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THE
WORKS
OF
RICHARD HURD, D. D.
LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.
VOL III.
Printed by J. Nichols and Son,
Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London.
THE
WORKS
OF
RICHARD HURD, D. D.
LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.
IN EIGHT VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND
1811.
MORAL AND POLITICAL
DIALOGUES.
VOL. I.
MORAL AND POLITICAL
DIALOGUES,
WITH
LETTERS
ON
CHIVALRY AND ROMANCE.
SACRED TO THE MEMORY
OF THE LATE
RALPH ALLEN, ESQ.
OF
PRIOR-PARK.
[Illustration]
SI NOBIS ANIMVM BONI VIRI LICERET INSPICERE, O QVAM PVLCHRAM FACIEM,
QVAM SANCTAM, QVAM EX MAGNIFICO PLACIDOQVE FVLGENTEM VIDEREMVS! NEMO
ILLVM AMABILEM, QVI NON SIMVL VENERABILEM, DICERET.
SENECA.
CONTENTS.
VOL. III.
PREFACE,
_On the Manner of writing Dialogue_.
DIALOGUE I.
_On Sincerity in the Commerce of the World._
DR. MORE, MR. WALLER.
DIALOGUE II.
_On Retirement._
MR. COWLEY, DR. SPRAT.
DIALOGUE III.
_On the Age of_ Q. ELIZABETH.
MR. DIGBY, DR. ARBUTHNOT, MR. ADDISON.
DIALOGUE IV.
_On the Age of_ Q. ELIZABETH.
MR. DIGBY, DR. ARBUTHNOT, MR. ADDISON.
DIALOGUE V.
_On the Constitution of the English Government._
SIR J. MAYNARD, MR. SOMERS, BP. BURNET.
VOL. IV.
DIALOGUE VI.
_On the Constitution of the English Government._
SIR J. MAYNARD, MR. SOMERS, BP. BURNET.
DIALOGUES VII, VIII.
_On the Uses of Foreign Travel._
LORD SHAFTESBURY, MR. LOCKE.
XII LETTERS
_On Chivalry and Romance_.
CONTENTS
OF
THE THIRD VOLUME.
Page
PREFACE,
_On the Manner of writing Dialogue_. 17
DIALOGUE I.
_On Sincerity in the Commerce of the World._
DR. MORE, MR. WALLER. 51
DIALOGUE II.
_On Retirement._
MR. COWLEY, DR. SPRAT. 95
DIALOGUE III, IV.
_On the Age of_ Q. ELIZABETH.
MR. DIGBY, DR. ARBUTHNOT, MR. ADDISON. 165
DIALOGUE V.
_On the Constitution of the English Government._
SIR J. MAYNARD, MR. SOMERS, BP. BURNET. 281
PREFACE,
ON
THE MANNER
OF WRITING DIALOGUE.
PREFACE,
ON THE
MANNER OF WRITING DIALOGUE.
The former editions of these Dialogues were given without a name, and
under the fictitious person of an Editor: not, the reader may be sure,
for any purpose so silly as that of imposing on the Public; but for
reasons of another kind, which it is not difficult to apprehend.
However, these reasons, whatever they were, subsisting no longer, the
writer is now to appear in his own person; and the respect he owes to
the public makes him think it fit to bespeak their acceptance of these
volumes in another manner, than he supposed would be readily permitted
to him, under his assumed character.
I. In an age, like this, when most men seem ambitious of turning
writers, many persons may think it strange that the kind of
composition, which was chiefly in use among the masters of this
numerous and stirring family, hath been hitherto neglected.
When the ANCIENTS had any thing—
“But what,” it will be said, “always the _Ancients_? And are we never
to take a pen in hand, but the first question must still be, what our
masters, the ancients, have been pleased to dictate to us? ONE man
understands, that the ancient Ode was distinguished into several parts,
called by I know not what strange names; and then truly an English Ode
must be tricked out in the same fantastic manner. ANOTHER has heard of
a wise, yet merry, company called a Chorus, which was always singing or
preaching in the Greek Tragedies; and then, besure, nothing will serve
but we must be sung and preached to in ours. While a THIRD is smitten
with a tedious long-winded thing, which was once endured under the name
of Dialogue; and strait we have Dialogues of this formal cut, and are
told withal, that no man may presume to write them, on any other model.”
Thus the modern critic, with much complacency and even gayety—But I
resume the sentence I set out with, and observe, “WHEN THE ANCIENTS
had any thing to say to the world on the subject either of morals
or government, they generally chose the way of DIALOGUE, for the
conveyance of their instructions; as supposing they might chance to
gain a readier acceptance in this agreeable form, than any other.”
Hæc adeo penitus curâ videre sagaci
Otia qui studiis læti tenuere decoris,
Inque ACADEMIA umbriferâ nitidoque LYCEO
Fuderunt claras fœcundi pectoris artes.
Such was the address, or fancy at least, of the wise ANCIENTS.
The MODERNS, on the contrary, have appeared to reverence themselves,
or their cause, too much, to think that either stood in need of this
oblique management. No writer has the least doubt of being favourably
received in all companies, let him come upon us in what shape he will:
and, not to stand upon ceremony, when he brings so welcome a present,
as what he calls _Truth_, with him, he obtrudes it upon us in the
direct way of Dissertation.
Nobody, I suppose, objects to this practice, when important truths
indeed are to be taught, and when the abilities of the Teacher are such
as may command respect. But the case is different, when writers presume
to try their hands upon us, without these advantages. Nay, and even
with them, it can do no hurt, when the subject is proper for familiar
discourse, to throw it into this gracious and popular form.
I have said, _where the subject is proper for familiar discourse_; for
all subjects, I think, cannot, or should not be treated in this way.
It is true, the inquisitive genius of the Academic Philosophy gave
great scope to the freedom of debate. Hence the origin of the Greek
Dialogue: of which, if PLATO was not the Inventor, he was, at least,
the Model.
This sceptical humour was presently much increased; and every thing was
now disputed, not for PLATO’S reason (which was, also, his master’s)
for the sake of exposing _Falsehood_ and discovering _Truth_; but
because it was pretended that nothing could be certainly affirmed to be
either _true_ or _false_.
And, when afterwards CICERO, our other great master of Dialogue,
introduced this sort of writing into Rome, we know that, besides his
profession of the Academic Sect, now extended and indeed outraged into
absolute scepticism, the very purpose he had in philosophizing, and the
rhetorical uses to which he put his Philosophy, would determine him
very naturally to the same practice.
Thus all subjects, of what nature and importance soever, were equally
discussed in the ancient Dialogue; till matters were at length brought
to that pass, that the only end, proposed by it, was to shew the
writer’s dexterity in disputing for, or against any opinion, without
referring his disputation to any certain use or conclusion at all.
Such was the character of the ancient, and especially of the Ciceronian
Dialogue; arising out of the genius and principles of those times.
But for us to follow our masters in this licence would be, indeed, to
deserve the objected charge of _servile Imitators_; since the reasons,
that led them into it, do not subsist in our case. They disputed every
thing, because they believed nothing. We should forbear to dispute
some things, because they are such as both for their sacredness, and
certainty, no man in his senses affects to disbelieve. At least, the
Stoic BALBUS may teach us a decent reserve in one instance, _Since_,
as he observes, _it is a wicked and impious custom to dispute against
the Being, Attributes, and Providence of God, whether it be under an
assumed character, or in one’s own_[1].
Thus much I have thought fit to say, to prevent mistakes, and to shew
of what kind the subjects are which may be allowed to enter into
modern Dialogue. They are only such, as are either, in the strict sense
of the word, _not_ important, and yet afford an ingenuous pleasure
in the discussion of them; or not _so_ important as to exclude the
sceptical inconclusive air, which the decorum of polite dialogue
necessarily demands.
And, under these restrictions, we may treat a number of curious and
useful subjects, in this form. The benefit will be that which the
Ancients certainly found in this practice, and which the great master
of life finds in the general way of candour and politeness,
—parcentis viribus, atque
Extenuantis eas consultò—
For, though Truth be not formally delivered in Dialogue, it may
be insinuated; and a capable writer will find means to do this so
effectually as, in discussing both sides of a question, to engage the
reader insensibly on that side, where the Truth lies.
II. But _convenience_ is not the only consideration. The NOVELTY of the
thing, itself, may well recommend it to us.
For, when every other species of composition has been tried, and men
are grown so fastidious as to receive with indifference the best
modern productions, on account of the too common form, into which they
are cast, it may seem an attempt of some merit to revive the only one,
almost, of the ancient models, which hath not yet been made cheap by
vulgar imitation.
I can imagine the reader will conceive some surprise, and, if he be not
a candid one, will perhaps express some disdain, at this pretence to
Novelty, in cultivating the _Dialogue-form_. For what, he will say, has
been more frequently aimed at in our own, and every modern language?
Has not every art, nay, every science, been taught in this way? And, if
the vulgar use of any mode of writing be enough to discredit it, can
there be room even for wit and genius to retrieve the honour of this
trite and hackneyed form?
This, no doubt, may be said; but by those who know little of the
ancient Dialogue, or who have not attended to the true manner in which
the rules of good writing require it to be composed.
We have what are called Dialogues in abundance; and the authors,
for any thing I know, might please themselves with imagining, they
had copied PLATO or CICERO. But in our language at least (and, if I
extended the observation to the other modern ones of most estimation,
I should perhaps do them no wrong) I know of nothing in the way of
Dialogue that deserves to be considered by us with such regard.
There are in English THREE Dialogues, and but Three, that are fit to be
mentioned on this occasion: all of them excellently well composed in
their way, and, it must be owned, by the very best and politest of our
writers. And had that way been a true one, I mean that which antiquity
and good criticism recommend to us, the Public had never been troubled
with this attempt from me, to introduce another.
The Dialogues I mean are, _The Moralists of Lord_ SHAFTESBURY; _Mr._
ADDISON’S _Treatise on Medals_; _and the Minute Philosopher of Bishop_
BERKELEY: and, where is the modesty, it will be said, to attempt the
Dialogue-form, if it has not succeeded in such hands?
The answer is short, and, I hope, not arrogant. These applauded persons
suffered themselves to be misled by modern practice; and with every
ability to excel in this nice and difficult composition, have written
beneath themselves, only because they did not keep up to the ancient
standard.
An essential defect runs through them all. They have taken for their
speakers, not real, but _fictitious_ characters; contrary to the
practice of the old writers; and to the infinite disadvantage of this
mode of writing in every respect.
The love of truth, they say, is so natural to the human mind, that we
expect to find the appearance of it, even in our amusements. In some
indeed, the slenderest shadow of it will suffice: in others, we require
to have the substance presented to us. In all cases, the degree of
probability is to be estimated from the nature of the work. Thus, for
instance, when a writer undertakes to instruct or entertain us in the
way of Dialogue, he obliges himself to keep up to the _idea_, at least,
of what he professes. The conversation may not have _really_ been such
as is represented; but we expect it to have all the _forms_ of reality.
We bring with us a disposition to be deceived (for we know his purpose
is not to recite historically, but to feign probably); but it looks
like too great an insult on our understandings, when the writer stands
upon no ceremony with us, and refuses to be at the expence of a little
art or management to deceive us.
Hence the probabilities, or, what is called the _decorum_, of this
composition. We ask, “Who the persons are, that are going to converse
before us?” “where and when the conversation passed?” and “by what
means the company came together?” If we are let into none of these
particulars, or, rather if a way be not found to satisfy us in all
of them, we take no interest in what remains; and give the speakers,
who in this case are but a sort of Puppets, no more credit, than the
opinion we chance to entertain of their Prompter demands from us.
On the other hand, when _such_ persons are brought into the scene as
are well known to us, and are entitled to our respect, and but so
much address employed in shewing them as may give us a colourable
pretence to suppose them really conversing together, the writer himself
disappears, and is even among the first to fall into his own delusion.
For thus CICERO himself represents the matter:
“This way of discourse,” says he, “which turns on the authority of real
persons, and those the most eminent of former times, is, I know not
how, more interesting than any other: in so much that in reading my
own Dialogue on _old age_, I am sometimes ready to conclude, in good
earnest, it is not I, but CATO himself, who is there speaking[2].”
So complete a deception, as this, requires the hand of a master. But
such CICERO was; and had it been his design to make the highest
encomium of his own Dialogues, he could not, perhaps, have done it so
well by any other circumstance.
But now this advantage is wholly lost by the introduction of
_fictitious persons_. These may do in _Comedy_; nay, they do the best
there, where _character_ only, or chiefly, is designed. In _Dialogue_,
we must have real persons, and those only: for character here is but a
secondary consideration; and there is no other way of giving weight and
authority to the conversation of the piece.
And here, again, CICERO may instruct us; who was so scrupulous on this
head that he would not put his discourse on _old age_ into the mouth
of TITHONUS, although a Greek writer of name had set him the example,
_because_, as he observes, _a fabulous person would have had no great
authority_[3]. What then would he have said of merely fancied and
_ideal_ persons, who have not so much as that shadowy existence, which
the plausibility of a current tale bestows?
When I say that _character is but a secondary consideration_ in
Dialogue, the reader sees I confine myself to that species only, which
was in use among the _ancients_, properly so called; and of which
PLATO and CICERO have left us the best models.
It is true, in later times, a great wit took upon him to extend the
province of Dialogue, and, like another Prometheus[4], (as, by an
equivocal sort of compliment, it seems, was observed of him) created a
new species; the merit of which consists in associating two things, not
naturally allied together, _The severity of Philosophic Dialogue, with
the humour of the Comic_.
But as unnatural as the alliance may seem, this sort of composition has
had its admirers. In particular, ERASMUS was so taken with LUCIAN’S
Dialogue, that he has transfused its highest graces into his own; and
employed those fine arms to better purpose against the Monks, than the
forger of them had done, against the Philosophers.
It must further be confessed, that this innovation of the Greek writer
had some countenance from the genius of the old Socratic Dialogue;
such I mean as it was in the hands of SOCRATES himself[5]; who took
his name of IRONIST from the continued humour and ridicule which runs
through his moral discourses. But, besides that the Athenian’s modest
IRONY was of another taste, and better suited to this decorum of
conversation, than the Syrian’s frontless buffoonery, there was this
further difference in the two cases. SOCRATES employed this method of
ridicule, as the only one by which he could hope to discredit those
mortal foes of reason, the SOPHISTS: LUCIAN, in mere wantonness, to
insult its best friends, the PHILOSOPHERS, and even the parent of
Philosophy, himself. The Sage would have dropped his IRONY, in the
company of the good and wise: The Rhetorician is never more pleased
than in confounding both, by his intemperate SATIRE.
However, there was likeness enough in the features of each _manner_,
to favour LUCIAN’S attempt in compounding his new Dialogue. He was not
displeased, one may suppose, to turn the comic art of SOCRATES against
himself; though he could not but know that the ablest masters of the
Socratic school employed it sparingly; and that, when the illustrious
Roman came to philosophize in the way of Dialogue, he disdained to make
any use of it at all.
In a word, as it was taken up, to serve an occasion, so it was very
properly laid aside with it. And even while the occasion lasted, this
humorous manner was far enough, as I observed, from being pushed to a
Scenic license; the great artists in this way knowing very well, that,
when SOCRATES brought Philosophy from Heaven to Earth, it was not his
purpose to expose her on the stage, but to introduce her into good
company.
And here, to note it by the way, what has been observed of the Ironic
manner of the Socratic Dialogue, is equally true of its _subtle
questioning dialectic genius_. This, too, had its rise from the
circumstances of the time, and the views of its author, who employed it
with much propriety and even elegance to entrap, in their own cobweb
nets, the minute, quibbling captious sophists. How it chanced that
this part of its character did not, also, cease with its use, but was
continued by the successors in that school, and even carried so far as
to provoke the ridicule of the wits, till, at length, it brought on the
just disgrace of the Socratic Dialogue itself, all this is the proper
subject of another inquiry.
Our concern, at present, is with LUCIAN’S Dialogue; whether he were
indeed the inventor of this species, or, after SOCRATES, only the
espouser of it.
The account, given above, that _it unites and incorporates the
several virtues of the Comic and Philosophic manner_, is in LUCIAN’S
own words[6]. Yet his Dialogue does not, as indeed it could not,
correspond exactly to this idea. CICERO thought it no easy matter to
unite _Philosophy with Politeness and Good-humour_[7]; what then would
he have said of incorporating _Philosophy, with Comic Ridicule_?
To do him justice, LUCIAN himself appears sensible enough of the
difficulty. _I have presumed_, says he, _to connect and put together
two things, not very obsequious to my design, nor disposed by any
natural sympathy to bear the society of each other_[8]. And therefore
we find him on all occasions more solicitous for the success of this
hazardous enterprise, than for the credit of his invention. Every body
was ready to acknowledge the novelty of the thing; but he had some
reason to doubt with himself, whether it were gazed at as a monster,
or admired as a just and reasonable form of composition. So that not
being able to resolve this scruple to his satisfaction, he extricates
himself, as usual, from the perplexity, by the force of his comic
humour, and concludes at length, _that he had nothing left for it but
to persevere in the choice he had once made_; that is, to preserve the
credit of his own consistency at least, if he could not prevail to
have his Dialogue accepted by the judicious reader, under the idea[9]
of a consistent _composition_.
The ingenious writer had, surely, no better way to take, in his
distress. For the two excellencies he meant to incorporate in his
Dialogue cannot, in a supreme degree of each, subsist together. The
one must be sacrificed to the other. Either the philosophic part must
give place to the dramatic; or the dramatic must withdraw, or restrain
itself at least, to give room for a just display of the philosophic.
And this, in fact, as I observed, is the case in LUCIAN’S own
Dialogues. They are highly dramatic, in which part his force lay; while
his Philosophy serves only to edge his wit, or simply to introduce
it. They have, usually, for their subject, not a QUESTION DEBATED;
but, a TENET RIDICULED, or a CHARACTER EXPOSED. In this view, they are
doubtless inimitable: I mean when he kept himself, as too frequently he
did not, to such _tenets_ or _characters_, as deserve to be treated in
this free manner.
But after all, the other species, the _serious, philosophic_ Dialogue,
is the noblest and the best. It is the _noblest_, in all views;
for the dignity of its subject, the gravity of its manner, and the
importance of its end. It is the _best_, too; I mean, it excels most in
the very truth and art of composition; as it governs itself entirely by
the rules of decorum, and gives a just and faithful image of what it
would represent: whereas the comic Dialogue, distorting, or, at least,
aggravating the features of its original, pleases at some expence
of probability; and at length attains its end but in part, for want
of _dramatic action_, the only medium through which _humour_ can be
perfectly conveyed.
Thus the serious Dialogue is absolute in itself; and fully obtains its
purpose: the humorous or characteristic, but partially; and is, at
best, the faint copy of a higher species, the _Comic Drama_.
However, the authority of LUCIAN is so great, and the manner itself so
taking, that for these reasons, but chiefly for the sake of variety,
the FIRST of the following Dialogues (and in part too, the SECOND)
pretends to be of this class.
But to return to our proper subject, THE SERIOUS OR PHILOSOPHIC
DIALOGUE.
1. I observed (and the reason now appears) that _character_ is a
subordinate consideration, in this Dialogue. The _manners_ are to be
given indeed, but sparingly, and, as it were, by accident. And this
grace (which so much embellishes a well-composed work) can only be
had by employing REAL, KNOWN, and RESPECTED speakers. Each of these
circumstances, in the choice of a speaker, is important. The _first_,
excites our curiosity: the _second_, affords an easy opportunity of
painting the manners by those slight and careless strokes, which alone
can be employed for this purpose, and which would not sufficiently mark
the characters of unknown or fictitious persons: and the _last_ gives
weight and dignity to the whole composition.
By this means, the dialogue becomes, in a high degree, natural, and,
on that account, affecting: a thousand fine and delicate allusions to
the principles, sentiments, and history of the Dialogists keep their
characters perpetually in view: we have a rule before us, by which
to estimate the pertinence and propriety of what is said: and we are
pleased to bear a part, as it were, in the conversation of such persons.
Thus the old writers of Dialogue charm us, even when their subjects are
unpleasing, and could hardly merit our attention: but when the topics
are of general and intimate concern to the reader, by being discussed
in this form, they create in him the keenest appetite; and are,
perhaps, read with a higher pleasure, than we receive from most other
compositions of literary men.
2. It being now apprehended what _persons_ are most fit to be shewn
in Dialogue, the next inquiry will be, concerning their _style or
manner of expression_. And this, in general, must be suited to the
condition and qualities of the persons themselves: that is, it must be
grave, polite, and something raised above the ordinary pitch or tone
of conversation; for, otherwise, it would not agree to the ideas we
form of the speakers, or to the regard we owe to _real_, _known_, and
_respected_ persons, seriously debating, as the philosophic dialogue
imports in the very terms, on some useful or important subject.
Thus far the case is plain enough. The conclusion flows, of itself,
from the very idea of a philosophic conversation between such men.
But as it appeared that the speaker’s _proper manners_ are to be
given, in this Dialogue, it may be thought (and, I suppose, commonly
is thought) that the speaker’s _proper style or expression_ should be
given, too.
Here the subject begins to be a little nice; and we must distinguish
between the _general cast_ of expression, and its _smaller and more
peculiar features_.
As to the _general cast or manner of speaking_, it may be well to
preserve some resemblance of it; for it results so immediately from
the speaker’s character, and sometimes makes so essential a part of
it, that the _manners_ themselves cannot, otherwise, be sufficiently
expressed.
Accordingly CICERO tells us, that, in his Dialogues of the _complete
Orator_, he had _endeavoured to shadow out_, that is, give the
outline, as it were, of the kind of eloquence, by which his chief
speakers, CRASSUS and ANTONIUS, were severally distinguished[10]. This
attention has certainly no ill effect when the _manners of speaking_,
as here, are sufficiently distinct, and generally known. It was,
besides, essentially necessary in this Dialogue, where the subject
is, of eloquence itself; and where the principal persons appeared,
and were accordingly to be represented, in the light and character of
_speakers_; that is, where their different kinds or manners of speaking
were, of course, to be expressed.
In Dialogues on other subjects, CICERO himself either neglects this
rule, or observes it with less care[11]; and this difference of conduct
is plainly justified, from the reason of the thing.
But now when the question is, of the _smaller features and more
peculiar qualities of style or expression_, it will be found that the
writer of Dialogue is under no obligation, either from the reason of
the thing, or the best authorities, to affect a resemblance of that
kind.
Authorities, I think, there are none, or none at least that deserve
to be much regarded; though I remember what has been observed of an
instance or two of this sort, in some of PLATO’S Dialogues, where his
purpose is, to _expose a character_, not to _debate a philosophic
question_: and for _the impropriety of the thing itself_, it may appear
from the following considerations.
In general, the reason, why _character_ is preserved in this Dialogue,
is, because such speakers, as are introduced in it, cannot be supposed
to converse for any time on a subject of importance without discovering
somethings of their own _peculiar manners_; though the occasion may
not be warming enough to throw them out with that distinctness and
vivacity, which we expect in the progress of a dramatic plot. But as to
the _language of conversation_, it is so much the same between persons
of education and politeness, that, whether the subject be interesting,
or otherwise, all that you can expect is that the _general cast of
expression_ will be somewhat tinctured by the _manners_, which shine
through it; but by no means that the smaller differences, the nicer
peculiarities of style, will be shewn.
Or, we may take the matter thus:
The reason, why the _general cast or kind of expression_ is different
in two speakers, is, because their _characters_ are different, too.
But _character_ has no manner of influence, in the ease and freedom of
conversation, on the _idiomatic differences_ of expression; which flow
not from the _manners_, but from some degree of study and affectation,
and only characterize their written and artificial works.
Thus, for instance, if SALLUST and CICERO had come together in
conversation, the _former_ would certainly have dropped his _new
words and pointed sentences_: and the _latter_ his _numerous oratorial
periods_. All that might be expected to appear, is, that SALLUST’S
expression would be shorter and more compact; CICERO’S more gracious
and flowing, agreeably to the characters of the two men.
But there is a further reason why these _characteristic peculiarities
of style_ must not be exhibited, or must be infinitely restrained at
least, in the sort of composition we are now considering. It is, that
the studied imitation of such peculiarities would be what we call
_mimickry_; and would therefore border upon _ridicule_, the thing of
all others which the genius of this Dialogue most abhors. In Comedy
itself, the most exact writers do not condescend to this minute
imitation. TERENCE’S characters all express themselves, I think, with
equal elegance: even his slaves are made to speak as good Latin, as
their masters. In the serious Dialogue, then, which, from its nature,
is, in a much lower degree, _mimetic_, that minute attention can by
no means be required. It will be sufficient that the speakers express
themselves in _the same manner_, that is, (provided the _general
cast_ of expression be suited to their respective characters) _in the
writer’s own_.
If there be any exception from this rule, it must be, when the
peculiarities of expression are so great, and so notorious, that the
reader could hardly acknowledge the speaker in any other dress, than
that of his own style. Hence it is possible, though CICERO has left us
no example of this sort, that if, in the next age, any one had thought
fit to introduce MÆCENAS into Dialogue, he might perhaps have been
allowed to colour his language with some of those _spruce turns and
negligent affectations_, by which, as a writer, he was so well known.
It is, at least, on this principle that the Author of the following
Dialogues must rest his apology for having taken such liberty, in
_one or two instances, only_: in which, however, he has confined his
imitation to the single purpose of exhibiting some degree of likeness
to their acknowledged manner of expression, without attempting to
expose it in any strong or invidious light. And, after all, if even
this liberty, so cautiously taken, be thought too much, he will not
complain of his critics; since the fault, if it be one, was committed
rather in compliance with what he supposed might be the public
judgment, than with his own.
The reader has now before him a sketch of what I conceive to be the
_character_ of the ancient philosophic Dialogue; which, in one word,
may be said to be, “An imitated, and mannered conversation between
certain real, known, and respected persons, on some useful or serious
subject, in an elegant, and suitably adorned, but not characteristic
style.”
At least, I express, as I can, my notion of CICERO’S Dialogue, which
unites these several characters; and, by such union, has effected, as
it seems to me, all that the nature of this composition requires or
admits.
This, I am sensible, is saying but little, on the subject. But I
pretend not to do justice to CICERO’S DIALOGUES; which are occasionally
set off by that lively, yet chaste colouring of the _manners_, and are,
besides, all over sprinkled with that exquisite grace of, what the
Latin writers call, _urbanity_, (by which, they meant as well what was
most polite in the _air_ of conversation, as in the language of it)
that there is nothing equal to them, in Antiquity itself: and I have
sometimes fancied, that even LIVY’S Dialogues[12], if they had come
down to us, would perhaps have lost something, on a comparison with
these master-pieces of CICERO’S pen.
3. But to this apology for the ancient Dialogue, I suspect it will be
replied, “That though, in the hands of the Greek and Latin writers, it
might, heretofore, have all this grace and merit, yet who shall pretend
to revive it in our days? or, how shall we enter into the spirit of
this composition, for which there is no encouragement, nor so much as
the countenance of example in real life? No man writes well, but from
his own experience and observation: and by whom is the way of dialogue
now practised? or, where do we find such precedents of grave and
continued conversation in modern times?”
A very competent judge, and one too, who was himself, as I have
observed, an adventurer in this class of composition, puts the
objection home in the following words:
“The truth is,” says he, “it would be an abominable falsehood, and
belying of the age, to put so much good sense together in any _one_
conversation, as might make it hold out steadily, and with plain
coherence, for an hour’s time, till any _one_ subject had been
rationally examined[13].”
Nor is this the only difficulty. _Another_ occurs, from the prevailing
manners of modern times, which are over-run with respect, compliment,
and ceremony. “Now put _compliments_,” says the same writer, “put
_ceremony_ into a Dialogue, and see what will be the effect! This is
the plain _dilemma_ against that ancient manner of writing—if we avoid
ceremony, we are unnatural: if we use it, and appear as we naturally
are, as we salute, and meet, and treat one another, we hate the
sight[14].”
These considerations are to the purpose; and shew perhaps in a
mortifying manner, that the modern writers of Dialogue, the very best
of them, cannot aspire to the unrivalled elegance of the ancient;
as being wholly unfurnished of many advantages, to this end, which
they enjoyed. But still the _form_ of writing itself is neither
impracticable, nor unnatural: and there are certain _means_, by which
the disadvantages, complained of, may be lessened at least, if not
entirely removed.
To begin with the LAST. It is very true, that the constraint of
a formal and studied civility is foreign to the genius of this
sort of composition; and it is, also, as true, that somewhat of
this constrained civility is scarce separable from a just copy and
faithful picture of conversation in our days. The reason of which is
to be gathered from the nature of our policies and governments. For
conversation, I mean the serious and manly sort, as well as eloquence,
is most cultivated and thrives best amidst the quality of conditions in
republican and popular states.
And, though this inconvenience be less perceived by us of this free
country than by most others, yet something of it will remain wherever
monarchy, with its consequent train of subordinate and dependent ranks
of men, subsists.
Now the proper remedy in the case is, to bring such men only together
in Dialogue as are of the same rank; or at least to class our speakers
with such care as that any great inequality in that respect may be
compensated by some other; such as the superiority of age, wisdom,
talents, or the like. A Chancellor of _England_ and a Country Justice,
or even a Lord and his Chaplain, could hardly be shewn in Dialogue,
without incurring some ridicule. But a Judge and a Bishop, one would
hope, might be safely brought together; and if a great Philosopher
should enter into debate with a lettered Man of Quality, the indecorum
would not be so violent as to be much resented.
But the influence of modern manners reaches even to names and the
ordinary forms of address. In the Greek and Roman Dialogues, it was
permitted to accost the greatest persons by their obvious and familiar
appellations. ALCIBIADES had no more addition, than SOCRATES: and
BRUTUS and CÆSAR lost nothing of their dignity from being applied to
in those direct terms. The moderns, on the contrary, have their guards
and fences about them; and we hold it an incivility to approach them
without some decent periphrasis, or ceremonial title—
——gaudent prænomine molles
Auriculæ.
It was principally, I believe, for this reason, that modern writers of
Dialogue have had recourse to fictitious names and characters, rather
than venture on the use of real ones: the _former_ absolving them from
this cumbersome ceremony, which, in the case of the _latter_, could
not so properly be laid aside. PALÆMON and PHILANDER, for instance,
are not only well-sounding words; but slide as easily into a sentence,
and as gracefully too, as CICERO and ATTICUS: while the _Mr’s_ and
the _Sirs_, nay his _Grace_, his _Excellency_, or his _Honour_[15],
of modern Dialogue, have not only a formality that hurts the ease of
conversation, but a harshness too, which is somewhat offensive to a
well-tuned Attic or Roman ear.
All this will be allowed; and yet, to speak plainly and with that
freedom which ancient manners indulge, the barbarity of these forms
is not worse than the pedantry of taking such disgust at them. And
there are ways, too, by which the most offensive circumstances in this
account may be so far qualified as to be almost overlooked, or at least
endured. What _these_ are, the capable and intelligent reader or writer
is not to be told; and none but such would easily apprehend.
To come then to the OTHER objection of Lord SHAFTESBURY, which is more
considerable.
It would be a manifest falsehood, he thinks, and directly against
the truth both of art and nature, to engage the moderns in a grave
discourse of any length. And it is true, the great men of our time do
not, like the Senators of ancient _Rome_, spend whole days in learned
debate and formal disputation: yet their meetings, especially in
private parties, with their friends, are not so wholly frivolous, but
that they sometimes discourse seriously, and even pursue a subject of
learning or business, not with coherence only, but with some care. And
will not this be ground enough for a capable writer to go upon, in
reviving the way of Dialogue between such men?
But, to give the most probable air to his fiction, he may find it
necessary to recede from the strict imitation of his originals, in one
instance.
It may be advisable not to take for his speakers, _living persons_; I
mean, persons, however respectable, of his own age. We may fancy of the
dead, what we cannot so readily believe of the living. And thus, by
endeavouring a little to deceive ourselves, we may come to think that
natural, which is not wholly incredible; and may admit the writer’s
invention for a picture, though a studied and flattering one, it may
be, of real life.
In short, it may be a good rule in modern Dialogue, as it was in
ancient Tragedy, to take our subjects, and choose our persons, out
of former times. And, under the prejudice of that opinion which is
readily entertained of such subjects and characters, an artist may
contrive to pass that upon us for _Fact_, which was only ingenious
_Fiction_; and so wind up his piece to the perfection of ancient
Dialogue, without departing too widely from the decorum and truth of
conversation in modern life.
Such at least is the IDEA, which the Author of these Dialogues has
formed to himself of the manner in which this exquisite sort of
composition may be attempted by more successful writers. For to
conceive an excellence, and to copy it, he understands and laments, are
very different things.
THURCASTON.
MDCCLXIV.
MORAL AND POLITICAL
DIALOGUES.
DIALOGUE I.
ON SINCERITY IN THE COMMERCE
OF THE WORLD.
BETWEEN
DR. HENRY MORE,
AND
EDMUND WALLER, ESQ.
DIALOGUE I.
ON SINCERITY IN THE COMMERCE OF THE WORLD.
DR. HENRY MORE, EDMUND WALLER, ESQ.
MR. WALLER.
Enough, enough, my friend, on the good old chapter of _Sincerity and
Honour_. Your rhetoric, and not your reasoning, is too much for me.
Believe it, your fine stoical lessons must all give way to a little
common sense, I mean, to a prudent accommodation of ourselves to times
and circumstances; which, whether you will dignify it with the name
of philosophy, or no, is the only method of living with credit in the
world, and even with safety.
DR. MORE.
Accommodation is, no doubt, a good word to stand in the place of
insincerity. But, pray, in which of the great moral masters have you
picked up this term, and, much more, the virtuous practice, it so well
expresses?
MR. WALLER.
I learnt it from the great master of life, EXPERIENCE: A doctor, little
heard of in the schools, but of more authority with men of sense, than
all the solemn talkers of the porch, or cloister, put together.
DR. MORE.
After much reserve, I confess, you begin to express yourself very
clearly. But, good Sir, not to take up your conclusion too hastily,
have the patience to hear—
MR. WALLER.
Have I not, then, heard, and sure with patience enough, your studied
harangues on this subject? You have discoursed it, I must own, very
plausibly. But the impression, which fine words make, is one thing,
and the conviction of reason, another. And, not to waste more time
in fruitless altercation, let ME, if you please, read you a lecture
of morals: not out of ancient books, or the visions of an unpractised
philosophy, but from the schools of business and real life. Such a view
of things will discredit these high nations, and may serve, for the
future, to amend and rectify all your systems.
DR. MORE.
Commend me to a man of the world, for a rectifier of moral
systems!—Yet, if it were only for the pleasure of being let into
the secrets of this new doctrine of _Accommodation_, I am content to
become a _patient_ hearer, in my turn; and the rather, as the day,
which you see, wears apace, will hardly give leave for interruption, or
indeed afford you time enough for the full display of your wit on this
extraordinary subject.
MR. WALLER.
We have day enough before us, for the business in hand. ’Tis true, this
wood-land walk has not the charms, which you lately bestowed on a
certain _philosophical garden_[16]. But the heavens are as clear, and
the air, that blows upon us, as fresh, as in that fine evening which
drew your friends abroad, and engaged them in a longer debate, than
that with which I am now likely to detain you. For, indeed, I have only
to lay before you the result of my own experience and observation. All
my arguments are plain facts, which are soon told, and about which
there can be no dispute. You shall judge for yourself, how far they
will authorize the conclusion I mean to draw from them.
The point, I am bold enough to maintain against you philosophers, is,
briefly, this; “That _sincerity_, or a scrupulous regard to _truth_ in
all our conversation and behaviour, how specious soever it may be in
theory, is a thing impossible in practice; that there is no living in
the world on these terms; and that a man of business must either quit
the scene, or learn to temper the strictness of your discipline with
some reasonable accommodations. It is exactly the dilemma of the poet,
Vivere si recte nescis, discede peritis;
of all which I presume, as I said, to offer my own experience, as the
shortest and most convincing demonstration.”
DR. MORE.
The subject, I confess, is fairly delivered, and nothing can be juster
than this appeal to experience, provided you do not attempt to delude
yourself or me by throwing false colours upon it.
MR. WALLER.
It will be your business to remonstrate against these arts, if you
discover any such. My intention is to proceed in the way of a direct
and simple recital.
“I was born, as you know, of a good family, and to the inheritance of
this paternal seat[17], with the easy fortune that belongs to it. To
this, I succeeded but too soon by the untimely loss of an excellent
father. His death, however, did not deprive me of those advantages
which are thought to arise from a strict and virtuous education. This
care devolved on my mother, a woman of great prudence, who provided for
my instruction in letters and every other accomplishment. I was, of
myself, enough inclined to books, and was supposed to have some parts
which deserved cultivation. I was accordingly trained in the study of
those writings, which are the admiration of men of elegant minds and
refined morals. I was a tolerable master of the languages, in which
they are composed; and, I may venture to say, was at least imbued with
their notions and principles, if I was not able at that time to catch
the spirit of their composition: all which was confirmed in me, by the
constant attendance and admonitions of the best tutors, and the strict
discipline of your colleges. I mention these things to shew you, that
I was not turned loose into the world, as your complaint of men of
business generally is, unprincipled and uninstructed; and that what
austere men might afterwards take for some degree of libertinism in my
conduct, is not to be charged on the want of a sober or even learned
education.”
DR. MORE.
I understand you mean to take no advantage of that plea, if what
follows be not answerable to so high expectations.
MR. WALLER.
The season was now come, when my rank and fortune, together with
the solicitations of my friends, drew me forth, though reluctantly,
from the college into the world. I was then, indeed, under twenty;
but so practised in the best things, and so enamoured of the moral
lessons which had been taught me, that I carried with me into the last
parliament of king James, not the showy accomplishments of learning
only, but the high enthusiasm of a warm and active virtue. Yet the
vanity, it may be, of a young man, distinguished by some advantages,
and conscious enough of them, was, for a time, the leading principle
with me. In this disposition, it may be supposed, I could not be long
without desiring an introduction to the court. It was not a school of
that virtue I had been used to, yet had some persons in it of eminent
worth and honour. A vein of poetry, which seemed to flow naturally from
me, was that by which I seemed most ambitious to recommend myself[18].
And occasions quickly offered for that purpose. But this was a play of
ingenuity in which the heart had no share. I made complimentary verses
on the great lords and ladies of the court, with as much simplicity
and as little meaning as my bows in the drawing room, and thought it a
fine thing to be taken notice of, as a wit, in the fashionable circles.
In the mean time, the corruptions of a loose disorderly court gave me
great scandal. And the abject flatteries, I observed in some of the
highest stations and gravest characters, filled me with indignation.
As an instance of this, I can never forget the resentment, that fired
my young breast at the conversation you have often heard me say I was
present at, betwixt the old king, and two of his court prelates[19].
And if the prudent and witty turn, the venerable bishop of _Winchester_
gave to the discourse, had not atoned, in some measure, for the rank
offensive servility of the _other_, it had been enough to determine me,
forthwith, to an implacable hatred of kings and courts for ever.
DR. MORE.
It must be owned the provocation was very gross, and the offence taken
at it no more than a symptom of a generous and manly virtue.
MR. WALLER.
It left a deep impression on my mind; yet it did not hinder me from
appearing at court in the first years of the following reign, when the
vanity of a thoughtless muse, rather than any relaxation of my ancient
manners, drew from me, again, some occasional panegyrics on greatness;
which being presented in verse, I thought would hardly be suspected of
flattery.
DR. MORE.
This indulgence of a _thoughtless muse_ (as you call it) was not
without its danger. I am afraid this must pass for the first instance
of your sacrificing to INSINCERITY.
MR. WALLER.
Your fears are too hasty. This was still a trial of my wit: and after
a few wanton circles, as it were to breathe and exercise my muse, I
drew her in from these amusements to a stricter manage and more severe
discipline. The long interval of parliaments now followed; and in this
suspension of business I applied myself to every virtuous pursuit that
could be likely to improve my mind, or purify my morals. Believe me, I
cannot to this day, without pleasure, reflect on the golden hours, I
passed in the society of such accomplished men as FALKLAND, HYDE, and
CHILLINGWORTH. And, for my more retired amusements at this place, you
will judge of the good account I might render of these, when I add,
they were constantly shared with that great prelate, who now, with so
much dignity, fills the throne of _Winchester_[20].
DR. MORE.
This enthusiasm of your’s is catching, and raises in me an incredible
impatience to come at the triumphs of a virtue, trained and perfected
in her best school, the conversations of heroes and sages.
MR. WALLER.