- This always the mover, that the guide. As the card serves equal- ly to point to us the course that we must steer, whatever be the situation of the port we are bound for, east or west, south or north ; .so reason serves equally to indicate the means that we must employ for the attainment of any end, whatever that end be (right or wrong, profitable or pernicious,) which passion impels us to pursue^. All that follows of the passage quoted^ abounds with the like loose and indefinite declamation. If the author had any meaning, a point very questionable, he hath been very unhappy, and very unphilo- sophical in expressing it. What are we to make of the coincidence or sameness of self-love and social affection produced by reasoh? What of parents loving themselves in their children? &c. &c._ * Bolingb. Ph. Fr. 51 . t Essay on Man, Ep. ii. \ For the further elucidation of this point, see the analysis of persuasion given in Book I. Chap. vii. Sect. iv. 278 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. Any thing- you please, or nothing 1 . It is a saying of Hobbes, which this author hath quoted with deserved commendation, that " words " are the counters of wise men, but the money of fools." The thought is ingenious and happily expressed. I shall only remark upon it, that this noble writer may be produced as one of many witnesses, to prove, that it is not peculiar to fools to fall into this error. He is a wise man indeed who never mistakes these counters for legal coin. So much for the learned nonsense. And doubtless, if non- sense ever deserves to be exposed, it is when she has the arrogance to assume the garb of wisdom. 3. TJie Profound. I proceed to another species, which I shall denominate the profound, and which is most commonly to be met with in political writings. Nowhere else do we find the merest nothings set off with an air of solemnity, as the result of very deep thought and sage reflection. Of this kind, however, I shall pro- duce a specimen, which, in confirmation of a remark made in the preceding paragraph, shall be taken from a justly celebrated tract of a justly celebrated pen : " Tis agreed," says Swift, " that in all " governments there is an absolute and unlimited power, which " naturally and originally seems to be placed in the whole body, " wherever the executive part of it lies. This holds in the body " natural ; for wherever we place the beginning of motion, whether " from the head, or the heart, or the animal spirits in general, the " body moves and acts by a consent of all its parts*." The first sentence of this passage contains one of the most hackneyed max- ims of the writers on politics ; a maxim, however, of which it will be more difficult than is commonly imagined, to discover, I say, not the justness, but the sense. The illustration from the natural body, contained in the second sentence, is indeed more glaringly nonsensical. What it is that constitutes this consent of all the parts of the body, which must be obtained previously to every mo- tion, is, I will take upon me to affirm, utterly inconceivable. Yet the whole of the paragraph from which this quotation is taken, hath such a speciousness in it, that it is a hundred to one, even a judicious reader will not, on the first perusal, be sensible of the defect. 4. The Marvellous. The last species of nonsense to be ex- emplified I shall denominate the marvellous. It is the characteris- tic of this kind, that it astonishes and even confounds by the bold- ness of the affirmations, which always appear flatly to contradict the plainest dictates of common sense, and thus to involve a mani- * Disc, of the Contests and Dissensions in Athens and Rome, first sentence. Chap. VI. OF RHETORIC. 279 fest absurdity. I know no sort of authors that so frequently abounds in this manner, as some artists, who hare attempted to philosophise on the principles of their art. I shall give an example from the English translation of a French book*, as there is no ex- ample which I can remember at present in any book written ori- ginally in our own language : " Nature," says this writer, " in her- " self is unseemly, and he who copies her servilely, and without " artifice, will always produce something poor, and of a mean " taste. What is called load in colors and lights, can only proceed " from a profound knowledge in the values of colors, and from an " admirable industry, which makes the painted objects appear " more true, if I may say so, than the real ones. In this sense it " may be asserted, that in Rubens' pieces, art is above nature, and " nature only a copy of that great master's works." What a strange subversion, or inversion, if you will, of all the most obvi- ous, and hitherto undisputed truths. Not satisfied with affirming the unseemliness of every production of nature, whom this philo- sopher hath discovered to be an arrant bungler, and the immense superiority of human art, whose humble scholar dame nature might be proud to be accounted, he riseth to asseverations, which shock all our notions, and utterly defy the powers of apprehension. Painting is found to be the original, or rather Rubens' pictures are the original, and nature is the copy: and indeed very consequen- tially, the former is represented as the standard by which the beau- ty and perfections of the latter are to be estimated. Nor do the qualifying phrases, if I may say so, and in this sense it may be as- serted, make here the smallest odds. For as this sublime critic has nowhere hinted what sense it is which he denominates this sense, so I believe no reader will be able to conjecture, what the author might have said, and not absurdly said, to the same effect. The misfortune is, that when the expression is stript of the absurd meaning f, there remains nothing but balderdash %, an umeaning jumble of words which at first seem to announce some great dis- co very . Specimens of the same kind are sometimes also to be * De Piles' Principles of Painting. t For the propriety and import of this expression, see Ch. vii. Sect. ii. J The latter part of the sentence was thus expressed in the first edition, " a jumble of bold words without meaning." To this phraseology exception was taken, which, though not entirely just, appears to have arisen from some ob- scurity, perhaps ambiguity in the expression. This, 1 hope, is removed by the alteration now made. Since writing the above observations, I have seen De Piles' original perfor- mance, and find that his translator hath, in this place at least, done him no in- 280 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. met with in the poets. Witness the famous protestation of an he- roic lover in one of Dryden's plays : My wound is great, because it is so small. The nonsense of which was properly exposed by an extemporary verse of the Duke of Buckingham, who, on hearing this line, ex- claimed in the house, It would be greater, were it none at all. Hyperbole, carried to extravagance, is much of a piece, and never fails to excite disgust, if not laughter, instead of admiration. Of this the famous laureat just now quoted, though indeed a very con- siderable genius, affords, among many other striking instances, that which follows : That star, that at your birth shone out so bright; It stain'd the duller sun's meridian light*. Such vile fustian ought to be carefully avoided by every writer. Thus I have illustrated, as far as examples can illustrate, some of the principal varieties to be remarked in unmeaning sentences, or nonsense : the puerile, the learned, the profound, and the mar- vellous; together with those other classes of the unintelligible, arising either from confusion of thought, accompanied with intri- cacy of expression, or from an excessive aim at excellence in the style and manner. So much for the explication of the first rhetorical quality of style, perspicuity, with the three ways of expressing one's self by which it may be injured: the obscure, the double meaning, and the un- intelligible. justice. The whole passage in the French is as follows: " La Nature est ingrate " d'elle-meme, et qui s'attacheroit a la copier simplement comnie elle est et sans " artifice, feroit toujours quelque chose de pauvre et d'un tres petit gout. Ce " que vous nommez exagerations dans les couleurs, et dans les lumieres, est vine " admirable Industrie que fait paroitre les objets peints plus veritables, s'il faut " ainsi dire, que les veritables memes. C'est ainsi que les tableaux de Rubens " sont plus beaux que la Nature, laquelle semble n'etre que la copie des ouvrages " de ce grand-homme." Recueil de divers ouvrages sur la peinture et le coloris ; Par M. de Piles. Paris, 1755. p. 225. This is rather worse than the English. The qualifying phrase inth^ last sentence, we find, is the translator's, who seems out of sheer modesty to have brought it to cover nudities. His intention was good ; but this is such a rag as cannot answer. ,* * Dryden on the Restoration. . Chap. V1L OF RHETORIC. 281 CHAP. VII. WHAT IS THE CAUSE THAT NONSENSE SO OFTEN ESCAPES BEING DE- TECTED, BOTH BY THE WRITER AND BY THE READER? SECTION I The Nature and Power of Signs, both in speaking and in thinking. BEFORE quitting the subject of perspicuity, it will not be amiss to inquire into the cause of this strange phenomenon ; that even a man of discernment should write without meaning, and not be sen- sible that he hath no meaning; and that judicious people should read what hath been written in this way, and not discover the de- fect. Both are surprising, but the first much more than the last. A certain remissness will at times seize the most attentive reader; whereas an author of discernment is supposed to have carefully di- gested all that he writes. It is reported of Lopez de Vega, a fa- mous Spanish poet, that the Bishop of Seller, being in Spain, ask- ed him to explain one of his sonnets, which he said, he had often read, but never understood. Lopez took up the sonnet, and after reading it several times, frankly acknowledged that he did not un- derstand it himself; a discovery which the poet probably never made before. But though the general fact hath been frequently observed, I do not find that any attempt hath been yet made to account for it. Berkeley, indeed, in his Principles of Human Knowledge, hath suggested a theory concerning language, though not with this view, which, if well-founded, will go far to remove the principal difficulty: " It is a received opinion," says that author, " that language has " no other end, but the communicating our ideas, and that every " significant name stands for an idea. This being so, and it being " withal certain, that names, which yet are not thought altogether " insignificant, do not always mark out particular conceivable ideas, " it is straightway concluded, that they stand for abstract notions. " That there are many names in use amongst speculative men, " which do not always suggest to others determinate particular " ideas, is what nobody will deny. And a little attention will dfe- " cover, that it is not necessary (even in the strictest reasonings) '* significant names, which stand for ideas, should, every time they '' are used, excite in the understanding the ideas they are made to * stand for. In reading and discoursing, names being for the most ' part used, as letters are in algebra, in which, though a particular '* quantity be marked by each letter, yet to proceed right, it is not THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. " requisite, than in every step each letter suggest to your thoughts " that particular quantity it was appointed to stand for*." The same principles have been adopted by the author of a Treatise of Human Nature, who, speaking of abstract ideas, has the following- words: " I believe every one, who examines the situation of his " mind in reasoning, will agree with me, that we do not annex " distinct and complete ideas to every term we make use of, and " that in talking of government, church, negociation, conquest, we " seldom spread out in our minds all the simple ideas of which these " complex ones are composed. 'Tis, however, observable, that not- " withstanding this imperfection, we may avoid talking nonsense " on these subjects, and may perceive any repugnance among the " ideas, as well as if we had a full comprehension of them. Thus " if, instead of saying, that in war the weaker have always recourse " to negociation, we should say, that they have always recourse to " conquest; the custom which we have acquired of attributing cer- " tain relations to ideas, still follows the words, and makes us im- " mediately perceive the absurdity of that proposition f." Some excellent observations to the same purpose have also been made by the elegant Inquirer into the origin of our ideas of the sublime and beautiful J. Now that the notions on this subject maintained by these ingeni- ous writers, however strange they may appear upon a superficial view, are well-founded, is at least presumable from this considera- tion ; that if, agreeably to the common hypothesis, we could under- stand nothing that is said, but by actually comparing in our minds all the ideas signified, it would be impossible that nonsense should ever escape undiscovered, at least that we should so far impose upon ourselves, as to think we understand what in reality is not to be understood. We should in that case find ourselves in the same si- tuation, when an unmeaning sentence is introduced into a discourse, wherein we find ourselves when a sentence is quoted in a language of which we are entirely ig-norant: we are never in the smallest dang-er of imagining that we apprehend the meaning of the quotation. But though a very curious fact hath been taken notice of by those expert metaphysicians, and such a fact as will perhaps account for the deception we are now considering ; yet the fact itself, in my apprehension, hath not been sufficiently accounted for. That mere sounds, which are used only as signs, and have no natural connec- tion with the tilings whereof they are signs, should convey know- ledge to the mind, even when they excite no idea of the things sig- * Introd. Sect. 1Q. f Vol. I. Book i. Part i. Sect. 7. t Part V. Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC, nified, must appear at first extremely mysterious. It is, therefore, worth while to consider the matter more closely; and in order to this, it will be proper to attend a little to the three following- con- nexions: first, that which subsisteth among things; secondly, that which subsisteth between words and things; thirdly, that which subsisteth among words, or the different terms used in the same language. As to the first of these connections; namely, that which subsist- eth among things; it is evident that this is original and natural. There is a variety of relations to be found in things, by which they are connected. Such are, among several others, resemblance, iden- tity*, equality, contrariety, cause and effect, concomitancy, vicinity in time or place. These we become acquainted with by experience: and they prove, by means of association, the source of various combi- nations of ideas, and abstractions, as they are commonly denomi- nated. Hence mixt modes and distinctions into genera and species; of the origin of which I have had occasion to speak already f. As to the second connection, or that which subsisteth between words and things, it is obvious, as hath been hinted formerly, that this is not a natural and necessary, but an artificial and arbitrary connection. Nevertheless, though this connection hath not its foundation in the nature of things, but in the conventions of men, its effect upon the mind is much the same. For, having often had occasion to observe particular words used as signs of particular things, we hence contract a habit of associating the sign with the thing signified, insomuch that either being presented to the mind, frequently introduces, or occasions, the apprehension of the other. Custom, in this instance, operates precisely in the same manner as in the formation of experience formerly explained. Thus, certain sounds, and the ideas of things not naturally related to them, conie to be as strongly linked in our conceptions, as the ideas of things na- turally related to one another. As to the third connection, or that which subsisteth among words, I would not be understood to mean any connection among the words considered as sounds, such as that which results from resemblance in pronunciation, equality in the number of syllables, sameness of measure or cadence; I mean solely that connection or relation which * It may be thought improper to mention identity as a relation by which dif- ferent things are connected; but it must be observed, that I only meau so far dif- ferent, as to constitute distinct objects to the mind. Thus the consideration of the same person, when a child and when a man, is the consideration of different objects, between which there subsists the relation of identity. t Bookl. Chap. v. Sect. ii. Part 2. On the formation of experience. 284 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. comes gradually to subsist among the different words of a language, in the minds of those who speak it, and which is merely consequent on this, that those words are employed as signs of connected or re- lated things. It is an axiom in geometry, that things equal to the same thing, are equal to one another. It may, in like manner, be admitted as an axiom in psychology, that ideas associated by the same idea will associate one another. Hence it will hap- pen, that if from experiencing the connection of two things, there results, as infallibly there will result, an association be- tween the ideas or notions annexed to them, as each idea will moreover be associated by its sign, there will likewise be an associ- ation between the ideas of the signs. Hence the sounds considered as signs, will be conceived to have a connection analogous to that which subsisteth among the thing's signified ; I say, the sounds con- sidered as signs : for this way of considering them constantly attends us in speaking, writing, hearing, and reading. When we purposely abstract from it, and regard them merely as sounds, we are instantly sensible, that they are quite unconnected, and have no other relation than what ariseth from similitude of tone or accent. But to consi- der them in this manner commonly results from previous design, and requires a kind of effort which is not exerted in the ordinary use of speech. In ordinary use they are regarded solely as signs, or rather they are confounded with the things they signify ; the con- sequence of which is, that, in the manner just now explained, we come insensibly to conceive a connection among them, of a very dif- ferent sort from that of which sounds are naturally susceptible. Now this conception, habit, or tendency of the mind, call it which you please, is considerably strengthened both by the frequent use of language, and by the structure of it. It is strengthened by the fre- quent use of language. Language is the sole channel through which we communicate our knowledge and discoveries to others, and through which the knowledge and discoveries of others are communicated to us. By reiterated recourse to this medium, it ne- cessarily happens, that when things are related to each other, the words signifying those things are more commonly brought together in discourse. Hence the words and names themselves, by customary vicinity, contract in the fancy a relation additional to that which they derive purely from being' the symbols of related things. Further, this tendency is strengthened by the structure of language. All languages whatever, even the most barbarous, as far as hath yet appeared, are of a regular and analogical make. The consequence is, that similar relations in things will be expressed similarly; that is, by similar inflections, derivations, compositions, arrangement of Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 285 words, or juxtaposition of particles, according- to the genius or grammatical form of the particular tongue. Now, as by the habit- ual use of a language (even though it were quite irregular) the signs would insensibly become connected in the imagination, where- ever the things signified are connected in nature; so, by the regu- lar structure of a language, this connection among the signs is con- ceived as analogous to that which subsisteth among their arche- types. From these principles we may be enabled both to under- stand the meaning, and to perceive the justness of what is affirmed in the end of the preceding quotation: " The custom which we " have acquired of attributing certain relations to ideas, still follows " the words, and makes us immediately perceive the absurdity of " that proposition." Immediately, that is, even before we have lei- sure to give that attention to the signs which is necessary in order to form a just conception of the things signified. In confirmation of this doctrine it may be observed, that we really think by signs as well as speak by them. I have hitherto, in conformity to what has now become a general and inveterate custom, and in order to avoid tiresome circumlocu- tions, used the terms sign and idea as exactly correlative. This, I am sensible, is not done with strict propriety. All words are signs, but that the signification cannot always be represented by an idea, will, I apprehend, be abundantly evident from the observations following. All the truths which constitute science, which give exercise to reason, and are discovered by philosophy, are general ; all our ideas, in the strictest sense of the word, are particular. All the particular truths about which we are conversant, are properly historical, and compose the furniture of memory. Nor do I include under the term historical, the truths which belong to natural his- tory; for even these two are general. Now, beyond particular truths or individual facts, first perceived and then remembered, we should never be able to proceed one single step in thinking, any more than in conversing, without the use of signs. When it is affirmed, that the whole is equal to all its parts, there cannot be an affirmation which is more perfectly intelligible, or which commands a fuller assent. If, in order to comprehend this, I recur to ideas, all that I can do, is to form a notion of some indi- vidual whole, divided into a certain number of parts, of which it is constituted, suppose of the year divided into the four seasons. Now all that I can be said to discern here, is the relation of equality be- tween this particular whole and its component parts. If I recur to another example, I only perceive another particular truth. The same holds of a third, and of a fourth. But so far am I, after the 286 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. perception often thousand particular similar instances, from the dis- covery of the universal truth, that if the mind had not the power of considering things as signs, or particular ideas as representing an infinity of others, resembling in one circumstance, though total- ly dissimilar in every other, I could not so much as conceive the meaning of an universal truth. Hence it is that some ideas, to adopt the expression of the author above quoted, are particular in their nature, but general in their representation. There is, however, it must be acknowledged, a difficulty in ex- plaining this power the mind hath, pf considering ideas, not in their private, but, as it were, in their representative capacity; which, on that author's system, who divides all the objects of thought into impressions and ideas, will be found altogether insurmountable. It was to avoid this difficulty that philosophers at first recurred, as is sometimes the case, to a still greater, or rather to a downright ab- surdity, the doctrine of abstract ideas. I mean only, that doctrine as it hath been frequently explained ; for if any one is pleased to call that faculty by which a particular idea is regarded as representing a whole order, by the name abstraction, I have no objection to the term; nay more, I think it sufficiently expressive of the sense: whilst certain qualities of the individual remain unnoticed, and are therefore abstracted from, those qualities only which it hath in common with the order engross the mind's attention. But this is not what those writers seem to mean, who philosophise upon ab- stract ideas, as is evident from their own explications. The patrons of this theory maintain, or at least express them- selves as if they maintained, that the mind is endowed with a power of forming ideas, or images, within itself, that are possessed not only of incongruous, but of inconsistent qualities, of a triangle, for example, that is of all possible dimensions and proportions, both in sides and angles, at once rig'ht-angled, acute-angled, and obtuse- angled, equilateral, equicrural, and scalenum. One would have thought, that the bare mention of this hypothesis would have been equivalent to a confutation of it, since it really confutes itself. Yet in this manner one no less respectable in the philosophic world than Mr. Locke, has, on some occasions, expressed himself*. I consider the difference, however, on this article, between him and the two authors above mentioned, as more apparent than real, or (which amounts to the same thing) more in words than in senti- ments. It is indeed scarcely possible, that men of discernment should think differently on a subject so perfectly subjected to every one's own consciousness and experience. What has betrayed the * Essay on Human Understanding, B. ii, C. xi. Sect. 10, 11. B. iv. C. vii. Sect. p. Clutp. VII. OF RHETORIC. 287 former into such unguarded and improper expressions, is plainly an undue, and till then, unprecedented, use of the word idea, which he has employed (for the sake, I suppose, of simplifying his system,) to signify not only, as formerly, the traces of things retained in the memory, and the images formed by the fancy, but even the percep- tions of the senses on the one hand, and the conceptions of the in- tellect on the other, " it being that term which," in his opinion, " serves best to stand for whatsoever is the object of the understand- " ing, when a mau thinks*." Accordingly he nowhere, that I re- member, defines it with some logicians, * a pattern or copy of a thing ' in the mind.' Nevertheless he has not always, in speaking on the subject, attended to the different acceptation he had in the begin- ning affixed to the word; but, misled by the common definition, (which regards a more limited object), and applying it to the term in that more extensive import which he had himself given it, has fallen into those inconsistencies in language, which have been be- fore observed. Thus this great man has, in his own example, as it were, demonstrated how difficult it is even for the wisest to guard uniformly against the inconveniencies arising from the ambiguity of words. But that what I have now advanced is not spoken rashly, and that there was no material difference between his opinion and theirs on this article, is, I think, manifest from the following passage : " To return to general words, it is plain, by what has been said, " that general and universal belong not to the real existence of " things, but are the inventions and creatures of the understand- " ing, made by it for its own use, and concern only signs, whe- " ther words or ideas. Words are general, as has been said, " when used for signs of general ideas, and so are applicable " indifferently to many particular things; and ideas are gene- " ral, when they are set up as the representatives of many parti- " cular things: but universality belongs not to things themselves, " which are all of them particular in their existence; even " those words and ideas which in their signification are general. " When, therefore, we quit particulars, the generals that rest are " only creatures of our own making; their general nature being " nothing but the capacity they are put into by the understanding " of signifying- or representing many particulars. For the signi- " fication they have, is nothing but a relation that by the mind of '* man is added to themf." Nothing, in my apprehension, can be more exactly coincident with Berkeley's doctrine of abstraction. Here not only words, but ideas are made signs; and a particular * Essay on Human Understanding.B. 1. C. i. Sect. 8. f B III. C. iii. Sect. 1 1 . 288 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. idea is made general, not by any change produced in it (for then it would be no longer the same idea), but " by being set up as the re- " presentative of many particular things." Universality, he ob- serves, as it belongs not to things, belongs not even to " those words " and ideas, which are all of them particular in their existence, but " general in their signification." Again, the general nature of those ideas, is "nothing but the capacity they are put into by the under- standing of signifying or representing many particulars;" and if possible, still more explicitly, " the signification they have is nothing " but a relation;" no alteration on their essence, "that by the " mind of man is added to them." Some of the greatest admirers of that eminent philosopher seem to have overlooked entirely the preceding account of his sentiments on this subject, and through I know not what passion for the pa- radoxical (I should rather say, the impossible and unintelligible) have shewn an amazing zeal for defending ,the propriety of the hasty expressions, which appear in the passages formerly referred to. Has not the mind of man, say they, an unlimited power in moulding and combining its ideas? The mind, it must be owned, hath an unlimited power in moulding and combining its ideas. It often produceth wonderful forms of its own, out of the materials originally supplied by sense; forms indeed of which there is no exemplar to be found in nature, centaurs, and griffins, Gorgons, and hydras, and chimeras dire. But still it must not attempt absolute impossibilities, by giving to its creature contradictory qualities. It must not attempt to con- ceive the same thing to be black and white at the same time, to be no more than three inches long, and yet no less than three thousand ; to conceive two or more lines to be both equal and unequal, the same angle to be at once acute, obtuse, and right. These philoso- phers sagely remark, as a consequence of their doctrine, that the mind must be extremely slow in attaining so wonderful a talent; whereas, on the contrary, nothing can be more evident than that the power of abstracting, as I have explained it, is, to a certain de- gree, and must be, as early as the use of speech, and is consequent- ly discoverable even in infants. But if such an extraordinary faculty, as they speak of, were pos- sible, I cannot, for my part, conceive what purpose it could serve. An idea hath been defined by some logicians, the form or resemblance of a thing in the mind, and the whole of its power and use in think- ing is supposed to arise from an exact conformity to its archetype. What then is the use or power of that idea, to which there neither is nor can be any archetype in nature, which is merely a creature CJtap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 289 of the brain, a monster that bears not the likeness of any thing in the universe. In the extensive sense in which Locke, who is considered as the most strenuous supporter of that doctrine, uses the word Idea, even the perceptions of the senses, as I had occasion lately to re- mark, are included under that term. And if so, it is uncontrover- tible, that a particular idea often serves as the sign of a whole class. Thus in every one of Euclid's theorems, a particular triangle, and a particular parallelogram, and a particular circle, are employed as signs to denote all triangles, all parallelograms, and all circles. When a geometrician makes a diagram with chalk upon a board, and from it demonstrates some property of a straight lined figure, no spectator ever imagines, that he is demonstrating a property of nothing else but that individual white figure of five inches long which is before him. Every one is satisfied that he is demonstrat- ing a property of all that order, whether more or less extensive, of which it is both an example and a sign; all the order being- under- stood to agree with it in certain characters, however different in other respects. Nay, what is more, the mind with the utmost faci- lity extends or contracts the representative power of the sign, as the particular occasion requires. Thus the same equilateral trian- gle will, with equal propriety, serve for the demonstration not only of a property of all equilateral triangles, but of a property of all isosceles triangles, or even of a property of all triangles whatever. Nay, so perfectly is this matter understood, that if the demonstra- tor in any part should recur to some property, as to the length of a side, belonging to the particular figure he hath constructed, but not essential to the kind mentioned in the proposition, and which the particular figure is solely intended to represent, every intelli- gent observer would instantly detect the fallacy. So entirely for all the purposes of science doth a particular serve for a whole spe- cies or genus. Now, why one visible individual, or, in the style of the above-mentioned author, why a particular idea of sight should, in our reasonings, serve, without the smallest inconvenience, as a sign for an infinite number, and yet one conceivable individual, or a particular idea of imagination, should not be adapted to answer the same end, it will, I imagine, be utterly impossible to say. There is, however, a considerable difference in kind between such signs as these, and the words of a language. Amongst all the individuals of a species, or even of the most extensive genus, there is still a natural connection, as they agree in the specific or generic character. But the connection that subsisteth between words and things is in its origin arbitrary. Yet the difference in the ef- u 290 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II feet is not so considerable as one \vould be apt to imagine. In neither case is it the matter, if I may be allowed the expression, but the power of the sign that is regarded by the mind. We find that even in demon- strative reasonings, signs of the latter kind, or mere symbols, may be user 1 ! with as much clearness and success as can be conferred by natui-al signs. The operations both of the algebraist and of the arithmetician are strictly of the nature of demonstration. The one employs as signs the letters of the alphabet, the other certain nu- merical characters. In neither of these arts is it necessary to form ideas of the quantities and sums signified ; in some instances it is even impossible, yet the equations and calculations resulting thence are not the less accurate and convincing. So much for the nature and power of artificial signs. Perhaps I have said too much on this subject; for, on a review of what I have written, I am even apprehensive, lest some readers imagine, that after quoting examples of the unintelligible from others, I have thought fit to produce a very ample specimen of my own. Every subject, it is certain, is not equally susceptible of perspicuity; but there is a material difference bet\vcen an obscuri- ty which ariseth purely from the nature of the subject, and that which is chargeable upon the style. Whatever regards the analy- sis of the operations of the mind, which is quicker than lightning in all her energies, must in a great measure be abstruse and dark. Let then the dissatisfied reader deign to bestow on the foregoing observations a second perusal ; and though after that he should be as much at a loss as before, the case may not be without remedy. Let him not therefore be discouraged from proceeding: there is still a possibility that the application of the principles, which I have been attempting to develop, will reflect some light on them : and if not, it is but a few minutes thrown away; for I do not often en- ter on such profound researches. SECTION II. The Application of 'the preceding Principles. Now, to apply this doctrine to the use for which it was introduced, let us consider how we can account by it for these phenomena that a man of sense should sometimes write nonsense, and not know it; and that a man of sense should sometimes read nonsense, and ima- gine he understands it. In the preceding quotation from the Treatise on Human Nature, the author observes, that " notwithstanding that we do not annex dis- " tinct and complete ideas to every term we make use of, we may avoid talking nonsense, and may perceive any repugnance among Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 291 " the ideas, as well as if we had a full comprehension of them." This remark generally holds. Thus in matters that are perfectly familiar, and are level to an ordinary capacity, in simple narration, or in moral observations on the occurrences of life, a man of com- mon understanding- may be deceived by specious falsehood, but is hardly to be gulled by downright nonsense. Almost all the possi- ble applications of the terms, (in other words, all the acquired rela- tions of the signs), have become customary to him. The conse- quence is, that an unusual application of any term is instantly de- tected ; this detection breeds doubt, and this doubt occasions an immediate recourse to ideas. The recourse of the mind, when in any degree puzzled with the signs, to the knowledge it has of the thing signified, is natural, and on such plain subjects per- fectly easy. And of this recourse the discovery of the meaning, or of the unmeaningness of what is said, is the immediate effect. But in matters that are by no means familiar, or are treated in an uncommon manner, and in such as are of an abstruse and intricate nature, the case is widely different. There are particularly three sorts of writing wherein we are liable to be imposed on by words without meaning. The first is, where there is an exuberance of metaphor. No- thing- is more certain than that this trope, when temperately and appositely used, serves to add light to the expression, and ener- gy to the sentiment. On the contrary, when vaguely and intem- perately used, nothing can serve more effectually to cloud the sense, where there is sense, and by consequence to conceal the defect, where there is no sense to show. And this is the case, not only where there is in the same sentence a mixture of discordant meta- phors, but also where the metaphoric style is too long continued, and too far pursued *. The reason is obvious. In common speech the words are the immediate signs of the thought. But it is not so here; for when a person, instead of adopting metaphors that come naturally and opportunely in his way, rummages the whole world in quest of them, and piles them one upon another, when he cannot so properly be said to use metaphor, as to talk in metaphor, or ra- ther when from metaphor he runs into allegory, and thence into enig- ma, his words are not the immediate signs of his thought ; they are at best but the signs of the signs of his thought. His writing may then be called what Spenser not unjustly styled his Fairy ^ Queen, * Ut modicus autem atque opportunustranslationis ususillustratorationem: ita frequcns et obscurat et taediocomplet; continuus vero in allegoriam ft senigmata exit. QUINT, lib. viii. c. 6. u * 292 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 1L " a perpetual allegory or dark conceit." Most readers will account it much to bestow a transient glance on the literal sense, which lies nearest; but will never think of that meaning more remote, which the figures themselves are intended to signify. It is no wonder then that this sense, for the discovery of which it is necessary to see through a double veil, should, where it is, more readily escape our observation, and that where it is wanting we should not so quickly miss it. There is, in respect of the two meanings, considerable variety to be found in the tropical style. In just allegory and similitude there is always a propriety, or, if you choose to call it, congruity, in the literal sense, as well as a distinct meaning or sentiment sug- gested, which is called the figurative sense. Examples of this are unnecessary. Again, where the figurative sense is unexception- able, there is sometimes an incongruity in the expression of the li- teral sense. This is always the case in mixed metaphor, a thing riot unfrequent even in good writers. Thus, when Addison remarks that " there is not a single view of human nature, which is not suf- " ficient to extinguish the seeds of pride," he expresses a true sentiment somewhat incongruously; for the terms extinguish and seeds here metaphorically used, do not suit each other. In like manner, there is something incongruous in the mixture of tropes employed in the following- passage from Lord Bolingbroke: " No- " thing less than the hearts of his people will content a patriot " prince, nor will he think his throne established, till it is establish- " ed there." Yet the thought is excellent. But in neither of these examples does the incongruity of the expression hurt the per- spicuity of the sentence. Sometimes, indeed, the literal meaning- involves a direct absurdity. When this is the case, as in the quo- tation from the principles of painting given in the preceding chap- ter, it is natural for the reader to suppose that there must be some- thing- under it; for it is not easy to say how absurdly even just sentiments will sometimes be expressed. But when no such hid- den sense can be discovered, what, in the first view, conveyed to our minds a glaring absurdity, is rightly on reflection denominated nonsense. We are satisfied that De Piles neither thought, nor wanted his readers to think, that Rubens was really the original performer, and God the copier. This then was not his meaning. But what he actually thought, and wanted them to think, it is im- possible to elicit from his words. His \vords then may justly be termed bold, in respect of their literal import, but unmeaning in respect of the author's intention. It may be proper here to observe, that some are apt to confound Chap.VII. OF RHETORIC. 293 the terms absurdity and nonsense as synonymous, which they ma- nifestly are not. An absurdity, in the strictest acceptation, is a pro- position either intuitively or demonstratively false. Of this kind are these: ' Three and two make seven.' ' All the angles of a triangle * are greater than two right angles.' That the former is false we know by intuition; that the latter is so, we are able to demonstrate. But the term is further extended to denote a notorious falsehood. If one should affirm, that ' at the vernal equinox the sun rises in ' the north, and sets in the south,' we should not hesitate to say, that he advances an absurdity; but still what he affirms has a meaning-; insomuch, that-on hearing the sentence we pronounce its falsity. Now nonsense is that whereof we cannot say either that it is true, or that it is false. Thus, when the Teutonic theosopher enounces, that " all the voices of the celestial joyfulness, qualify, " commix, and harmonize in the fire which was from eternity in " the good quality." I should think it equally impertinent to aver the falsity as the truth of this enunciation. For, though the words grammatically form a sentence, they exhibit to the understanding no judgment, and consequently admit neither assent nor dissent. In the former instances I say, the meaning, or what they affirm, is absurd; in the last instance I say, there is no meaning, and there- fore properly nothing is affirmed. In popular language, 1 own, the terms absurdity and nonsense are not so accurately distinguished. Absurd positions are sometimes called nonsensical. It is not com- mon, on the other hand, to say of downright nonsense, that it com- prises an absurdity. Further, in the literal sense there may be nothing unsuitable, and yet the reader may be at a loss to find a figurative meaning, to which his expressions can with justice be applied. Writers im- moderately attached to the florid, or highly figured diction, are often misled by a desire of flourishing on the several attributes of a metaphor, which they have pompously ushered into the discourse, without taking' the trouble to examine whether there be any qunli- ties in the subject, to which these attributes can with justice and perspicuity be applied. In one of the examples of the unintelligible above cited, the au- thor having once determined to represent the human mind under the metaphor of a country, hath revolved in his thoughts the various objects which might be found in a country, but.hath never dreamt of considering whether there be any things in the mind properly analogous to these. Hence the strange parade he makes with re- gions, and recesses, hollow caverns, and private seats, wastes and wildernesses, fruitful and cultivated tracks, words which, though 294 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. they have a precise meaning as applied to country, have no definite signification as applied to mind. With equal propriety he might have introduced all the variety which Satan discovered in the king- dom of darkness, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death * ; or given us with Othello, .1 AH his travel's history, Wherein, belike, of antres vast and desarts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, 'T had been his hent to speak f. So much for the immoderate use of metaphor, which, by the way, is the principal source of all the nonsense of orators and poets. The second species of writing wherein we are liable to be im- posed on by words without meaning, is that wherein the terms most frequently occurring, denote things which are of a complicated na- ture, and to which the mind is not sufficiently familiarized. Many of those notions which are called by philosophers mixt modes, come under this denomination. Of these the instances are number- less in every tongue; such as government, church, state, consti- tution, polity, power, commerce, legislature, jurisdiction, propor- tion, symmetry, elegance. It will considerably increase the dan- ger of our being deceived by an unmeaning use of such terms, if they are besides (as very often they are) of so indeterminate, and consequently equivocal significations, that a writer, unobserved either by himself or by his reader, may slide from one sense of the term to another, till by degrees he fall into such applications of it as will make no sense at all. It deserves our notice also, that we are in much greater dang-er of terminating in this, if the different meanings of the same word have some affinity to one another, than if they have none. In the latter case, when there is no affinity, the transition from one meaning to another is taking a very wide step, and what few writers are in danger of; it is, besides, what will not so readily escape the observation of the reader. So much for the second cause of deception, which is the chief source of all the non- sense of writers on politics and criticism. The third and last, and I may add, the principal species of com- position, wherein we are exposed to this illusion by the abuse of words, is that in which the terms employed are very abstract, and consequently of very extensive signification. It is an observation that plainly ariseth from the nature and structure of language, and may be deduced as a corollary from what hath been said of the use * Paradise Lost. t Shakespeare. Chap. VII OF RHETORIC. 295 of artificial signs, that the more general any name is, as it compre- hends the more individuals under it, and consequently requires the more extensive knowledge in the mind that would rightly appre- hend it, the more it must have of indistinctness and obscurity Thus the word lion is more distinctly appreherided by the mind than the word beast, beast than animal, animal than being. But there is, in what are called abstract subjects, a still greater fund of obscurity, than that arising from the frequent mention of the most general terms. Names must be assigned to those qualities as con- sidered abstractly, which never subsist independently, or by them- selves, but which constitute the generic characters and the specific differences of things. And this leads to a manner which is in many instances remote from the common use of speech, and therefore must be of more difficult conception. The qualities thus consider- ed as in a state of separation from the subjects to which they be- long, have been not unfitly compared by a famous wit of the last century, to disembodied spirits: He could reduce all things to acts, And knew their natures and abstracts; Where entity and quiddity The ghosts of defunct bodies fly *. As the manes of the departed heroes which ^Eneas saw in the infer- nal regions, were so constituted as effectually to elude the embrace of every living wight; in like manner the abstract qualities are so subtile as often to elude the apprehension of the most attentive mind. They have, I may say, too much volatility to be arrested, were it but for a moment: The flitting shadow slips away, Like Windsor empty dreams that fly the day f DRYDEX. It is no wonder then, that a misapplication of such words, whether general or abstract, should frequently escape our notice. The more general any word is in its signification, it is th more liable to be abused by an improper or unmeaning application. A foreigner will escape discovery in a crowd, who would instantly be distin- guished in a select company. A very general term is applicable alike to a multitude of different individuals, a particular term is applicable but to a few. When the rightful applications of a word are extremely numerous, they cannot all be so strongly fixed by habit, but that, for greater security, we must perpetually recur in our minds from the sign to the notion we have of the thing * Hudibras, B. i. c. I. | .Ter comprensa manus effugit imago, Par levibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno. ,NEIS, 1. vi, 296 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. signified; and for the reason afore-mentioned, it is in such in- stances difficult precisely to ascertain this notion. Thus the la- titude of a word, though different from its ambiguity, hath often a similar effect. Further, it is a certain fact, that when we are much accustomed to particular terms, we can scarcely avoid fancying that we un- derstand them, whether they have a meaning or not. The reason of this apprehension might easily be deduced from what hath been already said of the nature of signs. Let it suffice at present to ob- serve the fact. Now, on ordinary subjects, if we adopt such a wrong opinion, we may easily be undeceived. The reason is, that on such subjects the recourse from the sign to the thing' signified is easy. For the opposite reason, if we are in such an error on ab- stract subjects, it is next to impossible that ever we should be un- deceived. Hence it is, if without offence I may be indulged the observation, that in some popular systems of religion, the zeal of the people is principally exerted in support of certain favorite phrases, and a kind of technical and idiomatical dialect to which their ears have been long enured, and which they consequently ima- gine they understand, but in which often there is nothing- to be understood. From such causes it hath arisen, that ever since the earliest days of philosophy, abstract subjects have been the principal province of altercation and logomachy; to the support of which, how far the artificial dialectic of the schoolmen, nay, the analytics and the metaphysics, the categories and the topics of the justly admired Stagyrite have contributed, we have considered already*. Indeed, at length disputation in the schools came to be so much a mechani- cal exercise, that if once a man had learned his logic, and had thereby come to understand the use of his weapons, and had gotten the knack of wielding them, he was qualified, without any other kind of knowledge, to defend any position whatsoever, how con- tradictory soever to common sense, and to the clearest discoveries of reason and experience. This art, it must be owned, observed a wonderful impartiality in regard to truth and error, or rather the most absolute indifference to both. If it was oftener employed in defence of error, that is not to be wondered at; for the way of truth is one, the ways of error are infinite. One qualified in the manner above mentioned could as successfully dispute on a subject of which he was totally ignorant, as on one with which he was per- fectly acquainted. Success indeed tended then no more to decide * Book I. Chap. vi. Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 297 the question, than a man's killing his antagonist in a duel serves now to satisfy any person of sense, that the victor had right on his side, and that the vanquished was in the wrong. Such an art as this could at bottom be no other than a mere playing with words, used indeed grammatically, and according to certain rules esta- blished in the schools, but quite insignificant, and therefore incapa- ble of conveying knowledge : Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy. This logic, between two and three centuries ago, received a con- siderable improvement from one Raimund Lully, a native of Ma- jorca, who, by the ingenious contrivance of a few concentric moveable circles ; on the borders of some of which were inscribed the subjects, of others the predicaments, and of others the forms of questions; he not only superseded the little in point of inven- tion which the scholastic logic had till then required, but much ac- celerated the operations of the artist. All was done by manual labor. All the circles, except the outmost, which was iminove- able, were turned upon the common centre, one after another. In this manner the disposition of subjects, predicaments, and questions, was perpetually varied. All the proper questions on every subject were suggested, and pertinent answers supplied. In the same way did the working of the engine discover and apply the several topics of argument that might be used in support of any ques- tion. v On this rare device, one Athanasius Kircher made great im- provements in the last century. He boasted that by means of a coffer of arts, divided into a number of small receptacles, entirely of his own contriving, a thousand prodigies might be performed, which either could not be effected at all by Lully's magical circles, or at least not so expeditiously. Nothing can more fully prove, that the fruit of all such contri- vances was mere words without knowledge, an empty show of science without the reality, than the ostentatious and absurd way in which the inventors and their votaries talk of these inventions. They would have us believe, that in these is contained a complete encyclopedia, that here we may discover all the arts and sciences as in their source, that hence all of them may be deduced a priori, as from their principles. Accordingly they treat all those as no better than quacks and empirics who have recourse to so homely a tutoress as experience. The consideration of their pretensions hath indeed satisfied me, that the ridicule thrown on projectors of this kind, in the ac- count given by Swift* of a professor in the academy of Lagado, is * Gulliver's Travels, Part iii. 298 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. not excessive, as I once thought it. The boasts of the academist on the prodigies performed by his frame, are far less extravagant than those of the above-mentioned artists, which in truth they very much resemble *. ' * At what an amazing pitch of perfection doth Knittelius, a great admirer both of Lully and of Kircher, suppose that the adepts in this literary handicraft may arrive. The assiduous and careful practice will at length, according to him, fully instruct us, " Quomodo de quacunque re proposita statim libruni concipere, " et in capita dividere, de quacunque re ex tempore disserere, argumentari, de " quocunque themate orationern formare, orationem mentalem per horain, dies " et septimanas protrahere, rem quamcunque describere, per apologos et fabulas " proponere, emblemata ethieroglyphicainveuire, de quacunque re historias ex- " pedite scribere, adversaria de quacunque re facere, de quacunque materia con- " silia dare, omnes argutias ad unain regulam reducere, assumptum thema in " iufinitum multiplicare, ex falso rem demonstrare, quidlibet per quidlibet pro- " bare, possimus." Quirinus Kuhlmannus, another philosopher of the last cen- tury, in a letter to Kircher hath said with much good sense, concerning his coffer, " Lusus est ingeniosus, ingeniose Kirchere, non methodus, prima fronte aliquid " promittens, in recessu nihil solvens. Sine cista enim puer nihil potest respon- " dere, et in cista nihil praeter verba habet; tot profert quot audit, sine intel- " lectu, ad iustar psittaci; et de illo jure dicitur quod Lacon de philomela, " Vox est, prcetereaque nihil." Could any body imagine, that one who thought so justly of Kircher's device, was himself the author of another of the same kind. He had, it seems, contrived a scientific machine, that moved by wheels, with the conception of which he pretended to have been inspired by Heaven, but unfortunately he did not live to publish it. His only view therefore, in the words above quoted, was to depreciate Kircher's engine, that he might the more effectually recommend his own. " Multa passim," says Morhoff concerning him (Polyhistor. vol. I. lib. ii. cap. 6.) " de rotis suis combinatoriis jactat, quibus or- " dinatis unus homo millies mille, imo millies millies mille scribas viucat; qui " tamen primarius rotarum scopus non est, sed grandior longe restat : nempe " notitia providentiae aeternae, orbisque terraTiun motus." And again, " Nee " ullus hominum tarn insulso judicio prseditus est, qui hac insritutione libros ** doctos, novos, utiles, oinni rerum seientia plenos, levissima opera edere non " potest." How much more modest is the professor of Lagado: " He flatters " himself, indeed, that a more noble, exalted thought than his never sprang in " any other man's head," but doth not lay claim to inspiration. " Every one " knows," he adds, " how laborious the usual method is of attaining to arts and " sciences: whereas, by his contrivance, the most ignorant person, at a reason- " able charge, and with a little bodily labour, may write books in philosophy, " poetry, politics, law, mathematics, and theology," (no mention of history) " without the least assistance from genius and study." He is still modest enough to require time, and some corporeal exercise, in order to the composing of a treatise; but those artists propose to bring a proficient "sfafc'mlibrum concipere," instantly, " levissima opera," with little or no pains. I shall conclude with laying before the reader, the opinion of Lord Verulam, concerning the Lullian art, an opinion that may with equal justice be applied to the devices of all Lully's followers and imitators. " Neque tamen illud praetennittendum, quod nonnulli Chap. VIII. OF RHETORIC. 299 So much for the third and last cause of illusion that was taken notice of, arising 1 from the abuse of very general and abstract terms, which is the principal source of all the nonsense that hath been vented by metaphysicians, mystagogues, and theologians. CHAP. VIII. THE EXTENSIVE USEFULNESS OF PERSPICUITY. SECTION I. When is Obscurity apposite, if ever it be apposite, and what kind? HAVING fully considered the nature of perspicuity, and the various ways in which the laws relating to it may be transgressed, I shall now inquire, whether to be able to transgress with dexterity in any of those ways, by speaking obscurely, ambiguously, or unintel- ligibly, be not as essential to the perfection of eloquence, as to be able to speak perspicuously. Eloquence, it may be said,, hath been defined to be, that art or talent whereby the discourse is adapted to produce the effect which the speaker intends it should produce in the hearer*. May not then obscurity, on some occasions, be as conducive to the effect intended, as perspicuity is on other occasions? If the latter is necessary in order to inform, is not the former necessary in order to deceive? If perspicuity be expedient in convincing us of truth, and persuading us to do right, is not its contrary, obscurity, expedient in effecting the contrary ; that is, in convinc- ing us of what is false, and in persuading us to do wrong? And may not either of these effects be the aim of the speaker? " viri magis tumidi quam docti iusudarunt circa methodum quandnm, legithme " method! uomine hand dignani, cum potius sit methodus imposture, qua tanien " quibusdam ardeliouibus acceptissima procul dubio fuerit. Haec methodus ita " scientiae alicujus guttulas aspergit,.ut quissciolus specie nonnulla eruditiouis ad " ostentatiouem possit abuti. Talis fuit ars Lullii, talis typocosmia a nonuullis " exarata; quae nihil aliud fuerunt, quam vocabulorum artis cujusque massa et " acervus; ad hoc, ut qui voces artis habeant in promptu, etium artes ipsas per- " didicisse existimentur. Hujus generis collectanea officinam referunt veteramen- " tariaro, ubi praesegmina multa reperiuntur, sed nihil quod alicujus sit pretii." De Augm. Scien. lib vi.cap. 2. I shall only observe, that when lie calk this art a method of imposture, he appears to mean that it puts an imposition upon the mind, not so much by infusing error instead of troth, as by amusing us with mere words instead of useful knowledge. * Book I. Chap. i. THE PHILOSOPHY Booh II. This way of arguing is far more plausible than just. To be ob- scure, or even unintelligible, may, I acknowledge, in some cases, contribute to the design of the orator, yet it doth not follow, that obscurity is as essential to eloquence as the opposite quality. It is the design of the medical art to give health and ease to the patient, not pain and sickness ; and that the latter are sometimes the foreseen effects of the medicines employed, doth not invalidate the general truth. Whatever be the real intention of a speaker or writer, whe- ther to satisfy our reason of what is true or of what is untrue, whe- ther to incline our will to what is right or to what is wrong, still he must propose to effect his design by informing our understanding: nay more, without conveying to our minds some information, he might as well attempt to achieve his purpose by addressing us in an unknown tongue. Generally, therefore, this quality of style, perspicuity, is as requisite in seducing to evil, as in exciting to g-ood ; in defending error, as in supporting truth. I am sensible that this position must appear to many no other than a paradox. What! say they, is it not as natural to vice and falsehood to sculk in darkness, as it is to truth and virtue to appear in light? Doubtless it is in some sense, but in such a sense as is not in the least repugnant to the doctrine here advanced. That therefore we may be satisfied of the justness of this theory, it will be necessary to consider a little further the nature both of persua- sion and of conviction. With regard to the former, it is evident, that the principal scope for employing persuasion is, when the mind balances, or may be supposed to balance, in determining what choice to make in respect of conduct, whether to do this, or to do that, or at least whether to do, or to forbear. And it is equally evident, that the mind would never balance a moment in choosing, unless there were motives to influence it on each of the opposite sides. In favor of one side per- haps is the love of glory, in favor of the other the love of life. Now, whichever side the orator espouses, there are two things that must carefully be studied by him, as was observed on a former occasion * ; the first is, to excite in his hearers that desire or passion which fa- vors his design; the second is, to satisfy their judgments, that there is a connection between the conduct to which he would persuade them, and the gratification of the desire or passion which he excites. The first is effected by communicating natural and lively ideas of the object; the second by arguments from experience, analogy, tes- timony, or the plurality of chances. To the communication of na- * Book I. Chap. vii. Sect. iv. See the analysis of persuasion. Chap. VIII. OF RHETORIC. 301 tural and vivid ideas, the pathetic circumstances formerly enume- rated*, are particularly conducive Now to the efficacious dis- play of those circumstances, nothing can be more unfriendly than obscurity, whose direct tendency is to confound our ideas, or rather to blot them altogether. And as to the second requisite, the argu- mentative part, that can never require obscurity, which doth not require even a deviation from truth. It may be as true, and there- fore as demonstrable, that my acting in one way will promote my safety, or what I regard as my interest, as that my acting in the con- trary way will raise my fame. And even when an orator is under a necessity of replying to what hath been advanced by an antago- nist, in order to weaken the impression he hath made, or to lull the passion he hath roused, it is not often that he is obliged to avail him- self of any false or sophistical reasoning, which alone can render obscurity useful. Commonly, on the contrary, he hath only to avail himself of an artful exhibition of every circumstance of the case, that can any way contribute to invalidate or to subvert his adver- sary's plea, and consequently to support his own. Now it is a cer- tain fact, that in almost all complicated cases, real circumstances will be found in favor of each side of the question. Whatever side therefore the orator supports, it is his business, in the first place, to select those circumstances that are favorable to his own plea, or which excite the passion that is directly instrumental in promoting his end; secondly, to select those circumstances that are unfavorable to the plea of his antagonist, and to add to all these such clearness and energy by his eloquence, as will effectually fix the attention of the hearers upon them, and thereby withdraw their regards from those circumstances, equally real, which favor the other side. In short, it is the business of the two antagonists to give different or even opposite directions to the attention of the hearers; but then it is alike the interest of each to set those particular circumstances, to which he would attract their notice, in as clear a light as possi- ble. And it is only by acting thus, that he can hope to effectuate his purpose. Perhaps it will be urged, that though, where the end is persua- sion, there doth not seem to be an absolute necessity for sophistry and obscurity on either side, as there is not on either side an abso- lute necessity for supporting falsehood ; the case is certainly differ- ent when the end is to convince the understanding. In this case, whatever is spoken on one side of the question, as it is spoken in support of error, must be sophistical ; and sophistry seems to re- t Book 1. Chap. vii. Sect. v. The explication and use of those circumstances. 302 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II, quire a portion of obscurity, to serve her as a veil, that she may escape discovery. Even here, however, the case is not so plain, as at first it may be thought. Sophistry (which hath sometimes been successfully used in support of truth) is not always necessary for the support of error. Error may be supported, and hath been often strenuously supported, by very cogent arguments and just rea- soning. But as this position will probably appear to many very extraor- dinary, if not irrational, it will be necessary to examine the matter more minutely. It is true, indeed, that in subjects susceptible of demonstrative proof, error cannot be defended but by sophistry ; and sophistry, to prevent detection, must shelter herself in obscuri- ty. This results from the nature of scientific evidence, as formerly explained*. This kind of evidence is solely conversant about the invariable relations of number and extension, which relations it evolves by a simple chain of axioms. An assertion, therefore, that is contrary to truth in these matters, is also absurd and inconceiv- able ; nor is there any scope here for contrariety of proofs. Ac- cordingly, debate and argumentation have no footing here. The case is far otherwise with moral evidence, which is of a complex nature, which admits degrees, which is almost always combated by opposite proofs, and these, though perhaps lower in degree, as truly of the nature of proof and evidence, as those whereby they are op- posed. The probability, on the whole, as was shown alreadyf, lies in the proportion which the contrary proofs, upon comparison, bear to one another ; a proportion which, in complicated cases, it is often difficult, and sometimes even impossible, to ascertain. The speakers, therefore, on the opposite sides have each real evidence to insist on ; and there is here the same scope as in persuasory dis- courses, for all the arts that can both rivet the hearer's attention on the circumstances of the proof favorable to the speaker's design, and divert his attention from the contrary circumstances. Nor is there, in ordinary cases, that is, in all cases really dubious and dis- putable, any necessity, on either side, for what is properly called sophistry. The natural place for sophistry is, when a speaker finds himself obliged to attempt the refutation of arguments that are both clear and convincing. For an answerer to overlook such arguments alto- gether might be dangerous, and to treat them in such a manner as to elude their force, requires the most exquisite address. A rittle sophistry here will, no doubt, be thought necessary, by one with * Book I. Chap. v. Sect. ii. t Book I. Chap. v. Sect. ii. Cluip. VIII. OF RHETORIC. 303 whom victory hath more charms than truth; and sophistry, as was hinted above, always implies obscurity ; for that a sophism should be mistaken for an argument, can be imputed only to this, that it is not rightly understood. As from what hath been said, we may learn to distinguish the few cases wherein a violation of the laws of perspicuity may be perti- nent to the purpose of the orator, I shall next inquire what kind of violation is in such cases best fitted for answering his design. It is evident it cannot be the first, which for distinction's sake was de- nominated by the general name obscurity. When a hearer not only doth not understand, but is himself sensible that he doth not un- derstand what is spoken, it can produce no effect on him, but weari- ness, suspicion, and disgust, which must be prejudicial to the in- tention. Although it is not always necessary, that every thing ad- vanced by the speaker should convey information to the hearer, it is necessary that he should believe himself informed by what is said, ere he can be convinced or persuaded by it. For the like rea- son, it is not the second kind of transgression, or any discoverable ambiguity in what is spoken, that is adapted to the end of speak- ing. This fault, if discovered, though not of so bad consequence as the former, tends to distract the attention of the hearer, and there- by to weaken the impression which the words would otherwise have made. It remains, that it is only the third and last kind above discussed, when what is said, though in itself unintelligible, a hearer may be led to imagine that he understands. When ambi- guities can artfully be made to elude discovery, and to conduce to this deception, they may be used with success*. Now, though nothing would seem to be easier than this kind of style, when an author falls into it naturally, that is, when he deceives himself as well as his reader; nothing is more difficult when attempted of design. It is besides requisite, if this manner must be continued for any time, that it be artfully blended with some glimpses of meaning ; else, to persons of discernment, the charm will at last be dissolved, and the nothingness of what hath been spoken will be detected; nay, even the attention of the unsuspecting multitude, when not relieved by any thing that is level to their comprehen- sion, will infallibly flag. The invocation in the Dunciad admirably suits the orator who is unhappily reduced to the necessity of taking shelter in the unintelligible : Of darkness visible so much be lent, As half to show, half veil the deep intent. * That they are often successful this way hath been justly remarked byAris- toile, T PljT. y. 304 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh IT. There is but one subject in nature (if what is unintelligible can be called a subject) on which the appetite of nonsense is utterly in- satiable. The intelligent reader needs not be informed that I mean what is commonly termed mystical theology; a subject whose sup- posed sublimity serves with its votaries to apologize for its dark- ness. That here indeed there may be found readers who can, not only with patience but with avidity, not only through pages but through volumes, lose themselves in wandering 1 over a maze of words unenlightened by a single ray of sense, the translation of the works of Jacob Behmen, and our modern Hutchinsonian perfor- mances, are lamentable proofs. But this case is particular. After all, we are not to imagine, that the sophistical and un- meaning, when it may in some sense be said to be proper, or even necessary, are, in respect of the ascendant gained over the mind of the hearer, ever capable of rivaling conclusive arguments perspi- cuously expressed. The effect of the former is at most only to confound the judgment, and by the confusion it produceth, to silence contradiction; the effect of the latter is, fully to convince the un- derstanding. The impression made by the first can no more be compared in distinctness and vivacity to that effected by the second, than the dreams of a person asleep to his perceptions when awake. Hence we may perceive an eminent disadvantage, which the advo- cate for error, when compelled to recur to words without meaning, must labor under. The weapons he is obliged to use are of such a nature, that there is much greater difficulty in managing them, than in managing those that must be employed in the cause of truth ; and when managed ever so dexterously, they cannot do equal execution. A still greater disadvantage the patron of the cause of injustice or of vice must grapple with. For though he may find real motives to urge in defence of his plea, as wealth perhaps, or ease, or pleasure, he hath to encounter or elude the moral senti- ments, which, of all motives whatever, take the strongest hold of the heart. And if he find himself under a necessity of attempting to prove that virtue and right are on his side, he hath his \vay to grope through a labyrinth of sophistry and nonsense. , So much for the legitimate use of the unintelligible in oratory. SECTION II. Objections answered. BUT are there not some subjects, and even some kinds of compo- sition, which from their very nature demand a dash of obscurity? Doth not decency often require this? Doth not delicacy require this? And is not this even essential to the allegoric style, and to Chap. VIII. OF RHETORIC. 305 the enigmatic ? As to the manner which decency sometimes re- quires, it will be found on examination to stand opposed more pro- perly to vivacity than to perspicuity of style, and will therefore fall to be considered afterwards. I shall now, therefore, examine, in the first place, in what respect delicacy may be said to demand obscurity. Thus much indeed is evident, that delicacy often requires that certain sentiments be ra- ther insinuated than expressed in other words, that they be not directly spoken, but that sufficient ground be given to infer them from what is spoken. Such sentiments are, though improperly, considered as obscurely expressed, for this special reason, that it is not by the first operation of the intellect, an apprehension of the meaning of what is said, but by a second operation, a reflection on what is implied or presupposed, that they are discovered; in which double operation of the mind, there is a faint resemblance to what happens in the case of real obscurity. But in the case of which I am treating, it is the thought more than the expression that serves for a veil to the sentiment suggested. If, therefore, in such in- stances there may be said to be obscurity, it is an obscurity which is totally distinct from obscurity of language. That this matter may be better understood, we must carefully distinguish between the thought expressed, and the thought hint- ed. The latter may be affirmed to be obscure, because it is not ex- pressed, but hinted ; whereas the former, with which alone perspi- cuity of style is concerned, must always be expressed with clear- ness, otherwise the sentiment will never be considered as either beautiful or delicate*. I shall illustrate this by examples. No subject requires to be treated more delicately than praise, especially when it is given to a person present. Flattery is so nau- seous to a liberal spirit, that even when praise is merited, it is dis- agreeable, at least to unconcerned hearers, if it appear in a garb which adulation commonly assumes. For this reason, an encomium or compliment never succeeds so well as when it is indirect. It then appears to escape the speaker unawares, at a time that he seems to have no intention to commend. Of this kind the following story will serve as an example : " A gentleman, who had an einploy- This will serve to explain what Bouhours, a celebrated French critic, and a great advocate for perspicuity, hath advanced on this subject, " Souvenez-vous " que rien n'est plus oppose a la veritable delicatesse que d'exprimer trop les " choses, et que le grand art consiste a ne pas tout dire sur certains sujets; a " glisser dessus plutot que d*y appuyer ; en un mot, & en laisser penser aux " autresplus que Ton n'eu dit." Maniere de bien penser, &c. 306 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. " ment bestowed on him, without so much as being known to his " benefactor, waited upon the great man who -was so generous, " and was beginning to say, he was infinitely obliged Not at all, " says the patron, turning from him to another : Had I known a " more deserving man in England, he should not have had it*." Here the apparent intention of the minister was only to excuse the person, on whom the favor had been conferred, the trouble of mak- ing an acknowledgment, by assuring him that it had not been given from personal attachment or partiality. But whilst he ap- pears intending' only to say this, he says what implies the greatest praise, and, as it were, accidentally betrays the high opinion he en- tertained of the other's merit. If he had said directly, ' You are ' the most deserving man that I know in England,' the answer, though implying no more than what he did say, would have been not only indelicate but intolerable. On so slight a turn in the ex- pression it frequently depends, whether the same sentiment shall appear delicate or gross, complimental or affronting. Sometimes praise is very successfully and very delicately con- veyed tinder an appearance of chagrin. This constitutes the merit of that celebrated thought of Boileau : " To imagine in such a war- " like age, which abounds in Achilleses, that we can write verses " as easily as they take townsf !" The poet seems only venting his complaints against the unreasonable expectations of some per- sons, and at the same time discovers, as by chance, the highest ad- miration of his monarch and the heroes who served him, by sug- gesting the incredible rapidity of the success with which their arms were crowned. Sometimes also commendation will be couched with great deli- cacy under an air of reproach. An example of this I shall give from the paper lately quoted : " My lord, said the Duke of " B m, after his libertine way, to the Earl of O y, you " will certainly be damned. How, my lord, said the earl, with " some warmth. Nay, replied the duke, there 's no help for it, for " it is positively said, Cursed is he of whom all men speak well *." A still stronger example in this way we have from the Drapier, who, speaking to Lord Molesworth of the seditious expressions of which he had himself been accused, says, " I have witnesses ready " to depose, that your Lordship hath said and writ fifty times worse, * Tatler, No. 17- t Et dans ce terns guerricr et fecond en Achilles Croit que Ton faitles vers, comnie Ton prend les villes. Chap. VIII. OF RHETORIC. 307 " and what is still an aggravation, with infinitely more wit ami " learning-, and stronger arguments: So that as politics run, I do " not know a person of more exceptionable principles than your- " self: And if ever I shall be discovered, I think you will be bound " in honor to pay my fine and support ine in prison, or else I may " chance to inform against you by way of reprisal*." I shall produce one other instance from the same hand, of an in- direct, but successful manner of praising, by seeming to invert the course of the obligation, and to represent the person obliging as the person obliged. Swift, in a letter to the Archbishop of Dublin, speaking of Mr. Harley, then Lord High Treasurer, afterwards Earl of Oxford, by whose means the Irish clergy had obtained from the queen, the grant of the first fruits and tenths, says, " I told him, " that for my part, I thought he was obliged to the clergy of Ire- " land, for giving him an occasion of gratifying the pleasure he " took in doing good to the church f." It may be observed, that delicacy requires indirectness of man- ner no less in censure than in praise. If the one, when open and direct, is liable to be branded with the name of flattery, the other is no less exposed to the opprobrious appellation of abuse, both alike, though in different ways, offensive to persons of taste and breeding. I shall give, from tne work last quoted, a specimen (I cannot say of great delicacy) in stigmatizing, but at least of such an indirect manner as is sufficient to screen the author from the imputation of downright rudeness. " I hear you are like to be " the sole opposer of the bank; and you will certainly miscarry, " because it would prove a most perfidious thing. Bankrupts are " always for setting up banks ; how then can you think a bank " will fail of a majority in both houses J?" It must be owned that the veil here is extremely thin, too thin to be altogether decent, and serves only to save from the imputation of scurrility a very se- vere reproach. It is the manner which constitutes one principal distinction between the libeller and the satirist. 1 shall give one instance more of this kind from another work of the same author. " To smooth the way for the return of popery in Queen Mary's " time, the grantees were confirmed by the pope in the possession " of the abby-lands. But the bishop tells us, that this confirma- " tion was fraudulent and invalid. I shall believe it to be so, al- " though I happen to read it in his lordship's history ." Thus * Drapier's Let. 5. t Swift's Let. 10. J Ibid. 40. Preface to the Bishop of Sarum's Introduction to the 3d volume of his History of the Reformation. THE PHILOSOPHY Book II- he insinuates, or signifies by implication, that his lordship's his- tory is full of lies. Now, from all the specimens 1 have exhibit- ed, it will, I suppose, sufficiently appear to any person of common understanding, that the obscurity required by delicacy, either in blaming or in commending, is totally distinct in kind from obscu- rity of expression, with which none of the examples above quoted is in the smallest degree chargeable. The illustrations I have given on this topic will contribute in some measure to explain the obscurity that is requisite in allego- ries, apologues, parables, and enigmas. In all these sorts of com- position, there are two senses plainly intended, the literal and the figurative: the language is solely the sign of the literal sense, and the literal sense is the sign of the figurative. Perspicuity in the style, which exhibits only the literal sense, is so far from being to be dispensed with here, that it is even more requisite in this kind of composition than in any other. Accordingly, you will perhaps no- where find more perfect models both of simplicity and of perspi- cuity of style, than in the parables of the gospel. Indeed, in every sort of composition of a figurative character, more attention is al- ways and justly considered as due to this circumstance, than in any other sort of writing, ^sop's fables are a noted example of this remark. In further confirmation of it, we may observe that no pieces are commonly translated with greater ease and exactness, than the allegorical ; and that even by those who apprehend no- thing of the mystical sense. This sure could never be the case, if the obscurity were chargeable on the language. The same thing holds here as in painting emblems, or graving devices. It may, without any fault in the painter or engraver, puzzle you to discover what the visible figure of the sun, for ex- ample, which you observe in the emblem or the device, was in- tended to signify; but if you are at a loss to know whether it be the figure of the sun or the figure of the moon, that you are look- ing at, he must have undoubtedly been a bungling artist. The body, therefore, if I may so express myself, of the emblem, or of the device, and precisely for the same reason, of the riddle or of the allegory, must be distinctly exhibited so as scarcely to leave room for a possibility of mistake. The exercise that in any of these performances is given to ingenuity, ought wholly to consist in read- ing the soul. I know no style to which darkness of a certain sort is more suit- ed than to the prophetical. Many reasons might be assigned which render it improper that prophesy should be perfectly understood Chap. VIII. OF RHETORIC. 309 before it be accomplished. Besides, we are certain, that a predic- tion may be very dark before the accomplishment, and yet so plain afterwards, as scarcely to admit a doubt in regard to the events sug'gested. It does not belong to critics to give laws to prophets, nor does it fall within the confines of any human art, to lay down rules for a species of composition so far above art. Thus far, how- ever, we may warrantably observe, that when the prophetic style is imitated in poetry, the piece ought, as much as possible, to possess the character above mentioned. This character, in my "opinion, is possessed in a very eminent degree by Mr. Gray's ode called The Bard. It is all darkness to one who knows nothing- of the English history, posterior to the reign of Edward the first, and all light to one who is well acquainted with that history. But this is a kind of writing whose peculiarities can scarcely be considered as ex- ceptions from ordinary rules. But further, may not a little obscurity be sometimes very suitable in dramatic composition? Sometimes indeed, but very seldom; else the purpose of the exhibition would be lost. The drama is a sort of moral painting, and characters must be painted as they are. A blunderer cannot properly be introduced conversing with all the perspicuity and precision of a critic, no more than a clown can be justly represented expressing himself in the polished style of a courtier. In like manner, when the mind is in confusion and perplexity, 'arising from the sudden conflict of violent passions, the language will of necessity partake of the perturbation. Incoherent hints, precipitate sallies, vehement exclamations, interrupted per- haps by feeble checks from religion or philosophy; in short, every thing imperfect, abrupt, and desultory, are the natural expressions of a soul overwhelmed in such a tumult. But even here it may be said with truth, that to one skilled in reading nature, there will arise alight out of the darkness, which will enable him to penetrate farther into the spirit, than he could have done by the help of the most just, most perspicuous, and most elaborate description. This might be illustrated, were it necessary, but a case so singular is hardly called an exception. The dramatist then can but rarely claim to be indulged in obscurity of language, the fabulist never. CHAP. IX. MAY THERE NOT BE AN EXCESS OF PERSPICUITY? [ SHALL conclude this subject with inquiring whether it be possible that perspicuity should be carried to exces*. It hath been said, THE PHILOSOPHY Souk II. that too much of it has a tendency to cloy the reader, and, as it gives no play to the rational and active powers of the mind, will soon grow irksome through excess of facility. In this manner some able critics have expressed themselves on this point, who will be found not to differ in sentiment, but only in expression from the principles above laid down. The objection ariseth manifestly from the confounding- of two objects, the common and the clear, and thence very naturally their contraries, the new and the dark, that are widely different. If you entertain your readers solely or chiefly with thoughts that are either trite or obvious, you cannot fail soon to tire him. You introduce few or no new sentiments into his mind, you give him little or no information, and consequently afford neither exercise to his reason, nor entertainment to his fancy. In what we read, and what we hear, we always seek for something in one respect or other new, which we did not know, or at least attend to before. The less we find of this, the sooner we are tired. Such a trifling minuteness, therefore, in narration, description, or argument, as an ordinary ap- prehension would render superfluous, is apt quickly to disgust us. The reason is, not because any thing is said too perspicuously, but because many things are said which ought not to be said at all. Nay, if those very things had been expressed obscurely, (and the most obvious things may be expressed obscurely), the fault would have been much greater; because it would have required a good deal of attention to discover what, after we had discovered it, we should perceive not to be of sufficient value for requiting our pains. To an author of this kind we should be apt to apply the character which Bassanio in the play gives of Gratiano's conversation : " He " speaks an infinite deal of nothing. His reasons are as two grains 44 of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere 44 you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth 44 the search*." It is therefore futility in the thought, and not perspicuity in the language, which is the fault of such perfor- mances. There is as little hazard that a piece shall be faulty in this respect, as that a mirror shall be too faithful in reflecting the images of objects, or that the glasses of a telescope shall be too transparent. At the same time, it is not to be dissembled that, with inattentive readers, a pretty numerous class, darkness frequently passes for depth. To be perspicuous, on the contrary, and to be superficial, are regarded by them as synonymous. But it is not surely to their absurd notions that our language ought to be adapted. * Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. . OF RHETORIC. 311 It is proper, however, before I dismiss this subject, to observe, that every kind of style doth not admit an equal degree of perspi- cuity. In the ode, for instance, it is difficult, sometimes perhaps impossible, to reconcile the utmost perspicuity with that force and vivacity which the species of composition requires. But even in this case, though we may justly say, that the genius of the per- formance renders obscurity to a certain degree excusable, nothing can ever constitute it an excellence. Nay, it may still be affirm- ed with truth, that the more a writer can reconcile this quality of perspicuity with that which is the distinguishing excellence of the species of composition, his success will be the greater. PHILOSOPHY OF RHETORIC. BOOK III. THE DISCRIMINATING PROPERTIES OF ELOCUTION. CHAP. I. Of Vivacity us depending on the Choice of Words. HAVING discussed the subject of perspicuity, by which the dis- course is fitted to inform the understanding, I come now to those qualities of style by which it is adapted to please the imagination, and consequently to awake and fix the attention. These I have already denominated vivacity and elegance, which correspond to the two sources, whence, as was observed in the beginning of this inquiry *, the merit of an address to the fancy immediately results. By vivacity of expression, resemblance is attained, as far as lan- guage can contribute to the attainment; by elegance, dignity of manner. I begin with vivacity, whose nature (though perhaps the word is rarely used in a signification so extensive) will be best understood by considering the several principles from which it arises. There are three things in style on which its vivacity depends, the choice of words, their number, and their arrangement. The first thing then that comes to be examined, is the words cho- sen. Words are either proper terms or rhetorical tropes: and whe- ther the one or the other, they may be regarded not only as signs, but as sounds: and consequently as capable, in certain cases, of bearing in some degree a natural resemblance or affinity to the things signified. These three articles, therefore, proper terms, rhetorical tropes, and the relation which the sound may be made to bear to the sense, I shall, on the first topic, the choice of words, consider severally, as far as concerns the subject of vivacity. * Book I. Chap. i. 314 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. SECTION I. Proper Terms. 1 BEGIN with proper terms, and observe that the quality of chief importance in these for producing the end proposed, is their speci- ality. Nothing can contribute more to enliven the expression, than that all the words employed be as particular and determinate in their signification, as will suit with the nature and the scope of the discourse. The more general the terms are, the picture is the fainter; the more special they are, it is the brighter. The same sentiments may be expressed with equal justness, and even perspi- cuity* in the former way, as in the latter; but as the coloring will in that case be more languid, it cannot give equal pleasure to the fancy, and by consequence will not contribute so much either to fix the attention, or to impress the memory. I shall illustrate this doctrine by some examples. In the song of Moses, occasioned by the miraculous passage of the Israelites through the Red Sea, the inspired poet, speaking of the Egyptians, says, " They sank as lead in the mighty waters*." Make but a small alteration on the expression, and say, 'They fell ' as metal in the mighty waters;' and the difference in the effect will be quite astonishing. Yet the sentiment will be equally just, and in either way the meaning of the author can hardly be mistaken. Nor is there another alteration made upon the sentence, but that the terms are rendered more comprehensive or generical. To this alone, therefore, the difference of the effect must be ascribed. To sink is as it were the species, as it implies only " falling or moving " downwards in a liquid element;" to fall answers to the genus f; in like manner, lead is the species, metal is the genus. " Consider," says our Lord, " the lilies how they grow: they toil " not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his " glory, was not arrayed like one of these. If then God so clothe " the grass which to-day is in the field, and to-morrow is cast into * Exod. xv. 10. 1 1 am sensible that genus and species are not usually, and perhaps cauuot be so properly applied to verbs; yet there is in the reference which the meanings of two verbs sometimes bear to each other, what nearly resembles this relation. It is only when to fall means to move downwards, as a brick from a chimney- top, or a pear from the tree, that it may be denominated a genus in respect of the verb to sink. Sometimes, indeed, the former denotes merely a sudden change of posture from erect to prostrate, as when a man who stands upon the ground, i* said to fall, though he remain still on the ground. In this way we speak of the fall of a tower, of a house, or of a wall. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 315 " the oven, how much more will he clothe you*?" Let us here adopt a little of the tasteless manner of modern paraphrasts, by the substitution of more general terms, one of their many expedients of infrigidating, and let us observe the effect produced by this change. ' Consider the flowers, how they gradually increase in * their size, they do no manner of work, and yet I declare to you, * that no king whatever, in his most splendid habit, is dressed up ' like them. If then God in his providence doth so adorn the * vegetable productions, which continue but a little time on the * land, and are afterwards put into the fire, how much more will ' he provide clothing for you?' How spiritless is the same senti- ment rendered by these small variations? The very particularising of to-day and to-morrow, is infinitely more expressive of transito- riness, than any .description wherein the terms are general, that can be substituted in its room. Yet to a cold annotator, a man of mere intellection without fancy, the latter exhibition of the sentiment would appear the more em- phatical of the two. Nor would he want some show of reason for this preference. As a specimen, therefore, of a certain mode of criticising, not rarely to be met with, in which there is I know not what semblance of judgment without one particle of taste, I shall suppose a critic of this stamp entering on the comparison of the preceding quotation and the paraphrase. * In the one,' he would argue, * the beauty of only one sort of flowers is exalted above the * effects of human industry, in the other the beauty of the whole ' kind. In the former one individual monarch is said not to have * equalled them in splendor, in the latter it is affirmed that no mo- * narch whatever can equal them.' However specious this way of reasoning may be, we are certain that it is not solid, because it doth not correspond with the principles of our nature. Indeed what was explained above f, in regard to abstraction, and the particu- larity of our ideas, properly so called, may serve in a great mea- sure to account for the effect which speciality hath upon the ima- gination. Philosophy, which strictly considered addresseth only the understanding, and is conversant about abstract truth, abounds in general terms, because these alone are adequate to the subject treated. On the contrary, when the address is made by eloquence to the fancy, which requires a lively exhibition of the object pre- sented to it, those terms must be culled that are as particular as possible, because it is solely by these that the object can be depicted. And even the most rigid philosopher, if he choose that his disqui- * Luke xii. 27 and '28. t Book II. Chap. vii. Sect. 1. 316 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. sitions be not only understood but relished, (and without being relished they are understood to little purpose), will not disdain sometimes to apply to the imagination of his disciples, mixing the pleasant with the useful. This is one way of sacrificing to the Graces. But I proceed to give examples in such of the different parts of speech as are most susceptible of this beauty. The first shall be in the verbs. It seem'd as there the British Neptune stood, With all his hosts of waters at command; Beneath them to submit the officious flood ; And with his trident shov'd them off the sand *. The words submit and shov'd are particularly expressive of the action here ascribed to Neptune. The former of these verbs, sub- mit, may indeed be called a latinism in the signification it hath in this passage. But such idioms, though improper in prose, are sometimes not ungraceful in the poetic dialect. If in the last line instead of shov'd the poet had used the word raised, which, though not equivalent, would have conveyed much the same mean- ing, the expression had been fainter f. The next example shall be in adjectives and participles. The kiss snatch'd hasty from the sidelong maid, On purpose guardless J. Here both the words sidelong and snatch'd are very significant, and contribute much to the vivacity of the expression. Taken or ta'en substituted for the latter, would be much weaker. It may be remarked, that it is principally in those parts of speech which re- gard life and action that this species of energ-y takes place. I shall give one in nouns from Milton, who says concerning Satan, when he had gotten into the garden of Eden, Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life Sat like a cormorant . If for cormorant he had said bird of prey, which would have equally suited both the meaning and the measure, the image would still have been good, but weaker than it is by this specification. In adjectives the same author hath given an excellent example, in describing the attitude in which Satan was discovered by Ithuriel * Dryden's Year of Wonders. fin this instance Dryden hath even improved on the original he imitated; which is not often the case cither of translators or of imitators. Virgil says simply, " Levat ipse tridenti." t Thompson's Winter. Paradise Lost, B. iv, Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 317 and his company, when that malign spirit was employed in infusing pernicious thoughts into the mind of our first mother, Him there they found Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve *. No word in the language could have so happily expressed the pos- ture, as that which the poet hath chosen. It will be easy from the same principles to illustrate a remark of the Stagyrite, on the epithet rosy-fingered, which Homer hath given to the morning. This, says the critic, is better than if he had said purple-fingered, and far better than if he had said red-fingered f. Aristotle hath observed the effect solely in respect of beauty, but the remark holds equally true of these epithets in respect of viva- city. This in a great measure may be deduced from what hath been said already. Of all the above adjectives the last is the most vague and general, and therefore the worst; the second is better, because more special, purple being one species comprehended under red ; the first is the best, because the most particular, pointing to that single tint of purple which is to be found in the rose. I acknow- ledge, at the same time, that this metaphorical epithet hath an ex- cellence totally distinct from its vivacity. This I denominate its eleg-ance. The object whence the metaphor is taken is a grateful object. It at once gratifies two of the senses, the nose by its fra- grance, and the eye by its beauty. But of this quality I shall have occasion to treat afterwards. I proceed at present in producing examples to confirm the the- ory advanced. And to show how much even an adverb that is very particular in its signification, may contribute to vivacity, I shall again have recourse to the Paradise Lost. Some say, he bid his angels tum askance, The poles of earth twice ten degrees and more, From the sun's axle If the poet, instead of saying askance, had said aside, which proper- ly enough might have been said, the expression would have lost much of its energy. This adverb is of too general signification, and might have been used with equal propriety, if the plane of the ecliptic had been made perpendicular to that of the equator; where- as the word askance, in that case, could not have been employed, it denoting just such an obliquity hi the inclination of these two planes as actually obtains. We have an example of the same kind in the description which Thomson gives us of the sun newly risen. * Paradise Lost, Book iv. t Arist. Rhet. L. 3. AixQcfii S' t'nriit, olox po$o$dx.rv\os w< />iXXo 318 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. Lo! now apparent all, Aslant the dew-bright earth, and color'dair, He looks in boundless majesty abroad *. Further, it will sometimes have a considerable effect in enliven- ing the imagery, not only to particularise, but even to individuate the object presented to the mind. This conduct Dr. Blair, in his very ingenious Dissertation on the poems of Ossian, observes to have been generally followed by his favorite bard. His similitudes bring to our view " the mist on the hill of Cromla," " the storm on the sea of Malmor," and " the reeds of the lake of Lego." The same vi- vacious manner is often to be found in holy writ, " swift as a roe or as a fawn upon mount Betherf," " white as the snow in Salmon J," " fragrant as the smell of Lebanon ." And in the passage lately quo- ted from the gospel, the introduction of the name of Solomon hath an admirable effect in invigorating the sentiment, not only as it points out an individual, but one of great fame in that country among- the people whom our Saviour addressed; one besides, who was univer- sally esteemed the wisest, the richest, and the most magnificent prince that ever reigned over Israel. Now this is a consideration which was particularly apposite to the design of the speaker. It may indeed be imagined, that this manner can enliven the thought only to those who are acquainted with the individuals mentioned; but, on mature reflection, we may easily discover this to be a mistake. Not only do we, as it were, participate by sym- pathy in the known vivid perceptions of the speaker or the writer; but the very notion we form of an individual thing known or unknown, from its being conceived as an individual, or as one thing, is of a more fixed nature than that we form of a species, which is conceived to be equally applicable to several things, resembling indeed in some respects, though unlike in others: and for the same reason, the notion we have of a species is of a more steady nature than that we form of a genus, because this last is applicable to a still greater number of objects, amongst which the difference is greater and the resemblance less. I mean riot however to assert, that the method of individuating the object ought always to be preferred by the poet or the orator. If it have its advantages, it hath its disadvantages also; and must be used sparingly by those who choose that their writings should be more extensively known than in their own neighbourhood. __ Proper names are not in the same respect essential to the language as appellatives. And even among the former, there is a difference * Slimmer. f Cant. ii. 17. \ Psal. Ixviii. 14. Hosea, xiv. 6. lhap. I. OF RHETORIC. 319 Between the names known to fame, and the names of persons or hings comparatively obscure. The last kind of names will ever ippear as strangers to the greater part of readers, even to those vho are masters of the language. Sounds to which the ear is not iccustomed, have a certain uncouthness in them, that renders them, vhen occurring frequently, fatiguing and disagreeable. But that icvertheless, when pertinently introduced, when neither the ear is ired by their frequency, nor the memory burdened by their num- jer, they have a considerable effect in point of vivacity, is undeni- ible. This holds especially when, from the nature of the subject, the ntroduction of them may be expected. Every one is sensible, for nstance, that the most humorous or engaging story loseth egregi- msly, when the relater cannot or will not name the persons concem- ;d in it. No doubt the naming of them has the greatest effect >n those who are acquainted with them either personally or by cha- acter; but it hath some effect even on those who never heard of hem before. It must be an extraordinary tale indeed which we ?an bear for any time to hear; if the narrator proceeds in this lan- guid train, ' A certain person who shall be nameless, on a certain occasion, said so and so, to which a certain other person in the company, who likewise shall be nameless, made answer.' Nay, ;o dull doth a narrative commonly appear wherein anonymous indi- viduals only are concerned, that we choose to give feigned names o the persons rather than none at all. Nor is this device solely ne- essary for precluding the ambiguity of the pronouns, and saving he tediousness of circumlocution ; for where neither ambiguity nor Mrcumlocution would be the consequence, as where one man and >ne woman are all the interlocutors, this expedient is nevertheless >f great utility. Do but call them any thing, the man suppose The- xlosius, and the woman Constantia*, and by the illusion which the rery appearance of names, though we know them to be fictitious, >perates on the fancy, we shall conceive ourselves to be better ac- quainted with the actors, and enter with more spirit into the detail )f their adventures, than it will be possible for us to do, if you al- vays speak of them in the indefinite, the general, and therefore the * The choice however is not quite arbitrary even in fictitious names. It is ilways injudicious to employ a name which, from its customary application, may ntroduce an idea unsuitable to the character it is affixed to. This error I think Lord Bolingbroke chargeable with in assigning the name Damon to his philo- ophical antagonist (Let. to M. de Pouilly). Though we read of a Pythagorean philosopher so called, yet in this country we are so much accustomed to meet ith this name in pastorals and amorous songs, that it is impossible not to asso- ciate with it the notion of some plaintive shepherd or love-sick swain. 320 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III imaffecting style of the gentleman and the lady, or he and she. This manner, besides, hath an air of concealment, and is ever reminding us, that they are people we know nothing about. It ariseth from the same principle that whatever tends to subject the thing spoken of to the notice of our senses, especially of our eyes, greatly enlivens the expression. In this way the demonstra- tive pronouns are often of considerable use. " I have coveted," says Paul to the elders of Ephesus, " no man's silver, or gold, or ap- " parel; yea, ye yourselves know that these hands have minis- " tered to my necessities, and to them that were with me*." Had he said, ' my hands,' the sentence would have lost nothing either in meaning* or in perspicuity, but very much in vivacity. The dif- ference to hearers is obvious, as the former expression must have been accompanied with the emphatic action of holding up his hands to their view. To readers it is equally real, who in such a case in- stantaneously enter into the sentiments of hearers. In like manner, the English words yon and yonder are more emphatical, because more demonstrative, than the pronoun that, and the adverb there. The two last do not necessarily imply that the object is in sight, which is implied in the two first. Accordingly, in these words of Milton, For proof look up, And read thy fate in yon celestial sign f the expression is more vivid than if it had been ' that celestial sign.' " Sit yet here," saith our Lord, " whilst I go and pray yonder J." The adverb there would not have been near so expressive . Though we cannot say properly that pronouns or adverbs, either of place or of time, are susceptible of genera and species, yet we can say (which amounts to the same as to the effect), that some are more and some less limited in signification. To the above remarks and examples on the subject of speciality, I shall only add, that in composition, particularly of the descriptive kind, it invariably succeeds best for brightening the image, to ad- vance from general expressions to more special, and thence again to more particular. This, in the language of philosophy, is de- scending. We descend to particulars: but in the language of ora- tory it is ascending. A very beautiful climax will sometimes be constituted in this manner, the reverse will often have all the effect * Acts xx. 33, 34. f Paradise Lost. J Matt. xxvi. 36. Le Clerc thus renders the original into French, " Asseyez-vous ici, pendant " que je m'en irai prier la." At the same time sensible how weakly the mean- ing is expressed by the adverb la, he subjoins in a note, " Dans un lieu qu'il leur montroit du doit." The English version needs no such supplement. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 321 of an anticlimax. For an example of this order in description, take the following passage from the Song of Solomon; " My beloved " spake and said to me, Arise, my love, my fair, and come away: " for lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers " appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and " the voice of the turtle is heard in our land, the fig-tree putteth forth " her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape perfume the " air. Arise, my love, my fair, and come away *." The poet here, with admirable address, begins with mere negatives, observing the absense of every evil which might discourage his bride from bark- ening to his importunate request; then he proceeds by a fine gra- dation to paint the most inviting circumstances that could serve to ensure the compliance of the fair. The first expression is the most general : " The winter is past." The next is more special, point- ing to one considerable and very disagreeable attendant upon win- ter, the rain: " The rain is over and gone." Thence he advanceth to the positive indications of the spring, as appearing in the effects produced upon the plants which clothe the fields, and on the wing- ed inhabitants of the grove: "The flowers appear on the earth, " and the time of the singing of birds is come." But as though this were still too general, from mentioning birds and plants, he proceeds to specify the turtle, perhaps considered as the emblem of love and constancy; the fig-tree and the vine, as the earnest of friendship and festive joy; selecting that particular with regard to each, which most strongly marks the presence of the all-reviving spring: " The voice of the turtle is heard in our land, the fig-tree " putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape " perfume the air." The passage is not more remarkable for the liveliness, than for the elegance of the picture it exhibits. The exam- ples are all taken from whatever can contribute to regale the senses and awaken love. Yet, reverse the order, and the beauty is almost totally effaced. So much for that quality in proper terms which confers vivacity on the expression. SECTION II. Rhetorical Tropes. PART I. Preliminary Observations concerning Tropes. I COME now to inquire how far the judicious use of tropes is also conducive to the same end. It hath been common with rhetori- cians to rank under the article of diction, not only all the tropes, but even the greater part of the figures of eloquence, which they * Chap. ii. 10, 11, 12, 13. THE PHILOSOPHY Booh III. have uniformly considered as qualities or ornaments merely of elo- cution, and therefore as what ought to be explained among the properties of style. It is however certain, that some of them have a closer connection with the thought than with the expression, and by consequence fall not so naturally to be considered here. Thus all the kinds of comparison, as they imply a likeness in the things, and not in the symbols, belong properly to the thought. Nay, some comparisons, as was remarked above*, are not mere illustra- tions of a particular sentiment, but are also arguments from analogy ill support of it. And if thus comparison holds more directly of thought than of language, the same may doubtless be said of all those other figures, which I have already observed are but different modes of exhibiting a comparison. It must be owned, however, that metaphor, though no other in effect than comparison in epitome, hath at least as intimate a con- nection with the style as with the sentiment, and may therefore be considered under either head. That we may perceive the reason of this peculiarity, let it be observed, that there is a particular bold- ness in metaphor, which is not to be found in the same degree in any of the figures of rhetoric. Without any thing like an explicit comparison, and commonly without any warning or apology, the name of one thing is obtruded upon us for the name of another quite different, though resembling in some quality. The conse- quence of this is, that as there is always in this trope an apparent at least, if it cannot be called a real, impropriety, and some degree of obscurity, a new metaphor is rarely to be risked. And as to or- dinary metaphors, or those which have already received the public sanction, and which are commonly very numerous in every tongue, the metaphorical meaning comes to be as really ascertained by custom in the particular language, as the original, or what is call- ed the literal meaning of the word. And in this respect metaphors stand on the same foot of general use with proper terms. What hath been now observed concerning metaphor, may with very little variation be affirmed of these three other tropes, synec- doche, metonymy, and antonomasia. These are near akin to the formeiyas they also imply the substitution of one word for another, when the things signified are related. The only difference among them is, that they respect different relations. In metaphor the sole relation is resemblance ; in synecdoche, it is that which subsisteth between the species and the genus, between the part and the whole, and between the matter and the thing made from it ; in metonymy, which is the most various of the tropes, the relation is nevertheless * Book I. Chap. vii.Sect. ii. on engaging attention. Uhap. I. OF RHETORIC. 323 always reducible to one or other of these three causes, effects, or adjuncts; in antonomasia, it is nearly that of the individual to the species, or conversely. There is one trope, irony, in which the relation is contrariety. But of this I shall have occasion to speak, when I come to consider that quality of style, which hath been named animation. On a little attention it will be found to be a plain consequence of what hath been observed above, that though any simile, allegory, or prosopopeia, is capable of being translated, (and that even without losing any of its energy), from one tongue into another, a metaphor, a synecdoche or a metonymy, (for this holds more rarely of anto- nomasia) which is both significant and perspicuous in an original performance, is frequently incapable of being rendered otherwise than by a proper word. The corresponding metaphor, synecdoche, or metonymy, in another language will often be justly chargeable with obscurity and impropriety, perhaps even with absurdity. In support of this remark, let it be observed, that the noun sail in our tongue, is frequently used, and by the same trope the noun puppis in Latin, to denote a ship. Let these synecdoches of a part for the whole, which are so very similar, be translated and transposed, and you will immediately perceive, that a man could not be said to speak Latin, who in that language should call a ship velum, nor would you think that he spoke better English, who in our language should call it a poop *. These tropes therefore are of a mixed na- ture. At the same time that they bear a reference to the primitive signification, they derive from their customary application to the figurative sense, that is, in other words, from the use of the language, somewhat of the nature of proper terms. In further confirmation of this truth, it may be remarked, that of two words even in the same language, which are synonymous, or nearly so, one will be used figuratively to denote an object, which it would be unsufferable to employ the other to denote, though natu- rally as fit for suggesting it. It hath been said, that an excellent vein * This doctrine might be illustrated by innumerable examples, if it were ne- cessary. For an instance take that expression of Cicero, (Pro Legario) " Cujus " latus ille mucro petebat?" Here we have a synecdoche in the word mucro, and a metaphor in the v, ord petebat, neither of which can be suitably rendered into English. "Whose side did that point seek?" is a literal version, but quite intolerable. " Whom did you mean to assail with that sword?" Here the sense is exhibited, but as neither trope is rendered, much of the energy is lost. In like manner in the phrase " Vario Marte pugnatum est," " They fought with various " success;" there is a metonymy in the word Marte, which no translator into any modern language, who hath common sense, would attempt to transplant into his version. See Traite des Tropes, par M. du Marsias, Art vii. iv. 324 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. ' of satire runs through the whole of Gulliver's Travels? Substitute here artery in the room of vein, and you will render the sentence absolutely ridiculous. The two words beast and brute, are often metaphorically applied to human creatures, but not in the same sig- nification. The former denotes either a blockhead or a voluptuary of the grossest kind ; the latter one in the highest degree unman- nerly and ferocious. Accordingly we speak of beastly ignorance; we say, 'gluttony is a beastly vice;' but we should say, 'his beha- ' viour to those unhappy people was quite brutal.' The word bru- tish, however, though derived from the same root, is employed like beastly, to denote stupid or ignorant. Thus to say of any man, ' He ' acted brutishly,' and to say, ' he acted brutally,' are two very dif- ferent things. The first implies, he acted stupidly; the second, he acted cruelly and rudely. If we recur to the nature of the things themselves, it will be impossible to assign a satisfactory reason for these differences of application. The usage of the language is therefore the only reason. It is very remarkable that the usages in different languages are in this respect not only different, but even sometimes contrary; in- somuch that the same trope will suggest opposite ideas in different tongues. No sort of metonymy is commoner amongst every peo- ple than that by which some parts of the body have been substitu- ted to denote certain powers or affections of the mind, with which they are supposed to be connected. But as the opinions of one nation differ on this article from those of another, the figurative sense in one tongue will by no means direct us to the figurative sense in another. The same may be said of different ages. A com- mentator on Persius has this curious remark, " Naturalists affirm, " that men laugh with the spleen, rage with the gall, love with the " liver, understand with the heart, and boast with the lungs*." A modern may say with Sganarelle in the comedy, " It was so former - " ly but we have changed all thatf:" for so unlike are our notions, that the spleen is accounted the seat of melancholy and ill-humor. The word is accordingly often used to denote that temper; so that * Cornutus on these words of the 6rst satire, Sum petulanti splene cachinno. " Physici dicunl homines splene ridere, felle irasci, jecore amare, corde sapere, " et pulmone jactari." In the ancient piece called the Testaments of the twelve patriarchs, supposed to be the work of a Christian of the first century, we find these words in the testament of Nephtali, for illustrating that God made all things good, adapting each to its proper use, Kf o/ tis fgorncriv, wag tzgos 3ti//.o, %p- Xi TOf or w, nQgus tls natvagytau. Grab. Spicil. patrum, 1. Sec. T.I. Ed. 2. p. 212. f " Cela etoit autrefois ainsi; mais nous avons change tout cela." Le inede- :iu malgre lui. Moliere. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 325 with us a splenetic man, and a laughing merry fellow, form two characters that are perfect contrasts to each other. The heart we consider as the seat not of the understanding, but of the affections and of courage. Formerly indeed we seem to have regarded the liver as the seat of courage; hence the term milk-livered for cow- ardly*. One plain consequence of the doctrine on this head which I have been endeavouring to elucidate, is, that in every nation where from time to time there is an increase of knowledge, and an improvement in the arts, or where there often appear new works of genius in phi- losophy, history, or poetry, there will be in many words a transi- tion more or less gradual, as that improvement is more or less ra- pid, from their being the figurative to their being the proper signs of certain ideas, and sometimes from their being the figurative signs of one, to their being the figurative signs of another idea. And this, by the way, discloseth to us one of the many sources of muta- tion to be found in every tongue. This transition will perhaps more frequently happen in metaphor than in other tropes, inasmuch as the relation of resemblance is generally less striking, and therefore more ready to be overlooked, than those relations on which the others are founded. Yet that they too will sometimes be affected by it, we have no reason to question. That in those metonymies in particular, of which some instances have been given, wherein the connection may be justly accounted more imaginary than real, such changes in the application should arise, might naturally be expected. The transition from the figurative to the proper, in re- gard to such terms as are in daily use, is indeed inevitable. The word vessel in English hath doubtless been at first introduced by a synecdoche to signify a ship, the genus for the species, but is now become by use as much a proper term in this signification, as the word ship itself. .With regard to metaphor, it is certain, that in all languages * Front these things we may observe by the way, how unsafe it is in translating, especially from au ancient language into a modern, to reckon that because the pro- per sense in two words of the different languages corresponds, the metaphorical sense of the same words will correspond also. In this last respect the words, as we have seen, may nevertheless be very different in sigui6cation, or even opposite. I t hink, in particular, that many translators of the Bible have been betrayed into blun- ders, through not sufficiently adverting to this circumstance. For instance, nothing at first appears to be a juster, as well as a more literal version of the Greek *Kaf$w than the English hard-hearted. Yet I suspect, that the true meaning *f the former term, both in the Septuagint and in the New Testament, is not cruel, is the English word imports, but indocile, intractable. The general remark night be illustrated by numberless exampks, but this is not the place. 326 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. there are many words which at first had one sense only, and after- wards acquired another by metaphorical application, of which words both senses are now become so current, that it would be difficult for any but an etymologist, to determine which is the original and which the metaphorical. Of this kind in the English tongue are the substantives, conception, apprehension, expression ; the first of these, conception, when it notes an action of the mind, and when the beginning of pregnancy in a female, is alike supported by use; the second and third terms, apprehension for seizure, and expres- sion for squeezing out, are now rather uncommon. Yet these are doubtless the primitive significations. It may be further remarked, that in some words the metaphori- cal sense hath justled out the original sense altogether, so that in respect of it they are become obsolete. Of this kind in our tongue, are the verbs to train, to curb, to edify, to enhance, the primitive significations whereof were, to draw, to bend, to build, to lift. And if one should now speak of the acuteuess of a razor, or of the ar- dor of a fire, we could not say that to a linguist he would speak unintelligibly, but by every man of sense he would be thought to express himself both pedantically and improperly. The word ru- minate, though good in the metaphorical sense, to denote musing on a subject, would scarcely be admitted, except in poetry, in the literal sense, for chewing the cud. Thus it happens with languages as with countries ; strangers received at first through charity, often in time grow strong enough to dispossess the natives. Now in regard to all the words which fall under the two last re- marks, whatever they were formerly, or in whatever light they may be considered by the grammarian and the lexicographer, they can- not be considered as genuine metaphors by the rhetorician. I have already assigned the reason. They have nothing of the effect of metaphor upon the hearer. On the contrary, like proper terms, they sug-gest directly to his mind, without the intervention of any image, the ideas which the speaker proposed to convey by them. From all that hath been said, it evidently follows, that those me- taphors which hold mostly of the thought, that is, those to which the ear hath not been too much familiarized, have most of the pe- culiar vivacity resulting from this trope; the invariable effect of very frequent use being to convert the metaphorical into a proper meaning. A metaphor hath undoubtedly the strongest effect, when it is first ushered into the language; but by reason of its peculiar boldness, this, as was hinted already, is rarely to be hazarded. I may say, it ought never to be hazarded, unless when both the perspicuity is secured to an ordinary understanding by the con- Chap. 1. OF RHETORIC. 327 nection, and the resemblance suggested is very striking. A new metaphor (and the same holds, though in a lower degree, of every trope) is never regarded with indifference. If it be not a beauty, it is a blemish. Besides, the more a language advanceth in rich- ness and precision, and the more a spirit of criticism prevails among those who speak it, the more delicate the people become in this respect, and the more averse to the admission of new metaphors. It is even proper it should be so, there not being the same plea of necessity in such languages, as in those that are but poorly sup- plied with words. Hence it is that in modern times, the privilege of coining these tropes is almost confined to poets and orators; and as to the latter, they can hardly ever be said to have this in- dulg*ence, unless when they are wrought up to a kind of enthusiasm by their subject. Hence also have arisen those qualifying phrases . in discourse, which, though so common in Greek and Latin, as well as in modern languages, are rarely, if ever, to be met with either in the rudest or in the most ancient tongues. These are, so to speak, if I may thus express myself, and the like. I cannot help remarking, before I conclude this article of the origin of tropes, and of the changes they undergo, through the gra- dual operation of custom, that critics ought to show more reserve and modesty than they commonly do, in pronouncing either on the fitness or on the beauty of such as occur sometimes in ancient au- thors. For first, it ought to be observed, (as may be collected from what has been shown above), that the less enlightened a na- tion is, their language will of necessity the more abound in tropes, and the people will be the less shy of admitting those which have but a remote connection with the things they are employed to de- note. Ag*ain, it ought to be considered that many words, which must appear as tropical to a learner of a distant age, who acquires the language by the help of grammars and dictionaries, may, through the imperceptible influence of use, have totally lost that appearance to the natives, who considered them purely as proper terms. A stranger will be apt to mistake a grammatical for a rhetorical trope, or even an accidental homonymy for a farfetched figure. Lastly, it ought to be remembered, how much the whole of this matter is every where under the dominion of caprice, and how little the figu- rative part of the language of any people, is susceptible of a literal translation, that will be accounted tolerable, into the language of any other. If these things were properly attended to, I imagine we should, on these subjects, be more diffident of our own judg- ment, and consequently less captious and decisive. So much for the nature of tropes in general, and those universal THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. principles on which in every tongue their efficacy depends; and so much for the distinction naturally consequent on those principles into grammatical tropes and tropes rhetorical. PART II. The different sort ft of Tropes conducive to Vivacity. I NOW consider severally the particular ways wherein rhetorical tropes may be rendered subservient to vivacity. 1. The less for the more general. The first way I shall men- tion is, when, by means of the trope, a species is aptly represented by an individual, or a genus by a species. I begin with this, be- cause it comes nearest that speciality in the use of proper terms, from which, as was evinced already, their vivacity chiefly results. Of the individual for the species I shall give an example from our celebrated satirist Mr Pope: May some choice patron bless each grey goose quill! May every Bavius have his Bufo still * ! Here, by a beautiful antonomasia, Bavius, a proper name, is made to represent one whole class of men; Bufo, also a proper name, (it matters not whether real or fictitious), is made to represent another class. By the former is meant every bad poet, by the latter every rich fool who gives his patronag-e to such. As what precedes in the Essay secures the perspicuity, (and in introducing tropes of this kind, especially new ones, it is necessary that the perspicuity be thus secured) it was impossible in another manner to express the sentiment with equal vivacity. There is also a sort of antonomasia to which use hath long ago given her sanction, and which therefore needs not be introduced with much precaution. Such is the following application of famous names; a Solomon for a wise man, a Cresus for a rich man, a Judas for a traitor, a Demosthenes for an orator, and a Homer for a poet. Nor do these want a share of vivacity, when apposite and properly managed That kind of synecdoche by which the species is put for the ge- nus, is used but sparingly in our language. Examples however occur sometimes, as when an assassin is termed a cut-throat, or a fic- tion a lie, as in these words of Dryden, The cock and the fox the fool and knave imply, The truth is moral, tho' the tale a lie. In like manner, slaughter, especially in battle, is by poets sometimes denominated murder; and legal prosecution, persecution. Often in these instances the word may justly be said to be used without a figure. * Prologue to the Satires. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 329 It may however, in general, be affirmed of all those terms, that they are more vivid and forcible, for this single reason, because they are more special. There is one species of the onomatopeia, which very much resem- bles the antonomasia just now taken notice of. It is when a verb is formed from a proper name, in order to express some particular action, for which the person to whom the name belonged was re- markable. An example of this we have in the instructions which Hamlet gave the players who were to act his piece before the king and the queen. He mentioned his having seen some actors who in their way out-heroded Herod, intimating, that by the outrageous gestures they used in the representation, they over-acted even the fury and violence of that tyrant. This trope hath been admirably imitated by Swift, who says concerning Blackmore, the author of a translation of some of the psalms into English verse, Sternhold himself he out-sternholded. How languid in comparison of this would it have been to say, that in Sternhold's own manner Sir Richard outdid him. But it must be owned, that this trope, the onomatopeia, in any form whatever, hath little scope in our tongue, and is hardly admissible except in burlesque. 2. The most interesting circumstance distinguished. The se- cond way I shall take notice of, wherein the use of tropes may conduce to vivacity, is when the trope tends to fix the attention 3n that particular of the subject which is most interesting, or on which the action related, or fact referred to, immediately depends. This bears a resemblance to the former method ; for by that an in- lividual serves to exhibit a species, and a species a genus; by this a part is made to represent the whole, the abstract, as logi- cians term it, to suggest the concrete, the passion its object, the operation its subject, the instrument the agent, and the gift the giver. The tropes' which contribute in this way to invigo- ate the expression, are these two, the synecdoche and the me- tonymy. For an illustration of this in the synecdoche, let it be observed, ;hat by this trope, the word hand is sometimes used for man, es- pecially one employed in manual labor. Now in such expressions is the following, All hands employed the royal work grows warm * ; t is obvious, from the principles above explained, that the trope contributes to vivacity, and could not be with equal advantage * Dryden. 330 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. supplied by a proper term. But in such phrases as these, One * of the hands fell over-board:' 'all our hands were asleep,' it is ridiculous, as what is affirmed hath no particular relation to the part specified. The application of tropes in this undistinguishing manner, is what principally characterizes the contemptible cant of particular professions. I shall give another example. A sail with us frequently denotes a ship. Now to say, ' We descried a sail at * a distance,' hath more vivacity than to say, We descried a ' ship,' because in fact the sail is that part which is first discovered by the eye; but to say ' our sails ploughed the main,' instead of ' our ships ploughed the main, would justly be accounted non- sensical, because what is metaphorically termed ploughing the main, is the immediate action of the keel, a very different part of the vessel. To produce but one other instance, the word roof is emphatically put for house in the following quotation : Return to her? and fifty men dismiss'd? No; rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, To wage against the enmity o' th' air, Necessity's sharp pinch * The notion of a house as a shelter from the inclemencies of the sky, alluded to in these lines, directly leads the imagination to form a more vivid idea of that part of the building which is over our heads f. It was observed, that the metonymy also contributes in this way * Shakespeare's Lear. t The Latin example quoted fromTullyin a note on the first part of this Sec- tion, affords a good illustration of this doctrine. " Cujus latus ille mucro pete- " bat?" Mncro for gladius, the point for the weapon, is in this place a trope particularly apposite. From the point the danger immediately proceeds; to it therefore, in any assault, the eye both of the assailant and of the assailed, are na- turally directed; of the one that he may guide it aright, and of the other that he may avoid it. Consequently on it the imagination will fix, as on that particular which is the most interesting, because on it the event directly depends: and wherever the expression thus happily assists the fancy, by coinciding with its natural bent, the sentiment is exhibited with vivacity. We may remark by the way, that the specifying of the part aimed at, by saying Cujus latus, and not simply quern, makes the expression still more graphical. Yet latus here is no trope, else it had been Quod latus, not Cujus latus. But that we may conceive the difference between such a proper use of tropes, as is here exemplified, and such an injudicious use as noway tends to enliven the expression, let us suppose the orator had intended to say, ' he held a sword in his hand.' If instead of the proper word he had employed the synecdoche, and said ' mucronein manu tene- ' bat,' he would have spoken absurdly, and counteracted the bent of the fancy, which in this instance leads the attention to the hilt of the sword, not to the point. C/uip. L OF RHETORIC. 331 to vivacity. It doth so by substituting the instrument for the agent, by employing the abstract to represent the concrete, or by naming the passion for its object^ the gift for the giver, the opera- tion for the subject. Of the first sort, the instances are very com- mon; as when we say of a poem, that it is the production of an elegant pen, instead of an elegant writer. In the same way pencil is sometimes used for painter. It must be owned, that the triteness of such expressions considerably lessens their value, and that for a reason explained in the preceding part of this section. It is how- ever certain, that what vivacity can justly be ascribed to them, ariseth purely from the principle which hath just now been illus- trated in the synecdoche, namely, a coincidence in the expression with the bent of the imagination, both pointing to that particular with which the subject spoken of is immediately connected. Nay, so close is the relation between this species of the metonymy, and that of the synecdoche above exemplified, that the same expres- sion may sometimes be considered indifferently as belonging to either trope. Thus in the quotation brought from Dryden, " All " hands employed," it is of no consequence whether we denominate the word hands one or other, a part for the whole, or the instrument for the agent. The second species of metonymy mentioned, the abstract for the concrete, occurs much seldomer, but hath also in the same way a very good effect. Isaac Bickerstaff, in his lucubrations, acquaints us with a visit which an eminent rake and his companions made to a Protestant nunnery, erected in England by some ladies of rank. " When he entered," says the author, " upon seeing a servant com- " ing towards him, with a design to tell him, this was no place for " them, up goes my grave impudence to the maid*." Every body must perceive, that the expression would have been incomparably fainter, if he had said, * Up goes my grave impudent fellow to ' the maid.' The reason is obvious, an impudent fellow means one who, amongst other qualities, has that of impudence; whereas, by personifying the abstract, you leave no room for thinking of any other quality; the attention is entirely fixed on that to which the action related is imputable, and thus the natural tendency of the fancy is humoured by the expression. The last species of this trope Itook notice of, if that can be call- ed one species which is so various in its appearances, presenting us sometimes with the passion instead of its object, sometimes with the operation instead of its subject, and sometimes with the gift in- stead of the giver, is in very frequent use. By this trope the Al- * Tatler,lS 7 o 32. 332 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. mighty hath been styled " the terror of the oppressor, and the re- *' fuge of the oppressed ;" which, thougli the same in sense, is more emphatical than the object of terror to the oppressor, and the * giver of refuge to the oppressed.' " The Lord is my song," says Moses, " he is become my salvation*," that is, the subject of my song, the author of my salvation. Dryden makes Lord Shaftes- bury style the Duke of Monmouth The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, The young men's vision, and the old men's dreamf. Here the terms prayer, vision, dream, (for the word theme is lite- ral), are used each for its respective subject. Nothing is more na- tural or more common amongst all nations, the simplest as well as the most refined, than to substitute the passion for its object. Such tropes as these, my love, my joy, my delight, my aversion, my hor- ror, for that which excites the emotion, are to be found in every language. Holy writ abounds in them; and they are not seldom to be met with in the poems of Ossian. " The sigh of her secret " soul," is a fine metonymy of this kind to express the youth for whom she sighs in secret. As the vivacity of the expression in such quotations needs no illustration to persons of taste ; that the cause of this vivacity ariseth from the coincidence of the expression with the bent of the imagination, fixing on the most interesting par- ticular, needs no eviction to persons of judgment. 3. Things sensible for things in telligible. A third way where- in tropes may be rendered subservient to vivacity, is when things intelligible are represented by things sensible. There is no truth more evident than that the imagination is more strongly affected by what is perceived by the senses, than by what is conceived by the understanding. If therefore rny subject be of things only con- ceivable, it will conduce to enliven the style, that the tropes which I employ, when I find it convenient to employ tropes, exhibit to the fancy things perceivable. I shall illustrate this doctrine first in metaphors. A metaphor, if apposite, hath always some degree of vivacity, from the bare ex- hibition of likeness, even though the literal and the figurative senses of the word belong to the same class of objects ; I mean only in this respect the same, that they be both sensible or both intelligible. Thus a blunder in the administration of public affairs, hath been termed a solecism in politics, both things intelligible. Again, when the word sails is employed to denote the wings of a fowl, or con- versely, when the word wings is adopted to signify the sails of a ship, both objects are of the same class, as both are things sensible; * Exod. xv. 2. f Absalom and Achitophel. hap. L OF RHETORIC. 333 et these metaphors have a considerable share of vivacity, by rea- )n of the striking resemblance, both in the appearance of the ling-s signified, and in their use. The last, however, is the best, >r a reason which will be given in the next remark. But in ge- eral it maybe asserted, that in the representation of things sensible, icre is less occasion for this trope : accordingly, this application f it is now almost entirely left to the poets. On the contrary, if r e critically examine any language, ancient or modern, and trace s several terms and phrases to their source, we shall find it hold ivariably, that all the words made use of, to denote spiritual and itellectual things, are in their origin metaphors, taken from the bjects of sense. This shows evidently, that the latter have made he earliest impressions, have by consequence first obtained names n every tongue, and are still, as it were, more present with us, and trike the imagination more forcibly than the former. It may be said, that if this observation be true, it is to no pur- >ose to mention, as a method of enlivening the diction, the repre- enting of intelligible things by sensible images, since it is impos- ible by language to represent them otherwise. To this I answer, hat the words of which I am speaking, I call metaphors in their >rigin; notwithstanding which, they may be at present, agreeably o what was formerly observed, proper terms. When speaking of ropes in general, it was remarked, that many words, which to a grammatical eye appear metaphors, are in the rhetorician's estimate 10 metaphors at all. The ground of this difference is, that the gram- narian and the rhetorician try the words by very different tests. Fhe touchstone of the former is etymology, that of the latter is jresent use. The former peruseth a page, and perhaps finds not n the whole ten words that are not metaphorical; the latter ex- imines the same page, and doth not discover in it a single meta- phor. What critic, for example, would ever think of applying this ippellation to terms such as these, spirit, evidence, understanding, reflection? Or what etymologist would not acknowledge, that to this trope solely these terms had owed their birth? But I proceed to give examples of vivacity, by true rhetorical metaphors, wherein things sensible are brought to signify things intelligible. Of this the following is one from Pope : At length Erasmus, that great injur'd name, (The glory of the priesthood, and the shame !) Stemm'd the wild torrent of a barbarous age, And drove those holy Vandals off the stage. Here the almost irresistible influence of general manners, which is an object purely of the understanding, is very appositely and vi- 334- THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. raciously represented by a torrent, an object both of the sight and of the feeling. By the same vivid kind of metaphor, light is used for knowledge, bridle for restraint ; we speak of burning with zeal, being inflamed with anger, and having a rooted prejudice. But metaphor is not the only trope which can in this way confer vivacity, metonymy frequently in a similar manner promotes the same end. One very common species of the metonymy is, when the badge is put for the office, and this invariably exhibits a sensible in lieu of an intelligible object. Thus we say the mitre for the priesthood, the crown for the royalty; for the military occupation we say, the sword, and for the literary professions, those especially of theology, law, and physic, the common expression is the gown. Often also in those metonymies wherein the cause is put for the effect, and contrariwise, in those wherein the effect is put for the cause, we have the same thing exemplified, a sensible object pre- sented to the mind instead of an intelligible. Of the former, the cause for the effect, the following lines of Dryden may serve as an illustration: 'Tis all thy business, business how to shun, To bask thy naked body in the sun*. Though the rhyme had permitted the change, the word sunshine instead of the sun would have rendered the expression weaker. The luminary itself is not only a nobler and distincter, but a more immediate object to the imagination than its effulgence, which though in some respect sensible as well as the other, is in some re- spect merely intelligible, it not being perceived directly no more than the air, but discovered by reflection from the things which it enlightens. Accordingly we ascribe to it neither magnitude nor figure, and scarce with propriety even color. As an exemplifica- tion of the latter, the effect or something* consequential for the cause, or at least the implement for the motive of using it, these words of scripture will serve, " the sword without, and terror within f," where the term sword, which presents a particular and perceivable image to the fancy, must be more picturesque than the word war, which conveys an idea that is vague and only conceivable, not being otherwise sensible but by its consequences. 4. Things animate for things lifeless. A fourth way in which tropes may promote vivacity, is when things sensitive are present- ed to the fancy instead of things lifeless ; or, which is nearly the same, when life, perception, activity, design, passion, or any pro- perty of sentient beings, is by means of the trope attributed to things * Dryden's Persius. t Deut. xxxii. 25. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 335 inanimate. It is not more evident that the imagination is more strongly affected by things sensible than by things intelligible, than it is evident that things animate awaken greater attention, and make a stronger impression on the mind than things senseless. It is for this reason that the quality of which I am treating, hath come to be termed vivacity, or liveliness of style. In exemplifying what hath been now advanced, I shall proceed in the method which I took in the former article, and begin with metaphor. By a metaphor of this kind, a literary performance hath been styled the offspring of the brain ; by it a state or govern- ment in its first stage is represented as a child in these lines of Dry den, When empire in its childhood first appears, A watchful fate o'ersecs its tender years *. In the two last examples we have things lifeless exhibited by things animate. In the following, wherein the effect is much the same, sense, feeling-, and affection, are ascribed metaphorically to inani- mate matter. Thomson, describing the influence of the snn-beams upon the snow in the valley, thus vividly and beautifully express- eth himself, Perhaps the vale Relents a while to the reflected ray f. " Every hedge," says the Tatler, " was conscious of more than " what the representations of enamoured swains admit of J." Who sees not how much of their energy these quotations owe to the two words relents and conscious? I shall only add, that it is the same kind of metaphor which hath brought into use such expressions as the following : a happy period, a learned age, the thirsty ground, a melancholy disaster. There are several sorts of the metonymy which answer the same purpose. The first I shall mention, is that wherein the inventor is made to denote the invention ; Ceres, for instance, to denote bread, Bacchus wine, Mars war, or any of the pagan deities to denote that in which he is specially interested, as Neptune the sea, Pluto hell, Pallas wisdom, and Venus the amorous affection. It must be owned, that as this kind seems even by the ancients to have been confined to the discoveries, attributes, or dominions ascribed in their mythology to the gods, it is of little or no use to us moderns . * Almanzor. t Winter. J; Tatler, No. 7. Even when such tropes occur in ancient authors, they can scarcely be translated into any modern tongue, as was hinted on Part First in regard to the phrase. " Vario Marie pugnatum est." Another example of the same thing, " Sine Cerere et Baccko friget Fen?/,*." 336 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. Another tribe of metonymies, which exhibits things living for things lifeless, is when the possessor is substituted for his posses- sions. Of this we have an example in the gospel : " Wo unto you, " scribes and pharisees, hypocrites, for ye devour the families of " widows." Here the word families is used for the means of sub- sistence*. Like to this is an expression in Balaam's prophecy con- cerning Israel: " He shall eat up the nations his enemies f." A third tribe of metonymies which often presents us with ani- mate instead of inanimate objects, is when the concrete is made to signify the abstract; as the fool used for folly, the knave for knavery, the philosopher for philosophy. I shall illustrate this by some examples. Dry den hath given us one of this kind that is truly excellent. The slavering cuclden propt upon his staff, Stood ready gaping with a grinning laugh, To welcome her awake, nor durst begin To speak, but wisely kept the fool within J. The whole picture is striking. The proper words, every one of them, are remarkably graphical, as well as the metonymy, with which the passage concludes. Another from the same hand, Who follow next a double danger bring, Not only hating David but the king . As David himself was king, both the proper name and the ap- pellative would point to the same object, were they to be literally interpreted. But the opposition here exhibited manifestly shows, that the last term, the king, is employed by metonymy to denote the royalty. The sense, therefore, is, that they have not only a personal hatred to the man that is king, but a detestation of the kingly office. A trope of this kind ought never to be introduced, but when the contrast, as in the present example, or something in the expression, effectually removes all obscurity and danger of mistake. In the passage last quoted, there is an evident imitation of a saying, re- corded by historians, of Alexander the Great, concerning two of his courtiers, Craterus and Hephestion : " Craterus," said he, " loves " the King, but Hephestion loves Alexander." Grotius hath also * Matt, xxiii. 14. The noun O'IMXS may be rendered either families or houses. The last, though used by our translators, hath here a double disad- vantage. First it is a trope formed upon a trope (which rarely hath a good effect), the house for the family, the thing containing for the thing contained, and the family for their means of living; secondly, ideas are introduced which are incompatible. There is nothing improper in speaking of a person or family being devoured, but to talk of devouring a house is absurd. It may be destroy- ed, demolished, undermined, but not devoured. t Deut. xxiv. 8. t Cymon and Iphigenia. Absalom and Achitophe/. :Ap. /. OF RHETORIC. 337 Copied the same mode of expression, in a remark which he hath nade, perhaps with more ingenuity than truth, on the two Apos- les Peter and John. The attachment of John, he observes, was to Jesus, of Peter to the Messiah*. Accordingly, their master gave he latter the charge of his church, the fonner that of his family, ecommending to him in particular the care of Mary, his mother, fhe following sentiment of Swift is somewhat similar: I do the most that friendship can ; I hate the viceroy, love the man. "he viceroy for the viceroyalty. I shall only add two examples nore in this way: the first is from Addison, who, speaking of Tal- ard when taken prisoner by the allies, says, An English muse is touch'd with generous woe, And in the unhappy man forgets the foe f- rhe foe, that is, his state of hostility with regard to us at the time: br the second I shall again recur to Dryden, A tyrant's power in rigour is exprest, The father yearns in the true prince's breast. Fhe father, to denote fatherly affection, or the disposition of a fa- her. In fine, it may justly be affirmed of this whole class of "ropes, that as metaphor in general hath been termed an allegory in jpitome, such metaphors and metonymies as present us with things miniate in the room of things lifeless, are prosopopeias in minia- ture. But it will be proper here to obviate an objection against the last mentioned species of metonymy, an objection which seems to arise from what hath been advanced above. Is it possible, may one say, that the concrete put for the abstract should render the expression livelier, and that the abstract put for the concrete should do the same? Is it not more natural to conclude, that if one of these tropes serve to invigorate the style, the reverse must doubtless serve to flatten it. But this apparent inconsistency will vanish on a nearer inspection. It ought to be remembered, that the cases are compara- tively few in which either trope will answer better than the proper term, and the few which suit the one method, and the few which suit the other, are totally different in their nature. To affirm that in one identical case, methods quite opposite would produce the same effect, might, with some appearance of reason, be charged with inconsisten- cy ; but that in cases not identical, nor even similar, contrary methods might be necessary for effecting the same purpose, is nowise incon- sistent. But possibly the objector will argue on the principles * Annotations in lohtn. Intr. t Campaign. z 338 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. themselves severally considered, from which, according- to the doc- trine now explained, the efficacy of the tropes ariseth : * If; says he, ' the abstract for the concrete confers vivacity on the expression, ' by concentrating the whole attention on that particular with which ' the subject is most intimately connected, doth it not lose as much ' on the other hand, by presenting us with a quality instead of a ' person, an intelligible for a sensible, an inanimate for a living ob- ' ject?' If this were the effect, the objection would be unanswerable. But it is so far otherwise, that in all such instances, by ascribing life, motion, human affections, and actions, to the abstract, it is in fact personified, and thus gains in point of energy the one way, without losing any thing- the other. The same thing holds of all the congenial tropes, the dole for the donor, and the rest. In like manner, when the concrete is used for the abstract, there is, in the first place, a real personification, the subject being- in fact a mere quality both inanimate and insensible: nor do we lose the particu- larity implied in the abstract, because, where this trope is judici- ously used, there must be something in the sentence which fixes the attention specially on that quality. Thus, to recur to the pre- ceding examples, when David and the king, though known to be the same person, are contra-distinguished in the same line, the mind is laid under a necessity of considering the word king as im- plying purely that which constitutes him such, namely the royal power. The same may be said of the other instances. So far in- deed I agree with the objector, that wherever the trope is not dis- tinctly marked by the words with which it is connected, it is faulty and injudicious. It both misses vivacity and throws obscu- rity on the sentiment. I have here examined the tropes so far only as they are' sub- servient to vivacity, by presenting to the mind some image, which, from the original principles of our nature more strongly attaches the fancy than could have been done by the proper terms whose place they occupy. And in this examination I have found, that they produce this effect in these four cases: first, when they can aptly represent a species by an individual, or a genus by a species; secondly, wheu they serve to fix the attention on the most interest- ing particular, or that with which the subject is most intimately connected ; thirdly, when they exhibit things intelligible by things sensible ; and fourthly, when they suggest things lifeless by things animate. How conducive the tropes are in like manner both to elegance and to animation, will be examined afterwards. They even sometimes conduce to vivacity, not from any thing preferable in the ideas conveyed by them, but in a way that cannot properly Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 339 come under consideration, till we inquire how far this quality de- pends on the number of the words and on their arrangement. PART HI._7 T Ae use of those Tropes which are obstructive to Vivacity. LET us now, ere we finish this article, bestow some attention on the opposite side, (for contraries serve best to illustrate each other), and make a few remarks on those tropes which either have a natural tendency to render the expression more languid, or at least are noway fitted for enlivening the diction. That there are tropes whose direct tendency is even to enfeeble the expression, is certain- ly true, though they are fewer in number, and more rarely used, than those which produce the contrary effect. The principal tropes of this kind which I remember at present, are three sorts of the synecdoche, the genus for the species, the whole for a part, and the matter for the instrument or thing made of it; and some sorts of the metaphor, as the intelligible for the sensible. Of the genus for the species, which is the commonest of all, vessel for ship, crea- ture or animal for man, will serve as examples. Of the whole for a part, which is the most uncommon, I do not recollect another instance but that of the man or woman by name, sometimes for the body only, sometimes only for the soul ; as when we say, ' such a ' one was buried yesterday,' that is, * the body of such a one was ' buried yesterday.' ' .Eneas saw his father in Elysium,' that is, ' his father's ghost.' The common phrase * all the world,' for a great number of people, and some others of the same kind, have also been produced as examples, but improperly ; for in all such expressions there is an evident hyperbole, the intention being ma- nifestly to magnify the number. Of the third kind, the matter for what is made of it, there are doubtless several instances, such as silver for money, canvass for sail, and steel for sword. It is proper to inquire from what principles in our nature tropes of this sort derive their origin, and what are the purposes which they e intended to promote. The answer to the first of these queries mil serve effectually to answer both. First then they may arise merely from a disposition to vary the expression, and prevent the too frequent recurrence of the same sound upon the ear. Hence aften the genus for the species. This is the more pardonable, if used moderately, as there is not even an apparent impropriety in putting at any time the genus for the species, because the latter is always comprehended in the former ; whereas, in the reverse, there s inevitably an appearance of impropriety, till it is mollified by 340 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh 111. use. If one is speaking 1 of a linnet, and sometimes instead of linnet says bird, he is considered rather as varying- the expression, than as employing" a trope. Secondly, they may arise from an in- clination to suggest contempt without rudeness; that is, not openly to express, but indirectly to insinuate it. Thus, when a particular man is called a creature or an animal, there is a sort of tacit refusal of the specific attributes of human nature, as the term implies only the direct acknowledgment of those enjoyed in common with the brutes, or even with the whole creation. The phrases, no creature, and every creature, like all the world, are a kind of hyperbolic idioms, which come not under this category. Thirdly, they may proceed from a love of brevity in cases wherein perspicuity cannot be hurt. Thus to say, Your friend Alexander lies here interr'd, is briefer and not less perspicuous, than to say, ' The corpse of * your friend Alexander.' Fourthly, they may spring from a desire to find a term that will make a better counterpart, in respect either of the sense or of the sound, to some other word which the speaker or the writer hath had occasion to use, the ideas conveyed by the two words being also related. This occasions sometimes not only that the genus is used for the species, but that the matter is made to signify the thing made of it; both of which will be further illustrated when I come to consider how far vivacity may result from arrangement. Fifthly, (and this is the last source that occurs to my thoughts), tropes of this kind may arise from a desire of palliating the representation, and that either from humanity, from courtesy, or from decency. By the first of the five principles above mentioned, if used dis- cretely, something is done for the sake of variety, where the viva- city of the expression is little affected ; by the second, even a far- ther end, a species of animation is attained ; by the third and fourth, what is lost of vivacity in one way is more than compensated in ano- ther; but by the fifth we are led to avoid this quality as a fault. There are some subjects of which it may be necessary on certain occasions to speak, which, nevertheless, present an object to the imagination that is either disagreeable or indecent. It is sufficient that such things be hinted to the understanding, so that the mean- ing may be apprehended, it is by no means fit that they be painted in the liveliest colors to the fancy. There are some things which a painter may find it expedient to introduce into a picture, and to render just discoverable, by placing them in the shade, in the back-ground, or at a corner, which it would be extremely impro- per to set in such a point of view as would immediately attract and Chap. /. OF RHETORIC. 341 fix the eye of the spectator. The like doubtless holds with re- gard to the orator. And it hath been chiefly to veil without darkening what the smallest degree of delicacy requires us to avoid exposing in the strongest light, that certain sorts of tropes and modes of expression have first been brought into use. To the same cause is also to be ascribed, the recourse that is often had to circumlocution, which will fall to be considered in the ensuing- chapter. All such tropes and modes of expression have come under the common denomination of the euphemism, a name that hath been assigned purely from the consideration of the purpose for which they are employed ; which is to express in terms that are inoffen- sive, an object in some respect or other offensive. The euphemism is not a distinct trope (as it hath improperly been accounted by some critics), but a certain application of other tropes, especially of metaphor and synecdoche, and even of some of the figures of elocution, the periphrasis in particular. Sometimes we are led to this from a principle of civility, or even of affection, when the plain and direct mention of an object might either recal grief, or hurt sensibility ; and sometimes from ideas of decorum. It is by an euphemism that the words deceased and departed came at first to be used instead of dead, which is no other than a synecdoche of the genus for the species ; falling asleep for dying, which is a metaphor, there being an evident resemblance between sleep and death, and stopping payment for becoming bankrupt, which is a metonymy of the effect for the cause. There is, indeed, in employing this figure, the euphemism, more than in any other, a natural tendency to change. The reason may easily be deduced from the general doctrine concerning tropes, explained in the first part of this section. The frequent use of any word in this manner, brings it insensibly to have all the effect of the proper term whose place it was intended to supply: no sooner is this effect produced by it, than the same principle that influenced us at first to employ it, operates with equal strength in influencing us to lay it aside, and in its stead to adopt something newer and still more remote. The excessive delicacy of the French in this respect hath given rise to expressions which it would not be easy to trace, from any known trope or figure of oratory, and which, to say the truth, have some- thing ridiculous in their appearance. Thus, a disbanded regiment is with them a reformed regiment; a cashiered officer is a reform' -A officer, and a man is said to reform his equipage when necessity obliges him to give it up; even the hangman, through the super- abundance of their complaisance, is titled the master of the high 342 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI, works*. In the use of this figure among the ancients, supersti- tion in regard to some words which were thought to be of bad omen, seems to have had as great a share, as either a delicate sym- pathy with the feelings of others, or a very nice sense of what is decent and cleanly. As to the nature and extent of the last source which was assign- ed of the euphemism, it will be proper to be a little more particular. Those things which it is indecent to express vividly are always such as are conceived to have some turpitude in them, either natu- ral or moral. An example of this decency in expression, where the subject hath some natural turpitude, you will find in Martha's answer, as it is in the original, when our Saviour gave orders to remove the stone from the sepulchre of her brother Lazarus, " Lord, by this time he smelleth, for he hath been dead four days f ." In our version it is somewhat indelicately, not to say indecently, rendered stinketh. Our translators have in this instance unneces- sarily receded from their ordinary rule of keeping as close as pos- sible to the letter. The synecdoche in this place answers just as well in English as in Greek; the perspicuity is such as secures the reader from the possibility of a mistake, at the same time that the expression is free from the indecency with which the other is chargeable. But if it be necessary to avoid a vivid exhibition of what appears uncleanly to the external senses, it is much more necessary in "whatever may have a tendency to pollute the mind. It is not always the mention of vice as such, which has this tendency. Many . of the most atrocious crimes may be mentioned with great plainness, without any such danger, and therefore without the smallest indecorum. What the subjects are which are in this way dangerous, it is surely needless to explain. And as every person of sense will readily conceive the truth of the general sentiment, to propose without necessity to produce examples for the elucida- tion of it, might justly be charged with being a breach of that decency of which I am treating. So much for the use that may be made of tropes in softening and even enervating, as well as in enlivening and invigorating the expression ; though it must be owned that the occasions are com- paratively few, on which the former purpose can be said to be expe- dient. I shall only add a few remarks concerning the catachresis, which hath in like manner been improperly reckoned a separate trope. The reason that I have taken no notice of it hitherto, is, that it is but rarely defensible in modern languages, which require * Le maitre des hautes ceuvres. t John xi. 39. Chap. J. OF RHETORIC. 34-3 the strictest regard to propriety. And even in the few cases wherein it is defensible, it is purely so because necessary; but is seldom eligible, as it rarely contributes either to ornament or to strength. I shall explain myself by some instances. One species of the catachresis, is when words are used in a sig- nification that is very near their ordinary meaning, but not pre- cisely the same. Examples of this would be a high man for a tall man, a large oration for a long oration, a big genius for a great g-enius. This, if any thing, would be classed under the metaphor, as there is a resemblance in the import of the words. Unluckily the word adopted is too near a coincidence with the right epithet, to present an image to the fancy, at the same time that it is not en- tirely coincident, and therefore cannot be denominated a proper terra. In this application the name catachresis is no more than another word for impropriety. Of this kind there is an example in the fifth commandment, as it runs in our version, " that thy days " may be long (anglice many) upon the land*." It is impossible to avoid such blunders in translating, when one aims at being literal, without attending to the different geniuses of different tongues. In original performances they are more rarely to be met with, being just such improprieties as none but novices in the language are apt to fall into. A second species of this figure is when words which, from their etymology, appear to be applicable solely to one kind of thing, come afterwards to be applied to another, which is nearly related in its nature or design, but with which, nevertheless, the analysis of the word will not accord. This is sometimes not only excusable from necessity, as when the language doth not furnish a proper term, but sometimes also receives the sanction of general use. And in this case, whatever it was originally, it becomes proper. I shall give some examples of this in our own tongue. As it is probable, that amongst our Saxon ancestors, candleholders were solely made of wood, they were properly denominated candlesticks ; afterwards, when, through an increase of wealth and luxury, such utensils were made of metal, the old name was nevertheless retained, and at first by a catachresis applied to these. But the application is now ra- tified, and the word appropriated by custom. The name inkhorn, denoting a portable case for holding ink, probably at first made only of horn, is a similar instance. In like manner the word parri- cide in English, like paricida in Latin, at first perhaps signified only the murderer of his father, but hath conic to be equally ap- * Exod. xx 344 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. plied to him who murders his mother, his brother, or his sister. In all these instances there was an excuse at first from necessity, the language not affording words strictly proper. But now, having obtained the universal suffrage, which in every country gives law to language, they need no excuse. There is an instance of a cata- chresis of this kind in our translation of the Bible, which (not being supported by the plea of necessity) ought to be considered as a glaring impropriety: " He made the laver of brass, and the foot of " it of brass, of the looking-glasses of the women*." It is how- ever probable that the word mirrour was not in such common use then as it is now. There are a few phrases which come under the same denomination, arid which, though favored by custom, being quite unnecessary, deserve to be exploded. Such, amongst others, are the following: the workmanship of God, for the work of God ; a man of war, for a ship of war ; and a merchantman for a trading vessel. The absurdity in the last two instances is commonly aug- mented by the words connected in the sequel, in which, by the ap- plication of the pronouns she and her, we are made to understand that the man spoken of is a female. I think this gibberish ought to be left entirely to mariners ; amongst whom, I suppose, it hath originated. The only remaining species of the catachresis, which I can re- collect at present, is no other than a farfetched and incongruous metaphor. Nothing can more justly be reduced under this class, than the application of the attributes of one corporeal sense to the objects of another; as if we should say of a voice, that it is beau- tiful to the ear ; or of a face, that it is melodious to the eye. No- thing succeeds better, as hath been observed already, than meta- phors taken from the objects of sensation, to denote the objects of pure intellection; yet nothing generally succeeds worse than me- taphors that are only transferred from sense to sense. I say gene- rally, because such is the omnipotence of fashion, in respect of language, that it is capable of conciliating us even to such appli- cations. Thus the term sweet belongs properly to the sense of tast- ing alone ; yet it hath been transferred to the sense of smelling, of hearing, and of seeing. "We say a sweet scent, sweet melody, a sweet prospect. The word soft in like manner belonged originally to the sense of touching, and to it only. Yet it hath been applied metaphorically, and (as we learn by the event) successfully, to other senses. Thus we talk of a soft whisper, and Pope speaks of the soft-eyed virgin. Customary applications at length become pro- * Exod. xxxviii. 8. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 345 per, though they do not exhibit the primitive sense. For this rea- son, several of the aforesaid instances are not to be considered at present as examples of the catachresis. Sometimes, however, even a new catachresis of the last mentioned kind, which is the most hazardous, will please the most fastidious critic. Take the follow- ing example from Young, Her voice is but the shadow of a sound*. The reason of our approbation in this case, is, if I mistake not, that an allusion or comparison is suggested which exhibits more strong- ly the author's meaning, than it could have been exhibited by any other words in the same compass. The sentiment is, that the same relation which the shadow bears to the substance of which it is the shadow, the lady's voice bears to an ordinary sound. Having now discussed what was proposed here concerning tropes, I shall conclude with observing, that, in this discussion, there hath been occasion, as it were, incidentally to discover, that they are so far from being the inventions of art, that, on the contrary, they result from the original and essential principles of the human mind that accordingly they are the same upon the main, in all na- tions, barbarous and civilized; that the simplest and most an- cient tongues do most abound with them, the natural effect of im- provement in science and language, which commonly go together, being to regulate the fancy and to restrain the passions; that the sole business of art in this subject, is to range the several tropes and figures into classes, to distinguish them by names, and to trace the principles in the mind which gave them birth. The first, indeed, or rather the only people upon the earth, who have thought of classing under proper appellations, the numerous tropes and figures of elocution, common to all languages, >vere the Greeks. The Latins, and all modern nations, have, in this parti- cular, only borrowed from them, adopting the very names they used. But as to the tracing of those figures to the springs in hu- man nature from which they flow, extremely little hath as yet been attempted. Nay, the names that have been given are but few, and by consequence very generical. Each class, the metaphor and the metonymy in particular, is capable of being divided into several tribes, to which no names have yet been assigned. It was affirmed that the tropes and figures of eloquence are found to be the same upon the main in all ages and nations. The words upon the main were added, because, though the most and the prin- cipal of them are entirely the same, there are a few which presup- pose a certain refinement of thought, not natural to a rude and il- * Universal Passion. 346 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. literate people. Such in particular is that species of the metony- my, the concrete for the abstract, and possibly some others. We shall afterv/ards perhaps have occasion to remark, that the modern improvements in ridicule have given rise to some which cannot properly be ranged under any of the classes above mentioned; to which, therefore, no name hath as yet been appropriated, and of which T am not sure whether antiquity can furnish us with an ex- ample. SECTION III Words considered as Sounds. WHEN I entered on the consideration of vivacity as depending on the choice of words, I observed that the words may be either pro- per terms, or rhetorical tropes ; and whether the one or the other, they may be regarded not only as signs but as sounds, and conse- quently as capable in certain cases of bearing, in some degree, a natural resemblance or affinity to the things signified. The two first articles, proper terms and rhetorical tropes, I have discussed already, regarding only the sense and application of the words, whether used literally or figuratively. It remains now to consider them in regard to the sound, and the affinity to the subject of which the sound is susceptible. When, as Pope expresseth it, " the sound " is made an echo to the sense*," there is added in a certain de- gree, to the association arising from custom, the influence of re- semblance between the signs and the things signified ; and this doubtless tends to strengthen the impression made by the discourse. This subject, I acknowledge, hath been very much canvassed by critics; I shall therefore be the briefer in my remarks, confining myself chiefly to the two following points. First, 1 shall inquire what kinds of things language is capable of imitating by its sound, and in what degree it is capable ; secondly, what rank ought to be assigned to this species of excellence, and in what case it ought to be attempted. PART 1. What are articulate Sounds capable of imitating, and in what degreel FIRST, I shall inquire what kinds of things language is capable of imitating by its sound, and in what degree it is capable. And here it is natural to think, that the imitative power of lan- guage must be greatest, when the subject itself is things audible. * Essay on Criticism. OF RHETORIC. 347 )ne sound may surely have a greater resemblance to another sound, han it can have to any thing of a different nature. In the descrip- ion therefore of the terrible thunder, whirlwind and tempest, or of he cooling zephyr and the gentle gale, or of any other thing that s sonorous, the imitation that may be made by the sound of the de- cription will certainly be more perfect, than can well be expected n what concerns things purely intelligible, or visible, or tangible, f et even here the resemblance, if we consider it abstractly, is very aint. The human voice is doubtless capable of imitating, to a consider- ble degree of exactness, almost any sound whatever. But our >resent inquiry is solely about what may be imitated by articulate ounds, for articulation greatly confines the natural powers of the oice ; neither do we inquire what an extraordinary pronunciation nay effectuate, but what power in this respect the letters of the al- ihabet have, when combined into syllables, and these into words, nd these again into sentences, uttered audibly indeed and distinct- y, but without any uncommon effort. Nay, the orator in this spe- ies of imitation, is still more limited. He is not at liberty to select whatever articulate sounds he can find to be fittest for imitating hose concerning which he is discoursing. That he may be un- erstood,he is under a necessity of confining himself to such sounds s are rendered by use the signs of the things he would suggest by hem. If there be a variety of these signs, which commonly can- ot be great, he hath some scope for selection, but not otherwise. r et so remote is the resemblance here at best, that in no language, ncient or modern, are the meanings of any words, except per- aps those expressing the cries of some animals, discoverable, on lie bare hearing, to one who doth not understand the language. Indeed, when the subject is articulate sound, the speaker or the writer may do more than produce a resemblance, he may even ren- er the expression an example of that which he affirms. Of this ind precisely are the three last lines of the following quotation rom Pope: These equal syllables alone require, Tho' oft the ear the open vowels tire, While expletives their feeble aid do join, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line*. tut this manner, which, it must be owned, hath a very good effect a enlivening the expression, is not imitation, though it hath some- imes been mistaken for it, or rather confounded with it. * Essay on Criticism. 348 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. As to sounds inarticulate, a proper imitation of them hath been attempted in the same piece, in the subsequent lines, and with toler- able success, at least in the concluding- couplet : Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar*. An attempt of the same kind, of conformity of the sound to the sense, is perhaps but too discernible in the following' quotation from the same author : O'er all the dreary coasts! Dreadful gleams, Dismal screams, Fires that glow, Shrieks of woe, Sullen moans, Hollow groans, And cries of injured ghostsf. Milton's description of the opening- of hell-gates ought not here to be overlooked On a sudden open fly With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder J. The same author has, in another performance, given an excellent specimen in this way, Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw . He succeeds the better here, that what he says is evidently accom- panied with a desig-n of exciting contempt. This induceth us to make allowance for his leaving the beaten road in search of epi- thets. In this passage of the Odyssey, His bloody hand Snatch'd two unhappy of my martial band; And dash'd like dogs against the stony floor || ; the sound, but not the abruptness of the crash, is, I imagine, better imitated than in the original, which, on account of both, especially the last, was much admired by the critic of Halicarnassus. An ex- cellent attempt in this way we have in a poem of Dyer : * Essay on Criticism. t Ode on St. Cecilia's day. \ Paradise Lost, B. II. Lycidas. An imitation of a line of Virgil, Eel. 3. Stridenti rniserum stipula disperdere carmen. i| Pope's Od. In Homer, thus, s, iroli yauy P.I. OF RHETORIC. 349 The Pilgrim oft At dead of night mid his oraison hears Aghast the voice of time, disparting towers, Tumbling all precipitate down dash'd, Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon*. ut the best example to be found in our language is, in my opinion, e following lines of Mr. Pope, What ! like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough, and fierce, With arms, and George, and Brunswick crowd the verse, Rend with tremendous sounds your ears asunder, With gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbuss, and thunder? Then all your muse's softer art display, Let Carolina smooth the tuneful lay, Lull with Amelia's liquid name the nine, And sweetly flow through all the royal line-f- ile success here is the greater that the author appears through ic whole to deride the immoderate affectation of this over-rated eauty, with which some modern poetasters are so completely daz- led. On the whole, the specimens produced, though perhaps as ood as any of the kind extant in our language, serve to evince ra- icr how little than how much can be done in this way, and how reat scope there is here for the fancy to influence the judgment. But there are other subjects beside sound, to which language is apable of bearing some resemblance. Time and motion, for ex- mple, or whatever can admit the epithets of quick and slow, is ca- iable in some degree of being imitated by speech. In language iere are long and short syllables, one of the former being equal or early equal to two of the latter. As these may be variously com- ined in a sentence, and syllables of either kintl may be made more r less to predominate, the sentence may be rendered by the sound lore or less expressive of celerity or tardiness. And though even ere the power of speech seems to be much limited, there being ut two degrees in syllables, whereas the natural degrees of quick- ess or slowness in motion or action may be infinitely varied, yet n this subject the imitative power of articulate sound seems to be Beater and more distinctive than on any other. This appears to articular advantage in verse, when, without violating the rules of irosody, a greater or a less number of syllables is made to suit the ime. Take the following example from Milton, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecs sound To many a youth and many a maid Dancing in the checker d shade |. * Ruins of Rome, Dodsley's Collection, vol. i. f Sat. 1. t L'allegro. 350 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. In this passage the third line, though consisting of ten syllables, is, by means of two anapests, pronounced, without hurting the mea- sure, in the same time with an iambic line of eight syllables, and therefore well adapted in sound to the airy diversion he is describ- ing. At the same time it must be owned, that some languages have in this particular a remarkable superiority over others. In English the iambic verse, which is the commonest, admits here and there the insertion of a spondee, for protracting, or of an anapest, as in the example quoted, for quickening the expression*. But, in my opinion, Greek and Latin have here an advantage, at least in their heroic measure, over all modern tongues. According- ly Homer and Virgil furnish us with some excellent specimens in this way. But that we may know what our own tongue and metre is capable of effecting, let us recur to our own poets, and first of all to the celebrated translator of the Grecian bard. I have made choice of him the rather as he was perfectly sensible of this beauty in the original, which he copied, and endeavoured, as much as the materials he had to work upon would permit him, to exhibit in his version. Let us take for an example the punishment of Sisyphus in the other world, a passage which had on this very account been much admired in Homer, by all the critics both ancient and modern : Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone; The huge round stone resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down and srnoaks along the groundf. * Perhaps the feet employed in ancient poetry, are not in strict propriety applicable to the measures adopted by the English prosody. It is not my busi- ness at present to enter into this curious question. It suffices that I think there is a rhythmus in our verse plainly discernible by the ear, and which, as it at least bears some analogy to the Greek and Latin feet, makes this application of their names sufficiently intelligible. t In Greek, thus Av avu AVTIS, strsnx 7?ooo xvhitoelo XoLou dvxuijis* Od. In Latin verse, Vida, in his art of poetry, hath well exemplified this beauty, from his great master Virgil Ille autem membris, ac mole ignavius ingens Incedit tardo molimine subsidendo. Here not only the frequency of the spondees, but the difficulty of forming the eli- sions ; above all, the spondee in the fifth foot of the second line instead of a dac- tyl, greatly retard the motion. For the contrary expression of speed, Si se forte cava extulerit mala vipera terra, Tolle moras, cape saxa mauu, cape robora, pastor, Ferte citi flammas, date tela, repellite pestem. Here every thing concurs to accelerate the motion, the number of dactyls, no elision, no dipthong, no concurrence of consonants, unless where along syllable is necessary, and even there the consonants of easy pronunciation. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 351 It is remarkable that Homer (though greatly preferable to his translator in both) hath succeeded best in describing the fall of the stone, Pope in relating how it was heaved up the hill. The success of the English poet here is not to be ascribed entirely to the length of the syllables, but partly to another cause, to be explained after- wards. I own I do not approve the expedient which this admirable ver- sifier hath used, of introducing an Alexandrine line for expressing rapidity. I entirely agree with Johnson*, that this kind of mea- sure is rather stately than swift ; yet our poet hath assigned this last quality as the reason of his choice. " I was too sensible," says he in the margin, " of the beauty of this, not to endeavour to imitate " it, though unsuccessfully. I have, therefore, thrown it into the " swiftness of an Alexandrine, to make it of a more proportionable " number of syllables with the Greek." Ay, but to resemble in length is one thing, and to resemble in swiftness is another. The difference lies here: In Greek, an hexameter verse, whereof all the feet save one are dactyls, though it hath several syllables more, is pronounced in the same time with an hexameter verse, whereof all the feet save one are spondees, and is, therefore, a just emblem of velocity, that is, of moving a great way in a short time. Whereas the Alexandrine line, as it consists of more syllables than the com- mon English heroic, requires proportionably more time to the pro- nunciation. For this reason, the same author, in another work, has, I think, with better success, made choice of this very measure, to exhibit slowness : A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along f- It deserves our notice, that in this couplet he seems to give it as his opinion of the Alexandrine, that it is a dull and tardy measure. Yet, as if there were no end of his inconsistency on this subject, he introduced! a line of the same kind a little after in the same piece to represent uncommon speed : Not so when swift Camilla scours the plait), Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main {. A most wonderful and peculiar felicity in this measure to be alike adapted to imitate the opposite qualities of swiftness and slowness. Such contradictions would almost tempt one to suspect, that this species of resemblance is imaginary altogether. Indeed, the fit- ness of the Alexandrine to express, in a certain degree, the last of these qualities, may be allowed, and is easily accounted for. But * Rambler, No. 92. t Essay on Criticism. t I bi( l- 352 THE PHILOSOPHY Hook HI. uo one would ever have dreamt of its fitness for the first, who had not been misled by an erroneous conclusion from the effect of a very different measure, Greek and Latin hexameter. Yet Pope is not the only one of our poets who hath fallen into this error. Dry- den had preceded him in it, and even gone much farther. Not satisfied with the Alexandrine, he hath chosen a line of fourteen syllables, for expressing uncommon celerity: Which urged, and laboured, and forced up with pain, Recoils, and rowls impetuous down, and smokes along the plain*. Pope seems to have thought that in this instance, though the princi- ple on which Dryden proceeded was good, he had exceeded all reasonable bounds in applying it: for it is this very line which he hath curtailed into an Alexandrine in the passage from the Odyssey already quoted. Indeed, the impropriety here is not solely in the measure, but also in the dipthongs oi, and ow, and oa, so frequently recurring, than which nothing, not even a collison of jarring con- sonants, is less fitted to express speed. The only word in the line that seems adapted to the poet's view, is the term impetuous, in which two short syllables, being crowded into the time of one, have an effect similar to that produced by the dactyl in Greek and Latin. Creech, without the aid of an Alexandrine, hath been equally, if not more unsuccessful. The same line of the Latin poet he thus translates, And with swift force roll thro' the humble plain. Here the sentiment, instead of being imitated, is contrasted by the expression. A more crawling spondaic verse our heroic measure hardly ever admits. At the same time, in justice to English prosody, it ought to be remarked, that it compriseth one kind of metre, the anapestic, which is very fit for expressing celerity, perhaps as much as any kind of measure, ancient or modern. But there is in it a light fa- miliarity, which is so ill adapted to the majesty of the iambic, as to render it but rarely admissible into poems written in this mea- sure, and, consequently, either into tragedy or into epic. Ere I conclude what may be said on the subject of motion, I shall observe further, that there are other affections of motion be- side swiftness and slowness, such as vibration, intermission, ine- quality, which, to a certain degree, may be imitated in the sound of the description. The expression Troy's turrets totter'd in the translation of the Iliad, is an instance of the first, the vibra- * Lucretius, B. III. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 353 tion being represented by the frequent and quick recurrence of the same letters ranged a little differently. In the line Tumbling all precipitate down dash'd, already quoted from the Ruins of Rome, there is an attempt to imitate the motion as well as the sound. The last of the four following- lines from Milton contains also a tolerable imitation of both: Oft ou u plat of rising ground I hear the far-off curfew sound, Over some wide-water'd shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar**. Another very natural subject of imitation is size, or whatever the terms great or little may be applied to, literally or metaphori- cally. Things grand may be imitated by long and well-sounding words, things bulky by long and ill-sounding words, things little by short words. The connection here is as obvious as in either of the two former cases; but the power of our language is rather less. It affords so little variety in the choice of words in respect of length, that often the grandest objects in nature cannot be expressed with propriety, otherwise than by a poor monosyllable. Bulkiness, accompanied with motion, will fall to be exemplified in the next article. A fourth subject of imitation in language is difficulty and ease. There is a considerable difference in this respect in the pronuncia- tion of different words and sentences, which, if happily accommo- dated to the sentiment, adds to the effect of the expression. If, for in- stance, what is difficultly acted, be difficultly pronounced, and if, on the contrary, what is performed with facility be uttered with ease, there will result a certain degree of vivacity from this slight resem- blance. For it is an invariable maxim, that the ear is grated with hear- ing what the organs of speech find it uneasy to articulate. Several things contribute to render pronunciation difficult. First, the colli- sion of vowels; that is, when one syllable ends with a vowel, and the next (it matters not whether it be in the same word or not) begins with the same vowel, or with one which approaches to it in sound. Re- enter, co-operate, re-inforce, re-animate, tho' oft, the ear, the open, are examples of this. A certain effort is required to keep them as it were asunder, and make both be distinctly heard as belonging to different syllables. When the vowels are very unlike in sound, or the formation of the one is easily accomplished after the articulation of the other, they have not the same effect. Thus, in the words va- riety, coeval, the collision doth not create a perceptible difficulty. * II Penseroso. ,354 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. Now, as difficulty is generally the cause of slowness in any opera- tion, such a clashing- of vowels is often employed to represent a tar- dy or lingering- motion*. A second cause of difficulty in utter- ance is the frequent recurring of the aspirate (h), especially when placed between two vowels that are both sounded. It is this which 'renders the translation of the passage above quoted from the Odys- sey, so significant of the same qualities. Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone. A like effect is produced by any of the mutes that are aspirated, as the th, and ph or f, especially if combined with other consonants. The following line of Chaucer is not a bad example of this: He through the thickest of the throng gan threke f. A third cause of difficulty in pronunciation is the clash of two or more jarring consonants. Some consonants are easily combined ; tlue combinations of such are not expressive of this quality, but it is not so with all. An instance of this difficulty we have in the fol- lowing line: And strains' 1 from hard bound brains* six lines a-year |. We have here once five consonants, sometimes four, and sometimes three, which are all pronounced without an intervening vowel. The difficulty is rendered still more sensible by the double pause, Avhich occasions a very drawling movement. Another example I shall take from the same author: When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labors, and the words move slow . In the first of these lines, the harsh combinations of consonants make the difficulty of pronunciation very observable; in the second, the author hath not been so successful. I know not how it might affect the more delicate ear of an Italian, but if we compare it with the generality of English verses, we shall find it remarkably easy and flowing. It has nothing in respect of sound, either in the syl- lables separately, or in the measure, that in the least favors the sen- timent, except only in its ending in a spondee, instead of an iam- bus. But this is too common in our poesy to have any effect that is worthy of notice. Vida's translator, in a passage extremely simi- lar, hath been happier, if he may not be thought to have exceeded in this respect: If some large weight his huge arm strive to shove, The verse too labors, the throng'd words scarce move || . First, the word verse is harsher than line; secondly, the ending is * It is chiefly from this cause that the line in the Odyssey above quoted is so expressive of both. Aa oau uSttms t Knight's Tale. J Pope, Fragment of a Satire. Essay on Criticism. || Pitt. Chap. 1. OF RHETORIC. 355 in two spondees, which, though perhaps admissible into the iambic measure, is very rare, and hath for that reason a more considerable effect. A fourth cause of difficulty in the pronunciation, is the want of harmony in the numbers. This is frequently an effect of some of the forementioned causes, and may be illustrated by some of the examples already quoted. In the following passage from Milton, one of the most unharmonious in the book, hugeness of size, slowness and difficulty of motion, are at once aptly imitated: -Part, huge of hulk! Wallowing, unwieldy, enormous in their gait, Teiupest the ocean *- An illustration of tardiness, difficulty, and hesitancy through fear, the same author hath also given us in the ill compacted lines which follow: He came, * and with him Eve, * more loth, ' tho' first To offend, diseouiitenanc'd both, and discompos'df. Several of the foregoing causes concur in the following couplet, So he with difficulty, and labor hard, Mov'd on, with difficulty and labor hej. A fifth cause of difficulty, the last I shall take notice of, is when there is a frequent recurrence of the same letters or syllables, espe- cially where the measure requires a quick pronunciation, because then there is the greatest risk of mistake and confusion . I shall just mention another subject of imitation by sound, which is very general, and may be said to comprehend every thing not included in those above mentioned. The agreeable in things may be adumbrated to us by smooth and pleasant sounds, the disagree- able by such as are harsh and grating. Here, it must be owned, the resemblance can be but very remote, yet even here it will some- times serve to enliven the expression. Indeed the power of numbers, or of a series of accordant sounds, is much more expressive than of single sounds. Accordingly, in po- etry we are furnished with the best examples in all the kinds; and as the writer of odes hath in this respect a much greater latitude than any other kind of versifier, and at pleasure may vary his mea- sure with his subject, I shall take a few illustrations from our ly- ric poets. All sorts of English verse, it hath been justly remarked * Paradise Lost, B. vii. t Ibid. B. x. \ Ibid. B. ii. An excellent example of this kind we have from the Iliad, rioXXa X'ayjtvT,*, xTaiT, itdfoura, re, So^/x/a r' 5x0o. This recurrence is the happier here, as it is peculiarly descriptive of mggr-d ways and jolting motion. AAo 356 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. are reducible to three, tlie iambic, the trochaic, and the anapestic. [n the first of these, the even syllables are accented, as some choose to express it, ores others, the even syllables are long 1 ; in the se- cond, it is on the odd syllables that the accent rests; in the third, two unaccented syllables are followed by one accented. The near- er the verses of the several kinds are to perfection, the more exact- ly they correspond with the definitions just now given; though each kind admits deviations to a certain degree, and in long- poems even requires them for the sake of variety. The iambus is expres- sive of dignity and grandeur ; the trochee, on the contrary, accord- ing to Aristotle * is frolicsome and gay. It were difficult to assign a reason of this difference, that would be satisfactory; but of the thing itself, I imagine, most people will be sensible on comparing- the two kinds together. I know not whether it will be admitted as a sufficient reason, that the distinction into metrical feet hath a much greater influence in poetry on the rise and the fall of the voice than the distinction into words; and if so, when the cadences happen mostly after the long syllables, the verse will naturally have an air of great- er gravity, than when they happen mostly after the short. An ex- ample of the different effects of these two measures, we have in the following lines of an admired modern, whose death lately afforded a just subject of lamentation to every good man, as well as to every friend of the muses. Thee the voice, 1he dance obey, Temper'd to thy warbled lay. O'er Idalia's velvet green The rosy crowned loves are SOPH On Cytherea's day, With antic, sports, and blue ey'd pleasures, Frisking light in frolic measures; Now pursuing, now. retreating, Now in circling troops they meet; To brisk notes in cadence beating, Glance their many-twinkling feet. vSlow melting strains their queen's approach declare: Where'er she turns, the graces homage pay. With arms sublime, that float upon the air, In gliding state she wins her easy way: O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young desire, and purple light of love f- The expression of majesty and grace in the movement of the six last lines, is wonderfully enhanced by the light and airy measure of the lines that introduce them. The anapest is capable, accord- * Rhet. Lib. iii. t Gray's Progress of Poesy. Chap. I. OF RHETORIC. 357 ing as it is applied, of two effects extremely different; first, it it> expressive of ease and familiarity, and accordingly is often used with success both in familiar epistles and in pastoral. The other effect is an expression of hurry, confusion, and precipitation. These two, however different, may be thus accounted for. The first is a consequence of its resemblance to the style of conversation: there are so many particles in our language, such as monosyllabic pronouns, prepositions, conjunctions, and articles, on which the accent never rests, that the short syllables are greatly supernumerary. One con- sequence of this is, that common chat is with greater ease, as 1 ima- gine, reduced to this measure, than to any other. The second con- sequence ariseth purely from its rapidity compared with other mea- sures. This effect it is especially fitted to produce, when it is con- trasted with the gravity of the iambic measure, as may be done in the ode; and when the style is a little elevated, so as to be suffi- ciently distinguished from the style of conversation. All these kinds have been employed with success in the Alexander's Feast, an ode that hath been as much celebrated as perhaps any in our language, and from which I propose to produce some illustrations. The po- et on recognizing Jove as the father of his hero, hath used the most regular and perfect iambics The list'ning crowd admire the lofty sound, A present deity' they shout around, A present deity' the vaulted r6ofs rebound. With ravish'd ears The monarch hears, Assumes the god, Affects to nod, And seems to shake 1 he spheres. But when becomes to sing the jovial god of wine, lie very judicious- ly changes the measure into the brisk trochaic. Bacchus ever iuir and young, Drinking j6ys did first ordain Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure. Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. Again, when he describes his hero as wrought up to madness, and setting fire to the city in a fit of revenge, he with great pro- priety exhibits this phrenzy in rapid anapests, the effect of which is set off the more strongly by their having a few iambic lines in- terspersed. 358 THE PHILOSOPHY Hook III: Revenge, revenge, Tim6theus cries, See the furies arise! See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Behold how they t6ss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian ab6des, And glittering temples of their hostile gods. The princes applaud with a furious j6y; And the king seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy So much for the power of numbers. It may not be amiss now^ ere I conclude this topic, to make a few cursory remarks on the imitative powers of the several letters which are the elements of all articulate sounds. And first, soft and delicate sounds are mostly occasioned by an equal mixture of consonants with short and mo- nophthong vowels; the consonants being chiefly those denominated liquids, 1, m, n, r, and those among the mutes called slender, p, t, k, or c and ch when they sound as k ; to these add v, also z, and s, when they sound as in the two words Zion and Asia. In like man- ner the duplication of a consonant sounds more delicately than the combination of different consonants. Thus ammiro is softer than admiro, fatto than facto, atto than apto, and disse than dixe. Se- condly, strong and loud sounds are better exhibited by diphthongs and long vowels, those of the mutes called middle, and which com- paratively may be termed hard, b, d, g in both its sounds, and j ; especially when these are combined with liquids which render them more sonorous, without occasioning harshness, as in the words, bom- bard, thunder, clangor, bludgeon, grumble. Thirdly, to rough- ness the letter h contributes as well as the gutturals. Such is the Greek ^, to which there is no corresponding sound in English, though there is in Spanish and in German ; also those of the mutes called aspirates, as f, or ph, and th, in both its sounds*, the double r, and all uncouth combinations. Fourthly, to sharp and cutting- sounds the following letters best contribute, s when it sounds as in mass, c when it has the same sound, ch when it sounds as in chide, x, sh, and wh; from the abounding of which letters and combina- tions amongst us, foreigners are apt to remark I know not what appearance of whistling or hissing in our conversation. Indeed, the word whistle is one whose sound is as expressive of the signi- fication, as perhaps any other word whatever. Fifthly, obscure and tingling sounds are best expressed by the nasals, ng and nk, as in ringing, swinging, twanging, sinking ; by the sn, as in snuffle * Of these one occurs in the noun bveath, the other in the verb breathe. The first is the roughest Chap. L OF RHETORIC. 359 sneeze, snort; and even by the n simply when it follows another liquid or a mute, and when the vowel (if there be a vowel interpo- sed between it and the preceding consonant) is not very audibly pronounced, as in morn, horn, sullen, fallen, bounden, gotten, be- holden, hoi pen. This sound formerly much abounded in English. It was not only the termination of many of the participles, but al- so of most plurals both of nouns and of verbs. As a plural teniii- tion, if we except a very few nouns, we may say it is now entirely banished, and very much, perhaps too much, disused in participles. The sound is unmusical, and consequently, when too frequent, of- fensive, but may nevertheless have A good effect when used spa- ringly. Besides, it would be convenient, especially in verse, that we could ofteuer distinguish the preterit from the participle, than our language permits. Now, of the five sorts of sound above explained, it may be re- marked by the way, that the first is characteristic of the Italian, the second of the Spanish, the third of the Dutch, and perhaps of most of the Teutonic dialects, the fourth of the English, and the fifth of the French, whose final m and n, when not followed by a vowel, and whose terminations, ent and ant, are much more nasal than the ng and nk of the English. I suspect too, both from their prosody and from their pronunciation, that of all the languages above men- tioned, the French is the least capable of that kind of imitation of which I have been speaking. On the other hand, I think, but in this opinion I am not confident, that of all those languages the English is, on the whole, the most capable. There is perhaps no particular excellence of sound in which it is not outdone by one or other of them, the Italian hath doubtless more sweetness, the Spanish more majesty, the German perhaps more bluster; but none of them is in this respect so various as the English, and can equal it in all the qualities. So much for the properties in things that are susceptible of a kind of imitation by language, and the degree in which they are susceptible. PART II. In what esteem ouyht this kind of imitation- to be held, and when ought it to be attempted* IT remains now to consider what rank ought to be assigned to this species of beauty, and in what cases it ought to be attempted. As to the first of these inquiries, from what hath bt<>n already said it appears very plain, that the resemblance or analogy which the sound can be made in any case to bear to the sense, is at best, 360 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II I when we consider the matter abstractly, but very remote. Often a beauty of this kind is more the creature of the reader's fancy, than the effect of the writer's ingenuity. Another observation, which will assist us in determining 1 this question, is, that when the other properties of elocution are attain- ed, the absence of this kind of imagery, if I may express it by so strong a term, occasions no defect at all. We never miss it. We never think of it. Whereas an ambiguous, obscure, improper, lan- guid, or inelegant expression, is quickly discovered by a person of knowledge and taste, and pronounced to be a blemish. Nor is this species of resemblance to be considered as on the same footing with those superior excellencies, the want of which, by reason of their uncommonness, is never censured as a fault, but which, when pre- sent, gives rise to the highest admiration. On the contrary, not the absence only, but even the attainment of this resemblance, as far as it is attainable, runs more risk of passing unheeded than any other species of beauty in the style. I ought however to except from this, the imitation produced by the different kinds of measure in poetry, which, I acknowledge, is sufficiently observable, and hath a much stronger effect than any other whereof language alone is susceptible. The reason why in other cases it may so readily pass unnoticed, is, that even the richest and most diversified lan- guage hath very little power, as hath been shown already, in this particular. It is therefore evident, that if the merit of every kind of rhetorical excellence is to be ascertained by the effect, and I know of no other standard, to this species we can only assign with justice the very lowest rank. It ought consequently ever to give place to the other virtues and ornaments of elocution, and not they to it. As to the other question, In what cases it may be proper to aim at the similitude in sound of which I have been treating; those ca- ses will appear to one who attentively considers what hath been al- ready advanced on the subject, to be comparatively few. Hardly any compositions in prose, unless those whose end is to persuade, and which aim at a certain vehemence in style and sentiment, give ac- cess to exemplify this resemblance. And even in poetry it is only the most pathetic passages, and the descriptive parts, to which the beauty whereof I am speaking seems naturally adapted. The cri- tical style, the argumentative, and the didactic, by no means suit it. Yet it may be said, that some of the examples above quoted for the illustration of this subject, are taken from writings of the kind last mentioned, from Pope on Criticism, and Vida on Poesy. But it must be observed, that the authors, in the passages alluded to, Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 361 are discoursing on this very subject. An exemplification was therefore necessary in them, in order to convey to their readers a distinct idea of what they meant to recommend. I must further observe, that, even in those poems wherein this kind of resemblance is most suitable, it is only in a few passages, when something more striking than ordinary comes to be described, that it ought to be attempted. This beauty in language is not to be considered as bearing an analogy to dress, by which the whole person is adorned, but to those jewels which are intended solely for the decoration of certain parts, and whose effect depends very much on their being placed with judgment. It is an invariable rule, that in every poem and oration, whatever be the subject, the language, in the general tenor of it, ought to be harmonious and easy. A deviation in a few particular passag-es may not only be pardonable, but even meritorious. Yet this merit, when there is a merit in introducing harsh sounds and jarring numbers, as on some occasions there doubtless is, receives great relief from its con- trariety to the general flow of the style. And with regard to the general flow, as I observed already, the rule holds invariably. Sup- posing the subject of the piece were the twelve labors of Hercules, should the poet, in order to adapt his language to his theme, choose words of the most difficult utterance, and through the whole per- formance studiously avoid harmony and grace ; far from securing to himself admiration, he would not even be read. I shall only add, that though it is not prudent in an author to go a step out of his way in quest of this capricious beauty, who, when she does not act spontaneously, does nothing gracefully, a poet in particular may not unreasonably be more solicitous to avoid her opposite, especially in the expression of the more striking thoughts; as nothing in such a case can be more ungraceful in the style, than when, either in sound or in measure, it serves as a contrast to the sentiment. CHAP. II. OF VIVACITY AS DEPENDING ON THE NUMBER OF THE WORDS. SECTION I. This quality explained and exemplified. WHEN I entered on the subject of vivacity* I observed that this quality of style might result either from a happy choice of words, from their number or from their arrangement. The first I have al- ready discussed, and shewn how words may conduce to vivacity, * Book III. Chap. i. ?M THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. not only from their sense, whether they be proper or figurative, but also from their sound. I come now to consider how far vivacity may be affected by the number of the words. On this 'article it may be established as a maxim that admits no exception, and it is the only maxim which this article admits, that the fewer the words are, provided neither propriety nor perspicuity be violated, the expression is always the more vivid. "Brevity," says Shakespeare, " is the soul of wit*." Thus much is certain, that of whatever kind the sentiment be, witty, humorous, grave, animated, or sublime, the more briefly it is ex- pressed, the energy is the greater, or the sentiment is the more en- livened, and the particular quality for which it is eminent, the more displayed. Among the ancients the Lacedemonians were the most remark- able for conciseness. To use few words, to speak energetically, and to be laconic, were almost synonymous. As when the rays of the sun are collected into the focus of a burning glass, the smaller the spot is which receives them, compared with the surface of the glass, the greater is the splendor ; or as in distillation, the less the quantity of spirit is, that is extracted by the still, compared with the quantity of liquor from which the extraction is made, the great- er is the strength ; so in exhibiting- our sentiments by speech, the narrower the compass of words is, wherein the thought is comprised, the more energetic is the expression. Accordingly we shall find, that the very same sentiment expressed diffusely, will be admitted barely to be just; expressed concisely, will be admired as spirited. To recur to examples, the famous answer returned by the Coun- tess of Dorset to the letter of Sir Joseph Williamson, secretary of state to Charles the Second, nominating to her a member for the borough of Appleby, is an excellent illustration of this doctrine. " I have been bullied," says her ladyship, " by an usurper, I have " been neglected by a court, but I will not be dictated to by a sub- " ject, your man sha'n't stand f." If we consider the meaning, there is mention made here of two facts, which it was impossible that any body of common sense, in this lady's circumstances, should not have observed, and of a resolution in consequence of these, which it was natural for every person who had a resentment of bad usage to make. Whence then results the vivacity, the fire which is so manifest in the letter? Not from any thing extraordinary in the matter, but purely from the laconism of the manner. An ordinary spirit would have employed as many pages to express the same thing, as there are affirmations in this short letter. The epistle * Hamlet. t Catalogue of royal and noble authors. C*P- II. OF RHETORIC. 363 might in that case have been very sensible, and withal very dull, but would never have been thought worthy of being recorded as containing any thing uncommon, or deserving a reader's notice. Of all our English poets none hath more successfully studied conciseness, or rendered it more conducive to vivacity, than Pope. Take the following lines as one example of a thousand which might be produced from his writings : See how the world its veterans rewards! A youth of frolics, an old age of cards; Fair to no purpose, artful to no end; Young without lovers, old without a friend; A fop their passion, but their prize a sot; Alive ridiculous, and dead forgot*. Nothing is more evident than that the same passage may have great beauties and great blemishes. There is a monotony in the measure of the above quotation, (the lines being all so equally divided by the pauses), which would render it, if much longer, almost as tire- some to the ear as a speech n a French tragedy; besides, the un- varied run of antitheses through five successive lines is rather too much, as it g-ives an air of quaintness to the whole. Yet that there is a great degree of liveliness in the expression is undeniable. This excellence is not, I acknowledge, to be ascribed solely to the bre- vity. Somewhat is doubtless imputable both to the words them- selves and to their arrangement ; but the first mentioned is still the principal cause. The trope in the fifth line " their passion," for the object of their passion, conduceth to vivacity, not only as being a trope, but as rendering the expression briefer, and thereby more nervous. Even the omission of the substantive verb, of the con- junctions, and of the personal pronouns, contribute not a little to the same end. Such ellipses are not indeed to be adopted into prose, and may even abound too much in verse. This author in particular hath sometimes exceeded in this way, and hath sacrificed both perspicuity and a natural simplicity of expression, to the am- bition of saying 1 a great deal in few words. But there is no beauty of style for which one may not pay too high a price. And if any price ought to be deemed too high, either of these certainly ought^ especially perspicuity, because it is this which throws light on every other beauty. Propriety may sometimes be happily violated. An improper ex- pression may have a vivacity, which, if we should reduce the words to grammatical correctness, would be annihilated. Shakespeare abounds in such happy improprieties. For instance, * Moral Essays, Ep. II. 364 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 111. And be these juggling fiends no more believed, That palter with us in a double sense, That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope*. In another place, It is a custom More honor'd in the breach than the observance.!. David's accusation of Joab, that "he had shed the blood of war in peace J," or what Solomon says of the virtuous woman, that "she eat- ethnot the bread of idleness," serve also to verify the same remark. Every body understands these expressions ; every body that knows English, perceives an impropriety in them, which it is perhaps im- possible to mend without destroying their energy||. But a beauty that is unperceivable is no beauty. Without perspicuity, words are not signs, they are empty sounds; speaking is beating the air, and the most fluent declaimer is but as a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. Yet there is a sort and a degree of obscurity which ought not to be considered as falling under this censure. I speak not of those Macbeth. | Hamlet. J 1 Kings, ii.5. Prov. xxxi. S7. || The Hebraism in each of these quotations from scripture, constitutes the pe- culiarity; and as the reasons are nearly equal with regard to all modern lan- guages, for either admitting or rejecting an oriental idiom, the observation will equally affect other European tongues into which the Bible is translated. A scrupulous attention to the purity of the language into which the version is made, must often hurt the energy of the expression. Saci, who in his translation hath been too solicitous to frenchify the style of scripture, hath made nonsense of the first passage, and (to say the least) hath greatly enervated the second. The first he renders in such a manner as implies that Joab had killed Abner and Amasa oftener than once. " Ayant repandu leur sang" (le sang d'Abner et d' Amasa) durantlapaix.comme il avoit fait, durant la guerre." A terrible man this Joab, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. The other passage he renders " Elle n'a point mange son pain dans 1'oisivete." The meaning is very indistinctly expressed here. Can a sluggard be said to be idle when eating? or does the most industrious disposition require that in the time of eating one should be employed in something else? Such a translation as this, is too free to exhibit the style of the original, too literal to express the sense, and therefore is unlucky enough to hit neither. Diodati hath succeeded better in both. The last he renders literally as we do, and the first in this man- ner, " Spandendo in tempo di pace, il sangue che si spande in battaglia." This clearly enough exhibits the sense, and is sufficiently literal. The meaning of the other passage stripped of the idiom, and expressed in plain English, is neither more nor less than this, " She eateth not the bread which she hath not earned." In many cases it may be difficult to say whether propriety or energy should have the preference. I think it safer in every dubious case to secure the former. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. sentences wherein more is meant than meets the ear, the literal meaning being intended purely to suggest a further meaning, which the speaker had chiefly in view. I gave some examples in this way, when on the subject of perspicuity, and showed that they are not to be regarded as exceptions from the rule*. But \vhat I here principally allude to is a species of darkness, if I may call it so, resulting from an excess of vivacity and conciseness,, which, to a certain degree, in some sorts of composition, is at least pardon- able. In the ode, for instance, the enthusiastic fervor of the poet naturally carries him to overlook those minutenesses in language, on which perspicuity very much depends. It is to abruptness of transition, boldness of figure, laconism of expression, the congenial issue of that frame of mind in which the piece is composed, that we owe entirely the Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. Hence proceeds a character of the writing, which may not unhap- pily be expressed in the words of Milton, " Dark with excessive " bright." I have compared vivacity produced by a happy con- ciseness to the splendor occasioned by concentring sunbeams in- to a little spot. Now, if by means of this the light is rendered daz- zling, it is no more a fit medium for viewing an object in, than too weak a light would be. Though the causes be contrary, the effects are in this respect the same. Objects in both are seen indistinctly. But the cases to which this observation is applicable are extremely few. Indeed, the concise manner in any form is not alike adapted to every subject. There are some subjects which it particularly suits. For example, the dignity and authority of the preceptive style re- ceives no small lustre from brevity. In the following words of Michael to Adam, how many important lessons are couched in two lines? Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thoti liv'st, Live well; how long, or short, permit to Heavent- The aphoristic style, and the proverbial, receive likewise consider- able strength from the laconic manner. Indeed, these two styles differ from each other only as the one conveys the discoveries in science, and the other the maxims of common life. In Swift's de- tached thoughts we find a few specimens of this manner. " The " power of fortune is confessed by the miserable ; the happy ascribe " all their success to merit." " Every man desires to live long ; " but no man would be old."" A nice man is a man of nasty " ideas." " The sluggard," saith Solomon, " hideth his hand in * Book II. Chap. viii. Sect. ii. t Paradise Lost. THE PHILOSOPHY , ^ook 111. " his bosom* it grieveth him to bring it to his mouth*." " TJie " desire of the slothful killeth him, for his hands refuse to labourf." " A fool," says the son of Sirach, " travaileth with a word, as a " woman in labour of a child J." It is indeed true, that a great de- gree of conciseness is scarcely attainable, unless the style be figu- rative ; but it is also true, that the vivacity of the expression is not to be attributed solely to the figure, but partly to the brevity oc- casioned by the figure. But though the combination of the figu- rative with the concise is very common, it is not necessary. This will appear from some of the examples already given, wherein, though we discover a happy comprehension of a great deal of mean- ing in little compass, there is neither trope nor figure. Nor, indeed, is there either of these in the picture that Swift gives of himself, where he says, " I am too proud to be vain," in which simplicity, perspicuity, and vivacity, are all happily united. An inferior writer, in attempting to delineate fully the same character, would have employed many sentences, and not have said near so much. Fur- ther, the writer on politics often avails himself of a sententious con- ciseness, which adds no little energy to the sentiments he unfolds. Of the successful application of brevity in this way, we have an ex- cellent model in the spirit of laws. It hath no bad effect, if used sparingly, even in narrative^. On the other hand, the kinds of writing which are less suscep- tible of this ornament are the descriptive, the pathetic, the decla- matory, especially the last. It is, besides, much more suitable in writing than in speaking. A reader has the command of his time, he may read fast or slow, as he finds convenient; he can peruse a sentence a second time when necessary, or lay down the book and think. But if, in haranguing to the people, you comprise a great deal in few words, the hearer must have uncommon quickness of apprehension to catch your meaning, before you have put it out of his power, by engaging his attention to something else. In such orations, therefore, it is particularly unseasonable ; and, by conse- quence, it is, in all kinds of writing addressed to the people, more or less so, as they partake more or less of popular declamation. SECTION II. The principal offences against Brevity considered. ' BUT though this energetic brevity is not adapted alike to every * Proverbs xxvi. 15. t Ibid. xxi. 25. J Ecclus. xix. 11. The veni, vidi, vici, of Caesar derives hence its principal beauty; 1 came, 1 saw, I conquered, is not equal. So small a circumstance, as the repetition of the pronoun, without which the sentence in our language would appear maimed, takes much from its vivacity and force. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 367 subject, we ought, on every subject, to avoid its contrary, a lan- guid redundancy of words. It is sometimes proper to be copious, but never to be verbose. I shall, therefore, now consider some of the principal faults against that quality of style of which I have been treating. . PART I. Tautology. THE first I shall take notice of is the tautology, which is either a repetition of the same sense in different words, or a representation of any thing as the cause, condition, or consequence of itself. Of the first, which is also the least, take the following example from Addison : The dawn is overcast; the morning lours; And heavily in clouds brings on the day* Here the same thought is repeated thrice in different words. Of the last kind I shall produce a specimen from Swift. " I look upon " it as rny duty, so far as God hath enabled me, and as long as I " keep within the bounds of truth, of duty, and of decency f ." It would be strange indeed that any man should think it his duty to transgress the bounds of duty. Another example from the same hand you have in the words which follow : " So it is, that I must " be forced to get home, partly by stealth and partly by force J." " How many are there," says Bolingbroke, " by whom these tidings " of good news were never heard ?" This is tidings of tidings, or news of news. " Never did Atticus succeed better in gaining the " universal love and esteem of all men ||." Either of the two words in italics might have been used, but not both. It is also considered as of the nature of tautology, to lengthen a sentence by coupling words altogether or nearly synonymous, >vhe- ther they be substantives or adjectives, verbs or adverbs. This fault is very common, and to be found even in our best writers. " In the Attic commonwealth," says Doctor Swift, " it was the pri- " vilege and birthright of every citizen and poet, to rail aloud and " in public If." If he had said simply, ' In the Attic common- ' wealth it was the privilege of every citizen to rail in public,' the sentence would have lost nothing of the sense. And it is an invariable maxim, that words which add nothing to the sense or to the clearness, must diminish the force of the expression. There are certain synonymas which it is become customary with some writers regularly to link together; insomuch that a reader no sooner * Cato. f Letter to Lord Lyttleton. J Letter to Mr. Sheridan. Ph. Fr. 38. || Spec. No. 46?. Z. f Preface to the Tale of a Tub. 368 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. meets with one of them, than lie anticipates the introduction of its usual attendant. It is needless to quote authorities, I shall only produce a few of those couples which are wont to be thus conjoined, and which every English reader will recollect with ease. Such are plain and evident, clear and obvious, worship and adoration, pleasure and satisfaction, bounds and limits, suspicion and jealousy, courage and resolution, intents and purposes. The frequent recur- rence of such phrases is not indeed more repugnant to vivacity than it is to dignity of style. But, is there no occasion on which synonymous words may be used properly? I answer, There are two occasions; and I do not at present recollect any other. One is, when an obscurer term, which we cannot avoid employing, on account of some connection with what either precedes or follows, needs to be explained by one that is clearer. The other is, when the language of the passions is ex- hibited. Passion naturally dwells on its object : the impassioned speaker always attempts to rise in expression but when tbat is im- practicable, he recurs to repetition and synonymy, and thereby in some measure produces the same effect. The hearer perceiving him, as it were, overpowered by his subject, and at a loss to find words adequate to the strength of his feelings, is by sympathy car- ried along with him, and enters into all his sentiments. There is in this case an expression in the very effort shown by recurring to synonymas, which supplies the deficiency in the words themselves. Bolingbroke exclaims in an invective against the times, " But aH " is little, and low, and mean among us*." It must be owned, that there is here a kind of amplification, or at least a stronger ex- pression of indignation, than any one of these three epithets could have effected alone ; yet there is no climax in the sentence, and in this metaphorical use of the words, no sensible difference of signi- fication f. But every body must perceive that this manner suits only the popular and declamatory style, and that in those composi- tions which admit no species of the pathetic, it can have no place. 1 observe further, that an adjective and its substantive will some- times include a tautology. This happens when the former express- es nothing, but what is implied in the signification of the latter. " Let them," says the Craftsman, " throw as much foul dirt at me " as they please*." Of the same stamp are, the verdant green, the umbrageous shade, the sylvan forest, expressions not frequently * Spirit of Patriotism. t In those words of Cicero concerning Cataline, " Abiit, excessit, evasit, eru- " pit," there is a stronger expression of triumph than in any of them singly. t No. 982. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 369 to be met with, except perhaps in the writings of some of our minor poets. First aggressors, standard-pattern, subject-matter, and some few, are much commoner, but deserve to be exploded for the same reason. Lastly, in some single words there is so much of the appearance of tautology, that they ought in prose at least to be avoided. Such are most highest, worser, lesser, chiefest, extremest; for most high, worse, less, chief, extreme. The first occurs often in the transla- tion of the psalms inserted in the liturgy, and has thence acquired something venerable in its appearance*; the second, though used in Shakespeare's time, is at present obsolete. I know not why the other three have not before now shared the same fate. PART II. Pleonasm. ANOTHER trespass against this species of vivacity is the pleonasm, which implies barely superfluity, or more than enough. Here, though the words do not, as in the tautology, repeat the sense, they add nothing to it. For instance, " They returned back again to " the same city from whence they came forth;" instead of 'They ' returned to the city whence they came.' The five words, back, again, same, from, and forth, are mere expletives. They serve neither for ornament nor for use, and are therefore to be regarded as encumbrances. " I went home," says the Guardian, " full of a " great many serious reflections f ;" much better, ' full of serious ' reflections.' " If he happens," says the Spectator, " to have any " leisure upon his hands J." To what purpose "upon his hands?" " The everlasting club," says the same author, " treats all other " clubs with an eye of contempt ;" for ' treats all other clubs with * contempt.' To treat with the eye, is also chargeable with impro- priety and vulgarism. " Flavia, who is the mamma," says the Tatler, " has all the charms and desires of youth still about her j|." The two last words are at least superfluous. In such a phrase as this, " I wrote a letter to you yesterday," * It is to this, I think, solely, that the approbation of those whose ears are accustomed to that expression in public worship, is to be ascribed, and not as Dr. Lo\vth supposes, [Introd. Adject.] to a singular propriety from the subject to which it is applied, the Supreme Being, who is higher than the highest. For if this reason were good, we should also find a singular propriety in the phrases most wisest, and most best, when applied to God, because he is as certainly wiser than the wisest, and better than the best. By the same rule the Supremest Being would be a title much more emphatical than the Supreme Being. fNo.34. | No. 43. No.7S. H No. 206. 370 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. the French critics would find a pleonasm; because it means no more than what is clearly expressed in these \vords, * I wrote to 4 you yesterday.' Yet in the last form there is an ellipsis of the regimen of the active verb; and one would imagine, that the sup- plying of an ellipsis could never constitute a pleonasm. It is at least certain, that where the supply is so unnecessary, as it is here, it is better to follow the usual mode of speaking. But when any additional circumstance requires the insertion of the noun, the nicest judge will not condemn the expression as pleonastic; as, " I wrote you a long letter yesterday." " This is the third letter " I have written you on the same subject*." It may not be improper here to remark, that every word that is accounted an expletive, doth not always constitute a pleonasm. For example, the do and the did, as the signs of the tenses, are fre- quently necessary, and sometimes emphatical. The idiom of the language renders them for the most part necessary in negation and interrogation ; and even in affirmation they are found in certain cir- cumstances to give an emphasis to the expression. For instance, * Did I object to this measure formerly? I do object to it still.' Or ' What 1 did publicly affirm then, I do affirm now, and I will * affirm always.' The contrast of the different tenses in these ex- amples, is more precisely marked by such monosyllables, as are in- tended singly to point out that circumstance, than they can be by the bare inflections of the verb. The particle there, when it is not an adverb of place, may be considered as a kind of expletive, since we cannot assign to it a separate sense. Nevertheless it is no pleo- nasm ; for though it is not easy to define in words the import of such terms, yet if the omission of them make the expression appear either stiff or defective, they are not to be regarded as useless. Lastly, I shall observe on this subject, that as there are some single words, which have I know not what air of tautology, there are some also which have a pleonastic appearance. Such are the following, unto, until, selfsame, foursquare, devoid, despoil, disan- nul, muchwhat, oftentimes, nowadays, downfall, furthermore, wherewithal; for, to, till, same, square, void, spoil, annul, much, * It deserves our notice, that, on this article, the idiom of the tongue hath great influence, insomuch that an expression in one language may contain a pleo- nasm, which, if literally rendered into another, would express no more than is quite necessary. Thus the phrase in French, "Illui donna des coups de sa " main," is pleonastic ; but there is no pleonasm in these words in English, " He gave him blows with his hand." Oil the contrary, " II lui donna des coups " de main," is proper in French. " He gave him blows with hand," is defective in English. The sense, however, may be expressed in our language with equal propriety and greater brevity in this manner, " He gave him liaiidy blows." Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 371 often, now, fall, further, wherewith. The use of such terms many writers have been led into, partly from the dislike of monosyllables, partly from the love of variety. The last end it hardly answers, as the simple word is still included; and as to the first, I am persuad- ed that this dislike hath earned some modern writers to the other extreme, and, I imagine, the worse extreme of the two. It hath proceeded on an opinion, which I shall afterwards evince to be er- roneous, that a frequent recurrence of monosyllables is inconsistent with harmony. However, with regard to the words specified, it would not be right to preclude entirely the use of them in poetry, where the shackles of metre render variety more necessary, but they ought to be used very sparingly, if at all, in prose. It is worth while to remark, that the addition of a short syllable to the termination of a word, when that syllable hath no separate signification, doth not exhibit the appearance of a pleonasm, which any syllable prefixed, or a long one added, never fails to exhibit. Thus, mountain, fountain, meadow, valley, island, climate, are as good as mount, fount, mead, vale, isle, clime, and in many cases pre- ferable. Indeed the words fount, mead, vale, and clime, are now almost confined to poetry. Several adjectives may in like manner be lengthened by the addition of an unaccented syllable, as ecclesi- astical, astronomical, philosophical, grammatical, from ecclesiastic, astronomic, philosophic, grammatic ; in all which, if the choice be not a matter of absolute indifference, it may at least be determined by the slig-htest consideration of variety or of sound. Sometimes custom insensibly assigns different meanings to such different forma- tions, as in the words comic and comical, tragic and tragical, poli- tic and political. Though the words here coupled were at first equally synonymous with those before mentioned, they are not en- tirely so at present. Tragic denotes belonging to tragedy; tragi- cal, resembling tragedy. The like holds of comic and comical. We say, " the tragic muse, the comic muse;" and " a tragic poet," for a writer of tragedy ; " a comic poet," for a writer of comedy; but " I heard a tragical story," for a mournful story ; and " I met " with a comical adventure," for a droll adventure. We say, " a " politic man," for an artful fellow; but a " political writer," fora writer on politics. There is not, however, a perfect uniformity in such applications, for we constantly use the phrase " the body poli- " tic," and not political, for the civil society. On the whole, how- ever, it would seem that what is affixed, especially when unaccent- ed, is conceived as more closely united to the word, than what is prefixed is conceived to be. In this last case the supernumerary BB2 372 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. syllable, if it make no change on the signification, always conveys the notion of an expletive, which is not suggested in the first. But before I quit this subject, it will not be beside the purpose to observe, that there are cases in which a certain species of pleo- nasm may not only be pardonable, but even have a degree of merit. It is at least entitled to indulgence, when it serves to express a per- tinent earnestness of affirmation on an interesting subject, as in phrases like these: ' We have seen with our eyes,' ' we have heard ' with our ears,' which perhaps are to be found in every language*. Again, in poetical description, where the fancy is addressed, epi- thets which would otherwise be accounted superfluous, if used mo- derately are not without effect. The azure heaven, the sil ver moon, the blushing morn, the seagirt isle. Homer abounds in such. They often occur also in sacred writ. The warm manner of the ancient Orientals, even in their prose-compositions, holds much more of poesy, than the cold prosaic diction of us moderns and Eu- ropeans. A stroke of the pencil, if I may so express myelf, is al- most always added to the arbitrary sign, in order the more strong- ly to attach the imagination. Hence it is not with them, the beasts, the birds, the fish, the heaven, and the earth; but the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, the fish of the sea, the heaven above, and the earth beneath. But though in certain cases there is some in- dulgence given to terms which may properly be styled pleonastic, I scarcely think that an epithet which is merely tautological, is in any case tolerable. PART III Verbosity. THE third and last fault I shall mention against a vivid conciseness is verbosity. This it may be thought coincides with the pleonasm already discussed. One difference however is this : in the pleo- nasm there are words which add nothing to the sense ; in the ver- bose manner, not only single words, but whole clauses, may have a meaning, and yet it were better to omit them, because what they mean is unimportant. Instead, therefore, of enlivening the ex- pression, they make it languish. Another difference is, that in a proper pleonasm a complete correction is always made by razing. This will not always answer in the verbose style ; it is often neces- sary to alter as well as blot. It will not be improper here further to observe, that by verbosi- * Vocemque his auribus hausi. Vidi ante oculos ipse meos. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 373 ty I do not mean the same thing- which the French express by the word verbiage, as some persons, misled by etymology, may be in- clined to think. By this term is commonly understood a parade of fine words, plausibly strung together, so as either to conceal a total want of meaning, or to disguise something weak and inconclusive in the reasoning. The former, with which alone we are here con- cerned, is merely an offence against vivacity, the latter is more pro- perly si transgression of the laws of perspicuity. One instance of a faulty exuberance of words is the intemperate use of circumlocution. There are circumstances wherein this figure is allowable, there are circumstances wherein it is a beauty, there are circumstances wherein it is a blemish. We indulge it often for the sake of variety, as when, instead of the women, an author says the fair sex, or when, instead of the sun, a poet puts the lamp of day we choose it sometimes for the sake of decency, to serve as a sort of veil to what ought not to be too nakedly exposed, or for the sake of avoiding an expression that might probably offend*. Some- times indeed propriety requires the use of circumlocution, as when Milton says of Satan, who had been thrown down headlong into hell Nine times the space that measures day and night To mortal men, he witli his Horrid crew Lay vanquish'd rolling in the fiery gulff. To have said nine days and nights, would not have been proper, when talking of a period before the creation of the sun, and conse- quently before time was portioned out to any being in that manner. Sometimes this figure serves, as it were accidentally, to introduce a circumstance which favors the design of the speaker, and which to mention of plain purpose, without apparent necessity, would appear both impertinent and invidious. An example I shall give from Swift. " One of these authors (the fellow that was pilloried, I have " forgot his name) is so grave, sententious, dogmatical a rogue, that " there is no enduring him J." What an exquisite antonomasia have we in this parenthesis ! Yet he hath rendered it apparently ne- cessary by his saying, " I have forgot his name." Sometimes even the vivacity of the expression may be augmented by a periphrasis, as when it is made to supply the place of a separate sentence. Of this the words of Abraham afford an instance : " Shall not the judge " of all the earth do right ?" The " j udge of all the earth" is a peri- phrasis for God, and as it represents him in a character to which the acting unjustly is peculiarly unsuitable, it serves as an argument in * See Book HI. Chap. i. Sect. ii. Part iii. t Paradise Lost, Book I. t Letters concerning the Sacramental Test. Gen.xviii. 25. 374 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh III. support of the sentiment, and is therefore conducive even to con- ciseness. In this view we may consider that noted circumlocution employed by Cicero, who, instead of saying simply, Milo's domes- tics killed Clodius, says, " They did that which every master would " have wished his servants to do in such an exigence*." It is far from being enough to say of this passage, that it is an euphemism, by which the odious word killed is avoided. It contains also a powerful vindication of the action, by an appeal to the conscience of every hearer, whether he would not have approved it in his own case. But when none of these ends can be answered by a peri- phrastical expression, it will inevitably be regarded as injuring- the style by flattening it. Of this take the following example from the Spectator, " I won't say, we see often, in the next tender things " to children, tears shed without much grievingf." The phrase here employed appears, besides, affected and farfetched. Another source of languor in the style is when such clauses are inserted, as to a superficial view appear to suggest something which heightens, but on reflection are found to presuppose something which abates the vigor of the sentiment. Of this 1 shall give a specimen from Swift: " Neither is any condition of life more " honourable in the sight of God than another, otherwise he would " be a respecter of persons, which he assures us he is notj." It is evident that this last clause doth not a little enervate the thought, as it implies but too plainly, that without this assurance from God himself, we should naturally conclude him to be of a character very different from that here given him by the preacher. A-kinto this is the juvenile method of loading every proposition with asseverations. As such a practice in conversation more com- monly infuseth a suspicion of the speaker's veracity, than it engages the belief of the hearer, it hath an effect somewhat similar in writ- ing. In our translation of the Bible, God is represented as saying to Adam, concerning the fruit of the tree of knowledge, " In the " day thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die ." The adverb surely, instead of enforcing, enfeebles the denunciation. My reason is the same as in the former case. A ground of mistrust is insinu- ated, to which no affirmation is a counterpoise. Are such adverbs then never to be used? Not when either the character of the speak- er, or the evidence of the thing, is such as precludes the smallest doubt. In other cases they are pertinent enough. But as taste it- self is influenced by custom, and as, for that reason, we may not be * " Fecerunt id servi Milonis, quod suos quisque servos in tali re facere " voluisset." Cicero pro Miloiie. t No. 95. \ Sermon on Mutual Subjection. Gen. ii.17- Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 375 quick in discerning a fault to which our ears have from our infancy been habituated, let us consider how it would affect us in an act of parliament, to read that the offender shall for the first offence cer- tainly be liable to such a penalty, and for the second he shall sure- ly incur such another. This style would appear intolerable even to one of ordinary discernment. Why? The answer is obvious It ill suits the dignity of the British senate, to use a manner which sup- poses that its authority or power can be called in question. That which hath misled our translators in the passage quoted, as in many others, hath been an attempt to express the import of a hebraism, which cannot be rendered literally into any European tongue. But it is evident, that they have not sufficiently attended to the powers of the language which they wrote. The English hath two futures, no inconsiderable advantage on some occasions, both for perspicuity and for emphasis. The one denotes simply the futuri- tion of the event, the other also makes the veracity and power of the speaker, vouchers of its futurition. The former is a bare de- claration; the latter is always in the second person and the third, unless when used imperatively, either a promise or a threatening. No language, that I know, exactly hits this distinction but our own. in other languages you must infer, not always infallibly, from the tenor of the story, whether the future is of the one import or of the other; in English you find this expressed in the words*. Further, it was observed that affirmative adverbs are no less im- proper when doubt is entirely precluded by the evidence of the fact, than when it is prevented by the authority of the speaker. I have given an example of the latter, and shall now produce one of the former. An Israelite informing- David concerning Goliath, is * This remark needs perhaps a further illustration, and in order to this it will be necessary to recur to some other language. The passage quoted is thus trans lated into Latin by Castalio, Si ea vesceris, moriere. He judged right not to add certe or profecto even in Latin. Neither of these adverbs could have ren- dered the expression more definite; and both are liable to the same exception with the English adverb surely. Yet take- the version as it stands, and there is an evident ambiguity in the word moriere. It may be either the declaration of one who knew that there was a poisonous quality in the fruit, and meant only to warn Adam of his danger, by representing the natural consequence of eating it; or it may be the denunciation of a legislator against thn transgression of his law. Every one who understands English, will perceive immediately, that, on the first supposition, he must render the words into our language, " If thou eat thereof, " thou wilt die;" and on the second supposition, he must render them, " If thou " eat thereof, thou shalt die." If there be any thing empbatical in the original idiom, it serves here, in my opinion, to mark the distinction between a simple declaration and the sanction of a law; which are perfectly distinguished in our tongue by the two futures. 376 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 111. represented in our version as saying 1 , " Surely, to defy Israel is he " come up*." Had the giant shown himself between the camps, and used menacing gestures, or spoken words which nobody under- stood, this expression would have been natural and proper. But no man could have talked in this manner who had himself been a witness that every day, for forty days successively, this champion had given an open defiance to Israel in the most explicit terms, and in the audience of all the army. Such adverbs always weaken an assertion that is founded on the evidence of sense, or even of un- exceptionable testimony, and are suited only to cases of conjecture, or probability at most. It requires a certain justness of taste to know when we have said enough, through want of which, when we attempt to say more, we say less. Another example, of a nature pretty similar, and arising from a similar cause, is the manner wherein our interpreters have attempt- ed, in the New Testament, to strengthen the negation, wherever the double negative f occurs in the Greek, even in the most authori- tative threatenings, by rendering it sometimes ' in no case,' sometimes * in no wise.' It is evident that, in such instances, neither of these phrases expresseth more than the single adverb not, and as they partake of the nature of circumlocution, and betray an unsuccess- ful aim at saying more, they in effect debilitate the expression. The words, " Ye shall not enter the kingdom of heaven," as they have more simplicity, have also, from the mouth of a legislator, more dignity and weight than ' ye shall in no case,' or ' in no wise enter ' into it,' as though there were various ways and means of getting, thither. The two negatives of the Greek are precisely on the same footing with the two negatives of the French , our single particle not is a full equivalent to both. For should a translator from the French attempt to render every double negative by such a periphra- sis in English, his version would be justly accounted ridiculous. It may be thought a consequence of this doctrine, that the solemn protestation, " Verily, verily, I say unto you," so often adopted by our Lord, would rather weaken than enforce the sentiment. But the case is different. As these words enter not into the body of the proposition, but are employed solely to introduce it, they are to be considered purely as a call to attention, serving not so much to af- * 1 Sam. xvii. 25. t Ov n* $ Ne pas or non point. Sometimes the French use even three negatives where we can properly employ but one in English, as in this sentence: " Je ne nie pas " que je ne 1'aye dit." 'I do not deny that I said it.' I believe no man who un- derstands both languages will pretend that the negation here is expressed more strongly by them than by us. Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 377 firm the reality, as the importance of what is to be said. Or if they are to be understood as affirming- the reality, it is from this single consideration, because said by him. I add, as another cause of a languid verbosity, the loading of the style with epithets, when almost every verb hath its attendant ad- verb, which may be called its epithet, and every substantive its an- tendant adjective, and when both adjectives and adverbs are of- ten raised to the superlative degree. Epithets used sparingly and with judgment, have a great effect in enlivening the expression, but nothing has more of an opposite tendency than a profusion of them. That such profusion has this tendency, may be deduced, part- ly from a principle already mentioned, partly from a principle which I am going to observe. That already mentioned is, that they length- en the sentence without adding proportionable strength. The other principle is, that the crowd ing of epithets into a discourse betrays a violent effort to say something extraordinary, andmothing is a clearer evidence of weakness than such an effort when the effect is not cor- respondent. I would not, however, be understood to signify, that adjectives and adverbs are always to be regarded as mere epithets. Whatever is necessary, for ascertaining the import of either noun or verb, whether by adding to the sense, or by confining it, is some- thing more than an epithet, in the common acceptation of that term. Thus when I say * the glorious sun,' the word glorious is an epithet, because it expresses a quality, which, being conceived always to be- long to the object, is, like all its other qualities, comprehended in the name. But when I say ' the meridian sun,' the word meridian is not barely an epithet, because it makes a real addition to the sig- nification, denoting the sun in that situation wherein he appears at noon. The like may be said of ' the rising,' pr * the setting sun.' Again, when I say ' the towering eagle,' I use an epithet, be- cause the quality towering may justly be attributed to all the kind; not so when I say * the golden eagle' because the adjective golden serves to limit the sense of the word eagle to one species only, and is therefore in effect a part of the name. Let it not be imagined hence, that mere epithets are always useless. Though all the essential qualities of a genus are included in the name, the scope of a discourse often renders it important, if not necessary, that some particular qualities should be specially attended to by the hearer. And these by consequence require to be specified by the speaker. On the contrary, a redundancy of these never fails to give a tiresome sameness to the composition, where substantives and ad- jectives, verbs and adverbs, almost invariably strung together, of- fend not more against vivacity, than against harmony and elegance*. * I cannot help thinking that the following: passage which Rolliu has quo. 378 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. This vicious quality of style is sometimes denominated juvenility, as denoting immaturity of judgment, or an inexperience like that which would make a man mistake corpulency for the criterion of health and vigor. Besides, in young writers, a certain luxuriance in words is both more frequent and more pardonable. There is one kind of composition, the paraphrase, of whose style verbosity is the proper character. The professed design of the para- phrast, is to say in many words what his text expresseth in few: accordingly, all the writers of this class must be at pains to provide themselves in a sufficient stock of synonymas, epithets, expletives, circumlocutions, and tautologies, which are, in fact, the necessary implements of their craf . I took notice, when treating of the influ- ence which the choice of proper terms might have on vivacity, of one method of depressing their subject, very common with these men, by generalising as much as possible the terms used in the text. The particidars just now recited are not only common with them, but essential to their work. I shall produce an example from an author, who is far from deserving to be accounted either the most verbose, or the least judicious of the tribe. But first, let us hear his text, the words of Jesus Christ: " Therefore, whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doth them, I will liken him to a wise man, who built his house upon a rock; and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house, and it fell not; for it was founded upon a rock*." Now let us hear the paraphrast. " Wherefore, he that shall not only hear and receive " these my instructions, but also remember, and consider, and prac- " tise, and live according to them; such a man may be compared " to one that builds his house upon a rock: for as a house founded " upon a rock, stands unshaken and firm, against all the assaults of " rains, and floods, and storms; so the man, who, in his life and con- " versation, actually practises and obeys my instructions, will ted from Mascaron, as an example of style elevated and adorned by means of circumlocution and epithet, is justly exceptionable in this way. " Le roi, pour " donner line marque immortelle de Vestime et de Famitie dont il honoroit ce " grand capitaine (M. de Turenne), donne une place illustre a ses glorieuses " cendres, parmi ces maitres de la terre, qui conservent encore dans la magnifi- " cence de leurs tombeaux une image de celle de leurs trones." ' The king, ' that he may give an immortal mark of the esteem and friendship wherewith he ' honored this great captain, gives an illustrious place to his glorious ashes, ' among those masters of the earth, who still preserve, in the magnificence of their ' tombs, an image of that of their thrones." Bel. Let Liv. III. Chap. iii. Art. ii. 5. In the quick succession of such yokemates as these, immortal mark, great captain, illustrious place, glorious ashes, magnificent tombs, there appears a strong attempt towards the grand manner, which, after all, terminates in the tumid. * Matt. vii. 24 and 25. Chap. IL OF RHETORIC. 379 " firmly resist all the temptations of the devil, the allurements of " pleasure, and the terrors of persecution, and shall be able to stand " in the day of judgment, and be rewarded of God*." It would be difficult to point out a single advantage which this wordy, not to say flatulent, interpretation hath of the text. Is it more perspicuous? It is much less so; although it is the chief, if not the sole end of this manner of writing, to remove every thing that can darken the pas- sage paraphrased, and to render the sense as clear as possible. But lest this censure should be thought rash, let it be observed, that two things are clearly distinguished in the text, which are in them- selves certainly distinct, to hear the commands of our master, and to obey them. There was the greater need that this distinction should be properly preserved, because it was the plain intention of the speaker to contrast those who heard and obeyed, with those who heard but obeyed not ; as we learn from the similitude contained in the two following verses f. Yet this primary distinction is con- founded in the paraphrase, by a multitude of words partly synony- mous, partly different in signification. Thus, for " whosoever hear- eth these sayings of mine, and doth them;" we have, " him that " hears, and receives, and remembers, and considers, and actually " practises, and obeys these my instructions, and lives according " to them." I might allege, as another instance of the want of per- spicuity, that the duty and the reward are strangely blended throughout the whole. A deficiency of words is, no doubt, oftener than the contrary, a cause of obscurity; but this evil, as I had oc- casion formerly to remark, may also be the effect of an exuberance. By a multiplicity of words the sentiment is not set oft* and accom- modated, but, like David equipt in Saul's armour, it is encumbered and oppressed. Yet this is not the only, or perhaps the worst consequence, re- sulting from this manner of treating sacred writ. We are told of the torpedo, that it has the wonderful quality of numbing every thing it touches. A paraphrase is a torpedo. By its influence, the most vivid sentiments become lifeless, the most sublime are flatten- ed, the most fervid chilled, the most vigorous enervated. In the very best compositions of this kind that can be expected, the Gos- pel may be compared to a rich \vine of a high flavor, diluted in such a quantity of water as renders it extremely vapid. This would be the case, if the paraphrase (which is indeed hardly possible) took no tincture from the opinions of the paraphrast, but exhibited faithfully, though insipidly, the sense of the evangelist. Whereas, in all those paraphrases we have had occasion to be acquainted * Dr Clarke. t Verses *G and '-'/. 380 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh HI. with, the Gospel may more justly be compared to such a wine, so much adulterated with a liquor of a very different taste and quali- ty, that little of its original relish and properties can be discovered. Accordingly, in one paraphrase, Jesus Christ appears a bigoted Papist; in another, a flaming Protestant: in one, he argues with all the sophistry of the Jesuit; in another, he declaims with all the fanaticism of the Jansenist: in one, you trace the metaphysical ra- tiocinations of Arminius; in another, you recognize the bold con- clusions of Gomarus; and in each, you hear the language of a man, who has thoroughly imbibed the system of one or other of our Christian rabbis. So various and so opposite are the characters which, in those performances, our Lord is made to exhibit, and the dialects which he is made to speak. How different is his own character and dialect from them all! If we are susceptible of the impartiality requisite to constitute us proper judges in these mat ters, we shall find in him nothing that can be thought to favor the subtle disquisitions of a sect. His language is not, like that of all dogmatists, the language of a bastard-philosophy, which, under the pretence of methodizing religion, hath corrupted it, and, in less or more, tinged all the parties into which Christendom is divided. His language is not so much the language of the head as of the heart. His object is not science, but wisdom; accordingly, his discourses abound more in sentiments than in opinions*. * I would not be understood to signify by this censure, that paraphrase can never be a useful mode of explication, though I own, that, in my opinion, the cases wherein it may be reckoned not improper, nor altogether unuseful, are not nu- merous. As the only valuable aim of thisspeciesof commentary is to give great- er perspicuity to an original work, obscurity is the only reasonable plea for em- ploying it. When the style is very concise or figurative, or when there is an al- lusion to customs or incidents, now or here not generally known, to add as much as is necessary for supplying an ellipsis, explaining an unusual figure, or suggest- ing an unknown fact or mode alluded to, may serve to render a performance more intelligible, without taking much from its energy. But if the use and occa- sions of paraphrase are only such as have been now represented, it is evident that there are but a few books of scripture, and but certain portions of those few, that require to be treated in this manner. The notions which the generality of para- phrasts(Isay not all) entertain on this subject are certainly very different. If we may judge from their productions, we should naturally conclude, that they have considered such a size of subject matter, (if I may be indulged this once in the expression) as affording a proper foundation for a composition of such a mag- nitude; and have, therefore, laid it down as a maxim, from which, in their prac- tice, they do not often depart, that the most commodious way of giving to their work the extent proposed, is that equal portions of the text (perspicuous or ob- scure, it matters not,) should be spun out to equal length. Thus, regarding only quantity, they view their text, and parcel it, treating it in much the same man- ner as goldbeaters and wiredrawers treat the metals on which their art is em- plyed. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 381 But I have digressed from my subject, and shall therefore re- turn to it by observing, that another species of verbosity, and the only one which remains to be taken notice of, is a prolixity in nar- ration, arising from the mention of unnecessary circumstances. Circumstances may be denominated unnecessary, either because not of such importance as that the scope of the relation is affected by their being known, or because implied in the other circumstan- ces related. An error of the former kind belongs properly to the thought, of the latter to the language. For the first, when it is ha- bitual, a man is commonly styled loquacious; for the second, ver- bose. Such a sentence as the following would be an instance of the second; for with the first I am not here concerned. * On re- * ceiving this information, he arose, went out, saddled his horse, ' mounted him, and rode to town.' All is implied in saying, ' On ' receiving this information, he rode to town.' This manner, how- ever, in a certain degree, is so strongly characteristic of the uncul- tivated, but unaffected, style of remote ages, that in books of the highest antiquity, particularly the sacred code, it is not at all un- graceful. Of this kind are the following scriptural phrases, " He lifted up his voice and wept." " She conceived and bore a son." " He opened his mouth and said." For my own part, I should not approve the delicacy of a translator, who, to modernize the style of the Bi- ble, should repudiate every such redundant circumstance. It is true, that in strictness they are not necessary to the narration, but they are of some importance to the composition, as bearing the ve- nerable signature of ancient simplicity. And in a faithful transla- tion, there ought to be not only a just transmission of the writer's sense, but, as far as is consistent with perspicuity and the idiom of the tongue into which the version is made, the character of the style ought to be preserved. So much for the vivacity produced by conciseness, and those blemishes in style which stand in opposition to it, tautology, pleo- nasm, and verbosity. CHAP. III. OF VIVACITY, AS DEPENDING ON THE ARRANGEMENT OF THE WORDS. SECTION I. Of the nature of Arrangement, and the principal division of Sentences. HAVING already shown how far vivacity depends either on the 382 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. words themselves, or on their number, I come now, lastly, to consi- der how it is affected by their arrangement. This, it must be owned, hath a very considerable influence in all languages, and yet there is not any thing which it is more difficult to regulate by general laws. The placing of the words in a sen- tence resembles, in some degree, the disposition of the figures in a history-piece. As the principal figure ought to have that situation in the picture which will, at the first glance, fix the eye of the spec- tator, so the emphatical word ought to have that place in the sen- tence which will give it the greatest advantage for fixing the atten- tion of the hearer. But in painting there can rarely arise a doubt concerning either the principal figure, or the principal place; where- as here it is otherwise. In many sentences it may be a question, both what is the word on which the emphasis ought to rest, and what is the situation which (to use the language of painters) will give it the highest relief. In most cases, both of simple narration and of reasoning, it is not of great consequence to determine' either point; in many cases it is impossible. Besides, in English, and other modern languages, the speaker doth not enjoy that boundless latitude, which an orator of Athens or of Rome enjoyed, when ha- ranguing in the language of his country. With us, who admit very few inflections, the construction, and consequently the sense, de- pends almost entirely on the order. With the Greeks and the Ro- mans, who abound in inflections, the sense often remains unalterable, in whatever order you arrange the words. But, notwithstanding the disadvantage which, in this respect, we Britons labor under, our language even here allows as much liberty as will, if we know how to use it, be of great service for invigorat- ing the expression. It is true, indeed, that when neither the ima- gination nor the passions of the hearer are addressed, it is hazard- ous in the speaker to depart from the practice which generally ob- tains in the arrangement of the words; and that even though the sense should not be in the least affected by the transposition. The temperament of our language is phlegmatic, like that of our climate. When, therefore, neither the liveliness of representation, nor the warmth of passion, serve, as it were, to cover the trespass, it is not safe to leave the beaten track. Whatever is supposed to be written or spoken in a cool and temperate mood, must rigidly adhere to the established order, which with us, as 1 observed, allows but lit- tle freedom. What is said will otherwise inevitably be exposed to the censure of quaintness and affectation, than which, perhaps, no censure can do greater prejudice to an orator. But as it is indu- Chap. HI. OF RHETORIC. 383 bitahle, tliat in many cases both composition and arrangement may, without incurring this reproach, be rendered greatly subservient to vivacity, I shall make a few observations on these, which I pur- pose to illustrate with proper examples. Composition and arrangement in sentences, though nearly con- nected, and, therefore, properly in this place considered together, are not entirely the same. Composition includes arrangement and something more. When two sentences differ only in arrangement, the sense, the words, and the construction, are the same; when they differ also in other articles of composition, there must be some dif- ference in the words themselves, or, at least, in the manner of con- struing them. But I shall have occasion to illustrate this distinc- tion in the examples to be afterwards produced. Sentences are either simple or complex; simple, consisting of one member only; as this, " In the beginning, God created the " heaven and the earth*;" complex, consisting of two or more members linked together by conjunctions; as this, " Doubtless " thou art our father, | though Abraham be ignorant of us, | and " Israel acknowledge us not f ." In the composition of the former, we have only to consider the distribution of the words; in that of the latter, regard must also be had to the arrangement of the mem- bers. The members too are sometimes complex, and admit a sub- division into clauses, as in the following example, " The ox know- " eth his owner, j and the ass his master's crib; but Israel doth " not know, | my people doth not consider*." This decompound sentence hath two members, each of which is subdivided into two clauses. When a member of a complex sentence is simple, having but one verb, it is also called a clause. Of such a sentence as this, " I have called, | but ye refused ; " we should say indifferently, that it consists of two members, or of two clauses || . The members or the clauses are not always perfectly separate, the one succeeding the other; one of them is sometimes very aptly enclosed by the other, as in the subsequent instance: " When Christ (who is our life) " shall appear; then shall ye also appear with him in glory If ." This sentence consists of two members, the former of which is di- vided into two clauses; one of these clauses, " who is our life," being as it were embosomed in the other, " when Christ shall ap- " pear." * Gen. i. 1. f Isaiah Ixiii. 1 6. J Ibid. i. S. Prov. i. 24. || The words member and clause in English, are used as corresponding to the Greek xd)>.o and XO/X/A, and to the Latin membrum and incisvm. U Col. iii. 4. 384- THE PHILOSOPHY Bonk 777. So much for the primary distinction of sentences into simple and complex. SECTION II. .Simple Sentences. WITH regard to simple sentences, it ought to be observed first, that there are degrees in simplicity. " God made man," is a very sim- ple sentence. " On the sixth day God made man of the dust of " the earth after his own image," is still a simple sentence in the sense of rhetoricians and critics, as it hath but one verb, but less simple than the former, on account of the circumstances specified. Now it is evident, that the simpler any sentence is, there is the less scope for variety in the arrangement, and the less indulgence to a violation of the established rule. Yet even in the simplest, what- ever strongly impresses the fancy, or awakens passion, is sufficient, to a certain degree, to authorize the violation. No law of the English tongue relating to the disposition of words in a sentence, holds more generally than this, that the nominative has the first place, the verb the second, and the accusative, if it be an active verb that is employed, has the third * if it be a substan- tive verb, the participle, adjective, or predicate, of whatever deno- mination it be, occupies the third place. Yet this order, to the great advantage of the expression, is often inverted. Thus in the general uproar at Ephesus, on occasion of Paul's preaching among them against idolatry, we are informed, that the people exclaimed for some time without intermission, " Great is Diana of the Ephe- siansf." Alter the arrangement, restore the grammatic order, and say, " Diana of the Ephesians is great;" and you destroy at once the signature of impetuosity and ardor resulting, if you please to call it so, from the disarrangement of the words. We are apt to consider the customary arrangement as the most consonant to nature, in consequence of which notion we brand every departure from it as a transgression of the natural order. This way of thinking ariseth from some very specious causes, but is far from being just. " Custom," it hath been said " becomes a second na- " ture." Nay, we often find it strong enough to suppress the first. * Let it be observed, that in speaking of English syntax, I use the terms nomi- native and accusative, merely to avoid tedious circumlocutions, sensible that in strict propriety our substantives have no such cases. By the nominative I mean always the efficient, agent, or instrument operating, with which the verb agrees in number and person; by the accusative, the effect produced, the object aimed at, or the subject operated on. t Actsxix. 28 and 34.. Ckap. III. OF RHETORIC. 385 Accordingly, what is in this respect accounted natural in one lan- guage, is unnatural in another. In Latin, for example, the nega- tive particle is commonly put before the verb, in English it is put after it; in French one negative is put before, and another after. If in any of these languages you follow the practice of any other, the order of the words will appear unnatural. We in Britain think it most suitable to nature to place the adjective before the substan- tive; the French and most other Europeans think the contrary. We range the oblique cases of the personal pronouns, as we do the nouns whose place they occupy, after the verb; they range them invaria- bly before, notwithstanding that when the regimen is a substantive, they make it come after the verb, as we do. They and we have both the same reason, custom, which is different in different countries. But it may be said, that more than this can be urged in support of the ordinary arrangement of a simple sentence above explained. The nominative, to talk in the logicians' style, is the subject; the adjective, or participle, is the predicate; and the substantive verb, the copula. Now, is it not most natural, that the subject be men- tioned before the thing predicated of it? and what place so proper for the copula which unites them, as the middle? This is plausible, and, were the mind a pure intellect, without fancy, taste, or passion, perhaps it would be just. But as the case is different with human nature, I suspect there will be found little uniformity in this par- ticular in different tongues, unless where, in respect either of mat- ter or of form, they have been in a great measure derived from some common source. The Hebrew is a very simple language, and hath not that variety either of moods or of conjunctions, that is requisite for forming a complicated style. Here, therefore, if any where, one would ex- pect to find an arrangement purely natural. Yet in this language, the most usual, and what would with them, therefore, be termed the grammatical disposition of the words, is not the disposition above mentioned. In the historic style, or when past events are related, they commonly place the verb first, then the nominative, afterwards the regimen, predicate, or attendant circumstances*. The freedom * Tims the very first words of Genesis, a book even among the books of Scrip- ture remarkable for simplicity of style, are an evidence of tin's in the active verb : DN ttPr&M Kin JVlMna pNn nS) aOtW1 The order is preserv- ed exactly in the Vulgat. " Jn principle creavit Deus ccelum et terram." That the same order is observed in disposing the substantive verb, appears from the fifth verse, inN DV 1p3 >m 2"iy >!T1 The arrangement here is perfectly exhibited in the Latin version of Junius and Tremellius, which is generally very literal. " Sic fuit vespera et fuit mane diei primi." Yet in En- glish we should be apt to call the order in both passages, especially the last, ra- 386 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI- which Greek and Latin allow on this article renders it improper to denominate one order grammatical exclusively of others. I ima- gine, therefore, that perhaps the only principle in which on this subject we can safely rest, as being founded in nature, is, that whatever most strongly fixes the attention, or operates on the pas- sion of the speaker, will first seek utterance by the lips. This is agreeable to a common proverb, which perhaps, to speak in Shake- spear's phrase*," issomethingmusty,"butsignificant enough," Near- ther unnatural. " In the beginning created God the heavens and the earth." " And was evening and was morning day first." The same thing might be il~ lustrated in the passive verbs, in the neuter, and in the reciprocal, if necessary. Nothing therefore can be more evident, than that it is custom only which makes us Britons, prefer one order of words, and others another, as the natural order. 1 am surprised that a critic of so much taste and discernment as Bouhours (see his Entretiens d'Ariste et d 1 Eugene* 2. la langue Franqoise) should represent this as one of the excellencies of the French tongue, that it follows the natural order of the words. It is manifest, from what has been said, that its common arrange- ment has no more title to be denominated natural, than that of any other language. Nay, we may raise an argument for confuting this silly pretence, from the very laws that obtain in thislanguage. Thus, if the natural order require that the regimen should follow the active verb, their way of arranging the oblique cases of the pro- nouns is unnatural, as they always place them before the verb ; if, on the contrary, the natural order require that the regimen should precede the governing verb, their way of arranging nouns governed by verbs is unnatural, since they always place them after the verb: so that, whichever he the natural way, they depart from it in the dis- position of one or other of these parts of speech. The like may be urged in regard to the nominative, which, though for the most part it go before the active verb, in certain cases follows it. This happens frequently when the verb is preceded by the oblique case of the relative, as in this sentence: " Le retardemeut, que " souffre le lecteur, le rend plus attentif." And even in placing their adjectives, wherever use hath made exceptions from the general rule, it has carried the no- tion of what is natural along with it. They would call it as unnatural to say homme jeune, as to say guardian ange. All therefore that can be affirmed with truth is, that the French adhere more inviolably than other nations to the ordi- nary arrangement established in the language. But this, as I hope to evince in the sequel, is one of the greatest imperfections of that tongue. The ease with which the Italian admits either order in the personal pronouns, especially in po- etry, adds often to the harmony and the elegance, as well as to the vivacity of the expression, as in these lines of Metastasio's Artaserse, Sallo amor, lo sanno i muni ; II mio core, il tuo lo sa. Bouhours, in the dialogue above mentioned, has droptthe character of critic and philosopher for that of encomiast. He talks like a lover about his mistress. He sees neither blemish nor defect. All is beauty and excellence. For my part, if I were to prove the inferiority of French to Italian and Spanish, the two lan- guages with which he compares it, I should not desire other or better topics for evincing the point, than the greater part of those which he has employed, in my judgment very unsuccessfully, for the contrary purpose. * Hamlet. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 38T a est tlie heart, nearest the mouth." In these traspositions, there- fore, I maintain, that the order will be found, on examination, to be more strictly natural, than when the more general practice in the tongue is followed. As an irrefragable argument in support of this doctrine, it may be pleaded, that though the most usual, which is properly the arti- ficial order, be different in different languages, the manner of ar- ranging, or (if you like the term better) transposing, above speci- fied, which is always an effect of vivacity in the speaker, and a cause of producing a livelier conception in the hearer, is the same in all languages. It is for this reason amongst others, that I have chosen to take most of my examples on this topic, not from any original performance in English, but from the common translation of the Bible, and shall here observe once for all, that both in the quotations already made, and in those hereafter'to be made, our trans- lators have exactly followed the order of the original. And indeed, all translators of any taste, unless when cramped by the genius of the tongue in which they wrote, have in such cases done the same*. It may be proper also to remark, that there are some modern tongues which in this respect are much more inflexible than ours. The next example I shall produce is very similar to the former, as in it the substantive verb is preceded by the participle passive, and followed by the nominative. In the acclamations of the people on our Saviour's public entry into Jerusalem, the historian informs us, that they cried out, " Blessed is he that cometh in the name of " the Lord f." Instead of this, say, He that cometh in the name ' of the Lord is blessed;' and by this alteration in the order of the words, apparently trifling, you convert a fervid exclamation into a cold aphorism. The third example shall be of an active verb, preceded by the accusative, and followed by the nominative. It may be proper to observe by the way, that unless one of these is a pronoun, such an arrangement is scarcely admissible in our language. These cases in our nouns, not being distinguished by inflection, as they are in * Gr. MtyaXr; fApltptt ' E^tan'wy. Lat. Vulg. Erasm. " Magna Diana Ephe- " siorum." Castal. Beza, " Magna est Diana Ephesiorum." Ital. Diodati, " Grande e la Diana degli Efesii." How weak in comparison is the French ver- sion of Le Clerc? " La Diane des Ephesiens est une grande deesse." How deficient that of Beausobre ? " La grande Diane des Ephesiens." How ridicu- lous that of Saci! " Vive la grande Diane des Ephesiens." t Matt. xxi. 9- Gr. EiXoy*)/oj o Ifyppimt n orapar* Kvp iw. Lat Vulg. Eras. Bez. " Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini." Cast " Bene sit ei " qui venit, &c." Ital. Diod. " Benedeto colui che viene nel noine del Signiore." Fr. Le Clerc, Beans. Saci, " Beni soit celui qui vicnt, au nom du Seigneur." CC2 388 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 111. our pronouns, are solely ascertained by place. But to come to the proposed example, we are informed by the sacred historian, that when Peter and John ordered the cripple who sat begging at the beautiful gate of the temple, to look on them, he looked at them ve- ry earnestly, expecting to receive something from them. Then Pe- ter said, " Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have, give I " thee; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, arise and walk*." Here the wishful look and expectation of the beggar, naturally leads to a vivid conception of that which was the object of his thoughts, and this conception as naturally displays itself in the very form of the declaration made by the apostle. But as every thing is best judged by comparison, let us contrast with this the same sentence arranged according to the rigid rules of grammar, which render it almost a literal translation of the Italian and French ver- sions quoted in the margin, ' I have no gold and silver; but I give ' thee that which I have: in the name of _ " The import is the same, but the expression is rendered quite exanimate. Yet the sen- tences differ chiefly in arrangement ; the other difference in compo- sition is inconsiderable. There is another happy transposition in the English version of the passage under review, which, though peculiar to our version, deserves our notice, as it contributes not a little to the energy of the whole. I mean not only the separation of the adjective ' none' from its substan- tives ' silver and gold,' but the placing 1 of it in the end of the clause, which, as it were, rests upon it. "Silver and gold have I none." For here, as in several other instances, the next place to the first, in respect of emphasis, is the last. We shall be more sensible of * Acts iii. 6. Gr. ^Agyvgi oy xai ^vtr'tov ts% viroif^ti (AOI' o ^E E^W, TTO v y ir&is y ^wyaXrj. As Hit- expres- sion is taken from Isaiah xxi. 9- the same order is found in the Ilrlin \\, ^OD rf?D3 n^D3 All the Latin translations that I have seen, have followed the same order. " Cecidit, cecidit Babylon, urbs ilia niagna." Le Clerc and Saci iu the French, both agree with the arrangement in the English. " Bafoy- " lone est tombee; elle est tombee; cette grande ville." Beausobre's version in that tongue is rather better, as it comes nearer the order of the words in tin- Greek. He begins with the pronoun, and puts the name after the verb. " El- " le est tombee, elle est tombee, Babylone la grande ville." This, I believe, is as near the original as the idiom of the French will permit. In the Italian, Diodati hath preserved entirely the vivacity resulting both from the disposition of the words, and the reduplication of the verb, and hath given the passage that turn which tin- English interpreters might and should have given it: " Caduta, cadnta e Babi- " Ionia 1* gran citta." It is evident that in this matter the Italian allows more liberty than the French, and the English more than the Italian. The truth of this observation will appear more fully afterward*. 390 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. the angel's mind, the verb in the Greek with great propriety be- gins the proclamation. Again, as it was an event of so surprising a nature, and of such mighty consequence, it was natural to attempt, by repeating the word, to rivet it in the minds of the hearers, ere he proceeded any further. The words is " fallen" in our language, answer to the single word by which the verb is expressed in the original. Our translators were sensible they could not say, ' Is ' fallen, is fallen, Babylon that great city.' This would convey no meaning, being neither affirmation nor interrogation, hypothesis nor wish. For this reason they have preferred the colder arrange- ment, prescribed by grammarians, though by so doing they have also lost the effect of the reduplication. A little attention to the genius of our tongue would have shown them, that all the effect, both of the order and of the figure, would have been preserved by saying, * Fallen, fallen, is Babylon the great city*.' Often a particle, such as an adverb or preposition belonging to a compound verb, (for it matters not in which way you consider it), emphatically begins the sentence, as in that formerly quoted for another purpose " Up goes my grave Impudence to the maid." In the particle up, that circumstance is denoted, which particularly marks the impudence of the action. By the help of it too, the verb is made to precede the nominative, which otherwise it could not do. In negations it holds very generally, that the negative par- ticle should be joined to the verb. Yet in some cases the expres- sion is greatly enlivened, and consequently the denial appears more determinate, by beginning the sentence with the adverb. " Not " every one," says our Saviour, " that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, " shall enter into the kingdom of heaven ; but he that doth the will " of my father who is in heaven f ." Vary but the position of the negative in the first member, and say, Every one that saith unto * Somewhat similar is the admirable example we have in this passage of Virgil- Me, me,adsum quifeci, in me convertite ferrum. Jn. lib. ix. The emphasis here is even the stronger, that the pronoun so happily begun with and repeated is perfectly irregular, it being quite detached from the construc- tion of the sentence . f Matt. vii. 21. Gr. Ov irs o Xyy /xo<, Kv, Kogit, tliriteva-elai tis -rni W/- %tiot ruv vgxwv. All the Latin translators, however differently they express the sense, agree in beginning with the negative particle. So also doth Diodati in the Italian : " Non chiunque mi dice, Signore, Signore, entrera nel regno de' 44 cieli." Not so the French. Le Clerc and Beausobre thus: " Tous ceux qui me disent, Seigneur, n'entreront pas dans le royaulne du ciel." Saci thus, " Ceux " qui me disent, Seigneur, Seigneur, n'entreront pas tous dans le royaume des Chap. HI. op RHETORIC. 3JH * me, Lord, Lord, shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven,' and you will flatten the expression exceedingly. On so slight a circum- stance in the arrangement does the energy of a sentence sometimes depend. We have some admirable examples of the power of this circumstance in Shakespeare. In the conference of Malcolm with Macduff, after the former had asserted, that he himself was so wicked, that even Macbeth, compared with him, would appear in- nocent as a lamb, Macduff replies with some warmth, Not in the legions Of horrid hell, can come a devil more datnif d, In ills to top Macbeth*. The arrangement in this sentence is admirably adapted to the speak- er's purpose; whereas, if you dispose the words in the usual man- ner, and say, ' A more damned devil in the legions of horrid hell ' cannot come to top Macbeth in ills;' we shall scarcely be per- suaded that the thought is the same. If it were needful to multi- ply examples, I might easily show that other adverbs, particularly those of time and of place, when such circumstances require spe- cial notice, may, with great advantage to the energy, appear fore- most in the sentence. I proceed to observe, that when a sentence begins with a conjunc- tion, whether it be expressed in one word or more, with naming or titling the persons addressed, with a call to attention, or even with a term that is little more than an expletive, the place immediately following such phrase, title, or connective, will often give the same advantage to the expression that fills it, as in other cases the first place will do. The first term or phrase is considered only as the link which connects the sentence with that which went before; or, if it have no relation to the preceding, as an intimation that some- thing is to be said. Of this a few examples will suffice. The place immediately after a conjunction which begins the sentence is some- times emphatical, as in that of Milton: At last his sail-broad vans He spreads for flight t ; where the description is the more picturesque, that the verb is pre- ceded by its regimen. The possessive pronoun and the epithet, unless when a particular emphasis rests upon one of them, are re- garded only as cons tituting parts of one complex sign with the noun. Secondly, the place after the address, as in that of the same author, Powers and dominions, deities of heaven ! Me, tlio' just right and the fixt laws of heaven Did first create your leader t Macbeth. t Paradise Lost, B. II. $ Ibid. THE PHILOSOPHY Booh III. Nothing could better suit, or more vividly express, the pride and arrogance of the archapostate, than the manner here used of intro- ducing himself to their notice. Thirdly, the place after a call to attention, as in that of the apostle: " Behold, now is the accepted " time: behold, now is the day of salvation*." Lastly, the place after an expletive: " There came no more such abundance of spi- " ces as these which the queen of Sheba gave to king- Solomon f." Perhaps the word ' there,' in this passage, cannot properly be termed an expletive; for though it be in itself insignificant, the idiom of the language renders it necessary in this disposition of the sentence; for such is the power of this particle, that by its means even the simple tenses of the verb can be made to precede the nominative, without the appearance of interrogation. For when we interrogate, we must say, ' Came there ' or ' Did there come ' A little attention will satisfy us, that the verb, in the passage produced, ought to occupy the emphatical place, as the comparison is purely of what was brought into the country then, and what was at any time imported afterwards. Even though the particle there be pre- ceded by the copulative, it will make no odds on the value of the place immediately following. " And there appeared to them, Elias, " with Moses J." The apparition is here the striking circumstance. And the first place that is occupied by a significant term is still the emphatical place. In all the three preceding quotations from scripture, the arrangement is the same in the original, and in most of the ancient translations, as it is with us. The modern versions vary more, especially in regard to the passage last quoted . I shall add one example more from scripture, wherein the ob- lique case of the personal pronoun, though preceded by two con- junctions, emphatically ushers the verb and its nominative. " Among " many nations there was no k king like Solomon, who was beloved of " his God, and God made him king over all Israel : nevertheless even " him did outlandish women cause to sin ||." My remark concerns * 2 Cor. vi. 2. t 1 Kings, x. 10. J Mark, ix. 4. Gr. Kai utfi* allots *HAi's vc may justly infer, that it was much easier in Greek and Latin to t It is surprising that most modern critics seem to have mistaken totally the import of the word period, confounding it with the complex sentence in general, and sometimes even with the simple but circumstantiated sentence. Though none of the ancients as far as I remember, either Greek or Latin, have treated this matter with all the precision that might be wished, yet it appears to me evident, from the expressions they employ, the similitudes they use, and the ex- amples they produce, that the distinction given above perfectly coincides with their notions on this subject. But nothing seems more decisive than the instance which Demetrius Phalerius has given of a period from Demos- thenes, and which, for the sake of illustrating the difference, he has also thrown into the form of a loose sentence. I refer the learned reader to the book itself: Tltpt epiwtt'at, I- IA. The ancients did indeed sometimes apply the word Period to simple but circumstantiated sentences of a certain structure. I shall give the following example in our own language, for an illustration : " At last, after much fatigue, through deep roads and bad " weather, we came, with no small difficulty, to our journey's end." Other- wise thus, " We came to our journey's end at last, with ncr small difficulty, " after much fatigue, through deep roads and bad weather." The latter is in the loose, the former in the periodic composition. Accordingly, in the latter there are, before the conclusion, no less than five words, which 1 have distin- guished by the character, namely, end, last, difficulty, fatigue, roads, with any of which the sentence might have terminated. One would not have ex- pected that a writer so accurate and knowing as M. du Marsais, should have so far mistaken the meaning of the word period in the usage of the ancients, as to define it in this manner : La periode est un assemblage de propositions liees entr' elles par des conjonctivns, et qui toutes ensemble font un sent fini. " The " period is an assemblage of propositions connected by conjunctions, and mak- " ing altogether one complete sense." (Principes de Grammaire, la Periode.) This is a proper definition of a complex sentence ; and that he meant no more is manifest from all his subsequent illustrations. Take the following for an ex- ample, which he gives in another place of the same work: " // ?/ a un avantage " reel a etre instrnit ; mats il ne faut pas que cct avantage inspire de Vorgueil." " There is a real advantage in being instructed; but we ought not to be proud " of this advantage." He adds, " Le mais raproche les deux propositions ou " membres de la periode, et les met in opposition." "The 6uf connects the " two propositions or members of the period, and sets them in opposition." Des conjonctions. It is evident that the sentence adduced is no period in the sense f the ancients. 400 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. write in periods than it is in English, or perhaps in any European tongue. The construction with them depended mostly on inflection ; consequently the arrangement, which ascertains the character of the sentence in respect of composition, was very much in their own power; with us, on the contrary, the construction de- pends mostly on arrangement, which is therefore comparatively very little in our power. Accordingly, as the sense in every sen- tence hangs entirely on the verb, one ordinary way with them of keeping the sense suspended, was by reserving the verb to the end. This, in most cases, the structure of modern languages will not per- mit us to imitate. An example of a complex sentence, that is not a period, I shall produce from the same performance. " One party " had given their whole attention, during several years, to the " project of enriching themselves, and impoverishing the rest of " the nation ; and by these and other means of establishing their " dominion, under the government, and with the favor of a family " who were foreigners, and therefore might believe that they were " established on the throne, by the good will and strength of this " party alone." The criterion of such loose sentences is as follows : There will always be found in them one place at least before the end, at which, if you make a stop, the construction of the pre- ceding part will render it a complete sentence. Thus, in the example now given, whether you stop at the word themselves, at nation, at dominion, at government, or at foreigners, all which words are marked in the -quotation in italics, you will find you have read a perfect sentence. Wherefore then it may be asked, is this denominated one sen- tence, and not several ? For this reason, that though the preced- ing words, when you have reached any of the stops above mention- ed, will make sense, and may be construed separately, the same cannot be said of the words which follo\v. In a period, the de- pendence of the members is reciprocal; in a loose sentence the fonner members have not a necessary dependence on the latter, whereas the latter depend entirely on the former. Indeed, if both the former and latter members are, in respect of construction, alike independent on one another, they do not constitute one sentence, but two or more. And here I shall remark by the way, that it is by applying the observation just now made, and not always by the pointing, even where the laws of punctuation are most strictly ob- served, that we can discriminate sentences. When they are closely related in respect of sense, and when the sentences themselves are simple, they are for the most part separated only by commas or by semicolons, rarely by colons, and almost never by points. In this Chap. III. . OP RHETORIC. 401 way the passages above quoted from the song of Moses and the Psalms, are pointed in all our English Bibles. But there is an intermediate sort of sentences which must not be altogether overlooked, though they are neither entirely loose, nor perfect periods. Of this sort is the following: " The other institu- " tion," he is speaking of the eucharist, " has been so disguised " by ornament, { and so much directed, in your church at least, to " a different purpose from commemoration, that if the disciples " were to assemble at Easter in the chapel of his Holiness, Peter " would know his successor as little, ( as Christ would acknow- " ledge his vicar; and the rest would be unable to guess J what " the ceremony represented \ or intended *." This sentence may be distributed into four members. The first is complex, including two clauses, and ends at commemoration. The second is simple, ending at Holiness. It is evident that the sentence could not ter- minate at either of these places, or at any of the intermediate words. The third member is subdivided into two clauses, and ends at vicar. It is equally evident that if the sentence had been con- cluded here, there would have been no defect in the construction. The fourth member, which concludes the sentence, is also com- pound, and admits a subdivision into three clauses. At the word represented, which finishes the second clause, the sentence might have terminated. The two words which could have admitted a full stop after them, are distinguished by italics. Care hath also been taken to discriminate the members and the clauses. It may, however, justly be affirmed, that when the additional clause or clauses are, as in the preceding- example, intimately connected with the foregoing words, the sentence may still be considered as a period, since it hath much the same effect. Perhaps some of the examples of periods to be produced in the sequel, if examined very critically, would fall under this denomination. But that is of little or no consequence. On comparing the two kinds of complex sentences together, to wit, the period and the loose sentence, we find that each hath its ad- vantages and disadvantages. The former savors more of artifice and design, the latter seems more the result of pure nature. The period is nevertheless more susceptible of vivacity and force ; the loose sentence is apt, as it were, to languish, and grow tiresome. The first is more adapted to the style of the writer, the second to that of the speaker. But as that style is best, whether written or spoken, which hath a proper mixture of both ; so there are some things in every species of discourse, which require a looser, and * Bol. Phil. Es. iv. Sect. 7- 402 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. some which require a preciser manner. In general, the use of pe- riods best suits the dignity of the historian, the political writer, and the philosopher. The other manner more befits the facility which ought to predominate in essays, dialogues, familiar letters, and moral tales. These approach nearer the style of conversation, into which periods can very rarely find admittance. In some kinds of discourses intended to be pronounced, but not delivered to the public in writing, they may properly find a place in the exordium and narration, for thus far some allowance is made for preparation ; but are not so seasonable, unless very short, in the argumentative part and the pathetic. PART IT. Observations on Periods, and on the use of Antithesis in the Composition of Sentences. I NOW proceed to offer some observations on the period. It hath been affirmed to have more energy than a sentence loosely composed. The reason is this: The strength which is diffused through the lat- ter, is in the former collected, as it were, into a single point. You defer the blow a little, but it is solely that you may bring it down with greater weight. .But in order to avoid obscurity, as well as the display of art, rhetoricians have generally prescribed that a period should not consist of more than four members. For my own part, as members of sentences differ exceedingly both in length and in structure from one another, I do not see how any general rule can be established, to ascertain their number. A period con- sisting of but two members may easily be found, that is at once longer, more artificial, and more obscure, than another consisting of five. The only rule which will never fail, is to beware both of prolixity and of intricacy, and the only competent judges in the case are, good sense and a good ear. A great deal hath been said both by ancient critics and by modern, on the formation and turn of periods. But their remarks are chiefly calculated with a view to harmony. In order to prevent the neces- sity of repeating afterwards, I shall take no notice of these remarks at present, though the rules founded on them do also in a certain degree contribute both to perspicuity arid to strength. That kind of period which hath most vivacity, is commonly that wherein you find an antithesis in the members, the several parts of one having a similarity to those of the other, adapted to some re- semblance in the sense. The effect produced by the corresponding members in such a sentence, is like that produced in a picture where the figures of the group are not all on a side, with their Chap. HI. OF RHETORIC. 403 faces turned the same way, but are made to contrast each other by their several positions. Besides, this kind of periods is generally the most perspicuous. There is in them not only that original light, which results from the expression when suitable, but there is also that which is reflected reciprocally from the opposed members. The relation between these is so strongly marked, that it is next to impossible to lose sight of it. The same quality makes them also easier for the memory. Yet to counterbalance these advantages, this sort of period often appears more artful and studied than any other. I say often, be- cause nothing can be more evident, than that this is not always the case. Some antitheses seem to arise so naturally out of the subject, that it is scarcely possible in another manner to express the senti- ment. Accordingly, we discover them even in the scriptures, the style of which is perhaps the most artless, the most natural, the most unaffected, that is to be found in any composition now extant. But I shall satisfy myself with producing a few specimens of this figure, mostly taken from the noble author lately quoted, who is commonly very successful in applying it. " If Cato," says he, " may " be censured, severely indeed but justly, | for abandoning the " cause of liberty, | which he would not however survive; . . what " shall we say of those, | who embrace it faintly, | pursue it irreso- " lutely, . . grow tired of it, | when they have much to hope, . . " and give it up, | when they have nothing to fear*?" In this period there is a double antithesis, the two clauses which follow the pronoun those are contrasted, so are also the two members (each consisting of two clauses) which conclude the sentence. Another specimen of a double antithesis differently disposed, in which he hath not been so fortunate, I shall produce from the same work. " Eloquence that leads mankind by the ears, | gives a nobler supe- " riority | than power that every dunce may use, | or fraud that " every knave may employ, | to lead them by the nose." Here the two intermediate clauses are contrasted, so are also the first and the last. But there is this difference. In the intermediate mem- bers, there is a justness in the thought as well as in the expression, an essential requisite in this figure. In the other two members the antithesis is merely verbal; and is therefore at best but a trifling play upon the words. We see the connection which eloquence has with the ears, but it would puzzle (Edipus himself to discover the connection which either power or fraud has with the nose. The author, to make out the contrast, is in this instance obliged to be- take himself to low and senseless cant. * On the Spirit of Patriotism. 404 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh HI. Sometimes, though rarely, the antithesis affects three several clauses. In this case the clauses ought to be very short, that the artifice may not be too apparent. Sometimes too, the antithesis is not in the different members of the same sentence, but in different sentences. Both the last observations are exemplified in the follow- ing quotation from the same performance: " He can bribe, | but " he cannot seduce. He can buv, [ but he cannot g'ain. He can " lie, | but he cannot deceive." There is likewise in each sentence a little of antithesis between the very short clauses themselves. Neither is this figure entirely confined to periods. Sentences of looser composition admit it; but the difference here is the less ob- servable, that an antithesis well conducted produces the effect of a period, by preventing the languor which invariably attends a loose sentence, if it happen to be long-. The following is an instance of antithesis in such a sentence : " No man is able to " make a juster application of what hath been here advanced, to " the most important interests of your country, to the true inter- " est of your royal master, and to your private interest too; if " that will add, as I presume it will, some weight to the scale; and " if that requires, as I presume it does, a regard to futurity as well " as to the present moment*." That this is a loose sentence a little attention will satisfy every reader. 1 have marked the words in italics, at which, without violating the rules of grammar, it might have terminated. I acknowledge, however, that the marks of art are rather too visible in the composition. Sometimes an antithesis is happily carried through two or three sentences, where the sentences are not contrasted with one another, as in the example already given, but where the same words are contrasted in the different members of each sentence somewhat differently. Such an antithesis on the words men, angels, and gods, you have in the two following couplets: Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes; Men would be angels, j angels would be Gods. Aspiring to be Gods, | if angels fell; Aspiring to be angels j men rebel f. The like varied opposition in the words 'principles,' 'means,' and ' ends,' may be observed in the two following sentences : " They " are designed to assert and vindicate the honor of the Revolution; " of the principles established, of the means employed, and of " the ends obtained by it. They are designed to explode our for- " mer distinctions, and to unite men of all denominations, in the " support of these principles, in the defence of these means, and * Ded i cat ion to the Dissertation on Parties. t Essay on Man. Chap. HI. OF RHETORIC. " in the pursuit of these ends *." You have in the subsequent quotation an antithesis on the words 'true' and 'just/ which runs through three successive sentences. " The anecdotes here related " were true, and the reflections made upon them were just many " years ago. The former would not have heen related, if he who " related them, had not known them to be true; nor the latter have " been made, if he who made them had not thought them just: " And if they were true and just then, they must be true and " just now and always f." Sometimes the words contrasted in the second clause are mostly the same that are used in the first, only the construction and the arrangement are inverted, as in this passage, " The old may inform " the young; | and the young may animate the old:}:." In Greek and Latin this kind of antithesis generally receives an additional beauty from the change made in the inflection, which is necessary in those ancient languages for ascertaining what in modern tongues is ascertained solely by the arrangement . This obtains sometimes, but more rarely, in our own languag-e, as in these lines of Pope, Wliate'er of mongrel no one class admits* A wit with dunces, | and a dunce wilh wits ||. * Dedication of the Dissertation on Parties. t Advertisement to the Letters on Patriotism. J Dedication of the Dissertation on Parties. An instance of this is that given by Quint. 1. ix. c. 3. " Nou ut edam vivo, " sed ut vivam edo." A literal translation into English, " I do not live that I " may eat, but I eat that I may live," preserves the antithesis, but neither the vivacity nor the force of the original. The want of inflection is one reason of the inferiority, but not the only reason. It weakens the expression that we must employ fifteen words, for what is expressed in Latin with equal perspi- cuity in eight. Perhaps it would be better rendered, though not so explicitly, " I do not live to eat, but 1 eat to live." Another example in point is the uoted epigram of Ausonius, Infelix Dido, nulli benc nupta marito; Hocpereunte, fugis; hoc fugienle, peris. But though it is chiefly in this sort which the ancients called avri(*.trao\ri, that the advantage of varied inflections appears, it is not in this sort only. In all antitheses without exception, the similar endings of the contrasted words add both light and energy to the expression. Nothing can better illustrate this than the compliment paid to Caesar by Cicero, in his pleading for Ligarius " Nihil habet nee fortuna tua majus quam ut possis, nee natura tua melius " quam ut velis, conservare quam plurimos." This perhaps would appear to us rather too artificial. But this appearance ariseth merely from the 'different structure of modern languages. What would in most cases be impossible to us, the genius of their tongue rendered not only easy to them, but almost unavoid- able. H Dunciad, B. 4. 406 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. Something- pretty similar is also to be remarked, when the words in the contrasted members remain the same under different inflec- tions, the construction varied but not inverted. And this is the last variety of the antithesis that I shall specify ; for to enumerate them all would be impossible. You have an, example of this kind of contrast in the last line of the following couplet. Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease, Whom folly pleases, | and whose follies please *. I shall now consider both what the merit of the antithesis is, and to what kind of composition it is best adapted. It hath been re- marked already, and cannot be justly questioned, that it often contributes both to vivacity and perspicuity; on the other hand, it hath been charged with bearing the manifest signatures both of arti- fice and of puerility; of artifice, because of the nice adjustment of the corresponding clauses ; of puerility, because of the supposed insignificance of the task of balancing words and syllables. The latter of these charges results so entirely from the former, that an answer to one is an answer to both. It is solely the appearance of artifice that conveys the notion of a task, and thereby gives rise to the charge of childishness. If therefore in any instance an antithesis cannot be reckoned artificial, it will not, at least on account of the expression, be deemed puerile. It was remarked, when I entered on the consideration of this figure, that it sometimes ariseth so naturally from the subject, as to appear inevitable. This particularly is the case where a compa- rison is either directly made or only hinted. Samuel, we are told, said to Agag, immediately before he killed him, " As thy sword " hath made women childless; so shall thy mother be childless " among women f." The sentiment here expressed, namely, that the treatment which the tyrant was to receive, was due to him by the law of retaliation, rendered some antithesis in the words scarcely avoidable. Yet the antithesis in this passage is more in the thought than in the expression ; as the words in the contrasted clauses are not opposed to each other with that nicety which many authors would have employed. But though accuracy of opposition may on some occasions have a very good effect, this will never be the case where it gives rise to any thing that appears forced in the construction, unnatural in the arrangement, or unharmonious in the cadence. Nature, ease, and fluency, are first to be regarded. In the two following examples you have precision in the contrast, without the appearance of too much art in the expression. " Beware of the ides of March, said * Pope's Imitations of Horace. B. 11. Ep. ii. t 1 Sam. xv.33 Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 407 '' the Roman augur to Julius Caesar. Beware of the month of May, " says the British Spectator to his fair countrywomen." Again, " I " must observe, that as in some climates there is a perpetual spring, "so in some female constitutions there is a perpetual May*." In either instance, if the . comparison itself escape censure, the ex- pression will be pronounced faultless. An antithesis, therefore, doth not always necessarily imply art, and if in some instances it doth to a certain degree imply art, it ought to be remembered, that there are some kinds of composition, which not only admit, but even require, a more elaborate diction than other kinds ; and that in every kind of composition there are some parts wherein even the display of art is more allowable than in other parts. The ob- servations with regard to the proper subjects for periods, will very nearly answer here, and therefore need not be repeated. The antithesis, it is thought, is particularly unfavorable to per- suasion, and therefore quite unfit for the more vehement and argu- mentative parts of a discourse. This is true of some sorts of anti- thesis (for they differ greatly in their nature), but it is not true of all. It is true of such as are sometimes found in long and .complicated sen- tences. But it is not true of those which sentences of a less com- pound nature may admit. The enthymeme itself, the common syl- logism of orators, is often successfully cast into this mould. De- metrius Phalereus, in his treatise of elocution, hath given us an example of this, from one of the most eloquent orations of Demos- thenes against his famous rival. The example translated into En- glish equally suits our present purpose : " For as, if any of those " had then been condemned, | you would not now have trans- " gressed ; so if you should now be condemned, | others " will not hereafter transgress f." The sentence is besides a perfect period, consisting of two members, each of which is subdivided into two clauses. I shall give the same argument with as little apparent antithesis as possible, by imitating the attempt which Demetrius hath made to express the sense in a looser manner. " Do not overlook " this transgression of your laws; for if such transgressors were " punished, this man would not now have acted as he hath done; nor " will another do so afterwards, if he should be condemned on this " occasion J." The argument is the same, though much less forcibly, and even less naturally expressed. But if the enthymeme is of- ten cast into the form of antithesis, we may say of the dilemm;, a * Spectator, No. 395. X. t Higi 'Ef//,. AA. "no-ireg ya.% I"TIS l*tivui exXv, av roc, S x a.t syf>*4"* s ' urus ait r flavor. On the contrary, the richer the beverage is, the danger is the greater, and therefore it ought to be used with the greater caution. Quintilian hath remarked concerning the writings of Seneca, which are stuffed with antithesis, that, " they abound in pleasant faults*." The example had not been dangerous, if the faults had not been pleasant. But the dan- ger here Avas the greater, as the sentiments conveyed under these figures were excellent. The thought recommended the expression. An admiration of the former insinuated a regard to the latter, with which it was so closely connected, and both very naturally engaged imitation. Hence Seneca is justly considered as one of the earliest corrupters of the Roman eloquence. And here we may remark by the way, that the language of any country is in no hazard of being corrupted by bad writers. The hazard is only when a writer of considerable talents, hath not a perfect chastity of taste in composi- tion; but, as was the case of Seneca, affects to excess what in itself is agreeable. Such a style, compared with the more manly elocu- tion of Cicero, we call effeminate, as betraying a sort of feminine fondness for glitter and ornament. There is some danger that both * Instil. Lib. X. Chap. 1. Abundant dnlcibus yitiis. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 411 French and English will be corrupted in the same manner. There have been some writers of eminence in both, who might be charged, perhaps as justly as Seneca, with abounding in pleasant faults. But enough of the antithesis, I return to the consideration of periods in general. And on this head I shall only further remark, that when they consist of complex members, we must follow the same rule in arranging the clauses of each member, in order to give all pos- sible energy to the sentence, that we do in arranging the members of the period. By doing thus, we shall never be in danger of thinking that the member is complete till it actually be so, just as by the structure of the period we are prevented from thinking the sentence finished before the end. A disappointment in the former case is of less moment, but it is still of some. In each itoccasions a degree of languor which weakens the expression. I shall give an example of a period where, in one of the members, this rule is not observed. " Having already shewn how the fancy " is affected by the works of Nature, and afterwards consider- ' ed in general both the works of Nature and of Art, | how they " mutually assist and complete each other, | in forming such scenes " and prospects | as are most apt to delight the mind of the beholder; " I shall in this paper throw together some reflections, on that " particular art, | which has a more immediate tendency than any " ether, | to produce those pleasures of the imagination, | which " have hitherto been the subject of this discourse*." This sentence is a period, agreeably to the definition formerly given. Wherever we stop, the sentence is imperfect till we reach the end. But the members are not all composed according to the rule laid down. It consisteth of three members. The first ends at Nature, is a sin- gle clause, and therefore not affected by the rule; the second is complex, consisting of several clauses, and ends at beholder; the third is also complex, and concludes the sentence. The last mem- ber cannot be faulty, else the sentence would be no period. The fault must then be in the structure of the second, which is evident- ly loose. That member, though not the sentence, might conclude, and a reader naturally supposes that it doth conclude, first at the word Art, afterwards at the word other, both which are before its real conclusion. Such a composition therefore, even in periods, occasions, though in a less degree, the same kind of disappointment to the reader, and consequently the same appearance of feebleness in the style, which result from long, loose, and complex sentences. A very little alteration in the faulty member will unite the clauses * Spectator, No. 4 IS. O. 412 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. more intimately, and entirely remove the exception; as thus, * and afterwards considered in general, how in forming such scenes * and prospects, as are most apt to delight the mind of the behold- * er, the works both of Nature and of Art mutually assist and * complete each other.' It may be thought, and justly too, that this care will sometimes make the expression appear elaborate. I shall only recommend it as one of the surest means of preventing this effect, to render the members as simple as possible, and particularly to avoid synonymas and redundancies, of which there are a few in the member now cri- ticised. Such are scenes and prospects, assist and complete, mu- tually and each other. With the aid of this reformation also, the whole period will appear much better compacted as follows : * Having already shown how the fancy is affected by the works of 4 Nature; and afterwards considered in general, | how in ' forming sucli scenes as are most apt to delight the mind of the ' beholder, | the works both of Nature and of Art assist each other ; * I shall in this paper throw together some reflections on * that particular art, | which has a more immediate tendency than ' any other, | to produce those primary pleasures of the imagina- * tion, | which have hitherto been the subject of this discourse.' PART III. Observations on loose. Sentences. IN complex sentences of looser composition, there is, as was ob- served, a much greater risk of falling into a languid manner. This may arise from different causes. First, even where the sentence is neither long* nor complex, the members will sometimes appear dis- jointed. The consequence always is, that a hearer will at first be in doubt, whether it be one sentence or more. Take the follow- ing for an example: " However, many who do not read them- " selves, ( are seduced by others that do; and thus become " unbelievers upon trust, and at secondhand; and this is " too frequent a case*." The harmony of the members, taken severally, contributes to the bad effect of the whole. The ca- dence is so perfect at the end both of the first member and of the second, that the reader is not only disappointed, but surprised, to find the sentence still unfinished. The additional clauses appear out of their proper place, like something that had been forgotten. Another cause of languor here is the excessive length of a sen- tence, and too many members. Indeed, wherever the sentiments of * Swift's Sermon on the Trinity. Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 4 IS an author are not expressed in periods, the end of a member or clause, or even an intermediate word, as hath been observed alrea- dy, may be the end of the sentence. Yet the commonness of such sentences, when they do not exceed an* ordinary length, prevents in a great measure a too early expectation of the end. On the con- trary, when they transgress all customay limits, the reader begins to grow impatient, and to look for a full stop or breathing-place at the end of every clause and member. An instance of this excess you have in the succeeding quotation : " Though in yesterday's " paper, we considered how every thing that is great, new, or beau- " tiful, is apt to affect the imagination with pleasure, we must own " that it is impossible for us to assign the necessary cause of this " pleasure, because we know neither the nature of an idea, nor the " substance of a human soul, M'hich might help us to discover the " conformity or disagreeableness of the one to the other; andthere- " fore, for want of such a light, all that we can do, in speculations " of this kind, is to reflect on those operations of the soul that are " most agreeable, and to range, under their proper heads, what is " pleasing or displeasing to the mind, without being able to trace " out the several necessary and efficient causes from whence the " pleasure or displeasure arises*." The reader will observe, that in this passage I have distinguished by italics all those words in the body of the sentence, no fewer than seven, at any of which, if there were a full stop, the construction of the preceding part would be complete. The fault here is solely in the length of the whole, and in the number of the parts. The members themselves are well connected. In the next example we have both the faults above mentioned in one sentence: " Last year a paper was brought here from England, " called a Dialogue between the Archbishop of Canterbury and Mr. Hie/ gins, which we ordered to be burnt by the common hang- " man, as it well deserved, though we have no more to do with " his Grace of Canterbury, than you have with the Archbishop of " Dublin, whom you tamely suffer to be abused openly, and by " name, by that paltry rascal of an observator; and lately upon an " affair, wherein he had no concern ; I mean, the business of the " missionary of Drogheda, wherein mir excellent primate was en~ " r/ar/ed, and did nothing but according to latv and discretion f." Hardly will you find in any of the worst English writers a more exceptionable sentence in point of composition than the preceding, which is taken from one of the best. The stops which might be in it will be found, on an attentive perusal, to be no fewer than * Spectator, No. 413. O. f Swift's Letter concerning the Sacramental Test. 4-14 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. fourteen; the clauses are exceedingly unequal, abrupt, and ill-com- pacted. Intricacy in the structure of a complex sentence might al- so be here exemplified as a cause of languor. But as this error never fails to create obscurity, it hath been considered already un- der a former head. PART IV. Review of what has been deduced above in regard to Arrangement. I HAVE now briefly examined how far arrangement may contri- bute to vivacity, both in simple sentences and in complex, and from what principles in our nature it is, that the effect ariseth. In this discussion I have had occasion to consider, in regard to simple sentences, the difference between what may properly be call- ed the rhetorical and natural order, and that which I have denomi- nated the artificial and grammatical, or the customary way of com- bining the words in any particular language. I have observed, as to the former, and taken some pains to illustrate the observation, that it is universal, that it results from the frame of spirit in which the sentiment, whatever it be, is spoken or written, that it is by con- sequence a sort of natural expression of that frame, and tends to communicate it to the hearer or the reader. I have observed also, that this order, which alone deserves the name of Natural, is in every language more or less cramped by the artificial or conventional laws of arrangement in the lang*uag-e ; that, in this respect, the pre- sent languages of Europe, as they allow less latitude, are consider- ably inferior to Greek and Latin, but that English is not a little su- perior in this particular to some of the most eminent of the modern tongues. I have shewn also that the artificial arrangement is dif- ferent in different languages, and seems chiefly accommodated to such simple explanation, narration, and deduction, as scarcely ad- mits the exertion either of fancy or of passion. In regard to complex sentences, both compound and decompound, 1 have remarked the difference between the loose sentence and the period ; I have observed the advantages and the disadvantages of each in point of vivacity, the occasions to which they are respect- ively suited, the rules to be observed in composing them, and the faults which, as tending to enervate the expression and tire the reader, ought carefully to be avoided. I have also made some re- marks on the different kinds of antithesis, and the uses to which they may properly be applied. Thus much shall suffice for the general illustration of this article, concerning the vivacity which results from arrangement. Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 415 CHAP. IV. OF THE CONNECTIVES EMPLOYED IN COMBINING THE PARTS OF A SENTENCE. :i;, . I AM very sensible that the remarks contained in the preceding- chapter, on the particular structure and the particular arrangement in sentences, 1 whether simple or complex, which are most conducive to vivacity, however well these remarks are founded, and however much they may assist us in forming- a judgment concerning- any performance under our review, are very far from exhausting- this copious snbject; and still farther from being sufficient to reg-ulate our practice in composing-. For this reason I judged that the observations on the nature and the management of connexive particles contained in this chapter and the succeeding, might prove an useful supplement to the two preceding ones (for they are connected with both), and serve at once to enlarg-e our conceptions on this subject, and to assist our practice. At first, indeed, I had intended to comprehend both these chapters in the foregoing. But when I reflected, on the other hand, not only that they would swell that article far beyond the ordinary bounds, but that, however much the topics are related, the nature of the investigation contained in them, is both different in itself, and must be differently conducted, I thought it would have less the appearance of digression, and conduce more to perspicuity, to con- sider them severally under their proper and discriminating titles. I need scarcely observe, that by connectives I mean, all those terms and phrases, which are not themselves the signs of things, of operations, or of attributes, but by which, nevertheless, the words in the same clause, the clauses in the same member, the members in the same sentence, and even the sentences in the same discourse, are linked together, and the relations subsisting among them are sug- gested. The last of these connexions I reserve for the subject of the ensuing chapter; all the rest I comprehend in this. The proper subject of this is the connectives of the several parts in the sentence ; the proper subject of the next is the connectives of the several sen- tences iu the discourse. SECTION I. Of Conjunctions. IT was observed already concerning the connectives, that, of all the parts of speech, they are the most unfriendly to vivacity. In their 416 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh III. nature they are the least considerable parts, as their value is merely secondary. Yet, in respect of the difficulty there is in culling and disposing- them, they often prove to an author the most consider- able. In themselves they are but the taches which serve to unite the constituent parts in a sentence or a paragraph. Consequently, the less conspicuous they are, the more perfect will the union of the parts be, and the more easily will the hearer glide, as it were, from one word, clause, or member of a period into another. The more observable they are, the less perfect will the union be, and the more difficultly will the hearer pass on from member to member, from clause to clause, and from word to word. The cohesion of the parts in a cabinet or other piece of furniture seems always the more com- plete, the less the pegs and tacks so necessary to effect it, are ex- posed to view. It is a secret sense of the truth of this doctrine with regard to language, which imperceptibly, as taste improves in a nation, in- fluences their writers to prefer short to long conjunctions. With us in particular, it is the more necessary to attend to this circum- stance, as the nouns and the verbs, which are the most significant words, are mostly monosyllables. For as every thing is judged by comparison, polysyllabic conjunctions must appear the more cum- bersome on that very account. Happily enough at present our conjunctions and relatives in most frequent use (for the last also are merely a species of connectives) are monosyllables*. A few which do not occur so often are dissyllables f. Almost all the polysylla- bic conjunctions are now either disused altogether, or occur but rarely J. In the ancient style which obtained in this island, the conjunc- tions were sometimes lengthened and rendered remarkable by com- bining them together. Thus the particle that, which is both a conjunction and a relative, was annexed to most of them. Two centuries ago we should not have said, 'After I have spoken,' but, * After that I have spoken.' In like manner we should then have said, because that, before that, although that, whilst that, until that, except that, unless that, since that, and seeing that. Sometimes they even used, if that, for that, and when that. This particle seems * Such are the following, in several of which the constituent syll able is also short, and, too, or, nor, nay, yea, but, yet, if, tho', lest, than, as, ere, till, since, so, far, that, whilst, when, who, whose, whom, which, what. t These are, also, likewise, before, after, because, besides, further, again, un- less, whereas, altho'. \ These are, however, moreover, nevertheless, notwithstandingthat, insomuch that, albeit, furthermore, forasmuch as. The three last may be counted obsolete, except with scriveners. The rest cannot entirely be dispensed with. Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 417 to have been added, in order to distinguish the conjunction from the preposition or the adverb, as the word to which it was annexed, was often susceptible of both uses, and sometimes of all the three*. But the event hath shown that this expedient, is quite superfluous. The situation marks sufficiently the character of the particle, so that you will rarely find an ambiguity arising- from this variety in the application. The disuse therefore osuch an unnecessary ap- pendage is a real improvement. The relatives, as was hinted before, partake of the nature of con- junction, both as they are the instruments of linking the members of sentences together, and as they have no independent signification of their own. These, when in coupling the clauses of a paragraph they are joined with a preposition, form what may properly be termed a sort of complex conjunctions. Such are, according to the origi- nal form of the words, upon which, unto which, with that, by which, or, according to a method of combining entirely analogical in our language, whereupon, whereunto, therewith, whereby. In the use of such drawling conjunctions, whether in the loose or in the com- pound form, there is a considerable risk, as is evident from the prin- ciples above explained, of rendering the sentence tiresome, and the expression languid. Some writers, sensible of the effect, seem totally to have mistaken the cause. They have imputed the flatness to the combination, imagining that the uncompounded form of the preposition and the pronoun would nowise affect the vivacity of the style. Lord Shaftes- bury was of this opinion, and his authority hath misled other writers. His words are: "They have of late, it's true, reformed in some " measure the gouty joints and darning work of whereunto's, " whereby's, thereofs, therewith 's, and the rest of this kind; by " which complicated periods are so curiously strung, or hooked on, * The same manner of forming the conjunctions is retained ta this day, both in French and in Italian. They are in French, apres que, parce que, avant qne, bien que, de peur que, tandis que, jusqu'a ce que, a moins que, depuis que, lors que ; in Italian, subito che, percio che, prima che, ancora che, per tema die, mentre che, sin tanto che, altro che, da che, gia sia che. An effect of the im- provement of taste, though not in the same degree, may be observed in both these languages, similar to that which hath been remarked in English. Some dravvlingconjunctionsformerly used, are now become obsolete, as inFrench, encore bien que, bien entendu que, comme ainsi soit que; in Italian, coucio fosse cosa che, per laqual cosa che, gia sia cosa che. The necessary aid of the particle que in French for expressing the most different and even contrary relations, hath induced their celebrated critic and grammarian, Abbe Girard, to style it " the conducive conjunction." The same appellation may be assigned with equal pro- priety to the che in Italian. BE ' / ' 418 THE PHILOSOPHY Hook III. " one to another, after the long-spun manner of the bar or pulpit*." Accordingly, several authors have been so far swayed bv this judg- ment, as to condemn, in every instance, this kind of composition of the adverbs where, here, and there, with prepositions. But if he would be satisfied thnt the fault, where there is a fault, doth not lie in the composition, let us make the experiment on one of the long- spun complicated periods of which the author speaks, by resolving the whereupon into upon which, by saying unto which, for where- unto, and so of the rest; and I am greatly deceived, if we find the darning work less coarse, or the joints less gouty, than they were before this correction. Aid if in any case the combined shall dis- please more than the primitive form, I suspect that the disuse will be found the cause and not the consequence of its displeasing. Compositions of this sort with dissyllabic prepositions are wow mostly obsolete, and it would be silly to attempt to revive them. But with several of the monosyllabic prepositions they are still used. I shall therefore here offer a few arguments against dispossessing them of the ground which they still retain. First, they occasion a little variety. And even this, however inconsiderable, unless some inconvenience could be pleaded on the opposite side, ought, in conjunctions especially, for a reason to be given afterwards, to determine the matter. Secondly, they sometimes, without length- ening the sentence, interrupt a run of monosyllables (a thing ex- tremely disagreeable to some critics), very opportunely substituting a dissyllable instead of two of the former. Thirdly, they in certain cases eve prevent a little obscurity, or at least inelegance. It was observed on a former occasion, that when any relative occurs oftener than once in a sentence, it will seldom be compatible with the laws of perspicuity, that it should refer to different antecedents. And oven if such change of the reference should not darken the sense 4 it rarely fails to injure the beauty of the expression. Yet this fault in long periods and other complex sentences is often scarcely avoid- able. Sometimes the only way of avoiding it is by changing an of which, in which, or by which, into whereof, wherein, or whereby. This will both prevent the too frequent recurrence of the syllable which, none of the most grateful in the language, and elude the apparent inaccuracy of using the same sound in reference to differ- ent things. Fourthly, more is sometimes expressed by the com- pound than by the primitive form, and consequently there are occa- * Misc. v. ch. 1. For the same reason we should condemn the qttapropter, qii.imobrem, quandoquidem, quemudmodum, of the Latin, whose composition and use are pretty similar. To these a good writer will not frequently recur; but their best authors have not thought fit to reject them altogether. Cha)>. IV. OF RHETORIC. 419 sions on which it ought to be preferred. The pronouns this, that, and which, do not so naturally refer to a clause or a sentence, as to a word ; nor do the two first refer so naturally to a plural as to a singular; whereas the compounds of here, there, and where, do with equal propriety refer to all these. Few will pretend that the place of therefore would be properly supplied by for that, or that with what would be in every case an equivalent for wherewith ; or after this, for hereafter; but even in other instances not quite so clear, we shall on examination find a difference. In such a sentence as this, for example, "I flattered her vanity, lied to her, and abused " her companions, and thereby wrought myself gradually into her " favour;" it is evident that the words 'by that' would here be in- tolerable ; and if you should say 'by these actions,' or 'by so doing,' the expression would be remarkably heavier and more awkward. The genuine source of most of these modern refinements is, in my opinion, an excessive bias to every thing that bears a resemblance to what is found in France, and even a prejudice against every thing to which there is nothing in France corresponding; Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after, in base awkward imitation*. Hence it proceeds, that we not only adopt their words and idioms, but even imitate their defects, and act as if we thought it presump- tion to have any words or phrases of our own, to which they have nothing correspondent. I own that this may happen insensibly, without design or affectation on the part of our writers; and that either from the close intercourse which we have with that nation, or from the great use which we make of their writings, and the practice now so frequent of translating 1 them. But that I may not be thought unreasonable in imputing to this cause, what is not justly chargeable on it, I shall specify in the margin a few instances, wherein the penury of the French language hath, in the way of which 1 am speaking, been hurtful to the Englishf. * Shakespeare, Richard II. t The local adverbs are very properly classed with us, as in Latin, into three orders, tor denoting rest or motion in a place, motion to it, and motion from it. In every one of these orders, there are three adverbs to denote this place, that place, and what or which place, interrogatively or relatively. In French there are only two orders, the first and second being confounded. See the scheme subjoined. i 2 3 1 &2 3 WfHere Hither Hence. .= flci D'ici. , 4MuiHiAnrc^. -5, f Si irrl i i ? I * ir tiktit ^rno.