‘Now, from what has been observed, it follows, that if the style of the N. T. were indeed derived from a language divinely infused as on the day of Pentecost, it must be just such, with regard to its style, as, in fact, we find it to be; that is to say, Greek words very frequently delivered in Syriac and Hebrew idiom.

‘The conclusion from the whole is this, that nominal or local barbarity of style (for that this attribute, when applied to style, is no more than nominal or local, will be clearly shewn under our next head) is so far from being an objection to its miraculous acquisition, that it is one mark of such extraordinary original[135].’

I have given this long quotation together, that the reader may comprehend at one view the drift and coherence of the Bishop’s argument: which is so clearly explained that what force it hath, can receive no addition from any comment of mine upon it.

It is true, this force appears to you no mighty matter—“We are told, you say, that, in order to convey clear intelligence to a foreigner, nothing more is necessary, than to use the words of his language adapted to the idiom of our own. But shall we always find correspondent words in his language[136]?”

Shall we always find correspondent words?—Not always, perfectly correspondent. Where does the Bishop say, we shall? Or, how was it to his purpose to say it? He does indeed speak of such a correspondency of terms, and chiefly of such an adaption of the terms of one language to the idiom of another, as shall abundantly serve to give clear intelligence. And this is all he had occasion to say.

Well, but an exact correspondency of terms is material. To what? To give clear intelligence? But if this be true, no clear intelligence can possibly be given in any translation from one language into another; for, in all translations whatever, it is necessary to render some words by others, that are not perfectly correspondent. You will scarcely deny that our English translation of the Gospels conveys, in general, clear intelligence to the English reader, though many terms are used in it, and were of necessity to be used, that do not perfectly and adequately correspond to the Greek terms, employed by the sacred writers. Without doubt it was your purpose to convey clear intelligence to your English reader in the elegant translations, they say, you have made of Demosthenes: and yet doubtless you will acknowledge that many words of the Athenian orator are not perfectly correspondent to those employed by you in your version of them.

What follows from this? Why, either that all translations must be exploded and set aside as insufficient to give clear intelligence, or that we must accept them, with all their unavoidable imperfections, as, in general, sufficiently representative of the sense of their originals, though in some particulars that sense be inadequately conveyed to us.

But how then, you will say, shall we gain a clear and perfect intelligence of such particulars? Why in the way, which common sense suggests; by inquiring, if we are able, what the precise meaning is of those terms of the original language, to which the translated terms are thus imperfectly correspondent. And if this be an inconvenience, ’tis an inconvenience necessarily attending every translation in the world, in which a writer would express the mixed modes denoted by the words of any other. For supposing the Greek tongue, infused by divine inspiration into the sacred writers, to have been that of Plato or Demosthenes himself, you will hardly pretend that it could have furnished them with Greek terms perfectly expressive of such compound ideas as certain Syriac or Hebrew terms expressed, and of which their subject obliged them to give, as far as the nature of the case would permit, clear intelligence. So that I cannot for my life comprehend the drift of that short question, Shall we always find correspondent terms in a foreign language? or, the pertinence of your learned comment on the text of Cicero’s letter to Servius.

I am sensible indeed, that, if the terms only of the new language were divinely infused, these, whether perfectly correspondent or not, would be insufficient of themselves to give clear intelligence. But the Bishop supposes more than this to be infused; for, what was inspired, he tells us, was the terms, TOGETHER with that grammatic congruity which is dependent thereon. Now this knowledge of the grammatic congruity of any tongue, superadded to a knowledge of its terms, would methinks enable a writer to express himself in it, for the most part, intelligibly.

I confess, the Bishop speaks—of fixing the terms or single words ONLY, and their signification, in the memory—But then he does not mean to exclude the grammatic congruity in the use of them, which, as we have seen, he expressly requires in the very same paragraph, but merely to expose the notion of the phrases and idioms being required, too. His Lordship speaks of the terms, or single words ONLY, in opposition to phrases and idioms: you seem to speak of terms, or single words ONLY, in opposition to systematic congruity.

I say, you seem so to speak: for, otherwise, I know not what to make of all you say concerning the insufficiency of the terms only of any language to give intelligence. And yet, in what follows, you seem to do justice to the Bishop, and to admit that, besides the terms, a grammatic congruity in the use of them was divinely inspired. For you go on to observe, “That the real purport of almost every sentence, in every language, is not to be learned from the signification of detached words, and their grammatical congruity, even where their signification may be expressed by correspondent words in another language[137].”

And here, Sir, your learning expatiates through several pages: the purpose of all which is to shew, that, if the terms of one language, though congruously used, be strictly adapted to the idiom of another, still they would give no intelligence, or at least a very obscure one; as you endeavour to prove by a decent instance taken from your countryman, Swift, in his dotages; and another, given by yourself in a literal version of a long passage of a sacred writer. It is true, in this last instance, you do not confine yourself to the strict observance of grammatic congruity. If you had done this, it would have appeared, from your own instance, that intelligence might have been given, and with tolerable clearness too, even in a literal version.

But be it allowed, that, if the terms of one language, even though a congruous construction be observed, be constantly and strictly adapted to the idioms of another, the expression will still, many times, be very dark and obscure: how is this obscurity to be prevented? Take what language you will for the conveyance instruction, it will be necessary for the reader or hearer to gain a competent knowledge of its idioms and phraseology, before he can receive the full benefit of it. So that, unless there had been a language in the world, native to all nations, and in the strictest sense of the word universal, I see not how inspiration itself could remedy this inconvenience. Suppose, as I said before, that the inspired language in which the Apostles wrote had been the purest Greek, still its idiomatic phraseology had been as strange and obscure to all such to whom that language was not native, as the Syriac or Hebrew idioms, by which the Apostolic Greek is now supposed to be so much darkened.

I conclude upon the whole, that nothing you have said overturns, or so much as affects, the learned Prelate’s notion of divine inspiration, as conveying only the terms and single words of one language, corresponding to those of another, together with that grammatic congruity in the use of them which is dependant thereon. This first and grand principle, as you call it, of the Bishop’s new theory, is such, you say, as no critic or grammarian can admit[138]. On the contrary, I must presume to think, because I have now shewn, that no critic or grammarian, who deserves the name, can reasonably object to this principle, as it allows all that is necessary to be supposed of an inspired language, its sufficiency to give clear intelligence: so clear, that, had the idioms of the new language been inspired too, it could not, in the general view of Providence, who intended this intelligence for the use of all people and languages, have been clearer.

But your unfavourable sentiment of the Bishop’s principle arises from your misconception of the circumstances, abilities, and qualifications of the Apostles, when they addressed themselves to the work of their ministry, and especially to the work of composing books for the instruction of the faithful in this originally inspired language.

When the Greek language was first infused, it would, no doubt, be full of their native phrases, or rather it would be wholly and entirely adapted to the Hebrew or Syriac idioms. This would render their expression somewhat dark and obscure to their Grecian hearers. But then it would be intelligible enough to those to whom they first and principally addressed themselves, the Hellenistic Jews, who, though they understood Greek best, were generally no strangers to the Hebrew idiom.

Further still, though this Hebrew-Greek language was all that was originally infused into the Apostles, nothing hinders but that they might, in the ordinary way, improve themselves in the Greek tongue, and superadd to their inspired knowledge whatever they could acquire, besides, by their conversation with the native Greeks, and the study of their language. For, though it can hardly be imagined, as the Bishop says, that the inspired writers had cultivated their knowledge of the language on the principles of the Grecian eloquence[139], that is, had formed and perfected their style by an anxious and critical attention to the rules and practice of the Greek rhetors, yet we need not conclude that they wholly neglected to improve themselves in the knowledge and use of this new language. So that, by the time they turned themselves to the Gentiles, and still more by the time they applied themselves to pen the books of the N. T. they might be tolerable masters even of the peculiar phraseology of the Greek tongue, and might be able to adapt it, in good measure, to the Greek idioms.

All this, I say, is very supposeable; because their turning to the Gentiles was not till near TEN years after the descent of the Holy Ghost upon the Apostles and the date of their earliest writings, penned for the edification of the Church, was not till near TWENTY years after that period: In all which time, they had full leisure and opportunity to acquire a competent knowledge of the native idiomatic Greek, abundantly sufficient to answer all ends of clearness and instruction.

But I go further, and say, It is not only very supposeable, and perfectly consistent with all the Bishop has advanced on the subject of inspiration, that the sacred writers might thus improve themselves, but it is, likewise, very clear and certain that they DID. How else are we to account for that difference of style observable in the sacred writers, whose expression is more or less coloured by their native Hebrew idioms, according as their acquaintance with the Greek tongue was more or less perfect? There were still, no doubt, very many of their own native idioms interspersed in their most improved Greek: As must ever be the case of writers who compose in a foreign tongue, whether acquired in the ordinary way, or supernaturally infused into them: But these barbarisms, as they are called, I mean these Syriasms or Hebraisms, are not so constant and perpetual as to prevent their writings from giving clear intelligence. In short, the style of the inspired writers is JUST that which we should naturally expect it to be, on this supposition of its being somewhat improved by use and exercise, and which the learned Bishop accurately (and in perfect consistency with his main principle, of the terms only being inspired, with the congruous use of them) defines it to be, “Greek words VERY FREQUENTLY delivered in Syriac and Hebrew idiom[140].”

Thus, in every view, the Bishop’s grand principle may be safely admitted. All that we need suppose, and therefore all that is reasonable to be supposed, is, That the terms of the Greek language, and a grammatical congruity in the use of them, was miraculously infused: The rest would be competently and sufficiently obtained by the application of ordinary means, without a miracle.

After saying so little, or rather after saying indeed nothing, that affects the Bishop’s principle, I cannot but think it is with an ill grace you turn yourself to cavil at the following incidental observation of his Lordship, which yet will be found as true and as just as any other he has made on this subject.

To those who might expect that, besides the simple impression of the Greek terms only, and their signification on the minds of the inspired linguists, another should have been made to inrich the mind with all the ideas which go towards the composing the phrases and idioms of the language so inspired (all which had been necessary, if the inspired language had been intended for a perfect model of Grecian eloquence), the Bishop replies—‘This latter impression seems to require, or rather indeed implies, a previous one of the tempers, fashions, and opinions, of the people to whom the language is native, upon the minds of them to whom the language is thus imparted; because the phrase and idiom arises from, and is dependent on those manners[141].’ But such an impression as this, he goes on to shew, was not to be expected.

It is clear from this passage, that the Bishop is speaking of an impression necessary to be made on the minds of the Apostles, if the inspired language had been so complete as to extend to all its native phrases and idioms. If the Apostles were instantly to possess the inspired Greek in this perfection, it is necessary to suppose that this last impression must, as well as that of the terms, be made upon them. Can any thing, be more certain and undeniable than this affirmation? Yet, in p. 86. of your book, you have this strange passage.

After having shewn, as you suppose, that the Bishop’s grand principle, of the inspiration of the TERMS only, stands on a very insecure foundation, “Perhaps,” you say, “it is no less HAZARDOUS to affirm, that a knowledge of the idiom or phraseology of any language, always implies a previous knowledge of the customs and manners of those to whom it is vernacular.”

You intended, no doubt, in your censure of this hazardous position, to oppose something which the Bishop had affirmed. Be pleased now to cast your eye on the passage you criticize, and tell me where the Bishop asserts, that a KNOWLEDGE of the idiom or phraseology of any language ALWAYS implies a previous knowledge of the customs and manners of those to whom it is vernacular. What the Bishop asserts is, That an IMPRESSION of the phrases and idioms of an inspired language implies a previous IMPRESSION of the tempers, fashions, and opinions of the people to whom the language is native, upon the minds of them to who the language is THUS imparted: that is, if a knowledge of the idioms had been impressed, a knowledge of the customs and manners from which those idioms arise, and without a knowledge of which they could not be understood (as they were to be, by the recipients of this spiritual gift), must have been impressed likewise. No, you say: a knowledge of the idiom of a language does not always imply a previous knowledge of the manners. Who says, it does? We may come to know the idioms of languages, without a divine impression: and without such impression, for any thing appears to the contrary, the Bishop might suppose the sacred writers came by their knowledge, so far as they possessed it, of the Greek idioms. But the impression of such idioms could only come from another and previous impression of the customs and manners: because in this case, without a previous impression of the customs and manners, the idioms themselves, when impressed, could not have been understood, nor consequently put to use, by the persons on whom this impression was made. They had no time to recur to Lexicons, Grammars, and Commentaries to know the meaning of the impressed idioms. How then were they, on the instant, to know their meaning at all, but by a previous impression of the manners, from which they arose, and which would put them into a capacity of understanding these impressed idioms?

In a word, the Bishop is speaking of SUPERNATURAL IMPRESSION: you, of NATURAL KNOWLEDGE. No wonder, then, your reasoning and your learning, in the concluding pages of this chapter, should look entirely beside the matter in hand, or, at best, should look so askew on the Bishop’s hazardous position. It is certain, you are far enough out of all danger of encountering it, when you entrench yourself, at length, behind this distant and secure conclusion—“that the knowledge of idiom is so far from requiring, or implying a previous one of tempers, manners, &c. that the very CONVERSE of this seems to be the safer principle; and that tempers and manners are not to be learned, without some degree of previous acquaintance with the peculiarities of a language[142]:” a proposition, which though exceptionable enough, as you put it, and even suggesting some pleasant ideas, I am in no humour, at present, to contest with you.

This, Sir, is the whole of what I find advanced by you, that hath any shew or appearance of being intended as a Confutation of the argument by which the Bishop supports his first Paradox; in opposition to Dr. Middleton’s opinion, That an inspired language must needs be a language of perfect eloquence. The Bishop has told us in very accurate terms what he conceives the character of an inspired language must needs be: and I have at least shewn, that the character he gives of it may be a just one, notwithstanding any thing you have objected to it in your learned Dissertation.

I now proceed to the Bishop’s second Paradox; which opposes Dr. Middleton’s second Proposition, That eloquence is something congenial and essential to human speech, and inherent in the constitution of things.

‘This supposes, says the Bishop, ‘that there is some certain Archetype in nature, to which that quality refers, and on which it is formed and modelled. And, indeed, admitting this to be the case, one should be apt enough to conclude, that when the Author of nature condescended to inspire one of these plastic performances of human art, he would make it by the exactest pattern of the Archetype.

‘But the proposition is fanciful and false. Eloquence is not congenial or essential to human speech, nor is there any Archetype in nature to which that quality refers. It is accidental and arbitrary, and depends on custom and fashion: it is a mode of human communication which changes with the changing climates of the Earth; and is as various and unstable as the genius, temper, and manners of its diversified inhabitants. For what is Purity but the use of such terms, with their multiplied combinations, as the interest, the complexion, or the caprice of a writer or speaker of authority hath preferred to its equals? What is Elegance but such a turn of idiom as a fashionable fancy hath brought into repute? And what is Sublimity but the application of such images, as arbitrary or casual connexions, rather than their own native grandeur, have dignified and ennobled? Now Eloquence is a compound of these three qualities of speech, and consequently must be as nominal and unsubstantial as its constituent parts. So that, that mode of composition, which is a model of perfect eloquence to one nation or people, must appear extravagant or mean to another. And thus in fact it was. Indian and Asiatic eloquence were esteemed hyperbolic, unnatural, abrupt and puerile to the more phlegmatic inhabitants of Rome and Athens. And the Western eloquence, in its turn, appeared nerveless and effeminate, frigid or insipid, to the hardy and inflamed imaginations of the East. Nay, what is more, each species, even of the most approved genus, changed its nature with the change of clime and language; and the same expression, which, in one place, had the utmost simplicity, had, in another, the utmost sublime[143].’

The Bishop then proceeds to illustrate this last observation by a famous instance, taken from the first chapter of Genesis, and then recapitulates and enforces his general argument in the following manner.

‘Apply all this to the books of the N. T. an authorized collection, professedly designed for the rule and direction of mankind. Now such a rule demanded that it should be inspired of God. But inspired writing, the objectors say, implies the most perfect eloquence. What human model then was the Holy Ghost to follow? And a human model, of arbitrary construction, it must needs be, because there was no other: Or, if there were another, it would never suit the purpose, which was to make an impression on the minds and affections; and this impression, such an eloquence only as that which had gained the popular ear, could effect. Should therefore the Eastern eloquence be employed? But this would be too inflated and gigantic for the West. Should it be the Western? But this would be too cold and torpid for the East. Or, suppose the generic eloquence of the more polished nations was to be preferred, which species of it was to be employed? The rich exuberance of the Asiatic Greeks, or the dry conciseness of the Spartans? The pure and poignant ease and flowing sweetness of the Attic modulation, or the strength and grave severity of the Roman tone? Or should all give way to that African torrent, which arose from the fermented mixture of the dregs of Greece and Italy, and soon after overflowed the Church with theological conceits in a sparkling luxuriancy of thought, and a sombrous rankness of expression? Thus various were the species’s! all as much decried by a different genus, and each as much disliked by a different species, as the eloquence of the remotest East and West, by one another[144].’

Thus far the learned Bishop, with the spirit and energy, as you well observe, of an ancient orator[145]; and, let me add, with a justness and force of reasoning, which would have done honour to the best ancient Philosopher. But here we separate again. You maintain, with Dr. Middleton, that eloquence is something congenial and essential to human speech: While I, convinced by the Bishop’s reasoning in these paragraphs, maintain that it assuredly is not.

The subject, indeed, affords great scope to your rhetorical faculties; and the cause, you maintain, being that, as you conceive, of the antient orators, and even of eloquence itself, you suffer your enthusiasm to bear you away, without controul; and, as is the natural effect of enthusiasm, with so little method and precision of argument, that a cool examiner of your work hardly knows how to follow you, or where to take aim at you, in your aery and uncertain flight. However, I shall do my best to reduce your Rhetoric to Reason; I mean, to represent the substance of what you seem to intend by way of argument against the Bishop’s principle, leaving your eloquence to make what impression on the gentle reader it may.

And, FIRST, in opposition, as you suppose, to the Bishop’s tenet, “That eloquence is NOT something congenial and essential to human speech,” you apply yourself to shew, through several chapters, that tropes, metaphors, allegories, and universally what are called by Rhetoricians figures of speech, are natural and necessary expressions of the passions, and have their birth in the very reason and constitution of things. To make out this important point is the sole drift of your I, II, III, and IVᵗʰ Chapters; in which you seem to me to be contending for that which nobody denies, and to be disputing without an opponent. At least, you can hardly believe that the Bishop of Gloucester is to be told, that metaphors, allegories, and similitudes are the offspring of nature and necessity, He, who has, with the utmost justness and elegance of reasoning, as you well observe[146], explained this very point, himself, in the Divine Legation.

What then are we to conclude from these elaborate chapters? Why, that by some unlucky mistake or other, let us call it only by the softer name, of inattention, you have entirely misrepresented the scope and purpose of all the Bishop has said on the subject of eloquence. And that this is no hasty or groundless charge, but the very truth of the case, will clearly be seen from a brief examination of the Bishop’s theory, compared with your reasonings upon it.

The position, that eloquence is something congenial and essential to human speech, supposes, says the Bishop, that there is some certain Archetype in nature, to which that quality refers, and on which it is to be formed and modelled.

The Bishop, you see, requires an Archetype to be pointed out to him of that consummate eloquence, which is said to be congenial and essential to human speech. The demand is surely reasonable; and not difficult to be complied with, if such an Archetype do, in fact, subsist. But do you know of any such? Do you refer him to any such? Do you specify that composition? or do you so much as delineate that sort of composition, which will pass upon all men under the idea of an Archetype? Nothing of all this. Permit us then to attend to the Bishop’s reasoning, by which he undertakes to prove that no such Archetype does or can exist.

‘The proposition [that asserts, there is such an Archetype] is fanciful and false. Eloquence is not congenial or essential to human speech, nor is there any Archetype in nature to which that quality refers. It is accidental and arbitrary, and depends on custom and fashion: It is a mode of human communication which changes with the changing climates of the earth; and is as various and unstable as the genius, temper, and manners of its diversified inhabitants[147].’

The Bishop asserts there is no Archetype, because eloquence is a variable thing, depending on custom and fashion; is nothing absolute in itself; but relative to the fancies and prejudices of men, and changeable, as the different climes they inhabit. This general reason seems convincing: it appeals to fact, to experience, to the evidence of sense. But the learned Prelate goes further. He analyzes the complex idea of eloquence: he examines the qualities of speech, of which it is made up; and he shews that they are nominal and unsubstantial. Hence it follows, again, That there is no Archetype in nature of perfect eloquence; its very constituent parts, as they are deemed, having no substance or reality in them.

But why should the Bishop condescend to this analysis, when his general argument seemed decisive of the question? For a good reason. When the Bishop asked for an Archetype, though you are shy of producing any, he well knew that the masters of Eloquence, those I mean who are accounted such in these parts of the world, had pretended to give one. He knew the authority of these masters of human speech with the sort of men, he had to deal with: he therefore takes the Archetype, they have given, and shews, upon their own ideas of eloquence, it is a mere phantom.

It is not to be supposed that the Bishop, in touching incidentally the question of Eloquence in a theological treatise, should follow the Greek and Latin rhetors through all the niceties and distinctions of their Art, or should amuse himself or us with a minute detail of all the particulars which go to the making up of this mighty compound, their Archetypal idea of human eloquence. If he had been so pleased, and had had no better business on his hands, it is likely he could have told us news, as you have done, out of Aristotle, Longinus, and Cicero. But his manner is to say no more on a subject, than the occasion makes necessary; which, in the present case, was no more than to acquaint his reader, in very general terms, with the constituent parts of eloquence; which he resolves into these three, Purity, Elegance, and Sublimity.

But this you call a most illogical division of Eloquence; for that the Bishop hath not only enumerated the constituent parts imperfectly; but, of the three qualities which he hath exhibited, the first is included in the second, and the third is not necessarily and universally a part of eloquence[148].

The enumeration, you say, is imperfect. Yet Purity, I think, denotes whatever comes under the idea of PROPRIETY, that is, of approved custom, as well as grammatical use, in any language: Elegance, expresses all those embellishments of composition, which are the effect of Art: and I know no fitter term than Sublimity, to stand for those qualities of eloquence, which are derived from the efforts of Genius, or natural Parts. Now what else can be required to complete the idea of Eloquence, and what defect of logic can there be in comprehending the various properties of human speech under these three generic names? The division is surely so natural and so intelligible, that few readers, I believe, will be disposed to object with you, that the first of the three qualities is included in the second, and that the third is not necessarily and universally a part of eloquence.

But let the Bishop’s enumeration be ever so logical, you further quarrel with his idea of these three constituent parts of eloquence, and his reasoning upon them.

‘What; says his Lordship, is Purity but the use of such terms with their multiplied combinations, as the interest, the complexion, or the caprice of a writer or speaker of authority hath preferred to its equals?’

This idea of purity in language you think strange; and yet in the very chapter in which you set yourself to contemplate and to reprobate this strange idea, you cannot help resolving purity, into usage and custom, that is, with Quintilian, into consensum (eruditorum); which surely is but saying in other words with the Bishop, that it consists in the use of such terms, with their multiplied combinations, as the interest, the complexion, or the caprice of a writer or speaker of Authority hath preferred to its equals—for equals they undoubtedly were, till that usage or custom took place. When this consent of the learned is once established, every writer or speaker, who pretends to purity of expression, must doubtless conform to it: but previously to such consent, purity is a thing arbitrary enough to justify the Bishop’s conclusion, that this quality is not congenial and essential to human speech.

Next, the Bishop asks, ‘What is Elegance but such a turn of idiom as a fashionable fancy hath brought into repute?’

Here, again, you grow very nice in your inquiries into the idea of fancy, the idea of fashion, and I know not what of that sort. In a word, you go on defining, and distinguishing to the end of the chapter, in a way that without doubt would be very edifying to your young scholars in Trinity College, but, as levelled against the Bishop, is certainly unseasonable and out of place. For define elegance that you will, it finally resolves into something that is not of the essence of human speech, but factitious and arbitrary; as depending much on the taste, the fancy, the caprice (call it what you please) of such writers or speakers, as have obtained the popular vogue for this species of eloquence, and so had the fortune to bring the turn of idiom and expression, which they preferred and cultivated, into general repute.

‘Lastly,’ the Bishop asks, ‘What is Sublimity but the application of such images, as arbitrary or casual connexions, rather than their own native grandeur, have dignified and ennobled?’

To this question you reply by asking another, Whether sublimity doth necessarily consist in the application of images? But, first, if what is called Sublimity, generally consists in the application of images, it is abundantly sufficient to the Bishop’s purpose: Next, I presume to say, that the sublime of eloquence, or the impression which a genius makes upon us by his expression, consists necessarily and universally in the application of images, that is, of bright and vivid ideas, which is the true, that is, the received sense of the word, images, (however rhetoricians may have distinguished different kinds of them, and expressed them by different names) in all rhetorical and critical works. Lastly, I maintain that these bright and vivid ideas are rendered interesting to the reader or hearer from the influence of Association, rather than of their own native dignity and grandeur: of which I could give so many instances, that, for this reason, I will only give your own, which you lay so much stress upon, of the famous oath, by the souls of those who fought at Marathon and Platæa[149]: where the peculiar ideas of interest, glory, and veneration, associated to the image or idea of the battle of Marathon and Platæa, gave a sublime and energy to this oath of Demosthenes, by the souls of those that fought there, in the conceptions of his countrymen, which no other people could have felt from it, and of which you, Sir, with all your admiration of it, have certainly a very faint conception at this time.

I should here have dispatched this article of Sublimity, but that you will expect me to take some notice of your objection to what the Bishop observes, ‘That this species of eloquence changed its nature, with the change of clime and language; and that the same expression, which in one place had the utmost simplicity, had, in another, the utmost sublime[150]:’ An observation, which he illustrates and confirms by the various fortune of the famous passage in Genesis, God said, Let there be light, and there was light; so sublime, in the apprehension of Longinus and Boileau, and so simple, in that of Huetius and Le Clerc.

To this pertinent illustration, most ingeniously explained and enforced by the learned Prelate, you reply with much ease, “That this might well be, and even in the same place,” and then proceed to inform him of I know not what union between simplicity and sublimity; though you civilly add, “That it is a point known to every SMATTERER in criticism, that these two qualities are so far from being inconsistent with each other, that they are frequently united by a natural and inseparable union[151].”

“Simplicity and sublimity may be found together.” I think the proposition false, in your sense of it, at least. But be it true, that these qualities in expression may be found together. What then? The question is of a passage, where these qualities, in the apprehension of great critics, are found separately; the one side maintaining that it is merely simple, the other, that it is merely sublime. Simplicity is, here, plainly opposed to sublimity, and implies the absence of it: Boileau, after Longinus, affirming that the expression is, and his adversaries affirming that it is not, sublime. Can any thing shew more clearly, that the sublime of eloquent expression depends on casual associations, and not on the nature of things?

But the Bishop goes further and tells us, what the associations were that occasioned these different judgments of the passage in question. The ideas suggested in it were familiar, to the sacred writer: they were new and admirable, to the Pagan Critic. Hence the expression would be of the greatest simplicity in Moses, though it would be naturally esteemed by Longinus, infinitely sublime.

Here you cavil a little about the Effect of familiarity: but, as conscious of the weakness of this part of your answer, Not to insist, you say, upon this, How comes it then that Boileau and many other Christian readers, to whom the ideas of creation were as familiar as to Moses himself, were yet affected by the sublime of this passage? You ask, How this comes to pass? How? Why in the way, in which so many other strange things come to pass, by the influence of authority. Longinus had said, the expression of this passage was sublime. And when he had said this, the wonder is to find two men, such as Huetius and Le Clerc, who durst, after that, honestly declare their own feelings, and profess that, to them, the expression was not sublime.

But more on this head of Authority presently.

You see, Sir, I pass over these chapters on the qualities of Eloquence, though they make so large a part of your Dissertation, very rapidly: and I do it, not to escape from any force I apprehend there to be in your argument or observations, but because I am persuaded that every man, who knows what language is, and how it is formed, is so convinced that those qualities of it by which it comes to be denominated pure, and elegant, and interesting, are the effects of custom, fashion, and association, that he would not thank me for employing many words on so plain a point. Only, as you conclude this part of your work with an appeal, which you think sufficiently warranted, against the most positive decisions of fashion, custom, or prejudice, to certain general and established principles of rational criticism, subversive, as you think, of the Bishop’s whole theory, I shall be bold to tell you, as I just now promised, what my opinion is, of these established rules of RATIONAL CRITICISM: by which you will understand how little I conceive the Bishop’s system to be affected by this confident appeal to such principles.

I hold then, that what you solemnly call the established principles of rational criticism are only such principles as criticism hath seen good to establish on the practice of the Greek and Roman speakers and writers; the European eloquence being ultimately the mere product and result of such practice; and European criticism being no further rational than as it accords to it. This is the way, in which ancient and modern critics have gone to work in forming their systems: and their systems deserve to be called rational, because they deliver such rules as experience has found most conducive to attain the ends of eloquence in these parts of the world. Had you attended to this obvious consideration, it is impossible you should have alarmed yourself so much, as you seem to have done, at the Bishop’s bold Paradox, as if it threatened the downfall of Eloquence itself: which, you now see, stands exactly as it did, and is just as secure in all its established rights and privileges on the Bishop’s system of there being no Archetype of Eloquence in nature, as upon your’s, that there is one. The rules of criticism are just the same on either supposition, and will continue the same so long as we take the Greek and Roman writers for our masters and models; nay, so long as the influence of their authority, now confirmed and strengthened by the practice of ages, and struck deep into the European notions and manners, shall subsist.

You need, therefore, be in no pain for the interests of Eloquence, which are so dear to you; nor for the dignity of your Rhetorical office in the University of Dublin; which is surely of importance enough, if you teach your young hearers how to become eloquent in that scene where their employment of it is likely to fall; without pretending to engage them in certain chimerical projects how they may attain an essential universal eloquence, or such as will pass for eloquence in all ages and countries of the world.

You see, Sir, if this opinion of mine be a truth, that it overturns at once the whole structure of your book. We, no doubt, who have been lectured in Greek and Roman eloquence, think it preferable to any other; and we think so, because it conforms to certain rules which our criticism has established, without considering that those rules are only established on the successful practice of European writers and speakers, and are therefore no rules at all in such times and places where a different, perhaps a contrary, practice is followed with the same success. Let a Spartan, an Asiatic, an African, a Chinese system of rhetoric be given: Each of these shall differ from other, yet each shall be best and most rational, as relative to the people for whom it is formed. Nay, to see how groundless all your fancies of a rational essential eloquence are, do but reflect that even the European eloquence, though founded on the same general principles, is yet different in different places in many respects. I could tell you of a country, and that at no great distance, where that which is thought supremely elegant passes in another country, not less conversant in the established principles of rational criticism, for FINICAL; while what, in this country, is accepted under the idea of sublimity, is derided, in that other, as no better than BOMBAST.

What follows, now, from this appeal to experience, against your appeal to the established rules of criticism? Plainly this: That all the rhetors of antiquity put together are no authority against what the Bishop of Gloucester asserts concerning the nature of eloquence; since THEY only tell us (and we will take their word for it) what will please or affect under certain circumstances, while the Bishop only questions whether the same rules, under ALL circumstances, will enable a writer or speaker to please and affect. Strange! that you should not see the inconsequence of your own reasoning. The Bishop says, The rules of eloquence are for the most part, local and arbitrary: No, you say, The rules are not local and arbitrary, FOR they were held reasonable ones at Athens and Rome. Your very answer shews that they were local and arbitrary. You see, then, why I make so slight on this occasion of all your multiplied citations from the ancient writers, which, how respectable soever, are no decisive authority, indeed no authority at all, in the present case.

Hitherto, the Bishop had been considering eloquence ONLY SO FAR as it is founded in arbitrary principles and local prejudices. For, though his expression had been general, he knew very well that his thesis admitted some limitation; having directly affirmed of the various modes of eloquence, not that they were altogether and in all respects, but MOSTLY, fantastical (p. 67), which, though you are pleased to charge it upon him as an inconsistency[152], the reader sees is only a necessary qualification of his general thesis, such as might be expected in so exact a writer as the learned Bishop. He now then attends to this limitation, and considers what effect it would have on his main theory.

‘It will be said, Are there not some more substantial principles of eloquence, common to all the various species that have obtained in the world?—Without doubt, there are.—Why then should not these have been employed, to do credit to the Apostolic inspiration? For good reasons: respecting both the speaker and the hearers. For, what is eloquence but a persuasive turn given to the elocution to supply that inward, that conscious persuasion of the speaker, so necessary to gain a fair hearing? But the first preachers of the Gospel did not need a succedaneum to that inward conscious persuasion. And what is the end of eloquence, even when it extends no further than to those more general principles, but to stifle reason and inflame the passions? But the propagation of Christian truths indispensably requires the aid of reason, and requires no other human aid[153].’

Here, again, you are quite scandalized at the Bishop’s paradoxical assertions concerning the nature and end of eloquence; and you differ as widely from him now he argues on the supposition of there being some more substantial principles of eloquence, as you did before, when he contended that most of those we call principles were arbitrary and capricious things. You even go so far as to insult him with a string of questions, addressed ad hominem: for, having quoted some passages from his book, truly eloquent and rhetorical, you think you have him at advantage, and can now confute him out of his own mouth.

“Can any thing,” you ask, “be more brilliant, more enlivened, more truly rhetorical, than these passages? What then are we to think of the writer and his intentions? Is he really sincere in his reasoning? or are these eloquent forms of speech so many marks of falshood? Were they assumed as a succedaneum to conscious persuasion? And is the end and design of them to stifle reason and inflame the passions[154]?”

To blunt the edge of these sharp and pressing interrogatories, give me leave to observe that the main question agitated by the Bishop is, whether divine inspiration can be reasonably expected to extend so far as to infuse a perfect model of eloquence, and to over-rule the inspired Apostles in such sort, as that all they write or speak should be according to the rules of the most consummate rhetoric. He resolves this question in the negative: first, by shewing that there is no such thing as what would be deemed a perfect model of eloquence subsisting in nature; a great part of what is called eloquence in all nations being arbitrary and chimerical; and, secondly, by shewing that even those principles, which may be justly thought more substantial, were, for certain reasons, not deserving the solicitous and over-ruling care of a divine inspirer. His reasons are these: First, that eloquence, when most genuine, is but a persuasive turn given to the elocution to supply that inward, that conscious persuasion of the speaker, so necessary to gain a fair hearing, and which the first preachers of the Gospel had already, by the influence and impression of the holy Spirit upon their minds: And, next, that the end of eloquence, even when it extends no further than to those more general principles, is but to stifle reason and inflame the passions; an end of a suspicious sort, and which the propagation of Christian truths, the proper business of the sacred writers or speakers, did not require.

You see these reasons, in whatever defective, are both of them founded in one common principle, which the Bishop every where goes upon, and the best philosophy warrants, That, when the Deity interposes in human affairs, he interposes no further than is necessary to the end in view, and leaves every thing else to the intervention and operation of second causes. The Apostles wanted NO succedaneum to an inward conscious persuasion, which the observance of the general principles of eloquence supplies; they were not, therefore, supernaturally instructed in them. They wanted NO assistance from a power that tends to stifle reason and inflame the passions: it was not, therefore, miraculously imparted to them. Every thing here is rational, and closely argued. What was not necessary was not done. Not a word about the inconvenience and inutility, in all cases, of recurring to the rules and practice of a chaste eloquence: not a word to shew that, where eloquence is employed, there is nothing but fraud and falshood, no inward persuasion, no consciousness of truth: not a word to insinuate that either you or the Bishop should be restrained from being as eloquent on occasion as you might have it in your power to be, or might think fit: nay, not a word against the Apostles themselves having recourse to the aids of human eloquence, if they had access to them, and found them expedient; only these aids were not REQUIRED, that is, were not to be claimed or expected from divine inspiration.

Thus stands the Bishop’s reasoning, perfectly clear and just. The only room for debate is, whether his ideas of the nature and end of eloquence be just, too. Eloquence, he says, is but a persuasive turn given to the elocution, to supply that inward, that conscious persuasion of the speaker, so necessary to gain a fair hearing. The general affirmation you do not, indeed cannot, reject or controvert; for, the great master of eloquence himself confirms it in express words—Tum optimè dicit orator, cum VIDETUR vera dicere. Quinctil. l. iv. c. 2. And, again, Semper ita dicat, TANQUAM de causâ optimè sentiat. l. v. c. 13; that is, an inward conscious persuasion is to be supplied by the speaker’s art. The Bishop’s idea then of the nature of eloquence is, as far as I can see, the very same idea which Quinctilian had of it. Both agree, that eloquence is such a turn of the elocution as supplies that inward conscious persuasion so necessary to the speaker’s success. The Bishop adds, that this supply the inspired writers did not want. But you will say, perhaps, that merely human writers may have this inward conscious persuasion, as well as the inspired. What then? if human writers can do without this succedaneum, which human eloquence supplies to inward persuasion, who obliges them to have recourse to it? Yes, but they cannot do so well without it. Who then forbids them to have recourse to it? For, neither are the inspired writers barred of this privilege: only, as being simply UNNECESSARY, it was not præternaturally supplied. Your perplexity on this subject arises from not distinguishing between what is absolutely necessary, and what is sometimes expedient: Divine inspiration provides only for the first; the latter consideration belongs to human prudence.

But it would be, further, a mistake to say, that merely human writers have their inward conscious persuasion as well as the divine. They may have it, indeed, from the conclusions of their own reason, but have they it in the same degree of strength and vivacity, have they the same full assurance of faith, as those who have truth immediately impressed upon them by the hand of God? I suppose, not.

But the Bishop’s idea of the END of eloquence revolts you as much as his idea of its nature. What, says he, is the END of eloquence, even when it extends no further than to those more general principles, but to stifle reason and inflame the passions? And what other end, I pray you, can it have? You will say, To adorn, recommend, and enforce truth. It may be so, sometimes: this, we will say, is its more legitimate end. But even this end is not accomplished but by stifling reason and inflaming the passions: that is, eloquence prevents reason from adverting simply to the truth of things, and to the force of evidence; and it does this by agitating and disturbing the natural and calm state of the mind with rhetorical diminutions or amplifications. Vis oratoris OMNIS, says Quinctilian, in AUGENDO MINUENDOQUE consistit. [l. viii. c. 3. sub fin.] Now what is this but stifling reason? But it goes further: it inflames the passions, the ultimate end it has in view from stifling reason, or putting it of its guard. And for this, again, we have the authority of Quinctilian, affectibus perturbandus et ab intentione auferendus orator. Non enim solum oratoris est docere, sed plus eloquentia CIRCA MOVENDUM valet. l. iv. c. 5. Or, would you see a passage from the great master of rhetoric, where his idea of this double end of eloquence is given, at once; it follows in these words—Ubi ANIMIS judicum VIS afferenda est, et AB IPSA VERI CONTEMPLATIONE abducenda mens, IBI PROPRIUM ORATORIS OPUS EST. l. vi. c. 2. That is, where the passions are to be inflamed, and reason stifled, there is the proper use and employment of the rhetorical art. So exactly has the Bishop traced the footsteps of the great master, when he gave us his idea of the END of eloquence!

Well, but this end, you say, is IMMORAL. So much the worse for your system; for such is the undoubted end of eloquence, even by the confession of its greatest patrons and advocates themselves. But what? Is this end immoral in all cases? And have you never then heared, that the passions, as wicked things as they are, may be set on the side of truth? In short, Eloquence, like Ridicule, which is, indeed, no mean part of it, may be either well or ill employed; and though it cannot be truly said that the end of either is simply immoral, yet it cannot be denied that what these modes of address propose to themselves in ALL cases is, to stifle reason and inflame the passions.

The Bishop’s idea, then, of the end of eloquence, I presume, is fairly and fully justified. But your complaint now is, that the Bishop does not himself abide by this idea. For you find a contradiction between what his Lordship says here—that the END of eloquence, even when it extends no further than to those more general principles, is but to style reason and inflame the passions, and what he says elsewhere—that the PRINCIPAL end of eloquence, AS IT IS EMPLOYED IN HUMAN AFFAIRS, is to mislead reason and to cajole the fancy and affections[155]. But these propositions are perfectly consistent; nor was the latter introduced so much as for the purpose of qualifying and palliating any thing that might be deemed offensive in the former. For though eloquence, chastely employed, goes no further than to stifle reason and inflame the passions (and the chastest eloquence, if it deserves the name, goes thus far), yet the principal end of eloquence, as it is employed in human affairs, is to mislead reason, which is something more than stifling it; and to cajole, which is much worse than to inflame, the passions. Reason may be STIFLED, and the passions INFLAMED, when the speaker’s purpose is to inculcate right and truth: Reason is only in danger of being MISLED, and the fancy and affections of being CAJOLED, when wrong and error are enforced by him. So very inaccurate was your conception of the Bishop’s expression! which I should not have explained so minutely, but to shew you that, when you undertook to expose such a writer, as the Bishop, you should have studied his expression with more care, and should have understood the force of words at another rate, than you seem to have done in this instance.

Still you will ask, if the end be so legitimate, why should not the inspired writers be trusted with this powerful engine of human eloquence? The Bishop gives several reasons: It is a suspicious instrument, p. 57. It was an improper instrument for heaven-directed men, whose strength was not to be derived from the wisdom of men, but from the power of God, p. 59. But the direct and immediate answer is contained, as I observed, in these words—The propagation of Christian truths indispensably requires the aid of reason, and requires no other aid. 1. Christianity, which is a reasonable service, was of necessity to be propagated by force of reason; in the Bishop’s better expression, IT INDISPENSABLY REQUIRED THE AID OF REASON; but Reason, he tells us in the next words, can never be fairly and vigorously exerted but in that favourable interval which precedes the appeal to the passions. 2. The Propagation of Christianity, which indispensably required the aid of reason, REQUIRED NO OTHER HUMAN AID: that is, no other human means were simply REQUISITE or NECESSARY. God, therefore, was pleased to leave his inspired servants to the prudential use and exercise of their own natural or acquired talents; but would not supernaturally endow them with this unnecessary power of eloquent words. The inspired writers, even the most learned and, by nature, the most eloquent of them, made a very sparing use of such talents, proudly sacrificing them, as the Bishop nobly and eloquently says, to the glory of the everlasting Gospel. But as the end was not, so neither was the use of eloquence, simply immoral or evil in itself. They were considerations of propriety, prudence, and piety, which restrained the Apostles generally, but not always, in the use of eloquence; which was less decent in their case, and which they could very well do without. When the same considerations prompt other men, under other circumstances, to affect the way of eloquence, it may safely, and even commendably, for any thing the Bishop has said on this subject as it concerns divine inspiration, be employed.

Admitting then the Bishop’s ideas both of the nature and end of eloquence, the want of this character in the sacred writings is only vindicated, not the thing itself interdicted or disgraced.

The conclusion from the whole of what the Bishop has advanced on this argument, follows in these words:

‘What, therefore, do our ideas of fit and right tell us is required in the style of an universal law? Certainly no more than this—To employ those aids which are common to all language as such; and to reject what is peculiar to each, as they are casually circumstanced. And what are these aids but CLEARNESS and PRECISION? By these, the mind and sentiments of the Composer are intelligibly conveyed to the reader. These qualities are essential to language, as it is distinguished from jargon: they are eternally the same, and independent on custom or fashion. To give a language clearness was the office of Philosophy; to give it precision was the office of Grammar. Definition performs the first service by a resolution of the ideas which make up the terms: Syntaxis performs the second by a combination of the several parts of speech into a systematic congruity: these are the very things in language which are least positive, as being conducted on the principles of metaphysics and logic. Whereas, all besides, from the very power of the elements, and signification of the terms, to the tropes and figures of composition, are arbitrary; and, what is more, as these are a deviation from those principles of metaphysics and logic, they are frequently vicious. This, the great master quoted above [Quinctilian] freely confesseth, where speaking of that ornamented speech, which he calls σχήματα λέξεως, he makes the following confession and apology—esset enim omne schema VITIUM, si non peteretur, sed accideret. Verum auctoritate, vetustate, consuetudine, plerumque defenditur, sæpe etiam RATIONE QUADAM. Ideoque cum sit a simplici rectoque loquendi genere deflexa, virtus est, si habet PROBABILE ALIQUID quod sequatur[156].’

There is no part of your book in which you exult more than in the confutation of this obnoxious paragraph. It is to be hoped, you do it on good grounds—but let us see what those grounds are.

The Bishop, in the paragraph you criticize in your vᵗʰ Chapter, had said that tropes and figures of composition, under certain circumstances, there expressed, are frequently vicious. You make a difficulty of understanding this term, and doubt whether his Lordship means vice in a critical, or moral sense. I take upon me to answer roundly for the Bishop, that he meant vice in the critical sense: for he pronounces such tropes and figures vicious, ONLY as they are a deviation from the principles of METAPHYSICS AND LOGIC; and therefore I presume he could not mean vice in the other sense, which is a deviation from the principles of ETHICS. All you say on this subject, then, might have been well spared.

This incidental question, or doubt of your’s, being cleared up, let us now attend to the more substantial grounds you go upon, in your censure of the learned Bishop.

He had been speaking of clearness and precision, as the things in language, which are least positive. Whereas, all besides, from the very power of the elements and signification of the terms, to the tropes and figures of composition, are arbitrary; and, what is more, as these are a deviation from the principles of metaphysics and logic, are frequently vicious.

In the first place, you say, it were to be wished that his Lordship had pleased to express himself with a little more precision—Want of precision is not, I think, a fault with which the Bishop’s writings are commonly charged; and I wish it may not appear in this instance, as it did lately in another, that your misapprehension of his argument arises from the very precision of his expression. But in what does this supposed want of precision consist? Why, in not qualifying this sentence, passed on the tropes and figures of Composition, which, from the general terms, in which it is delivered, falls indiscriminately upon ALL writers and speakers; for that “ALL men, who have ever written and spoken, have frequently used this mode of elocution, which is said to be frequently vicious[157].” Well, but from the word, frequently, which you make yourself so pleasant with, it appears that the Bishop had qualified this bold and dangerous position.—Yes, but this makes the position still more bold. Indeed! The Bishop is then singularly unhappy, to have his position, first, declared bold for want of being qualified, and, then, bolder still, for being so. But your reason follows.

“What makes this position still more hardy is, that, however the conclusion seems confined and restrained by the addition of that qualifying word [frequently], yet the premises are general and unlimited. It is asserted without any restriction, that figurative composition is a deviation from the principles of metaphysics and logic. If then it be vicious as it is, i. e. because [quatenus] it is such a deviation, it must be not only frequently but always vicious; a very severe censure denounced against almost every speaker, and every writer, both sacred and prophane, that ever appeared in the world[158].”

Here your criticism grows very logical; and, notwithstanding the confidence I owned myself to have in the precision of the Bishop’s style, I begin to be in pain how I shall disengage him from so exact and philosophical an objector. Yet, as the occasion calls upon me, I shall try what may be done. As these [tropes and figures of composition] are a deviation from the principles of metaphysics and logic, they are frequently VICIOUS. Since the Attribute of this proposition is so peculiarly offensive to you, your first care, methinks, should have been to gain precise and exact ideas of the subject; without which it is not possible to judge, whether what is affirmed of it be exceptionable, or no.

By tropes and figures of composition, you seem to understand metaphors, allegories, similitudes, and whatever else is vulgarly known under the name of figures of speech. For in p. 27, you speak of Allegories, Metaphors and OTHER tropes and figures, which, you say, are no more than comparisons and similitudes expressed in another form: And your concern, throughout this whole chapter, is for the vindication of such tropes and figures from the supposed charge of their being a deviation from the principles of metaphysics and logic. But now, on the other hand, I dare be confident that the Bishop meant these terms, not in this specific, but in their generic sense, as expressing any kind of change, deflexion, or deviation from the plain and common forms of language. I say, I am confident of this, 1. because the precise sense of the words is such as I represent it to be; and I have observed, though, it seems, you have not, that the Bishop is of all others the most precise in his expression. 2. Because Quinctilian authorizes this use of those terms, who tells us that—per tropos verti formas non verborum modo, sed et sensuum, et compositionis, l. viii. c. 6. And as to figuram, he defines it to be (as the word itself, he says, imports) conformatio quædam orationis, remota à communi et primum se offerente ratione, l. ix. c. 1. words, large enough to take in every possible change and alteration of common language. So that all manners and forms of language, different from the common ones, may, according to Quinctilian, be fitly denominated tropes and figures of composition. 3. I conclude this to be the Bishop’s meaning, because the specific sense of these words was not sufficient to his purpose, which was to speak of ALL kinds of tropical and figured speech. Now though allegories, metaphors and other tropes and figures, which are no more than comparisons and similitudes, expressed in another form, belong indeed to the genus of figured language, they are by no means the whole of it, as so great a master of rhetoric, as yourself, very well knows. 4. I conclude this, from the peculiar mode of his expression: if the Bishop had said simply tropes and figures of speech, I might perhaps (if nothing else had hindered) have taken him to mean, as you seem to have done, only metaphors, allegories, and other tropes and figures, expressing, in another form, comparisons and similitudes, which, in vulgar use, come under the name of tropes and figures of speech: But when he departs from that common form of expression, and puts it, tropes and figures of COMPOSITION, I infer that so exact a writer, as the Bishop, had his reasons for this change, and that he intended by it to express more than tropes and figures of speech usually convey, indeed ALL that can any way relate to the tropical and figurative use of words in literary composition.