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 . 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: 
 <c The two brothers, Charles and James, when in exile, became 
 " infected with popery to such degrees as their different charac- 
 " ters admitted of. Charles had parts j and his goodunderstand- 
 " ing served as an antidote to repel the poison. James, the sim- 
 " plest man of his time, drank off* the whole chalice. The poison 
 " met, in his composition, with all the fear, all the credulity, and 
 " all the obstinacy of temper proper to increase its virulence, 
 
 " and to strengthen its effect. Drunk with superstitious, and 
 
 " even enthusiastic zeal, he ran headlong into his own ruin, whilst 
 " he endeavoured to precipitate ours. His parliament and his 
 " people did all they could to save themselves, by winning him. 
 " But all was vain. He had no principle on which they could 
 " take hold. Even his good qualities worked against them; and 
 " his love of his country went halves with his bigotry. How he 
 " succeeded we have heard from our fathers. The Revolution of 
 " one thousand six hundred and eighty-eight saved the nation, 
 " and ruined the king*." Nothing can be more contemptuous, 
 and, at the same time, less derisive, than this representation. We 
 should readily say of it, that it is strongly animated, and happi- 
 ly expressed; but no man who understands English would say it 
 is humorous. I shall add one example from Dr. Swift: " I should 
 " be exceedingly sorry to find the legislature make any new laws 
 " against the practice of duelling, because the methods are easy 
 " and many for a wise man to avoid a quarrel with honor, or en- 
 ' gage in it Avith innocence. And 1 can discover no political evil 
 " in suffering bullies, sharpers, and rakes, to rid the world of each 
 
 * A Letter to Sir William Wyndham.
 
 32 THE PHILOSOPHY Book. I. 
 
 * * other by a method of their own, where the law hath not been 
 " able to find an expedient*." 
 
 For a specimen of the humorous, take as a contrast to the two 
 last examples, the following delineation of a fop: 
 
 Sir Plume (of amber snuff box justly vain, 
 
 And the nice conduct of a clouded cane,) 
 
 With earnest eyes and round unthinking face, 
 
 He first the snuff-box opened, then the case, 
 
 And thus broke out, " My lord, why, what the devil? 
 
 " Z ds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you must be civil? 
 
 " Plague on't! 'tis past a jest, nay prithee, pox! 
 
 " Give her the hair." He spoke and rapped his box. 
 
 " It grieves me much," replied the peer again, 
 
 " Who speaks so well, should ever speak in vain; 
 
 But f 
 
 This, both in the descriptive and the dramatic part, particularly 
 in the draught it contains of the baronet's mind, aspect, manner, 
 and eloquence, (if we except the sarcastic term ( justly,' the double 
 sense of the word 'opened,' and the fine irony couched in the re- 
 ply), is purely facetious. An instance of wit and humor combined, 
 where they reciprocally set offand enliven each other, Pope hath 
 also furnished us with in another part of the same exquisite per- 
 formance. 
 
 Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law, 
 
 Or some frail china jar receive a flaw; 
 
 Or stain her honor, or her new brocade ; 
 
 Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade; 
 
 Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball; 
 Or whether heaven has doomed that Shock must fall J. 
 This is humorous, in that it is a lively sketch of the female esti- 
 mate of mischances, as our poet's comnientator rightly terms it, 
 marked out by a few striking lineaments. It is likewise witty, 
 for, not to mention the play on words like that remarked in the for- 
 mer example, a trope familiar to this author, you have here a 
 comparison of a woman's chastity to a piece of porcelain, her 
 honor to a gaudy robe, her prayers to a fantastical disguise, 
 her heart to a trinket; and all these together to her lap-dog, and 
 that founded on one lucky circumstance (a malicious critic would 
 perhaps discern or imagine more) by which these things, how 
 unlike soever in other respects, may be compared, the impression 
 they make on the mind of a fine lady. 
 
 Hudibras, so often above quoted, abounds in wit in almost all 
 its varieties; to which the author's various erudition hath not a 
 
 * Swift on Good Manners. 
 t Rape of the Lock, Canto 4. t Rape of the Lock, Canto 2.
 
 Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 83 
 
 little contributed. And this, it must be owned, is more suitable 
 to the nature of his poem. At the same time it is by no means des- 
 titute of humor, as appears particularly in the different exhibi- 
 tions of character given by the knight and his squire. But in no 
 part of the story is this talent displayed to greater advantage than 
 in the consultation of the lawyer *, to which I shall refer the read- 
 er, as the passage is too long for my transcribing. There is, per- 
 haps, no book in any language wherein the humorous is carried 
 to a higher pitch of perfection, than in the adventures of the cele- 
 brated knight of La Mancha. As to our English dramatists, who 
 does not acknowledge the transcendent excellence of Shakespeare 
 in this province, as well as in the pathetic? Of the later comic writ- 
 ers, Congreve has an exuberance of wit, but Farquhar has more 
 humor. It may, however, with too much truth, be affirmed of 
 English comedy in general, (for there are some exceptions), that, 
 to the discredit of our stage, as well as of the national delicacy and 
 discernment, obscenity is made too often to supply the place of 
 wit, and ribaldry the place of humor. 
 
 Wit and humor, as above explained, commonly concur in a 
 tendency to provoke laughter, by exhibiting a curious and unex- 
 pected affinity; the first generally by comparison, either direct or 
 implied ; the second by connecting in some other relation, such as 
 causality or vicinity, objects apparently the most dissimilar and 
 heterogeneous; which incongruous affinity, we may remark by 
 the way, gives the true meaning of the word Oddity, and is the 
 proper object of laughter. 
 
 The difference between these and that grander kind of elo- 
 quence treated in the first part of this chapter, 1 shall, if possible, 
 still farther illustrate, by a few similitudes borrowed from the op- 
 tical science. The latter may be conceived as a plain mirror, 
 which faithfully reflects the object, in color, figure, size, and pos- 
 ture. Wit, on the contrary, Proteus-like, transforms itself into 
 a variety of shapes. It is now a convex speculum, which gives a 
 just representation in form and color, but withal reduces the great- 
 est objects to the most despicable littleness; now a concave 
 speculum, which swells the smallest trifles to an enormous magni- 
 tude; now again a speculum of a cylindrical, a conical, or an irre- 
 gular make, which, though in color, and even in attitude, it reflects 
 a pretty strong resemblance, widely varies the proportions. Hu- 
 mor, when we consider the contrariety of its effects, contempt and 
 
 * Part iii. Canto 3.
 
 S4 THE PHILOSOPHY Book. /. 
 
 laughter, (which constitute what in one word is termed Derision), to 
 that sympathy and love often produced by the pathetic, may in re- 
 spect of these be aptly compared to a concave mirror, when the ob- 
 ject is placed beyond the focus; in which case it appears by reflec- 
 tion both diminished and inverted, circumstances which happily 
 adumbrate the contemptible and the ridiculous. 
 
 SECTION III Of Ridicule. 
 
 THE intention of raising a laugh is either merely to divert by. that 
 grateful titillation which it excites, or to influence the opinions and 
 purposes of the hearers. In this also, the risible faculty, when suit- 
 ably directed, hath often proved a very potent engine. When this 
 is the view of the speaker, as there is always am air of reasoning con- 
 veyed under thatspecies of imagery, narration or description, which 
 stimulates laughter, these, thus blended, obtain the appellation of ri- 
 dicule, the poignancy of which hath a similar effect in futile subjects 
 to that produced by what is called the vehement in solemn and im- 
 portant matters. 
 
 Nor doth all the difference between these lie in the dignity of 
 the subject. Ridicule is not only confined to questions of less 
 moment, but is fitter for refuting error than for supporting truth, 
 for restraining from wrong conduct, than for inciting to the 
 practice of what is right. Nor are these the sole restrictions; it 
 is not properly levelled at the false, but at the absurd in tenets; 
 nor can the edge of ridicule strike with equal force every species 
 of misconduct: it is not the criminal part which it attacks, but 
 that which we denominate silly or foolish. With regard to doc- 
 trine, it is evident that it is not falsity or mistake, but palpable 
 error or absurdity, (a thing hardly confutable by mere argument), 
 which is the object of contempt; and consequently those dog- 
 mas are beyond the reach of cool reasoning which are within the 
 rightful confines of ridicule. That they are generally conceived 
 to be so, appears from the sense universally assigned to expres- 
 sions like these, ' Such a position is ridiculous. It doth not de- 
 ' serve a serious answer/ Every body knows that they import 
 more than ' Tt is false,' being, in other words, * This is such an 
 ' extravagance as is not so much a subject of argument as of 
 * laughter.' And that we may discover what it is, with regard to 
 conduct, to which ridicule is applicable, we need only consider 
 the different departments of tragedy and of comedy. In the last, 
 it is of mighty influence; into the first, it never legally obtains
 
 Ckap. U. OF RHETORIC. 35 
 
 admittance. Those things which principally come under its lash are 
 awkwardness, rusticity, ignorance, cowardice, levity, foppery, pe- 
 dantry, and affectation of every kind. But against murder, cruelty, 
 parricide, ingratitude, perfidy*, to attempt to raise a laugh, would 
 shew such an unnatural insensibility in the speaker, as would be 
 excessively disgustful to any audience. To punish such enormities, 
 the tragic poet must take a very different route. 
 
 Now from this distinction of vices or faults into two classes, there 
 hath sprung a parallel division in all the k inds of poesy which re- 
 late to manners. The Epopee, a picturesque or graphical poem, is 
 either heroic, or what is called mock-heroic, and by Aristotle Iam- 
 bic f, from the measure in which poem* of this kind were at first 
 composed. The drama, an animated poem, is either in the buskin, 
 or in the sock; for farce deserves not a place in the subdivision, be- 
 ing at most but a kind of dramatical apologue, whereof the cha- 
 racters are monstrous, the intrigue unnatural, the incidents often 
 impossible, and which, instead of humor, has adopted a spurious 
 bantling, called Fun. To satisfy us, that Satire, whose end is persua- 
 sion, admits also the like distribution, we need only recur to the 
 different methods pursued by the two famous Latin satirists, Juve- 
 nal and Hoi-ace. The one declaims, the other derides. According- 
 ly, as Dry den justly observes^:, vice is the quarry of the former, fol- 
 ly of the latter . Thus, of the three graver forms, the aim, whe- 
 ther avowed or latent, always is, or ought to be the improvement 
 
 * To this black catalogue an ancient pagan of Athens or of Rome would have 
 added adultery, but the modern refinements of us Christians (if without profana- 
 tion we can so apply the name) absolutely forbid it, as nothing on our theatre 
 "is a more common subject of laughter than this. Nor is the laugh raised against 
 the adulterer, else we might have some plea for our morals, if none for our. taste; 
 but, to the indellible reproach of the taste, the sense, and the virtue of the nation, 
 in his favor. How much degenerated from our worthier, though unpolished, an- 
 cestors, of whom Tacitus affirms, " Nemo illic vitia ridet; nee corrumpere et 
 " corrumpi seculum vocatur." De Mor. Germ. c. 19. 
 
 t Poet. 4. 
 
 Origin and Progress of Satire. 
 
 The differences and relations to be found in the several forms of poetry 
 mentioned, may be more concisely marked by the following scheme, which 
 brings them under the view at once, 
 Serious. Facetious. 
 
 Fancy Great epic 
 Passion Tragedy 
 Will-High satire 
 
 jf Little epic 
 ^ Comedy 
 g. Low satire 
 
 fit 
 
 i~~* 
 
 Insinuation . [Narrator. 
 
 & 
 
 I 
 
 Corformation * \ Represents. 
 
 Persuasion iReasoner.
 
 ,36 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 1. 
 
 of morals; of the three lighter, the refinement of manners*. But 
 though the latter have for their peculiar object manners, in the li- 
 mited and distinctive sense of that word, they may, with propriety, 
 admit many things which directly conduce to the advancement of 
 morals, and ought never to admit any thing which hath a contrary 
 tendency. Virtue is of primary importance, both for the happiness 
 of individuals, and for the well-being of society ; an external po- 
 lish is at best but a secondary accomplishment, ornamental indeed 
 when it adds a lustre to virtue, pernicious when it serves only to 
 embellish profligacy, and in itself comparatively of but little conse- 
 quence, either to private or to public felicity f . 
 
 Another remarkable difference, the only one which remains to 
 be observed, between the vehement or contentious and the derisive, 
 consists in the manner of conducting them. As in each there is a 
 mixture of argument, this in the former ought, in appearance at 
 least, to have the ascendant, but not in the latter. The attack of 
 the declaimer is direct and open; argument therefore is his avowed 
 aim. On the contrary, the passions which he excites, ought never 
 
 * These observations will enable us to understand that of the poet 
 
 Ridicu'um acri 
 
 Fortius et meliusmagnas plerumque secat res. HOR. 
 
 Great and signal, it must be owned, are the effects of ridicule; but the subject 
 must always appear to the ridiculer, and to those affected by his pleasantry, un- 
 der the notion of littleness and futility, two essential requisites in the object of 
 contempt and risibility. 
 
 t Whether this attention has been always given to morals, particularly in 
 comedy, must be left to the determination of those who are most conversant in 
 that species of scenic representations. One may, however, venture to prognosti- 
 cate, that if in any period it shall become fashionable to shew no regard to vir- 
 tue in such entertainments, if the hero of the piece, a fine gentleman to be sure, 
 adorned as usual with all the superficial and exterior graces which the poet can 
 confer, and crowned with success in the end, shall be an unprincipled libertine, 
 a man of more spirit, forsooth, than to be checked in his pursuits by the re- 
 straints of religion, by a regard to the common rights of mankind, or by the laws 
 of hospitality and private friendship, which were accounted sacred among Pagans 
 and those whom we denominate Barbarians; then, indeed, the stage will 
 become merely the school of gallantry and intrigue; thither the youth of both 
 sexes will resort, and will not resort in vain, in order to get rid of that trouble- 
 some companion modesty, intended by Providence as a guard to virtue, and a 
 check against licentiousness; there vice will soon learn to provide herself in a 
 proper stock of effrontery; and a suitable address for effecting her designs, and 
 triumphing over innocence; then, in fine, if religion, virtue, principle, equity, 
 gratitude, and good faith, arenotempty sounds, the stage will prove the greatest 
 of nuisances, and deserve to be styled theprincipal corriipter of the age. Whe- 
 ther such an era hath ever happened in the history of the theatre, in this or any- 
 other country, or is likely to happen, 1 do not take upon me to decide.
 
 Chap. II. OF RHETORIC. 37 
 
 to appear to the auditors as the effects of his intention and address, 
 but, both in him and them, as the native, the unavoidable conse- 
 quences of the subject treated, and of that conviction which his 
 reasoning- produces in the understanding-. Although, in fact, he 
 intends to move his auditory, he only declares his purpose to con- 
 vince them. To reverse this method, and profess an intention to 
 work upon their passions, would be in effect to tell them that he 
 meant to impose upon their understandings, and to bias them by 
 his art, and consequently, would be to warn them to be on their 
 guard against him. Nothing is better founded than the famous 
 aphorism of rhetoricians, that the perfection of art consists in con- 
 cealing art *. On the other hand, the assault of him who ridicules 
 is from its very nature covert and oblique. What we profess to 
 contemn, we scorn to confute. It is on this account that the rea- 
 soning in ridicule, if at all delicate, is always conveyed under a 
 species of disguise. Nay, sometimes, which is more astonishing, 
 the contempt itself seems to be dissembled, and the rallier assumes 
 an air of arguing gravely in defence of that which he actually ex- 
 poseth as ridiculous. Hence, undoubtedly, it proceeds, that a 
 serious manner commonly adds energy to a joke. The fact, how- 
 ever, is, that in this case the very dissimulation is dissembled. He 
 would not have you think him in earnest, though he affects the ap- 
 pearance of it; knowing that otherwise his end would be frus- 
 trated. He wants that you should perceive that he is dissembling, 
 which no real dissembler ever wanted. It is, indeed, this circum- 
 stance alone, which distinguishes an ironical expression from a lie. 
 Accordingly, through the thinness of the veil employed, he takes 
 care that the sneer shall be discovered. You are quickly made to 
 perceive his aim, by means of the strange arguments he pro- 
 duces, the absurd consequences he draws, the odd embarrassments, 
 which in his personated character he is involved in, and the still 
 odder methods he takes to disentangle himself. In this manner doc- 
 trines and practices are treated, when exposed by a continued run 
 of irony; a way of refutation which bears a strong analogy to that 
 species of demonstration termed by mathematicians apagogical, as 
 reducing the adversary to what is contradictory or impracticable. 
 This method seems to have been first introduced into moral subjects, 
 and employed with success, by the father of ancient wisdom, 
 Socrates. As the attack of ridicule, whatever form it adopts, is 
 always indirect, that of irony may be said to be reverted. It re- 
 sembles the manner of fighting ascribed to the ancient Parthians, 
 
 * Ars et relate art em.
 
 38 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 who were ever more formidable in flight than in onset; who looked 
 towards one quarter, and fought towards the opposite; whose 
 bodies moved in one direction, and their arrows in the contrary*. 
 
 It remains now to confirm and illustrate this branch of the theory 
 by suitable examples. And, not to encumber the reader with a 
 needless multiplicity of exceptions, I shall first recur to those al- 
 ready produced. The first, second, and fifth passages from Butler, 
 the first from Pope, the first from Young, and the quotation from 
 the Dispensary, though witty, have no ridicule in them. Their 
 whole aim is to divert by the oddness of the imagery. This merits 
 a careful and particular attention, as on the accuracy of our con- 
 ceptions here, depends, in a great measure, our forming a just no* 
 tion of the relation which ridicule bears to wit, and of the distinc- 
 tion that subsists between them. Let this, therefore, be carefully 
 remembered, that where nothing reprehensible, or supposed to be 
 reprehensible, either in conduct or in sentiment is struck at, there is 
 properly no satire, (or, as it is sometimes termed emphatically 
 enough, pointed wit,) and consequently no ridicule. 
 
 The example that first claims a particular notice here is one 
 from Young's Satires, 
 
 Health chiefly keeps an Atheist in the dark, &c. 
 
 The wittiness of this passage has been already illustrated, I shall now 
 endeavour to show the argument couched under it, both which to- 
 gether constitute the ridicule. Atheism is unreasonable.' Why? 
 ' The atheist neither founds his unbelief in reason, nor will attend 
 * to it. Was ever an Infidel in health convinced by reasoning; or 
 4 did he ever in sickness need to be reasoned with on this subject? 
 4 The truth then is, that the daring principles of the libertine are 
 4 solely supported by the vigor and healthiness of his constitution, 
 4 which incline him to pleasure, thoughtlessness, and presumption; 
 4 accordingly you find, that when this foundation is subverted, the 
 whole fabric of infidelity falls to pieces.' There is rarely, how- 
 ever, so much of argument in ridicule as may be discovered in 
 this passage. Generally, as was observed already, it is but hinted 
 in a single word or phrase, or appears to be glanced at occasionally, 
 without any direct intention. Thus, in the third quotation from 
 Butler, there is an oblique thrust at Homer, for his manner of re- 
 curring so often, in poems of so great dignity, to such mean and 
 trifling epithets. The fourth and the sixth satirize the particular 
 
 * Miles sagittas et celerern fugam 
 
 Parthi perhorrescit. HOR. 
 
 Fidentemque fuga Parthuin versisque sagittis. VIRG.
 
 Chap. //. Of RHETORIC. 39 
 
 fanatical practice, /and fanatical opinion, to which they refer. To 
 assign a preposterous motive to an action, or to produce an absurd 
 argument for an opinion is an innuendo, that no good motive or ar- 
 gument can be given*. The citations from the Rape of the Lock 
 are no otherwise to be considered as ridicule, than as a lively exhi- 
 bition of some follies, either in disposition or in behaviour, is the 
 strongest dissuasive from imitating them. In this way, humor 
 rarely fails to have seme raillery in it, in like manner as the pa- 
 thetic often persuades without argument, which, when obvious, is 
 supplied by the judgment of the hearer f. The second example 
 seems intended to disgrace the petty quaintness of a fop's manner, 
 and the emptiness of his conversation, as being a huddle of oaths 
 and nonsense. The third finely satirizes the .value which the ladies 
 too often put upon the merest trifles. To these I shall add one in- 
 stance more from Hudibras, where it is said of priests and exorcists, 
 
 Supplied with spiritual provision, 
 And magazines of ammunition, 
 With crosses, relics, crucifixes, 
 Beads, pictures, rosaries, and pixea, 
 The tools of working out salvation, 
 By mere mechanic operation \, 
 
 The reasoning here is sufficiently insinuated by the happy applica- 
 tion of a few words, such as mechanic tools to the work of salvation; 
 crosses, relics, beads, pictures, and other such trumpery, to spiri- 
 tual provision. The justness of the representation of their prac- 
 tice, together with the manifest incongruity of the things, sup- 
 ply us at once with the wit and the argument, There is in this 
 poem a great deal of ridicule ; but the author's quarry is the fran- 
 tic excesses of enthusiasm, and the base artifices of hypocrisy; he 
 very rarely, as in the above passage, points to the idiot gew-gaws 
 of superstition. I shall only add one instance from Pope, which 
 has something peculiar in it, 
 
 Then sighing thus, " And am I now threescore? 
 
 " Ah! why, ye gods! should two and two make four ?" 
 
 This, though not in the narrative, but in the dramatic style, is more 
 
 * We have an excellent specimen of this sort of ridicule in Montesquieu's 
 "Spirit of Laws, B. XV. C. 5. where the practice of Europeans, in enslaving 
 the negroes, is ironically justified, in a manner which does honor to the author's 
 humanity and love of justice, at the same time that it displays a happy talent in 
 ridicule. 
 
 t Ridicule resulting from a, simple, but humorous narration, is finely illus- 
 trated in the first ten or twelve provincial letters. 
 
 I Partiii. Canto 1. 
 
 Dunciad.
 
 40 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh I. 
 
 witty than humorous. The absurdity of the exclamation in the 
 second line is too gross to be natural to any but a madman, and, 
 therefore, hath not humor. Nevertheless, its resemblance to the 
 common complaint of old age, contained in the first, of which 
 it may be called the analysis, renders it at once both an ingenious 
 exhibition of such complaint in its real import, and an argu- 
 ment of its folly. But notwithstanding this example, it holds 
 in general, that when any thing nonsensical in principle is to be 
 assailed by ridicule, the natural ally of reason is wit; when any 
 extravagance or impropriety in conduct, humor seldom fails to be 
 of the confederacy. It may be further observed, that the words 
 banter and raillery are also used to signify ridicule of a certain 
 form, applied, indeed, more commonly to practices than to opi- 
 nions, and oftener to the little peculiarities of individuals, than to 
 the distinguishing customs or usages of sects and parties. The 
 only difference in meaning, as far as I have remarked, between the 
 two terms, is, that the first generally denotes a coarser, the second 
 a finer sort of ridicule ; the former prevails most among the lower 
 classes of the people, the latter only among persons of breeding. 
 
 I shall conclude this chapter with observing, that though the 
 gayer and more familiar eloquence, now explained, may often 
 properly, as was remarked before, be admitted into public orations 
 on subjects of consequence, such, for instance, as are delivered in 
 the senate or at the bar, and even sometimes, though more sparing- 
 ly, on the bench ; it is seldom or never of service in those which 
 come from the pulpit. It is true, that an air of ridicule in dis- 
 proving or dissuading, by rendering opinions or practices con- 
 temptible, hath occasionally been attempted with approbation by 
 preachers of great name. I can only say, that when this airy 
 manner is employed, it requires to be managed with the greatest 
 care and delicacy, that it may not degenerate into a strain but ill 
 adapted to so serious an occupation. For the reverence of the 
 place, the gravity of the function, the solemnity of worship, 
 the severity of the precepts, and the importance of the motives of 
 religion; above all, the awful presence of God, with a sense of 
 which the mind, when occupied in religious exercises, ought 
 eminently to be impressed; all these seem utterly incompatible 
 with the levity of ridicule. They render jesting impertinence, 
 and laughter madness. Therefore, any thing in preaching which 
 might provoke this emotion, would justly be deemed an unpar- 
 donable offence against both piety and decorum. 
 
 In the two preceding chapters I have considered the nature of
 
 Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 41 
 
 oratory in general, its various forms, whether arising from differ- 
 ence in the object, understanding, imagination, passion, will; or 
 in the subject, eminent and severe, light and frivolous, with their 
 respective ends and characters. Under these are included all the 
 primary and characteristical qualities of whatever can pertinent- 
 ly find a place either in writing or in discourse, or can truly be 
 termed fine in the one, or eloquent in the other. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRECEDING CHAPTER DEFENDED. 
 
 BEFORE I proceed to another topic, it will perhaps be thought 
 proper to inquire hoAv far the theory, now laid down and explained, 
 coincides with the doctrines on this article to be found in the 
 writings of philosophers and critics. Not that I think such in- 
 quiries and discussions always necessary; on the contrary, I' ima- 
 gine they often tend but to embarrass the reader, by distracting his 
 attention to a multiplicity of objects, and so to darken and perplex 
 a plain question. This is particularly the case on those points on 
 which there hath been a variety of jarring sentiments. The sim- 
 plest Avay and the most perspicuous, and generally that which 
 best promotes the discovery of truth, is to give as distinct and me- 
 thodical a delineation as possible of one's own ideas, together with 
 the grounds on which they are founded, and to leave it to the doubt- 
 ful reader (who thinks it worth the trouble) to compare the theory 
 with the systems of other writers, and then to judge for himself. 
 I am not, however, so tenacious of this method, as not to allow, 
 that it may sometimes, with advantage, be departed from. This 
 holds especially when the sentiments of an author are opposed by 
 inveterate prejudices in the reader, arising from contrary opinions 
 early imbibed, or from an excessive deference to venerable names 
 and ancient authorities. 
 
 SECTION I. Aristotle's Account of the Ridiculous explained. 
 
 SOME, on a superficial view, may imagine, that the doctrine above 
 expounded is opposed by no less authority than that of Aristotle. 
 If it were, I should not think that equivalent to a demonstration of 
 its falsity. But let us hear: Aristotle hath observed, that " the ri- 
 " diculous implies something deformed, and consists in those small-
 
 42 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L 
 
 " er fauhs, which are neither painful nor pernicious, but unbeseem- 
 ** ing: thus a face excites laughter wherein there is deformity and 
 " distortion without pain." For my part, nothing can appear more 
 coincident than this, as far as it goes, with the principles which I 
 have endeavoured to establish. The Stagyrite here speaks of ridi- 
 cule, not of laughter in general, and not of every sort of ridicule, 
 but solely of the ridiculous in manners, of which he hath in few 
 words given a very apposite description. To take notice of any 
 other laughable object, would have been foreign to his purpose. 
 Laughter is not his theme, but comedy, and laughter only so far as 
 comedy is concerned with it. Now the concern of comedy reach- 
 es no farther than that kind of ridicule which, as I said, relates to 
 manners. The very words with which the above quotation is in- 
 troduced, evince the truth of this: " Comedy, "says he, " is, as we 
 " remarked, an imitation of things that are amiss; yet it does not 
 " level at every vice*." He had remarked in the preceding chap- 
 ter, that its means of correction are " not reproach but ridicule f ." 
 Nor does the clause in the end of the sentence, concerning a coun- 
 tenance which raises laughter, in the least invalidate what I have 
 now affirmed; for it is plain, that this is suggested in the way of 
 similitude, to illustrate what he had advanced, and not as a parti- 
 cular instance of the position he had laid down. For we can ne- 
 ver suppose that he would have called distorted features " a cer- 
 tain fault or slipj," and still less that he would have specified this, 
 as what might be corrected by the art of the comedian. As an in- 
 stance, therefore, it would have confuted his definition, and shewn 
 that his account of the object of laughter must be erroneous, since 
 this emotion may be excited, as appears from the example produ- 
 ced by himself, where there is nothing faulty or vicious in ajiy 
 kind or degree. As an illustration it was extremely pertinent. It 
 shewed that the ridiculous in manners (which was all that his defi- 
 nition regarded) was, as far as the different nature of the things would 
 permit, analagous to the laughable in other subjects, and that it 
 supposed an incongruous combination, where there is nothing- ei- 
 ther calamitous or destructive. But that in other objects uncon- 
 nected with either character or conduct, with either the body or 
 the soul, there might not be images or exhibitions presented to the 
 
 * The whole of the passage nms thus *H s 
 <TIS, tytzvXoTfguv (ji.iv, oi> (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 <y*Xobv tyatfji.KTO'govnvxs. J 'A/xf T)/*a T/
 
 Chap. 111. OF RHETORIC. 43 
 
 mind, which would naturally provoke laughter, the philosopher 
 hath nowhere, as far as I know, so much as insinuated. 
 
 SECTION II. Hobbes's account of' Lavghter examined. 
 
 FROM the founder of the peripatetic school, let us descend to the 
 philosopher of Malmesbury, who hath defined laughter " a sudden 
 " glory arising from a sudden conception o'f someeminency in our- 
 " selves, by comparison with the infirmity of others or with our 
 " own formerly*." This account is, I acknowledge, incompatible 
 with that given in the preceding pages, and, in my judgment, re- 
 sults entirely from a view of the subject, which is in some respect 
 partial, and in some respect false. It is in some respect partial. 
 When laughter is produced by ridicule, it is, doubtless, accom- 
 panied with some degree of contempt. Ridicule, as hath been ob- 
 served already, has a double operation, first on the fancy, by pre- 
 senting to it such a group as constitutes a laughable object; se- 
 condly on the passion mentioned, by exhibiting absurdity in hu- 
 man character, "in principles or in conduct: and contempt always 
 implies a sense of superiority. No wonder then that one likes not 
 to be ridiculed or laughed at. Now it is this union which is the 
 great source of this author's error, and of his attributing to one of 
 the associated principles, from an imperfect view of the subject, what 
 is purely the effect of the other. 
 
 For, that the emotion called laughter, doth not result from the 
 contempt, but solely from the perception of oddity with 'which the 
 passion is occasionally, not necessarily, combined, is manifest from 
 .the following considerations. First, contempt may be raised in a 
 very high degree, both suddenly and unexpectedly, without produ- 
 cing the least tendency to laugh. Of this instances have been 
 given already from Bollingbroke and Swift, and innumerable others 
 will occur to those who are conversant in the writings of those au- 
 thors. Secondly, laughter may be, and is daily produced by the 
 perception of incongruous association, when there is no contempt. 
 And this shews that Hobbes's view of the matter is false as well as 
 partial: "Men," says he, " laugh at jest, the wit whereof always 
 " consisteth in the elegant discovering and conveying to our minds 
 " some absurdity of another f." I maintain, that men also laugh at 
 jests, the wit whereof doth not consist in discovering any absurdity 
 of another; for all jests do not come within his description. On a 
 careful perusal of the foregoing sheets, the reader will find that 
 there have been several instances of this kind produced already, in 
 
 ^ * Human Nature, Chap. ix. IS. f Human Nature, Chap ix. IS.
 
 44 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 which it hath been observed, that there is wit, but no ridicule. I 
 shall bring but one other instance. Many have laughed at the 
 queerness of the comparison in these lines, 
 For rhyme the rudder is of verses, 
 With which, like ships, they steer their courses* ; 
 
 who never dreamt that there was any person or party, practice or 
 opinion derided in them. But as people are often very ingenious 
 in their manner of defending a favorite hypothesis, if any admirer 
 of the Hobbesian philosophy should pretend to discover some class 
 of men whom the poet here meant to ridicule, he ought to consider, 
 that if any one hath been tickled with the passage to whom the same 
 thought never occurred, that single instance would be sufficient to 
 subvert the doctrine, as it would show that there may be laug-htcr, 
 where there is no triumph or glorying over any body, and consequent- 
 ly no conceit of ones own superiority. So that there may be, and 
 often is, both contempt without laughter, and laughter without con- 
 tempt. 
 
 Besides, where wit is really pointed, which constitutes ridicule, 
 that it is not from what gives the conceit of our own eminence by 
 comparison, but purely from the odd assemblage of ideas, that the 
 laughter springs, is evident from this, that if you make but a trifling 
 alteration on the expression, so as to destroy the wit (which often 
 turns on a very little circumstance) without altering the real im- 
 port of the sentence, (a thing not only possible but easy), you will 
 produce the same opinion, and the same contempt ; and consequent- 
 ly will give the same subject of triumph, yet without the least ten- 
 dency to laugh: and conversely, in reading a well written satire, a 
 man may be much diverted by the wit, whose judgment is not con- 
 vinced by the ridicule or insinuated argument, and whose former 
 esteem of the object is not in the least impaired. Indeed, men's 
 telling their own blunders, even blunders recently committed, and 
 laughing at them, a thing not uncommon in very risible dispositions, 
 is utterly inexplicable on Hobbes's system. For, to consider the 
 thing only with regard to the laugher himself, there is to him no 
 subject of glorying, that is not counterbalanced by an equal sub- 
 ject of humiliation, (he being both the person laughing, and the 
 person laughed at), and these two subjects must destroy one another. 
 With regard to others, he appears solely under the notion of inferi- 
 ority, as the person triumphed over. Indeed, as in ridicule, agree- 
 ably to the doctrine here propounded, there is always some degree, 
 often but a very slight degree of contempt; it is not every charac- 
 
 * Hudibras, Part i. Canto 1.
 
 Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 45 
 
 ter, I acknowledge, that is fond of presenting to others such sub- 
 jects of mirth. Wherever one shews a proneness to it, it is demon- 
 strable that on that person sociality and the love of laughter have 
 much greater influence, than vanity or self-conceit: since, for the 
 sake of sharing with others in the joyous entertainment, he can 
 submit to the mortifying circumstance of being the subject. This, 
 however, is in effect no more than enjoying the sweet which predo- 
 minates, notwithstanding a little of the bitter with which it is min- 
 gled. The laugh in this case is so far from being expressive of the 
 passion, that it is produced in spite of the passion, which operates 
 against it, and if strong enough, would effectually restrain it. 
 
 But it is impossible that there could be any enjoyment to him on 
 the other hypothesis, which makes the laughter merely the expres- 
 sion of a triumph, occasioned by the sudden display of ones own 
 comparative excellence, a triumph in which the person derided 
 could not partake. In this case, on the contrary, he must undoubt- 
 edly sustain the part of the weeper, (according to the account 
 which the same author hath given of that opposite passion*, as he 
 calls it), and " suddenly fall out with himself, on the sudden con- 
 '* ception of defect." To suppose that a person in laughing enjoys 
 the contempt of himself as a matter of exultation over his own in- 
 firmity, is of a piece with Cowley's description of envy exaggerated 
 to absurdity, wherein she is said 
 
 To envy at the praise herself had wonf. 
 
 In the same way, a miser may be said to grudge the money that 
 himself hath got, or a glutton the repasts; for the lust of praise as 
 much terminates in self, as avarice or gluttony. It is a strange 
 sort of theory which makes the frustration of a passion, and the 
 gratification the same thing. 
 
 As to the remark, that wit is not the only cause of this emotion, 
 that men laugh at indecencies and mischances, nothing is more 
 certain. A well dressed man falling into the kennel, will raise in the 
 spectators a peal of laughter. But this confirms, instead of weak- 
 ening, the doctrine here laid down. The genuine object is always 
 things grouped together, in which there is some striking unsuita- 
 bleness. The effect is much the same, whether the things themselves 
 are presented to the senses by external accident, or the ideas of 
 them are presented to the imag-ination by wit and humor; though 
 it is only with the latter that the subject of eloquence is concerned. 
 
 In regard to Hobbes's system, I shall only remark further, that, 
 according to it, a very risible man, and a very self-conceited super- 
 
 * Hobbes's Hum. Nat. Chap. ix. 14. f Davideis, Book i.
 
 4-6 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 cilious man, should imply the same character, yet, in fact, perhaps 
 no two characters more rarely meet in the same person. Pride, and 
 contempt, its usual attendant, considered in themselves, are unplea- 
 sant passions, and tend to make men fastidious, always finding- 
 ground to be dissatisfied with their situation and their company. 
 Accordingly, those who are most addicted to these passions, 
 are not generally the happiest of mortals. It is only when the last 
 of these hath gotten for an alloy, a considerable share of sensibility 
 ia regard to wit and humor, which serves both to moderate and to 
 sweeten the passion, that it can be termed in any degree sociable or 
 agreeable. It hath been often remarked of very proud persons, 
 that they disdain to laugh, as thinking that it derogates from their 
 dignity, and levels them too much with the common herd. The 
 merriest people, on the contrary, are the least suspected of being- 
 haughty and contemptous people. The company of -the former is 
 generally as much courted as that of the latter is shunned. To re- 
 fer ourselves to such universal observations, is to appeal to the com- 
 mon sense of mankind. How admirably is the height of pride and 
 arrogance touched in the character which Ceesar gives of Cassius! 
 
 He loves no plays 
 
 As thou dost, Anthony; he hears no music, 
 Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort. 
 As if he mocked himself, and scorned his spirit, 
 That could be moved to smile at any thing*. 
 
 I should not have been so particular in the refutation of the 
 English philosopher's system in regard to laughter, had I not con- 
 sidered a careful discussion of this question, as one of the best means 
 of developing some of the radical principles of this inquiry. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 OF THE RELATION WHICH ELOQUENCE BEARS TO LOGIC AND TO 
 GRAMMAR. 
 
 IN contemplating a human creature, the most natural division of 
 the subject is the common division into soul and body, or into the li- 
 ving principle of perception and of action, and that system of mate- 
 rial organs, by which the other receives information from without, 
 and is enabled to exert its powers, both for its own benefit and for 
 that of the species. Analogous to this, there are two things in every 
 discourse which principally claim our attention, the sense and the 
 expression ; or in other words, the thought, and the symbol by which 
 * Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.
 
 Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC'. 47 
 
 it is communicated. These may be said to constitute the soul and 
 the body of an oration, or, indeed, of wliatever is signified to another 
 by language. For, as in man, each of these constituent parts hath 
 its distinctive attributes, and as the perfection of the latter consisted* 
 in its fitness for serving the purposes of the former, so it is precisely 
 with those two essential parts of every speech, the sense and; the ex- 
 pression. Now it is by the sense that rhetoric holds of logic, and by 
 the expression tfhat she holds of grammar. 
 
 The sole and ultimate end of logic is the eviction of truth; one 
 important end of eloquence, though, as appears front the first chap- 
 ter, neither the sole, nor always the ultimate, is the conviction of the: 
 hearers-. Pure logic regards only the subject, which is examined 
 solely for the sake of information. Truth, as such, is the proper aim 
 of the examiner. Eloquence not only considers the subject, but also 
 the speaker and the hearers, and both the subject and the speaker 
 for the sake- of the hearers, or rather for the sake of the effect inten- 
 ded to be produced in them. Now to convince the hearers, is al- 
 ways either proposed by the orator as his end in addressing them, 
 or supposed to accompany the accomplishment of his end. Of the 
 five sorts of discourses above mentioned, there are only two wherein 
 conviction is the avowed purpose. One is that addressed to the un- 
 derstanding, in which the speaker proposeth to prove some position 
 disbelieved or doubted by the hearers; the other is that which is cal- 
 culated to influence the will, and persuade to a certain conduct; for 
 it is by convincing the judgment, that he proposeth to interest the 
 passions, and fix the resolution. As to the three other kinds of dis- 
 courses enumerated, which address the understanding, the imagina- 
 tion, and the passions, conviction, though not the end, ought ever 
 to accompany the accomplishment of the end. It is never formally 
 proposed as an end, where there are not supposed to be previous 
 doubts or errors to conquer. But when due attention is not paid to 
 it, by a proper management of the subject, doubts, disbelief, and 
 mistake will be raised by the discourse itself, where there were none 
 before, and these will not fail to obstruct the speaker's end whatever 
 it be. In explanatory discourses, which are of all kinds the sim- 
 plest, there is a certain precision of manner which ought to pervade 
 the whole, and which, though not in tire form of argument, is not the 
 less 1 satisfactory, since it carries internal evidence along with it. In 
 harangues pathetic or panegyrical, in order that the hearers maybe 
 moved or pleased, it is of great consequence to impress them with 
 the belief of the reality of the subject. Nay, even in those perform- 
 ances where truth, in regard to the individual facts related, is neither 
 ought nor expected, as m some sorts of poetry and m romance, truth
 
 48 THE PHILOSOPHY. Booh L 
 
 still is an object to the mind, the general truths regarding- charac- 
 ter, manners, and incidents. When these are preserved, the piece 
 may justly be denominated true, considered as a picture of life; 
 though false, considered as a narrative of particular events. And 
 even these untrue events must be counterfeits of truth, arid bear its 
 image; for in cases wherein the proposed end can be rendered con- 
 sistent with unbelief, it cannot be rendered compatible >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 <n\S>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<w, olov iar%v&; iiyitixs, -n-ABTB, rgxryyi'as' Tot&roisyag 
 y TIS w^?fl<rt TO. ptyira, w(A.sv' dixMivf K 5x^i dttixtus. Ar. Rh. lib. i. c. i-
 
 CJutp. VII. OF RHETORIC. 89 
 
 unintelligible, the cause must be either in the sense or in the ex- 
 pression. It lies in the sense, if the mediums of proof be such as 
 the hearers are unacquainted with; that is, if the ideas introduced 
 be either without the sphere of their knowledge, or too abstract for 
 their apprehension and habits of thinking. It lies in the sense like- 
 wise, if the train of reasoning (though no unusual ideas should be 
 introduced) be longer, or more complex, or more intricate, than 
 they are accustomed to. But as the fitness of the arguments in these 
 respects depends on the capacity, education, and attainments of the 
 hearers, which in different orders of men are different, this properly 
 belongs to the consideration which the speaker ought to have of his 
 audience, not as men in general, but as such men in particular. 
 The obscurity which ariseth from the expression will come in course 
 to be considered in the sequel, 
 
 SECTION II. Men considered as endowed with Imagination. 
 
 THE second thing requisite is, that his reasoning be attended to ; 
 for this purpose the imagination must be engaged. Attention is 
 prerequisite to every effect of speaking, and without some gratifi- 
 cation in hearing, there will be no attention, at least of any continu- 
 ance. Those qualities in ideas which principally gTatify the fancy, 
 are vivacity, beauty, sublimity, novelty. Nothing contributes more 
 to vivacity than striking resemblances in the imagery, which convey, 
 besides, an additional pleasure of their own. 
 
 But there is still a further end to be served by pleasing the ima- 
 gination, than that of awakening and preserving the attention, how- 
 ever important this purpose alone ought to be accounted. I will 
 not say with a late subtile metaphysician*, that " Belief consisteth 
 in the liveliness of our ideas." That this doctrine is erroneous, it 
 would be quite foreign to my purpose to attempt here to evince f . 
 Thus much however is indubitable, that belief commonly enlivens 
 our ideas; and that lively ideas have a stronger influence than faint 
 ideas to induce belief. But so far are these two from being coinci- 
 dent, that even this connexion between them, though common, is 
 not necessary. Vivacity of ideas is not always accompanied with 
 faith, nor is faith always able to produce vivacity. The ideas raised 
 in my mind by the (Edipus Tyrannus of Sophocles, or the Lear of 
 Shakespeare, are incomparably more lively than those excited by a 
 cold but faithful historiographer. Yet I may give full credit to the 
 
 * The author of " A Treatise of Human Nature," in 3 vols. 
 t If one is desirous to see a refutation of this principle, let him consult Reid's 
 Inquiry, chap. ii. sect. 5.
 
 90 THE PHILOSOPHY. Book 1. 
 
 languid narrative of thejatter, though I believe not a single sentence 
 in those tragedies. If a proof were asked of the greater vivacity 
 in the one case than in the other (which, by the way, must be finally 
 determined by consciousness), let these effects serve for arguments. 
 The ideas of the poet give greater pleasure, command closer attention, 
 operate more strongly on the passions, and are longer remembered. 
 If these be not sufficient evidences of greater vivacity, I own I have 
 no apprehension of the meaning which that author affixes to the 
 term. The connexion, however, that generally subsisted) between 
 vivacity and belief will appear less marvellous, if we reflect that 
 there is not so great a difference between argument and illustration, 
 as is usually imagined. The same ingenious writer says, concern- 
 ing moral reasoning, that it is but a kind of comparison. The truth 
 of this assertion any one will easily be convinced of, who considers 
 the preceding observations on that subject. 
 
 Where then lies the difference between addressing the judgment, 
 and addressing the fancy ? and what hath given rise to the dis- 
 tinction between ratiocination and imagery ? The following ob- 
 servations will serve for an answer to this query. It is evident, 
 that though the mind receives a considerable pleasure from the 
 discovery of resemblance, no pleasure is received when the re- 
 semblance is of such a nature as is familiar to every body. Such 
 are those resemblances which result from the specific and generic 
 qualities of ordinary objects. What gives the principal delight to 
 the imagination, is the exhibition of a strong likeness, which escapes 
 the notice of the generality of people. The similitude of man to 
 man, eagle to eagle, sea to sea, or in brief, of one individual to 
 another individual of the same species, affects not the fancy in the 
 least. What poet would ever think of comparing a combat be- 
 tween two of his heroes to a combat between other two ? Yet no- 
 where else will he find so strong a resemblance. Indeed, to the 
 faculty of imagination this resemblance appears rather under the 
 notion of identity ; although it be the foundation of the strongest 
 reasoning from experience. Again, the similarity of one species to 
 another of the same genus, as of the lion to the tiger, of the alder 
 to the oak, though this too be a considerable fund of argumen- 
 tation, hardly strikes the fancy more than the preceding, inasmuch 
 as the generical properties, whereof every species participates, are 
 also obvious. But if from the experimental reasoning we descend 
 to the analogical, we may be said to come upon a common to which 
 reason and fancy have an equal claim. " A comparison," says Quin- 
 tilian*, " hath almost the effect of an example." But what are 
 
 * Instit. lib.v. cap. 11. Proximas exempli vires habet similitude.
 
 Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 91 
 
 rhetorical comparisons, when brought to illustrate any point incul- 
 cated on the hearers, (what are they, I say,) but arguments from 
 analogy ? In proof of this let us borrow an instance from the fore- 
 mentioned rhetorician, " Would you be convinced of the necessity 
 " of education for the mind, consider of what importance culture 
 " is to the ground : the field which, cultivated, produceth a plenti- 
 " ful crop of useful fruits ; if neglected, will be overrun with briars 
 " and brambles, and other useless or noxious weeds*." It would 
 be no better than trifling to point out the argument couched in this 
 passage. Now if comparison, which is the chief, hath so great an 
 influence upon conviction, it is no wonder that all those other ora- 
 torical tropes and figures addressed to the imagination, which are 
 more or less nearly related to comparison, should derive hence both 
 light and efficacyf. Even antithesis implies comparison. Simile 
 is a comparison in epitome . Metaphor is an allegory in miniature. 
 Allegory and prosopopeia are comparisons conveyed under a par- 
 ticular form. 
 
 SECTION HI. Men considered as endowed with Memory. 
 
 FURTHER, vivid ideas are not only more powerful than languid 
 ideas in commanding and preserving attention, they are not only 
 more efficacious in producing conviction, but they are also more 
 easily retained. Those several powers, understanding, imagina- 
 tion, memory, and passion, are mutually subservient. That it is 
 necessary for the orator to engage the help of memory, will appear 
 from many reasons, particularly from what was remarked above, 
 on the fourth difference between moral reasoning and demonstra- 
 tive . It was there observed, that in the former the credibility of 
 the fact is the sum of the evidence of all the arguments, often in- 
 dependent of one another, brought to support it. And though it 
 was shewn that demonstration itself, without the assistance of this 
 faculty, could never produce conviction ; yet here it must be own- 
 ed, that the natural connection of the several links in the chain 
 renders the remembrance easier. Now as nothing can operate on 
 
 * Ibid. Ut si animum dicas cxcolendum, similitudine utaris tcrrae, quse ne- 
 glecta sentes atque dumos, exculta fructus creat. 
 
 t Praeterea, nescio quomodo etiam credit facilius, quae audienti jucunda sunt, 
 et voluptate ad fldem ducitur. Quint, lib. iv. c. 2. 
 
 J Simile and comparison are in common language frequently confounded. 
 The difference is this : Simile is no more than a comparison suggested in a word 
 or two; as, He fought like a lion, Flis face shone as the sun. Comparison is a 
 simile circumstantiated and included in one or more separate sentences. 
 
 Chap. v. Sect. ii. Part 1.
 
 92 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 1. 
 
 the mind, which is not in some respect present to it, care must be 
 taken by the orator, that, in introducing new topics, the vestiges 
 left by the former on the minds of the hearers may not be effaced. 
 It is the sense of this necessity which hath given rise to the rules 
 of composition. 
 
 Some will perhaps consider it as irregular, that I speak here of 
 addressing the memory, of which no mention at all was made in 
 the first chapter, Avherein I considered the different forms of elo- 
 quence, classing them by the different faculties of the mind ad- 
 dressed. But this apparent irregularity will vanish, when it is ob- 
 served, that, with regard to the faculties there mentioned, each of 
 them may not only be the direct, but even the ultimate object of 
 what is spoken. The whole scope may be at one time to inform or 
 convince the understanding, at another to delight the imagination, at 
 a third to agitate the passions, and at a fourth to determine the will. 
 But it is never the ultimate end of speaking to be remembered, 
 when what is spoken tends neither to instruct, to please, to move, 
 nor to persuade. This therefore is of necessity no more on any oc- 
 casion than a subordinate end ; or, which is precisely the same 
 thing, the means to some furth<ffr end ; and as such, it is more or 
 less necessary on every occasion. The speaker's attention to this 
 subserviency of memory is always so much the more requisite, the 
 greater the difficulty of remembrance is, and the more important 
 the being remembered is to the attainment of the ultimate end. On 
 both accounts, it is of more consequence in those discourses, whose 
 aim is either instruction or persuasion, than in those whose design 
 is solely to please the fancy, or to move the passions. And if there 
 are any which answer none of those ends, it were better to learn to 
 forget them, than to teach the method of making them be retained. 
 
 The author of the treatise above quoted hath divided the prin- 
 ciples of association in ideas into resemblance, contiguity, and cau- 
 sation. I do not here inquire into all the defects of this enumera- 
 tion, but only observe, that even on his own system, order both in 
 space and time ought to have been included. It appears at least 
 to have an equal title with causation, which, according to him, is 
 but a particular modification and combination of the other two. 
 Causation, considered as an associating principle, is, in his theory, 
 no more than the contiguous succession of two ideas, which is more 
 deeply imprinted on the mind by its experience of a similar conti- 
 guity and succession of the impressions from which they are copied. 
 This therefore is the result of resemblance and vicinity united. 
 Order in place is likewise a mode of vicinity, where this last tie is 
 strengthened by the regularity and simplicity of figure ; which qua-
 
 Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 93 
 
 lities arise solely from the resemblance of the corresponding parts 
 of the figure, or the parts similarly situated. Regular figures, be- 
 side the advantages which they derive from simplicity and unifor- 
 mity, have this also, that they are more familiar to the mind than 
 irregular figures, and are therefore more easily conceived. Hence 
 the influence which order in place hath upon the memory. If any 
 person question this influence, let him but reflect, how much easier 
 it is to remember a considerable number of persons, whom one hath 
 seen ranged on benches or chairs, round a hall, than the same num- 
 ber seen standing promiscuously in a crowd : and how natural it is 
 for assisting the memory in recollecting the persons, to recur to the 
 order wherein they were placed. 
 
 As to order in time, which in composition is properly styled 
 Method, it consisted! principally in connecting the parts in such a 
 manner as to give vicinity to things in the discourse, which have an 
 affinity; that is, resemblance, causality, or other relation in nature; 
 and thus making their customary association and resemblance, as 
 in the former case, co-operate with their contiguity in duration, or 
 immediate succession in the delivery. The utility of method for 
 aiding the memory, all the world knows. But beside this, there 
 are some parts of the discourse, as well as figures of speech, pecu- 
 liarly adapted to this end. Such are the division of the subject, 
 the rhetorical repetitions of every kind, the different modes of tran- 
 sition and recapitulation. 
 
 SECTION IV. Men considered as endowed with Passions. 
 
 To conclude ; when persuasion is the end, passion also must be 
 engaged. If it is fancy which bestows brilliancy on our ideas, if it 
 is memory which gives them stability, passion doth more, it ani- 
 mates them. Hence they derive spirit and energy. To say, that 
 it is possible to persuade without speaking to the passions, is but 
 at best a kind of specious nonsense. The coolest reasoner always 
 in persuading, addresseth himself to the passions some way or other. 
 This he cannot avoid doing-, if he speak to the purpose. To make 
 me believe, it is enough to show me that things are so; to make 
 me act, it is necessary to show that the action will answer some end. 
 That can never be an end to me which gratifies no passion or affec- 
 tion in my nature. You assure me, * It is for my honor.' Now 
 
 you solicit my pride, without which I had never been able to un- 
 derstand the word. You say, * It is for my interest.' Now you 
 
 bespeak my self-love. ' It is for the public good.' Now you rouse 
 
 my patriotism. It will relieve the miserable.' Now you touch
 
 &4 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L 
 
 my pity. So far therefore it is from being an unfair method of 
 persuasion to move the passions, that there is no persuasion with- 
 out moving them. 
 
 But if so much depend on passion, where is the scope for argu- 
 ment? Before I answer this question, let it be observed, that, in 
 order to persuade, there are two things which must be carefully 
 studied by the orator. The first is, to excite some desire or passion 
 in the hearers ; the second is, to satisfy their j udgment, that there is 
 a connection between the action to which he would persuade them, 
 and the gratification of the desire or passion which he excites. 
 This is the analysis of persuasion. The former is effected by com- 
 municating lively and glowing ideas of the object ; the latter, un- 
 less so evident of itself as to supersede the necessity, by presenting 
 the best and most forcible arguments which the nature of the sub- 
 ject admits. In the one lies the pathetic, in the other the argu- 
 mentative. These incorporated together (as was observed in the 
 first chapter) constitute that vehemence of contention to which 
 the greatest exploits of eloquence ought doubtless to be ascribed. 
 Here then is the principal scope for argument, but not the only 
 scope, as will appear in the sequel. When the first end alone is 
 attained, the pathetic without the rational, the passions are indeed 
 roused from a disagreeable languor by the help of the imagination, 
 and the mind is thrown into a state, which, though accompanied 
 with some painful emotions, rarely fails, upon the whole, to affect 
 it with pleasure. But, if the hearers are judicious, no practical 
 effect is produced. They cannot by such declamation be influenc- 
 ed to a particular action, because not convinced that that action 
 will conduce to the gratifying of the passion raised. Your elo- 
 quence hath fired my ambition, and makes me burn with public 
 zeal. The consequence is, there is nothing which at present I would 
 not attempt for the sake of fame, and the interest of my country. 
 You advise me to such a conduct, but you have not shown me how 
 that can contribute to gratify either passion. Satisfy me in this, 
 and I am instantly at your command. Indeed, when the hearers 
 are rude and ignorant, nothing" more is necessary in the speaker 
 than to inflame their passions. They will not require that the con- 
 nexion between the conduct he urges and the end proposed, be 
 evinced to them. His word will satisfy. And therefore bold affir- 
 mations are made to supply the place of reasons. Hence it is that 
 the rabble are ever the prey of quacks and impudent pretenders of 
 every denomination. 
 
 On the contrary, when the other end alone is attained, the ra- 
 tional without the pathetic, the speaker is as far from his purpose as
 
 Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 95 
 
 before. You have proved beyond contradiction, that acting thus 
 is the sure way to procure such an object. I perceive that your 
 reasoning is conclusive : but I am not affected by it. Why ? I have 
 no passion for the object. I am indifferent whether I procure it 
 or not. You have demonstrated that such a step will mortify my 
 enemy. I believe it ; but I have no resentment, and will not trou- 
 ble myself to give pain to another. Your arguments evince that it 
 would gratify my vanity. But I prefer my ease. Thus passion is 
 the mover to action, reason is the guide. Good is the object of the 
 will, truth is the object of the understanding*. 
 
 * Several causes have contributed to involve this subject in confusion. One 
 is the ambiguity and imperfection of language. Motives are often called ar- 
 guments, and both motives and arguments are promiscuously styled reasons. 
 Another is, the idle disputes that have arisen among philosophers, concerning 
 the nature of good, both physical and moral. " Truth and good are one," says 
 the author of the " Pleasures of Imagination," an author whose poetical merit will 
 not be questioned by persons of taste. The expression might have been passed 
 in the poet, -whose right to the use of catachresis, one of the many privileges 
 comprehended under the name Poetic Licence, prescription hath fully established. 
 But by philosophizing on this passage in his notes, he warrants us to canvass his 
 reasoning, for no such privilege hath as yet been conceded to philosophers. In- 
 deed, in attempting to illustrate, he has, I think, confuted it, or to speak more 
 properly, shown it to have no meaning. He mentions two opinions concerning 
 the connexion of truth and beauty, which is one species of good. " Some phi- 
 " losophers, says he, assert an independent and invariable law in Nature, in 
 " consequence of which all rational beings must alike perceive beauty in some 
 " certain proportions, and deformity in the contrary." Now, though I do not 
 conceive what is meant either by independent law, or by contrary proportions, 
 this, if it proves any thing, proves as clearly that deformity and truth are one, as 
 that beauty and truth are one ; for those contrary proportions are surely as much 
 proportions, or, if you will, as true proportions, as some certain proportions are. 
 Accordingly, if, in the conclusion deduced, you put the word deformity instead 
 of beauty, and the word beauty instead of deformity, the sense will be equally 
 x-omplete. " Others," he adds, " there are, who believe beauty to be merely a 
 " relative and arbitrary thing ; and that it is not impossible, in a physical sense, 
 " that two beings of equal capacities for truth, should perceive, one of them 
 " beauty, and the other deformity, in the same relations. And upon this snp- 
 " position, by that truth which is always connected with beauty, nothing more 
 " can be meant than the conformity of any object to those proportions, upon 
 " which, after careful examination, the beauty of that species is found to de- 
 " pend." This opinion, if I am able to comprehend it, differs only in one point 
 from the preceding. It supposes the standard or law of beauty not invariable 
 and universal. It is liable to the same objection, and that rather more glaringly ; 
 for if the same relations must be always equally true relations, deformity is as 
 really one with truth as beauty is, since the very same relations can exhibit both 
 appearances. In short, no hypothesis hitherto invented hath shown that by 
 means of the discursive faculty, without the aid of any other mental power, we 
 could ever obtain a notion of either the beautiful or the good; and till this be 
 . - -
 
 96 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 It may be thought that when the motive is the equity, the geriero- 
 Slt y, or the intrinsic merit of the action recommended, argument 
 may be employed to evince the reasonableness of the end, as well 
 as the fitness of the means. But this way of speaking suits better 
 the popular dialect, than the philosophical. The term reasonable- 
 ness, when used in this manner, means nothing but the goodness, 
 the amiableness, or moral excellency. If therefore the hearer hath 
 no love of justice, no benevolence, no regard to right, although he 
 were endowed with the perspicacity of a cherub, your harangue 
 could never have any influence on his mind. The reason is, when 
 you speak of the fitness of the means, you address yourself only to 
 
 shewn, nothing is shewn to the purpose. The author aforesaid, far from at- 
 tempting this, proceeds on the supposition, that we first perceive beauty, he 
 says not how, and then having, by a careful examination, discovered the propor- 
 tions which gave rise to the perception, denominate them true; so that all those 
 elaborate disquisitions with which we are amused, amount only to a few insigni- 
 ficant identical propositions very improperly expressed. For out of a vast pro- 
 fusion of learned phrase, this is all the information we can pick, that ' Beauty 
 is truly beauty,' and that ' Good is truly good.' " Moral good," says a 
 celebrated writer, " consisteth in fitness." From this account any person would 
 at first readily conclude, that morals, according to him, are not concerned in the 
 ends which we pursue, but solely in the choice of means for attaining our ends; 
 that if this choice be judicious, the conduct is moral ; if injudicious, the contrary. 
 But this truly pious author is far from admitting such an interpretation of his 
 words. Fitness in his sense hath no relation to a further end. It is an absolute 
 fitness, a fitness in itself. We are obliged to ask What then is that fitness, 
 which you call absolute; for the application of the word in every other case in- 
 variably implying the proper direction of means to an end, far from affording 
 light to the meaning it has here, tends directly to mislead us. The only answer, 
 as far as 1 can learn, that hath ever been given to this question, is neither more 
 nor less than this, ' That alone is absolutely fit which is morally good:' so that 
 in saying, moral good consisteth in fitness, no more is meant than that it consist- 
 eth in moral good. Another moralist appears, who hath made a most wonder- 
 ful discovery. It is, that there is not a vice in the world but lying, and that act- 
 ing virtuously in any situation, is but one way or other of telling truth. When 
 this curious theory comes to be explained, we find the practical lie results solely 
 from acting contrary to what those moral sentiments dictate, which, instead of 
 deducing, he every where presupposeth to be known and acknowledged by us. 
 Thus he reasons perpetually in a circle, and without advancing a single step be- 
 yond it, makes the same things both causes and effects reciprocally. Conduct 
 appears to be false for no other reason, but because it is immoral, and immoral 
 for no other reason, but because it is false. Such philosophy would not have 
 been unworthy those profound ontologists, who have blest the world with the 
 discovery that ' One being is but one being,' that ' A being is truly a being,' 
 and that, Every being has all the properties that it has,' and who, to the un- 
 speakable increase of useful knowledge, have denominated these the general at- 
 tributes of being, and distinguished them by the titles, Unity, Truth, and Good- 
 new. This, if it be any thing, is the very sublimate of science.
 
 Chap, VII. OF RHETORIC. 97 
 
 the head; when you speak of the goodness of the end, you address 
 yourself to the heart, of which we supposed him destitute. Are we 
 then to class the virtues among the passions? By no means. But 
 without entering into a discussion of the difference, which would 
 be foreign to our purpose, let it suffice to observe, that they have 
 this in common with passion. They necessarily imply an habitual 
 propensity to a certain species of conduct, an habitual aversion to 
 the contrary; a veneration for such a character, an abhorrence of 
 such another. They are therefore, though not passions, so closely 
 related to them, that they are properly considered as motives to ac- 
 tion, being equally capable of giving an impulse to the will. The 
 difference is a-kin to that, if not the same, which rhetoricians observe 
 between pathos and ethos, passion and disposition*. Accordingly, 
 what is addressed solely to the moral powers of the mind, is not so 
 properly denominated the pathetic, as the sentimental. The term, 
 I own, is rather modern, but is nevertheless convenient, as it fills a 
 vacant room, and doth not, like most of our newfangled words, jus- 
 tie out older and worthier occupants, to the no small detriment of 
 the language. It occupies, so to speak, the middle place between the 
 pathetic and that which is addressed to the imagination, and par- 
 takes of both, adding to the warmth of the former, the grace and 
 attractions of the latter. 
 
 Now the principal questions on this subject are these two: How 
 is a passion or disposition that is favorable to the design of the ora- 
 tor to be excited in the hearers? How is an unfavorable passion or 
 disposition to be calmed? As to the first, it was said already in ge- 
 neral, that passion must be awakened by communicating lively ideas 
 of the object. The reason will be obvious from the following 
 remarks: A passion is most strongly excited by sensation The 
 sight of danger, immediate or near, instantly rouseth fear ; the feel- 
 ing of an injury, and the presence of the injurer, in a moment kin- 
 'dle anger. Next to the influence of sense, is that of memory, the 
 effect of which upon passion, if the fact be recent and remem- 
 bered distinctly and circumstantially, is almost equal. Next to the 
 influence of memory, is that of imagination; by which is here sole- 
 ly meant, the faculty of apprehending what is neither perceived by 
 the senses, nor remembered. Now, as it is this power of which the 
 orator must chiefly avail himself, it is proper to inquire what those 
 
 * This seems to have been the sense which Quiutilian had of the difference 
 between irdOof and Wos, when he gave amor for an example of the first, and 
 charitas of the second. The word Wos is also sometimes used for moral senti 
 ment Ins1. lib. vi. c. 2. 
 
 H
 
 98 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 circumstances are, which will make the ideas he summons up in the 
 imaginations of his hearers, resemble, in lustre and steadiness, those 
 of sensation and remembrance. For the same circumstances will 
 infallibly make them resemble also in their effects; that is, in the 
 influence they will have upon the passions and affections of the 
 heart. 
 
 SECTION V. The circumstances that are chiefly instrumental in 
 operating on the Passions. 
 
 THESE are perhaps all reducible to the seven following, probability, 
 plausibility, importance, proximity of time, connexion of place, re- 
 lation of the actors or sufferers to the hearers or speaker, interest of 
 the hearers or speaker in the consequences*. 
 
 PART I Probability. 
 
 THE first is probability, which is now considered only as an expe- 
 dient for enlivening passion. Here again there is commonly scope 
 for argument f. Probability results from evidence, and begets be- 
 lief. Belief invigorates our ideas. Belief raised to the high- 
 est becomes certainty. Certainty flows either from the force of 
 of the evidence, real or apparent, that is produced; or, without 
 any evidence produced by the speaker, from the previous notoriety 
 of the fact. If the fact be notorious, it will not only be superfluous 
 in the speaker to attempt to prove it, but it will be pernicious to his 
 design. The reason is plain By proving he supposeth it ques- 
 tionable, and by supposing actually renders it so to his audience: 
 he brings them from viewing it in the stronger light of certainty, to 
 view it in the weaker light of probability : in lieu of sunshine he 
 gives them twilight. Of the different means and kinds of proba- 
 tion I have spoken already. 
 
 PART II. Plausibility. 
 
 THE second circumstance is plausibility, a thing totally distinct 
 from the former, as having an effect upon the mind quite indepen- 
 
 * I am not quite positive as to the accuracy of this enumeration, and shall 
 therefore freely permit my learned and ingenious friend Dr Reid, to annex the 
 et catera he proposes in such cases, in order to supply all defects. See "Sketch- 
 es of the History of Man." B. ii. Sk. 1. Appendix, c. ii. sect. 2. 
 
 t In the judiciary orations of the ancients, this was the principal scope for argu- 
 ment. That to condemn the guilty and to acquit the innocent would gratify 
 their indignation against the injurious, and their love of right was too manifest to 
 require a proof. The fact, that there was guilt in the prisoner, or that there was 
 innocence, did require it. It was otherwise in deliberative orations, as the con- 
 duct recommended was more remotely connected with the emotions raised.
 
 Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 99 
 
 dent of faith or probability. It ariseth chiefly from the consistency 
 of the narration, from its being what is commonly called natural 
 and feasible. This the French critics have aptly enough denomi- 
 nated in their language vraisemblance, the English critics more 
 improperly in theirs probability. In order to avoid the manifest 
 ambiguity there is in this application of the word, it had been bet- 
 ter to retain the word verisimilitude, now almost obsolete. That 
 there is a relation between those two qualities must, notwithstand- 
 ing, be admitted. This, however, is an additional reason for assign- 
 ing them different names. An homonymous term, whose differing 
 significations have no affinity to one another, is very seldom liable 
 to be misunderstood. 
 
 But as to the nature and extent of this relation, let it be observed, 
 that the want of plausibility implies an internal improbability, 
 which it will require the stronger external evidence to surmount. 
 Nevertheless, the implausibility may be surmounted by such evi- 
 dence, and we may be fully ascertained of what is in itself exceed- 
 ingly implausible. Implausibility is, in a certain degree, positive evi- 
 dence against a narrative; whereas plausibility implies no positive 
 evidence for it. We know that fiction may be as plausible as truth. 
 A narration may be possessed of this quality in the highest degree, 
 which we not only regard as improbable, but know to be false. 
 Probability is a light darted on the object from the proofs, which 
 for this reason are pertinently enough styled evidence. Plausibi- 
 lity is a native lustre issuing directly from the object. The former 
 is the aim of the historian, the latter of the poet. That every one 
 may be satisfied, that the second is generally not inferior to the first 
 in its influence on the mind, we need but appeal to the effects of 
 tragedy, of epic, and even of romance, which, in its principal cha- 
 racters, participates of the nature of poesy, though written in prose. 
 
 It deserves, however, to be remarked, that though plausibility 
 alone hath often greater efficacy in rousing the passions, than pro- 
 bability, or even certainty ; yet, in any species of composition where- 
 in truth, or at least probability is expected, the mind quickly nau- 
 seates the most plausible tale, which is unsupported by proper ar- 
 guments. For this reason it is the business of the orator, as much 
 as his subject will permit, to avail himself of both qualities. There 
 is one case, and but one, in which plausibility itself may be dis- 
 pensed with; that is, when the fact is so incontestible, that it is im- 
 possible to entertain a doubt of it; for when implausibility is inca- 
 pable of impairing belief, it hath sometimes, especially in forensic 
 causes, even a good effect. By presenting us with something mon- 
 
 H2
 
 100 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 strous in its kind, it raises astonishment, and thereby heightens every 
 passion which the narrative is fitted to excite. 
 
 But to return to the explication of this quality. When I ex- 
 plained the nature of experience, I showed, that it consisteth of all 
 the general truths collected from particular facts remembered; the 
 mind forming to itself, often insensibly, and as it Avere mechanically, 
 certain maxims, from comparing, or rather associating the similar 
 circumstances of different incidents*. Hence it is, that when a 
 number of ideas, relating to any fact or event, are successively in- 
 troduced into my mind by a speaker ; if the train he deduceth coin- 
 cide with the general current of my experience; if in nothing it 
 thwart those conclusions and anticipations which are become habi- 
 tual to me, my mind accompanies him with facility, glides along 
 from one idea to another, and admits the whole with pleasure. If, 
 on the contrary, the train he introduceth run counter to the cur- 
 rent of my experience; if in many things it shock those conclu- 
 sions and anticipations which are become habitual to me, my mind 
 attends him with difficulty, suffers a sort of violence in passing from 
 one idea to another, and rejects the whole with disdain: 
 For while upon such monstrous scenes we gaze, 
 They shock our faith, our indignation raise f- FRANCIS. 
 In the former case I pronounce the narrative natural and credible, 
 in the latter I say it is unnatural and incredible, if not impossible; 
 and, which is particularly expressive of the different appearances 
 in respect of connexion made by the ideas in my mind, the one tale 
 I call coherent, the other incoherent. When therefore the orator 
 can obtain no direct aid from the memory of his hearers, which is 
 rarely to be obtained, he must, for the sake of brightening, and 
 strengthening, and, if I may be permitted to use so bold a meta- 
 phor, cementing his ideas, bespeak the assistance of experience. 
 This, if properly employed, will prove a potent ally, by adding the 
 grace of verisimilitude to the whole. It is therefore first of all re- 
 quisite, that the circumstances of the narration, and the order in 
 which they are exhibited, be what is commonly called natural, that 
 is, congruous to general experience. 
 
 Where passion is the end, it is not a sufficient reason for intro- 
 ducing any circumstance, that it is natural, it must also be perti- 
 nent. It is pertinent, when either necessary for giving a distinct 
 and consistent apprehension of the object, at least for obviating 
 some objection that may be started, or doubt that may be entertain- 
 ed concerning it; or when such as in its particular tendency pro- 
 
 * Chap. V. Sect. ii. Part 2. 
 
 t Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incrcdulus odi. Hon. De Arte Poet.
 
 Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 101 
 
 motes the general aim. All circumstances, however plausible, which 
 serve merely for decoration, never fail to divert the attention, and 
 so become prejudicial to the proposed influence on passion. 
 
 But I am aware, that from the explication I have given of this 
 quality, it will be said, that I have run into the error, if it be an 
 error, which I intended to avoid, and have confounded it with pro- 
 bability, by deriving it solely from the same origin, experience. 
 In answer to this, let it be observed, that in every plausible tale, 
 which is unsupported by external evidence, there will be found 
 throughout the whole, when duly canvassed, a mixture of possi- 
 bilities and probabilities, and that not in such a manner as to make 
 one part or incident probable, another barely possible, but so blend- 
 ed as equally to affect the whole and every member. Take the 
 
 Iliad for an example That a haughty, choleric, and vindictive hero, 
 
 such as Achilles is represented to have been, should, upon the pub- 
 lic affront and injury he received from Agamemnon, treat that ge- 
 neral with indignity, and form a resolution of withdrawing his 
 troops, remaining thenceforth an unconcerned spectator of the ca- 
 lamities of his countrymen, our experience of the baleful influen- 
 ces of pride and anger renders in some degree probable: again, 
 that one of such a character as Agamemnon, rapacious, jealous of 
 his pre-eminence as commander in chief, who envied the superior 
 merit of Achilles, and harboured resentment against him; that such 
 an one, I say, on such an occurrence as is related by the poet, should 
 have given the provocation, will be acknowledged also to have 
 some probability. But that there were such personages, of such 
 characters, in such circumstances, is merely possible. Here there 
 is a total want of evidence. Experience is silent. Properly in- 
 deed the case comes not within the verge of its jurisdiction. Its ge- 
 neral conclusions may serve in confutation, but can never serve in 
 proof of particular or historical facts. Sufficient testimony, and 
 that only will answer here. The testimony of the poet in this case 
 goes for nothing. His object we know is not truth but likelihood. 
 Experience, however, advances nothing against those allegations 
 of the poet, therefore we call them possible; it can say nothing 
 for them, therefore we do not call them probable. The whole at 
 most amounts to this If such causes existed, such effects probably 
 followed. But we have no evidence of the existence of the causes; 
 therefore we have no evidence of the existence of the effects. Con- 
 sequently, all the probability implied in this quality, is a hypothe- 
 tical probability, which is in effect none at all. It is an axiom 
 among dialecticians, in relation to the syllogistic art, that the con- 
 elusion always follows the weaker of the premises. To apply thi*
 
 102 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 to the present purpose, an application not illicit, though unusual ; 
 if one of the premises, suppose the major, contain an affirma- 
 tion that is barely possible, the minor one that is probable, possibi- 
 lity only can be deduced in the conclusion. 
 
 These two qualities therefore, Probability and Plausibility, (if I 
 may be indulged a little in the allegoric style), I shall call sister-gra- 
 ces, daughters of the same father, Experience, who is the prog-eny 
 of Memory, the first-born and heir of Sense. These daughters Ex- 
 perience had by different mothers. The elder is the offspring of 
 Reason, the younger is the child of Fancy. The elder regular in 
 her features, and majestic both in shape and mien, is admirably fit- 
 ted for commanding esteem, and even a religious veneration; the 
 younger careless, blooming, sprightly, is entirely formed for cap- 
 tivating the heart, and engaging love. The conversation of each 
 is entertaining and instructive, but in different ways. Sages seem 
 to think that there is more instruction to be gotten from the just 
 observations of the elder; almost all are agreed that there is more 
 entertainment in the lively sallies of the younger. The principal 
 companion and favorite of the first is Truth, but whether Truth 
 or Fiction share most in the favor of the second, it were often diffi- 
 cult to say. Both are naturally well-disposed, and even friendly to 
 Virtue, but the elder is by much the more steady of the two; the 
 younger, though perhaps not less capable of doing good, is more 
 easily corrupted, and hath sometimes basely turned procuress to 
 Vice. Though rivals, they have a sisterly affection to each other, 
 and love to be together. The elder, sensible that there are but few 
 who can for any time relish her society alone, is generally anxious 
 that her sister be of the party; the younger, conscious of her own 
 superior talents in this respect, can more easily dispense with the 
 other's company. Nevertheless, when she is discoursing on great 
 and serious subjects, in order to add weight to her words, she often 
 quotes her sister's testimony, which she knows is better credited 
 than her own, a compliment that is but sparingly returned by the 
 elder. Each sister hath her admirers. Those of the younger 
 are more numerous, those of the elder more constant. In the re- 
 tinue of the former you will find the young, the gay, the dissipated; 
 but these are not her only attendants. The middle-aged, however, 
 and the thoughtful, more commonly attach themselves to the latter. 
 To conclude ; as something may be learned of characters from the 
 invectives of enemies, as well as from the encomiums of friends, 
 those who have not judgment to discern the good qualities of the 
 first-born, accuse her of dulness, pedantry, and stiffness; those who 
 have not taste to relish the charms of the second, charge her with
 
 Chap. V1L OF RHETORIC. 103 
 
 folly, levity, and falseness. Meantime, it appears to be the univer- 
 sal opinion of the impartial, and such as have been best acquainted 
 with both, that though the attractives of the younger be more ir- 
 resistible at sight, the virtues of the elder will be longer remembered. 
 So much for the two qualities, probability and plausibility, on 
 which I have expatiated the more, as they are the principal, and in 
 some respect, indispensable. The others are not compatible with 
 every subject; but as they are of real moment, it is necessary to at- 
 tend to them, that so they may not be overlooked in cases wherein 
 the subject requires that they be urged. 
 
 PART III. Importance. 
 
 THE third circumstance I took notice of was importance, the ap- 
 pearance of which always tends, by fixing attention more closely, to 
 add brightness and strength to the ideas. The importance in moral 
 subjects is analagous to the quantity of matter in physical subjects, 
 as on quantity the moment of moving bodies in a great measure 
 depends. An action may derive importance from its own nature, 
 from those concerned in it as acting or suffering, or from its con- 
 sequences. It derives importance from its own nature, if it be stu- 
 pendous in its kind, if the result of what is uncommonly great, 
 whether good or bad, passion or invention, virtue or vice, as what 
 in respect of generosity is godlike, what in respect of atrocity is 
 diabolical ; it derives importance from those concerned in it, when 
 the actors or the sufferers are considerable, on account either of 
 their dignity or of their number, or of both ; it derives importance 
 from its consequences, when these are remarkable in regard to their 
 greatness, their multitude, their extent, and that either as to the many 
 and distant places affected by them, or as to the future and remote 
 periods to which they may reach, or as to both. 
 
 All the four remaining circumstances derive their efficacy purely 
 from one and the same cause, the connexion of the subject with 
 those occupied, as speaker or hearers, in the discourse. Self is the 
 centre here, which hath a similar power in the ideal world to that 
 of the sun in the material world, in communicating both light and 
 heat to whatever is within the sphere of its activity, and in a greater 
 or a less degree, according to the nearness or remoteness. 
 
 PART IV Proximity of Time. 
 
 FIRST, as to proximity of time, every one knows, that any melan- 
 choly incident is the more affecting that it is recent. Hence it is 
 become common with story-tellers, that they make a deeper im- 
 pression on their hearers, to introduce remarks like these: that the
 
 104 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 tale which they relate is not old, that it happened but lately, or in 
 their own time, or that they are yet living- who had a part in it, or 
 were witnesses of it. Proximity of time regards not only the past 
 but the future. An event that will probably soon happen, hath 
 greater influence upon us than what will probably happen a long' time 
 hence. I have hitherto proceeded on the hypothesis, that the orator 
 rouses the passions of his hearers, by exhibiting some past trans- 
 action; but we must acknowledge that passion may be as strongly 
 excited by his reasonings concerning an event yet to come. In 
 the judiciary orations there is greater scope for the former, in the 
 deliberative for the latter; though in each kind there may occasion- 
 ally be scope for both. All the seven circumstances enumerated 
 are applicable, and have equal weight, whether they relate to the 
 future or to the past. The only exception that I knoAv of is, that 
 probability and plausibility are scarcely distinguishable, when used 
 in reference to events in futurity. As in these there is no access 
 for testimony, what constitutes the principal distinction is quite 
 excluded. In comparing the influence of the past upon our minds 
 with that of the future, it appears in general, that if the evidence, 
 the importance, and the distance of the objects be equal, the latter 
 will be greater than the former. The reason, I imagine, is, we 
 are conscious, that as every moment the future, which seems placed 
 before us, is approaching; and the past, which lies, as it were, be- 
 hind, is retiring, our nearness or relation to the one constantly in- 
 creaseth as the other decreaseth. There is something like attraction 
 in the first case, and repulsion in the second. This tends to interest 
 us more in the future than in the past, and consequently to the 
 present view aggrandizes the one and diminishes the other. 
 
 What, nevertheless, gives the past a very considerable advantage 
 is, its being generally susceptible of much stronger evidence than 
 the future. The lights of the mind are, if I may so express myself, 
 in an opposite situation to the lights of the body. These discover 
 clearly the prospect lying before us, but not the ground we have 
 already passed. By the memory, on the contrary, that great lu- 
 minary of the mind, things past are exhibited in retrospect; we 
 have no correspondent faculty to irradiate the future: and even in 
 matters which fall not within the reach of our memory, past events 
 are often clearly discoverable by testimony, and by effects at pre- 
 sent existing; whereas, we have nothing equivalent to found our 
 arguments upon in reasoning about things to come. It is for this 
 reason, that the future is considered as the province of conjecture 
 and uncertainty.
 
 Chap. VII. 
 
 OF RHETORIC. 105 
 
 PART V Connexion of Place. 
 
 LOCAL connexion, the fifth in the above enumeration, hath a more 
 powerful effect than proximity of time. Duration and space are 
 two things, (call them entities, or attributes, or what you please), in 
 some respects the most like, and in some respects the most unlike 
 to one another. They resemble in continuity, divisibility, infinity, 
 in their being deemed essential to the existence of other things, and 
 in the doubts that have been raised as to their having a real or in- 
 dependent existence of their own. They differ in that the latter is 
 permanent, whereas the very essence of the former consisteth in 
 trausitoriness; the parts of the one are all successive, of the other all 
 coexistent. The greater portions of time are all distinguished by 
 the memorable things which have been transacted in them, the small- 
 er portions by the revolutions of the heavenly bodies: the portions 
 of place, great and small, (for we do not here consider the regions of 
 the fixed stars and planets), are distinguished by the various tracts 
 of laud and water, into w r hich the earth is divided and subdivided 
 the one distinction intelligible, the other sensible; the one chiefly 
 known to the inquisitive, the other in a great measure obvious to all. 
 
 Hence perhaps it arises, that the latter is considered as a firmer 
 ground of relation than the former. Who is not more curious to 
 know the notable transactions which have happened in his own 
 country from the earliest antiquity, than to be acquainted with those 
 which have happened in the remotest regions of the globe, during 
 the century wherein he lives? It must be owned, however, that the 
 former circumstance is more frequently aided by that of personal 
 relation than the latter. Connexion of place not only includes vici- 
 nage, but every other local relation, such as being' in a province 
 under the same government with us, in a state that is in alliance 
 with us, in a country well known to us, and the like. Of the influ- 
 ence of this connexion in operating on our passions we have daily 
 proofs. With how much indifference, at least with how slight 
 and transient emotion, do we read in newspapers the accounts of 
 the most deplorable accidents in countries distant and unknown? 
 How much, on the contrary, are we alarmed and agitated on being 
 informed, that any such accident hath happened in our neighbour- 
 hood, and that even though we be totally unacquainted with the 
 persons concerned? 
 
 PART VI. Relation to the Per sons concerned. 
 STILL greater is the power of relation to the persons concerned,
 
 106 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 which was the sixth circumstance mentioned, as this tie is more di- 
 rect than that which attacheth us to the scene of action. It is the 
 persons, not the place, that are the immediate objects of the passions 
 love or hatred, pity or anger, envy or contempt. Relation to the 
 actors commonly produces an effect contrary to that produced by 
 relation to the sufferers, the first in extenuation, the second in ag- 
 gravation of the crime alleged. The first makes for the apologist, 
 the second for the accuser. This, I say, is commonly the case, not 
 always. A remote relation to the actors, when the offence is heinous, 
 especially if the sufferers be more nearly related, will sometimes ra- 
 ther aggravate than extenuate the guilt in our estimation. But it 
 is impossible with any precision to reduce these effects to rules; so 
 much depending on the different tempers and sentiments of different 
 audiences. Personal relations are of various kinds. Some have 
 generally greater influence than others; some again have greater 
 influence with one person, others with another. They are consan- 
 guinity, affinity, friendship, acquaintance, being fellow-citizens, 
 countrymen, of the same surname, language, religion, occupation, 
 and innumerable others. 
 
 PART VII. Interest in the Consequences. 
 
 BUT of all the connexive circumstances, the most powerful is in- 
 terest, which is the last. Of all relations, personal relation, by 
 bringing the object very near, most enlivens that sympathy which 
 attacheth us to the concerns of others; interest in the effects brings 
 the object, if I may say so, into contact with us, and makes the mind 
 cling to it, as a concern of its own. Sympathy is but a reflected 
 feeling, and therefore, in ordinary cases, must be weaker than the 
 original. Though the mirror be ever so true, a lover will not be 
 obliged to it for presenting him with the figure of his mistress, when 
 he hath an opportunity of gazing on her person. Nor will the ora- 
 tor place his chief confidence in the assistance of the social and sym- 
 pathetic affections, when he hath it in his power to arm the selfish. 
 
 Men universally, from a just conception of the difference, have, 
 when self is concerned, given a different name to what seems origi- 
 nally the same passion in a higher degree. Injury, to whomso- 
 ever offered, is to every man that observes it, and whose sense of 
 right is not debauched by vicious practice, the natural object of in- 
 dignation. Indignation always implies resentment, or a desire of 
 retaliating on the injurious person, so far at least as to make him 
 repent the wrong he hath committed. This indignation in the per- 
 son injured, is, from our knowledge of mankind, supposed to be,
 
 Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. 10V 
 
 not indeed universally, but generally, so much stronger that it ought 
 to be distinguished by another appellation, and is accordingly de- 
 nominated revenge. In like manner, beneficence, on whomsoever 
 exercised, is the natural object of our love, love always implies be- 
 nevolence, or a desire of promoting the happiness of the beneficent 
 person ; but this passion in the person benefited is conceived to be 
 so much greater, and to infer so strong an obligation to a return of 
 good offices to his benefactor, that it merits to be distinguished by 
 the title gratitude. Now by this circumstance of interest in the ef- 
 fects, the speaker, from engaging pity in his favor, can proceed to 
 operate on a more powerful principle, self-preservation. The be- 
 nevolence of his hearers he can work up into gratitude, their indig- 
 nation into revenge. 
 
 The two last mentioned circumstances, personal relation and in- 
 terest, are not without influence, as was hinted in the enumeration, 
 though they regard the speaker only and not the hearers. The rea- 
 son is, a person present with us, whom we see and hear, and who 
 by words, and looks, and gestures, gives the liveliest signs of his 
 feelings, has the surest and most immediate claim upon our sympa- 
 thy. We become infected with his passions. We are hurried along 
 by them, and not allowed leisure to distinguish between his rela- 
 tion and our relation, his interest and our interest. 
 
 SECTION VI. Other Passions, as well as Moral Sentiments, use- 
 ful Auxiliaries. 
 
 So much for those circumstances in the object presented by the 
 speaker, which serve to awaken and inflame the passions of the 
 hearers *. But when a passion is once raised, there are also other 
 
 * To illustrate most of the preceding circumstances, and show the manner of 
 applying them, I shall take an example from Cicero's last oration against Verres, 
 where, after relating the crucifixion of Gavius, a Roman citizen, he exclaims, 
 1 . " O nomen dulce libertatis! o jus eximium nostrae civitalis ! o lex Porcia, leges- 
 " que Semproniae ! o graviter desiderata et aliquando reddita plebi Romanae 
 " tribunitiapotestas! 2. Huccine tandem omnia reciderunt, ut civis Romanus 
 " in provincia populi Romani, in oppido federatorum, ab eo, qui beneficio po- 
 " puli Romani fasces et secures haberet, deligatus in fo.o virgis caederetur?" 
 
 3. " Sed quid egoplura de Gavio? quasi tu Gavio tumfueris infestus, ac nou 
 
 " nomini, generi, juri civium hostis, non illi inquam homini, sed causae communi 
 " libertatis inimicus fuisti. 4. Quid enim attiuuit, cum Mamertini, more atque 
 " institute suo, crucem fixissent post urbem, in via Pompeia; te jubere in ea 
 " parte figere, quae ad fretum spectaret ; et hoc addere, quod negare nullo modo 
 " potes, quod omnibus audientibus dixisti palam, te idcirco ilium locum deli- 
 " gere, ut ille, qui se civem Romanum csse diccret, ex cruce Italiam ceruere, ac
 
 /l08 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L 
 
 means by which it may be kept alive and even augmented. Other 
 passions or dispositions may be called in as auxiliaries. Nothing is 
 more efficacious in this respect than a sense of justice, a sense of 
 public utility, a sense of glory; and nothing conduceth more to 
 operate on these, than the sentiments of sages whose wisdom we 
 venerate, the example of heroes whose exploits we admire. I shall 
 conclude what relates to the exciting of passion, when I have re- 
 marked, that pleading the importance and the other pathetic cir- 
 cumstances, or pleading the authority of opinions or precedents, is 
 
 " (Ionium suam prospicere posset? 5. Itaque ilia crux sola, judices, post con- 
 " ditatn Messanam, illo in loco fixa est. 6. Italiae conspectus ad earn rem al> 
 " 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<waken such 
 a passion. This we must learn originally from feeling, not from ar- 
 gument. No speaker attempts to prove it ; thougV he sometimes 
 introduced! moral considerations, in order to/ justify the passion 
 when raised, and to prevent the hearers fro'm attempting to sup- 
 press it. Even when he is enforcing- their regard to the pathetic 
 
 probably induced the orator in this particular to be so sparing. One is, the re- 
 cency of the crime, as of the criminal's praetorship, was notorious; the other and 
 the weightier is, that of all relations this is the weakest; and even what influence 
 it hath, reflection serves rather to correct than to confirm. In appearing to lay 
 stress on so slight a circumstance, a speaker displays rather penury of matter 
 than abundance. It is better, therefore, in most cases, to suggest it, as it were 
 by accident, than to insist on it as of design. It deserves also to be remarked, 
 that the word here employed is very emphatical, as it conveys at the same time 
 a tacit comparison of their so recent degeneracy with the freedom, security, and 
 glory which they had long enjoyed. The same word is again introduced, No. 
 14. to the same intent. Thirdly, local connection ; in respect of vicinage, how 
 affectingly, though indirectly, is it touched, No. 4, G, 8, 11, 12? indirectly, for 
 reasons similar to those mentioned on the circumstance of time ; as to other 
 local connexions, No. 2. " in proviucia populi Roniani, in oppido foederatorum." 
 Fourthly, personal relation ; first of the perpetrator, No. 2. "ab eoqui beneficio," 
 &c., his crime therefore more atrocious and ungrateful, the most sacred rights 
 violated by one who ought to have protected them; next of the sufferer, No. 2. 
 " civis Romanus." This is most pathetically urged, and by a comparison in- 
 troduced greatly heightened, No. 13, 14. Fifthly, the interest; which, not 
 the hearers only, but all who bear the Roman name, have in the consequences, 
 No. 15, 16. We see in the above example, with what uncommon address and 
 delicacy those circumstances ought to be sometimes blended, sometimes but in- 
 sinuated, sometimes, on the contrary, warmly urged, sometimes shaded a little, 
 that the art may be concealed ; and in brief, the whole conducted so as that no- 
 thing material may be omitted, that every sentiment may easily follow that 
 which preceded, and usher that which follows it, and that every thing said may 
 appear to be the language of pure nature. The art of the rhetorician, like that 
 of the philosopher, is analytical ; the art of the orator is synthetical. The former 
 acts the part of the skilful anatomist, who, by removing the teguments, and 
 nicely separating the parts, presents us with views at once naked, distinct, and 
 hideous, now of the structure of the boues, now of the muscles and tendons, now 
 of the arteries and veins, now of the bowels, now of the brain and nervous 
 system. The latter imitates Nature in the constructing of her work, who, with 
 wonderful symmetry, unites the vaVious organs, adapts them to their respective 
 uses, and covers all with a decent veil, the skin. Thus, though she hide entirely 
 the more minute and the interior parts, and show not to equal advantage even 
 the articulations of the limbs, and the adjustment of the larger members, adds 
 inexpressible beauty, and strength, and energy to the whole.
 
 110 v THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 circumstances above mentioned, it is not so much his aim to shew 
 that theso circumstances ought to augment the passion, as that 
 these circumstances are in the object. The effect upon their minds 
 he commonly leaves to nature ; and is not afraid of the conclusion, 
 if he can make every aggravating circumstance be, as it were, both 
 perceived and felt by them. In the enthymeme, (the syllogism of 
 orators, as Quintilian* terms it), employed in such cases, the sen- 
 timent that such a quality or circumstance ought to rouse such a 
 passion, though the foundation of all, is generally assumed without 
 proof, or even without mention. This forms the major proposition, 
 which is suppressed as obvious. His whole art is exerted in evinc- 
 ing the minor, which is the antecedent in his argument, and which 
 maintains the reality of those attendant circumstances in the case 
 in hand. A careful attention to the examples of vehemence in the 
 first chapter, and the quotation in the foregoing note, will suffici- 
 ently illustrate this remark. 
 
 SECTION VII. How an unfavorable Passion must be calmed. 
 
 I COME now to the second question on the subject of passion. HOAV 
 is an unfavorable passion or disposition to be calmed ? The an- 
 swer is, either, first, by annihilating, or at least diminishing the 
 object which raised it; or secondly, by exciting some other passion 
 which may counterwork it. 
 
 By proving the falsity of the narration, or the utter incredibility 
 of the future event, on the supposed truth of which the passion 
 was founded, the object is annihilated. It is diminished by all 
 such circumstances as are contrary to those by which it is increased. 
 These are improbability, implausibility, insignificance, distance of 
 time, remoteness of place, the persons concerned such as we have 
 no connexion with, the consequences such as we have no interest 
 in. The method recommended by Gorgias, and approved by Aris- 
 totle, though peculiar in its manner, is, in those cases wherein it 
 may properly be attempted, coincident in effect with that now men- 
 tioned. " It was a just opinion of Gorgias, that the serious argu- 
 " ment of an adversary should be confounded by ridicule, and 
 " his ridicule by serious argument f ." For this is only endeavour- 
 ing, by the aid of laughter and contempt, to diminish, or even 
 quite undo, the unfriendly emotions that have been raised in the 
 
 *Instit. lib. i. c. Q. 
 
 -f- A*r E^*J Togyiois T^ (Jt.iv trTrsSw <^*^Si/<v TaJ evxvlt' 
 o-TraS*;- o^us \eyuv. Rhet. lib. iii. c. 18.
 
 Chap. VII. OF RHETORIC. Ill 
 
 minds of the hearers ; or, on the contrary, by satisfying them of 
 the seriousness of the subject, and of the importance of its conse- 
 quences, to extinguish the contempt, and make the laughter which 
 the antagonist wanted to excite, appear, when examined, no better 
 than madness. 
 
 The second way of silencing an unfavorable passion or dis- 
 position, is, by conjuring up some other passion or disposition 
 which may overcome it. With regard to conduct, \vhenever the 
 mind deliberates, it is conscious of contrary motives impelling 
 it in opposite directions; in other words, it finds that acting thus 
 would gratify one passion ; not acting, or acting otherwise, would 
 gratify another. To take such a step, I perceive, would promote 
 my interest, but derogate from my honor. Such another will gra- 
 tify my resentment, but hurt my interest. When this is the case, 
 as the speaker can be at no loss to discover the conflicting passions, 
 he must be sensible, that whatever force he adds to the disposition 
 that favors his design, is in fact so much subtracted from the dis- 
 position that opposeth it, and conversely; as in the two scales of 
 a balance, it is equal in regard to the effect, whether you add so 
 much weight to one scale, or take it from the other. 
 
 Thus we have seen in what manner passion to an absent object 
 may be excited by eloquence, which, by enlivening and invigorat- 
 ing the ideas of imagination, makes them resemble the impressions 
 of sense and the traces of memory; and in this respect hath an 
 effect on the mind similar to that produced by a telescope on the 
 sight; things remote are brought near, things obscure rendered con- 
 spicuous. We have seen also in what manner a passion already ex- 
 cited may be calmed; how by the oratorical magic, as by inverting 
 the telescope, the object may be again removed and diminished. 
 
 It were endless to enumerate all the rhetorical figures that are 
 adapted to the pathetic. Let it suffice to say, that most of those 
 already named may be successfully employed here. Of others the 
 principal are these, correction, climax, vision, exclamation, apos- 
 trophe, and interrogation. The three first, correction, climax, and 
 vision, tend greatly to enliven the ideas, by the implicit but ani- 
 mated comparison and opposition conveyed in them. Implicit 
 and indirect comparison is more suitable to the disturbed state of 
 mind required by the pathetic, than that which is explicit and di- 
 rect. The latter implies leisure and tranquillity, the former rapi- 
 dity and fire. Exclamation and apostrophe operate chiefly by sym- 
 pathy, as they are the most ardent expressions of perturbation in 
 the speaker. It at first sight appears more difficult to account for 
 the effect of interrogation, which, being an appeal to the hearers,
 
 112 THE PHILOSOPHY. Book I. 
 
 though it might awaken a closer attention, yet could not, one 
 would imagine, excite in their minds any new emotion that was 
 not there before. This, nevertheless, it doth excite, through an 
 oblique operation of the same principle. Such an appeal implies 
 in the orator the strongest confidence in the rectitude of his senti- 
 ments, and in the concurrence of every reasonable being-. The au- 
 ditors, by sympathizing with this frame of spirit, find it imprac- 
 ticable to withhold an assent which is so confidently depended on. 
 But there will be occasion afterwards for discussing more particu- 
 larly the rhetorical tropes and figures, when we come to treat of 
 elocution. 
 
 Thus I have finished the consideration which the speaker ought 
 to have of his hearers as men in general ; that is, as thinking beings 
 endowed with understanding, imagination, memory, and passions, 
 such as we are conscious of in ourselves, and learn from the expe- 
 rience of their effects to be in others. I have pointed out the arts 
 to be employed by him in engaging all those faculties in his service, 
 that what he advanceth may not only be understood, not only com- 
 mand attention, not only be remembered, but which is the chief 
 point of all, may interest the heart. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 OF THE CONSIDERATION WHICH THE SPEAKER OUGHT TO HAVE OF 
 THE HEARERS, AS SUCH MEN IN PARTICULAR. 
 
 IT was remarked in the beginning of the preceding chapter, that 
 the hearers ought to be considered in a twofold view, as men in 
 general, and as such men in particular. The first consideration I 
 have dispatched, I now enter on the second. 
 
 When it is affirmed that the hearers are to be considered as such 
 men in particular, no more is meant, than that regard ought to be 
 had by the speaker to the special character of the audience, as com- 
 posed of such individuals; that he may suit himself to them, both 
 in his style and in his arguments*. Now the difference between 
 one audience and another is very great, not only in intellectual, but 
 in moral attainments. It may be clearly intelligible to a House of 
 Commons, which would appear as if spoken in an unknown tongue 
 to a conventicle of enthusiasts. It may kindle fury in the latter, 
 which would create no emotion in the former but laughter and 
 contempt. The most obvious difference that appears in different 
 
 * He must be " Orpheus in sylvis, inter delphinas Arion." VIRG.
 
 Chap. IX. OF RHETORIC. 113 
 
 auditories, results from the different cultivation of the understand- 
 ing-; and the influence which this, and their manner of life, have 
 both upon the imagination and upon the memory. 
 
 But even in cases wherein the difference in education and moral 
 culture hath not been considerable, different habits afterwards con- 
 tracted, and different occupations in life give different propensities, 
 
 and make one incline more to one passion, another to another. 
 
 They consequently afford the intelligent speaker an easier passage 
 to the heart, through the channel of the favorite passion. Thus li- 
 berty and independence will ever be prevalent motives with repub- 
 licans, pomp and splendor with those attached to monarchy. In 
 mercantile states, such as Carthage among the ancients, or Holland 
 among the moderns, interest will always prove the most cogent ar- 
 gument; in states solely or chiefly composed of soldiers, such as 
 Sparta and ancient Rome, no inducement will be found a counterpoise 
 to glory. Similar differences are also to be made in addressing 
 different classes of men. With men of genius the most successful 
 topic will be fame; with men of industry, riches; with men of for- 
 tune, pleasure. 
 
 But as the characters of audiences may be infinitely diversified, 
 and as the influence they ought to have respectively upon the speak- 
 er, must be obvious to a person of discernment, it is sufficient here 
 to have observed thus much in the general concerning them. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 OF THE CONSIDERATION WHICH THE SPEAKER OUGHT TO HAVE OF 
 HIMSELF. 
 
 THE last consideration I mentioned, is that which the speaker 
 ought to have of himself. By this we are to understand, not that 
 estimate of himself which is derived directly from consciousness or 
 self-acquaintance, but that which is obtained reflexively from the 
 opinion entertained of him by the hearers, or the character which 
 he bears with them. Sympathy is one main engine by which the 
 orator operates on the passions. 
 
 With them who laugh, our social joy appears; 
 
 With them who mourn, we sympathize in tears: 
 
 If you would have me weep, begin the strain, 
 
 Then I shall feel your sorrows, feel your pain*. FRANCIS. 
 
 * Ut ridentibus arrident, ita flentibus adflent 
 Human! vultus. Si vis me flere, dolendum est 
 Primum ipsi tibi: tune tua me iafortunia laedent. HOB. De Arte Poet.
 
 114 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 Whatever therefore weakens that principle of sympathy, must do 
 the speaker unutterable prejudice in respect of his power over the 
 passions of his audience, but not in this respect only. One source at 
 least of the primary influence of testimony on faith, is doubtless to 
 be attributed to the same communicative principle. At the same time 
 it is certain, as was remarked above, that every testimony doth hot 
 equally attach this principle; that in this particular the reputation 
 of the attester hath a considerable power. Now the speaker's ap- 
 parent conviction of the truth of what he advanceth, adds to all his 
 other arguments an evidence, though not precisely the same, yet 
 neara-kin to that of his own testimony*. This hath some weight 
 even with the wisest hearers, but is every thing with the vulgar. 
 Whatever therefore lessens sympathy, must also impair belief. 
 
 Sympathy in the hearers to the speaker may be lessened several 
 ways, chiefly by these two; by a low opinion of his intellectual 
 abilities, and by a bad opinion of his morals. The latter is the 
 more prejudicial of the two. Men generally will think themselves 
 in less danger of being seduced by a man of weak understanding 
 but of distinguished probity, than by a man of the best understand- 
 ing who is of a profligate life. So much more powerfully do the 
 qualities of the heart attach us, than those of the head. This pre- 
 ference, though it may be justly called untaught and instinctive, 
 arising purely from the original frame of the mind, reason, or the 
 knowledge of mankind acquired by experience, instead of weaken- 
 ing, seems afterwards to corroborate. Hence it hath become a com- 
 mon topic with rhetoricians, that, in order to be a successful orator, 
 one must be a good man; for to be good is the only sure way of 
 being long esteemed good, and to be esteemed good is previously 
 necessary to ones being heard with due attention and regard. 
 Consequently, the topic hath a foundation in human nature. There 
 are indeed other things in the character of the speaker, which, in 
 a less degree, will hurt his influence; youth, inexperience of affairs, 
 former want of success, and the like. 
 
 But of all the prepossessions in the minds of the hearers which 
 tend to impede or counteract the design of the speaker, party-spirit, 
 where it happens to prevail, is the most pernicious, being at once the 
 most inflexible and most unjust. This prejudice I mention by itself, 
 as those above recited may have place at any time, and in any national 
 circumstances. This hath place only when a people is so unfortunate 
 as to be torn by faction. In that case, if the speaker and the hear- 
 
 * Ne illud quidem praeteribo, quantam afferat fidem exposition?, narrantis 
 auetoritas. QUINT, lib. iv. cap. 2.
 
 Chap. IX. OF RHETORIC. 115 
 
 ers, or the bulk of the hearers, be of contrary parties, their minds 
 will be more prepossessed against him, though his life were ever so 
 blameless, than if he were a man of the most flagitious manners, 
 but of the same party. This holds but too much alike of all parties, 
 religious and political. Violent party-men not only lose all sym- 
 pathy with those of the opposite side, but contract an antipathy 
 to them. This, on some occasions, even the divinest eloquence 
 will not surmount. 
 
 As to personal prejudices in general, I shall conclude with two 
 remarks. The first is, the more gross the hearers are, so much the 
 more susceptible they are of such prejudices. Nothing exposes 
 the mind more to all their baneful influences than ignorance and 
 rudeness; the rabble chiefly consider who speaks, men of sense and 
 education what is spoken. Nor are the multitude, to do them jus- 
 tice, less excessive in their love than in their hatred, in their attach- 
 ments than in their aversions. From a consciousness, it would 
 seem, of their own incapacity to guide themselves, they are ever 
 prone blindly to submit to the guidance of some popular orator, 
 who hath had the address first, either to gain their approbation by 
 his real or pretended virtues, or, which is the easier way, to recom- 
 mend himself to their esteem by a flaming zeal for their favorite 
 distinctions, and afterwards by his eloquence to work upon their 
 passions. At the same time it must be acknowleged, on the other 
 hand, that even men of the most improved intellects, and most re- 
 fined sentiments, are not altogether beyond the reach of preconceived 
 opinion, either in the speaker's favor or to his prejudice. 
 
 The second remark is, that when the opinion Of the audience is 
 unfavorable, the speaker hath need to be much more cautious in 
 every step he takes, to show more modesty, and greater deference 
 to the judgment of his hearers; perhaps, in order to win them, he 
 may find it necessary to make some concessions in relation to his 
 former principles or conduct, and to entreat their attention from 
 pure regard to the subject; that, like men of judgment and candor, 
 they would impartially consider what is said, and give a welcome 
 reception to truth, from what quarter soever it proceed. Thus he 
 must attempt, if possible, to mollify them, gradually to insinuate 
 himself into their favor, and thereby imperceptibly to transfuse his 
 sentiments and passions into their minds. 
 
 The man who enjoys the advantage of popularity heeds not this 
 
 caution. The minds of his auditors are perfectly attuned to his. 
 
 They are prepared for adopting implicitly his opinions, and ac- 
 companying him in all his most passionate excursions. When the 
 people are willing to run with you, you may run as fast as you can, 
 12
 
 1 16 THE PHILOSOPHY Book f. 
 
 especially when the case requires impetuosity and dispatch. But 
 if you find in them no such ardor, if it is not even without reluctance 
 that they are induced to walk with you, you must slacken your 
 pace and keep them company, lest they either stand still or turn 
 back. Diiferent rules are given by rhetoricians as adapted to dif- 
 ferent circumstances. Differences in this respect are numberless. 
 It is enough here to have observed those principles in the mind, on 
 which the rules are founded. 
 
 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. 
 
 THE principal sorts of discourses which here demand our notice, 
 and on which I intend to make some observations, are the three fol- 
 lowing: the orations delivered at the bar, those pronounced in the 
 senate, and those spoken from the pulpit. I do not make a sepa- 
 rate article of the speeches delivered by judges to their colleagues 
 on the bench ; because, though there be something peculiar here, 
 arising from the difference in character that subsists between the 
 judge and the pleader, in all the other material circumstances, the 
 persons addressed, the subject, the occasion, and the purpose in 
 speaking, there is in these two sorts a perfect coincidence. In like 
 manner, I forbear to mention the theatre, because so entirely dissi- 
 milar, both in form and in kind, as hardly to be capable of a place 
 in the comparison. Besides, it is only a cursory view of the chief 
 differences, and not a critical examination of them all, that is here 
 proposed; my design being solely to assist the mind both in appre- 
 hending rightly, and in applying properly, the principles above 
 laid down. In this respect, the present discussion will serve to ex- 
 emplify and illustrate those principles. Under these five particu- 
 lars therefore, the speaker, the hearers or persons addressed, the 
 subject, the occasion, and the end in view, or the effect intended to 
 be produced by the discourse, I shall range, for order's sake, the 
 remarks I intend to lay before the reader. 
 
 SECTION I. In regard to the Speaker. 
 
 THE first consideration is that of the character to be sustained by 
 the speaker. It was remarked in general, in the preceding chapter, 
 that for promoting the success of the orator, (whatever be the kind
 
 Chap.X. OF RHETORIC. 117 
 
 of public speaking in which he is concerned) it is a matter of some 
 consequence, that, in the opinion of those whom he addresseth, he 
 is both a wise and a good man. But though this in some measure 
 holds universally, nothing is more certain than that the degree of con- 
 sequence which lies in their opinion, is exceedingly different in the 
 different kinds. In each it depends chiefly on two circumstances, 
 the nature of his profession as a public speaker, and the character 
 of those to whom his discourses are addressed. 
 
 As to the first, arising from the nature of the profession, it will 
 not admit a question, that the preacher hath in this respect the most 
 difficult task ; inasmuch as he hath a character to support, which is 
 much more easily injured than that either of the senator, or of the 
 speaker at the bar. No doubt the reputation of capacity, experi- 
 ence in affairs, and as much integrity as is thought attainable by 
 those called men of the world, will add weight to the words of the 
 senator; that of skill in his profession, and fidelity in his represen- 
 tations, will serve to recommend what is spoken by the lawyer at 
 the bar; but if these characters in general remain unimpeached, the 
 public will be sufficiently indulgent to both in every other respect. 
 On the contrary, there is little or no indulgence, in regard to his 
 own failings, to be expected by the man who is professedly a sort 
 of authorized censor, who hath it in charge to mark, and reprehend 
 the faults of others. And even in the execution of this so ticklish 
 a part of his office, the least excess on either hand exposeth him to 
 censure and dislike. Too much lenity is enough to stigmatize him 
 as lukewarm in the cause of virtue, and too much severity as a stran- 
 ger to the spirit of the gospel. 
 
 But let us consider more directly what is implied in the charac- 
 ter, that we may better judge of the effect it will have on the ex- 
 pectations and demands of the people, and consequently on his pub- 
 lic teaching. First then, it is a character of some authority, as it is 
 of one educated for a purpose so important as that of a teacher of 
 religion. This authority, however, from the nature of the function, 
 must be tempered with moderation, candor, and benevolence. The 
 preacher of the gospel, as the very terms import, is the minister of 
 grace, the herald of divine mercy to ignorant, sinful, and erring 
 men. The magistrate, on the contrary, (under which term may be 
 included secular judges and counsellors of every denomination), is 
 the minister of divine justice and of wrath. " He beareth not the 
 sword in vain *." He is on the part of heaven the avenger of the socie- 
 ty with whose protection he is intrusted, against all who invade its 
 
 * Rom. xiii. 4.
 
 118 THE PHILOSOPHY Book I. 
 
 rights. The first operates chiefly on our love, the second on our 
 fear. Minister of religion, like angel of God, is a name that ought 
 to convey the idea of something endearing and attractive: whereas 
 the title, minister of justice, invariably suggests the notion of some- 
 thing awful and unrelenting. In the former, even his indignation 
 against sin ought to be surmounted by his pity of the condition, 
 and concern for the recovery of the sinner. Though firm in de- 
 claring the will of God, though steady in maintaining the cause of 
 truth, yet mild in his addresses to the people, condescending to the 
 weak, using rather entreaty than command, beseeching them by 
 the lowliness and gentleness of Christ, knowing that " the servant of 
 " the Lord must not strive, but be gentle to all men, apt to teach, 
 " patient, in meekness instructing those that oppose themselves*." 
 He must be grave without moroseness, cheerful without levity. 
 And even in setting before his people the terrors of the Lord,, affec- 
 tion ought manifestly to predominate in the warning which he is 
 compelled to give. From these few hints it plainly appears, that 
 there is a certain delicacy in the character of a preacher, which he is 
 never at liberty totally to overlook, and to which, if there appear 
 any thing incongruous, either in his conduct or in his public per- 
 formances, it will never fail to injure their effect. On the contrary, 
 it is well known, that as in the other professions the speaker's pri- 
 vate life is but very little minded, so there are many things which, 
 though they would be accounted nowise unsuitable from the bar or 
 in the senate, would be deemed altogether unbefitting the pulpit. 
 
 It ought not to be overlooked, on the other hand, that there is 
 one peculiarity in the lawyer's professional character, which is un- 
 favorable to conviction, and consequently gives him some disadvan- 
 tage both of the senator and the preacher. We know that he must 
 defend his client, and argue on the side on which he is retained. 
 We know also that a trifling and accidental circumstance, which no- 
 wise affects the merits ofthe cause, such as a prior application from the 
 adverse party, would probably have made him employ the same acute- 
 ness, and display the same fervor on the opposite side of the ques- 
 tion. This circumstance, though not considered as a fault in the 
 character of the man, but as a natural, because an ordinary, conse- 
 quent ofthe office, cannot fail, when reflected on, to make us shyer of 
 yielding our assent. It removes entirely what was observed in the 
 preceding chapter to be of great moment, our belief of the speak- 
 er's sincerity. This belief can hardly be rendered compatible with 
 the knowledge that both truth and right are so commonly and avow- 
 
 * 2 Tim. ii. 24, 25.
 
 Chap. X. OF RHETORIC. 119 
 
 edly sacrificed to interest. I acknowledge that an uncommon 
 share of eloquence will carry off the minds of most people from at- 
 tending to this circumstance, or at least from paying any regard to 
 it. Yet Antony is represented by Cicero*, as thinking the advo- 
 cate's reputation so delicate, that the practice of amusing himself 
 in philosophical disputations with his friends, is sufficient to hurt it, 
 and consequently to affect the credibility of his pleadings. Surely 
 the barefaced prostitution of his talents, (and in spite of its common- 
 ness, what else can we call it?) in supporting indifferently, as pe- 
 cuniary considerations determine him, truth or falsehood, justice 
 or injustice, must have a still worse effect on the opinion of his 
 hearers, 
 
 It was affirmed that the consequence of the speaker's own charac- 
 ter in furthering or hindering his success, depends in some measure 
 on the character of those whom he addresseth. Here indeed it will 
 be found, on inquiry, that the preacher labors under a manifest dis- 
 advantage. Most congregations are of that kind, as will appear from 
 the article immediately succeeding, which, agreeably to an obser- 
 vation made in the former chapter, very much considers who speaks; 
 those addressed from the bar, or in the senate, consider more what 
 is spoken. 
 
 SECTION II. In regard to the Persons addressed. 
 
 THE second particular mentioned as a ground of comparison, is 
 the consideration of the character of the hearers, or more properly 
 the persons addressed. The necessity which a speaker is under 
 of suiting himself to his audience, both that he may be understood 
 by them, and that his words may have influence upon them, is a 
 maxim so evident as to need neither proof nor illustration. 
 
 Now the first remark that claims our attention here is, that the 
 more mixed the auditory is, the greater is the difficulty of speaking 
 to them with effect. The reason is obvious, what will tend to fa- 
 vor your success with one, may tend to obstruct it with another. 
 The more various therefore the individuals are, in respect of age, 
 rank, fortune, education, prejudices, the more delicate must be 
 the art of preserving propriety in an address to the whole. The 
 pleader has, in this respect, the simplest and the easiest task of all; 
 the judges to whom his oration is addressed, being commonly men 
 
 * De Orat. Lib. 2. Ego ista studia non improbo, moderata modo shit. Opi- 
 nionem istorum studiorum, et suspicionem artificii apud eos quires judicent, ora- 
 tori adversariam esse arbitror. Imminuit enim et oratoris auctoritatem, et ora- 
 tionis fidem.
 
 120 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L 
 
 of the same rank, of similar education, and not differing greatly in 
 respect of studies or attainments. The difference in these respects 
 is much more considerable when he addresses the jury. A speaker 
 in the house of peers hath not so mixt an auditory as one who ha- 
 rangues in the house of commons. And even here, as all the mem- 
 bers may be supposed to have been educated as gentlemen, the au- 
 dience is not nearly so promiscuous as were the popular assemblies 
 of Athens and of Rome, to which their demagogues declaimed 
 with so much vehemence, and so wonderful success. Yet, even of 
 these, women, minors, and servants, made no part. 
 
 We may therefore justly reckon a Christian congregation in a po- 
 pulous and florishing city, where there is great variety in rank and 
 education, to be of all audiences the most promiscuous. And though 
 it is impossible, that, in so mixed a multitude, every thing that is 
 advanced by the speaker should, both in sentiment and in expression, 
 be adapted to the apprehension of every individual hearer, and 
 fall in with his particular prepossessions, yet it may be expected, 
 that whatever is advanced shall be within the reach of every class 
 of hearers, and shall not unnecessarily shock the innocent prejudi- 
 ces of any. This is still, however, to be understood with the excep- 
 tion of mere children, fools, and a few others, who, through the to- 
 tal neglect of parents or guardians in their education, are grossly 
 ignorant. Such, though in the audience, are not to be considered 
 as constituting a part of it. But how great is the attention requi- 
 site in the speaker in such an assembly, that, whilst on the one 
 hand he avoids, either in style or in sentiment, soaring above the 
 capacity of the lower class, he may not, on the other, sink below the 
 regard of the higher. To attain simplicity without flatness, deli- 
 cacy without refinement, perspicuity without recurring to low 
 idioms and similitudes, will require his utmost care. 
 
 Another remark on this article that deserves our notice, is, that 
 the less improved in knowledge and discernment the hearers are, 
 the easier it is for the speaker to work upon their passions, and by 
 working on their passions, to obtain his end. This, it must be 
 owned, appears on the other hand to give a considerable advantage 
 to the preacher, as in no congregation can the bulk of the people 
 be regarded as on a footing, in point of improvement, with either 
 house of parliament, or with the judges in a court of judicature. 
 It is certain, that the more gross the hearers are, the more avowedly 
 may you address yourself to their passions, and the less occasion 
 there is for argument; whereas, the more intelligent they are, the 
 more covertly must you operate on their passions, and the more at- 
 tentive must you be in regard to the justness, or at least the spe-
 
 Chap. X OF RHETORIC. 121 
 
 ciousness of your reasoning. Hence some have strangely conclud- 
 ed, that the only scope for eloquence is in haranguing the multi- 
 tude; that, in gaining over to your purpose men of knowledge and 
 breeding, the exertion of oratorical talents hath no influence. This 
 is precisely as if one should argue, because a mob is much easier 
 subdued than regular troops, there is no occasion for the art of war, 
 nor is there a proper field for the exertion of military skill, unless 
 when you are quelling an undisciplined rabble. Every body sees in 
 this case, not only how absurd such a way of arguing would be, but 
 that the very reverse ought to be the conclusion. The reason why 
 people do not so quickly perceive the absurdity in the other case, 
 is, that they aflix no distinct meaning to the word eloquence, often 
 denoting no more by that term than simply the power of moving 
 the passions. But even in this improper acceptation, their notion 
 is far from being just; for wherever there are men, learned or ig- 
 norant, civilized or barbarous, there are passions; and the greater 
 the difficulty is in affecting these, the more art is requisite. The 
 truth is, eloquence, like every other art, proposeth the accomplish- 
 ment of a certain end. Passion is for the most part but the means 
 employed for effecting the end, and therefore, like all other means, 
 will no further be regarded in any case, than it can be rendered 
 conducible to the end. 
 
 Now the preacher's advantage even here, in point of facility, at 
 least in several situations, will not appear, on reflection, to be so 
 great, as on a superficial view it may be thought. Let it be obser- 
 ved, that in such congregations as was supposed, there is a mixture 
 of superior and inferior ranks. It is therefore the business of the 
 speaker, so far only to accommodate himself to one class, as not wan- 
 tonly to disgust another. Besides, it will scarcely be denied, that 
 those in the superior walks of life, however much by reading and 
 conversation improved in all genteel accomplishments, often have 
 as much need of religious instruction and moral improvement, as 
 those who in every other particular are acknowledged to be their 
 inferiors. And doubtless the reformation of such will be allowed 
 to be, in one respect, of greater importance, (and therefore never to 
 be overlooked), that, in consequence of such an event, more good 
 may redound to others, from the more extensive influence of their 
 authority and example. 
 
 SECTION III. In regard to the Subject. 
 
 i 
 
 THE third particular mentioned was the subject of discourse. This 
 may be considered in a twofold view : first, as implying the topics of
 
 122 THS PHILOSOPHY Book 1. 
 
 argument, motives, and principles, which are suited to each of the 
 different kinds, and must be employed in order to produce the in- 
 tended effect on the hearers; secondly, as implying the persons or 
 things in whose favor, or to whose prejudice, the speaker purposes 
 to excite the passions of the audience, and thereby to influence 
 their determinations. 
 
 On the first of these articles, I acknowledge, the preacher hath in- 
 comparably the advantage of every other public orator. At the bar, 
 critical explications of dark and ambiguous statutes, quotations of 
 precedents sometimes contradictory, and comments on jarring de- 
 cisions and reports, often necessarily consume the greater part of 
 the speaker's time. Hence the mixture of a sort of metaphysics and 
 verbal criticism, employed by lawyers in their pleadings, hath come 
 to be distinguished by the name chicane, a species of reasoning 
 too abstruse to command attention of any continuance even from 
 the studious, and consequently not very favorable to the powers of 
 rhetoric. When the argument doth not turn on the common law, 
 or on nice and hypercritical explications of the statute, but on the 
 great principles of natural right and justice, as sometimes hap- 
 pens, particularly in criminal cases, the speaker is much more 
 advantageously situated for exhibiting his rhetorical talents, than 
 in the former case. When, in consequence of the imperfection of 
 the evidence, the question happens to be more a question of fact, 
 than either of municipal law or of natural equity, the pleader hath 
 more advantages than in the first case, and fewer than in the second. 
 
 Again, in the deliberations in the senate, the utility or the dis- 
 advantages that will probably follow on a measure proposed, if it 
 should receive the sanction of the legislature, constitute the prin- 
 cipal topics of debate. This, though it sometimes leads to a kind 
 of reasoning rather too complex and involved for ordinary appre- 
 hension, is in the main more favorable to the display of pathos, ve- 
 hemence, and sublimity, than the much greater part of forensic 
 causes can be said to be. That these qualities have been some- 
 times found in a very high degree in the orations pronounced in 
 the British senate, is a fact incontrovertible. 
 
 But beyond all question, the preacher's subject of argument, 
 considered in itself, is infinitely more lofty and more affecting. 
 The doctrines of religion are such as relate to God, the adorable 
 Creator and Ruler of the world, his attributes, government, and laws. 
 What science to be compared with it in sublimity! It teaches also 
 the origin of man, his primitive dignity, the source of his degene- 
 racy, the means of his recovery, the eternal happiness that awaits 
 the good, and the future misery of. the impenitent. Is there any
 
 Chap. X. OP RHETORIC. 123 
 
 kind of knowledge in which human creatures are so deeply inter* 
 ested! In a word, whether we consider the doctrines of religion 
 or its documents, the examples it holds forth to our imitation, or 
 its motives, promises, and threatenings, we see on every hand a 
 subject that gives scope for the exertion of all the highest powers 
 of rhetoric. What are the sanctions of any human laws, compared 
 with the sanctions of the divine law, with which we are brought 
 acquainted by the gospel? Or where shall we find instructions, 
 similitudes, and examples, that speak so directly to the heart, as 
 the parables and other divine lessons of our blessed Lord? 
 
 In regard to the second thing which I took notice of as included 
 under the general term ' subject,' namely, the persons or things in 
 whose favor, or to whose prejudice the speaker intends to excite 
 the passions of the audience, and thereby to influence their deter- 
 minations, the other two have commonly the advantage of the 
 preacher. The reason is, that his subject is generally things; 
 theirs, on the contrary, is persons. In what regards the painful 
 passions, indignation, hatred, contempt, abhorrence, this difference 
 invariably obtains. The preacher's business is solely to excite 
 your detestation of the crime, the pleader's business is principally 
 to make you detest the criminal. The former paints vice to you in 
 all its odious colors, the latter paints the x vicious. There is a degree 
 of abstraction, and consequently a much greater degree of attention 
 requisite, to enable us to form just conceptions of the ideas and 
 sentiments of the former; whereas, those of the latter, referring 
 to an actual, perhaps a living, present, and well-known subject, 
 are much more level to common capacity, and therefore not only are 
 more easily apprehended by the understanding, but take a stronger 
 hold of the imagination. It would have been impossible even for 
 Cicero, to inflame the minds of the people to so high a pitch against 
 oppression considered in the abstract, as he actually did inflame 
 them against Verres the oppressor. Nor could he have incensed 
 them so much against treason and conspiracy, as he did incense 
 them against Catiline the traitor and conspirator. The like may be 
 observed of the effects of his orations against Antony, and in a 
 thousand other instances. 
 
 Though the occasions in this way are more frequent at the bar, 
 yet, as the deliberations in the senate often proceed on the reputa- 
 tion and past conduct of individuals, there is commonly here also a 
 much better handle for rousing the passions, than that enjoyed by 
 the preacher. How much advantage Demosthenes drew from the 
 known character and insiduous arts of Philip king of Macedon, 
 for influencing the resolves of the Athenians and other Grecian
 
 124 THE PHILOSOPHY Book L 
 
 states, those who are acquainted with the Philippics of the orator, 
 and the history of that period, will be very sensible. In what con- 
 cerns the pleasing affections, the preacher may sometimes, not often, 
 avail himself of real human characters, as in funeral sermons, and 
 in discourses on the patterns of virtue given us by our Saviour, 
 and by those saints of whom we have the history in the sacred 
 code. But such examples are comparatively few. 
 
 SECTION IV. In regard to the Occasion. 
 
 THE fourth circumstance mentioned as a ground of comparison, is 
 the particular occasion of speaking. And in this I think it evi- 
 dent, that both the pleader and the senator have the advantage of 
 the preacher. When any important cause comes to be tried before 
 a civil judicatory, or when any important question comes to be 
 agitated in either house of parliament, as the point to be discussed 
 hath generally, for some time before, been a topic of conversation 
 in most companies, perhaps throughout the kingdom, (which of 
 itself is sufficient to give consequence to any thing), people are ap- 
 prized before-hand of the particular day fixed for the discussion. 
 Accordingly, they come prepared with some knowledge of the 
 case, a persuasion of its importance, and a curiosity which sharpens 
 their attention, and assists both their understanding and their me- 
 mory. 
 
 Men go to church without any of these advantages. The sub- 
 ject of the sermon is not known to the congregation, till the minis- 
 ter announce it, just as he begins, by reading the text. Now, from 
 our experience of human nature, we may be sensible, that what- 
 ever be the comparative importance of the things themselves, the 
 generality of men cannot here be wrought up in an instant, to the 
 like anxious curiosity about what is to be said, nor can they be so 
 well prepared for hearing it. It may indeed be urged, in regard 
 to those subjects which come regularly to be discussed at stated 
 tjmes, as on public festivals, as well as in regard to assize-sermons, 
 charity-sermons, and other occasional discourses, that these must 
 be admitted as exceptions. Perhaps in some degree they are, but 
 not altogether : for first, the precise point to be argued, or propo- 
 sition to be evinced, is very rarely known. The most that we can 
 say is, that the subject will have a relation (sometimes remote 
 enough) to such an article of faith, or to the obligations we lie 
 under to the practice of such a duty. But further, if the topic 
 were ever so well known, the frequent recurrence of such occasions, 
 once a-year at least, hath long familiarised us to them, and by de-
 
 Chap. X. op RHETORIC. 125 
 
 stroying their novelty, hath abated exceedingly of that ardor 
 which ariseth in the mind for hearing a discussion conceived to be 
 of importance, which one never had access to hear before, and pro- 
 bably never will have access to hear again. 
 
 I shall here take notice of another circumstance, which, without 
 great stretch, may be classed under this article, and which likewise 
 gives some advantage to the counsellor and the senator. It is the 
 opposition and contradiction \vhich they expect to meet with. Op- 
 ponents sharpen one another, as iron sharpeneth iron. There is 
 not the same spur either to exertion in the speaker, or to attention 
 in the hearer, where there is no conflict, where you have no adver- 
 sary to encounter on equal terms. Mr. Bickerstaff would have 
 made but small progress in the science of defence, by pushing at 
 the human figure which he had chalked upon the wall*, in compari- 
 son of what he might have made by the help of a fellow-combatant 
 of flesh and blood. I do not, however, pretend, that these cases 
 are entirely parallel. The whole of an adversary's plea may be 
 perfectly known, and may, to the satisfaction of every reasonable 
 person, be perfectly confuted, though he hath not been heard by 
 counsel at the bar. 
 
 SECTION V. In regard to the End in view. 
 
 THE fifth and last particular mentioned, and indeed the most im- 
 portant of them all, is the effect in each species intended to be pro- 
 duced. The primary intention of preaching is the reformation of 
 mankind. " The grace of God, that bringeth salvation, hath appear- 
 " ed to all men, teaching us, that, denying ungodliness and worldly 
 " lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this pre- 
 
 " sent world f. Reformation of life and manners of all things 
 
 that which it is the most difficult by any means whatever to effec- 
 tuate ; I may add, of all tasks ever attempted by persuasion, that 
 which has the most frequently baffled its po\ver. 
 
 What is the task of any other orator compared with this? It is 
 really as nothing at all, and hardly deserves to be named. An un- 
 just judge, gradually worked on by the resistless force of human 
 eloquence, may be persuaded, against his inclination, perhaps 
 against a previous resolution, to pronounce an equitable sentence. 
 All the effect on him, intended by the pleader, was merely momen- 
 tary. The orator hath had the address to employ the time allowed 
 him, in such a manner as to secure the happy moment. Notwith- 
 
 * Tatler. t Tit. ii. 11, 12.
 
 126 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 1. 
 
 standing this, there may be no real change wrought upon the judge. 
 He may continue the same obdurate wretch he was before. Nay, 
 if the sentence had been delayed but a single day after hearing the 
 cause, he would perhaps have given a very different award. 
 
 Is it to be wondered at, that when the passions of the people 
 were agitated by the persuasive powers of a Demosthenes, whilst 
 the thunder of his eloquence was yet sounding in their ears, the 
 orator should be absolute master of their resolves ? But an apostle 
 or evangelist, (for there is no anachronism in a bare supposition), 
 might have thus addressed the celebrated Athenian, ' You do, in- 
 ' deed, succeed to admiration, and the address and genius which 
 ' you display in speaking, justly entitle you to our praise. But, 
 ' however great the consequences may be of the measures to which, 
 ' by your eloquence, they are determined, the change produced 
 
 * in the people is nothing, or next to nothing. If you would be 
 
 * ascertained of the truth of this, allow the assembly to disperse 
 
 * immediately after hearing you; give them time to cool, and then 
 ' collect their votes, and it is a thousand to one, you shall find 
 ' that the charm is dissolved. But very different is the purpose of 
 the Christian orator. It is not a momentary but a permanent ef- 
 
 * feet at which he aims. It is not an immediate and favorable suf- 
 
 * frage, but a thorough change of heart and disposition, that will 
 
 * satisfy his view. That man would need to be possessed of ora- 
 
 * tory superior to human, who would effectually persuade him 
 ' that stole, to steal no more, the sensualist to forego his pleasures, 
 
 * and the raker his hoards, the insolent and haughty to become 
 
 * meek and humble, the vindictive forgiving, the cruel and unfeel- 
 ' ing merciful and humane.' 
 
 I may add to these considerations, that the difficulty lies not 
 only in the permanency, but in the very nature of the change to be 
 effected. It is wonderful, but is too well vouched to admit a doubt> 
 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(>o<rq>ey!-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 /*, <p, Til, XT, and many others. No people have so stu- 
 diously avoided the collision of consonants as the Italians. To their delicate ears 
 pt, ct> 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 <nrf# 
 
 PART I Impropriety in Single Words. 
 
 '<} 9m 
 
 I BEGIN with single words. As none but those who are grossly ig- 
 norant of our tongue, can misapply the words that have no affinity 
 to those whose place they are made to occupy, I shall take notice 
 only of such improprieties, as by some resemblance or proximity 
 in sound or sense, or both, a writer is apt unwarily to be seduced 
 into. 
 
 It is by proximity in sound that several are misled to use the 
 word observation for observance, as when they speak of the reli- 
 gious observation of a festival, for the religious observance of it. 
 Both words spring from the root observe, but in different significa- 
 tions. When to observe signifies to remark, the verbal noun is ob- 
 servation; when it signifies to obey or to keep, the verbal is ob- 
 servance. 
 
 By a similar mistake endurance hath been used for duration, and 
 confounded with it, whereas its proper sense is patience. It is de- 
 rived from the active verb to endure, which signifies to suffer, and 
 not from the neuter which signifies to last. In the days of Queen 
 Elizabeth, the word endurance was synonimous with duration, 
 whereas now it is in this acceptation obsolete. Nay, even in a later 
 period, about the middle of the last century, several words were 
 used synonymously, which we now invariably discriminate. Such 
 are the terms state and estate, property and propriety, import and 
 importance, conscience and consciousness, arrant and errant. 
 
 Human and humane are sometimes confounded, though the only 
 authorised sense of the former is, belonging to man; of the latter, 
 kind and compassionate. Humanly is improperly put for humanely 
 
 in these lines of Pope: 
 
 ft 
 
 Thougli learn'd, well-bred ; and though well-bred sincere : 
 Modestly bold, and humanly severe *. 
 The abstract humanity is equally adapted to both senses. 
 
 By an error of the same kind with the former, the adjectives ce- 
 
 * Essay on Criticism.
 
 214 THE PHILOSOPHY Book II. 
 
 remonious and ceremonial are sometimes used promiscuously, 
 though by the best and most general use they are distinguished. 
 They come from the same noun ceremony, which signifies both a 
 form of civility, and a religious rite. The epithet expressive of the 
 first signification is ceremonious, of the second ceremonial. 
 
 The word construction serves as the verbal noun of two different 
 verbs, to construe and to construct. The first is a grammatical 
 term, relating solely to the disposition of words in a sentence; the 
 second signifies to fabricate or build. The common relation in which 
 the two verbs stand to the same appellative, hath misled some wri- 
 ters to confound them; so far at least as to use improperly the 
 word construct, and speak of constructing instead of construing a 
 sentence; for I have not observed the like misapplication of the other 
 verb. We never hear of construing a fabric or machine. 
 
 Academician is frequently to be found in Bolingbroke's works 
 for academic. The former denotes solely with us a member of a 
 French Academy, or of one established on a similar footing; the 
 latter a Platonic philosopher, one of that sect which took its de- 
 nomination from the Grecian academy ; or, more properly, from the 
 grove of Academus, where the principles of that philosophy were 
 first inculcated. 
 
 By a like error, the words sophist and sophister are sometimes 
 confounded; the proper sense of the former being a teacher of 
 philosophy in Ancient Greece; of the latter, a specious, but false 
 reasoner. 
 
 ' To demean one's self has been improperly used by some writ- 
 ers, misled by the sound of the second syllable, for * to debase 
 ' one's self,' or ' to behave meanly ;' whereas the verb to demean 
 implies no more than the verb to behave. Both require an adverb, 
 or something equivalent, to enable them to express whether the 
 demeanour or behaviour is good or bad, noble or mean. 
 
 E'er, a contraction of the adverb ever, hath, from a resemblance, 
 or rather an identity in sound, been mistaken for the conjunction 
 ere, before; and in like manner its, the genitive of the pronoun it, 
 for 'tis, a contraction of it is. 
 
 In the same way bad is sometimes very improperly used for bade, 
 the preterit of the verb bid, and sate for sat, the preterit of sit. 
 The only proper use of the wo.td bad is as a synonyma for ill; and 
 to sate is the same in signification as to glut. 
 
 The word genii hath by some writers been erroneously adopted 
 for geniuses. Each is a plural of the same word genius, but in 
 different senses. When genius in the singular means a separate 
 spirit or demon, good or bad, the plural is genii ; when it denotes
 
 Cliap.HI. OF RHETORIC, 215 
 
 mental abilities, or a person eminently possessed of these, the plu- 
 ral is geniuses. There are some similar instances in our tongue 
 of different plurals belonging to the same singular in different sig- 
 nifications. The word brother is one. The plural in modern lan- 
 guage, when used literally for male children of the same parent or 
 parents, is brothers ; when used figuratively for people of the same 
 profession, nation, religion, or people, considered as related by 
 sharing- jointly in the same human nature, is brethren. Anciently 
 this last term was the only plural. 
 
 I shall next specify improprieties arising from a similitude in 
 sense, into which writers of considerable reputation have some- 
 times fallen. Veracity you will find, even among such, applied to 
 things, and used for reality; whereas, in strict propriety, the word 
 is only applicable to persons, and signifies not physical, but moral 
 truth. 
 
 " There is no sort of joy," says Dr. Burnet*, " more grateful to 
 " the mind of man, than that which ariseth from the invention of 
 " truth." For invention he ought to have said discovery. 
 
 Epithet hath been used corruptly to denote title or appellation ; 
 whereas it only signifies some attribute expressed by an adjective. 
 
 In the same way, verdict hath been made to usurp the place of 
 testimony ; and the word risible hath of late been perverted from 
 its original sense, which is, capable of laughing, to denote ridicu- 
 lous, laughable, or fit to be laughed at. Hence these new-fangled 
 phrases, risible jests, and risible absurdities. The proper discri- 
 mination between risible and ridiculous is, that the former hath 
 an active, the latter a passive signification. Thus we say, * Man is a 
 * risible animal.' ' A fop is a ridiculous character.' To substitute 
 the former instead of the latter, and say, * A fop is a risible charac- 
 ' ter,' is, I suspect, no better English, than to substitute the latter 
 instead of the former, and say, ' Man is a ridiculous animal.' In 
 confirmation of this distinction, it may be further remarked, that 
 the abstract risibility, which analogically ought to determine the 
 import of the concrete, is still limited to its original and active 
 sense, the faculty of laughter. Where our language hath provided 
 us with distinct names for the active verbal and the passive, as no 
 distinction is more useful for preventing ambiguity, so no distinc- 
 tion ought to be more sacredly observed. 
 
 But to proceed ; the word together often supplies the place of 
 successively, sometimes awkwardly enough, as in the following 
 sentence : " I do not remember that I ever spoke three sentences 
 
 * Theory of the Earth, B. i. Ch. I .
 
 216 THE PHILOSOPHY Book IL 
 
 " together in my whole life*." The resemblance which continuity 
 in time bears to continuity in place, is the source of this impropriety, 
 which, by the way, is become so frequent, that I am doubtful 
 whether it ought to be included in the number. Yet, should this 
 application generally obtain, it would, by confounding things dif- 
 ferent, often occasion ambiguity. If, for example, one should say, 
 * Charles, William, and David lived together in the same house,' 
 in order to denote that William immediately succeeded Charles, and 
 David succeeded William, every one would be sensible of the im- 
 propriety. But if such a use of the word be improper in one case, 
 it is so in every case. 
 
 By an error not unlike, the word everlasting hath been employed 
 to denote time without beginning, though the only proper sense of 
 it be time without end; as in these words, " From everlasting to 
 " everlasting thou art God f." It may further be remarked of this 
 term, that the true meaning is so strongly marked in its composi- 
 tion, that very frequent use will not be sufficient to prevent the mis- 
 application from appearing awkward. I think, besides, that there 
 is a want of correctness in using the word substantively. The 
 proper expression is ' From eternity to eternity thou art God.' 
 
 Apparent for certain, manifest, (as it has been sometimes employ- 
 ed by a very eminent author, the late Lord Littleton), is often equi- 
 vocal, and can hardly ever be accounted entirely proper. Both 
 etymology and the most frequent use lead us so directly to the 
 signification seeming as opposed to real, or visible as opposed to 
 concealed, that at first we are always in hazard of mistaking it. 
 For the same reason I do not like the phrase to make appear (though 
 a very common one) for to prove, to evince, to show. By the aid 
 of sophistry a man may make a thing appear to be what it is not. 
 This is very different from shewing what it is. 
 
 Abundance, in the following quotation, is, I imagine, impro- 
 perly used for a great deal : " I will only mention that passage of 
 " the buskins, which, after abundance of persuasion, you would 
 " hardly suffer to be cut from your legsj." 
 
 The word due, in the citation subjoined, is not only improperly, 
 but preposterously employed: " What right the first observers of 
 " nature, and instructors of mankind, had to the title of sages, we 
 " cannot say. It was due perhaps more to the ignorance of the 
 " scholars, than to the knowledge of the masters ." The author 
 hath doubtless adopted the word due in this place, as preferable at 
 
 * Spect. No. 1 . f p s. xc. 2. I Swift's Examiner, No. 27. 
 
 Bolingb. Phil. Es. ii. Sect. 1.
 
 C1iai>. 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 <nix.g ietr, tif y&vrx o-C7>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 <n*- 
 >*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 <ro/ S/Sw/x,;* 
 'Ey rta ovoiAotii lya-5 Xf/$"S T Nx^ugaia systgxi xxt TregfjixTii. Lat. Vul. Eras. 
 Bez. " Argeutum et aurum non cst mihi; quod autem habeo, hoc tibi do. 
 tf In nomine Jesu Christ! Nazareni, surge et ambula." Castaglio hath not ad- 
 hered so closely to the order of the words in the original, but hath in this and 
 some other places, for the sake of latinity, weakened the expression. " Nee ar- 
 " gentura mihi nee aurum est; sed quod habeo, hoc tibi do. In nomine, &c." 
 It would seem that neither the Italian language nor the French can admit so 
 great a latitude in arranging the words; for in these the vivacity resulting from 
 the order is not only weakened but destroyed. Diod. " lo non ho ne argento 
 " ne oro; ma quel die ho, iot'el dono: nel nome di Jesu Christo il Nazareo, le- 
 " vati e camiua." Le Clerc, Beausobre, " Je n'ai ni or ni argent; mais ce que 
 " j'ai, je vous le donne: au nom de Jesus Christ de Nazareth, levez-vous et mar- 
 " chez." Saci's is the same, except in the last member, where, by transposing 
 the words, " An nom de Jesus Christ de Nazareth," and putting them after 
 " levez-vous," he hath, altered the sense, and made that a circumstance attending 
 the action of the lame man, which was intended to express the authority, where- 
 by the apostle gave the order.
 
 Chap. HI. OF RHETORIC. 389 
 
 this by making a very small alteration on the composition and 
 structure of the sentence, and saying-, * Silver and gold are not 
 ' in my possession ;' which is manifestly weaker. 
 
 My fourth example should be one wherein the verb occupies the 
 first place in the sentence, which often happens in the ancient lan- 
 guages with great advantage in point of vivacity. But this cannot 
 frequently obtain in English, without occasioning an ambiguity- 
 the first place, when given to the verb, being, by the rules of our 
 syntax, appropriated to distinguish these three things, a command, 
 as ' Stay not here;' a question, as * Were they present?' and a 
 supposition, as ' Had I known,' from an assertion, as ' Ye stay not 
 ' here;' * They were present;' and ' I had known.' A few tri- 
 fling phrases, as, said he, replied they, are the sole exceptions in the 
 simple tenses, at least in prose. In some instances, however, in the 
 compound tenses, the verb may precede without giving- rise to any 
 double meaning. In such cases it is not the auxiliary or the sub- 
 stantive verb that begins the sentence, as in supposition and inter- 
 rogation, but the infinitive of the principal verb in the active voice, 
 and the participle in the passive, as in expressions like these, ' Go 
 < I must, whatever may ensue.' ' Avoid it he could not by any 
 ' means.' An instance in the passive voice hath been given in the 
 second example. I shall here observe, that in one passage of scrip- 
 ture our translators, by not attending- to this small circumstance, 
 that the import of the passive verb lies in the participle, have, 
 without necessity, not only given up the emphatical arrangement, 
 but, in order to be literal, have copied a figure^ which, though for- 
 cible in the original, is, in the place assigned it in the translation, 
 rather unnatural and insignificant. The passage alluded to is this, 
 " Another angel followed, saying Babylon is fallen, is fallen, that 
 great city*." Here, as it was the event itself that chiefly occupied 
 
 * Rev. xiv. 8. Gr. "Era-tern, t-aio-L BatAa>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 <rvv Muart'i. 
 
 In Italian, Diodati renders it, " Et Elia apparue loro, insieme con Moise." 
 In French, Le Clerc, " Ensuite Elie et Moise leur apparurent." Beausobre, " Us 
 " virent aussi paroitre Moi'se et Elie." Saci, " Et ils virent paroitre Elie et 
 " Moise." It would seem that neither of these tongues can easily admit the 
 simple tense to precede both its nominative and its regimen. By the aid of the 
 particle 'there,' this is done in English without ambiguity, and without violence 
 to the idiom of the language. 
 
 H Neh. xiii. 26. The clause affected by this criticism stands thus in the 
 original: Wmn D'tiOil 1NBnn 1JTJK DJ The order is exactly the 
 same in the Greek of the Septuagint; Ka< TBTOV l&'jtA/yay < yvixtms xl XAoV a ' :
 
 Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 393 
 
 only the last clause of the sentence. It is manifest that the em- 
 phasis here ought to rest on the him, who, from what immediately 
 precedes, might have been thought proof against all the arts, even 
 of female seduction. This clause, every body must perceive, would 
 have been much more weakly expressed, had it been arranged thus : 
 ' Nevertheless outlandish women did cause even him to sin.* 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, it is necessary, in order to set an eminent ob- 
 ject in the most conspicuous light, to depart a little from the or- 
 dinary mode of composition, as well as of arrangement. The fol- 
 lowing is an example in this way: " Your fathers, where are they? 
 " and the prophets, do they live for ever*?" A colder writer would 
 have satisfied himself with saying, ' Where are your fathers? and 
 * do the prophets live for ever?' But who that has the least spark 
 of imagination, sees not how languid the latter expression is, when 
 compared with the former? The sentiment intended to be conveyed in 
 both, namely the frailty and mortality of man, is one of those obvious 
 truths, which it is impossible for any person in his senses to call in 
 question. To introduce the mention of it, in order to engage my 
 assent to what nobody ever denied or doubted, would be of no con- 
 sequence at all; but it is of consequence to rouse my attention to 
 a truth, which so nearly concerns every man, and which is, never- 
 theless, so little attended to by any. In such cases the end of 
 speaking is not to make us believe, but to make us feel. It is the 
 heart and not the head which ought to be addressed. And nothing 
 can be better adapted to this purpose, than first, as it were inde- 
 pendently, to raise clear ideas in the imagination, and then, by the 
 abruptness of an unexpected question, to send us to seek for the 
 archetypes. 
 
 and nearly the same in the Latin Vulgat; " Et ipsum ergo duxerunt adpec- 
 " catum mulieres alienigense." Juuius is rather more literal: " Etiam ipsum 
 " ad peccandum induxerunt feminae alienigenae." Castalio, with at least equal 
 energy, places the pronoun before the conjunction. " Bum tamen ad peccan- 
 " dum mulieres perduxerunt extranese." In all these, as in the English translation, 
 what is principally emphatical in the arrangement is preserved, the pronouncing 
 the first among the significant terms. It is not so in Diodati's Italian version: " E 
 " purele donne straniere lofuero peccare;" nor in Saci's French: " Et apres 
 " cela neanmoins des femmes etrangeres le firent tomber dans le peche," It is 
 remarkable, that though the ordinary grammatic rules, both of French and of 
 Italian, place the pronoun governed before the governing verb, the reverse of 
 which obtains in English, the latter language is more capable of accommodating 
 itself to such an expressive disposition of the words, as has been now exemplified, 
 than either of the former. The reason is, though these tongues make the ob- 
 lique case of the pronoun generally precede the verb, they do not. admit the no- 
 minative to intervene, but for the most part, except in asking a question, placr 
 it before both. 
 
 * Zech. i. 5
 
 394 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh HI. 
 
 From all the examples above quoted, those especially taken from 
 holy writ, the learned reader, after comparing them carefully, both 
 with the original, and with the translations cited in the margin, will 
 be enabled to deduce, with as much certainty as the nature of the 
 question admits, that that arrangement which I call rhetorical, as 
 contributing to vivacity and animation, is, in the strictest sense of 
 the word, agreeably to what hath been already suggested, a natu- 
 ral arrangement ; that the principle which leads to it operates simi- 
 larly on every people, and in every language, though it is much 
 more checked by the idiom of some tongues than by that of others ; 
 that, on the contrary, the more common, and what for distinction's 
 sake I call the grammatical order, is, in a great measure, an ar- 
 rangement of convention, and differs considerably in different 
 languages*. He will discover also, that to render the artificial or 
 conventional arrangement, as it were, sacred and inviolable, by re- 
 presenting every deviation (whatever be the subject, whatever 
 be the design of the work) as a trespass against the laws of com- 
 position in the language, is one of the most effectual ways of stint- 
 ing the powers of elocution, and even of damping the vigor both 
 of imagination and of passion. I observe this the rather, that in 
 my apprehension, the criticism that prevails amongst us at present 
 leans too much this way. No man is more sensible of the excel- 
 lence of purity and perspicuity, properly so called ; but I would 
 not hastily give up some not inconsiderable advantages of the En- 
 glish tongue, in respect both of eloquence and of poetry, merely 
 in exchange for the French nettete. 
 
 I should next proceed to make some remarks on the disposition 
 and the form of the clauses in complex sentences ; for though some 
 of the examples already produced are properly complex, in these 
 
 * AH the French critics are not so immoderately national as Bouhours. Since 
 composing the foregoing observations, I have been shewn a book, entitled, 
 Traite de la formation mechanique des langues. The sentiments of the author 
 on tin's subject are entirely coincident with mine. He refers to some other trea- 
 tises, particularly to one on Inversion, by M. de Batteux, which I have not 
 seen. Concerning it he says, " Ceux qui 1'auront lu, verront que c'est le defaut 
 " de terminaisons propres a distinguer le nominatif de 1'accusatif, qui nous a 
 " force a prendre cet ordre moins naturel qu'on ne le croit: que 1'inversion est 
 " dans notre langue, non dans la langue latine, comme on se le figure: que les 
 " mots etant plus faits pour 1'homme que pour les choses, 1'ordre essentiel a 
 " suivre dans le discours representatif de I'idee des objetsn'es pas taut la marche 
 " commune des choses dans la nature, que la succession veritable des penst-es, la 
 " rapidite des sentimens, on de 1'interet du cceur, la fidelite de 1'image dans le 
 " tableau de Faction: que le latin en preferant ces points capitaux procede plus 
 " naturellement que le fran9ois." &c. No. 22.
 
 Chap.IIL OF RHETORIC. 395 
 
 I have only considered the arrangement of the words in the prin- 
 cipal member, and not the disposition of the members. But be- 
 fore I enter on this other discussion, it will be proper to observe, 
 and by some suitable examples to illustrate the observation, that the 
 complex are not so favorable to a vivacious diction as the simple 
 sentences, or such as consist of two clauses at the most. 
 
 Of all the parts of speech, the conjunctions are the most un- 
 friendly to vivacity ; and next to them the relative pronouns, as 
 partaking of the nature of conjunction. It is by these parts, less 
 significant in themselves, that the more significant parts, particu- 
 larly the members of complex sentences, are knit together. The 
 frequent recurrence, therefore, of such feeble supplements, cannot 
 fitil to prove tiresome, especially in pieces wherein an enlivened 
 and animated diction might naturally be expected. But nowhere 
 hath simplicity in the expression a better effect in invigorating the 
 sentiments, than in poetical description on interesting subjects. 
 Consider the song composed by Moses, on occasion of the passage 
 of the Israelites through the Red Sea, and you will find, that part 
 of the effect produced by that noble hymn is justly imputable to 
 the simple, the abrupt, the rapid manner adopted in the composi- 
 tion. I shall produce only two verses for a specimen. " The ene- 
 " my said, I will pursue; I will overtake; I will divide the spoil; 
 ** my revenge shall be satiated upon them : I will draw my sword ; 
 " my hand shall destroy them: thou blewest with thy breath; the 
 " sea covered them; they sank as lead in the mighty waters*." 
 This is the figure which the Greek rhetoricians call asyndeton, and 
 to which they ascribe a wonderful efficacy. It ought to be observ- 
 ed, that the natural connection of the particulars mentioned is both 
 close and manifest; and it is this consideration which entirely su- 
 persedes the artificial signs of that connection, such as conjunc- 
 
 * Exod. xv. 9, 10. The word by our interpreters rendered wind also denotes 
 spirit and breath. A similar homonymy, in the corresponding term, may be 
 observed not only in the oriental, but in almost all ancient languages. When 
 this noun has the affix pronoun, by which it is appropriated to a person, the 
 signification wind is evidently excluded, and the meaning is limited to either 
 spirit or breath. When it is, besides, construed with the verb blow, the sig- 
 nification spirit is also excluded, and the meaning confined to breath. It is like- 
 wise the intention of the inspired penman, to represent the wonderful facility 
 with which Jehovah blasted all the towering hopes of the Egyptians. Add to 
 this, that such a manner is entirely in the Hebrew taste, which considers every 
 great natural object as bearing some relation to the Creator and Sovereign of the 
 universe. The thunder is God's voice; the wind, his breath ; the heaven, his 
 throne; the earth, his footstool ; the whirlwind and the tempest are the blasts of 
 his nostrils.
 
 396 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh 111. 
 
 tions and relatives. Our translators (who, it must be acknowledged, 
 are not often chargeable with this fault,) have injured one passage 
 in endeavouring to mend it. Literally rendered it stands thus : 
 " Thou sentest forth thy wrath; it consumed them as stubble*." 
 These two simple sentences have appeared to them too much de- 
 tached. For this reason they have injudiciously combined them 
 into one complex sentence, by inserting the relative which, and 
 thereby weakened the expression. " Thou sentest forth thy wrath, 
 " which consumed them as stubble." They have also thought fit 
 sometimes to add the conjunction and, when it was not necessary, 
 and might well have been spared. 
 
 If any one perceives not the difference, and, consequently, is 
 not satisfied of the truth of this doctrine, let him make the follow- 
 ing experiment on the song now under review. Let him transcribe 
 it by himself, carefully inserting conjunctions and relatives in every 
 place which will admit them in a consistency with the sense, and 
 then let them try the effect of the whole. If, after all, he is not 
 convinced, I know no argument in nature that can weigh with him. 
 For this is one of those cases in which the decision of every man's 
 own taste must be final with regard to himself. 
 
 But those who feel the difference in the effects will permit such 
 as are so disposed to speculate a little about the cause. All that 
 comes under the cognizance of our senses, in the operations either 
 of Nature or of Art, is the causes which precede, and the effects 
 which follow. Hence is suggested to the mind the notion of power, 
 agency, or causation. This notion or idea (call it what you please) 
 is from the very frame of our nature suggested, necessarily suggest- 
 ed, and often instantaneously suggested; but still it is suggested, 
 and not perceived. I would not choose to dispute with any man 
 about a word, and, therefore, lest this expression should appear 
 exceptionable, 1 declare my meaning to be only this, that it is con- 
 ceived by the understanding and not perceived by the senses, as the 
 causes and the effects themselves often are. Would you then copy 
 Nature in a historical or descriptive poem, present to our imagi na- 
 tions the causes and the effects in their natural order ; the sugges- 
 tion of the power or agency which connects them will as necessa- 
 rily result from the lively image you produce in the fancy, as it re- 
 sults from the perception of the things themselves, when they fall 
 under the cognizance of the senses. 
 
 But if you should take the other method, and connect with ac- 
 curacy where there is relation; and with the help of conjunctions 
 and relatives, deduce with care effects from their causes, and allow 
 * Exod, xv. 7.
 
 Chap. HL OF RHETORIC. 397 
 
 nothing of the kind to pass unnoticed in the description, in lieu of 
 a picture, you will present us with a piece of reasoning or decla- 
 mation. Would you, on the contrary, give to reasoning itself the 
 force and vivacity of painting, follow the method first prescribed, 
 and that even when you represent the energy of spiritual causes, 
 which were never subjected to the scrutiny of sense. You will thus 
 convert a piece of abstruse reflection, which, however just, makes 
 but a slender impression upon the mind, into the most affecting and 
 instructive imagery. 
 
 It is in this manner the psalmist treats that most sublime, and, at 
 the same time, most abstract of all subjects, the providence of God. 
 With what success he treats it, every person of taste and sensibility 
 will judge. After a few strictures on the life of man, and of the 
 inferior animals, to whatever element, air, or earth, or water, they 
 belong, he thus breaks forth : " These wait all upon thee, that thou 
 " mayest give them their meat in due season. Thou givest them. 
 " They gather. Thou openest thy hand. They are filled with 
 " good. Thou hidest thy face. They are troubled. Thou takest 
 " away their breath. They die and return to their dust. Thou 
 " sendest forth thy Spirit. They are created. Thou renewest the 
 " face of the earth*." It must be acknowledged, that it is not 
 every subject, no, nor every kind of composition, that requires, or 
 even admits the use of such glowing colors. The psalm is of the 
 nature of the ode, being, properly defined, a sacred ode; and it 
 is allowed, that this species of poesy demands more fire than any 
 other. 
 
 It may indeed be thought, that the vivacity resulting from this 
 manner of composing is sufficiently accounted for, from the brevity 
 which it occasions, and of which I treated in the preceding chap- 
 ter. It is an undoubted truth, that the brevity here contributes to 
 the force of the expression, but it is not solely to this principle 
 that the effect is to be ascribed. A good taste will discern a dif- 
 ference in a passage already quoted from the song of Moses, as it 
 stands in our version, and as it is literally rendered from the He- 
 brew f ; though in both, the number of words, and even of syllables, 
 is the same. Observe also, the expression of the psalmist, who, 
 having compared man, in respect of duration, to a flower, says 
 concerning the latter, " The wind passeth over it, and it is gone J." 
 Had he said, ' The wind passing over it, destroys it,' he had ex- 
 pressed the same sentiment in fewer words, but more weakly. 
 
 But it may be objected If such is the power of the figure asyn- 
 deton, and if the conjunctive particles are naturally the weakest 
 Psalms civ. 2730. t Exod. xv. 7- t Psalms ciii. 16.
 
 398 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh III. 
 
 parts in a sentence, whence comes it that the figure polysyndeton, 
 the reverse of the former, should be productive of that energy 
 which rhetoricians ascribe to it ? I answer, the cases must be very 
 different which require such opposite methods. Celerity of opera- 
 tion, and fervor in narration, are best expressed by the first. A 
 deliberate attention to every circumstance, as being of importance, 
 and to this in particular the multiplicity of the circumstances, is 
 best awakened by the second. The conjunctions and relatives ex- 
 cluded by the asyndeton are such as connect clauses and members; 
 those repeated by the polysyndeton are such as connect single words 
 only. All connectives alike are set aside by the former; the latter 
 is confined to copulatives and disjunctives. A few examples of this 
 will illustrate the difference. " While the earth remaineth," said 
 God immediately after the deluge, " seed-time, and harvest, and 
 " cold, and heat, and summer, and winter, and day, and night, 
 " shall not cease*." Every thing to which a permanency of so 
 great importance is secured, requires the most deliberate attention. 
 And in the following declaration of the apostle, much additional 
 weight and distinctness are given to each particular, by the repeti- 
 tion of the conjunction. " I am persuaded, that neither death, nor 
 " life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, 
 " nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, 
 " shall be able to separate us from the love of God f." 
 
 SECTION III Complex Sentences. 
 
 PART I. Subdivision of these into Periods and loose Sentences. 
 
 I COME now to the consideration of complex sentences. These 
 are of two kinds. They are either periods or sentences of a looser 
 composition, for which the language doth not furnish us with a par- , 
 ticular name. A period is a complex sentence, wherein the mean- 
 ing remains suspended till the whole is finished. The connection 
 consequently is so close between the beginning and the end, as to 
 give rise to the name period, which signifies circuit. The follow- 
 ing is such a sentence : " Corruption could not spread with so much 
 " success, though reduced into system, and though some minis- 
 " ters, with equal impudence and folly, avowed it by themselves 
 " and their advocates, to be the principal expedient by which they 
 " governed ; if a long 1 and almost unobserved progression of 
 " causes and effects did not prepare the conjuncture J." The cri- 
 terion of a period is this : If you stop any where before the end, 
 * Gen. viii. 22. f Rom. viii. 38, 39. | Bolingb. Spirit of Patriotism.
 
 Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 399 
 
 the preceding words will not form a sentence, and therefore cannot 
 convey any determined sense. This is plainly the case with the 
 above example. The first verb being ' could ' and not ' can,' the po- 
 tential and not the indicative mood shows that the sentence is hy- 
 pothetical, and requires to its completion some clause beginning 
 with if, unless, or some other conditional particle. And after you 
 are come to the conjunction, you find no part where you can stop 
 before the end *. From this account of the nature of a period, >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 <rv vvv aXwy, aXA< yg a\J/. 
 
 \ Ibid. Mfl iirirgtKtlt rots TO. vatga.vopi. y^apsovn* ti ya.g ex.u\voTo, ax * 
 srof T&urcc l-yfavj/w* b "rtgos tn 7'\J/n, TBT w aXwxr'.
 
 408 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. 
 
 species of argument in like manner frequent with orators, that it is 
 hardly susceptible of another form, as in that given by Cicero: " If 
 " he is a bad man, why do you associate with him ? If he is a good 
 " man, why do you accuse him*?" Nor are these the only sorts of 
 argument that may be used in this manner. There is hardly any 
 which may not in some cases derive both light and energy from this 
 figure. What can be more cogently urged, or better adapted for 
 silencing contradiction, than the answer which Balaam gave Balak, 
 who used various expedients to induce him to turn the blessing he 
 had pronounced on Israel into a curse. Yet the prophet's reply 
 runs wholly in antitheses. " God is not a man, | that he should lie; 
 " . . neither the son of man, j that he should repent. Hath he 
 " said, | and shall he not do it? . . or hath he spoken, | and 
 " shall he not make it goodf ?" In the same antithetic form the 
 Psalmist disposeth his argument in support of the divine knowledge. 
 " He that planted the ear, | shall he not hear? He that formed the 
 " eye, f shall he not see?:}:" He argues from the effect to the cause, 
 the only way in which we can argue intelligibly concerning the 
 Divine attributes. But it would not be easy, I imagine, to give in 
 so few words, either a more perspicuous or a more persuasive turn 
 to the reasoning. It is not then every kind of antithesis that either 
 savors of artifice, or is unsuited to persuasion. 
 
 One thing to which it seems agreed on all sides that this figure 
 is particularly adapted, is the drawing of characters. You hardly 
 now meet with a character either in prose or in verse, that is not 
 wholly delineated in antitheses. This usage is perhaps excessive. 
 Yet the fitness of the manner can scarcely be questioned, when one 
 considers that the contrasted features in this moral painting serve 
 to ascertain the direction and boundaries of one another with greater 
 precision than could otherwise be accomplished. It is too nice a 
 matter, without the aid of this artifice, for even the most copious 
 and expressive language. For a specimen in this way take these 
 lines of Pope, 
 
 Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, 
 Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, 
 View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 
 And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise; 
 Damn with faint praise, | assent with civil leer, 
 And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; 
 
 * De Inventione, lib. i. As the antithesis in the words is more perfect, and 
 the expression more simple in the Latin, than it is possible to render them in a 
 translation into any modern tongue ; so the argument itself appears more forcible, 
 - " Si improbus est, cur uteris; sin probus, cur accusas ? 
 
 t Numb, xxiii. 19. \ Psalm xdv. Q.
 
 Chap. III. OF RHETORIC. 109 
 
 Willing to wound, | and yet afraid to strike, 
 Just hint a fault, } and hesitate dislike; 
 Alike reserv'd to blame, or to commend, 
 A timorous foe, | and a suspicious friend; 
 Dreading even fools, | by flatterers besieged, 
 And so obliging, [ that he ne'er obliged*. 
 
 With what a masterly hand are the colors in this picture blended ; 
 and how admirably do the different traits thus opposed, serve, as 
 it were, to touch up and shade one another! I would not be under- 
 stood by this to signify my opinion of its likeness to the original, 
 I should be sorry to think that it deserves this praise. The poet 
 had received, or fancied he had received, great provocation. And 
 perfect impartiality in one under the influence of resentment, is 
 more than can be expected from human nature. I only speak of 
 the character here exhibited, as one who, speaking of a portrait, 
 without knowing the person for whom it was drawn, says it is well 
 painted, and that there is both life and expression in the coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 If there be any style of composition which excludes antithesis al- 
 together, (for I am not positive that there is), it is the pathetic. But 
 the true reason which hath induced some critics immoderately to 
 decry this figure is, that some authors are disposed immoderately to 
 employ it. One extreme naturally drives those who perceive the 
 error, to the opposite extreme. It rarely leaves them, even though 
 persons of good sense and critical discernment, precisely where they 
 were before. Such is the repulsive power of jarring tastes. Nay, 
 there is a kind of mode, which in these, as well as in other matters, 
 often influences our censures without our knowing it. It is this 
 which sometimes leads us to condemn as critics, what as authors we 
 ourselves practise. Witness the following reproach from the au- 
 thor just now quoted. 
 
 I see the chief who leads my chosen sons, 
 Allarm'd with points, antitheses, and punsf. 
 
 On the other hand, it is certain that the more agreeable the ap- 
 posite and temperate use of this figure is, the more offensive is the 
 abuse, or, which is nearly the same, the immoderate use of it. When 
 used moderately, the appearance of art, which it might otherwise 
 have, is veiled, partly by the energy of the expression, which doth 
 not permit the hearer at first to attend critically to the composition, 
 and partly by the simplicity, or at least the more artless structure, 
 both of the preceding sentences and of the following. But if a dis- 
 course run in a continued string of antithesis, it is impossible the 
 
 * Prologue to the Satires. t Dunciad.
 
 410 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 111. 
 
 hearer should not become sensible of this particularity. The art is 
 in that case quite naked. Then indeed the frequency of the figure 
 renders it insipid, the sameness tiresome, and the artifice unsuffer- 
 able. 
 
 The only original qualities of style which are excluded from no 
 part of a performance, nay, which ought, on the contrary, to per- 
 vade the whole, are purity and perspicuity. The others are suited 
 merely to particular subjects and occasions. And if this be true of 
 the qualities themselves, it must certainly be true of the tropes and 
 figures which are subservient to these qualities. In the art of cook- 
 ery, those spiceries which give the highest relish must be used the 
 most sparingly. Who then could endure a dish, wherein these were 
 the only ingredients? There is no trope or figure that is not capa- 
 ble of a good effect. I do not except those which are reckoned 
 of the lowest value, alliteration, paronomasia, or even pun. But 
 then the effect depends entirely on the circumstances. If these are 
 not properly adjusted, it is always different from what it was intend- 
 ed to be, and often the reverse. 
 
 The antithesis in particular gives a kind of lustre and emphasis 
 to the expression. It is the conviction of this that hath rendered 
 some writers intemperate in the use of it. But the excess itself is 
 an evidence of its value. There is no risk of intemperance in using 
 a liquor which has neither spirit TH>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. 
 
 <r; ) There Thither Thence, 2 < La De li 
 
 | Where Whither Whence. ^Ou D'ou, 
 
 Since the Restoration, which I take to be neither the only nor (lie earliest, but 
 the most successful era, in regard to the introduction of French books, French 
 EE2
 
 420 THE PHILOSOPHY Both 111. 
 
 I shall only here subjoin to these observations, that if the where- 
 unto's, and the therewithal 's, may be denominated the gouty joints 
 of style, the viz.'s, and the i. e.'s, and the e. g.'s, for videlicet, id 
 est, and exempli yratia, may not unfitly be termed its crutches. 
 
 sentiments, and French modes, into this island, the adverbs of the first order 
 have almost always been employed in conversation, and frequently in print, for 
 those of the second. Thus we say, " Where are you going?" and sometimes, 
 " Come here," though the only proper adverbs, in such cases, be whither and 
 hither. Another instance the above scheme furnishes of the absurd tendency 
 we have to imitate the French, even in their imperfections. The local adverbs 
 of the third order are with them distinguished from those of the first and second 
 only by prefixing the preposition de, which signifies from. This is manifestly 
 the origin of those pleonastic phrases in English, from hence, from thence, and 
 from whence. 1 shall produce another evidence of the bad effect of this propen- 
 sity. So many of Nature's works are known to us by pairs, the sexes for exam- 
 ple, and the most of the organs and the members of the human body, and, in- 
 deed, of every animal body, that it is natural, even in the simplest state of society, 
 and in the rise of languages, to distinguish the dual number from the plural. 
 And though few languages have made, or, at least, retained this distinction in the 
 declension of nouns, yet most have observed it in the numeral adjectives. The 
 English, iu particular, have observed it with great accuracy, as appears from 
 the annexed scheme. 
 
 When the discourse is of 
 Collectively 
 
 two: When it is of 
 Both. M t 
 
 Fnrh 
 
 several. 
 All. 
 
 
 Either -- 
 
 
 
 
 None 
 
 
 
 Whipli 
 
 This distinction in French hath been overlooked altogether, and in English is 
 beginning, at least in some instances, to be confounded. Perhaps the word 
 every will not be found in any good writer applied to two; but it is certain, that 
 the word each hath usurped the place of every, and is now used promiscuously 
 by writers of all denominations, whether it be two or more that are spoken of. 
 The pronominal adjective whether is now quite obsolete, its place being supplied 
 by which. About a century and a half ago, whether was invariably used of , 
 two, as appears from all the writings of that period, and particularly from the 
 translation of the Bible; thus, Matt. xxi. 31, "Whether of them twain did the 
 " will of his father?" and xxiii. 17, " Whether is greater, the gold, or the tena- 
 " pie?" The rest of this class have hitherto retained their places amongst us. 
 How long they may continue to do so, it will be impossible to say. Indeed, 
 the clumsy manner in which these places are supplied in French, doth perhaps 
 account for our constancy, as it will prove, I hope, our security against a sudden 
 change in this particular. It would sound extremely awkward in our ears ' all 
 ' the two,' ' or the one or the other,' and, 'nor the one nor the other,' which is 
 a literal version of tous lea deux, ou I'un ou iautre, and ni Inn ni Vautre, the 
 phrases whereby both, either, and neither, are expressed in French. It may be 
 said, custom softens every thing, and what though several words thus fall into 
 disuse, since experience shows us that we can do without Ihem? I answer, first, 
 change itself is bad, unless evidently for the better; secondly, perspicuity is more
 
 IV. OF RHETORIC. 421 
 
 Like these wretched props, they are not only of foreign materials, 
 but have a foreign aspect. For as a stick can never be mistaken 
 for a limb, though it may, in a clumsy manner, do the office of one, 
 so these pitiful supplements can never be made to incorporate with 
 the sentence, which they help in a bungling manner to hobble for- 
 wards. 
 
 I proceed to exemplify further in our own language, the gene- 
 ral observation made above, that an improvement of taste leads 
 men insensibly to abbreviate those weaker parts of speech, the con- 
 nexive particles. I have remarked already the total suppression 
 of the conjunction that after because, before, although, and many 
 others of the same stamp, with which it was wont to be inseparably 
 combined. But we have not stopt here. This particle is frequently 
 omitted, when there is no other conjunction to connect the clauses, 
 as in this example, " Did I not tell you positively, I would go my- 
 " self?" In order to construe the sentence, we must supply the 
 word that after positively. Concerning this omission I shall just 
 observe, what I would be understood, in like manner, to observe 
 concerning the omission of the relatives, to be mentioned afterwards, 
 that though in conversation, comedy, and dialogue, such an ellip- 
 sis is graceful, when, without hurting perspicuity, it contributes 
 to vivacity; yet, wherever the nature of the composition requires 
 dignity and precision in the style, this freedom is hardly to be 
 risked. 
 
 Another remarkable instance of our dislike to conjunctions is a 
 method, for aught I know, peculiar to us; by which the particles 
 tho' and if, when in construction with any of the tenses compound- 
 ed with had, could, would, or should, are happily enough set aside 
 as unnecessary. This is effected by a small alteration in the ar- 
 rangement. The nominative is shifted from its ordinary station be- 
 fore the auxiliary, and is placed immediately after it, as in these 
 words, " Had I known the danger, I would not have engaged in 
 " the business;" that is, " If I had known the danger." " Should 
 " you remonstrate ever so loudly, I would not alter my resolution," 
 that is, " Tho' you should remonstrate." The reason that this 
 transposition cannot be admitted in the other tenses is, that in them 
 
 effectually secured by a greater choice of words, when the meanings are distinct; 
 thirdly, vivacity is promoted both by avoiding periphrasis, and by using words 
 as much as possible limited in signification to the things meant by the speaker; 
 fourthly, in an abundance without confusion, there is always greater scope for 
 variety. And to come to the particular defect which gave rise to these obser- 
 vations, every body must be sensible, that the frequent recurrence in French to 
 these uncouth sounds, quoi, que, qui, quelque, and the like, doth not serve to re- 
 commend the language to the ear of a stranger.
 
 422 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. 
 
 it would occasion an ambiguity, and give the sentence the appear- 
 ance of an interrogation, which it scarcely ever hath in the tenses 
 above mentioned. Sometimes, indeed, the preterimperfect admits 
 this idiom, without rendering the expression ambiguous; as in these 
 words, " Did I but know his intention," for " If I did but know 
 
 " his intention." " Were I present," for " If I were present.'* 
 
 The tense, however, in such instances, may more properly be term- 
 ed an aorist, than a preterit of any kind ; and the mood is sub- 
 junctive. 
 
 SECTION II. Of other Connectives. 
 
 Now, that I am speaking- of the auxiliaries, it may not be amiss to 
 remark, that they too, like the conjunctions, the relatives, and the 
 prepositions, are but words of a secondary order. The signification 
 of the verb is ascertained by the infinitive or the participle which 
 follows the auxiliar in the compound tenses of the active voice, and 
 always by the participle in the passive. The auxiliaries themselves 
 serve only to modify the verb, by adding the circumstances of time, 
 affirmation, supposition, interrogation, and some others. An abridg- 
 ment in these, therefore, which are but weak, though not the weak- 
 est parts of discourse, conduceth to strengthen the expression. But 
 there are not many cases wherein this is practicable. Sometimes 
 had supplies emphatically the place of would have, and were of 
 would be. An instance of the first we have in the words of Martha 
 to our Saviour : " Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had 
 " not died*." The last clause would have been feebler, had it 
 been, * my brother would not have died.' An example of the second 
 is the words of the Israelites on hearing the report of the spies : 
 " Were it not better for us to return into Egyptf?" for Would it 
 not be better?' 
 
 But to come to the consideration of the relatives; the first real 
 improvement which taste hath produced here, is the dismission of 
 the article from its wonted attendance on the pronoun which. The 
 definite article could nowhere be less necessary, as the antecedent 
 always defines the meaning. Another effect of the same cause is the 
 introduction of what instead of that which, as, " I remember what you 
 " told me;" otherwise, " that which you told me." Another is the 
 extending of the use of the word whose, by making- it serve as the 
 possessive of the pronoun which. 
 
 The distinction between who and which is now perfectly esta- 
 
 * John xi. 21 . t Num. xiy. 5.
 
 IV. OF RHETORIC. 
 
 Wished in the language. The former relates only to persons, the 
 latter to things. But this distinction, though a real advantage in 
 point of perspicuity and precision, affects not much the vivacity of 
 the style. The possessive of who is properly whose, the pronoun 
 which, originally indeclinable, had no possessive. This want was 
 supplied in the common periphrastic manner, by the help of the 
 preposition and the article. But as this could not fail to enfeeble 
 the expression, when so much time was given to mere conjunctives, 
 all our best author.*, both in prose and in verse, have come now 
 regularly to adopt in such cases the possessive of who; and thus 
 have substituted one syllable in the room of three, as in the example 
 following: " Philosophy, whose end is to instruct us in the know- 
 
 " ledge of Nature," for, 'Philosophy, the end of which is to 
 
 ' instruct us.' Some grammarians remonstrate. But it ought to 
 
 be remembered, that use well established must give law to gram- 
 mar, and not grammar to use. Nor is this acceptatio?i of the word 
 whose of recent introduction into the language. It occurs even in 
 Shakespeare, and almost uniformly in authors of any chaructersince 
 his time. Neither does there appear to be any inconvenience arising 
 from this usage. The connection with the antecedent is commonly 
 so close as to remove all possible ambiguity. If, however, in any 
 instance, the application should appear ambiguous, in that instance, 
 without question, the periphrasis ought to be preferred. But the 
 term thus applied to things could not be considered as improper, 
 any longer than it was by general use peculiarly appropriated to 
 persons, and, therefore, considered merely as an inflection of the 
 pronoun who. Now, that cannot be affirmed to be the case at present. 
 Though to limit the signification of the pronouns would at first 
 seem conducive to precision, it may sometimes be followed with 
 inconveniencies, which would more than counterbalance the advan- 
 tage. " That," says Dr. Lowth, " is used indifferently both of per- 
 " sons and tilings, but perhaps would be more properly confined 
 '* to the latter*." Yet there are case* wherein we cannot conve- 
 niently dispense with this relative as applied to persons; us firsf, 
 after who the interrogative, "Who that has any sense of religion 
 " would have argued thus?" Secondly, when persons make but 
 a part of the antecedent : " The men and things that he hath studied, 
 " have not contributed to the improvement of his morals." In 
 neither of these examples could any other relative be used. In the 
 instances specified by Dr. Priestley f, the that, if not necessary, is at 
 least more elegant than the who. The first is after a superlative, 
 
 * Introduction, Sentenct s. t Grammar, Pronouns.
 
 424 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. 
 
 as " He was the fittest person that could then be found ;" the second 
 is after the pronominal adjective the same; as, " He is the same man 
 " that you saw before." And it is even probable that these are not 
 the only cases. 
 
 The possessive its of the neuter personal pronoun it, hath contri- 
 buted in the same way, though not a relative, both to abbreviate 
 and to invigorate the, idiom of the present age. It is not above a 
 century and a half since this possessive was brought into use. Ac- 
 cordingly, you will not find it in all the vulgar translation of the 
 Bible. Its place there is always supplied either by the article and 
 the preposition, as in these words, " They are of those that rebel 
 " against the light; they know not the ways thereof, nor abide in 
 " the paths thereof*," for ' they know not its ways, nor abide in its 
 ' paths;' or by the possessive of the masculine, as in this verse, " The 
 " altar of burnt-offerings \vith all his furniture, and the laver and 
 " his footf." The first method is formal and languid; the second 
 must appear awkward to English ears, because very unsuitable to the 
 genius of the language, which never, unless in the figurative style, 
 as is well observed by Mr. Harris J, ascribes gender to such things 
 as are neither reasonable beings, nor susceptible of sex. 
 
 The only other instance of abbreviation which I recollect in the 
 pronouns, is the frequent suppression of the relatives who, whom, 
 and which. This, I imagine, is an ellipsis peculiar to the English, 
 though it may be exemplified from authors of the first note ; and 
 that too in all the cases following; first, when the pronoun is the 
 nominative to the verb; secondly, when it is the accusative of an 
 active verb ; and thirdly, when it is governed by a preposition. Of 
 the first case, which is rather the most unfavorable of the three, 
 you have an example in these words, " I had several men died in 
 " my ship of calentures," for 'who died.' Of the second, which 
 is the most tolerable, in these, " They wlio affect to guess at the 
 " objects they cannot seej|," for 'which they cannot see.' Of the 
 third, in these, " To contain the spirit of anger, is the worthiest dis- 
 " cipline we can put ourselves to %" for ' to which we can put our- 
 ' selves.' Sometimes, especially in verse, both the preposition and 
 the pronoun are omitted, as in the speech of Cardinal Wolsey, after 
 his disgrace, 
 
 Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
 
 I serv'd my king ** 
 
 To complete the construction of this member of the sentence, the 
 
 * Job. xxiv. 13. t Exod. xxxi. 9. \ Hermes. 
 
 Gull. Trav. Honyhnhmns, || Bol. Phil. Es. II. Sect. i. 
 
 H Spectator, No. 438. T. ** Shakespeare's Henry V 111.
 
 Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 425 
 
 words ' with which' must be supplied immediately after " zeal." 
 Concerning this idiom I shall only observe in general, that as it is 
 the most licentious, and therefore the most exceptionable in the lan- 
 guage, it ought to be used very cautiously. In some cases it may 
 occasion obscurity; in others, by giving a maimed appearance to 
 the sentence, it may occasion inelegance. In both these it ought 
 carefully to be avoided*. 
 
 The only other part of speech which partakes of the weakness 
 remarked in conjunctions, relatives, and auxiliary verbs, is prepo- 
 sitions. These are expressive of the relations which substantives, 
 as the signs of things, bear to one another, or to the verbs, the sym- 
 bols of agency with which they are construed. They answer the 
 same purpose in connecting words, which the conjunctions answer 
 in connecting clauses. For the same reason, the shorter these par- 
 ticles are, they are the better. The less time you bestow on the 
 insignificant parts of a sentence, the more significant will the whole 
 appear. Accordingly, in all languages the prepositions are com- 
 monly among their shortest words. With us, such of them as are 
 in most frequent use, consist of one short syllable only f . And 
 even those which occur seldomer, rarely exceed two syllables J. 
 
 
 
 * In French, by an idiom not unlike, the antecedent is often dropt, and the 
 relative retained, as in this example, " II ne faut pas se fier d qui a beaucoup 
 " d' ambition." " A qui," for " a cefut'qui." The idiom is not the same in Italian, 
 for though the antecedent is sometimes dropt, there is properly no ellipsis, as the 
 relative is changed; as thus, " Lo stampatore a chi legge" for a quel che. This 
 is exactly similar to the English what or that which. By poetic licence, there 
 is sometimes an ellipsis of the antecedent in English verse, as in this line of Dry- 
 den, Georg. 2. 
 
 Which who would learn, as soon may tell the sands. 
 Who for he who. More rarely when the antecedent is the regimen of the verb, as, 
 
 I gladly shunn'd, whogladly fled from me. Rom. $ Juliet. 
 Who for him who; but never when it is the regimen of a proposition. 
 
 t Such are, at, in, of, from, till, to, for, by, through, near, with, on, of. 
 
 J Such are, above, below, along, across, amid, around, beyond, within, with- 
 out, beside, among, between, except. It may not be amiss to observe, that though 
 the French in the commonest prepositions have the advantage of us, by reason of 
 their frequent elisions, the coalition of some of them with the article, and their 
 pronominal particles, y and en, they have nevertheless greatly the disadvantage 
 in the less common, which with them are not so properly denominated preposi- 
 tions as prepositive phrases that supply the place of prepositions. In evidence 
 of this take the French translation of all the dissyllabic prepositions above men- 
 tioned, except the four last. These are, au dessus de, au dessous de, le long de, 
 au travers de, au milieu de, autour de, au dela de, au dedans de, au dehors de. On 
 comparing the two languages merely in point of vivacity, the French, I think, 
 excels in the colloquial and epistolary style, where the recurrence must be fre-
 
 426 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. 
 
 On this part of speech the improvements have not been so consi- 
 derable (nor was there equal need), as on the conjunctions and the 
 relatives. Yet even here the progress of taste hath not been entirely 
 without effect. The until and unto, are now almost always, and the 
 upon, very often, contracted into till and to, and on. The to 
 and the for are in some cases, without occasioning- any inconve- 
 nience, and with a sensible advantage in point of energy, discarded 
 altogether. Thus we say, " Forgive us our debts," and not, " for- 
 " give to us our debts." " I have gotten you a licence," and not 
 " I have gotten a licence for you." The same manner hath also 
 obtained in some other modern tongues. What I am next to men- 
 tion is peculiar to us, the preposition of is frequently supplied by 
 the possessive case of the noun. Lastly, which is a real acquisi- 
 tion in respect of vivacity, when two or more nouns are conjoined 
 in the same construction, it is not necessary in English, as in French, 
 that the preposition of the first be repeated before each of the sub- 
 sequent nouns. This ought to be done only in those cases wherein 
 either perspicuity or harmony requires it. 
 
 Now that I am on the subject of the prepositions, it will not be 
 improper to consider a peculiarity which is often to be found with 
 us in their arrangement. In every other language the preposition 
 is almost constantly prefixed to the noun which it governs; in En- 
 glish it is sometimes placed not only after the noun, but at a con- 
 siderable distance from it, as in the following example, " The in- 
 " firmary was indeed never so full as on this day, which I was at 
 " some loss to account for, till, upon my going abroad, I observed, 
 " that it was an easterly wind *." Here, no fewer than seven words 
 
 quent to those petty aids of discourse, the prepositions first mentioned, and 
 where there is little scope for composition, as there are almost no complex senten- 
 ces. The English, on the contrary, excels in the more elaborate style of history, 
 philosophy, and oratory, where a greater variety of prepositions is needed, and 
 where there is more frequent occasion of recurring to the conjunctions. These 
 indeed are rather unwieldy in French ; and I am not sure but a tacit conviction 
 of this is the cause that a sort of detached aphoristic style is getting much into 
 vogue with their authors. I shall remark here also, that their vivacity of expres- 
 sion is often attained at the expense of perspicuity. " La pcrsonne qui Tanne," 
 may mean either " The person who loves him," " The person who loves her," or, 
 " The person who loves it." Nay more, though there is a difference in writing 
 between qui Vaime and quil aime, there is no difference in sound, and therefore 
 the same phrase spoken may also mean, " The person whom he loves." In Italian 
 there are several paraphrastic prepositions in the same taste with the French, as, 
 a Tintorno di, di la di, in mezzo di, dentro di, fnori di, di sopra di, disotto di. 
 There are only two prepositions in French which we are obliged to express by 
 circumlocution. These are, chez, at the house of, and scion, according to. 
 * Spectator, No. 440. C
 
 Cluip. IV. OF RHETORIC. 427 
 
 intervene between the relative which and the preposition for belong- 
 ing to it. Besides, the preposition doth not here precede its regi- 
 men, but follow it. One would imagine, to consider the matter 
 abstractly, that this could not fail in a language like ours, which 
 admits so few inflections, to create obscurity. Yet this in fact is 
 seldom or never the consequence. Indeed the singularity of the 
 idiom hath made some critics condemn it absolutely. That there 
 is nothing analogous in any known tongue, ancient or modern, hath 
 appeared to them a sufficient reason. I own it never appeared so 
 to me. 
 
 If we examine the matter independently of custom, we shall find 
 that the preposition is just as closely connected with the word 
 whether verb or noun, governing, as with the word, whether noun 
 or pronoun, governed. It is always expressive of the relation 
 which the one bears to the other, or of the action of the one upon 
 the other. And as the cause in the order of nature precedes the 
 effect, the most proper situation for the preposition is immediately 
 after the word governing, and before the word governed. This 
 will accordingly in all languages be found the most common situa- 
 tion. But there are cases in all languages wherein it is even neces- 
 sary, that the word governing should come after the word governed. 
 In such cases it is impossible that the preposition should be situated 
 as above described. Only half of the description is then attain* 
 able; and the speaker is reduced to this alternative; either to make 
 the preposition follow the word governing, in which case it must 
 be detached from the word governed; or to make it precede the 
 word governed, in which case it must be detached from the word 
 governing. The choice in itself arbitrary custom hath determined 
 in every tongue. 
 
 But will it be admitted as a maxim, that the custom of one lan- 
 guage, or even of ever so many, may be urged as a rule in another 
 language, wherein no such custom hath ever obtained? An argu- 
 ment founded on so false a principle, must certainly be inconclu- 
 sive. With us indeed either arrangement is good ; but I suspect 
 that to make the preposition follow the word governing, is more 
 suitable than the other to the original idiom of the tongue, as in 
 fact it prevails more in conversation. The most common case 
 wherein there is scope for election, is with the relatives whom and 
 which; since these, as in the example quoted, must necessarily 
 precede the governing verb or noun. But this is not the only case. 
 Vivacity requires sometimes, as hath been shown above, that even 
 the governed part, if it be that which chiefly fixes the attention of 
 the speaker, should stand foremost in the sentence. Let the fol-
 
 428 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. 
 
 lowing serve as an example : " The man whom you were so anxious 
 " to discover, I have at length got information of." We have here 
 indeed a considerable hyperbaton, as grammarians term it ; there 
 being no less than thirteen words interposed between the noun and 
 the preposition. Yet whether the expression can be altered for the 
 better, will perhaps be questioned. Shall we say, " Of the man 
 " whom you were so anxious to discover, I have at length got in- 
 " formation?" Who sees not that by this small alteration, not 
 only is the vivacity destroyed, but the expression is rendered stiff 
 and formal, and therefore ill adapted to the style of conversation? 
 Shall we then restore what is called the grammatical, because the 
 most common order, and say, " I have at length gotten information 
 " of the man whom you were so anxious to discover?" The ar- 
 rangement here is unexceptionable, but the expression is unani- 
 mated. There is in the first manner something that displays an 
 ardor in the speaker to be the niessenger of good news. Of this 
 character there are no traces in the last; and in the second there is 
 a cold and studied formality which would make it appear intolerable. 
 So much is in the power merely of arrangement. Ought we then 
 always to prefer this way of placing the preposition after the 
 governing word? By no means. There are cases wherein this 
 is preferable. There are cases wherein the other way is preferable . 
 In general, the former suits better the familiar and easy style, which 
 copies the dialect of conversation, the latter more befits the elabo- 
 rate and solemn diction, which requires somewhat of dignity and 
 pomp. 
 
 But to what purpose, I pray, those criticisms which serve only 
 to narrow our range, where there would be no danger of a tres- 
 pass, thoug-h we were indulged with more liberty? Is it that tbe 
 genius of our language doth not sufficiently cramp us without these 
 additional restraints? But it is the unhappiness of the generality of 
 critics, that when two modes of expressing the same thing come 
 under their consideration, of which one appears to them prefer- 
 able, the other is condemned in gross, as what ought to be repro- 
 bated in every instance. A few contractions have been adopted by 
 some writers which appear harsh and affected; and all contractions 
 without exception must be rejected, though ever so easy and natu- 
 ral, and though evidently conducing to enliven the expression*. 
 
 * About the beginning of the present century, the tendency to contract our 
 words, especially in the compound lenses of the verbs, was undoubtedly exces- 
 sive. The worst of it was, that most of the contractions were effected by ex- 
 punging the vowels, even where there was no hiatus, and by clashing together 
 consonants of most obdurate sound, as Swift calls them. This produced the
 
 Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 429 
 
 One order of the words in a particular example seems worthy of 
 the preference; and it must be established as a rule, that no other 
 order in any case is to be admitted. 
 
 But we are not peculiar in this disposition, though we may be pecu- 
 liar in some of our ways of exerting it. The French critics, and even 
 
 animadversion of some of our ablest pens, Addison, Swift, Pope, and others, 
 whose concurring sentiments have operated so strongly on the Public, that con- 
 tractions of every kind have ever since been in disgrace, even those of easy pro- 
 nunciation, and which had been in use long before. Yet our accumulated 
 auxiliaries seemed to require something of this kind. And though I am sensible 
 that wasn't, didn't, shouldn't, and couldn't, are intolerably bad, there are others 
 of more pleasant sound, to which our critics, without any injury to the language, 
 might have given a pass. On the contrary, even those elisions whereby the 
 sound is improved, as when the succession of an initial to a final vowel is pre- 
 vented (which in all languages men have a natural propensity to avoid by con- 
 tracting), as I'm for I am; or when a feeble vowel is suppressed without harsh- 
 ness, as in the last syllable of the preterits of our regular verbs (which without 
 a contraction we can never bear in verse); or when some of our rougher con- 
 sonants are cut off after other consonants, as 'em for them ; (these I say) have all 
 shared the same fate. Some indulgence, I think, may still be given to the more 
 familiar style of dialogues, letters, essays, and even of popular addresses, which 
 like comedy are formed on the dialect of conversation. In this dialect, 
 wherein all languages originate, the eagerness of conveying one's senti- 
 ments, the rapidity and ease of utterance, necessarily produce such abbrevi- 
 ations. It appears indeed so natural, that I think it requires, that people 
 be more than commonly phlegmatic, not to say stupid, to be able to avoid 
 them. Upon the whole, therefore, this tendency, in my opinion, ought to 
 have been checked and regulated, but not entirely crushed. That contract- 
 ing serves to improve the expression in vivacity is manifest; it was necessary 
 only to take care, that it might not hurt in harmony or in perspicuity. It is 
 certainly this which constitutes one of the greatest beauties in French dialogue; 
 as by means of it, what in other languages is expressed by a pronoun and a pre- 
 position, they sometimes convey not by a single syllable, but by a single letter. 
 At the same time, it must be owned, that they have never admitted contractions, 
 that could justly be denominated harsh; that they have not, on the other hand, 
 been equally careful to avoid such as are equivocal, hath been observed already. 
 We are apt to imagine, that there is something in the elision of letters and con- 
 traction of syllables, that is particularly unsuitable to the grave and solemn 
 style. This notion of ours is, I suspect, more the consequence of the disuse 
 than the cause; since such abbreviations do not offend the severest critic, when 
 they occur in books written in an ancient or a foreign language. Even the 
 sacred penmen have not disdained to adopt them into the simple but very serious 
 style of holy writ. Witness the xjsyi for JMM iyu, w'/x for avo /*, xpxiJWf 
 for xJ extws, anil many others. No doubt desuetude alone is sufficient to create 
 an unsuitableness in any language. I will admit further, that there is some con- 
 venience iii discriminating the different characters of writing by some such dif- 
 ferences in the style. For both these reasons, I should not now wish to see them 
 revived in performances of a serious or solemn nature.
 
 430 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. 
 
 the academy, have proceeded, if not always in the same manner, 
 on much the same principle in the improvements they have made 
 on their language. They have indeed cleared it of many, not of 
 all their low idioms, cant phrases, and useless anomalies; they 
 have rendered the style in the main more perspicuous, more gram- 
 matical, and more precise than it was before. But they have not 
 known where to stop. Their criticisms often degenerate into re- 
 finements, and every thing is carried to excess. If one mode of 
 construction, or form of expression, hath been lucky enough to 
 please these arbitrators of the public taste, and to obtain their 
 sanction, no different mode or form must expect so much as a tole- 
 ration. What is the consequence? They have purified their lan- 
 guage; at the same time they have impoverished it, and have, in a 
 considerable measure, reduced all kinds of composition to a taste- 
 less uniformity. Accordingly, in perhaps no language, ancient or 
 modern, will you find so little variety of expression in the various 
 kinds of writing, as in French. In prose and verse, in philosophy 
 and romance, in tragedy and comedy, in epic and pastoral, the 
 difference may be very great in the sentiments, but it is nothing', 
 or next to nothing, in the style. 
 
 Is this insjpid sameness to be envied them as an excellence? Or 
 shall we Britons, who are lovers of freedom almost to idolatry, 
 voluntarily hamper ourselves in the trammels of the French academy? 
 Not that I think we should disdain to receive instruction from any 
 quarter, from neighbours, or even from enemies. But as we re- 
 nounce implicit faith in more important matters, let us renounce it 
 here too. Before we adopt any new measure or limitation, by the 
 practice of whatever nation it comes recommended to us, let us 
 give it an impartial examination, that we may not, like servile imi- 
 tators, copy the bad with the good. The rules of our langaage 
 should breathe the same spirit with the laws of our country. They 
 ought to prove bars against licentiousness, without being checks 
 to liberty. 
 
 SECTION III Modern Languages compared with Greek and 
 Latin, particularly in regard to the Composition oj' Sentences. 
 
 BEFORE I conclude this chapter, I must beg leave to offer a few 
 general remarks on the comparison of modern languages with 
 Greek and Latin. This I am the rather disposed to do, that it will 
 serve further to illustrate the principles above laid down. I make 
 no doubt but the former have some advantages in respect of per- 
 spicuity. I think not only that the disposition of the words accord-
 
 Chap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 431 
 
 ing- to certain stated rules may be made more effectually to secure 
 the sentence against ambiguous construction, than can be done 
 merely by inflection, but that an habitual method of arranging 
 words which are in a certain way related to one another, must, from 
 the natural influence of habit, on the principle of association, even 
 where there is no risk of miscdnstruction, more quickly suggest 
 the meaning, than can be done in the freer and more varied methods 
 made use of in those ancient languages. This holds especially 
 with regard to Latin, wherein the number of equivocal inflections 
 is considerably greater than in Greek ; and wherein there are no 
 articles, which are of unspeakable advantage, as for several other 
 purposes, so in particular for ascertaining the construction. But 
 whilst the latter, though in this respect inferior, are, when skill- 
 fully managed, by no means ill adapted for perspicuous expression, 
 they are, in respect of vivacity, elegance, animation, and variety 
 of harmony, incomparably superior. I shall at present consider 
 their advantage principally in point of vivacity, which in a great 
 measure, when the subject is of such a nature as to excite passion, 
 secures animation also. 
 
 In the first place, the brevity that is attainable in these languages 
 gives them an immense superiority. Some testimonies in confir- 
 mation of this remark may be obtained by comparing- the Latin ex- 
 amples of antithesis quoted in the notes of the third section of the 
 preceding chapter, with any English translation that can be made 
 of these passages. And I suspect, if a version were attempted into 
 any other European tongue, the success would not be much better. 
 It is remarkable, that in any inscription in which it is intended to 
 convey something- striking or emphatical, we can scarcely endure a 
 modem language. Latin is almost invariably employed for this 
 purpose in all the nations of Europe. Nor is this the effect of ca- 
 price or pedantry, as some perhaps will be apt to imagine. Nei- 
 ther does it proceed merely, as others will suppose, from the opi- 
 nion that that language is more universally understood ; for I sus- 
 pect that this is a prerogative which will be warmly contested by 
 the French ; but it proceeds from the general conviction there is, 
 of its superiority in point of vivacity. That we may be satisfied of 
 this, let us make the trial, by translating any of the best Latin 
 inscriptions or mottos which we remember, and we shall quickly 
 perceive, that what charms us expressed in their idiom, is scarcely 
 supportable when rendered into our own*. The luggage of par- 
 
 * Let us make the experiment on the inscriptions of some of the be*t Hr- 
 vices or emblems that are extant I shall give a few examples for illustration's
 
 432 THE PHILOSOPHY Book Iff. 
 
 tides, such as pronouns, prepositions, and auxiliary verbs, from 
 which it is impossible for us entirely to disencumber ourselves, clogs 
 the expression and enervates the sentiment. 
 
 But it is not in respect of brevity only that the ancient tongues 
 above mentioned are capable of a more vivid diction than the mo- 
 dern. For when, in the declensions and conjugations, the inflec- 
 tion, as is frequently the case, is attended by an increase of the 
 number of syllables, the expression on the whole cannot always 
 be denominated briefer, even when it consists of fewer words. How- 
 ever, as was observed before, when the construction is chiefly de- 
 termined by inflection, there is much ampler scope for choice in 
 the arrangement, and consequently the speaker hath it much more 
 in his power to give the sentence that turn which will serve most 
 to enliven it. 
 
 But even this is not all the advantage they derive from this par- 
 ticularity in their structure. The various terminations of the same 
 
 sake, from the sixth of Bouhours' Entretiens d'Ariste et dEiigene, called Let 
 devises. The first shall be, that of a starry sky without the moon, as represent- 
 ing an assembly of the fair, in which the lover finds not the object of his pas- 
 sion. The motto is, " Non mille quod absens." In English we must say, " A 
 " thousand cannot equal one that is absent." Another instance shall be that of 
 a rock in the midst of a tempestuous sea, to denote a hero who with facility 
 baffles all the assaults of his enemies. The motto, " Conantia frangere frangit." 
 In English, " I break the things which attempt to break me." In this example 
 we are obliged to change the person of the verb, that the words may be equally 
 applicable, both in the literal sense and in the figurative, an essential point in 
 this exercise of ingenuity. The personal pronoun in our language must always 
 be expressed before the verb. Now the neuter it will not apply to the hero, 
 nor the masculine he to the rock; whereas the first person applies equally to 
 both. The third instance shall be that of the ass eating thistles, as an emblem 
 of a parasite, who serves as a butt to the company that entertain him. The motto 
 " Pungant dum saturent." In English, " Let them sting me, provided they fill 
 " my belly." In all these, how nervous is the expression in the original ; how 
 spiritless in the translation ! Nor is this recourse to a multitude of words pecu- 
 liar to us. All European languages labor, though not equally, under the same 
 inconvenience. For the French, take Bouhours' version of the preceding mottos. 
 The first is, " Mille ne valent pas se que vaut une absente." The second, " II 
 " brise ce qui fait effort pour le briser." ' This version is not perfectly adequate. 
 The Latin implies a number of enemies, which is not implied here. Better 
 thus, " 11 brise les choses qui font effort pour le briser." The third is, " Qu'ils 
 " me piquent, pourveu qu'ils me saouillent." These are in no respect superior 
 to the English. The Italian and the Spanish answer here a little better. Bou- 
 hours himself, who is extremely unwilling, even in the smallest matters, to ac- 
 knowledge any thing like a defect or imperfection in the French tongue, is 
 nevertheless constrained to admit, that it is not well adapted for furnishing such 
 mottos and inscription!.
 
 Ckap. IV. OF RHETORIC. 433 
 
 word, whether verb or noun, are always conceived to be more 
 intimately united with the term which they serve to lengthen, than 
 the additional, detached, and in themselves insignificant, syllables 
 or particles, which we are obliged to employ as connectives to our 
 significant words. Our method gives almost the same exposure to 
 the one as to the other, making the insignificant parts and the sig- 
 nificant equally conspicuous ; theirs much oftener sinks, as it were, 
 the former into the latter, at once preserving their use, and hiding 
 their weakness. Our modern languages may in this respect be 
 compared to the art of carpentry in its rudest state, when the 
 union of the materials employed by the artisan, could be effected 
 only by the help of those external and coarse implements, pins, 
 nails, and cramps. The ancient languages resemble the same art 
 in its most improved state, aftlr the invention of dovetail joints, 
 grooves, and mortices, when thus all the principal junctions are 
 effected by forming properly the extremities or terminations of the 
 pieces to be joined. For by means of these the union of the parts 
 is rendered closer, whilst that by which their union is produced is 
 scarcely perceivable. 
 
 Addison, if I remember right, somewhere compares an epic 
 poem, {and the same holds, though in a lower degree, of every 
 other literary production), written in Greek or in Latin, to a mag-- 
 nificent edifice, built of marble, porphyry, or granite, and con- 
 trasts with it such a poem or performance in one of our modern 
 languages, which he likens to such a building executed in freestone, 
 or any of those coarser kinds of stone which abound in some nor- 
 thern climates. The latter may be made to answer all the essential 
 purposes of accommodation as well as the former, but as the ma- 
 terials of which it is constructed, are not capable of receiving the 
 same polish, and consequently cannot admit some of the finer de- 
 corations, it will not only be inferior in beauty, but its imitative 
 ornaments will be much less lively and expressive. It may never- 
 theless be equal to the other both in grandeur and in utility. If the 
 representations that have been given of the Chinese language are 
 genuine, if all their words are monosyllabic and indeclinable, if 
 every relation and circumstance, even time and number, must be 
 expressed by separate particles, I should think a performance in 
 their tongue might be justly compared to a building in brick, 
 which may be both neat and convenient, but which hardly admits 
 the highly ornamented finishing of any order of architecture, 
 or indeed any other species of beauty than that resulting from the 
 perception of fitness. But this only by the way. 
 
 If I might be indulged one other similitude, I should remark, 
 F F
 
 434 THE PHILOSOPHY Book HI. 
 
 that the difference between the ancient Greek and Latin, and the 
 modern European languages, is extremely analogous to the differ- 
 ence there is between their garb and ours. The latter will perhaps 
 be admitted to be equally commodious, possibly for some purposes 
 more so; but with its trumpery of buttons and button-holes, liga- 
 tures and plaits, formerly opposed to one another, it is stiff and un- 
 natural in its appearance ; whereas the easy flow and continually 
 varied foldings of the former, are at once more graceful, and better 
 adapted for exhibiting nature in shape, attitude, and motion, to 
 advantage. The human figure is, I may say, burlesqued in the 
 one habit, and adorned by the other. Custom, which can conci- 
 liate us to any thing, prevents us from seeing this in ourselves and 
 in one another ; but we quickly perceive the difference in pictures 
 and in statues. Nor is there a painter or a statuary of eminence, 
 who is not perfectly sensible of the odds, and who would not think 
 his art degraded in being employed to exhibit the reigning mode. 
 Nay, in regard to the trifling changes, for they are but trifling, 
 which fashion is daily making on our garments, how soon are we 
 ourselves brought to think ridiculous, what we accounted proper, 
 not to say elegant, but two or three years ago ; whereas, no differ- 
 ence in the fashions of the times and of the country, can ever bring 
 a man of taste to consider the drapery of the toga or of the pallium, 
 as any way ludicrous or offensive. 
 
 Perhaps I have carried the comparison farther than was at first 
 intended. What hath been said, however, more regards the form 
 or structure, than the matter of the languages compared. Not- 
 withstanding the preference given above in point of form to the 
 ancient tongues, the modern may, in point of matter, (or the words 
 of which the language is composed), be superior to them. I am 
 inclined to think that this is actually the case of some of the pre- 
 sent European tongues. The materials which constitute the riches 
 of a language, will always bear a proportion to the acquisitions in 
 knowledge made by the people. For this reason I should not hesi- 
 tate to pronounce that English is considerably richer than Latin, 
 and in the main fitter for all the subtile disquisitions both of philo- 
 sophy and of criticism. If I am more doubtful in regard to the 
 preference, when our tongue is compared with Greek, notwith- 
 standing the superiority of our knowledge in arts and sciences, the 
 reason of my doubt is, the amazing ductility of that language, by 
 which it was adapted to express easily in derivations and composi- 
 tions, new indeed but quite analogical, and therefore quite in tell i- 
 oible, any discoveries in the sciences, or invention in the arts, that 
 might at any time be made in their own, or imported from foreign
 
 Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 435 
 
 countries. Nay, it would seem to be a general conviction of this dis- 
 tinguishing excellence, that hath made Europeans almost universally 
 recur to Greek for a supply of names to those things which are of 
 modern invention, and with which the Grecians themselves never 
 were acquainted ; such as microscope, telescope, barometer, ther- 
 mometer, and a thousand others. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 OF THE CONNECTIVES EMPLOYED IN COMBINING THE SENTENCES IN 
 A DISCOURSE. 
 
 IN the preceding chapter I have discussed what I had to offer on 
 the manner of connecting the words, the clauses, and the members 
 of a sentence. I intend in the present chapter to consider the 
 various manners of connecting the sentences in a discourse, and to 
 make some remarks on this subject, for the assistance of the com- 
 poser, which are humbly submitted to the judgment of the reader. 
 
 "SECTION I. The necessity of Connectives for this purpose. 
 
 IT will scarcely be doubted by any person of discerment, that as 
 there should always be a natural connexion in the sentiments of a 
 discourse, there should generally be corresponding to this, an ar- 
 tificial connexion in the signs. Without such a connexion the 
 whole will appear a sort of patchwork, and not a uniform piece. 
 To such a style we might justly apply the censure which the em- 
 peror Caligula gave of Seneca's, that it is " sand without lime *," 
 the parts having no cohesion. As to the connexion of periods and 
 other sentences, it is formed, like that of words, clauses, and mem- 
 bers, mostly by conjunctions, frequently by pronouns, the demon- 
 strative especially f, and sometimes by other methods, of which I 
 shall soon have occasion to take notice. 
 
 When facts are related in continuation, or M-hen one argument, 
 remark, or illustration, is with the same view produced after ano- 
 ther, the conjunction is a copulative J. If the sentiment in the 
 second sentence is in any way opposed to that which immediately 
 precedes, an adversative is employed to conjoin them . If it is 
 produced as an exception, there are also exceptive conjunctions 
 for the purpose ||. Both the last mentioned orders are comprehended 
 
 * Arena sine calce. t This, that, such. 
 
 t And, now, also, too, likewise, again, besides, further, moreover, yea, nay, nor. 
 But, or, however, whereas. II Yet, nevertheless. 
 
 FF2
 
 436 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. 
 
 under the general name disjunctive. If the latter sentence include 
 the reason of what had been affirmed in the preceding, the causal is 
 used *. If, on the contrary, it contain an inference, it must be 
 introduced by an illative f. Beside these, there is in every tongue a 
 number of phrases, which have the power of conjunctions in unit- 
 ing sentences, and are of great utility in composition, both for ena- 
 bling* the orator to hit with greater exactness the relations almost 
 infinitely diversified that may subsist between the thoughts, and 
 for the variety they afford in that part of speech, wherein variety is 
 more needed than in any other J. It likewise deserves our notice, 
 that several of those words which are always classed by gramma- 
 rians and lexicographers among the adverbs, have, in uniting the 
 several parts of a discourse, all the effect of conjunct ions . The 
 general name ofconnexive, I shall therefore apply indiscriminately 
 to them all. 
 
 SECTION II. Observations on the manner of usinq the Connec- 
 tives in combining Sentences. 
 
 IT remains to make a few observations with regard to the right 
 manner of using the materials above specified, for connecting sen- 
 tences and paragraphs. It is not indeed by any use of them, that 
 we can propose to add much energy to the style, for that is rarely 
 the gift of these particles ; but we may employ them so as to pre- 
 clude the irksomeness and languor which invariably result from an 
 improper use of them. 
 
 My first observation shall be, that as there are many conjunctions 
 and connective phrases appropriated to the coupling of sen- 
 tences, that are never employed in joining the members of a sen- 
 tence, so there are several conjunctions appropriated to the latter 
 use, which are never employed in the former ; and some that are 
 equally adapted to both these purposes. This distinction in con- 
 nectives will be found in different instances to flow from differ- 
 ent sources. In some it is a natural distinction arising from the 
 very import of the words; in which case we shall always find, on 
 inquiry, that it obtains alike in every tongue. In other instances, 
 
 *For. t Then, therefore. 
 
 J Add to this, in like manner, on the contrary, in short, to proceed, to return, 
 to conclude. We might produce phrases, if necessary, corresponding to each 
 ,of the above orders. 
 
 Such are some adverbs of time, as then, signifying at that time, hitherto, 
 formerly; of place, as here, thus far; of order, as first, secondly, finally; of 
 resemblance, as thus, accordingly ; of contrariety, as else, otherwise, contrariwise.
 
 Chap. V, OF RHETORIC. 437 
 
 it is a distinction merely customary, founded on the usages which 
 prevail in a particular language. 
 
 As to those particles which are naturally fitted for conjoining 
 clauses and members, but not sentences, they are chiefly the com- 
 parative*, the hypothetical f, and the intentional :{:. Let it not be 
 imagined, that because a conjunction, which falls under one or other 
 of these denominations, is often found in the beginning of a sen- 
 tence, it serves to couple the sentence with that which went before. 
 Such a connexive will always be discovered, on examination, to 
 have no reference to any thing without the sentence. Consider the 
 following examples: " If ye love me, ye will keep my command- 
 " ments." " Tho' I tell you what I am, ye will not believe me." 
 " That I might save sinners, I came into the world." It is mani- 
 fest that the conjunction, wherewith each of these sentences begins, 
 marks singly the relation that subsists between the two following 
 clauses, or the nature of the dependence which the one has on the 
 other. It is not even implied in the expression, that any thing had 
 been said before. Accordingly, the same sense, without any varia- 
 tion, is expressed when the clauses are transposed; though some- 
 times the one arrangement will exhibit it with greater energy than 
 the other. Thus, ' Ye will keep my commandments, if ye love 
 * me;' 'Ye will not believe me, though I tell you what I am;' 
 and, ' I came into the world, that I might save sinners,' are pre- 
 cisely the same sentiments with those contained in the examples 
 produced. 
 
 But may not the subordinate part connected with the additional 
 particle, properly constitute one sentence, and the declaration ano- 
 ther? Impossible. Every sentence must contain the enunciation 
 of some proposition distinctly intelligible by itself, and expressive 
 of some judgment, desire, or purpose of the speaker. But what 
 only points to the motive or condition of something yet untold, 
 answers none of these ends. Thus the words " Unless ye repent," 
 enunciate nothing, and therefore convey to the hearer no informa- 
 tion of judgment, purpose, or desire. They give indeed the expec- 
 tation of such information, and thereby keep up the attention, till 
 we hear what follows. No sooner are the words " ye shall perish" 
 added, than we have the explicit declaration of a certain judgment 
 or sentiment of the speaker. For this reason, grammarians have 
 justly remarked, that in every sentence there must be a verb in the 
 indicative mood either expressed or implied. In all the three ex- 
 amples above given, we have it expressed in the second clause of 
 
 * Than t B ^ 10 ' altho', when, unless, except. 
 
 \ That, so that, insomuch that, lest.
 
 438 THE PHILOSOPHY Bool III. 
 
 their original form ; the verb in the hypothetical part, and in that 
 which marks the intention, is properly in the subjunctive or poten- 
 tial. It matters not whether the mood be distinguished by inflec- 
 tion, arrangement, or particles. In commands, interrogations, and 
 wishes, the indicative is not expressed but implied, and by the 
 idiom of the tongue suggested to the understanding with sufficient 
 clearness. The interrogative, and the optative, as well as the im- 
 perative, are, in respect of sense, totally distinct from the two moods 
 above mentioned ; though in most languages distinguished only by 
 particles or arrangement*. Thus, though in these three sentences, 
 " Go away;" " Will ye g*o away?" and " O that ye would go away;'' 
 there is properly no indicative expressed, yet it is so manifestly im- 
 plied, that none who understands the language can be at a loss to 
 perceive, that each of them fully enunciates a certain affection of 
 the speaker, a command, request, or wish. They signify neither 
 more nor less than 'I command you to go away;' ' I desire to be 
 informed whether ye will go away;' and * I wish that ye would go 
 * away.' 
 
 What hath been said of the conditional and intentional particles, 
 holds still more evidently of the comparative particle than, \vhich 
 as frequently it doth not even need to be followed by a verb in any 
 mood, so it can never begin the sentence without a manifest hyper- 
 baton. The particle as is sometimes strictly a comparative con- 
 junction. Such it is in these words, " As your fathers did, so do 
 ye." In this case it falls under the same predicament with the con- 
 ditional connectives. Sometimes it is equivalent to thus, and may 
 be still called a comparative particle, as it intimates some resem- 
 blance in that which follows to that which preceded. But this is 
 also effected by the copulatives likewise, and in like manner. Such 
 it is in the beginning of this similitude, 
 
 As when an angel by divine command*. 
 
 In this case it evidently connects sentences. Again, the illative is 
 perfectly adapted for connecting sentences. The inference itself 
 may very properly be expressed in a proposition distinctly enun- 
 ciated, and, therefore, independently intelligible. The conjunction 
 serves only to intimate that the reason or evidence of this judgment, 
 which may also be a distinct proposition, was assigned in the words 
 immediately preceding. This reasoning holds, in like manner, with 
 regard to the causal conjunction. The relation between the sen- 
 tences is the same; the order only is inverted; as we have here the 
 consequence before the cause. And I suppose it is- too clear to 
 need illustration, that there is nothing in the import of the words to 
 * See Hermes, B. I. chap. viii. t Addison's Campaign.
 
 Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 430 
 
 hinder copulatives and disjunctives from connecting sentences as 
 well as members, and members as well as sentences. Yet even 
 among those that are alike fitted for both purposes, there is some 
 difference in point of strength. From their very nature they do 
 not all unite the parts with equal closeness. They are like cements 
 which differ in their degrees of tenacity. Thus, the illative con- 
 junctions and the causal constitute a more intimate union, than the 
 adversative and the copulative. Again, that formed by demonstra- 
 tive pronouns seems weaker than that effected by conjunctions. So 
 much for the natural difference in the connectives resulting from 
 the different import of the words. 
 
 That there is also a great, though arbitrary difference, arising 
 from idiom, is unquestionable. In the best authors of antiquity, we 
 often meet with sentences that begin with a relative pronoun, an- 
 swering to our who, whom, or which. By all the most eminent 
 writers among the moderns, not only in English, but in other Euro- 
 pean tongues, this practice is now, I think, carefully avoided. It 
 is custom only that can make this difference. When the cause is 
 purely natural, the effect will be found the same in all languages. 
 Accordingly, what was observed above concerning the conditional, 
 intentional, and comparative conjunctions, is equally applicable to 
 every tongue. And if we consider abstractly the effect of the rela- 
 tives, we shall find, that what follows the who, whom, or which, is 
 often the enunciation of some judgment, purpose, or desire, which, 
 as it may constitute a separate sentence, serves to vindicate from the 
 charge of impropriety the usage of the ancients. Yet there is some 
 reason also on the side of the moderns. The personal pronouns do 
 but presuppose the subject, whether person or thing, to be known, 
 and, consequently, do no more than supersede the repetition of the 
 name. There can be, therefore, no doubt of the propriety of begin- 
 ning sentences with these. Whereas the relatives not only refer to 
 something immediately said, that we may know the subject of dis- 
 course, but seem so closely to connect the part which follows with 
 that which precedes, that the one makes, as it were, the description 
 of either the nominative, or the regimen of the verb, in the other. 
 In this view, they may be said to create a union too close to subsist 
 conveniently between different sentences. There is at least a risk, 
 that they will give such an ambiguous appearance to the second, 
 as to render it doubtful, whether it be a separate sentence, or a 
 member of the foregoing. For this reason, the illative wherefore, 
 as it includes the power of the pronoun which, doth not seem to 
 be so analogically used by our writers, in connecting sentences, a* 
 in connecting members..
 
 440 THE PHILOSOPHY Book 111. 
 
 Again, as an irrefragable evidence that there is a difference in 
 connectives arisjng purely from idiom, let it be observed, that we 
 find it sometimes taking place among conjunctions of the same 
 order. The causal because forms too close a union to subsist be- 
 tween separate sentences. The case is different with the causal for, 
 though in every other respect synonymous. This latter particle is 
 not adapted for uniting clauses which must necessarily be included 
 in the same sentence. As an evidence that this distinction can be 
 attributed only to custom, we may remark, that it is variable, differ- 
 ing in different ages. For instance, in Shakespeare's time, the 
 causal particles seem to have been used promiscuously. We have 
 at least in his writings several examples, in which he uses the par- 
 ticle for, where every writer at present would say because, as in 
 the following passage : 
 
 Heaven defend your good souls, that ye think, 
 
 I will your serious and great business scant, 
 
 For she is with me*. 
 
 Nay, even among the copulatives, which, of all the conjunctions, 
 are the most vague in their application, there are some that use 
 seems to have appropriated to the coupling of sentences, not of 
 members, such as again, further, besides ; and some to the uniting- 
 not of sentences so properly as of paragraphs, or even of larger 
 portions of writing, than commonly fall under that denomination, 
 such as moreover, and furthermore. 
 
 The copulative and, on the contrary, some critics are for confining 
 to the single purpose of uniting the parts within the sentence, and 
 seem to imagine, that there is some impropriety in using it for com- 
 bining sentences. But as in this opinion, from what hath been 
 evinced above, it is evident they are not supported by any arg'u- 
 ment from the import of the words, this con) unction being naturally 
 on the same footing with the other copulatives; so neither have 
 they any plea from usage in its favor. The examples for the con- 
 tested use, which might be produced from all the best authorities 
 in the language, are innumerable. But though use alone, in mat- 
 ters of language, is ever held a sufficient reason why things should 
 continue in the state wherein we find them, when there is no posi- 
 tive ground for an alteration, I shall, in the present case, where, 
 indeed, I could never discover the vestige of a reason for change, 
 produce two arguments on the opposite side against excluding this 
 particle from a privilege it hath always heretofore possessed ; argu- 
 ments which, I hope, will appear satisfactory. First, being a mono- 
 syllable, it will, on a principle above explained, if not used too 
 
 * Othello.
 
 Cha P- V - OF RHETORIC. 441 
 
 often, serve to smooth the current of the discourse; inasmuch as it 
 will render the transition from sentence to sentence easier, than it 
 is possible to render it when recourse is always had to connectives 
 of greater length. Secondly, it adds one to the number of the copu- 
 latives, and, consequently, (where variety is of importance, as it 
 certainly is here, on a principle presently to be explained), this par- 
 ticle, if not absolutely necessary, is at least convenient. 
 
 My second observation is, that one of the best expedients for pre- 
 venting the connexives from becoming too conspicuous, is to avoid 
 the frequent recurrence to the same particles, especially if they 
 consist of more than one syllable. And if so, with still greater 
 reason must we avoid recurring often to the same conjunctive 
 phrases. 
 
 I do not deny that there are cases wherein the repetition even of 
 a conjunction, like other rhetorical repetitions, may add to the 
 energy of the expression. Thus, when several successive sentences 
 bear the same relation to one that preceded, or to one that is to 
 follow, this containing- the common cause, consequence, motive, or 
 concomitant of what is signified in those, they may be ushered more 
 emphatically, by repeating the connexive than by varying it. The 
 common relation gives a propriety to the figure. But such cases 
 are rare and easily distinguished. As to those which usually occur 
 to the composer, it may be asserted to hold universally, that nothing 
 will contribute more to enfeeble the style, than frequently to recur 
 to the same heavy conjunctions, or long connectives, whatever they 
 be. The now, and, for, but, nay, nor, have this advantage from 
 their brevity, that though often repeated, they pass almost unno- 
 ticed. But who, that hath any taste, can endure the incessant quick 
 returns of the also's and the likewise's, and the moreover's, and the 
 however's, and the notwithstanding^? An excess in these is in- 
 supportable. It is a maxim in elocution that will not often be found 
 to fail, that in the use of the more ignoble parts of speech, there is 
 greater need of variety than in the use of such as are of higher qua- 
 lity. The very significance of the nobler parts doth, as it were, 
 support their dignity; but since the attendance of the less noble is 
 necessary, shift them oftener, obtrude not on us always the same 
 individuals, and we shall have less leisure to criticise them, or to ad- 
 vert to their insignificance. 
 
 The third remark I shall make on this subject is, that another 
 useful expedient for answering the same end, is to vary the situa- 
 tion of the conjunction, wherever the idiom of the tongue and the 
 harmony of the sentence will permit the variation. The place where 
 we should naturally expect to find it, when it connects two sen-
 
 442 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. 
 
 tences, is doubtless the beginning of the second. But in most lan- 
 guages a little latitude is indulged on this article. In those cases, 
 therefore, which admit this freedom, one, two, or more words may 
 precede the conjunction, and serve as a cover to render it less ob- 
 servable. In the beginning it stands by itself; whereas, placed in 
 the manner now mentioned, it may be said to stand in a crowd. But 
 no tongue whatever gives this indulgence in assigning a place to 
 every connexive. 
 
 With us in particular, no monosyllabic conjunction, except the 
 illative then, can be thus transposed*. Our language, however, 
 hath been abundantly indulgent (where indulgence is of greater 
 consequence) in the power it gives us in the disposal of those which 
 consist of more than one syllable. Thus almost all the copula- 
 tives which come under this denomination!, the disjunctives, how- 
 ever, and nevertheless J , and the illative therefore, may be shifted 
 to the second, the third, the fourth place, or even further. 
 
 It would be difficult to assign a satisfactory reason for the differ- 
 ence that hath been made in this respect, between conjunctions of 
 one syllable, and those of more. Yet we have ground to believe, 
 that it is not merely accidental, as some traces of the same dis- 
 tinction are to be found in most languages . It will indeed ap- 
 pear, from what hath been illustrated above, that the monosyllabic 
 conjunctions need not be managed with the same address as the 
 others, there not being the same hazard that they would soon be- 
 come tiresome. On the contrary, it may be said, that being of 
 themselves so inconsiderable, it is necessary that their situation be 
 ascertained, in order to give them that degree of influence, without 
 which they could not answer the purpose even of conjunctions. 
 
 * There is another monosyllabic conjunction, which, even when it connects 
 sentences, is not placed in the beginning of the second. But this implies no 
 transposition, as the first place could not be assigned to it without the violation 
 of universal practice. The particle I mean is the conjunction too, when it sig- 
 nifies also. Thus we say, " He too was included in the act of indemnity." To 
 say, ' Too he,' would not be English. 
 
 j- The copulative again cannot conveniently be transposed, as it would scarce- 
 ly fail to occasion an ambiguity, and be mistaken for the adverb signifying a se- 
 cond time. 
 
 \ The disjunctive whereas is never transposed. 
 
 In Latin, for example, the monosyllabic conjunctions, et, sed, nam, when 
 they connect two sentences, regularly maintain their place in the beginning of 
 the second; whereas, to the dissyllables, quoque, autem, enim, more latitude is 
 allowed. In French too, the monosyllables et, mais, car, have invariably the 
 same situation. It is otherwise with aussi, pourtant, pourquoi; though there is 
 not so great freedom allowed in arranging them, as in the English dissyllabic con- 
 junctions.
 
 Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 443 
 
 But it may be argued against the solution now given, and, in- 
 deed, against the whole of the precedent reasoning on this article, 
 ' How few, if any, have ever reflected on the different effects of these 
 ' different arrangements? Or how could a difference, not reflected 
 
 * on, give rise to a difference in the laws by which their respective 
 
 * places are assigned them?' To this I answer, that taste alone, 
 whose general principles are the same in every people, and which, 
 like every appetite, seeks its own gratification, produceth insensi- 
 bly, as it improves, and even where there is no direct intention, an 
 improvement in the language, as well as in the arts. It is by gra- 
 dual, and what may be termed implicit compact, that the language, 
 like the common law of every nation, hath obtained at first an 
 establishment among them. It is to the same cause that the alter- 
 ations to the better or to the worse, as knowledge and taste advance 
 or decline among the people, are afterwards to be ascribed. That 
 there should ever have been any formal or explicit convention or 
 contrivance in this case, is an hypothesis in my opinion, not only 
 unsupported by reason, but repugnant to it. It is the province of 
 criticism and philosophy, which appear much later than language, 
 being of much slower growth, and to which close attention and re- 
 flection are not less requisite than taste, to investigate the latent 
 causes in the principles of taste, by which the various changes have 
 been actually, though in a manner imperceptibly, produced. 
 
 My fourth observation is, that though certain circumstances re- 
 quire, that one connexive be immediately followed by another, the 
 accumulating of these without necessity ought always to be avoid- 
 ed. There are some complex conjunctions, which appear to be 
 two, because in writing custom hath not combined the parts into 
 one word, but are properly one in import and effect. Such are, as 
 if, so that, iasomuch that, and a few others. Of these I am not now 
 speaking. 
 
 As to those between which, though adjoined in situation, there is 
 no coalition in sense, let it be observed, that there are cases in 
 which propriety requires the aid of more than one ; there are 
 cases in which the idiom of the language permits the use of more 
 
 that, on the contrary, there are cases in which propriety rejects 
 
 the union altogether; and, lastly, there are cases in which idiom 
 rejects it. Each of these four classes I shall consider severally. 
 
 First, as to the cases wherein propriety requires the aid of more 
 than one connexive, it was remarked formerly, that some conjunc- 
 tions are limited to the use of connecting words and members, 
 whilst others are employed indiscriminately for the connection of 
 words, members, or sentences. When one of each kind meets in
 
 444 THE PHILOSOPHY Booh III. 
 
 the beginning of a sentence, the intention of the first is generally 
 to express the relation which the sentence bears to that immediately 
 preceding; and the intention of the second, to express the depen- 
 dence of the one clause on the other, in the sentence so introduced. 
 Take the following passage of scripture for an example : " I go to 
 " prepare a place for you. AND if' I go to prepare a place for you ; 
 " I will come again, and receive you to myself*." The copula- 
 tive, and, connects the two sentences. The hypothetical conjunc- 
 tion, if, serves only to mark the first member of the last sentence, as 
 the condition or limitation of the promise contained in the second 
 member. The reader will observe, that I have distinguished the 
 different applications of the two conjunctions in this example by a 
 difference in the character in which they are printed. I intend, for 
 the sake of perspicuity, to adopt the same method in the other ex- 
 amples which are to be produced. But it is not copulatives only 
 that may be thus combined with conditional particles. The causal, 
 illative, and adversative, may all be employed in the same way. 
 The first of these is exemplified in the following quotation : " Let 
 " us not say, we keep the commandments of the one, when we 
 " break the commandments of the other. FOR unless we observe 
 " both, we obey neither f." The above instances will serve to il- 
 lustrate the observation in all other combinations with connectives 
 of the same order. For an example of the like construction in the 
 conjunction that, these words of the poet will suffice; 
 
 If there's a power above us ; 
 AND that there is, all Nature cries aloud 
 Thro' all her works; he must delight in virtue J. 
 
 It is not material that the whole is here comprised in one sentence. 
 The first conjunction serves to unite the member that precedes with 
 that which follows ; the second to exhibit the connection that sub- 
 sists between the succeeding' clauses. And what relation two con- 
 nected complex sentences bear to the members of each, that rela- 
 tion bear the members of a complicated sentence to the clauses of 
 which they consist. It was said, that the first of two conjunctions 
 so placed is generally the connexive of the sentences, and that the 
 second marks the relation subsisting between the members of the 
 sentence which ensues. This holds generally, but not always. If 
 the connective of the sentences be one of those particles, which, 
 agreeably to the third observation, the idiom of the language per- 
 mits us to transpose, it may properly possess the second place, and 
 the other the first, as in the example following : " It is of the ut- 
 " most importance to us, that we associate principally with the wise 
 * John xiv. 2, 3. t Hooker. t Addison's Cato.
 
 Chap. V. OF RHETORIC. 445 
 
 " and virtuous. When, THEREFORE, we choose our companions, we 
 " ought to be extremely careful in regard to the choice we make." 
 The second conjunction, therefore, is that which connects the senten- 
 ces. The first conjunction, when, hath no relation to any thing be- 
 yond the second sentence. The only examples I have yet produc- 
 ed, are those wherein one of the conjunctions is by its nature always 
 appropriated to the subordinate use of connecting the parts of a 
 sentence. But even where the two connectives are alike suscept- 
 ible of both uses, the structure of the expression may sufficiently 
 evince, that the one is employed solely to connect the sentence to 
 what precedes in the discourse, and the other solely to conjoin the 
 members, as in the following example : " Such is the probable con- 
 " sequence of the measure I now recommend. BUT however this 
 " may succeed, our duty is the same." Of the different applica- 
 tions of the two conjunctions in this passage, there cannot be the 
 smallest doubt. Sometimes a decompound sentence may be usher- 
 ed by no fewer than three successive conjunctions; the first be- 
 ing- the connexive of the sentences ; the second that which ascer- 
 tains the relation of the members of the sentence thus introduced ; 
 the third that which indicates the connection of the clauses of the 
 first member of that sentence, as in the subsequent example, " To 
 " those who do not love God, the enjoyment of him is unattainable. 
 " NOW AS that we may love God, | it is necessary to know him; 
 " so that we may know God, | it is necessary to study his works." 
 The conjunction, NOW, connects this period with the preceding sen- 
 tence ; AS is expressive of the relation which the first member bears 
 to the second, beginning with so ; that indicates the dependence of 
 the first clause of the first member, " we may love God," on the se- 
 cond clause, " it is necessary to know him ;" and corresponds to 
 the conjunction that, which follows the so, in the beginning of the 
 second member, and which, in like manner, indicates the depen- 
 dence of the first clause of the second member, " we may know 
 " God," on the last clause, " it is necessary to study his works." 
 But though the introduction of two conjunctions having different 
 references in the manner above explained, is perfectly compatible 
 with the rules of good writing, and often inevitable ; I cannot say 
 so much for the admission of three, whose various applications must 
 distract the attention, and so create a confusion and difficulty alike 
 inconsistent with the principles of perspicuity, of vivacity, or of 
 elegance. 
 
 Secondly, as to those cases wherein we cannot say propriety re- 
 quires, but the idiom of the language permits the use of more than 
 one connexive, they are either when the connexives are of the same
 
 446 THE PHILOSOPHY Book III. 
 
 order; for instance, in the copulatives, and further, and in like 
 manner ; in tile adversatives, but however ; in the exceptives, yet 
 nevertheless, yet notwithstanding-. With regard to such combina- 
 tions we may safely pronounce, that if the use of synonimas, even 
 in the more significant parts of speech, are for the most part incom- 
 patible with vivacity and strength, the like use in the more insig- 
 nificant, and consequently weaker parts, must be still more excep- 
 tionable. Again, when the connectives are of different, but not 
 opposite orders, idiom often permits the concurrence of two, though 
 the reference of both is the same; that is, though both are intended 
 merely to connect the sentence with that which preceded. Thus the 
 copulative is often combined with the illative, and therefore, or 
 with a particle expressive of order, and thirdly; the causal with a 
 particle expressing opposition, for else, for otherwise ; a disjunc- 
 tive with such a particle or phrase, or on the contrary; an adver- 
 sative with an exceptive, but yet; a comparative with a copulative, 
 as also. It were endless to enumerate all that idiom permits us in 
 this manner to conjoin. It is only by attending to the practice of 
 good authors, that it can perfectly be learnt. It is not to be ques- 
 tioned, that in some instances, the use of two connectives, though 
 not absolutely necessary, may be expedient both for rounding the 
 period, and for expressing more perfectly the relation of the senten- 
 ces. But they are much more commonly the effect either of negli- 
 gence or of a vitiated taste in what concerns composition, and are 
 often to be met with in the middling class of writers. The follow- 
 ing will serve as an example of this manner: "Although he was 
 " close taken up with the affairs of the nation, nevertheless he did 
 " not neglect the concerns of his friends." Either of the conjunc- 
 tions would have done better than both. An author of this stamp 
 will begin a sentence thus, ' Whereas, on the other hand, suppos- 
 * ing that'_Who sees not, that ' If, on the contrary' would ex- 
 press the same connection with more energy, as well as brevity? 
 When a speaker interlards his discourse with such accumulated 
 connectives, he always suggests to a judicious hearer, the idea of 
 one that wants to gain time, till he cast about for something to say. 
 Yet this fault is certainly more pardonable in speaking than in 
 writing. The composer may take his own time, being under no 
 necessity of writing- faster than he can provide and dispose his ma- 
 terials. The slowness of his invention will not be betrayed to the 
 reader by any method more readily than by that which the speaker 
 is sometimes forced to use in order to conceal it. 
 
 Thirdly, as to those cases in which propriety itself forbids the 
 concurrence of two conjunctions, it is impossible we should fall in-
 
 Chap, V. OF RHETORIC. 447 
 
 to a mistake. They are always distinguished by some repugnancy 
 in the import of the words which even common sense shows to be 
 incompatible. Such are a copulative with a disjunctive, a causal 
 with an illative, a particle expressive of resemblance, with one ex- 
 pressive of contrariety. 
 
 Fourthly, as to those cases in which idiom alone forbids the con- 
 course. These are to be learnt only by practice. Thus idiom per- 
 mits the junction of a copulative with an illative particle, but never 
 with a causal. We may say, and therefore, but not and for. We 
 are not to seek the reason of this difference in the import of the 
 terms, but in the custom of applying them. Again, idiom permits 
 the use of two copulatives, but not of every two. We may say, 
 and also, and likewise, but not also likewise. Two causal conjunc- 
 tions are not now associated, as for because, nor two illatives, as 
 therefore then. Yet in the dialect which obtained in the begin- 
 ning of the last century, these modes of expression were common. 
 Indeed, some of those heavy connectives which are now but little 
 used, as moreover, furthermore, over and above, are all but combi- 
 nations of synonimous particles, and flow from a disposition which 
 will perhaps ever be found to prevail where style is in its infancy. 
 
 The fifth and last observation I shall make on this subject, is, 
 that it is not necessary, that all the sentences in any kind of com- 
 position should be linked together by connective particles. I know 
 of no rules that have ever been laid down for our direction in this 
 particular. But as it always hath been, so, for aught I can per- 
 ceive, it always will be, left to taste alone to determine when these 
 particles ought to be used, and when omitted. All that occurs to 
 me as being of any service on this head, may be comprised in the 
 two following remarks. The first is, that the illative conjunctions, 
 the causal and the disjunctive, when they suit the sense, can more 
 rarely be d ispensed with than the copulative. The second is, that the 
 omission of copulatives always succeeds best, when the connexion 
 of the thoughts is either very close or very distant. It is mostly in 
 the intermediate cases that the conjunction is deemed necessary. 
 When the connexion in thought is very distant, the copulative ap- 
 pears absurd, and when very close, superfluous. For the first of 
 these reasons, it is seldom that we meet with it in the beginning of 
 a chapter, section, or even paragraph, except in the Bible ; and for 
 the second, that it is frequently dropt in familiar narrative, where 
 the connection is so obvious as to render it useless. 
 
 THE END.
 
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