Part 9

The same conclusion would, it must be owned, hold of our _religious_, as _moral_ sentiments, were we to regard them only in this view of _dispassionate and cool reflexions_. For such reflexions produce no change of _feature_, no alteration in the _form or countenance_, nor are they necessarily followed by any _sensible_ demonstration of their power in outward _action_. But then it usually happens (which sets the widest difference between the two cases) that the _one_, as respecting an _object_, whose very _idea_ interests strongly, and puts all our faculties in motion, are, almost of necessity, associated with the impelling causes of _affection_; and so express themselves in legible signs and characters. Whereas the other sentiments, respecting _human nature and its necessities_, are frequently no other than a calm indifferent survey of common life, unattended with any _emotion_ or inciting principle of action. Hence _religion_, inspiriting all its meditations with _enthusiasm_, generally shews itself in _outward signs_; whereas we frequently discern no traces, as necessarily attendant upon _moral_. Which _difference_ is worth the noting, were it only for the sake of seeing more distinctly the vast advantage of _poetry_, above all _other modes of imitation_. For _these_, explaining themselves by the help of _natural media_, which present a _real resemblance_, are able but imperfectly to describe _religious sentiments_; in as much as they express the _general vague disposition_ only, and not the precise _sentiments themselves_. And in _moral_, they can frequently give us no _image_ or representation at all. While _poetry_, which tells its meaning by _artificial signs_, conveys distinct and clear notices of this class of _moral and religious_ conceptions, which afford such mighty entertainment to the human mind. But it serves to a further purpose, more immediately relative to the subject of this inquiry. For these _ethic and prudential_ conclusions, being seen to produce no immediate _effect_ in look, attitude, or action, we are to regard them only in their remoter and less direct consequences, as influencing, at a distance, the civil and oeconomical affairs of life.

And in this view they open a fresh field for _imitation_; not quite so striking to the spectator, perhaps, but even larger, than _that_, into which religion, with all its multiform superstitions, before led us. For to these _internal workings_, assisted and pushed forward by the wants and necessities of our nature, which set the inventive powers on work, are ultimately to be referred that vast congeries of _political_, _civil_, _commercial_, and _mechanic_ institutions, of those infinite _manufactures_, _arts_, and _exercises_, which come in to the relief or embellishment of human life. Add to these all those nameless _events_ and _actions_, which, though determined by no fixed _habit_, or leading _affection_, human prudence, providing for its security or interests, in certain circumstances, naturally projects and prescribes. These are ample materials for _description_; and the greater poetry necessarily comprehends a large share of them. Yet in all delineations of this sort two things are observable, 1. That in the _latter_, which are the pure result of our reasonings concerning expediency, _common sense_, in given conjunctures, often leads to the same measures: As when _Ulysses_ in Homer disguises himself, for the sake of coming at a more exact information of the state of his family; or, when _Orestes_ in Sophocles does the same, to bring about the catastrophe of the _Electra_. 2. In respect of the _former_ (which is of principal consideration) the established modes and practices of life being the proper and only _archetype_, experience and common observation cannot fail of pointing, with the greatest certainty, to them. So that in the _one_ case different writers _may_ concur in treating the _same_ matter, in the _other_, they _must_. But this last will bear a little further illustration.

The critics on Homer have remarked, with admiration, in him, the almost infinite variety of images and pictures, taken from the intire circle of _human arts_. Whatever the wit of man had invented for the service or ornament of society in manual exercises and operations is found to have a place in his writings. _Rural affairs_, in their several branches; the _mechanic_, and all the polite arts of _sculpture_, _painting_, and _architecture_, are occasionally hinted at in his poems; or, rather, their various imagery, so far as they were known and practised in those times, is fully and largely displayed. Now this, though it shew the prodigious extent of his observation and diligent curiosity, which could search through all the storehouses and magazines of _art_, for materials of description, yet is not to be placed to the score of his superior _inventive faculty_; nor infers any thing to the disadvantage of succeeding poets, whose subjects might oblige them to the same descriptions; any more than his vast acquaintance with _natural scenery_, in all its numberless appearances, implies a want of _genius_ in later imitators, who, if they ventured, at all, into this province, were constrained to give us the _same unvaried representations_.

The truth, as every one sees, is, briefly, this. The restless and inquisitive mind of man had succeeded in the discovery or improvement of the numberless arts of life. These, for the convenience of method, are considered as making a large part of those sensible external _effects_, which spring from our internal _sentiments_ or _reasonings_. But, though they ultimately respect those _reasonings_, as their source, yet they, in no degree, depend on the actual exertion of them in the breast of the poet. He copies only the customs of the times, of which he writes, that is, the sensible _effects_ themselves. These are permanent objects, and may, nay _must_ be the _same_, whatever be the ability or genius of the _copier_. In short, taken together, they make up what, in the largest sense of the word, we may call, with the painters, _il costumè_; which though it be a real excellence scrupulously to observe, yet it requires nothing more than exact observation and historical knowledge of _facts_ to do it.

And now having the various objects of _poetical imitation_ before us (the greatest part of which, as appears, _must_, and the rest _may_, occur to the observation of the poet) we come to this _conclusion_, which, though it may startle the _parallelist_, there seems no method of eluding, “that of any single _image_ or _sentiment_, considered separately and by itself, it can never be affirmed certainly, hardly with any shew of reason, merely on account of its agreement in _subject-matter_ with any other, that it was copied from it.” If there be any foundation of this inference, it must, then be laid, not on the _matter_, but MANNER of imitation. But here, again, the subject branches out into various particulars; which, to be seen distinctly, will demand a new division, and require us to proceed with leisure and attention through it.

II.

The sum of the foregoing _article_ is this. The _objects_ of imitation, like the _materials_ of human knowledge, are a common stock, which experience furnishes to all men. And it is in the _operations_ of the mind upon them, that the glory of _poetry_, as of _science_, consists. Here the genius of the _poet_ hath room to shew itself; and from hence alone is the praise of _originality_ to be ascertained. The fondest admirer of ancient art would never pretend that _Palladio_ had copied _Vitruvius_; merely from his working with the same materials of _wood_, _stone_, or _marble_, which this great master had employed before him. But were the general _design_ of these two architects the _same_ in any buildings; were their choice and arrangement of the smaller _members_ remarkably similar; were their works conducted in the same _style_, and their ornaments finished in the same _taste_; every one would be apt to pronounce on first sight, that the one was _borrowed_ from the other. Even a correspondency in any _one_ of these points might create a suspicion. For what likelihood, amidst an infinite variety of _methods_, which offer themselves, as to _each_ of these particulars, that there should be found, without _design_, a signal concurrence in _any one_? ’Tis then in the _usage and disposition_ of the objects of poetry, that we are to seek for proofs and evidences of plagiarism. And yet it may not be every instance of similarity, that will satisfy here. For the question recurs, “whether of the several _forms_, of which his materials are susceptible, there be nothing in the nature of things, which determines the artist to prefer a _particular_ one to all others.” For it is possible, that _general principles_ may as well account for a _conformity in the manner_, as we have seen them do for an _identity of matter_, in works of imitation. And to this question nothing can be replied, till we have taken an accurate survey of this _second division_ of our subject. Luckily, the allusion to architecture, just touched upon, points to the very method, in which it may be most distinctly pursued. For here too, the MANNER _of imitation_, if considered in its full extent, takes in 1. _The general plan or disposition of a poem._ 2. _The choice and application of particular subjects: and_ 3. _The expression._

I. _All poetry_, as lord Bacon admirably observes, “_nihil aliud est quam_ HISTORIAE IMITATIO AD PLACITUM.” By which is not meant, that the poet is at liberty to conduct his _imitation_ absolutely in any manner he pleases, but with such deviations from the rule of history, as the _end_ of poetry prescribes. This end is, universally, PLEASURE; as _that_ of simple history is, INFORMATION. And from a respect to this _end_, together with some proper allowance for the diversity of the _subject-matter_, and the _mode of imitation_ (I mean whether it be in the way of _recital_, or of action) are the essential differences of poetry from mere history, and the _form or disposition_ of its several _species_, derived. What these _differences_ are, and what the _general plan_ in the composition of _each species_, will appear from considering the _defects_ of simple history in reference to the _main end_, which poetry designs.

Some of these are observed by the great person before-mentioned, which I shall want no excuse for giving in his own words.

“1. Cum res gestae et eventus, qui verae historiae subjiciuntur, non sint ejus amplitudinis, in quâ anima humana sibi satisfaciat, praesto est _poësis_, quae facta magis heroica confingat. 2. Cum historia vera successus rerum minime pro meritis virtutum & scelerum, narret; corrigit eam _poësis_, & exitus & fortunas, secundum merita, & ex lege Nemeseos, exhibet. 3. Cum historia vera, obviâ rerum satietate & similitudine, animae humanae fastidio sit; reficit eam poësis, inexpectata, & varia & vicissitudinum plena canens.—Quare & merito etiam divinitatis cujuspiam particeps videri possit; quia animum erigit & in sublime rapit; _rerum simulachra ad animi desideria accommodando, non animum rebus (quod ratio facit, & historia) submittendo_[31].”

These _advantages_ chiefly respect the _narrative_ poetry, and above all, the _Epos_. There are others, still more _general_, and more directly to the purpose of this inquiry. For 4. The _historian_ is bound to record _a series of independent events and actions_; and so, at once, falls into two _defects_, which make him incapable of affording perfect _pleasure_ to the mind. For 1. The flow of passion, produced in us by contemplating _any signal event_, is greatly checked and disturbed amidst a _variety and succession of actions_. And 2. being obliged to pass with celerity over _each_ transaction (for otherwise history would be too tedious for the purpose of _information_) he has not time to draw out _single circumstances_ in full light and impress them with all their force on the imagination. _Poetry_ remedies these two defects. By confining the attention to _one_ object only, it gives the fancy and affections fair play: and by bringing forth to view and even magnifying all the _circumstances_ of that _one_, it gives to every subject its proper dignity and importance. 5. Lastly, to satisfy the human mind, there must not only be an _unity and integrity_, but a strict _connexion and continuity_ of the fable or action represented. Otherwise the mind languishes, and the transition of the passions, which gives the chief pleasure, is broken and interrupted. The _historian_ fails, also, in this. By proceeding in the gradual and orderly succession of _time_, the several incidents, which compose the story, are not laid close enough together to content the natural avidity of our expectations. Whilst _poetry_, neglecting this regularity of succession, and setting out in the midst of the story, gratifies our instinctive impatience, and carries the _affections_ along, with the utmost rapidity, towards the _event_.

These _advantages_ are common both to _narrative_ and _dramatic_ poetry. But the _drama_, as professing to copy _real life_, contents itself with these. The rest belong entirely to the province of _narration_.

Now the _general forms_ of poetical method, as distinct from _that_ of history, are the pure result of our conclusions concerning the expediency and fitness of these _means_, as conducive to the proper _end_ of poetry. Which, without more words, will inform us, how it came to pass, that the _true plan or disposition of poetical_ works, was so early hit upon in _practice_, and established by exact _theories_; and may therefore satisfy us of the _necessary_ resemblance and uniformity of all productions of this kind, whether their authors had, or had not, been guided by the pole-star of _example_.

So much for the _general forms_ of the two greater _kinds_ of poetry. If a proper allowance be made for a diversity of _subject-matter_, in either _mode_ of composition, it will be easy, as I said, to account for the _particular forms_ of the several subordinate species. And I the rather choose to do it in this way, and not from the peculiar _end_ of each, which indeed were more philosophical, because the business is to make appear, how nature leads to the same general plan of composition in _practice_, not to establish the laws of each in the exact way of _theory_. Now in considering the matter _historically_, the diversity of _subject-matter_ was doubtless _that_ which first determined the writer to a different _form_ of composition, tho’ afterwards, a consideration of the _end_, accomplished by _each_, be requisite to deduce, with more precision of method, its distinct laws. The _latter_ is that from whence the _speculative critic_ rightly estimates the character of every species; but the inventor had his direction principally from the _former_.

Let me exemplify the observation in an instance under either _mode_ of imitation, and leave the rest to the reader.

1. The GEORGIC is a species of _narration_. But, as _things_, not _persons_, are its subject (from which last alone the _unity of design_ and _continuity of action_ arise) this circumstance absolves it from the necessity of observing any other laws, than those of clear and perspicuous disposition, and of enlivening a matter, naturally uninteresting, by _exquisite expression_ and _pleasing digressions_.

2. The PASTORAL poem may be considered as a lower species of the _Drama_. But, its subject being the _humble concerns_ of Shepherds, there seems no room for a tragic _Plot_; and their characters are too simple to afford materials for comic _drawing_. Their _scene_ is indeed inchanting to the imagination. And, together with this, their little distresses may sooth us in a short song; or their fancies and humours may entertain us in a short Dialogue. And that this is the proper province of the Pastoral Muse, we may see by the ill success of those who have laboured to extend it. Tasso’s project was admired for a time. But we, now, understand that pastoral affairs will not admit a tragic pathos. And the continuance of the pastoral vein, through five long acts, is found insipid, or even distasteful. This poem then has returned to that form which its inventors gave it, and which the _subject_ so naturally prescribes to it.

II. But, though the _common end_ of poetry, which is to _please by imitation_, together with the subjects of its several species, may determine the _general plan_, yet is there nothing, it may be said, in the nature of things to fix _the order and connexion of single parts_. And here, it will be owned, is great room for _invention_ to shew itself. The materials of poetry may be put together in so many different manners, consistently with the _form_ which governs each species, that nothing but the power of _imitation_ can be reasonably thought to produce _a close and perpetual similarity_ in the composition of two works. I have said _a close and perpetual similarity_; for it is not every degree of resemblance, that will do here.

The _general plan itself_ of any poem will occasion some unavoidable conformities in the disposition of its component parts. The _identity_ or _similarity_ of the subject may create others. Or, if no other assimilating cause intervene, the very uniformity of common nature, will, of necessity, introduce some. To explain myself as to the last of these _causes_.

The principal constituent members of any work, next to the essential parts of the _fable_, are EPISODES, DESCRIPTIONS, SIMILES. By _descriptions_ I understand as well the delineation of _characters_ in their _speeches and imputed sentiments_, as of _places or things_ in the draught of their attending circumstances. Now not only the materials of these are common to all poets, but the same identical manner of assemblage in application of _each_ in any poem will, in numberless cases, appear necessary.

1. The _episode_ belongs, principally, to the epic muse; and the design of it is to diversify and ennoble the narration by _digressive_, yet not _unrelated_, ornaments; the _former_ circumstance relieving the _simplicity_ of the epic fable, while the _other_ prevents its _unity_ from being violated. Now these episodical narrations must either proceed from the poet himself, or be imputed to some other who is engaged in the course of the fable; and in either case, must help, indirectly at least, to forward it.

If of the _latter_ kind, a probable pretext must be contrived for their introduction; which can be no other than that of satisfying the _curiosity_, or of serving to the necessary _information_ of some other. And in either of these ways a striking conformity in the mode of conducting the work is unavoidable.

If the _episode_ be referred to the _former_ class, its _manner_ of introduction will admit a greater latitude. For it will vary with the subject, or occasions of relating it. Yet we shall mistake, if we believe these subjects, and consequently the occasions, connected with them, very numerous. 1. They must be of uncommon dignity and splendor; otherwise nothing can excuse the going out of the way to insert them. 2. They must have some apparent connection with the fable. 3. They must further accord to the idea and state of the times, from which the _fable_ is taken. Put these things together, and see if they will not, with probability, account for some coincidence _in the choice and applications_ of the _direct_ episode. And admitting this, the similarity of even _its_ constituent parts is, also, necessary.

The genius of Virgil never suffers more in the opinion of his critics, than when his _book of games_ comes into consideration and is confronted with Homer’s. It is not unpleasant to observe the difficulties an advocate for his fame is put to in this nice point, to secure his honour from the imputation of _plagiarism_. The descriptions are accurately examined; and the improvement of a single circumstance, the addition of an epithet, even the novelty of a metaphor, or varied turn in the expression, is diligently remarked and urged, with triumph, in favour of his invention. Yet all this goes but a little way towards stilling the clamour. The entire design is manifestly taken; nay, particular incidents and circumstantials are, for the most part, the same, without variation. What shall we say, then, to this charge? Shall we, in defiance of truth and fact, endeavour to confute it? Or, if allowed, is there any method of supporting the reputation of the poet? I think there is, if prejudice will but suspend its determinations a few minutes, and afford his advocate a fair hearing.

The epic plan, more especially that of the Aeneis, naturally comprehends whatever is most august in _civil_ and _religious_ affairs. The solemnities of funeral rites, and the festivities of public games (which religion had made an essential part of them) were, of necessity, to be included in a representation of the _latter_. But what _games_? Surely those, which ancient heroism vaunted to excell in; those, which the usage of the times had consecrated; and which, from the opinion of reverence and dignity entertained of them, were become most fit for the pomp of epic description. Further, what _circumstances_ could be noted in these sports? Certainly those, which befell most usually, and were the aptest to alarm the spectator, and make him take an interest in them. These, it will be said, are numerous. They are so; yet such as are most to the poet’s purpose, are, with little or no variation, the same. It happened luckily for him, that two of his _games_, on which accordingly he hath exerted all the force of his genius, were entirely new. This advantage, the circumstances of the times afforded him. The _Naumachia_ was purely his own. Yet so liable are even the best and most candid judges to be haunted by this spectre of _imitation_, that _one_, whom every friend to every human excellence honours, cannot help, on comparing it with the _chariot-race_ of Homer, exclaiming in these words: “What is the encounter of Cloanthus and Gyas in the strait between the rocks, but the same with that of Menelaus and Antilochus in the hollow way? Had the galley of Serjestus been broken, if the chariot of Eumelus had not been demolished? Or, Mnestheus been cast from the helm, had not the other been thrown from his seat?” The plain truth is, it was not possible, in describing an ancient _sea-fight_, for one, who had even never seen Homer, to overlook such usual and striking particulars, as the _justling of ships, the breaking of galleys, and loss of pilots_.

It may appear from this instance, with what reason a similarity of circumstance, in the other games, hath been objected. The _subject-matter_ admitted not any material variation: I mean in the hands of so judicious a copier of Nature as Virgil. For,

“Homer and Nature were, he found, the same.”

So that we are not to wonder he kept close to his author, though at the expence of this false fame of _Originality_. Nay it appears directly from a remarkable instance that in the case before us, He unquestionably judged right.