The poet hath hit here on some of the very few circumstances, in which it would be natural to certain tempers, not surely the most humane, to draw comfort in the midst of sympathetic sorrow, from such a comparison. The reflection in my opinion, occurs almost only when a very small change in external situation, as a change in place to the distance of a few furlongs, would put us into the same lamentable circumstances which we are commiserating in others. Even something of this kind will present itself to our thoughts, when there is no particular object to demand our pity. A man who, in tempestuous weather, sits snug in a close house, near a good fire, and hears the wind and rain beating upon the roof and windows, will naturally think of his own comfortable situation, compared with that of a traveller, who, perhaps, far from shelter, is exposed to all the violence of the tempest. But in such cases, a difference, as I said, in a single accidental circumstance, which may happen at any time, is all that is necessary to put a man in the same disastrous situation, wherein he either sees or conceives others to be. And the very slightness of the circumstance which would have been sufficient to reverse the scene, makes him so ready to congratulate with himself on his better luck. Whereas, nothing is less natural, and I will venture to say, less common, than such a reflection, when the differences are many, and of a kind which cannot be reckoned merely accidental; as when the calamity is what the person pitying, must consider himself as not liable to, or in the remotest hazard of. A man who, with the most undissembled compassion, bewails the wretched and undeserved fate of Desdemona, is not apt to think of himself, how fortunate he is, in not being the wife of a credulous, jealous, and revengeful husband; though perhaps a girl who hath lately rejected a suitor of this character, will reflect with great complacency, on the escape she has made. Another adventitious source of pleasure is, the satisfaction that results from the conscious exertions of the humane affections, which it is our duty to cherish and improve. I mention this as adventitious, because, though not unnatural, I do not imagine that the sensations of sympathetic sorrow, either always or immediately, give rise to this reflection. Children, and even savages, are susceptible of pity, who think no more of claiming any merit to themselves on this score, than they think of claiming merit from their feeling the natural appetites of hunger and thirst. Nay, it is very possible that persons Non quia vexari quemquam 'st jucunda voluptas, Per campos instructa, tua sine parte pericli. LUCRET. 1. 2. may know its power and sweetness too, when, through the influence of education and bad example, they consider it as a weakness or blemish in their disposition, and as such endeavour to conceal and stifle it. A certain degree of civilisation seems to be necessary, to make us thoroughly sensible of its beauty and utility, and consequently that it ought to be cultivated. Bigotry may teach a man to think inhumanity, in certain circumstances, a virtue. Yet nature will reclaim, and may make him, in spite of the dictates of a misguided conscience, feel all the tenderness of pity to the heretic, who, in his opinion, has more than merited the very worst that can be inflicted on him. I acknowledge, that, on the other hand, when the sentiment comes generally to prevail, that compassion is in itself praiseworthy, it may be rendered a source of much more self-satisfaction to the vain-glorious, than reasonably it ought to yield. Such persons gladly lay hold of every handle which serves to raise them in their own esteem. And I make no doubt that several, from this very motive, have exalted this principle as immoderately as others have vilified it. Every good man will agree, that this is the case when people consider it as either a veil for their vices, or an atonement for the neglect of their duty. For my own part, I am inclined to think, that those who are most ready to abuse it thus, are not the most remarkable for any exercise of it, by which society can be profited. There is a species of deception in the case, which it is not beside the purpose briefly to unravel. It hath been observed, that sense invariably makes a stronger impression than memory, and memory, a stronger than imagination; yet there are particular circumstances which appear to form an exception, and to give an efficacy to the ideas of imagination, beyond what either memory or sense can boast. So great is the anomaly which sometimes displays itself in human characters, that it is not impossible to find persons who are quickly made to cry at seeing a tragedy, or reading a romance, which they know to be fictions, and yet are both inattentive and unfeeling in respect of the actual objects of compassion who live in their neighbourhood, and are daily under their eye. Nevertheless, this is an exception from the rule, more in appearance than in reality. The cases are not parallel: there are certain circumstances which obtain in the one, and have no place in the other; and to these peculiarities the difference in the effect is solely imputable. What follows will serve fully to explain my meaning. Men may be of a selfish, contracted, and even avaricious disposition, who are not what we should denominate hardhearted, or insusceptible of sympathetic feeling. Such will gladly enjoy the luxury of pity (as Hawkesworth terms it) when it nowise interferes with their more powerful passions; that is, when it comes unaccompanied with a demand upon their pockets. With the tragic or the romantic hero or heroine, they most cordially sympathise, because the only. tribute which wretches of their dignity exact from them, is sighs and tears. And of these their consciences inform them to their inexpressible consolation, that they are no niggards. But the case is totally different with living objects. Barren tears and sighs will not satisfy these. Hence it is that people's avarice, a most formidable adversary to the unhappy, is interested to prevent their being moved by such, and to make them avoid, as much as possible, every opportunity of knowing or seeing them". But as that cannot always be done, as commiseration is attended with benevolence, and as benevolence itself, if not gratified, by our giving relief when it is in our power, embitters the pleasure which would otherwise result from pity, as the refusal is also attended with selfreproach; a person of such a temper, strongly, and for the most part effectually, resits his being moved. He puts his ingenuity to the rack, in order to satisfy himself that he ought not to be affected. He is certain, that the person is not a proper object of beneficence, he is convinced that his distress is more pretended than real; or, if that cannot be alleged, the man hath surely brought it on himself by his vices, therefore he deserves to suffer, and is nowise entitled to our pity; or at least he makes not a good use of what may charitably, but injudiciously, be bestowed upon him. Such are the common shifts by which selfishness eludes the calls of humanity, and chooses to reserve all its worthless stock of pity for fictitious objects, or for those who, in respect of time or place, or eminence, are beyond its reach. For these reasons, I am satisfied that compassion alone, especially that displayed on occasion of witnessing public spectacles, is at best but a very weak evidence of philanthropy. The only proof that is entirely unequivocal, is actual In the parable of the compassionate Samaritan, Luke x. 30. &c. this disposition, to shun the sight of misery, which one is resolved not to redress, is finely touched in the conduct of the priest and the Levite, who, when they espied a person naked, wounded, and almost expiring on the road, are said to have passed by on the other side. Indeed, in the account given of the Levite in our version, there is something, which, to me, has a contradictory appearance. He came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side. There is not a vestige of this inconsistency in the original, which says simply, EX0v kaι idwv avoiπapnλ0ev, the meaning of which plainly is, "travelling that way, and seeing one in this wretched plight, he kept on the other side of the road, and passed on. In such a case, a man who is not quite obdurate, would avoid the cutting reflection, that he knows any thing of the matter. And though he must be conscious that he knew a little, and might have known more if he would; he is glad to gloss his inhumanity even to himself, with some pretext of hurry or thoughtlessness, or any thing that may conceal the naked truth,-a truth which he is as averse to discover in himself, as he is to see in another, the misery which he is determined not to relieve. beneficence, when one seeks out the real objects of commiseration, not as a matter of self-indulgence, but in order to bring relief to those who need it, to give hope to the desponding, and comfort to the sorrowful, for the sake of which one endures the sight of wretchedness, when, instead of giving pleasure, it distresseth every feeling heart. Such, however, enjoy at length, a luxury far superior to that of pity, the godlike luxury of dispelling grief, communicating happiness, and doing good. THE PHILOSOPHY OF RHETORIC. BOOK II. THE FOUNDATIONS AND ESSENTIAL PROPERTIES OF ELOCUTION. CHAP. I. The Nature and Characters of the Use which gives Law to Language. ELOQUENCE hath always been considered, and very justly, as having a particular connection with language. It is the intention of eloquence, to convey our sentiments into the minds of others, in order to produce a certain effect upon them. Language is the only vehicle by which this conveyance can be made. The art of speaking then is not less necessary to the orator, than the art of thinking. Without the latter, the former could not have existed. Without the former, the latter would be ineffective. Every tongue whatever is founded in use or custom, Whose arbitrary sway Words and the forms of language must obeya. FRANCIS. Language is purely a species of fashion (for this holds equally of every tongue) in which, by the general, but tacit consent of the people of a particular state or country, certain sounds come to be appropriated to certain things, as their signs, and certain ways of inflecting and combining those sounds come to be established, as denoting the relations which subsist among the things signified. It is not the business of grammar, as some critics seem preposterously to imagine, to give law to the fashions which regulate our speech. On the contrary, from its conformity to these, and from that alone, it derives all its authority and value. For, what is the grammar of any language? It is no other than a collection of general observations methodically digested, and comprising all the modes previously Usus Quem penes arbitrium est et jus et norma loquendi. HOR. De Arte Poet. |