may be conveyed with that address, that he shall not appear, I mean to
any but the more sagacious and discerning, to be _written against_ at
all. This curious feat of _leger-de-main_ is performed _by glancing
at his arguments without so much as naming the person or referring to
him_. This I account the most delicate and flattering of all the arts
of literary address, as it expresseth all the respect, I have taken
notice of under the preceding article, heightened with a certain awe
and fear of offence, which to a liberal mind, I should think, must
be perfectly irresistible. It is with much pleasure I observe many
examples of this kind in your truly candid dissertation, where without
the least reference, or under the slight cover of—_some friends of
Virgil say_[121]—_some commentators have thought_[122]—_Virgil’s friends
suppose_[123]—and the like, you have dexterously and happily slid in
a censure of some of your friend’s principal reasonings. But, to be
impartial, though you manage this matter with admirable grace, the secret
is in many hands. And whatever be the cause, hath been more frequently
employed in the case of the author of the D. L. than any other. I could
mention, at least, a dozen famous writers, who, like the flatterers of
Augustus, don’t chuse to look him full in the face, but artfully intimate
their reverence of him by indirect glances. If I single out one of
these from all the rest it is only to gratify the admirers of a certain
eminent PROFESSOR[124] who, as an Oxford friend writes me word, hath many
delightful instances of this sort in his very edifying discourses on the
HEBREW POETRY.
FOURTHLY, Another contrivance of near affinity to this, is, when you
oppose his principles indeed, _but let his arguments quite alone_. Of
this management a wary reader will discover many traces in your obliging
discourse. And can any thing be more generous than to ease a man of the
shame of seeing his own reasonings confuted, or even produced when the
writer’s purpose requires him to pay no regard to them? Such tenderness,
I think, though it is pretended to by others, can, of right, belong only
to the true friend. But your kindness knows no bounds. For,
FIFTHLY, Though you find yourself sometimes obliged to produce and
confute his reasonings, _you take care to furnish him with better of
your own_. The delicacy of this conduct lies in the good opinion, which
is insinuated of the writer’s conclusion, and in the readiness which you
shew to support it even in spite of himself. There is a choice instance
in that part of your discourse, where agreeing with your friend that the
punishments of _Tartarus_ are properly _eternal_, you reject his reason
for that conclusion, but supply him with many others in its stead.
“This alone will not prove the eternity of punishments for, _&c._—BUT
if to this you add the Platonic doctrine, that very wicked spirits were
never released from _Tartarus_, AND the silence of _Virgil_ as to any
dismission from that jail, AND the censure of the _Epicureans_, who
objected to religious systems the eternity of punishments,
_Æternas quoniam pœnas in morte timendum_;
AND the general doctrine of the mythologists, AND the opinion of SERVIUS,
that VIRGIL was to be taken in this sense, we may conclude that the
punishments in his Tartarus were probably eternal[125].”
Never let men talk after this of the niggardliness of your friendship,
when, though you take from him with one hand, you restore him five-fold
with the other.
After such an overflow of goodness, nothing I can now advance will seem
incredible. I take upon me to affirm therefore,
SIXTHLY, That it is a mere calumny to say that you have contented
yourself, though you very well might, with mere _negative_ encomiums.
You can venture on occasion to _quote from your friend in form_, and,
as it should seem, with some _apparent approbation_. An instance is
now before me. You cite what the author of the D. L. says of “_the
transformation of the ships into sea deities_, by which, says he, VIRGIL
would insinuate, I suppose, the great advantage of cultivating a naval
power, such as extended commerce and the dominion of the ocean: which in
poetical language is becoming _deities of the sea_.”
To which you add, “In _favour_ of this opinion it may be further
observed, that AUGUSTUS owed his empire in a great measure to his naval
victories[126].”
Now can any thing be civiler than this, or more expressive of that
amiable turn of mind, which disposes a man to help forward a lame
argument of his friend, and give it the needful support of his authority?
For it hath been delivered as a maxim by the nice observers of decorum,
that wherever you would compliment another on his opinion, you should
always endeavour to add something of your own that may insinuate at
least some little defect in it. This management takes of the appearance
of _flattery_, a vice which the Latin writers, alluding to this
frequency of unqualified assent, have properly enough expressed by the
word ASSENTATIO. But catch you tripping in this way if one can. It is
plain you went on this just principle in the instance before us, which
otherwise, let me tell you, I should have taken for something like an
attempt towards downright adulation. As here qualified, I set it down for
another instance of just compliment, more direct indeed than the other
_five_, yet still with that graceful obliquity which they who know the
world, expect in this sort of commerce. And I may further observe, that
you are not singular in the use of this mode of celebration. Many even of
the enemies of this author have obligingly enough employed it when they
wanted to confirm their own notions by his, or rather to shew their parts
in first catching a hint from him, and then, as they believe, improving
upon it—Still I have greater things in view. For,
SEVENTHLY, You not only with the highest address insinuate a compliment
in the way of citation, but you once or twice _express it in full
form_, and with all the circumstance of panegyrical approbation. Having
mentioned the case of the infants in Virgil’s purgatory, which hath
so much perplexed his learned commentators, you rise at once into the
following encomium. “It is an _ingenious_ conjecture proposed in the D.
L. that the poet might design to discountenance the cursed practice of
exposing and murdering infants.”
This was very liberal, and I began to think you had forgotten yourself
a little in so explicit a declaration. But the next paragraph relieved
me. “It might be added, that Virgil had perhaps _also_ in view to please
Augustus, who was desirous of encouraging matrimony and the education
of children, and extremely intent upon repeopling Italy which had been
exhausted by the civil wars[127].” It is plain you have still in your eye
that sage rule which the men of manners lay down, of _qualifying_ your
civilities. So that I let this pass without farther observation. Only I
take leave to warn you against the too frequent use of this artifice,
which but barely satisfies for calling your friend’s notion “_an
ingenious conjecture_.”
Not but are there others who see this contrivance in another light, and
treat it as an art of _damning with faint praise_; a censure which one
of the zealot friends presumes to cast, with much injustice and little
knowledge of the world, on the very leader and pride of our party.
Whereas I deliver it for a most certain truth, that the fainter and
feebler our praise of any man is, just so much the better will it be
received by all companies, even by the generality of those who call
themselves his best friends. And so apprehensive indeed am I of this nice
humour in mankind, that I am not sure if the very slight things I am
forced to say of yourself, though merely to carry on the purpose of this
address, will not by certain persons, inwardly at least, be ill taken.
And with this needful apology for myself I proceed to celebrate,
EIGHTHLY, The last and highest instance of your civilities to your
admired friend, which yet I hope to vindicate from any reasonable
suspicion of flattery; I presumed to say in the foregoing article that
you had _once or twice_ hazarded even a direct compliment on the person
whose system you oppose. I expressed myself with accuracy. There is
_one other_ place in your dissertation, where you make this sacrifice
to friendship or to custom. The passage is even wrought up into a
resemblance of that unqualified adulation, which I condemn so much, and
from which, in general, your writings are perfectly free. I could almost
wish for your credit to suppress this one obnoxious paragraph. But it
runs thus,
“That the subterraneous adventures of Æneas were intended by Virgil to
represent the _initiation_ of his heroe, is an _elegant_ conjecture,
which hath been laid before the public, and set forth to the best
advantage _by a learned friend_[128].”
I confess to you I did not know at first sight what to do with the
two high-flown epithets, _elegant_ and _learned_, which stand so near
together in one sentence. Such accumulated praises had well-nigh overset
my system. And I began with much solicitude to consider how I should be
able to reconcile this escape of your pen with your general practice.
But taking a little time to look about me, I presently spied a way of
extricating both of us from this difficulty. For hang it, thought I,
if this notion of the heroe’s adventures in the infernal regions be
_elegant_, it is but a conjecture; and so poor a matter as this were
hardly worth pursuing, as the author of the D. L. hath done, through
almost a fourth part of a very sizeable volume.
And then as to the term _elegant_, to be sure it hath a good sound; but
more than a _third_ part of this choice volume of yours, I observed,
is employed in making appear that the conjecture, whatever it be, hath
not the least feature of _truth_ in it. And _elegance_, altogether
devoid of truth, was, I concluded, a very pitiful thing, and indeed no
very intelligible encomium. Well, but let there be as little truth as
you will, in this conjecture, still it _hath been set forth to the best
advantage_, and to crown all _by a learned friend_. Here a swarm of fresh
difficulties attacked me. _Sed nil desperandum te duce._ For why talk of
_advantage_, when the conjecture after all would not bear the handling?
It was but mighty little (your friendship would not let you do more)
which you had brought against it. And the conjecture I saw, was shrunk to
nothing, and is never likely to rise again into any shape or substance.
So that when you added _by a learned friend_, I could not for my life,
help laughing. Surely, thought I, the reverend person tends on this
occasion to be pleasant.——Indeed you often are so with a very good grace,
but I happened not to expect it just at this moment.—For what _learning_
worth speaking of could there be in the support of a notion, which was so
easily overturned without any?
You may be sure I mean no reflection in these words. Nobody questions
your erudition. But it was not your fortune or your choice to make a shew
of it in this discourse. The propriety of the epithet _learned_, then,
did not evidently and immediately appear.
However, as I knew there was in truth no small quantity of learning in
the piece referred to, and that the author of the D. L. whatever BATE,
and PETERS, and JACKSON, may say or insinuate, is unquestionably, and to
a very competent degree, learned, I began to take the matter a little
more seriously. And, upon looking attentively at the words a second
time, I thought a very natural account might be given of them upon other
principles. For, as to the substantive _friend_, why might not that
for once be put in for your own sake as well as his? The advantages of
friendship are reciprocal. And though it be very clear to other people
which is the gainer by this intercourse, who knows but Dr. JORTIN, in his
great modesty, might suppose the odds to lie on his own side?
And then for _learned_, which had embarrassed me so much, I bethought
myself at last there was not much in that, this attribute having been
long prostituted on every man who pretends, in any degree, to the
profession of letters.
So that, on the whole, though I must still reckon this for an instance,
amongst others, of that due measure of respect with which your politeness
teaches you to treat your friends, yet I see no reason for charging it
with any excess of civility.
And now, Sir, having been at all this pains to justify you from the two
contrary censures of having done _too little_ and _too much_, let us see
how the account stands. Malice itself, I think, must confess that you
have not been lavish of your encomiums. You have even dispensed them
with a reserve, which, though I admire extremely, will almost expose you
to the imputation of _parsimony_. And yet, on the other hand, when we
compute the number and estimate the value of your applauses, we shalt
see cause to correct this censure. For, from the EIGHT articles I have
so carefully set down, and considered, it appears at length that you
have done all due honour to your friend, and in ways the most adapted
to do him honour. That is to say, _You have adopted his subject—You
have written against him—You have glanced at him—You have spared his
arguments—You have lent him some of your own—You have quoted him—You have
called his conjecture ingenious—Nay elegant—And you have called himself
learned_, and, what is more, _your friend_.
And if all this will not satisfy him, or rather his friends (for I hope,
and partly believe, he himself thinks nothing of this whole matter),
I know not for my part what will. I am sure (and that should be your
satisfaction, as it is mine) that you have gone as far as was consistent
with the _delicacy_ of friendship (which may reasonably imply in it a
little jealousy), and with the virtuous consciousness of that importance
which writers of your class ought to be of to themselves. And I hope
never to see the day when you shall be induced by any considerations to
compliment any man breathing at the expence of these two virtues.
And here, on a view of this whole matter, let me profess the pleasure
I take in observing that you (and I have remarked it in some others),
who have so constantly those soft words of _candour_, _goodness_, and
_charity_ in your mouth, and whose soul, one would think, was ready to
melt itself into all the weaknesses of this character, should yet have
force enough not to relent at the warmest influences of _friendship_.
Men may see by this instance that _charity_ is not that unmanly
enfeebling virtue which some would represent it, when, though ready on
fit occasions to resolve and open itself to a _general_ candour, it shuts
up the heart close and compact, and impregnable to any _particular_ and
personal attachment.
I take much delight in this pleasing contemplation. Yet, as our best
virtues, when pushed to a certain degree, are on the very point of
becoming vices, you are not to wonder that every one hath not the
discernment or the justice to do you right. And to see, in truth, the
malignity of human nature, and the necessity there was for you to
inculcate in your _third_ Discourse, _The duty of judging candidly and
favourably of others_, I will not conceal from you, at parting, what
hath been suggested to me by many persons to whom I communicated the
design of this address. “They said,” besides other things which I have
occasionally obviated in the course of this letter, “that the excellent
person whom you have allowed yourself to treat with so much indignity
and disrespect (I need not take notice that I use the very terms of the
objectors), in this poor and disingenuous criticism upon him, had set
you an example of a very different sort, which you ought in common
equity, and even decency, to have followed.” They observe that his own
pen never expatiates more freely, and with more pleasure, than when it
finds or takes an occasion to celebrate the virtues of some deserving
friend. They own the natural warmth and benevolence of his temper is even
liable to some excess on these inviting occasions. And for an instance
they referred me to a paragraph in the notes on _Julian_, which, though
I know you do not forget, I shall here set down as it stands in the last
edition. He had just been touching a piece of ecclesiastical history.
“But this,” says he, “I leave with Julian’s adventures to my learned
friend Mr. JORTIN, who, I hope, will soon oblige the public with his
curious Dissertations on Ecclesiastical Antiquity, composed like his
Life, not in the spirit of _controversy_, nor, what is worse, of _party_,
but of _truth_ and _candour_[129].”
Here, said they insultingly, is a specimen of that truly liberal spirit
with which one learned friend should exert himself when he would do
honour to another. Will all the volumes which the profound ecclesiastical
remarker hath published, or ever will publish, do him half the credit
with posterity as this single stroke, by which his name and virtues are
here adorned and ushered into the acquaintance of the public? And will
you still pretend to vindicate him from the scorn which every honest man
must have for him, after seeing how unworthily he requites this service
by his famous SIXTH DISSERTATION in this new volume?
This, and a great deal more to the same purpose, was said by them in
their tragical way. I need not hint to you, after the clear exposition
I have given of my own sentiments, how little weight their rhetoric had
on me, and how easily I turned aside this impotent, though invenomed,
invective from falling on your fame and memory. For the _compliment_
they affect to magnify so much, let every candid reader judge of it for
himself. But, as much had been said in this debate concerning FRIENDSHIP,
and the persons with whom it was most proper to contract it, I found
myself something struck with the concluding observation of one of these
rhetorical declaimers. As it was delivered in a language you love, and
is, besides, a passage not much blown upon by the dealers in such scraps,
I have thought it might, perhaps, afford you some amusement. He did not
say where he found it, and you would not like it the better if he had,
but, as I remember, it was delivered in these words: Ἐμοὶ πρὸς φιλοσόφους
ἐστὶ φιλία· πρὸς μέν τοι ΣΟΦΙΣΤΑΣ, ἢ ΓΡΑΜΜΑΤΙΣΤΑΣ, ἢ τοιοῦτο γένος ἕτερον
ΑΝΘΡΩΠΩΝ ΚΑΚΟΔΑΙΜΟΝΩΝ, ὄυτε ΝΥΝ ΕΣΤΙ ΦΙΛΙΑ ΜΗΤΕ ΥΣΤΕΡΟΝ ΠΟΤΕ ΓΕΝΟΙΤΟ.
_Lincoln’s-Inn, Nov. 25, 1755._
A
LETTER
TO
THE REV. DR. LELAND.
FIRST PRINTED IN 1764.
A
LETTER
TO THE
REV. DR. THOMAS LELAND,
FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN:
IN WHICH
HIS LATE DISSERTATION
ON THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN ELOQUENCE
IS CRITICISED;
AND
THE BISHOP OF GLOUCESTER’S
_Idea of the Nature and Character of an
inspired Language_, as delivered in his
Lordship’s _Doctrine of Grace_,
IS VINDICATED
From ALL the Objections of the learned Author
of the DISSERTATION.
A LETTER TO THE REV. DR. LELAND.
REV. SIR,
I have read your DISSERTATION _on the principles of human Eloquence_, and
shall very readily, I dare say, be indulged in the liberty, I am going
to take, of giving you my free thoughts upon it. I shall do it, with all
the regard that is due from one scholar to another; and even with all the
civility which may be required ONE, who hath his reasons for addressing
you, in this public manner, without a name.
You entitle your work _A Dissertation on the principles of Eloquence_:
but the real subject of it, is an _Opinion_, or _Paradox_, as you
chuse to term it, delivered by the Bishop of _Gloucester_ in his late
discourse _on Grace_. This opinion, indeed, concerns, or rather, in
your ideas, subverts, _the very principles_ of Eloquence, which your
office, it seems, in a learned society obliged you to maintain: so
that you cannot be blamed for giving some attention to the ingenious
Prelate’s paradox, which so incommodiously came in your way. Only the
more intelligent of your hearers might possibly think it strange that,
in a set of rhetorical lectures, addressed to them, the _Controversial_
part should so much take the lead of the _Didactic_: or rather, that the
_Didactic_ part should stand quite still, while the _Controversial_ keeps
pacing it, with much alacrity, from one end of your Dissertation to the
other.
Yet neither, on second thoughts, can you be blamed for this conduct,
which one way or other might serve to the instruction of your young
auditory; if not in _the principles of Rhetoric_, yet in a better thing,
_the principles of Logic_. It might, further, serve to another purpose,
not unworthy the regard of a rhetoric lecturer. The subject of Eloquence
has been so exhausted in the fine writings of antiquity, and, what is
worse, has been so hackneyed in modern compilations from them, that your
discourse wanted to be enlivened by the poignant controversial air, you
have given to it, and to be made important, by bringing an illustrious
character into the scene.
All this I am ready to say in your vindication, if your conduct may be
thought to require any. Having, therefore, nothing to object to the
_general design_, or _mode_ of your dissertation, I shall confine myself
entirely to the MATTER of it, after acquainting the reader, in few words,
with the occasion and subject Of this debate.
The Bishop of _Gloucester_, in late theological treatise on _the
doctrine of Grace_, which required him to speak fully to the subject of
_inspiration_, found it necessary to obviate an objection to what he
conceived to be the right notion of _inspired scripture_, which had been
supported by some ingenious men, and very lately by Dr. MIDDLETON. The
objection is delivered by the learned Doctor, in these words.
“If we allow the gift [of inspired languages] to be lasting, we must
conclude that some at least of the books of scripture were in this
inspired Greek. But we should naturally expect to find an inspired
language to be such as is worthy of God; that is, pure, clear, noble and
affecting, even beyond the force of common speech; since nothing can come
from God but what is perfect in its kind. In short, the purity of PLATO,
and the eloquence of CICERO. Now, if we try the apostolic language by
this rule, we shall be so far from ascribing it to God, that we shall
scarcely think it worthy of man, that is, of the liberal and polite; it
being utterly rude and barbarous, and abounding with every fault that can
possibly deform a language. And though some writers, prompted by a false
zeal, have attempted to defend the purity of the Scripture-Greek, their
labour has been idly employed[130].” Thus far the learned DOCTOR.
‘These triumphant observations,’ says the Bishop, ‘are founded on two
propositions, both of which he takes for granted, and yet neither of them
is true:
‘The one, That an inspired language must needs be a language of perfect
eloquence;
‘The other, That eloquence is something congenial and essential to human
speech[131].’
The BISHOP then undertakes to shew the falshood of these two
propositions. YOU, Sir, contend for the truth of the _latter_: and
controvert the principles on which the Bishop would confute the _former_.
That the reader may be enabled to judge for himself between you, I shall
quote his Lordship’s own words, paragraph by paragraph, so far as any
thing said by him is controverted by you; and shall then endeavour,
with all care, to pick up the loose ends of your argument, as I find
them any where _come up_ in the several chapters of your Dissertation;
intermixing, as I go along, such reflexions of my own, as the occasion
may suggest.
‘With regard to the FIRST proposition (resumes the Bishop) I will be bold
to affirm, that were the STYLE of the New Testament exactly such as his
[Dr. MIDDLETON’S] very exaggerated account of if would persuade us to
believe, namely that it is _utterly rude and barbarous, and abounding
with every fault that can possibly deform a language_, this is so far
from proving such language not divinely inspired, that it is one certain
mark of this original[132].’
By the manner, in which the learned Bishop introduces this _affirmation_,
one sees that he foresaw very clearly it would be esteemed a _bold_
one. Nay, in another place[133], he even takes to himself the shame,
with which some readers, he well knew, would be forward enough to cover
him, and in one word confesses his general notion of eloquence to be a
PARADOX: _which yet_, says he, _like so many others, I have had the odd
fortune to advance, will be seen to be only another name, for_ TRUTH.
After this concession, it had been more generous in you to have omitted
some invidious passages; such as that where you say, _the Bishop in his
reply to this objection_ [of Dr. MIDDLETON] _seems to have displayed
that_ BOLD OPPOSITION TO THE GENERAL OPINIONS OF MANKIND, _by which his
learned labours are distinguished_; Intr. p. ii. And again in p. vii.
where you speak of his principles as _paradoxical_, and implying AN HARDY
OPPOSITION TO THE GENERAL SENSE OF MANKIND.