_A DIGRESSION IN PRAISE OF DIGRESSIONS_.
I HAVE sometimes heard of an Iliad in a nut-shell, but it has been my
fortune to have much oftener seen a nut-shell in an Iliad. There is no
doubt that human life has received most wonderful advantages from both;
but to which of the two the world is chiefly indebted, I shall leave
among the curious as a problem worthy of their utmost inquiry. For the
invention of the latter, I think the commonwealth of learning is chiefly
obliged to the great modern improvement of digressions. The late
refinements in knowledge, running parallel to those of diet in our
nation, which among men of a judicious taste are dressed up in various
compounds, consisting in soups and olios, fricassees and ragouts.
It is true there is a sort of morose, detracting, ill-bred people who
pretend utterly to disrelish these polite innovations. And as to the
similitude from diet, they allow the parallel, but are so bold as to
pronounce the example itself a corruption and degeneracy of taste. They
tell us that the fashion of jumbling fifty things together in a dish was
at first introduced in compliance to a depraved and debauched appetite,
as well as to a crazy constitution, and to see a man hunting through an
olio after the head and brains of a goose, a widgeon, or a woodcock, is a
sign he wants a stomach and digestion for more substantial victuals.
Further, they affirm that digressions in a book are like foreign troops
in a state, which argue the nation to want a heart and hands of its own,
and often either subdue the natives, or drive them into the most
unfruitful corners.
But after all that can be objected by these supercilious censors, it is
manifest the society of writers would quickly be reduced to a very
inconsiderable number if men were put upon making books with the fatal
confinement of delivering nothing beyond what is to the purpose. It is
acknowledged that were the case the same among us as with the Greeks and
Romans, when learning was in its cradle, to be reared and fed and clothed
by invention, it would be an easy task to fill up volumes upon particular
occasions without further expatiating from the subject than by moderate
excursions, helping to advance or clear the main design. But with
knowledge it has fared as with a numerous army encamped in a fruitful
country, which for a few days maintains itself by the product of the soil
it is on, till provisions being spent, they send to forage many a mile
among friends or enemies, it matters not. Meanwhile the neighbouring
fields, trampled and beaten down, become barren and dry, affording no
sustenance but clouds of dust.
The whole course of things being thus entirely changed between us and the
ancients, and the moderns wisely sensible of it, we of this age have
discovered a shorter and more prudent method to become scholars and wits,
without the fatigue of reading or of thinking. The most accomplished way
of using books at present is twofold: either first to serve them as some
men do lords, learn their titles exactly, and then brag of their
acquaintance; or, secondly, which is indeed the choicer, the profounder,
and politer method, to get a thorough insight into the index by which the
whole book is governed and turned, like fishes by the tail. For to enter
the palace of learning at the great gate requires an expense of time and
forms, therefore men of much haste and little ceremony are content to get
in by the back-door. For the arts are all in a flying march, and
therefore more easily subdued by attacking them in the rear. Thus
physicians discover the state of the whole body by consulting only what
comes from behind. Thus men catch knowledge by throwing their wit on the
posteriors of a book, as boys do sparrows with flinging salt upon their
tails. Thus human life is best understood by the wise man’s rule of
regarding the end. Thus are the sciences found, like Hercules’ oxen, by
tracing them backwards. Thus are old sciences unravelled like old
stockings, by beginning at the foot.
Besides all this, the army of the sciences hath been of late with a world
of martial discipline drawn into its close order, so that a view or a
muster may be taken of it with abundance of expedition. For this great
blessing we are wholly indebted to systems and abstracts, in which the
modern fathers of learning, like prudent usurers, spent their sweat for
the ease of us their children. For labour is the seed of idleness, and
it is the peculiar happiness of our noble age to gather the fruit.
Now the method of growing wise, learned, and sublime having become so
regular an affair, and so established in all its forms, the number of
writers must needs have increased accordingly, and to a pitch that has
made it of absolute necessity for them to interfere continually with each
other. Besides, it is reckoned that there is not at this present a
sufficient quantity of new matter left in Nature to furnish and adorn any
one particular subject to the extent of a volume. This I am told by a
very skilful computer, who hath given a full demonstration of it from
rules of arithmetic.
This perhaps may be objected against by those who maintain the infinity
of matter, and therefore will not allow that any species of it can be
exhausted. For answer to which, let us examine the noblest branch of
modern wit or invention planted and cultivated by the present age, and
which of all others hath borne the most and the fairest fruit. For
though some remains of it were left us by the ancients, yet have not any
of those, as I remember, been translated or compiled into systems for
modern use. Therefore we may affirm, to our own honour, that it has in
some sort been both invented and brought to a perfection by the same
hands. What I mean is, that highly celebrated talent among the modern
wits of deducing similitudes, allusions, and applications, very
surprising, agreeable, and apposite, from the signs of either sex,
together with their proper uses. And truly, having observed how little
invention bears any vogue besides what is derived into these channels, I
have sometimes had a thought that the happy genius of our age and country
was prophetically held forth by that ancient typical description of the
Indian pigmies whose stature did not exceed above two feet, _sed quorum
pudenda crassa_, _et ad talos usque pertingentia_. Now I have been very
curious to inspect the late productions, wherein the beauties of this
kind have most prominently appeared. And although this vein hath bled so
freely, and all endeavours have been used in the power of human breath to
dilate, extend, and keep it open, like the Scythians {116}, who had a
custom and an instrument to blow up those parts of their mares, that they
might yield the more milk; yet I am under an apprehension it is near
growing dry and past all recovery, and that either some new _fonde_ of
wit should, if possible, be provided, or else that we must e’en be
content with repetition here as well as upon all other occasions.
This will stand as an uncontestable argument that our modern wits are not
to reckon upon the infinity of matter for a constant supply. What
remains, therefore, but that our last recourse must be had to large
indexes and little compendiums? Quotations must be plentifully gathered
and booked in alphabet. To this end, though authors need be little
consulted, yet critics, and commentators, and lexicons carefully must.
But above all, those judicious collectors of bright parts, and flowers,
and observandas are to be nicely dwelt on by some called the sieves and
boulters of learning, though it is left undetermined whether they dealt
in pearls or meal, and consequently whether we are more to value that
which passed through or what stayed behind.
By these methods, in a few weeks there starts up many a writer capable of
managing the profoundest and most universal subjects. For what though
his head be empty, provided his commonplace book be full? And if you
will bate him but the circumstances of method, and style, and grammar,
and invention; allow him but the common privileges of transcribing from
others, and digressing from himself as often as he shall see occasion, he
will desire no more ingredients towards fitting up a treatise that shall
make a very comely figure on a bookseller’s shelf, there to be preserved
neat and clean for a long eternity, adorned with the heraldry of its
title fairly inscribed on a label, never to be thumbed or greased by
students, nor bound to everlasting chains of darkness in a library, but
when the fulness of time is come shall happily undergo the trial of
purgatory in order to ascend the sky.
Without these allowances how is it possible we modern wits should ever
have an opportunity to introduce our collections listed under so many
thousand heads of a different nature, for want of which the learned world
would be deprived of infinite delight as well as instruction, and we
ourselves buried beyond redress in an inglorious and undistinguished
oblivion?
From such elements as these I am alive to behold the day wherein the
corporation of authors can outvie all its brethren in the field—a
happiness derived to us, with a great many others, from our Scythian
ancestors, among whom the number of pens was so infinite that the Grecian
eloquence had no other way of expressing it than by saying that in the
regions far to the north it was hardly possible for a man to travel, the
very air was so replete with feathers.
The necessity of this digression will easily excuse the length, and I
have chosen for it as proper a place as I could readily find. If the
judicious reader can assign a fitter, I do here empower him to remove it
into any other corner he please. And so I return with great alacrity to
pursue a more important concern.