CHAP. I. The Deſign of the Work.

NOthing can ſhew the excellence of Poetry more, than that it has always been eſteem'd by the beſt of men, and that there has been no extraordinary man in [2] the world ſince it came to any perfecti⯑on, but who has commended it or en⯑courag'd it.

And yet, to the Confuſion of moſt who have given themſelves time to think of it, Poetry, that has been en⯑courag'd by ſo many great Princes, is believ'd by ſeveral to have degenerated, rather than to have improv'd by Time; while Phyſicks, Metaphyſicks, and ſome other Arts, that have been very little, or not at all encourag'd, have advanc'd conſiderably.

And what will appear to be yet more ſtrange, the very efforts that the Mo⯑derns have made to advance Poetry have done it hurt, becauſe they have proceeded upon ſuch erroneous princi⯑ples, as have not only made their at⯑tempts ſucceſsleſs, but have caus'd them to miſtake their Errors for their Impo⯑tence.

For, ſome of the Moderns, who have been great Admirers of their Contem⯑poraries, which is a modeſt expreſſion for themſelves, will by no means allow that the Ancients have excell'd us. From which opinion Preſumption has fol⯑low'd, and from Preſumption Security, and from Security Idleneſs.

[3] But Deſpair on the other ſide has done a great deal more harm than Pre⯑ſumption has done on that. For ſome who have been of opinion that the An⯑cients have ſurpaſs'd us, have believ'd that they have done ſo, becauſe they were in themſelves ſuperiour to us; from which it has happen'd that they have been ſervilely contented with following their old Maſters, and moſt of the Beſt of the Modern Poetry has been but a Copy of the Ancient.

Theſe different Opinions have occa⯑ſion'd Diſputes, and theſe Diſputes have produc'd Quarrels, which have been maintain'd with a great deal of Heat on both ſides. The favourers of the Mo⯑derns have treated their Adverſaries as dejected little-ſoul'd perſons, who have a baſe opinion of themſelves and of Human Nature, which laſt they have much ado to forgive them, becauſe they are included in the Cenſure.

For, How can it be, ſay they, but a Scandalous Deſpondence that obliges us to prefer other men to our ſelves, when Reaſon gives us the preference. For this, they ſay, is paſt all Diſpute, that they who excel others in the ſame kinds [4] of Writing, muſt have ſome advantage over them. And that advantage muſt be either from without or from within, or from the ſubjects they treat of. Now we can make it appear, ſay the Favour⯑ers of the Moderns, that the Ancient Poets had no external or internal ad⯑vantage over us, and that the advan⯑tage of the ſubject is rather on our ſide. And this is what the Favourers of the Moderns alledge for themſelves. The Partizans of the Ancients have on the other ſide treated the Favourers of the Moderns, as perſons that are abſolutely ignorant and without taſte.

That the Ancients have excelled us in the greatneſs of Poetry they pretend to prove from the Authority of all; who have univerſally been acknowledged to to be the beſt Judges. For, ſay they, the conſent of theſe, where the queſtion is concerning a thing, that is rather to be felt, than to be demonſtrated, is of the laſt importance. We defy, ſay they, any of the Favourers of the Moderns, to name ſo much as one Modern Critick, who has any Reputation in the world, who does not acknowledge that the An⯑cients ſurpaſs us in the greatneſs of Poe⯑try. [5] For the few, ſay they, who have aſſerted the preheminence of the Mo⯑derns, have immediately rendred them⯑ſelves ridiculous to all men, who have any underſtanding in theſe affairs, and at length to all the reſt, excepting a little handful of men, whoſe arrogance and obſtinacy and extravagant vanity has been a Comedy to the reſt.

So that the conſent of the beſt Cri⯑ticks, continue they, implies the con⯑ſent of all, and the conſent of man⯑kind for ſo many ſeveral ages, con⯑cerning a thing that is rather to be felt, than to be demonſtrated, is, if not a convincing Proof, at leaſt a very ſtrong Preſumption. But what has been the event of this Diſpute on both ſides? Why the probability of the Arguments, inſtead of working conviction, has only exaſperated the Spirits of the Parties; and the Favourers of the Moderns have treated the Lovers of the Ancients as ſo many ſlaviſh Pedants, and theſe on the other ſide the Favourers of the Moderns as ſo many ignorant Fools.

Amidſt this diverſity of opinions and theſe contentious ferments, I thought I ſhould do an important ſervice to a moſt [6] noble art, if I could contribute any thing to the reconciling the common Friends to Poetry, that they might en⯑deavour the advancement of the com⯑mon cauſe with greater force united.

In order then to the calming the Fu⯑ry of the Contending Parties, I ſhall endeavour to extort Important Conceſſi⯑ons from both, and oblige on the one ſide, the Favourers of the Moderns, to acknowledge that the Ancients are not ſo weak as to make the Moderns pre⯑ſume; and engage at the ſame time the Partiſans of the Ancients to own, that the Ancients are not in themſelves ſo ſtrong, as to make the Moderns de⯑ſpair.

And in order to the gaining this point with the greater eaſe, and the making my ſelf an Agreeable Mediator of Peace, I ſhall endeavour to make an Impartial enquiry into the merits of the Cauſe, and try to engage both Parties by turns, by ſupporting their juſt preten⯑ſions. And whereas the Favourers of the Moderns have juſtly alledged, that all Writers who ſurpaſs others in the ſame kinds of Writings, muſt do it from ſome nternal, or external advantage, or from [7] the ſubject it ſelf, I ſhall endeavour to ſhew in the two following Chapters, that the Ancients could not derive their preheminence from any external or in⯑ternal advantage, and afterwards we ſhall proceed to examine whether they deriv'd it from the ſubjects they treated of.

CHAP. II. That the Ancients did not excel the Moderns by any External Ad⯑vantage.

THe External Advantages which one Writer has over another are chiefly two. The Aſſiſtance which he receives from the Age in which he writes, and the Encouragement he meets with. Now we ſhall ſhew that the Ancients did not ſurpaſs the Moderns on the account of either of theſe.

Firſt, they had no advantage in the Aſſiſtance which they receiv'd from the Age in which they writ; on the con⯑trary, [8] the advantage here is clearly on the ſide of the Moderns: For good Thinking is the foundation of good Wri⯑ting, both in Eloquence and in Poetry. Now thoughts are but the Images of things, and our knowledge of things is greater than that of the Ancients. For ſeveral which they knew are better known to us, and we know ſeveral which they never knew at all. How many Arts have the Moderns im⯑prov'd? How many wonderful Inven⯑tions are owing to them? And how many amazing Diſcoveries? From which we have a ſupply of Thoughts and Images that is never to be exhauſt⯑ed. So that in the Aſſiſtance which we Receive from the Age in which we live, we have the advantage of the An⯑cients.

Nor, ſecondly, is it from the encou⯑ragement which they received, that the Ancient Poets excell'd the Moderns: Tho at the ſame time I really believe that En⯑couragement was one of the cauſes of the Ancient excellence of the Orators. For tho good Thinking is the foundation of good Writing both in Eloquence and in Poetry, and the Moderns are quali⯑fy'd [9] to think as Reaſonably and as Sub⯑tly as the Ancients thought, yet 'tis in theſe Arts as it is in Architecture, there can be no Beauty nor Greatneſs without Foundation, but 'tis not the Foundation that makes the Greatneſs or Beauty. The chief deſign of Eloquence is to per⯑ſwade, and he perſwading the moſt effectually who moves his Hearers the moſt; that which makes the Greatneſs and Beauty of Eloquence, is not ſo much the thinking rightly, tho without that there can be no Excellence, as thoſe violent Paſſions that reign and tyran⯑nize over our Souls in the Speeches of the Ancient Orators, which they chiefly deriv'd from Ambition. For the mov⯑ing their Popular Aſſemblies among the Ancient Grecians and Romans, being almoſt the only way among them to arrive at the chief Honours of the State, it can be no wonder to thoſe who re⯑flect upon the Force of Ambition, and the Stings it infixes into the minds of men, that the Ancient Grecians and Romans ſhould be ſo great Maſters of Eloquence. For, being inſtigated and ſtung by Ambition, they not only were ſupported in the taking ſuch pains as the [10] Moderns are utterly uncapable of taking, becauſe they have not the ſame incen⯑tive to ſuſtain them, but being mov'd and fir'd by Ambition themſelves they the more eaſily rowz'd and inflam'd others; for if any one happens to urge, that the Love of Glory being alike in⯑ſeparable from Moderns and Ancients, they have equal incentives to Elo⯑quence; I deſire him to take notice, that there is a very conſiderable difference between the Love of Glory barely con⯑ſidered, and that which is joyn'd to Ambition, which is the deſire of Pow⯑er and Place. For I deſire him to con⯑ſider, what Nouriſhment and Force the Love of Glory that was in the minds of the Ancient Orators, muſt neceſſarily have received from the Tumultuous ap⯑plauſes of the popular Aſſemblies, and the Glorious Recompences that enſued upon them.

But now if any one thinks, that he has here found out the Reaſon, why the Ancients ſurpaſs'd us in the greater Poetry, becauſe Paſſion making the Greatneſs and Beauty of Poetry, as well as it does of Eloquence, (which it cer⯑tainly does, as ſhall be clearly ſhewn [11] anon) and Paſſion receiving acceſs from Encouragement, the Ancient Poets writ with a Force ſuperiour to that of the Moderns, only becauſe they were more encouraged: if any one, I ſay, thinks at this rate, he will find himſelf very much miſtaken. For tho I am con⯑vinc'd that Encouragement does very much, yet I am ſatisfied that the diffe⯑rence is not chiefly owing to that; for in the firſt place, tho the encourage⯑ment which the Ancients gave, was more general than that which the Mo⯑derns have met with, yet ſome of the Moderns have been as much encourag'd as moſt of the Ancients were, and yet fall very much ſhort of them in the greater Poetry, of which Boileau and Racine are two Illuſtrious Examples. In the ſecond place, Homer, the moſt ad⯑mirable of all the Ancients, was not at all encourag'd. In the third place, one of the Moderns receiv'd no encourage⯑ment, who has often tranſcendently ſoar'd above both Ancients and Mo⯑derns, and that is Milton, as ſhall be ſhewn in its proper place. And, laſtly, Comedy was as much encourag'd by the Grecians and Romans, as any other [12] ſort of Poetry; witneſs what the Athe⯑nians did for Ariſtophanes, and Scipio and Lelius for Terence; and yet I am perſwaded that the Moderns have ſur⯑paſs'd the Ancients in Comedy, and ſhall give my Reaſons below why I make no ſcruple of preferring Moliere, and two or three of our own Comick Poets, to Terence and Ariſtophanes. So that we muſt ſeek for another Cauſe of the ex⯑cellence of the Ancient Poets, than the encouragement they met with.

There are three other things which may be numbred among external advan⯑tages, and thoſe are the Climates in which the Ancient Poets liv'd, and the Languages in which they writ, and the Liberty which they enjoy'd. But theſe are not the chief things from which the Ancients deriv'd their Preheminence. For the greateſt of the Lyrick Poets writ in a Country of downright Blockheads, and one of the greateſt of the Epick Po⯑ets in a Country that had loſt its Liber⯑ty, and beſides the Grecians enjoy'd all the advantages of their Climate, and their Language and their Liberty, long after the Decay of Poetry. 'Tis true, indeed, the Grecians and Romans did [13] derive one real Excellence from the Beauty of their Language, and that was the Harmony of their Verſification, in which the Moderns are not likely to e⯑qual them. But Harmony of Verſificati⯑on is not the chief thing in Poetry, nor does the chief Excellence of the Anci⯑ents conſiſt in ſuch a Harmony. And thus we have ſhewn that they did not derive their Preheminence from any thing that was external: Let us exa⯑mine in the next Chapter, whether the Ancients deriv'd their Excellence from any internal advantage.

CHAP. III. That the Ancients did not ſurpaſs the Moderns from any Internal Advantage.

THere is nothing more certain, than that he who handles any ſubject excellently, muſt do it by the power of his Internal Faculties. And conſequent⯑ly he who treats any ſubject admirably, [14] has an inward advantage over him who treats it ſcurvily. But either that ad⯑vantage is naturally deriv'd from the ſubject, or it is not. If it is naturally deriv'd from the ſubject, in that caſe we can never pretend to deny that the Ancients had an inward advantage over the Moderns. All that we ſhall endea⯑vour to prove, is, that they had no in⯑ternal advantage over them, abſtracted from the nature of the ſubjects of which they treated.

Now all the internal advantages, which the Ancients may be ſuppoſed to have had over the Moderns, may be reduc'd to four. Divine Inſpiration. Inſpiration by Daemons. A Natural Superiority of the Faculties of the Soul. A greater Degree of Vertue.

The firſt advantage that the Ancient Poets may be ſuppoſ'd to have had o⯑ver the Moderns, is from Divine Inſpi⯑ration. Now the Ancient Poets were the Heathen Theologues, and to affirm that the Spirit of God ſhould inſpire thoſe to teach the Adoration of Idols, and inſpire them more than he does the Moderns, who are of the true Religion, would be equally abſurd and blaſphe⯑mous.

[15] Nor, Secondly, can they have any advantage by Inſpiration of Daemons. For in the firſt place, 'tis abſurd to give a ſupernatural Cauſe of an effect of which we can give a very natural one. But we can give a very natural Cauſe of the Excellence of the Ancient Poets, as ſhall be ſhewn anon. In the ſecond place the Ancients before Socrates, ow'd all their Moral Philoſophy to their Po⯑ets. Now tho that Philoſophy was only diſpers'd up and down in ſen⯑tences, yet had it a natural tendency to the forming that ſyſtem, which after⯑wards the Diſciples of Socrates fram'd from the mouth of their Maſter. And as that ſyſtem was the utter overthrow of the Heathen Revelation, as we ſhall ſhew anon, any thing that had a natu⯑ral tendency to the forming that ſyſtem, could not be the work of Daemons. But Thirdly, ſuppoſing the Ancient Graecian Poets were really inſpired by Daemons, it is hard to imagine that they ſhould receive a greater advantage from ſuch an Inſpiration as that, than the Moderns, who apply themſelves to Sacred Poetry, ſhould have from Di⯑vine Aſſiſtance.

[16] Nor, Thirdly, Can the Ancient Po⯑ets be ſuppos'd to have had a greater ſhare of virtue than the Moderns. For all the Grecian Poets who were famous for the greater Poetry, flouriſh'd before there was in that part of the world any ſyſtem of Morality. And perhaps moſt of the Roman Poetry is only a Copy of the Grecian. Now it is hard to ima⯑gin, that they who had no ſyſtem of Morality, and no ſupernatural ſupport, ſhould tranſcend the Moderns in Vertue, who have a perfect ſyſtem of Morality and Divine Aſſiſtance.

Nor, Fourthly, and principally, had the Ancient any natural ſuperiority of Faculties over the Modern Poets. For if they ſurpaſs the Moderns in the great⯑er Poetry, out of any ſuperiority of Fa⯑culties, which they had naturally as they were the Ancients, it muſt be by a ſuperiority of underſtanding or imagi⯑nation, or both. But firſt, it was not from any ſuperiority of underſtanding. Becauſe from hence it would follow, that the Minds of men grow weaker by ſucceſſion of ages, and then the Ancients would have ſurpaſs'd one ano⯑ther, as they preceded in time.[17] Orpheus and Muſaeus would have excell'd Homer, Alcaeus and Stetichorus Pindar, Theſpis Euripides, and Aeſchylus Sopho⯑cles; Tyrtaeus Virgil, and Alcmon Horace, which is all abſolutely falſe. But then again, if any one urges, that if the An⯑cients did not ſurpaſs one another ac⯑cording to precedence of time, it was becauſe art and experience were requir'd to the perfection of Poetry, and the younger in Time had the Advantage of the elder both in Art and Experience; to that I anſwer, that ſome of the Po⯑ets, who are younger in Time, have perhaps the advantage of thoſe who are older, more by Nature than they have by Art. For the Tragick and Lyrick Poets, who preceded Sophocles and Pin⯑dar, come more behind them in true Genius than they go before them in Time. But now if the Ancients did not ſurpaſs one another according to priority of Time, why ſhould they ex⯑cel us? If it be objected, that ſeveral very extraordinary men happen'd to be born at ſuch and ſuch particular times; to that I anſwer, that this arriv'd by providence or by chance. If you al⯑ledge that it fell out by chance, to that [18] I reply, that all the great Poets among the Grecians flouriſh'd within four hun⯑dred years of one another, and all the great Poets among the Romans within two hundred years; and then let me ask you, whither this look'd like chance. But if you pretend, that theſe men at theſe particular times, were deſign'd ſuch excellent Poets by Providence, and for that very end were form'd with fa⯑culties ſo much ſuperiour to thoſe who preceded them, and who came after them; then let me ask you, for what deſign Providence ſhould ſo manifeſtly alter the courſe of nature, or why that which fell out by Providence then, may not by Providence arrive again.

Beſides, if the Ancient Poets excell'd the Moderns by a ſuperiority of under⯑ſtanding, it would neceſſarily follow that they underſtood their Subjects bet⯑ter; which is falſe: For the Subjects of the Epick, Tragick and Lyrick Poets, are the vertues, vices, and paſſions of men, which the Moderns ought to un⯑derſtand at leaſt as well as the Ancients, becauſe they have all the knowledge of the Ancients, and their own improve⯑ment beſides.

[19] Thus have I endeavour'd to ſhow, that we have no reaſon to deſpair of equalling the Ancients, becauſe of the Tranſcendency of their underſtandings. And what has been ſaid about their un⯑derſtandings, may ſerve to ſhew that they as little excell'd the Moderns in their Imaginations, as they did in the other; tho ſomething more may be ſaid for the laſt, for the violence of the Paſ⯑ſions, proceeding from the force of the Imagination, and the corruption of Mankind, from the violence of the Paſſions, and the corruption of Man⯑kind growing greater, as the World grows older; it follows, that the Ima⯑ginations of Men muſt grow ſtronger as the World grows older.

But laſtly, how vain it is to urge, that the Ancients excell'd the Moderns by a ſuperiority of Faculties, when it will appear a little lower, as clear as the Sun, that one of the Moderns very of⯑ten excells them both in his Thoughts and Spirit.

Thus we have endeavour'd to ſhew, that the Ancients did not excell the Mo⯑derns in the greater Poetry, from any external advantage, that is, from the [20] aſſiſtance which they had, from the Ages in which they writ, or from the Encouragement with which they met. We have ſhewn too, that they did not ſurpaſs them from any Internal advan⯑tage, whether it was from Divine In⯑ſpiration, or Inſpiration by Daemons, or Tranſcendency of Vertue, or ſuperi⯑ority of Faculties. The advantage then, which the Ancient Poets had o⯑ver the Moderns, if they had any ad⯑vantage, muſt be deriv'd from the Sub⯑jects of which they treated.

CHAP. IV. That the Ancient Poets deriv'd their greatneſs from the Nature of their Subjects.

IF the Ancient Poets excell'd the Mo⯑derns in the greatneſs of Poetry; that is, in Epick Poetry, in Tragedy, and in the greater Ode; they muſt neceſſarily derive their preheminence from the Sub⯑jects of which they treated, ſince it has [21] beeu plainly made to appear, that they could notDerive it from anyExternal or Internal advantage. And it follows, that the Subjects which were handled by the Ancients, muſt be different from thoſe which have been treated of by the Mo⯑derns. And if the Poems which have been writ by the Ancients of the foremen⯑tioned kinds were very much greater than thoſe which have been produced by the Moderns, why then it follows, that the ſubjects were very different. But here the Favourers of the Moderns aſ⯑ſert, that the advantage which is to be drawn from the Subject, is purely on the ſide of the Moderns. For who, for Example, will compare the atchieve⯑ments of Achilles and Aeneas, the event of which was only the reducing two pitiful paltry Bourgs, with the glorious actions of ſome of our Modern Cap⯑tains. But then the Partizans of the An⯑cients reply, that there is a difference between one ſubject and another, which their adverſaries ſeem not to have thought of. For, ſay they, humane Sub⯑jects, can never differ ſo much among themſelves, as Sacred Subjects differ from Humane, for the difference [22] between the Two laſt is as great as that between God and Man; which we know is infinite. Now, ſay they, ſacred Subjects are infinitely more ſuſceptible of the greatneſs of Poetry, than prophane ones can be. And the Subjects of the Ancients in the foremen⯑tioned Poems were ſacred. Now that we may engage the Lovers of the Anti⯑ents in their turns by ſupporting their juſt pretenſions, let us endeavour to ſhow in the following Chapters, that Sacred Poems muſt be greater than Pro⯑phane ones can be, ſuppoſing equality of Genius, and equal art in the Writers, and that the Poems of the Ancients in the forementioned kinds were ſacred. But in order to the doing that, we muſt declare what Poety is, and what is its chief Excellence.

CHAP. V. The Paſſion is the chief thing in in Poetry, and that all Paſſion is either ordinary Paſſion, or En⯑thuſiaſm.

But before we proceed let us define Poetry; which is the firſt time that a Definition has been given of that no⯑ble Art: For neither Ancient nor Mo⯑dern Criticks have defin'd Poetry in ge⯑neral.

Poetry then is an imitation of Nature by a pathetick and numerous Speech. Let us explain it.

As Poetry is an Art, it muſt be an Imi⯑tation of Nature. That the inſtrument with which it makes its Imitation is Speech need not be diſputed. That that Speech, muſt be Muſical, no one can doubt: For Numbers diſtinguiſh the parts of Poetick Diction from the peri⯑ods of Proſe. Now Numbers are no⯑thing but articulate ſounds, and their [24] pauſes meaſur'd by their proper propor⯑tions of time. And the periods of Pro⯑ſaick Diction are articulate ſounds, and their pauſes unmeaſur'd by ſuch propor⯑tions. That the Speech, by which Poe⯑try makes its Imitation, muſt be pathetick is evident; for Paſſion is ſtill more neceſſary to it than Harmony. For Harmony only diſtinguiſhes its Inſtru⯑ment from that of Proſe, but Paſſion diſtinguiſhes its very nature and cha⯑racter. For therefore Poetry is Poetry, becauſe it is more paſſionate and ſenſual than Proſe. A Diſcourſe that is writ in very good Numbers, if it wants Paſ⯑ſion can be but meaſur'd Proſe. But a Diſcourſe that is every where extremely pathetick, and conſequently every where bold and figurative, is certainly Poetry without Numbers.

Paſſion then is the Characteriſtical mark of Poetry, and conſequently muſt be every where. For where-ever a Diſ⯑courſe is not pathetick, there it is Pro⯑ſaick. As Paſſion in a Poem muſt be every where, ſo Harmony is uſually dif⯑fus'd throughout it. But Paſſion anſwers the two ends of Poetry better than Har⯑mony can do, and upon that account is [25] preferable to it: For firſt it pleaſes more, which is evident: For Paſſion can pleaſe without Harmony, but Harmony tires without Paſſion. And in Tragedy and in Epick Poetry a man may inſtruct without Harmony, but never without Paſſion: For the one inſtructs by Ad⯑miration, and the other by Compaſſion and Terror. And as for the greater Ode, if it wants Paſſion, it becomes Hateful and Intolerable, and its Sen⯑tences grow Contemptible.

Paſſion is the Characteriſtical mark of Poetry, and therefore it muſt be every where; for without Paſſion there can be no Poetry, no more than there can be Painting. And tho the Poet and the Painter deſcribe action, they muſt de⯑ſcribe it with Paſſion. Let any one who beholds a piece of Painting, where the Figures are ſhewn in action, con⯑clude that if the Figures are without Paſſion the Painting is contemptible. There muſt be Paſſion every where in Poetry and Painting, and the more Paſ⯑ſion there is, the better the Poetry and the Painting, unleſs the Paſſion is too much for the ſubject; and the Painter and the Poet arrive at the height of [26] their Art, when they deſcribe a great deal of Action with a great deal of Paſ⯑ſion. It is plain then from what has been ſaid, that Paſſion in Poetry muſt be every where, for where there is no Paſſion there can be no Poetry, but that which we commonly call Paſſion, can⯑not be every where in any Poem. There muſt be Paſſion then, that muſt be di⯑ſtinct from ordinary Paſſion, and that muſt be Enthuſiaſm. I call that ordina⯑ry Paſſion, whoſe cauſe is clearly com⯑prehended by him who feels it, whether it be Admiration, Terror or Joy; and I call the very ſame Paſſions Enthuſiaſms, when their cauſe is not clearly compre⯑hended by him who feels them. And thoſe Enthuſiaſtick Paſſions are ſome⯑times ſimple, and ſometimes complicated, of all which we ſhall ſhew examples lower. And thus I have ſhewn that the chief thing in Poetry is Paſſion; but here the Reader is deſir'd to obſerve, that by Poetry we mean Poetry in ge⯑neral, and the Body of Poetry; for as for the form or ſoul of particular Po⯑ems, that is allow'd by all to be a Fa⯑ble. But Paſſion is the chief thing in the Body of Poetry, as Spirit is in the [27] Human Body. For without Spirit the Body languiſhes, and the Soul is impo⯑tent: Now every thing that they call Spirit or Genius in Poetry, in ſhort, every thing that pleaſes, and conſe⯑quently moves in the Poetick Diction, is Paſſion, whether it be ordinary or En⯑thuſiaſtick.

And thus we have ſhewn what the chief excellence in the Body of Poetry is, which we have prov'd to be Paſſion. Let us now proceed to the proofs of what we propounded, that ſacred ſub⯑jects are more ſuſceptible of Paſſion than prophane ones, and that the ſubjects of the Ancients were ſacred in their greater Poetry, I mean either ſacred in their own natures, or by their manner of handling them.

CHAP. VI. That Paſſion is more to be deriv'd from a Sacred Subject than from a Prophane one.

WE have prov'd that Paſſion is the chief thing in Poetry, and that Spirit or Genius, and in ſhort every thing that moves is Paſſion. Now if the chief thing in Poetry be Paſſion, why then the chief thing in great Poe⯑try muſt be great Paſſion. We have ſhewn too, that Paſſion in Poetry is of two ſorts, ordinary Paſſion or Enthu⯑ſiaſm. Let us now proceed to convince the Reader, that a ſacred Poem is more ſuſceptible of Paſſion than a prophane one can be; which to effect, let us ſhew two things, that a ſacred ſubject is as ſuſceptible of ordinary paſſions as a pro⯑phane one can be, and more ſuſceptible of the Enthuſiaſtick.

The firſt is evident from experience: For the Poetry among the Ancients, [29] which ſhall be hereafter prov'd to be ſacred, had in it greater ordinary Paſſi⯑ons, than their Human Poetry either had or could poſſibly have.

'Tis now our buſineſs to ſhow that Religious ſubjects are capable of ſupply⯑ing us with more frequent and ſtronger Enthuſiaſms than the prophane. And in order to the clearing this, let us en⯑quire what Poetical Enthuſiaſm is. Poe⯑tical Enthuſiaſm is a Paſſion guided by Judgment, whoſe cauſe is not compre⯑hended by us. That it is a Paſſion is plain, becauſe it moves. That the cauſe is not comprehended is ſelf⯑evident. That it ought to guided by Judgment is indubitable. For otherwiſe it would be Madneſs, and not Poetical Paſſion. But now let us enquire what the cauſe of Poetical Enthuſiaſm is, that has been hitherto not comprehended by us. That Enthuſiaſm moves, is plain to ſence; why then it mov'd the Writer: But if it mov'd the Writer, it mov'd him while he was thinking. Now what can move a man while he is thinking, but the thoughts that are in his mind. In ſhort, Enthuſiaſm as well as ordi⯑nary Paſſions, muſt proceed from the [30] thoughts, as the Paſſions of all reaſo⯑nable creatures muſt certainly do; but the reaſon why we know not the cauſes of Enthuſiaſtick as well as of ordinary Paſſions, is becauſe we are not ſo us'd to them, and becauſe they proceed from thoughts, that latently and unobſerv'd by us, carry Paſſion along with them. Here it would be no hard matter to prove that moſt of our thoughts are na⯑turally attended with ſome ſort and ſome degree of Paſſion. And 'tis the expreſſion of this Paſſion, which gives us ſo much pleaſure, both in Converſa⯑tion and in Human Authors. For I ap⯑peal to any man who is not altogether a Philoſopher, whether he is not moſt pleas'd with. Converſation and Books that are Spirited. Now how can this Spirit pleaſe him, but becauſe it moves him, or what can move him but Paſſi⯑on? We never ſpeak for ſo much as a minute together withont different in⯑flexions of voice. Now any one will find upon reflection, that theſe variati⯑ons and thoſe inflexions mark our diffe⯑rent paſſions. But all this paſſes unre⯑garded by us, by reaſon of long uſe, and the incredible celerity of our thoughts, [31] whoſe motion is ſo ſwift, that it is even to our ſelves imperceptible; unleſs we come to reflect, and every one will not be at the trouble of that. Now theſe paſſions, when they grow ſtrong I call Enthuſiaſtick motions, and the ſtronger they are the greater the Enthuſiaſm muſt be. If any one asks what ſort of paſſi⯑ons theſe are, that thus unknown to us flow from theſe thoughts; to him I an⯑ſwer, that the ſame ſort of paſſions flow from the thoughts, that would do from the things of which thoſe thoughts are Ideas. As for example, if the thing that we think of is great, when then admira⯑tion attends the Idea of it; and if it is very great amazement. If the thing is pleaſing and delightful, why then Joy and Gayety flow from the Idea of it; if it is ſad, melancholy; if 'tis miſchie⯑vous and powerful, then the Imagination of it is attended with Terror; And if 'tis both great and likely to do hurt and powerful, why then the thought of it is at once accompanied with Won⯑der, Terror and Aſtoniſhment. Add to all this, that the mind producing theſe thoughts, conceives by reflection a cer⯑tain Pride, and Joy and Admiration, as [32] at the conſcious view of its own excel⯑lence. Now he who ſtrictly examines the Enthuſiaſm that is to be met with in the greater Poetry, will find that it is nothing but the fore-mention'd paſſi⯑ons, either ſimple or complicated, pro⯑ceeding from the thoughts from which they naturally flow, as being the thoughts or Images of things that carry thoſe paſ⯑ſions along with them, as we ſhall ſhew by examples in the following Chapter.

But theſe paſſions that attend upon our thoughts are ſeldom ſo ſtrong, as they are in thoſe kind of thoughts which we call Images. For they being the ve⯑ry lively pictures of the things which they repreſent, ſet them, as it were, be⯑fore our very eyes. But Images are ne⯑ver ſo admirably drawn, as when they are drawn in motion; eſpecially if the motion is violent. For the mind can never imagine violent motion, without being in a violent agitation it ſelf; and the Imagination being fir'd with that Agitation, ſets the very things before our eyes; and conſequently makes us have the ſame paſſions that we ſhould have from the things themſelves. For the warmer the Imagination is, the more [33] preſent the things are to us, of which we draw the Images, and therefore when once the Imagination is ſo inflam'd as to get the better of the underſtanding, there is no difference between the Images and the things themſelves; as we ſee, for example, in Fevers and Mad men.

Thus have we ſhewn that Enthuſiaſm flows from the thoughts, and conſe⯑quently from the ſubject from which the thoughts proceed. For, as the Spi⯑rit in Poetry is to be proportion'd to the Thought, for otherwiſe it does not na⯑turally flow from it, and conſequently is not guided by Judgment; ſo the Thought is to be proportion'd to the Subject. Now no Subject is ſo capable of ſupplying us with thoughts, that ne⯑ceſſarily produce theſe great and ſtrong Enthuſiaſms, as a Religious Subject: For all which is great in Religion is moſt exalted and amazing, all that is joyful is tranſporting, all that is ſad is diſmal, and all that is terrible is aſto⯑niſhing.

CHAP. VII. The Cauſes of Poetical Enthuſiaſm, ſhewn by Examples.

THe Enthuſiaſm that is found in Poetry, is nothing but the fore⯑mentioned paſſions, Admiration, Joy, Terror, Aſtoniſhment, flowing from the thoughts which naturally produce them. For Admiration, together with that Pride which exalts the ſoul at the con⯑ceiving a great Hint, gives elevation; Joy, if 'tis great, gives tranſport, and aſtoniſhment gives vehemence. But now let us ſhew by examples, how this was done, and let us begin with that Admi⯑rable Ode of Horace, which is the third of the Third Book.

That is,

The man, the brave man, who is re⯑ſolv'd upon a right and a firm principle, is ſure never to have his ſolid vertue ſhaken, neither by the rage of the giddy multitude, nor by the frowns of an in⯑ſulting Tyrant, nor by the Fury of the Roaring South, that Turbulent Ruler of the Tempeſtuous Adria; no, nor by the Red Right Hand of Thundring Jove: Nay, ſhould the World's disjointed Frame come ruſhing down with a Diſ⯑mal Sound upon him, its Ruines might Cruſh, but they could never Shake him. Now 'tis plain that in the original there is a great deal of Enthuſiaſm. But let us obſerve a little what this Enthuſiaſm is. Upon obſervation we ſhall find then, that in the fore-mentioned Verſes there is Elevation, Severity and Vehemence, and conſequently there is ſomething Admirable in them, and Terrible and Aſtoniſhing. Now why ſhould we feel theſe paſſions in reading theſe thoughts, unleſs the paſſions naturally attend them, when they are expreſs'd as [36] they ſhould be? But Admiration, as we have ſaid above, muſt come from ſome⯑thing that is great, and Terror from ſomething that is powerful, and likely to hurt; and Aſtoniſhment from ſome⯑thing that is very Terrible, and very likely to hurt; that is, from things that are ſo, or from their Idea's. The Rea⯑der, upon examining the fore-mention'd Verſes, will find that the thoughts in them all are great and terrible, and ſome of them are aſtoniſhing.

But here I deſire the Reader to ob⯑ſerve three things: Firſt, the admirable gradation of Thought here. How the Poet riſes from ſomething that is Terri⯑ble, to ſomething that is more Terrible, till he comes at laſt to ſomething Aſto⯑niſhing and Amazing. How from the Rage of the Mad Multitude, he proceeds to the frowns of a Tyrant that ſtands threatning by: How he riſes from thence to a ſtorm at Sea, and from thence to the wrath of Jove expreſs'd in the dreadful Thunder, and from thence to the final diſmal Diſſolution of all things. The next thing that I de⯑ſire him to obſerve is, How the Spirit of the Poet riſes with his Thoughts, which [37] is a ſure ſign, that the one is nothing but the paſſions that attend on the o⯑ther. And the third thing that the Reader is to remark is, that the Poet could not carry his Enthuſiaſm higher after the ſecond thought, without hav⯑ing recourſe to Religion. For he who knows any thing of the Pagan ſyſtem, knows that the three laſt thoughts are taken from their Religion.

Let us now ſet before the Reader an Image, that only by its greatneſs will move him and exalt him. The paſſage is in the firſt Book of Milton's Paradice Loſt, where he thus deſcribes Lucifer.

[38] I deſire the Reader would give him⯑ſelf the trouble of comparing theſe ten lines, with the ten that preceded them, and then to tell me, why the Spirit ſhould be ſo much greater in theſe than it is in the others; unleſs it proceeded from the greatneſs of the Ideas, or how the greatneſs of the Ideas could cauſe it, but by infuſing into the Poet admi⯑ration and a noble pride, which ex⯑preſs'd make the Spirit, which is ſtately and majeſtick till the laſt, and then it grows vehement, becauſe the Idea which cauſes it, is not only great, but very Terrible. For all the afflicting Paſſions that are violent are expreſs'd with ve⯑hemence. The Reader cannot but ob⯑ſerve of himſelf, that the greateſt of theſe noble Ideas is taken from Reli⯑gion.

Now let us conſider two very maſter⯑ly Images, out of the Second Book of Virgil; the firſt is the Hewing down of a Tree, which appear'd ſo admirable to Julius Scaliger, that he affirm'd that Ju⯑piter [39] could never have mended it; and the ſecond gave occaſion for that Incom⯑parable Statue of Laocoon, which I ſaw at Rome, in the Gardens of Beluidere, and which is ſo aſtoniſhing, that it does not appear to be the work of Art, but the miſerable Creature himſelf, like Niobe benumm'd and petrify'd with grief and horror.

The firſt, beſides its Greatneſs, carries Terror along with it. Virgil compares the Deſtruction of Troy, which had been ten years beſieg'd, to the fall of a Moun⯑tain Aſh, at whoſe Root the labouring Swains had been a long time hewing with their Axes.

Now here I deſire the Reader to con⯑ſider, how the Poet raiſes his Spirit as ſoon as he ſets his Image in motion, and brings in Terror to his relief.

For all the paſſions, when they are very great, carry Fury along with them, and all the afflicting paſſions, together with Fury, carry Vehemence and Severity. [41] And the Poet hereby ſetting his Image in motion, had ſet it before his eyes, and ſo made it the more terrible. Let us now conſider that of Laocoon.

Which in Engliſh Blank Verſe runs thus,

And now here we find a deal of En⯑thuſiaſm; which is nothing but the ele⯑vation, and vehemence and fury pro⯑ceeding from the Great and Terrible and Horrible Ideas. For the Poet ſetting his Image in ſo much motion, and expreſſing it with ſo much action, his inflam'd Imagination ſet it before his very eyes, ſo that he participated of the Danger which he deſcrib'd, was ſhaken by the Terror, and ſhiver'd with the Horror▪ [45] And what is it but the expreſſion of the paſſions he felt, that moves the Reader in ſuch an extraordinary manner. But here let us obſerve how the Spirit of the Poet riſes, as the Danger comes nearer, and the Terror grows upon him.

Let us conſider beſide what prodigious force all this muſt have in the connexi⯑on, where Religion adds to the Terror, encreaſes the Aſtoniſhment, and aug⯑ments the Horror. For 'twas by the di⯑rection of Minerva that this Terrible In⯑cident was brought about, who had combin'd with Juno to deſtroy the Tro⯑jans, as has been at large declar'd in a former Critical Treatiſe. And thus we have endeavour'd to ſhew how the En⯑thuſiaſm proceeds from the thoughts, and conſequently from the ſubject. But one thing we have omitted, that as thoughts produce the ſpirit, the ſpirit produces and makes the expreſſion; which is known by experience to all [46] who are Poets; for never any one, while he was wrapt with Enthuſiaſm, wanted either Words or Harmony; and is ſelf⯑evident to all who conſider, that the Expreſſion conveys and ſhows the Spi⯑rit, and therefore muſt be produced by it. So that from what we have ſaid we may venture to lay down this De⯑finition of Poetical Genius. Poeti⯑cal Genius in a Poem is the true ex⯑preſſions of Ordinary or Enthuſiaſtick Paſſion, proceeding from Ideas, to which it naturally belongs; and Poe⯑tical Genius in a Poet, is the power of expreſſing ſuch Paſſion worthily: And the ſublime is a great thought expreſt with the Enthuſiaſm that belongs to it, which the Reader will find Agreeable to the Doctrine of Cecilius. Longinus, I muſt confeſs, has not told us what the ſublime is; becauſe Cecilius, it ſeems, had done that before him. Tho me⯑thinks, it was a very great fault in ſo great a Man as Longinus, to write a Book which could not be underſtood, but by another Mans Writings; eſpe⯑cially when he ſaw that thoſe Writings were ſo very defective, that they were not likely to laſt. But tho Longinus [47] does not directly tell us, what the Sub⯑lime is, yet in the firſt ſix or ſeven Chapters of his Book, he takes a great deal of pains to ſet before us, the effects which it produces in the minds of Men; as, for example, that it cauſes in them admiration and ſurprize; a noble Pride, and a noble Vigour, an invincible force tranſporting the Soul from its ordinary Situation, and a Tranſport, and a ful⯑neſs of Joy mingled with Aſtoniſhment. Theſe are the effects that Longinus tells us that the Sublime produces in the minds of men. Now I have endeavour'd to ſhew what it is in Poetry that works theſe effects. So that take the Cauſe and the Effects together, and you have the Sublime.

CHAP. VIII. Recapitulation, and that the Sub⯑jects of the Ancients, in their greater Poetry, were Sacred.

WE have now ſhewn, that if the Ancients excel the Moderns in Epick Poetry, in Tragedy, and in the greater Ode, they derive not their pre⯑heminence from any external, nor from any internal advantage, abſtracted from the nature of the ſubject, and that con⯑ſequently they muſt draw it from the nature of the ſubject itſelf. Then we ſhew'd that the greateſt difference be⯑tween one ſubject and another is that of Sacred and Prophane. Then we ſhew'd that Paſſion was the chief thing in Poe⯑try, and great Paſſion in great Poetry, and that either ordinary Paſſion or En⯑thuſiaſm. Then we ſhew'd that Sacred ſubjects were as ſuſceptible of ordinary Paſſion, as the Prophane and more ſuſceptible of the Enthuſiaſtick, which [49] laſt we ſhew'd by Reaſon and by Example. So that to give a convinc⯑ing Reaſon why the Ancients did, and muſt for the moſt part excel the Moderns in Epick Poetry in Tra⯑gedy, and the greater Ode, we have nothing to do, but to ſhew, that thoſe Poems among the Ancients were always Sacred, becauſe it is very well known, that among the Moderns, they are for the moſt part Prophane. Firſt, then for Tragedy, that is very well known to have been Sacred in its inſtitution, and it is full as plain, that it muſt have been Sacred in its original Nature, and after that the Epiſodes began to Intrench up⯑on the Chorus, it ſtill continued Sacred, as having Apoſtrophes, Revelations, In⯑vocations, Machines. And ſo had the greater Ode. And as for Epick Poe⯑try, in that the eldeſt of the Muſes after the firſt Invocation was believed to Dictate every thing; beſides, that the Gods were every where introduced in it, and all things were done by their Miniſtery. For which Reaſon it's appa⯑rent, that the Moderns in theſe ſort of Poems, writing upon Prophane Subjects, cannot poſſibly equal the Ancients, ſup⯑poſing [50] theſe laſt to have had but an equal ſhare of Genius with them.

CHAP. IX. That the Ancient Poets deriv'd their preheminence from Religion, ſhewn by ſeveral other things, and firſt from this; that they did not excel the Moderns in Poetry, in which they made no uſe of Religion.

THat the Ancients in the Epos, in the Ode, and in Tragedy, deriv'd their preheminence from Religion, may appear from ſeveral things that have not yet been mention'd, and firſt of all from this, that they did not excel the Moderns in Poetry, in which they drew no advantage from Religion, as in Comedy and in Satyr, and that in Hiſtori⯑cal Poetry, as the Pharſalia of Lucan, whenever the Ancients excell'd the Mo⯑derns, they drew their advantage from Religion.

[51] For Comedy the Ancients are ſo far from excelling the Moderns in it, that the advantage is clearly on our ſide. For I ſhall make no ſcruple of preferring Mo⯑liere, and two or three of our own Comick Poets, to Terence and Ariſtophanes. For whe⯑ther the deſign of Comedy, be to inſtruct or to pleaſe, or both, the Modern Comedy anſwers both thoſe ends incomparably better than the Ancient. If the end of Co⯑medy be only to pleaſe, why then it muſt pleaſe by the Ridiculum; for that which is the end of any ſort of Writing whate⯑ver, muſt be attain'd by a way, that muſt diſtinguiſh that ſort of Writing. As, for example, the end of Tragedy and of E⯑pick Poetry is to inſtruct. But the latter inſtructs chiefly by Admiration, and the former by Compaſſion and Terror. Now Admiration diſtinguiſhes Heroick Poetry, and Compaſſion and Terror Tra⯑gedy, from all other ſorts of Poems whatever; but the only thing that di⯑ſtinguiſhes the pleaſure which Comedy gives us, from the pleaſure that we re⯑ceive from all other ſorts of Poems whatever, is the Ridiculum. Now the Ridiculum in the Modern Comedy, is beyond Compariſon Higher than it is in [52] the new Comedy of the Ancients, and be⯑yond Compariſon more in Nature, than it is in the old one. And it is higher both in the Incidents, and in the Cha⯑racters. For if the end of Comedy is to pleaſe, and that end is to be attain'd by the Ridiculum, why then the Ridiculum ought to be ſpread throughout it. But beſides, that it is higher in the Modern Comedy, there is a greater variety of it both in the Incidents and in the Cha⯑racters, and that variety muſt make it the more delightful. For a uniformity in this caſe takes away from the ſurprize, and without ſurprize the Ridiculum can⯑not ſubſiſt. And beſides, that the Mo⯑derns have a greater variety both of Characters and Fables, they have a great⯑er variety of Style. For the Style of the Comedy of the Ancients, and particularly of Terence his Comedy, does not ſeem to me to be varied enough, nor proportioned enough to the Characters. The Slave in Terence ſpeaks with the ſame Elegance and the ſame Grace for the moſt part that his Maſter does. But look into the Plain Dealer, and you ſhall find as many Styles in it, as there are Characters. For Man⯑ly, Freeman, Planſible, Oliviae, Novel, E⯑liſha, [53] the Widow Blackacre and Jerry have each of them a different Dialect, which beſides the variety, muſt be fur⯑ther delightful, becauſe it is an ex⯑act Imitation of Nature. For as every man has a different form of face, he has a different turn of mind, and conſe⯑quently a different caſt of thought, and a different manner of expreſſion. Add to this, that the Moderns ſeem to know men better, and to dive into ſome latent foibles, into ſome Ridiculous Receſſes, that were utterly unknown to the Ancients. So that in every good Comedy, at the ſame time, that we are diverted with the Ridiculum, we are entertained with Diſcoveries, which is very delightful; But if the chief deſign of Comedy be to inſtruct, as I make no queſtion but it is, becauſe publick ſpectacles ought to con⯑tribute to the publick advantage, we ſhall find, that the Modern Comedy ar⯑ſwers this end too better than that of the Antients. If the deſign of Comedy be to inſtruct, it muſt inſtruct by the Ridi⯑culum, for the very ſame Reaſon, that we affirm'd it muſt pleaſe by it, becauſe it is to be diſtinguiſhed by the means, by which it attains its end, But no⯑thing but the Ridiculum can diſtinguiſh [54] Comedy from all other Poems. But Comedy inſtructing by the Ridiculum, that Ridiculum ought to be both in the Fables and Characters. Firſt, it ought to be in the Characters, or elſe it cannot be in the Incidents, and conſequently there can be no Comedy. For the manners of the Agents produce the Incidents. Se⯑condly, it ought to be in the Incidents, or elſe it would follow, that there would be manners in the Agents, which are not productive of action, which ought not to be. Beſides, Comedy in⯑ſtructs by its Fables or Characters, or both. If it inſtructs only by its Cha⯑racters, as ſome Criticks have thought, yet the Ridiculum ought to be in the Action too, or the ſeriouſneſs of the In⯑cidents would check the inſtruction, as well as the pleaſure, which we receive from the Characters. But if it inſtructs by its Fable and Action, as certainly it ought to do, why then the Ridiculum muſt be in the incidents which are parts of the Action, becauſe Comedy inſtructs by the Ridiculum; and conſequently this laſt ought to reign chiefly in the Cataſtrophe, which ought to be the moſt inſtructive part of the Fable, and [55] to make the ſtrongeſt impreſſion. Be⯑ſides, there are but two ways of inſtruct⯑ing by example, and thoſe are, the ſhew⯑ing men Ridiculous for their faults, or unfortunate, to repreſent them expos'd by them, or chaſtis'd for them. But if Comedy ſhews men unfortunate, it u⯑ſurps upon Tragedy. The great Diſ⯑orders of the world are caus'd by great Paſſions, and they are puniſh'd by Tra⯑gedy. The little Paſſions cauſe little Diſ⯑quiets, and make us uneaſie to our ſelves and one another, and they are expos'd by Comedy. For, that which we call Hu⯑mour in Comedy, is nothing but a little Ridiculous paſſion, and the expoſing it in Comedy is thought to be Poetical Juſtice ſufficient for it: Not but that at laſt the Characters in Comedy may be chaſtiz'd at the Cataſtrophe for faults which they have committed; but that very Chaſtiſement ought to be wrapt up in the Ridiculum, or the Cataſtrophe cannot be truly Comical. For as the Cataſtrophe of a Tragedy ought to be the moſt Tragical part of it, becauſe Tragedy inſtructing by Compaſſion and Terror, thoſe two Paſſions ought to be moſt ſtrongly mov'd in the moſt In⯑ſtructive part of the Fable; ſo the Cata⯑ſtrophe [56] of a Comedy ought to be the moſt Comical part of it for the very ſame reaſon; for Comedy inſtructing by the Ridiculum, as has been ſhewn above, the moſt Inſtructive part of it ought to be moſt Ridiculous. But now if 'tis the end of Comedy to Inſtruct, and it in⯑ſtructs by the Ridiculum, the Modern Comedy muſt be more Inſtructive than the Ancient could be. For the Ridicu⯑lum in the old Comedy of the Ancients, was very often out of Nature, both in the Characters and in the Incidents, and conſequently could not inſtruct. And the Ridiculum in their new Come⯑dy being not ſo ſtrong as it is in ours, neither in their Characters not in their Incidents, could not Inſttuct ſo powerfully; and the Moderns having greater variety of it both in their per⯑ſons and action, the Inſtruction in the Modern Comedy muſt be the more ex⯑tenſive, beſides that the variety of Acti⯑on and Incidents muſt make our Cata⯑ſtrophes more ſurprizing, and conſequent⯑ly more Ridiculous.

So that the Modern Comedy pleaſing more, and inſtructing more, and ſo an⯑ſwering the two ends of Comedy better than the Ancient did, it follows that [57] the Moderns in Comedy are preferrable to the Ancients.

As the Moderns have excell'd the An⯑cients in Comedy, they have equall'd them in Satyr. There has been a long diſ⯑pute among the Criticks, whether Ho⯑race or Juvenal ought to be preferr'd in Satyr. Their excellencies indeed are are very different, and therefore a Com⯑pariſon is not eaſie to be made. Horace had a great deal of pleaſantry, and Ju⯑venal a great deal of force, at leaſt for his way of writing. Now Boilean has juſtly got a great Reputation both for force and pleaſantry, and conſequent⯑ly is equal to either of the Roman Saty⯑riſts; And here it will not be amiſs to obſerve, that the very ſame Poets among the Moderns, who have ſurpaſs'd the Ancients in Comedy, and who have e⯑quall'd them in Satyr, have faln infinite⯑ly ſhort of them when they have at⯑tempted the greater Poetry, as Ben John⯑ſon comes behind them in Tragedy, and Boilean in the greater Ode.

As for Hiſtorical Poetry, any one who is acquainted with Lucan may have ob⯑ſerv'd, that where that Author is very great, he derives his greatneſs from Re⯑ligion; as he does, for example, in Ca⯑to's [58] Speech, which is a kind of Abſtract of the Religion and Metaphyſicks of the Stoicks.

[59] Which in Engliſh is thus.

Lucan is very far from being ſo exalt⯑ed every where as he is here. For, [61] where-ever he is very great and poeti⯑cal, he muſt be ſo by the greatneſs of ordinary paſſion, or by the force of Enthuſiaſm. But ordinary paſſions can neither be very frequent in an Hiſtorical Poem; nor if they could, could they be frequently great. Becauſe there being no Fable, and no Art, they can ſeldom be rightly prepar'd. Nor can the En⯑thuſiaſms be frequently great where there is no Religion. But Religion cannot be frequent in an Hiſtorical Poem, un⯑leſs it is in Sacred Hiſtory. If any one would give himſelf the trouble of comparing the Twelfth Book of the Aeneis with the ſeventh of the Pharſa⯑lia, he would find that Virgil is ten times greater than Lucan, and that Lucan's ſubject, as far as it is Humane, is ten times greater than Virgil's. For, I hope, no man will compare Aeneas, take him without his Divine Dependencies with Julius Caeſar, the greateſt of men, nor the Combat that made the former King of the Latins, with the Battel that made Caeſar the Abſolute Maſter of the World. From whence it would follow, if the greatneſs of Virgil's Subject conſiſts in any thing Humane, that either Lucan's writing in his Seventh Book is twenty [62] times below his Subject, or that the Wri⯑ting of Virgil in his Twelfth Book is twenty times above his. But Lucan's writing in his Seventh Book is not twen⯑ty times below his Subject, as any Mo⯑dern Poet that ſhould be oblig'd to han⯑dle that Subject after him, would be forc'd to confeſs. Nor is the writing of Virgil in the laſt of the Aeneis ſo many degrees above his ſubject. For if it is, then that laſt Book is ſcurvily writ, be⯑cauſe the thoughts and expreſſions ought to be proportion'd to the things. But the laſt Book of the Aeneis is admirably writ. What then can be the meaning of all this? Why the meaning muſt be, that Virgil's ſubject is twenty times great⯑er than Lucan's. But Lucan's ſubject is ten times greater than his as far as it is only Humane, which has been made to appear. The excellency then of Virgil's ſubject muſt come from ſomething that is not Humane, and that muſt be from Religion; ſo Virgil's greatneſs and his Enthuſiaſm comes from his Machines, and the Miniſtery of the Gods, and the other parts of his Religion, and Lucan's littleneſs, from his want of thoſe Ma⯑chines, and that Miniſtery▪ Petronius [63] Arbiter, Lucan's Contemporary, was ve⯑ry ſenſible of this. For he, tho an Epi⯑curean profeſt, was ſo ſenſible of the Advantage that Poetry deriv'd from Re⯑ligion, that in the Beginning of his Sa⯑tyricon, after he has been exclaiming a⯑gainſt the Writers of the Times, and particularly againſt Lucan, he offers this expedient for the reſtoring Poetry to its former greatneſs, that they ſhould re⯑ſtore it to its former Religion. But to return to Lucan; He is often tedious and ſpiritleſs, becauſe his Subject is not only meerly Humane, but it's ſometimes Impious. For Lucan had conceiv'd the moſt extravagant Deſign in the World. For at the ſame time that he ſets up for a Stoick, he writes a Book to prove ei⯑ther that there is no ſuch thing as Pro⯑vidence in the World, or that the Gods favour'd Injuſtice.

Before I make an end of this Chapter, I beg the Reader's leave that I may di⯑greſs for a moment, becauſe the digreſ⯑ſion is of very great importance to Poe⯑try.

[64] We have ſhewn that the Subject of Vir⯑gil in the Twelfth of his Aeneis, is very much greater than Lucan's is in the Seventh of his Pharſalia. We have ſhewn too, at the ſame time, that Lucan's was greater as He found it, and that Virgil's was greater as He made it. For I hope I need ſay nothing at this time of day to prove that the Religious part of Virgil's Subject was Invented and Diſpos'd by the Poet. Which may ſhow the benefit of Art, that is, of Rules in Poetry. For, tho 'tis by the Genius of a Writer, that is, by a Soul that has the power of expreſ⯑ſing great Paſſions, whether ordinary or Enthuſiaſtick, that we treat a Subject with Dignity equal to its greatneſs, yet 'tis Art that makes a Subject very great, and conſequently gives occaſion for a great Genius to ſhew it ſelf.

And thus we have ſhewn that the An⯑cients did not excel the Moderns in Co⯑medy and Satyr, which are not Sacred Poems, as having neither Invocations, Apoſtrophes, Revelations or Machines; at leaſt the new Comedy had none of all theſe, and the old one only ſome low Burleſque or elſe Groteſque ones. We have ſhewn too that the Sacred Poetry [65] of the Ancients, was beyond compari⯑ſon greater than their Hiſtorical Poetry, becauſe it was not Sacred.

CHAP. X. That in their Sacred Poetry, in which the Ancients, excell'd the Mo⯑derns, thoſe places were greateſt, and moſt Poetical that had moſt of Religion.

But as the Ancients did not ſurpaſs the Moderns in Poetry that was not Sacred, ſo in that ſort of Poetry where they did excel them, they were never ſo admirable as where they were moſt Religious. Now the paſſages of the Ancient Poets, which ſeem to have moſt Religion in them, are either thoſe addreſſes by which men approach'd the Gods, as Invocations, Apoſtrophes, and the like; or thoſe condeſcenſions, by which the Gods communicated them⯑ſelves to men, as Revelations, Machines, [66] &c. the firſt of which are Duties that belong to univerſal Natural Religion, the ſecond to Religion which is Re⯑veal'd, Extraordinary and Miraculous. Every thing that is great in Poetry muſt be great by the Genius that is felt in it, which is the chief thing in Poetry, ac⯑cording to the general acceptation of it; and the principal thing in the Ma⯑teria Poetica, or the Body of Poetry. Now all Genius is Paſſion becauſe it moves, and all Paſſion is either Enthu⯑ſiaſm or ordinary Paſſion, as we de⯑clar'd above. Now that even ordinary Paſſion in Poetry is heighten'd by Re⯑ligion, we ſhall endeavour to prove. And we ſhall moſt inſiſt upon thoſe or⯑dinary Paſſions, which are moſt to be found in Tragedy and in Epick Poetry. For, as for the greater Ode, that ſeems to be the peculiar province of Enthuſi⯑aſm, and ordinary Paſſions in that are more rarely to be met with.

Firſt then Admiration, which is the Reigning Paſſion in Epick Poetry, I mean that which is admirable in the action of the Hero, is heighten'd by Re⯑velations, by Machines, and the Mini⯑ſtration of the Gods. For that Mini⯑ſtration, [67] thoſe Machines, and thoſe Re⯑velations are all Miraculous. And the man who was admirable before for his extraordinary Valour and his Native Greatneſs, becomes more wonderful, when we behold him the eſteem and immediate concern of Heaven, when we ſee him the 'peculiar care of Pro⯑vidence, when we find the order of Nature inverted, the Skies grown facti⯑ous upon his account, and Gods de⯑ſcending to ſuſtain or oppoſe him.

But Secondly, Terror and Compaſſi⯑on, which are the Reigning Paſſions in Tragedy are Heighten'd by Religion. Tragedy, ſays Ariſtotle in his Poetick, is the Imitation of an action which ex⯑cites Compaſſion and Terror. Now thoſe two Paſſions proceed from Sur⯑prize, when the Incidents ſpring one from another againſt our expectation. For thoſe Incidents, continues the Phi⯑loſopher, are always more admirable than thoſe which arrive by chance; which is evident from this, ſays he, that even of accidental things, thoſe are always the moſt wonderful and moſt ſurprizing, which at the ſame time that [68] they arrive by Chance, ſeem to fall out by Deſign; and by a certain particular ſecret conduct, of which Nature was what they relate of the Statue of Mitys at Argos, which fell upon his Murderer, and kill'd him upon the ſpot, in the midſt of a great Aſſembly. For that by no means, ſays the Philoſopher, ſeems to be the work of Chance. From whence ir follows, ſays he, of neceſſity, that thoſe Fables where there is this conduct, will always ſeem preferable to thoſe that have it not. Thus Ariſtotle declares that the Wonderful in Tragedy, as well as in Epick Poetry, is Heightned by Re⯑ligion, that thoſe Tragical Incidents that appear to have moſt of Providence in them, are always moſt moving and Terrible. The Reaſon is plain. For all cur Paſſions are grounded upon the Love of our ſelves; and Terror and Compaſſion ſpring from the Calamities of our equals; that is, of thoſe who being in circumſtances reſembling ours, and committing faults which we either commit, or to which we are liable, are upon that unfortunate. For the more there appears to be of Providence in the puniſhment, the more we pity the per⯑ſons. [69] For if their calamities appear to be the work of Chance, they might as well have hapned to thoſe who have not committed ſuch faults, as to thoſe who have. And therefore a Train of Incidents, which, contrary to our ex⯑pectation, ſurprizingly produce one ano⯑ther, is neceſſary, becauſe the more plainly the puniſhment appears the re⯑ſult of the faults, and the more clearly we are convinc'd of this when we leaſt expect it, Providence appears the more in the caſe, and our ſecurity is ſhaken the more, and the more we are mov'd and Terrified. But Religion does not only heighten thoſe Paſſions which are great in themſelves, as Admiration and Ter⯑ror are; for Admiration raiſes the Soul, and every thing that is Terrible, is cer⯑tainly great to him to whom it is Ter⯑rible, but it ennobles thoſe which are commonly baſe and dejected; as for example, Grief; witneſs that paſſage in the Paſſion of Dido:

[70] And that Noble Apoſtrophe afterwards:

And that Sublime Apoſtrophe of Seinon in the Second Book:

But to come to the other ſort of Paſ⯑ſion, which gives Poetry its force and its greatneſs, Religious Enthuſiaſm muſt neceſſarily be greater than Human En⯑thuſiaſm can be, becauſe the Paſſions that attend on Religious Ideas, when a man is capable of Reflecting on them as he ſhould do, are ſtronger than thoſe which attend on Prophane Ideas, as has been ſaid above, and has been partly ſhewn by examples. And as ordinary Paſſion is Heightned by Religion, ſo Human Enthuſiaſtick Paſſions are height⯑ned [71] by Religious Enthuſiaſm. We ſhall give an example of this in Terror, by which I mean not that Common Paſſion which Ariſtotle treats of in his Rheto⯑rick and in his Poetick, and of which we ſpoke in the former part of this Chapter; but that Enthuſiaſtick Terror, which ſprings from the Ideas unknown to him who feels it. Virgil in his firſt Book of the Aeneis deſcribes a Tempeſt, which carries Double Terror along with it; the ordinary one, which ſprings from the concern which we have for the Hero; and the Enthuſiaſtick one, which the Ideas would carry along with them, tho they were ſeparated from that concern which we feel for the He⯑ro. The Deſcription is Grave, and Se⯑vere, and Exalted, becauſe the Poet was mov'd by the Terrible Ideas. For that which is Terrible, is always great to him to whom it is Terrible, as we ſaid before; and that which is Great is Ad⯑mirable, and then he who is Terrified is always ſerious, and very much in Ear⯑neſt. The ſame Deſcription where the Terror is at the Height is vehement.

Becauſe that which is very Terrible is Wonderful and Aſtoniſhing, and he who is aſtoniſh'd, being tranſported be⯑yond himſelf, muſt of neceſſity expreſs himſelf with that ſort of Fury which we call Vehemence. Virgil, by ſetting ſo many Terrible Images in motion, had ſet this Tempeſt before his Eyes, or ra⯑ther had tranſported himſelf as it were into it. Now, any one who has been upon the brink of a Wreck, and conſe⯑quently has been very much Terrify'd himſelf, and ſeen others Aſtoniſh'd, cannot but have felt the ſame motions that he feels in Reading this paſſage, and cannot but have obſerv'd that others who felt them, expreſs'd themſelves with the ſame Fury and Vehemence that the Poet does, tho not with the ſame Elegance. But tho this Storm is Terri⯑ble in it ſelf and Wonderful, yet the Machines, which prepare, and raiſe, and allay it, very much add to its Great⯑neſs [73] and genuine Terror, and it is quite another thing when it is conſider'd with the cauſe of it, which is the Anger of Juno, and the Compliance of Aeolus, and with that which follow'd upon it, which is the Indignation of Neptune, and the exertion of his abſolute power.

The paſſages of the Ancient Poets that were moſt Religious, were their Invocations, Apoſtrophes, or the like; or thoſe which contain'd the Miraculous part of their Religion, their Signs, Ap⯑paritions, Oracles, and other Revela⯑tions.

For their Invocations, Apoſtrophes, and the like, which were all of them either a ſort of Prayers, or Divine At⯑teſtations, they are moſt of them very ſublime, and attended with a ſtrong Enthuſiaſm. And how could it be o⯑therwiſe, but that the Ancient Poets, who were men of great Learning, of great Paſſions great Eloquence, and great Parts; when with ſtudy and pains, and with all their endeavours to be Enthuſi⯑aſtick, they addreſs'd themſelves to their Gods, ſhould be extremely agitated, when we ſee very plainly that a ſort of Mo⯑dern Enthuſiaſts, who have neither [74] Learning nor Parts, nor the leaſt tincture of good Letters, are even in their Ex⯑tempore Prayers diſturb'd with very fierce Enthuſiaſms.

For the Apoſtrophe, we have given examples of it already, and therefore we ſhall only ſay here, that Longinus men⯑tions it as one of the Figures that con⯑tribute the moſt to the Sublime. For the Invocation, we ſhall bring an Ex⯑ample of it, from the ſeventh Book of Virgil, and the Reader is deſir'd to take notice what addition of Enthuſiaſm at⯑tends it.

[75] And from Horace, Lib. 3. Ode 4.

But to come to thoſe paſſages of the Ancient Poems, in which the Miracu⯑lous part of their Religion was con⯑tain'd, and their Revelation more near⯑ly concern'd, as their Signs and Won⯑ders, and their private Inſpirations; but above all, the Apparitions of their Gods and their Oracles, it is no wonder if thoſe paſſages, ſpeaking of things that ſtrike mankind with the laſt Aſtoniſh⯑ment, have almoſt all the Enthuſiaſm of which the mind of man is with Rea⯑ſon capable. Horace is by no means a cold Writer, and yet he is far from wri⯑ting every where with the ſame degree of Fury, and the ſame Rapture, that he does in the beginning of the Nineteenth Ode of the Second Book.

Nor is Virgil every where ſo Enthuſi⯑aſtick, as he is in the beginning of the Sixth Book, where the Cumaean Sibyl rages with the Delphick God.

In ſhort, any thing that immediately concerns Revelation has ſo great an In⯑fluence upon Poetry, that it is able to change even the Nature of Writing, and Exalt that very ſort of Poetry, which by its Character is Low and Humble; as for Example, the Eclogue: The fourth Eclogue of Virgil will be eaſily granted by all to be very Sublime. But what is it that makes it ſo? Why there is at once in that Eclogue an Invocation, and an Apoſtrophe, and a Revelation of ſundry Miracles to come. The Fifth Eclogue between Menalcas and Mopſus, begins with all the Humi⯑lity, and all the Simplicity, that is pro⯑per and peculiar to the Eclogue.

And thus Mr Duke has with the ſame Simplicity tranſlated it.

But this very Menalcas changes his Tone in a wonderful manner, when in the ſame Eclogue he comes to the Apo⯑theoſis of Daphnis.

And you may eaſily ſee that the Gen⯑tleman who tranſlated it, who wants no [79] Genius, felt the extream alteration of the Spirit.

But let us ſee a little how Virgil goes on.

[80] But Virgil goes on.

But now 'tis time to ask a queſtion, What is the reaſon that Virgil, who knew the Character of the Eclogue bet⯑ter than any man, and who was ſo throughly convinc'd that the Diſcourſes of Shepherds ought to be ſimple, and their affections ſoft and gentle affecti⯑ons, and who beſides has been always us'd to introduce his perſons ſpeaking perfectly in their Characters, ſhould bring in Menalcas in this Eclogue talk⯑ing in ſo exalted a manner, and with ſo [81] ſtrong an Enthuſiaſm? Why he has given the Reaſon in the preceding Verſes.

'Tis that he was ſatisfied that very vio⯑lent Enthuſiaſms flow ſo neceſſarily from the wonders of Religion, that they were as natural to Shepherds as they were to Kings, as being to both alike unavoidable. But what Influence the Miraculous part of Religion had on the Ancient Poetry, we ſhall diſcover more at large in the following Chapter.

CHAP. X. That the Grecian Poetry flouriſh'd with their Religion.

THe Grecian Religion flouriſh'd in Greece from the time of Orpheus, who was either the Original Inſtituter, [82] or at leaſt a vehement propogater of that Idolatry, till the Age after that in which Sophocles flouriſh'd, that is, for the ſpace of about eight hundred years, and in that ſpace of time flouriſh'd all their Po⯑ets, who are celebrated for their excel⯑lence in that ſort of Poetry which we call Sacred. Which alone is a ſtrong preſumption, that theſe Poets deriv'd their excellence from Religion. In ſhort, the advantage which their Poetry drew from Religion muſt needs be very con⯑ſiderable, when for all or moſt of the fore-mention'd ſpace of time, according to the Teſtimony of Plutatch, and ſeve⯑ral others of their authentick Writers, it made moſt of their Zealots, even their common people Poets, and that even in their ordinary converſation. I muſt confeſs, the Gentleman who writ the Hiſtory of Oracles, treats this as a Ficti⯑on, and a Fiction ſo palpable as not to be worth the anſwering. But perhaps that Gentleman had not conſider'd this matter enough. For I deſire the Reader to conſider two things. Firſt, the ex⯑traordinary incentives which thoſe peo⯑ple had to Enthuſiaſm, which is one qualification for Poetry; and ſecondly, [83] the habit which they might very pro⯑bably contract of Verſification. To be ſatisfied of the firſt, let us enquire a little into the nature of their Religion: And upon enquiry we ſhall find, that the ve⯑ry ſource, and ſpring and ſoul of it was an imaginary or pretended Revelation, and that that Revelation was ſuppos'd to be conſtant and continual, as it muſt be of every Religion which has no ſound Morality. They had their pub⯑lick and private Revelations, as Oracles, Viſions, Dreams, Apparitions. And Gods and Goddeſſes, Nymphs and Demi-gods, Fawns and Satyrs were ſeen by Imagi⯑nation in every Grove, on every Moun⯑tain, and in every Valley, as ſoon as ei⯑ther the Horrors of the place, or its ſi⯑lence, or their fears, or their wiſhes, or their contemplations had diſpos'd their minds to be Religiouſly impos'd upon. Now what ſort of Paſſions, and what ſort of Spirit muſt be produc'd in them by theſe Imaginations, we may gueſs by what happens among our ſelves, when any one believes that he has ſeen an Apparition. The man is alter'd quite in a moment; his colour, his mein, his comportment are all different: Nor are [84] they who hear him the ſame, but are all of them ſurpriz'd, tranſported, aſto⯑niſh'd, and all of them very profoundly attentive. Now very few that have any Judgment have any Notion that an Ap⯑parition will do them any harm, nor has any one an example of it, that may be eaſily credited. But the Ancient Grecians had notions, that their Gods had power to deſtroy them, or make them happy, and they had a thouſand Examples of it, in Muſeus, and Orpheus and Homer, and the reſt of the Fathers of their Church, which muſt cauſe the Emotions upon the fancied Apparitions, or the Relations of them to be the great⯑er, and fill their Souls with more turbu⯑lent Paſſions, and a greater Religious Horror.

But then let us conſider, ſecondly, that theſe Zealots muſt in ſome meaſure have contracted a Habit of Verſiſicati⯑on from their Religious duties. For the very common People in Greece, had with quick apprehenſions a great deal of vivacity; and therefore I leave the Reader to gueſs, what effect the Read⯑ing Muſeus, and Homer and Orpheus, and the reſt of the Fathers of their Church, [85] for their whole life-time, muſt neceſſa⯑rily have had upon their Minds; toge⯑ther with their Praying, Praiſing, Sa⯑crificing and Thankſgiving in Verſe: Why, may not they very well be ſup⯑poſed from all this, to have contracted a Habit of Verſifying?

And why may not that Habit, joyn'd to their continual Enthuſiaſtick Moti⯑ons, which they had, either from the Revelations which they fancied that the Gods imparted to themſelves, or from the Relations of thoſe, which they believed were vouchſafed to others; or from the performance of the foreſaid Religious Duties, and from their Ritual, which their Poets had compos'd with ſo much Enthuſiaſm, capacitate them to expreſs, themſelves Poetically even in common Society; as well as ſome whole Sects of our Modern Fanaticks in England, who have by no means the vivacity of the Grecians, are enabled from the continual Reading of Scripture, and the Imaginary Dictates of the pri⯑vate Spirit, to make up their ordinary converſation almoſt wholly of Scripture language.

[86] But ſince theſe Viſions and theſe Appa⯑ritions, joyn'd to their conſtant Reading the Poets, had ſuch a mighty influ⯑ence upon the people, what muſt they not have had upon their Prieſts the Poets, who having ſtronger pretences to thoſe Revelations, and more earneſt and eager application to the Reading of the Poets, who writ before them, and who beſides having ſtrong Imaginations and great Paſſions, and ſtill greater Souls to command them, were qualify'd to draw an extraordinary advantage from them? When theſe, whoſe pecu⯑liar buſineſs it was to take care of Re⯑ligion, at any time writ upon Religious Matters, what Gravity, what Severity, what Elevation, what Vehemence muſt they not neceſſarily derive from their ſubject?

CHAP. XII. Objection anſwered.

BUt here 'tis convenient to anſwer an Objection; for here it will be urg'd, that the Ancient Poets among the Grecians, being men of extraordi⯑nary parts, could not believe any thing ſo abſurd as the Revelations and Miracles mention'd in the former Chapter, and conſequently could not draw any ad⯑vantage from them. To which I an⯑ſwer, that firſt they might draw an ad⯑vantage from them tho they did not be⯑lieve them; and ſecondly, that they did believe them.

Firſt, Suppoſing they did not believe them, yet they might very well draw their advantage from them. For every one is brought up in the Reveal'd Reli⯑gion of his Country, and conſequently believes it for the firſt part of his life. Now every one knows that the force of [88] Education, and the Influence of firſt Impreſſions is great, and eſpecially upon the minds of thoſe who have ſtrong Imaginations. And ſuppoſing that the Poets, when they ſet themſelves to write, were not ſatisfied about the Truth of the Revelations of which they treat⯑ed, yet the former ſtrong Enthuſiaſtick motions, that they were wont to have upon the like Ideas in the firſt years of their youth, would certainly follow upon them again, whenever they had heartily a mind to give into them.

But ſecondly, a man may have a very good underſtanding, and yet believe a falſe, nay, even an abſurd Revelation. The Revelation of Mahomet is both falſe and abſurd, and yet ſeveral among the Turks, who have ſhewn themſelves men of extraordinary parts for ſeveral years together, have at laſt convinc'd the world of the ſincerity of their belief, by very frankly ſubmitting to die at the Command of their Emperors, when they could with a great deal of eaſe have de⯑clin'd it. For 'tis ſo reaſonable to be⯑lieve that there ſhould be ſuch a thing as Revelation, of which we ſhall ſpeak more at large anon; and all Revelati⯑ons [89] are ſo little to be comprehended by us, that a man even of a good under⯑ſtanding will be oblig'd to believe an abſurd one rather than none. Beſides, the Ancient Grecian Poets knew no o⯑ther Religion than the Grecian Revela⯑tion. For they had neither any clear Idea of one Supreme Independent Being, nor any tolerable knowledge of the Law of Nature. For all the great Poets among the Grecians flouriſh'd before the Doctrine of Socrates was eſtabliſh'd in the world, and before that eſtabliſhment they had neither any certain knowledge of the True God, nor any tolerable no⯑tion of the Law of Nature. For had there been that, there would have been a ſyſtem of Morality; but Socrates was the firſt who introduc'd Moral Philoſo⯑phy into that part of the world.

And here the Mythologiſts may pre⯑tend as long as they pleaſe, that the Ancient Grecian Poets, by the number of their falſe Gods, meant only the dif⯑ferent notions of the true. 'Tis plain they had no clear and diſtinct Idea of one Supreme and Infinite Being: For either the Knowledge of the True God muſt be drawn from Reaſon or Revela⯑tion [90] From Revelation they could not draw it, becauſe their own Revelation was not true: And if they had the know⯑ledge of the true God from any other Revelation, of which perhaps ſome of them might have heard imperfectly, why then that knowledge was imper⯑fect, and could conſequently not be clear: And to deduce that knowledge from Reaſon a man muſt uſe a great deal of attention and a great deal of application. But in thoſe times the Cor⯑ruption of the Grecians was too great, and their Paſſions were too ſtrong, and the Exerciſe of Reaſon was too little known among them, to uſe either the attention or the application. But be⯑ſides all this, there is ſomething in the Ancient Grecian Poets that is repugnant to the Divine Nature, as is known to every one who has been converſant with them, and that alone renders all the Conjectures of the Mythologiſts Ridi⯑culous.

And laſtly, we have a great deal of Reaſon to be convinc'd that the Anci⯑ent Grecian Poets, I mean their Sacred Poets, did believe the Revelations they neated of, becauſe as their Poetry flou⯑riſh'd [91] with their Revelation, ſo at laſt it fail'd with it, as we ſhall ſhew at large in the following Chapter.

CHAP. XIII. That the greater Poetry among the Graecians fail'd with their Re⯑ligion.

AS Epick Poetry, Tragedy, and the Greater Ode, flouriſh'd with Re⯑ligion among the Ancient Grecians, ſo together with Religion they fail'd. Now in order to the proving this, let us en⯑quire how and when the Grecian Reli⯑gion fail'd. We have ſaid in one of the former Chapters, that the very ſpring and ſoul of that Religion was a con⯑ſtant continual Revelation, as it muſt neceſſarily have been of ſuch a Religion as had no Morality. The Grecians worſhipp'd many Gods, but before they worſhipp'd them, they muſt believe that they were, and that they wanted neither power nor will to make them either hap⯑py [92] or miſerablc. Now of theſe two things they were convinc'd by Imagi⯑nary or pretended Revelations, as by Oracles, Viſions, Dreams, Apparitions, and a thouſand Fantaſtick Miracles. Now as long as theſe were in credit in Greece Polytheiſm went on Triumphantly. For they who had neither any inſight into the True Religion, nor any tolerable habit of Reaſoning, could never argue againſt matter of Fact as long as they made no doubt of the Truth of it. But as ſoon as the matter of fact came to be ſuſpected, the Grecian Worſhip was un⯑dermin'd and weaken'd very conſidera⯑bly. To be convinc'd of this, we need only conſider the Deſign of that Reve⯑lation, and the methods of carrying it on, and we ſhall find that that very De⯑ſign, and thoſe very Methods, made a certain way for its ruine. We have ſaid above that no Religion which wants Morality can outlaſt its Revelation. For if Morality is not for it, it will be againſt it. And 'tis impoſſible to conceive how any Religion can be permanent, which has neither Miracles nor Human Reaſon to ſupport it. Now it will be an eaſie matter to ſhew two things, firſt, that [93] the Grecian Religion was without Mo⯑tality; and ſecondly, that the very De⯑ſign of it, and the Methods of carrying on that Deſign, introduc'd Moral Phi⯑loſophy, by a very natural prepara⯑tion.

The Deſign of the Grecian Religion, ſeems to me to be the providing for the Happineſs of Mankind in this life, by drawing them out of a ſtate of War, and making them live peaceably and ſe⯑curely among one another.

Says Horace, in his little Treatiſe De Arte Poetica. That is:

Now this Deſign he was to bring a⯑bout by Religion, and Revealing the pretended will of the Gods. In order to which it was neceſſary to give the people [94] ſuch a Religion as might be agreeable to them in the condition in which they were. For otherwiſe they would not have hearken'd to it. Now, to give them a Religion that might be agree⯑able to them, it was neceſſary to give them ſuch a one as might Maintain and Indulge their Paſſions. For, when the Grecian Worſhip was firſt inſtituted, the corruption of that people was ſo very great, that tho the Inſtituter had known the pure Law of Nature, he durſt never have preach'd it to them, becauſe their Paſſions were then too ſtrong to receive it. Well, then Orpheus, or Linus, or whoever was the firſt Inſtituter of the Grecian Religion, was oblig'd to Main⯑tain and Indulge the Paſſions, which I am apt to believe that he had no notion of ſuppreſſing, becauſe he believ'd them all to be natural, and ſaw by experience that ſome of them contributed to the Pleaſure and Happineſs of Mankind. The Inſtituter then of the Grecian Wor⯑ſhip was oblig'd to Maintain the Paſſi⯑ons; but here lay the difficulty. The very crimes that kept men aſunder, and in a ſtate of War, were caus'd by ſome of thoſe very Paſſions; what then was [95] to be done in this caſe? Why, He was oblig'd to give thoſe Paſſions a diver⯑ſion, and to Indulge and Maintain the reſt in the ſame condition in which he found them. As for example, Rage and Fury were the principal paſſions that maintain'd men in a ſtate of War, and occaſion'd the frequent Murders that were daily committed among them. Now theſe paſſions being grown up with them, and by conſequence become habitual to them, it would have been very difficult, if not impoſſible, to ſup⯑preſs them. The firſt Inſtituter then of the Grecian Religion thought fit to give thoſe paſſions a vent a leſs cruel way, and for that purpoſe in all likelihood inſtituted the Orgies of Bacchus. But the paſſions that were not utterly incon⯑ſiſtent with Society, he indulg'd in the condition in which he found them, as the Love of Women, Wine, &c. For, all that the Founder of that Religion could pretend to at firſt, was to bring men out of a greater confuſion into a leſs, and not to reduce them to perfect order. Therefore, by ſhewing the Gods addicted to theſe paſſions, he encou⯑rag'd the people to cheriſh them, nay, [96] to ſuch an Intemperance as was repug⯑nant to the original Law of Nature, nay, even to ſuch a criminal degree, as was afterwards forbidden by the Laws of the Grecian States. For Intemperance in the uſe of Wine and of Women is contrary to the Dictates of Natures ori⯑ginal Law, and yet was encourag'd by the Examples of ſome of their Gods, and Rapes and Adulteries and Inceſt were encourag'd by the ſame Examples at firſt, without any manner of Counter⯑check. For, either the Syſtem of the Grecian Theology was contriv'd at firſt without any Infernal Puniſhments, or they were only threaten'd to ſuch crimes as were contradictory of civil Society. But afterwards, as Confuſion leſſen'd, and Order increas'd, and other Crimes were found to be more repugnant to Community, and ſo were forbidden by the Laws, the Magiſtrates in all likeli⯑hood oblig'd the ſucceeding Poets to threaten thoſe who dar'd to commit them, with the puniſhments of another World, and ſo to make up the Infernal Scheme by Degrees. Thus have I en⯑deavour'd to ſhew by the moſt probable Conjectures I could make, what was the [97] original Deſign of Orpheus, and what method he took to compaſs it. But this is paſt all doubt, that the original Revelation of the Grecian Worſhip was Repugnant in ſeveral points to the primitive Law of Nature, and the ſuc⯑ceeding Laws of the Grecian States. Now the method which Orpheus, or whoever was the firſt founder of the Grecian Religion, had taken, was main⯑tain'd by ſucceeding Poets, only here and there, as occaſion ſerv'd, they in⯑termingled precepts of Juſtice and Tem⯑perance; which precepts are by no means to be look'd upon as parts of that Revelation, but as Remnants of Natu⯑ral Religion and of the Law of Nature, which the Paſſions had not been able totally to ſuppreſs; or the efforts and ſtrugglings of Reaſon, recovering from its Lethargy by Degrees. But the Poets and Law-givers could not give good precepts with a great deal of good ſuc⯑ceſs, as long as the Gods were believ'd to give ill examples. For the people look'd upon their Laws, unleſs they were inforc'd by Religion, as made on⯑ly for the conveniency of life, and trangſgreſt them whenever they could [98] with Impunity; and the precepts ſcat ter'd up and down in the Poems wer but Impotent Imperfect efforts of Rea⯑ſon, and utterly unable to prevail a⯑gainſt a continual conſtant Revelation, and a train of perpetual Miracles.

But now let us conſider how this Deſign of Orpheus, or whoever was the firſt Inſtituter of the Grecian Religion, let us ſee how his Deſign in ſetting up his Theology, together with the Methods that were us'd for carrying it on by him and ſucceeding Poets, ſecretly pre⯑par'd the way for its utter ruine. For the bringing men in a body together, and cauſing them more frequently to converſe with one another, was the firſt occaſion of the cultivating Humane Reaſon, and was conſequently one pre⯑paration to the Introduction of Moral Philoſophy.

And the Laws that were made by their Legiſlators, and the Precepts that were given by their Prieſts and Poets, in conſequence of mens convening and converſing together, had been ſenſible encroachments upon the Revelation, as being manifeſt contradictions of it, if men had been us'd to reflect. At laſt, [99] after Miracles and Revelations had pre⯑vailed for the ſpace of almoſt eight hundred years, Socrates aroſe a moſt ex⯑traordinary man, who finding that the Precepts that had been ſcattered here and there, for the Regulation of Hu⯑mane Life, and the Laws that had been given for the maintaining of Order in Communities, were all contradictory of the Revelation, but all agreeing perfectly with one another in the promoting of the ſame Deſign, which was the welfare of thoſe who obſerv'd them, he had reaſon to enquire a little more narrowly into the Revelation, and to find that that was contradictory too of it ſelf. For the Celeſtial and the Infernal Schemes of the Ancient Grecian Theology, ſeem'd ſo utterly inconſiſtent, that as I hinted be⯑fore, they could never be conceiv'd to be both given ou't at a time; but it was reaſonable to believe, that firſt the Ce⯑leſtial Scheme was invented, and after⯑wards the Infernal made up by degrees, in order to the ſerving the ends of Go⯑vernment. For not only the Infernal Deities rigorouſly puniſh'd thoſe very Crimes, which the Celeſtial Gods had by their Examples encourag'd men to [100] commit: but which is very odd to con⯑ſider, their Hell ſeem'd to be fill'd with their Good Gods, and their Heaven with Devils. For whether we conſider Pla⯑to or Proſerpine, or the Judges, or the Fates, or the Furies, theſe were all of them very rigorous, and if you pleaſe inexorable; but then they were all of them very juſt, and foes and inexora⯑bie only to guilt, and never any of them did any harm to Virtue. But at the ſame time that the Magiſtracy of Hell was compos'd of theſe honeſt upright Perſons, Heaven on the other ſide was fill'd with all ſorrs of Scoundrels, Rakes, Cuckolds, Bullies, Pimps and Bawds, and Cuckold makers; and no Virtue, and no Innocence could ſecure either Men or Women, from theſe Immortal Scow⯑rers. Nay, men often ſuffer'd for their Temperance, and women for their Chaſti⯑ty. Socrates then conſidering the abſurdity of the Revelation, and the Reaſonable⯑neſs of the Laws and Precepts that were diſtinct from it: The agreement of the latter among themſelves, and the incon⯑ſiſtency of the former, cultivated the one, and contemn'd the other, and by the force of a ſtrong and clear Reaſon [101] and a long converſation with all ſorts of people, brought the Exerciſe and Ha⯑bit of reaſoning into Requeſt, and by little and little introduced a ſyſtem of Morality, reſtor'd in ſome meaſure Na⯑tural Religion, and recover'd the Law of Nature. Thus Socrates gave the world a Syſtem of Morality, and tho his Contemporaries had not reaſon enough to make the diſcovery themſelves, yet they had ſenſe enough to approve of it when it was made, and to be convinc'd of the Truth of it, and conſequently to be ſa⯑tisfy'd that the Revelation was falſe. For ſeeing that Virtue, and Order and Happineſs, I mean in ſome degree, ſprung from Philoſophy, and Vice and Confu⯑ſion and Miſery from the Revelation; and ſeeing the Philoſophy was eſtabliſh'd by Inferences, which very naturally flow'd from theſe Intelligent Faculties, which, whatever power had form'd man, had given him to be his guide; and ſeeing the Philoſophy and the Revela⯑tion contradictory one of another, they could not find in their hearts to believe that the Gods could be ſo unjuſt as to deſign the miſery and confuſion of Man⯑kind, or ſo abſurd as to give them two [102] rules to walk by, that were contradi⯑ctory one of another.

The eſtabliſtment then of Moral Phi⯑loſophy, was the ruine of the old Reve⯑lation, and ſo made way for a new. For after the death of Socrates, there ſtarted up ſeveral Sects of Philoſophers, as the Cyrenaicks, Cynicks, Peripateticks, Epicureans, Scepticks, ſome of them im⯑mediately, but all within a hundred and fifty years, who were all of them mor⯑tal Enemies, not only to the Grecian Revelation, but to Reveal'd Religion in general: Tho in the laſt they certainly went beyond the deſign of their com⯑mon Maſter Socrates, whoſe intention was to reform Revelation, and not to ruin it. And thus upon the eſtabliſh⯑ment of Moral Philoſophy, the credit of Oracles was diminiſh'd conſiderably, and Apparitions, Viſions, &c. were contemn'd and exploded, and with them down went the greater Poetry: for you will find upon enquiry, that there was no Poet among the Grecians, who was born after the death of Socrates, who writ with a great Spirit.

CHAP. XIV. That the Greater Poetry among the Romans flouriſh'd and fail'd with their Religion.

THat the Grecians deriv'd their pre⯑heminence in the greater Poetry from Religion, may appear not only becauſe they flouriſh'd and decay'd toge⯑ther, but becauſe the Romans, whoſe Country was not like Greece, the Scene of perpetual Miracles, and who for a long time had no correſpondence with Greece, had no ſuch thing as the Spirit of Poetry among them, till they came to Conquer that Country.

For there was ſomething in the Inſtituti⯑on of the Roman Religion, as it was eſta⯑bliſh'd by Numa Pamphilius, that leſſen'd the credit of Divine Apparitions conſide⯑rably. [104] 'Tis true, Numa founded his Sa⯑cred Eſtabliſhment upon the Authority of Apparitions; but at the ſame time that he profeſt a familiarity with the Goddeſs Aegeria, and with the Muſes,Plut. Life of Numa. he taught the people, that no reſemblance of the Gods could be made, nor any likeneſs to repreſent them. The firſt was a Fiction to ſerve a turn in Politicks, and the latter a Truth that was contra⯑dictory of the other. And he had need have very groſs people to deal with, that could ſwallow ſuch a contradiction as that: For if no Form or Likeneſs of the Gods could be made, in what Like⯑neſs could they appear to him, or how could he diſtinguiſh Aegeria from the Muſes, or the Muſes from one another? I am apt to believe that Numa ven⯑tur'd this contradiction upon the groſs⯑neſs of the people with whom he had to deal, becauſe the Truth and Fiction were equally neceſſary to his Eccleſiaſti⯑cal Policy. For as his Authority was grounded upon the Fiction, ſo it was ſtrengthen'd by the Truth; for the ap⯑pearing of the Immortal Powers to Nu⯑ma had not made him ſo venerable, if ſuch Apparitions had been common to [105] every one. However, this contradicti⯑on was ſwallowed by the People, and Numa upon it, gain'd both his Points; for he was held to be a Sacred Perſon, and the Gods were eſteem'd inviſible. So that for a hundred and ſixty years, ſays Plutarch, in the Life of Numa, there was no ſuch thing as a Statue in their Temples, nor any talk of the Gods ap⯑pearing to them. For how could thoſe numerous Gods, whom they worſhipp'd, with any poſſibility appear to them, ſince they could make no likeneſs of them. At length, the Superſtition of the Grecian Idolatry by degrees encreas'd upon them; and having conquer'd Greece and Carthage, and ſo got an in⯑ſight into the Arts, and leiſure at once to cultivate them, the Grecian Religion, and the Grecian Arts grew up together among them; and of all the Arts Poe⯑try was the firſt that was cultivated, be⯑cauſe it was incorporated with their Re⯑ligion. So that thereappears to me to be this conſiderable difference between the greater Poetry of the Grecians, and that which was among the Romans, that the Grecians deriv'd their Poetick Enthuſiaſm from the Miracles of their Religion, [106] and the Romans borrow'd theirs in ſome meaſure from the Grecians.

So that the latter appears to me to be but a Copy as it were of the former. For, in effect, the Romans copied the Grecian Spirit: For we have ſhown from Horace the beſt of the Roman Criticks, that the Romans had no ſuch thing among them till they had conquer'd Greece, nor had they any ſuch frequent Impulſes to En⯑thuſiaſm, and having the ſame Revela⯑tion at the time that they cultivated Poetry, that the Grecians had, they could hardly ſay any thing of their Gods or their Demi-Gods, or their Fa⯑bulous Transformations, that the Gre⯑cian Poets had not ſaid before them. Beſides, the moſt famous of the Roman Poets copied particular Grecian Authors, as Horace did Pindar, and conſequently fell ſhort of them in the freeneſs and flame of their Spirit, as Copies muſt ne⯑ceſſarily do of Originals. And as for the Tragedies that were among the Ro⯑mans, [107] the beſt of them were directly tranſlated from the Athenian Poets.

Since then the Roman Poets copied the Grecian Spirit, what is the reaſon that the Romans copied them ſo much better than we do? Why, firſt, they underſtood them better, and were more familiar with them, becauſe then the Grecian was a living language, and Rome had a continual correſpondence with Athens. Secondly, they had a more beautiful and more harmonious language to receive that Spirit; and laſtly and chiefly, that Religion from which it was deriv'd made greater impreſſions upon them than it does upon us. And in order to the making that appear, we ſhall ſhow that Poetry among the Ro⯑mans flouriſh'd and fail'd with Reli⯑gion.

Poetry began to be cultivated at Rome after the Conqueſt of Greece, and the end of the Thid Punick War.

[108] Now nothing is more reaſonable than to believe that the Grecian Superſtition, from which the Spirit of their Poetry was deriv'd, was at a greater height at Rome, after the Romans had conquer'd the Grecians, than it could be before they had a continual correſpondence with that people. But beſides, Religion in the main may be thought to be in a very great eſteem among the Romans about the time that they began to culti⯑vate Poetry.

In order to the proving which, let us enquire what was the fountain and ſource of Religion among the Romans, and upon what it chiefly depended. The chief ſupport of Religion among the Grecians was the conſtant Revelation by Oracles; but the Italian Oracles were more rare, and of much leſs re⯑nown. The prop and ſupport of the Roman Superſtition lay in their Divina⯑tions, as Machiavel in his Diſcourſes ob⯑ſerves. For, ſays Machiavel, they eaſily believ'd that that Divinity that foretold their felicity had the power to effect it. Machiavel had reaſon to be of that opi⯑nion. For, how could their Gods be thought certainly to foretell what it was [109] not in their power certainly to effect? And thus did the Roman Worſhip depend in a very peculiar manner upon the credit of their Divinations. But now let us en⯑quire in what credit the Divinations were when Poetry began to be cultiva⯑ted; which, as we obſerv'd above, was after the third Punick War.

Now the credit of the Augurs and the Aruſpices muſt needs at that time be ve⯑ry great with the Romans. For, ſince good Fortune alone inclines men to De⯑votion, and to confide in the Gods, as Ariſtotle has obſerv'd in the Second Book of his Rhetorick; what thoughts muſt not the Romans have of their Soothſay⯑ing, when they were not only arriv'd at ſuch a Degree of Felicity, but be⯑liev'd that they ow'd all their greatneſs to the predictions of their Augurs. For they conſulted them upon every impor⯑tant conjuncture, and particularly be⯑fore they gave Battel. 'Tis true, they had ſometimes fail'd, but where they had fail'd once, they had ſucceeded ten times; which is evident from the felicity of that Commonwealth. Now, if one lucky gueſs can ſupport our ordinary Fortune⯑tellers, who are wretched contemptible [110] bonds, againſt a hundred that happen unfortunate, as we know by experience it does, in what height of Reputation muſt not the Soothſayers be, whoſe Or⯑der it ſelf was held to be Sacred and Auguſt, when they had apparently ſuc⯑ceeded ten times for their failing once. The Romans were now become the greateſt people upon the Earth, and the Promiſe of Romulus reveal'd to Proculus, according to the Oath of the latter, that Rome ſhould be the Miſtreſs of Na⯑tions; that promiſe, which at firſt ſeem'd ſo very incredible, was now very likely to be accompliſh'd. And the Ro⯑mans believ'd that they had been con⯑ducted by the predictions of thoſe Di⯑viners, as it were by ſo many ſteps, to that height of Glory, at which they were in Triumph arriv'd, and from the which they had a certain proſpect of becoming Maſtersof the Univerſe.

Divination then being in very great credit in the age in which Poetry began to be cultivated, Religion, which had its chief dependance upon it, muſt con⯑ſequently needs be in very great credit too, which was the thing that we de⯑ſign'd to prove.

[111] But from what has been ſaid it neceſ⯑ſarily follows, that any one that ſhould have brought Divination into diſgrace, muſt have given a terrible ſhock to the ſuperſtition of the Romans. Now, a⯑bout a hundred and threeſcore years af⯑ter Poetry began to be cultivated, being introduc'd by Livius Andronicus, there flouriſh'd a great Wit, who not only baffled the whole Myſtery of Divinati⯑on in a learned Philoſophical Treatiſe, but alſo publiſh'd an extraordinary Book concerning the Nature of the Gods, which alone, ſays Mr Harrington, in his preliminaries to his Oceana, was ſuffici⯑ent to overthrow the Religion of the Roman State. Thus Cicero contriv'd and effected himſelf the very Crime, for which he declaim'd againſt Cataline with ſo much vehemence, and undermin'd the moſt ſolid foundations of the Temples of the Roman Gods.

About the ſame time the Athenian Philoſophers began to eſtabliſh them⯑ſelves at Rome. The Jews, whoſe Coun⯑try Pompey had ſubdu'd, began every day to reſort more and more to the World's Capitol. The Romans, thro an exceſs of ridiculous flattery, deify'd their deceas'd [112] Emperors, which alone was enough to make the Roman Religion ridiculous; and Jeſus Chriſt came into the world to introduce a new Revelation. What was the effect of all this upon the Ro⯑man Religion? A Superſtition that had made ſuch impreſſions on the minds of that people, and from which they ima⯑gin'd that they and their Anceſtors had receiv'd ſo much benefit, could not be utterly overthrown in a moment. The Romans were ſo very pertinacious in their Principles, and had ſo much flegm and conſtancy in their conſtitutions, that the Grecian Philoſophy, and the Doctrine of Cicero, requir'd ſome time to prevail. However, prevail they did; and with them the Chriſtian Religion got ground, and the Pagan declin'd; and the Superſtition and Poetry of the Romans gradually declin'd together. And the Declenſion of the Roman Poe⯑try was attributed even by Petronius himſelf, who was a thorough-pac'd Epi⯑curean, to the neglect of the old Theo⯑logy.

CHAP. XV. Objections anſwer'd. Concluſion of the former part of the Work.

But here it concerns us to anſwer ſome Objections, which we eaſily foreſee may be made. For if the Reli⯑gion which the Romans borrow'd from the Greeks had ſo great an influence on their Poetry, and the two Treatiſes which Cicero writ concerning Divination and the Nature of the Gods, gave ſuch a ſhock to that Superſtition; How comes it to paſs that Poetry not only flouriſh'd afterwards, but came to perfection in Horace and Virgil, which two were the greateſt of the Roman Poets. In an⯑ſwer to which we ſhall endeavour to ſhow as ſuccinctly as we can, why Poe⯑try flouriſh'd after the publication of thoſe Treatiſes, and why it afterwards came to perfection. To ſatisfie the Rea⯑der why Poetry flouriſh'd afterwards, we need only repeat what we obſerv'd [114] above, that the flegm and ſolidity of the Roman people, and perhaps their Politicks, ſuſpended the effect of thoſe Writings, and of the Doctrine of the Grecian Philoſophers; and when they began to ſpread, it is reaſonable to be⯑lieve that they went downwards from the Patricians and the Roman Knights to the people, who in all probability were the laſt who were undeceiv'd. Now the greateſt of their Poets, and eſpecially Virgil and Horace, flouriſh'd within leſs than fifty years after the publication of thoſe Treaties, and were moſt of them very meanly deſcended. So that they were brought up in the Religion of their Country, and had conſequently when they came to write, the advantage of firſt Impreſſions, and their copying the Grecian Poetry, threw them upon the old Idea's. 'Tis true, ſome few of them were better deſcended, and were Roman Knights, but either they were too much Men of Pleaſure, to dive into Philoſo⯑phy, or too much Poets, to eſpouſe a Sect that would not favour Enthuſi⯑aſm.

But now let us enquire with the ſame brevity, for what reaſon Poetry, that de⯑rives [115] its preheminence from Religion, came to perfection among the Romans, after theſe attacks had been given to the Religion of that State: In anſwer to which, we muſt put the Reader in mind, that there are three things which con⯑tribute to the perfection of Poetry. The firſt is Nature, which is the foundation and baſis of all. For Nature is the ſame thing with Genius, and Genius and Paſ⯑ſion are all one. For Paſſion in a Poem is Genius, and the power of exciting Paſſion is Genius in a Poet; to the rai⯑ſing of which, Religion, as we have ſhewn above, gives a very great Advan⯑tage. The ſecond thing is Art, by which I mean thoſe Rules, and that Me⯑thod, which capacitate us to manage every thing with the utmoſt dexterity, that may contribute to the Raiſing of Paſſion. The third thing is the Inſtru⯑ment by which the Poet makes his Imi⯑tation, or the Language in which he writes. By Language I do not mean here the expreſſion of any particular Poem, or the poetical Dialect which the Poet models himſelf; but the lan⯑guage of the Country in which he writes, and which he finds made to his [116] hands. Theſe are the three things that contribute to the perfection of Poetry; ſo that in any Age or Country, at what⯑ever juncture Religion and Language and Poetical Art are in greateſt force together, at that very juncture the Poe⯑try of that Country is at its heighth. And this is the reaſon why Tragedy, which is a Poem of the growth of At⯑tica, was at its height in the time of So⯑phocles, becauſe then the Language was in perfection; the Art of Poetry, and particularly of Tragedy, had been ex⯑tremely cultivated, and Religion as yet had power enough o're the minds of men to inforce the paſſions. But the greateſt of theſe three is Religion, and the moſt prevalent towards the advancement of Poetry, as is plainly ſeen by the event. For, after that the Introduction of Moral Philoſophy had ruin'd the eſta⯑bliſh'd Religion among the Grecians, Tragedy immediately loſt its force, tho the language remain'd in perfection af⯑terwards, and the Poetick Art was per⯑haps improv'd. Let us now examine how the Art of Poetry, and the Roman Language and the Roman Religion ſtood in the time of Auguſtus. The Art of [117] Poetry, which had been introduc'd by Livius Andronicus, had now been culti⯑vated for about two hundred years, but with a great deal of Interruption, caus'd by the violences of thoſe times; and that it was at its utmoſt height in the time of Auguſtus, we have no great rea⯑ſon to doubt, becauſe we find more of the Poetical Art in the ſingle Aeneis of Virgil, than in all the reſt of the Roman Poets together. For the Language, that it was then at its height, is agreed on by moſt; and tho ſome few may contend that it was ſomewhat declin'd from the purity which it had in the preceding age, yet it was certainly more Poetical in the time of Auguſtus, that is, more full, more ſounding, more ſignificant, and more harmonious. And as for Re⯑ligion, we have already ſhewn that the effect of the Writings of Cicero was ſuſ⯑pended by the flegmatick temper which was incapable of ſudden Impreſſions, and perhaps by the politicks of the Ro⯑mans. But that was not all. Religion had then more Force, more Authority and more Majeſty, than it had had for ſome time before; and that by the ex⯑ample of the Emperor. No one can be [118] ignorant what influence the example of a Prince has upon the minds of the peo⯑ple. Now Auguſtus was in his temper Religious even to Superſtition. And tho during the violences of the Trium⯑virate, his Politicks had got the better of Nature in him, yet aſſoon as he had attain'd the Soveraign Power, Policy and Nature were reconcil'd, and both of them favour'd Religion; whereas the Age preceding had been an Age of continual Violences, and conſequently not of ſo much Religion. The Roman Senate having got the Lands from the People had conſequently got the Domi⯑nion, ſo that that famous Common⯑wealth was dwindled into an Oligarchy, and that Oligarchy was grown factious, as all Oligarchies muſt of neceſſity do; and the heads of thoſe Factions were all of them labouring who ſhould over⯑throw the State; ſo that they who were at the Helm of the State, neither were nor could appear good, becauſe there was a neceſſity of their giving pernicious Examples. Auguſtus himſelf, notwith⯑ſtanding his natural clemency, and his proneneſs to Superſtition, was drawn in by Ambition to the committing all man⯑ner [119] of violences in the beginning of the Triumvirate, and neither did nor durſt appear what he was, till dividing the World between himſelf and Anthony, Po⯑licy and Nature were reconcil'd in him, and he was oblig'd to appear rather more Debonaire and Religious than he was by his Natural Temper, that the Extra⯑vagancies of Anthony appearing more hideous, compar'd with the Beauty of his Character, he might inſenſibly un⯑dermine his Rival in the eſteem of the Senate and the Roman people, and a⯑lone command the Univerſe; and we may judge by this, what influence the Example of the Emperor had upon the Writers, that it not only prevail'd upon Virgil to make Piety one of the chief In⯑gredients in the Character of his Hero; who was deſign'd by the Poet the very Picture of Auguſtus Caeſar, but engag'd him to incorporate ſo much Religion with the Action of his Poem, that it is the moſt Religious Epick Poem that ever was writ in the World.

And thus we have endeavour'd to ſhew as briefly as we could, that Art and Lan⯑guage and Religion were all of them in a great deal of force together in the glorious [120] Reign of Auguſtus, and much more pow⯑erfully united than ever they had been before, and I hope I need not tell the Reader than ever they were in the Reigns of ſucceeding Emperors. And in ſhewing that, I have given the reaſons why the Roman Poetry was then at its utmoſt height, tho I make no doubt but that a ſettled calm and a full tranquility, after a fierce and a tedious Tempeſt; and the elevation that might ſpring from the Remains and the Appearances of Liberty, and conſequently the appear⯑ances of their being Maſters of the Uni⯑verſe; and laſtly, the never to be for⯑gotten bounty of a magnanimous Prince, and the Emulation that muſt enſue upon it among ſo many extraordinary men, might all of them contribute to the ad⯑vancement of Poetry.

But if the Writings that flouriſh'd a⯑among the Romans, and eſpecially in the time of Auguſtus, receiv'd ſuch advantage from the Roman Religion, that the ex⯑cellence and greatneſs of their Poetry is chiefly owing to that, how comes it that Virgil is found in his Writings to have had ſo exalted a notion of God, as is utterly inconſiſtent with the Gre⯑cian [121] Theology? How comes it to paſs, that Lucretius and Horace are held to be thorough-pac'd Epicureans, on whom the Superſtition that reign'd among their Country-men could have no man⯑ner of influence, and yet Horace allow'd to be after Virgil the greateſt of the Roman Poets, and Lucretius, as Taſſo is pleas'd to call him, a moſt Noble Verſifyer.

'Tis true indeed, Virgil had an exalt⯑ed notion of God, as we may ſee by ſe⯑veral places in his works,

And that famour paſſage in the fourth Georgick,

And that in the ſixth Aeneid,

Now this exalted notion of Jupiter, or the Supreme Being, Virgil had from the Writings of Plato; and the reſt of the Gods and Goddeſſes a little modifyed, as they are in that Poet, in whom we wee ſee none of Homer's Religious extra⯑vagancies are exactly the Platonick Dae⯑mons. So that Virgil ſtrictly adhering to the Platonick Sect, it follows that his Philoſophy did very little harm to his Religion.

But to proceed to Horace. He was ſo very far from being a thorough-pac'd Epicurean, as ſome will obſtinately have him, that he was of every Sect by turns, and chang'd his Philoſophy and his Religion with his Humour, as a great many do beſides him; and when that Humour inclin'd him to Libertiniſm, then he was an Epicurean; and when⯑ever it turn'd about to Auſterity, then he became a Stoick. That there are a great many ſuch perſons in the world, we may take the word of the Duke De la Rochefant.

That is,

[124] Now that Horace was as likely to be by⯑aſs'd by his humour, as any other per⯑ſon whatſoever, we have his own word Epiſt. 8. lib. 1.

So that, as we obſerv'd above, when this humour inclin'd him to Libertiniſm, then he was an Epicurean, and when the alteration of that humour enclin'd him to ſeverity, then he became a Stoick [125] or a Platonick, of which we have a no⯑torious inſtance in the 34th Ode of the firſt Book.

'Tis true, Monſieur Dacier treats this as Raillery, but it muſt be fine Raillery that could never be found out to be Raille⯑ry, till above ſixteen hundred years after it was writ. Horace has left e⯑nough behind him, to ſhew that he un⯑derſtood Raillery a great deal better than that comes to. But what will he ſay then to that remarkable paſſage of the firſt Epiſtle of the firſt Book.

But tho we ſhould grant that Horace was always an Epicurean, yet that would make rather for than againſt us. For it [126] is certain that he was educated in the Religion of his Country, as we obſerv'd above, and we know that the force of firſt impreſſions is great, and the copy⯑ing the Spirit of the Grecian Poetry threw him upon thoſe firſt Ideas.

And then this very Horace, whom ſome of the Moderns will ſo obſtinately main⯑tain to be a conſtant Epicurean; this very perſon, who, as he was the ſecond of the Roman Poets, was one of their greateſt Criticks, declares himſelf abſo⯑lutely of our opinion, viz. that the Roman Poetry deriv'd its preheminence from the Roman Religion; for in his Satyrs, wherein he aſſures us he is no Poet, he intermingles none but Burleſque Religion, and that very rarely, with his Verſes; in his Odes, where he knew that he was a Poet, Religion is every where ſeen, and Invocations, Apoſtrophes, Machines and Revelations abound in them.

But now a word or two to Lucretius. He writ before the publication of Cicero's [127] Treatiſes, but then he was undeniably an Epicurean, and writ with a deſign to draw others over to his Sect. But in that very Poem, which he writ with a Deſign to overthrow Religion, he ſhews of what importance Religion was to Poetry; and the very Treatiſe which he begins with a Deſign to overturn the Worſhip of the Gods, that very Treatiſe he begins with the Invocation of a God⯑deſs. And that Invocation is undeniably one of the nobleſt and moſt Poetical parts of his Book: So that Lucretius, to attain an excellence in Poetry, was con⯑tented to be guilty of a very ſtrange ab⯑ſurdity in Philoſophy. For, to what purpoſe does he Invoke the Goddeſs of Love? Why he Invokes her to inform him that he ought not to Invoke her, for that ſhe does not hear him, and does not regard him, and has nothing at all to do with him.

For, let no one tell me here, that by Venus the Poet means only the genera⯑tive [128] Faculty of things. In ſhort, Lu⯑cretius Invokes ſomething, and Invoca⯑tion is Adoration, and whatever is ador'd, muſt during the action by the Adorer be eſteem'd a Deity.

But it is not only in his Invocation that Lucretius is pleas'd to have recourſe to Religion. For after that, in the two firſt Books he has been taking a great deal of pains to deſtroy the belief of Gods and Providence, that in his third he may be very Poetical and very Sub⯑lime, he is forc'd to erect a new Divini⯑ty in the room of thoſe whom he has been juſt ſubverting; And that is Na⯑ture; tho by what he makes her ſay in that Noble Proſopopaeia, we might very well miſtake her for Providence.

So that we have not only the opinion of Lucretius on our ſide, but the exam⯑ple too. For, by having recourſe to Religion in that very Philoſophy that utterly diſclaims it, he not only declares of what Importance he thinks it to be to Poetry, but has ſhewn of what Im⯑portance it really is, by ſucceeding ſo much better in thoſe paſſages than in the other parts of his Book. But how could a Materialiſt, the Reader may ſay, draw [129] any advantage from Religion? But Lu⯑cretius was made, not born a Materialiſt. He was bred in the Religion of his Country, and ſo had the advantage of, firſt impreſſions which are never to be defac'd, Lucretius, you may ſay, perhaps was very lofty and very Poetical where he had nothing to do with Religion. Indeed ſometimes he was ſo, for I do not remember that I affirmed that there can be no Poetry without Religion, but only that Religion gives the occaſion for the beſt, the greateſt and the moſt Exalt⯑ed, and it makes for my purpoſe ſufficient⯑ly, that Lucretius is moſt Poetical and and Sublime where he is Religious. But where he is lofty in other places, we find him deſcribing the great Phaenomena of Nature, and the higher a man riſes and the nearer he comes to the firſt in⯑finite cauſe, the nearer he certainly comes to Religion. Beſides, where Lucretius is lofty and Poetical in Deſcribing the great Phaenomena of of Nature, there we are ſure to find him aſtoniſh'd for from whence comes his vehemence but from his aſtoniſhment, which may give us a Suſpicion, that Lucretius was not ſo very aſſured of the [130] truth of his opinion. For effects aſtoniſh no man. He who is aſtoniſh'd is moved by the ſecret cauſes of things which are two high or too deep for his com⯑prehenſion. So that in places where there is no mention of Religion, Lucretius in ſome meaſure derives from that his Impetuous Golden Torrent of Verſe, his vehemence and his Sublimity.

And thus I have inquired into the me⯑rits of the Ancients, with all imaginable Impartiality, and have attempted to ſhew that they had the advantage of the Mo⯑derns in the greatneſs of Poetry, but that they deriv'd it not from any Superiority of Faculties, or any external or internal advantage, abſtracted from the nature of the ſubjects of which they treated, but only from incorporating Poetry with Religion.

CHAP. I. That the Deſign of the True Reli⯑gion and Poetry are the ſame.

IN the former part of this Treatiſe we attempted to ſhew, that the An⯑cient Grecians and Romans excell'd the Moderns in the greatneſs of Poetry, and [132] ſo endeavour'd to oblige a very conſi⯑derable party of Mankind; who ad⯑mire the Ancient Poets to that degree, that they deſpair of their being ever equall'd, much leſs ſurpaſs'd by the Mo⯑derns; but then, that we might diſ⯑oblige as little as we could another bo⯑dy of men, who have a high opinion of the Moderns, and are apt to think them upon an equal foot with the An⯑cients, we endeavour'd to prove that the Ancients deriv'd their preheminence, not ſo much from any real ſuperiority that they had in themſelves, as from the Subjects of which they treated; which Subjects were Sacred, either in their own nature, or by their manner of handling them. So that we have taken the moſt effectual courſe that we could poſ⯑ſibly do, to remove the deſpair of [...] party, without too much exalting them▪ and to check the unreaſonable preſum⯑ption of the other, without too much depreſſing them; that ſo the one party might deſpond no more, and the other be ſecure and careleſs no longer; but tha [...] the Paſſions and Prejudices being re⯑moved, which have hitherto obſtructed the Advancement of a Noble Art, and [133] both Parties being reconcil'd and united in the common opinion, that the An⯑cients, tho they are exalted above us, are not beyond our reach, may immedi⯑ately take fire, and contending with a Noble Emulation, puſh on the Art to ſome degrees of perfection, beyond what it has attain'd for theſe laſt fifteen hun⯑dred years. For, in the remaining part of this Treatiſe, we ſhall make it our buſineſs to convince the Reader, with all the brevity that the Importance of the affair will admit of, that the Moderns, by joyning Poetry with the true Religi⯑on, will have much the advantage of the Ancients in the main, tho they may fall ſhort of them in ſome particular Poems.

But here it concerns us to anſwer an Objection. For perhaps the Reader may ſay, how can you maintain that the Chriſtian Religion will be ſuch a help to Poetry, when you have already in a former Treatiſe, made uſe of the Authority of Boileau, to ſhew that Chriſtianity and Poetry were things that were inconſiſtent.

That is,

To which we anſwer; that we only made uſe of this paſſage in the fore⯑mention'd Treatiſe, to ſhew, that the Myſteries of the Chriſtian Religion were not to be mix'd with Fiction, and con⯑ſequently that it would be a hard matter to contrive Machines for an Epick Po⯑em, upon a Modern Chriſtian ſubject: [135] and if Boileau means any thing more by the fore-mention'd paſſage, I ſhall en⯑deavour to ſhow that he is miſtaken, and that there may not only be moſt exalted Poetry upon a Chriſtian ſubject, without Machines and without Fiction, but that the true Religion is more fa⯑vourable to Poetry than Paganiſm, or Philoſophy or Deiſm; and I ſhall firſt enquire into the Reaſon of things, and afterwards ſee how it is ſupported by Matter of Fact.

Firſt, I ſhall enquire into the Reaſon of the thing, and I make no doubt but to make it appear, that the nearer Poe⯑try comes to Perfection, the more a⯑greeable it is to the deſign of the true Religion, and that conſequently Poetry is much more noble and more inſtru⯑ctive, and more beneficial to Mankind than either Hiſtory or Philoſophy.

In order to the doing which, let us examine what the deſign is of the true Religion, and we ſhall find that not on⯑ly the deſign of Poetry is the very ſame, but the very methods of attaining that deſign the ſame, as far as they can be humanely proſecuted; tho at the ſame time it muſt be confeſt, that Poetry, tho [136] the nobleſt of all Arts, and preferable either to Hiſtory or Philoſophy, falls as ſhort of the Excellence of the true Re⯑ligion, as Human Invention does of Di⯑vine Wiſdom.

The deſign of every Religion muſt be the Happineſs of thoſe who embrace it. Impoſtors, and all who ſet up new Re⯑ligions for ſome politick ends, muſt al⯑ways pretend this, or they will have no followers; for all men propound Hap⯑pineſs to themſelves in every thing that they do; and the Reaſon why ſo few men are throughly and entirely of any Religion, is, becauſe they are not ſuffi⯑ciently convinc'd that it will make them happy. But as even falſe Religions muſt pretend to make thoſe who profeſs them happy, ſo the true one muſt real⯑ly effect it: For the true Religion, whe⯑ther it is innate or reveal'd, muſt cer⯑tainly come from God, and muſt be given by him as a Rule and a Law for thoſe who embrace it to walk by. Now all Laws that are made by good Law-givers, are made for the Happi⯑neſs of thoſe who embrace them. But God muſt be good, and conſequently cannot make Laws, only becauſe it is [137] his Arbitrary will; no, he muſt make them, becauſe he who beſt knows the nature of his own Creatures, knows that they will find their Happineſs in being conformable to them. But if the deſign of all Religion muſt be to make men happy, why then that muſt be the true Religion that makes men the moſt happy: And conſequently that muſt be the true Religion that has the Simpleſt Deſign, and the ſhorteſt and the ſureſt. For the deſign of the true Religion be⯑ing to make men happy, it muſt neceſ⯑ſarily be of ſuch a nature, as that all may be capable of it. For if a Reli⯑gion, of which none but men of ſenſe were capable, ſhould be the true Reli⯑gion, it would follow, that God had made moſt men Blockheads, and after⯑wards made them wretched for being ſo. But now let us examine what Re⯑ligion that is, that takes the ſhorteſt and the ſureſt, and moſt admirable method for making thoſe who embrace it hap⯑py.

Since the deſign of all Religion muſt be to make men happy, and the only true Religion can effect that deſign, which all others in vain pretend to, becauſe [138] only the true Religion can come from God, who alone underſtands our na⯑tures, and alone knows that which the moſt will pleaſe us, it follows, that all who are not really of the true Religion, cannot be perfectly happy. Now this is certain, that Mankind has in all Coun⯑tries and in all Ages, in all Places and at all Times, complain'd of the want of Happineſs. Both Ancients and Moderns, Philoſophers and the People, have a⯑greed that Man was miſerable. And this univerſal conſent may be ſufficient to ſhew, that the miſery of Man is real, and not imaginary; beſides, they have all, both Ancients and Moderns, Philo⯑ſophers and Poets, Men of Senſe, and the Vulgar, admirably agreed in de⯑ſcribing it. They have all conſented in this, that the miſery of Man proceed⯑ed from a perpetual conflict that is with⯑in him, and from a diſcord continually reigning among the faculties of the Soul; a cruel War between the Paſſion, and Senſes, and the Reaſon, while the Reaſon violently draws one way, and the Paſſions and the Senſes another; the latter endeavouring ſtill to be pleas'd by getting the upper hand of the for⯑mer, [139] and the former contending to be ſatisfied by ſubduing the latter, while neither party can gain an entire victory, but an eternal conflict remains; for tho the frequent advantages are on the ſide of the Paſſions, yet Reaſon rallies from time to time, and maintains a running fight.

And ſays Horace, 8th Epiſtle of the firſt Book.

But St. Paul, who knew the cauſe of this miſery of Mankind, has given by much the moſt clear and lively Diſcrip⯑tion of it. Rom. ch. 7: ver. 13.

Thus has St Paul given a lively De⯑ſcription of the conflict that is in the Human Soul between Paſſion and Rea⯑ſon, becauſe he very well knew the cauſe of it. The Philoſophers felt the effect, and could deſcribe it tolerably well; but being wholly ignorant of the cauſe, they took that to be a Defect in Nature, which is really an infectious Diſtemper; and here lay the folly of thoſe people, in believing that they were capable of altering Nature; which puts me in mind of an Aſtrological King of Naples, who not being very well pleas'd with what he thought the Syſtem and Con⯑trivance of the Univerſe, ſaid that if God when he made the World would have vouchſaf'd to have conſulted him, he could have given him very good ad⯑vice. For, ſo by their Writings the Phi⯑loſophers ſeem to have been of opinion, [142] that whereas God had made Man Impi⯑ous, they could make him Good, and whereas he had made him a Blockhead, they could make him Wiſe.

But the Philoſophers not knowing the cauſe of the miſery of Man, made very ſucceſsleſs attempts towards the making us happy; for whether they ſupported the Reaſon againſt the Paſſi⯑ons, all that they gain'd was to inflame the contention which they deſign'd to extinguiſh; and by rouſing and exaſpera⯑ting the Parties make that War be carried on with vehemence, which perhaps was in a languiſhing ſtate before; or whither they animated the Paſſions againſt the Reaſon, they could only mortifie what they could never vanquiſh.

Thus, whither they endeavour'd to live up to the Dictates of Reaſon, the Paſſions plagu'd them by a very violent reſiſtance; or whether they endeavour'd to plunge themſelves in ſenſual pleaſure, they could no further oppreſs the Rea⯑ſon than they ſtupified the whole Man; and Remorſe at laſt, like the Dragon that watch'd the Heſperian fruit, was never to be laid aſleep.

[143] But tho the Philoſophers ſeem'd wholly in the dark, the Poets appear'd to have a glimmering of the Truth, as we may conclude from the Fable of Pandora and Epimetheus, whether they had it from old Tradition, or from a Noble Effort of Reaſon. For, ſays Mr Mede, If there were no Scripture, yet the unſampled Irregularity of our whole Nature, which all the time of our life runs counter to all Order and Right Reaſon, the woful miſery of our condition being a ſcene of ſorrow, without any reſt or contentment, this might breed ſome general ſuſpicion, that ab initio non fuit ita, but that he who made us Lords of his Creatures, made us not ſo worthleſs and vile as now we are, but that ſome common Father to us all, had drank ſome ſtrange and Deviliſh Poyſon, where⯑with the whole Race was infect⯑ed. Thus far goes Mr Mede, and I will make bold to add, by the leave of the Clergy, that this Suſpicion might very well grow up to Reaſon and Certainty, tho' there were no Scripture. For that Man is miſerable, experience aſſures us; but ſince Man is a Creature capable of [144] Happineſs, and one who knows his miſery, Reaſon may tell us that Man could never be Created miſerable, for that would have been contrary to the goodneſs of God, which is his Darling Attribute. Since God might as well Damn his Creatures for nothing, as he might Create them miſerable. Man therefore was certainly created happy, and happy had he continued till now, if it had not been for his own fault, be⯑cauſe it had been repugnant to the Juſtice of God, to puniſh Man for no⯑thing. Thus far we may conclude then by the force of Reaſon, that Man has committed ſome horrible crime, the which has made him miſerable.

But tho' the ſtrength of Reaſon may reach thus far, yet it could never inform Man of the Nature of the crime, the committing of which has made him miſerable, nor in what his original Happineſs conſiſted. All that that we can gueſs by Reaſon is this, that ſince the miſery of Man at preſent lyes in the conflict that he has within himſelf, and in the Civil War which is maintaind in his faculties, that his original Hap⯑pineſs conſiſted in the Peace and Agree⯑ment, [145] and the Harmony that was be⯑tween them, and that the Crime that cauſed his unhappineſs, was in all like⯑lihood ſomething that naturally and ne⯑ceſſarily broke that Harmony and that Agreement. And that we may ſee how far theſe conjectures agree with what our Religion ſays of it, let us make ſome enquiry into the account which Sacred Writ has given of it.

That tells us, that man was not in the beginning what he is at preſent. That he was created Holy, Innocent, Perfect. That his Creator fill'd him with the brightneſs of Knowledge, and with a luminous lively Intelligence. That he then had a ſtrict dependence on his Maker. That he communicated the wonders of his Glory to him. That the Eye of Man then ſaw the Majeſty of God; and that this Crea⯑ture, ſo miſerable now, was then moſt entirely happy. That he was un⯑clouded, untroubled, impained, im⯑paſſive, immortal. This is the ac⯑count that our Religion gives us of the primitive ſtate of Man. It tells us, how great his Knowledge was, [146] his Happineſs and his Perfection. Let us now ſee how much his Paſſions and his Sences were able to contribute to ſo much Felicity.

That Man in his Original State had Paſſions and great Paſſions, is certain. For without Paſſion there can be no Happineſs, becauſe there can be no Pleaſure. Beſides, it muſt be by a great Paſſion, or by great Paſſions that the firſt Man muſt fall. For by the weakneſs of his Reaſon he could not be loſt: For if he had not had Reaſon enough to know that he ought not to have committed the tranſgreſſion which ruin'd him, why then the ruin of Man had not been his own fault. Man therefore before the Fall had Paſſions, but being in a ſtate of Perfect Felicity, he could conſequent⯑ly be ſubject to no Paſſions, which were not entirely conſiſtent with that. He walked with God, and was then united to him, becauſe the Creator was pleaſed to communicate himſelf in ſo great a degree to his Crea⯑ture. Man therefore conſtantly con⯑templated [147] God, not ſo much by the force of Reaſon as of Intuition, or a luminous lively Intelligence. God acted upon his mind, and he felt him as well as ſaw him, and con⯑ſequently Admir'd, Lov'd, Deſir'd, A⯑dor'd him, and the reſult of theſe charming Paſſions was a Joy un⯑ſpeakable. For the more they were exalted, the more his Reaſon ap⯑prov'd of them; and ſince it knew that he could never ſuffer by them in that ſtate of Happineſs and of Im⯑mortality, it eternally exhorted him to perpetuate them, and told him that they could never be too high for their Glorious Object. So that man in his primitive State was always in lofty raviſhing Tranſports. For Love, Admiration, Joy and Deſire, thoſe charming Paſſions were all that he knew, of which Bliſsful Love was always the chief. For God making Man a ſociable Creature, gave him ſuch a ſort of a Happineſs, as that the Felicity of one might produce that of another; and what could that be but an habitual Cha⯑rity, or loving God and Man for the ſake of God. Our bliſsful Sire enjoy'd [148] a ſincere felicity, and conſequently could never know any trouble, nor any paſ⯑ſion that had a mixture of trouble, as anger, ſorrow, fear, and the like. Much leſs could Ambition find room in his breaſt, with Envy, Hatred, Pride, and Revenge, and the reſt of thoſe Turbu⯑lent paſſions that are utterly inconſiſtent with Charity.

And as his paſſions were always pleaſing, ſo his ſenſes were never ſhock'd: The happy creature converſt with An⯑gels, and ſaw the Majeſty of his Maker. And for the Terreſtrial Objects which were around him, and which were all ſubjected to his univerſal Empire, when⯑ever he ſurvey'd them, like his Creator, he found that they were always good; and as the Creatures never were Diſ⯑obedient, he was never Diſpleas'd with them. For, as he had neither fear nor knowledge of ſuffering, Antipathy, A⯑verſion, Horrour, and the like, were things that he never knew, which in this woful ſtate of miſery, are ſo often Nature's ſecret Intelligencers, to adviſe us of approaching harm. Thus all the Faculties were always pleas'd, and man was bleſs'd unſpeakably.

[149] But the reſult of this perfect Harmo⯑ny, was not only continual Happineſs, but unclouded Knowledge and Immor⯑tality. For, as from the Agreement of the vital Faculties, and their concord⯑ing motions, Spirit and Health and pleaſant Eaſe, and vigour of Senſe pro⯑ceeds; ſo from the Harmony of the Rational and Animal powers proceeded a luminous lively Intelligence, and a bliſsful Immortality. For pleaſure was the reſult of that Agreement, and ſince Death can only come by pain, he who is in a ſtate of perpetual pleaſure, muſt by conſequence be Immortal.

But Man alas was unable to ſupport ſo much Happineſs without Preſumpti⯑on. He form'd the Deſign of growing Independant, of ſhaking off the govern⯑ment of him who made him, and find⯑ing his felicity apart from God. This made him conceive the Horrible Crime, of Diverting his affections from him who alone was worthy of them; to things that were form'd ſo many degrees inferiour to him: and that which made the unpardonable enormity of that crime was this, that when God had created him with an ardent deſire of Happineſs, [150] and had created him of ſuch a nature, that his full and his perfect Happineſs lay in his ſtrict dependance on him, and had given him a clear underſtanding to know this; that, I ſay, made the un⯑pardonable enormity of his Crime, that, contrary to this Nature, and this Deſire, and this unclouded Knowledge, he re⯑volted and fell off from God, and by the ſuggeſtion of his greateſt enemy, tax'd him at once with folly and envy, in believing himſelf capable of finding and enjoying a greater felicity than what his Maker deſign'd for him. And thus Mans fatal Original Sin, whether the buſineſs of the Tree of Knowledge is Literal or Allegorical, conſiſted in his horribly diverting his affections from his God to the Creatures. And thus the Harmony of his Intellectual and Animal powers was very miſerably broke. For Reaſon diſapprov'd of the unworthy objects that Man had choſen for his Paſ⯑ſions, and the Paſſions being natural and congenial to the Soul, could not be idle, and Man could not reduce them to their primitive object. For God had abandon'd him to himſelf, and how ſhould Man of himſelf approach Infinity?

[151] And now the bliſsful Time was no more, when Man was only touch'd with tranſporting Paſſions. And now the force of thoſe Charming Paſſions was continually curb'd by Reaſon, which utterly diſapprov'd of their objects; and a thouſand vexatious ones ſprung up among them, like cockle to choak the vital ſeed, and which were partly the reſult of preſent miſery, and partly of paſt felicity.

Beſides, the Sences partook of the ſame Diſorder that had ſeiz'd the Paſſi⯑ons; and they that during his ſtate of Innocence, were always pleas'd with the approbation of Reaſon, and were ne're Diſturb'd, now either betray'd him to Concupiſcence, or were ſhock'd at their ſeveral objects. His Eye and his Ear, thoſe noble miniſters of the Underſtanding, were no longer charm'd with the voice of God, and the glori⯑ous preſence of Angels; and were either too much engag'd by the Terreſtrial ob⯑jects around them, or diſturb'd in de⯑ſpight of Reaſon. The Creatures whom God had furniſh'd with inſtinct ſuffici⯑ent for the care of their preſervation, in their Degenerate Monarch beheld [152] their Enemy. They gladly obey'd him during his Innocence, as Loyal Subjects do a good King, but when he grew wicked he grew a Tyrant, and they at the ſame time turn'd Rebels. From hence Averſions, Horrors, Antipathies, and Fear and Hate and Rage ſprung up in them; and Man was got into a ſtate of War with all the inferiour Creatures, who of his Humble Vaſſals before, were now his Potent Enemies. Both Parties were on their Guard inceſſantly, always dreaded, and always terrify'd.

And thus the Harmony of the Intel⯑lectual and Animal powers was diſſolv'd by Original Sin. And the Ignorance of this, caus'd all the blunders of the Phi⯑loſophers. They knew very well, that the Combat between the Reaſon and Paſſions caus'd the miſery of Man, but they never dreamt of reconciling the difference, becauſe alas they never thought that the parties had once been friends. All that they aim'd at, was to put an end to the conflict, by deſtroying one of the parties, and ſo ſome of them thought of ſtifling the Reaſon, and o⯑thers of ſuppreſſing the Paſſions.

[153] But the folly of theſe two Deſigns was equally great, becauſe they are at⯑tempts at things that are equally Im⯑poſſible. For as long as Man is Man he muſt have Reaſon, and as long as there is Reaſon there will be Remorſe, which will rally from time to time, and be a check upon the exorbitance of the Paſſi⯑ons. And tho Remorſe could be en⯑tirely extinguiſh'd, as I believe it never can, yet Reaſon would be ſure to make its Declaration another way, and that is by our inconſtancy in pleaſure, and our want of variety.

Nor is the folly leſs of endeavouring to ſuppreſs the Paſſions, for either they muſt be wholly ſuppreſs'd or reſtrain'd; But all the Paſſions being natural, in the condition in which Man is now, none of them can be wholly ſuppreſs'd with⯑out deſtroying the Man, nor can ſome of them be ſo much as moderated, without maintaining conſtantly in the ſoul a very violent conflict, becauſe they were perfectly unreſtrain'd in their ori⯑ginal Natures.

The Paſſions are either natural and congeneal to the Soul, or accidental: Theſe firſt are thoſe which are pleaſing [154] to it, as Love, Joy, Deſire, and with theſe the firſt Man was created, for Man was created Happy; but without theſe Paſſions there can be no Happineſs. The accidental Paſſions, as Anger, Envy, In⯑dignation, and Deſire of Revenge, are thoſe with which Man at the firſt was not created, for they all include Miſery, and he was created Happy. They were all the reſult of the fall, which brought woe to the Race of Men. Man is in⯑deed capable of reſtraining theſe laſt, becauſe they all of them include Miſery, and he retaining a vehement deſire of Happineſs, tho joyn'd to an impotence of attaining it, is by that very Deſire capacitated to ſtruggle with apparent Miſery. But it muſt needs be a hard contention when we pretend to mo⯑derate the firſt, becauſe there is ſome⯑thing within us that ſecretly tells us they are neceſſary to our Happineſs; and the conflict muſt needs be violent, when we ſtrive againſt our own Happi⯑neſs. Beſides, they are as natural to the Soul as Reaſoning, and the reſult of that; and a Reaſonable Creature can no more be without Admiration, Love and Deſire, than it can be without Think⯑ing, [155] or without the appetites of Sence; and a Man can no more ſuppreſs the one by Philoſophy than the other. He can no more take away Love and Deſire by Reaſoning, than he can ſatisfie Hun⯑ger and Thirſt with a Syllogiſm. All that he can arrive at, is either to con⯑ceal thoſe Paſſions, as he may do his Appetites, or to refuſe to act in conſe⯑quence of them, as he may in conſe⯑quence of Thinking, or of Senſual Ap⯑petites. Or laſtly, He may weaken theſe congeneal Paſſions by Mortificati⯑on, as he may do his Appetites or his Reaſon. For a Diſtemper weakens the whole Man, and Mortification is a Di⯑ſtemper in effect at leaſt. But when the man is in health, and his Sences vigo⯑rous, and his Reaſon piercing, theſe Appetites too will be ſtrong. And the more powerful the Reaſon is, the ſtrong⯑er will be the Paſſions: And therefore the attempt to ſuppreſs theſe was folly in the Philoſophers. For theſe Paſſions are the pleaſure of the Soul, which can⯑not ſtruggle with ſucceſs againſt felicity. The cauſe of their miſtake was this; Some of them, as for example, the Sto⯑icks, thought that Reaſon diſapprov'd [156] of the Paſſions, when ſhe only diſlik'd the Objects; whereas the Cyrenaicks on the other hand thought that Humane Nature allow'd of the Objects, when it did nothing but approve of the Paſſi⯑ons.

And this may ſerve to ſhew the folly of Deiſm as well as it may of Philoſo⯑phy. For Deiſm pretending, like Phi⯑loſophy, to combat all the Paſſions, muſt be founded on the ſtrength of Rea⯑ſon. But a Religion founded on the ſtrength of Reaſon, cannot be the true Religion. For the true Religion muſt be ſent from God, for the Happineſs of Mankind, and of that Religion all muſt be capable, as we have ſhown above. But of a Religion founded on the ſtrength of Reaſon, and whoſe proofs muſt of conſequence be deduc'd from a long train of conſequences, all men are not capable, for every Religion muſt have proofs, and all men are not capa⯑ble of the proofs of ſuch a Religion as that. As for example: before a man can be a Deiſt effectually, he muſt be convinc'd of the being of a God by Reaſon, and muſt be convinc'd by the ſame Reaſon that the World is govern'd [157] by God. But to be capable of the proofs that Deiſm gives of thoſe two points, a man muſt either have a very ſtrong Rea⯑ſon, or a very good education, whereas not ſo much as one in forty of Mankind has either. But all are capable of the proofs of Revealed Religion: For by proving the Divinity of the Revelation, the Doctrine is proved in courſe. Now the Divinity of the Revelation muſt be prov'd by Miracles. But Miracles are proofs of which all men are capable, becauſe they ſpeak to the Paſſions and appeal to the Sences. Since therefore the true Religion muſt be deſign'd for all; and all men are capable of the proofs of Reveal'd Religion, whereas not one in forty is capable of the proofs of Deiſm, it follows that a Religion that is not Reveal'd cannot be the True Religion.

Beſides, no Religion can be the True Religion that is inſufficient to anſwer the ends of Government. But a Reli⯑gion that is not deſign'd for all, can ne⯑ver anſwer the ends of Government. And therefore Deiſm cannot be the True Religion. For there are but two things that can reſtrain mankind, and keep [158] them within the power of Law; Reli⯑gion, and ſenſe enough to know their real Intereſt. But we have already made it appear above, that whoever wants good ſenſe cannot be reſtrain'd by Deiſm.

That Deiſm is inſufficient to anſwer the ends of Government, may be fur⯑ther plain from matter of fact; for it would be an eaſie thing to convince the Reader that there never was any tole⯑rable Government in the World with⯑out a Reveal'd Religion; and that the Governments that have been moſt Re⯑nown'd upon Earth, flouriſh'd with their reſpective Revelations, and with them decay'd, as the Iſraelites did with their Prophets, the Grecians with their Oracles, and the Romans with their Di⯑vinations; ſo that either the True Re⯑ligion can be in the World without or⯑der and without peace, or Deiſm can⯑not poſſibly be the True Religion.

Again, either that can be the True Religion, which can contribute nothing even to the Happineſs of thoſe who embrace it, or Deiſm cannot be the True Religion. For Deiſm contributes nothing at all to the Happineſs even of [159] thoſe who are capable of it, becauſe that by combating and reſiſting the Paſſions, it maintains the War of the Faculties, inſtead of appeaſing it.

Thus we have ſhewn that the Deſign of the True Religion muſt not only be to make men Happy, but muſt ef⯑fectually do it; that the Philoſophers indeed had that Deſign, but blunder'd in the execution of it; and by pretend⯑ing either to ſet up our Paſſions above our Reaſon, or our Reaſon above our Paſſions, only maintain'd an eternal conflict in the breaſts they deſign'd to eaſe; that the Deiſt does the very ſame thing, by his endeavours to exalt Rea⯑ſon by depreſſing the Paſſions. Let us now ſhew how the Chriſtian Religion exalts our Reaſon by exalting the Paſſi⯑ons, and by a plain and a ſhort, but a moſt admirable Deſign, reſtores the Har⯑mony of the Human Faculties, and the Felicity of the firſt man.

For, after that Chriſtianity has gain'd its profeſſors, by proving after the moſt plain and ſimple manner all that is ne⯑ceſſary to be believ'd in it; that is, by Miracles atteſted by unexceptionable Witneſſes, it gains its end, which is the [160] Happineſs of its believers, in ſo plain, ſo ſure, and ſo ſhort a way, that the way to Happineſs and the end is but one and the ſame thing, and differs only in Degree. Set your affections on things above, and not on things below, ſays the Apoſtle, Coloſſ. 1. 2. That is, Do but earneſtly deſire of God to incline your affections to him, their primitive ob⯑ject; Do but deſire it, and he will in⯑cline them, and the great buſineſs of Religion is done, the Harmony of the Human Faculties reſtor'd, and the Feli⯑city of the firſt man in ſome meaſure at leaſt renew'd. Nay, the way is ſhorter and plainer even than this. For, Do but earneſtly deſire of God to give you Charity, and he will give it, and with that give every Virtue. For, to ſhew how plain, how ſhort, how admirable, the Deſign is of this Divine Religion, Love, which is but a ſingle Paſſi⯑on, and the moſt pleaſing of all the Paſſions, comprehends all its Du⯑ties and all its Felicity. St Paul has given an admirable reaſon why it com⯑prehends all its Duties; for Love, ſays he, worketh no ill to his Neighbour, and is therefore the fulfilling of the [161] Law. And that it is incluſive of all its Felicity, may be concluded from hence, that Charity gently reſtraining thoſe tu⯑multuous Paſſions which diſturb and tor⯑ment the mind, exalts all the pleaſing affections which are natural and conge⯑neal to the Soul, and exalts the very Reaſon of Mankind, by exalting thoſe charming Paſſions. For Reaſon being troubled no more in its Functions, by the painful conflict which it maintain'd before, is free to diſcern and diſtinguiſh Divine Truth, and now employs the exten and ſtretch of its power, in con⯑firming and augmenting the force of thoſe aſpiring Paſſions, which, while they were directed to mortal objects, it eſteem'd its mortal Enemies. And as the Reaſon rouzes and excites the Paſſi⯑ons, the Paſſions, as it were in a fiery vehicle, tranſport the Reaſon above Mortality, which mounting, ſoars to the Heaven of Heavens, upon the wings of thoſe very affections that before re⯑preſs'd the Noble Efforts that it made to aſcend the Skies.

And thus we have ſeen how the Chriſtian Religion reconciles Paſſion to Reaſon. And while the troubleſome [162] Virtues of Deiſts and old Philoſophers, are employ'd in reſtraining thoſe charm⯑ing Paſſions, which are ſo natural to the Soul of man, and which, rightly di⯑rected, conſtitute all its Felicity, the Cardinal Virtues of the true Religion, as Faith, and Hope and Charity, are ex⯑alted Paſſions themſelves. And as Chri⯑ſtianity confirms and cheriſhes all the pleaſing affections, which are to the Soul, as ſo many delicious Friends, and ſo ma⯑ny dear Relations, the very converſati⯑on of which is ſufficient to make it hap⯑py, it gently appeaſes the tumultuous Paſſions, accidental uneaſy gueſts that interrupt its pleaſure.

But the Chriſtian Religion reſtores the harmony of the Human Powers to a greater degree than this, and provides even a pleaſure of Sence that may be highly approv'd of by Reaſon. For though the Chriſtian in this life is not allowed to expect that in a Soveraign degree, yet, ſince there is no ſight ſo charming to the Eye, and no Muſick ſo harmonious to the Ear, as the voice and looks of thoſe whom we love, the Chriſtian Religion by commanding us, 1 Epiſt; of St Pet. ch. 1. v. 2. To love one [163] another with a pure heart fervently, has provided in an admirable manner for the delight of thoſe noble Sences.

Thus the proofs ofChriſtianity are ſhort, and plain, and its Doctrine that leads to Felicity admirably ſhort and unperplex'd, whereas the proofs of Deiſm are abſtruſe, (I mean to the People they are abſtruſe,) and we have ſhewn that the true Religion muſt be deſigned for all, and the method that it takes to make us happy, tedious and vexatious. And this is extreamly re⯑markable, that the very morality which in Deiſm and in Philoſophy is prov'd, at the firſt perhaps with difficulty, and perhaps at the laſt obſcurely; and when it is prov'd, obey'd with pain, becauſe it ſhocks all the pleaſing Paſſions which ſo firmly inhere to the Soul, that very Morality in the Chriſtian Religion is clearly and eaſily prov'd to all, becauſe the Divinity of its Revelation is clearly and eaſily prov'd, and when it is prov'd is purſu'd with pleaſure, becauſe it is every part of it dictated by Love, the beſt and ſweeteſt of all the Paſſions.

And thus Chriſtianity performs in a moment, what Philoſophy and Deiſm have for Ages in vain attempted. For God can touch the Heart in a moment, [164] and a ſhort contrition makes way for a long felicity. And the wiſdom of God ſeems loudly to declare the ſimpli⯑city of his great deſign, by the perſons whom he choſe to execute it. For had there been any thing perplex'd or diffi⯑cult in it, Men of Choice Education and great Parts, would have been cho⯑ſen to expound it. But it was ſo eaſie, ſo clear, ſo agreeable to the Nature of Man, whether conſider'd as an Individu⯑al, or a Member of a vaſt Society, (for Charity, that makes the Happineſs of particulars, tends to the felicity of the whole community; and whereas Juſtice is ſatisfied with the reſtraining men from the doing harm, Charity, the moſt active and the beſt natur'd of all virtues, engages him to the doing good; and there can be no ſuch prevalent motive for the making any one happy, as be⯑cauſe we love him) the deſign, I ſay, of this Holy Religion, is ſo agreeable to the nature of man, that God made choice of twelve poor Fiſhermen, or ſomething more vile to human regard than Fiſhermen, to propagate its Divine Doctrine. And to whom did they preach it? Not to Brutal Savages, as [165] Orpheus did his pretended Revelation be⯑fore them, nor to bloody Barbarians, as Mahomet did his Fanatick Enthuſiaſm afterwards, but to the moſt civiliz'd and knowing Nations of the World, when Learning was at the greateſt heighth a⯑mongſt them; to the Provinces of the Leſſer Aſia, who were the moſt ſubtle people on the Earth; to Greece the great Inventreſs of Arts; and to Rome the Miſtreſs of Nations: to Rome, that with her victorious Armies, had even then, juſt then ſubdu'd and civiliz'd the barbarous World. And twelve poor ignorant contemptible Fiſhermen, who were diſpis'd by their own Nation, and whoſe Nation it ſelf was almoſt univer⯑ſally deſpicable, in a very ſhort time eſtabliſh'd this Doctrine in the midſt of theſe knowing Nations; nay, and eſta⯑bliſh'd it without Arts, without Elo⯑quence, without Reputation, without Power, and downright Innocence and Simplicity prevail'd o're the ſubtilty of the Aſiaticks, the vigorous lively pene⯑tration of the Greeks, and the profound ſolidity of the Romans. So that Know⯑ledge bluſhing was inſtructed by Igno⯑rance, and the vain efforts of all human [166] Wiſdom ſtood confounded by the fool⯑iſhneſs of Preaching; And the Apoſtle had a great deal of reaſon to exeult in the firſt Ep. to the Cor. v. 20, 21. Where is the Wiſe? Where is the Scribe? Where is the Diſputer of this World? Hath not God made fooliſh the Wiſdom of this World? For after that by the Wiſdom of God, the World by Wiſdom knew not God, it pleaſed God by the fooliſhneſs of Preaching to ſave them that believe; and v. the 27th, ibid. God hath choſen the fooliſh things of this World to confound the Wiſdom of the Wiſe. So that this Religion, propagated under theſe ſtrange diſadvantages, by Ignorance againſt Philoſophy, by Sim⯑plicity againſt Arts and Eloquence, by Weakneſs againſt all the oppoſition of Power, by abject and contemptible per⯑ſons, againſt the noiſe and renown of Wiſdom, by men under poverty and perſecution, againſt all the Flatteries of Imperial Tyrants; this Divine Religion, embraced with danger, boaſted of in ſufferings, and taught in Martyrdom; this Religion, I ſay, thus wonderfully pro⯑pagated, muſt needs have had ſomething in the deſign of it, when it was but never [167] ſo little attended to, that is extream⯑ly agreeable to the Nature of Man, and muſt be better adapted to make a Crea⯑ture, compounded of Paſſions and Rea⯑ſon Happy, than either Power or Place, or Worldly Proſperity, or Fame, or Philoſophy, were before. But what could be ſo agreeable to the nature of a Creature compounded of the foreſaid Faculties, as that which reconciled thoſe Faculties which neither Fame nor Philoſophy, Riches nor Power could ever be found to do, or how could twelve poor wretch⯑ed Fiſhermen, without education, with⯑out parts, comprehend what the worlds great Sages could never find out, or how could they conſent againſt apparent in⯑tereſt in making it known to the world, if they had not been inſtructed and com⯑pell'd to act by ſomething that was more than Human?

And thus we have ſhewn, How that the Deſign of all Religion muſt be to make men Happy, but that the True Religion muſt not only deſign it, but muſt effectually do it. And then we proceeded to ſhew, that the miſery of man conſiſting in the conflict which is maintain'd within him, his Happineſs [168] by conſequence muſt proceed from the Harmony which is in the Human Facul⯑ties; then we ſhew'd how that Harmo⯑ny came to be broke, and how it was afterwards by the Chriſtian Religion reſtored.

But now, as the end of every Religion muſt be the happineſs of thoſe who em⯑brace it, ſo the deſign of every Art muſt be the very ſame, as has been always acknowledged by all who have enquired into the Nature of Art in general, or in⯑to the deſigns of particular Arts. And as the true Religion muſt not only pro⯑pound the Happineſs of its Profeſſors, but muſt really effect it, and as that alone is the true Religion, which makes the beſt proviſion for the happineſs of thoſe who profeſs it; ſo that muſt be the beſt and the nobleſt Art which brings the greateſt Felicity with it. But as the mi⯑ſery of man proceeds from the diſcord and thoſe civil jars that are maintained within him, it follows that nothing can make him happy, but what can remove that diſcord, and reſtore the Harmony of the Human Faculties. So that that muſt be the beſt and the nobleſt Art, which makes the beſt Proviſion at the [169] ſame time for the ſatisfaction of all the Fa⯑culties, the Reaſon, the Paſſions, the Sences. But none of them provides in ſuch a Sove⯑raign manner as Poetry, for the ſatis⯑faction of the whole man together. In ſome of them only Reaſon finds its ac⯑count, as in Logick and Mathematicks. In ſome of them only Reaſon and Paſſi⯑on, as in the Ancient Eloquence, and that by no means in a Soveraign degree, for ſometimes the Paſſions oppreſs the Rea⯑ſon, and ſometimes Reaſon excludes the Paſſions. In others the Paſſions and the Sences are charm'd, while Reaſon finds little contentment in them. Thus Mu⯑ſick by its Harmony raiſes the Paſſions, at the ſame time that it pleaſes the Ear, and Painting by its touches moves the affections, at the ſame time that it charms the Eye. But in a ſublime and accom⯑pliſh'd Poem, the Reaſon and Paſſions and Sences are pleas'd at the ſame time ſuperlatively. The Reaſon in the ſound⯑neſs and importance of the Moral, and the greatneſs and juſtneſs of an Harmo⯑nious deſign, whoſe parts ſo beautiful, when they are conſidered ſeparately, be⯑come tranſporting upon a view or the whole, while we are never weary of [170] contemplating their exact proportion and beautiful ſymetry, and their ſecret won⯑derful dependance, while they are all animated by the ſame Spirit in order to the ſame end. The reaſon further finds its account, in the exact perpetual of Servance of Decorums, and in behold⯑ing itſelf exalted by the exaltation of the Paſſions, and in ſeeing thoſe Paſſions in their fierceſt tranſports, confin'd to thoſe bounds, which that has ſeverely preſcrib'd them. That the Paſſions muſt find their account in Poetry, we have endeavour'd to prove in the former part of this Treatiſe, but we cannot forbear taking notice of this, that thoſe very Paſſions which plague and torment us in life, pleaſe us, nay, tranſport us in Poe⯑try. That the noble ſenſes find their account in an accompliſh'd Poem, no one who has read one, can a moment doubt. Nor Corelli's Hand nor Syphace's voice, could ever to a judicious ear equal the Virgilian Harmony: Which has all the Maſtery, with all the Air, and all the Sweetneſs, with all the Force, that the moſt delicate Ear can require. Tho all his Numbers are always perfect, yet he never dwells upon any; and [171] they which are in themſelves ſo pleaſing, delight us the more, becauſe we are im⯑mediately forc'd to leave them for the perfection of ſome different Harmony. Nor is the Eye leſs ſatisfied than the Ear, For an Admirable Poet always Paints. and all his Pictures are always Beautiful: Let the real objects be never ſo odious, let them be never ſo dreadful, yet he is ſure to paint them Delightful. For, tho ſometimes a vigorous lively Imitation of Creatures that are in their natures noxi⯑ous, may be capable of giving us Ter⯑ror, yet Nature, by giving us a ſecret Intelligence that the object is not real, can turn even that Tormenting Paſſion to pleaſure.

Thus Poetry, by reſtoring the Har⯑mony of the Human Faculties, provides for the Happineſs of Mankind, better than any other Human Invention what⯑ever. And 'tis for this reaſon that it has always been ſo highly eſteem'd by the greateſt of men. They who have arriv'd at the being Maſters of the Uni⯑verſe, have afterwards entertain'd the Ambition of becoming Poets; and after they have acquir'd a great deal of Fame by making whole Nations miſerable, [172] have aſpir'd to the more charming glory of making mankind happy. 'Tis for this very reaſon, that this Delicious Art has had as many Confeſſors, if I may be allow'd to call them ſo, almoſt as Reli⯑gion it ſelf. 'Tis for this very reaſon, that ſo many have been willing to re⯑nounce all worldly greatneſs for it, and pleaſure which attends on power, and have been contented to live poor and miſerable, pitied by the wiſe, and con⯑temn'd by fools, perſecuted by fortune, and hated by one another.

For, no man leaves pleaſure but for greater pleaſure, and he who forſakes all the world for Poetry, muſt find a Hap⯑pineſs in that, which all the world could not ſupply him with. Poetry ſeems to be a noble attempt of Nature, by which it endeavours to exalt it ſelf to its happy primitive ſtate; and he who is enter⯑tain'd with an accompliſh'd Poem, is for a time at leaſt reſtor'd to Paradice. That happy man converſes boldly with Im⯑mortal Beings. Tranſported he beholds the Gods aſcending and deſcending, and every Paſſion in its turn is charm'd, while that his Reaſon is ſupreamly ſatis⯑fied. Perpetual Harmony attends his [173] Ear, his Eye perpetual Pleaſure. Ten thouſand different objects he ſurveys, and the moſt dreadful pleaſe him. Ty⯑gers and Lyons he beholds like the firſt Man with joy, becauſe like him he ſees them without danger. But nothing that is meerly Human can be on all ſides per⯑fect. The Delight which Poetry gives is neither perpetual, nor are all men ca⯑pable of it. Religion alone can provide man a pleaſure that is laſting, as it may be univerſal. Poetical fire neither al⯑ways burns in us, nor can it always warm us, but Charity, like the ſacred flame that was the guardian of the Roman Em⯑pire, if 'tis with care maintain'd like that, becomes like that eternal.

But now ſince the deſign of Poetry, and the very method of proſecuting that deſign, as far as it can be humanly pro⯑ſecuted, is the ſame with that of the True Religion, ſince the very thing that they both propoſe is to exalt the Rea⯑ſon by exalting the Paſſions, and ſo make Happy the whole Man by making Internal Diſcord ceaſe, I appeal to any one whether Poetry muſt not agree bet⯑ter with that Religion, whoſe Deſigns are the very ſame with it, than with Pa⯑ganiſm [174] or Philoſophy or Deiſm, whoſe Deſigns have been ſhewn repugnant to it. In ſhort, when the Pagan Theo⯑logy was brought nearer to the Chri⯑ſtian Religion, by the Philoſophy of Plato; as it was modelled by Vir⯑gil, it became the fitter for Poetry. For Virgil ſaw with an admirable judgment, not only that the Reaſon muſt find its account in Poetry, as well as the Paſſions and the Sences, but that the Reaſon of Mankind, in the time of Auguſtus Caeſar, when Moral Philoſophy got ground every day in the World, would not be ſatisfied at ſo eaſy a rate, as it was when Homer writ; or at leaſt that it would not long be ſatis⯑fied at ſo eaſy a rate; which oblig'd him to model the Grecian Revelation by the Philoſophy of Plato, and that got Virgil the preheminence over Homer. For ſince the deſign of every Art is to make men happy, and that is the beſt and the nobleſt Art which makes the beſt proviſion for the happineſs of Man⯑kind, and nothing can make man ſo happy as the reconciling him to him⯑ſelf, which can be no way ſo effectually done, as by making all the Faculties find [175] their ſatisfaction together, it follows that that muſt be the nobleſt Poetry, where the Reaſon, the Paſſions and Sences, are all of them pleas'd, and pleas'd in the higheſt degree together. And therefore tho we ſhould be obliged to grant what ſome will pretend with ſo much obſtinacy, and which I can ne⯑ver believe, that the Paſſions and the Sences find their account in Homer better than they do in Virgil, yet ſince they find their account too in Virgil, in a ve⯑ry great degree, and Reaſon at the ſame time is ſatisfied, whereas it is horribly ſhock'd in Homer by the extravagance of his Theology, it follows that Virgil for that Reaſon is certainly to be preferred to Homer; tho this is to be ſaid in the behalf of the latter, that he writ to the people of his own age, in which the Reaſon of Mankind was ſatisfy'd at an eaſier rate.

And therefore when I ſay that Virgil is to be preferr'd to Homer, I mean that he is ſo in regard to us, becauſe he is capable of giving us a greater pleaſure than Homer, but I do not pretend at the ſame time that Virgil is capable of giv⯑ing us a greater pleaſure than Homer [176] gave his Contemporaries. As likewiſe when I affirm, that the Moderns, by joyning Poetry with the True Religion, will have the Advantage of the Anci⯑ents, I mean only in regard to us, to whom they will give a greater pleaſure than the Ancients can do, but not a greater than the Ancients gave their Contemporaries. In ſhort, if Virgil was forc'd to model his Grecian Revelation by Platoniſm, that he might pleaſe more effectually even in his time, when that Revelation as yet prevail'd; I think we may very well conclude that in our time we ought to fling it out of our Poetry, when it has been for ſo long time utter⯑ly exploded, and contemn'd by the very Boys. Thus the Grecian Religion and the Modern Poetry can agree but very indifferently, becauſe the Reaſon is ſhock'd by it. And if Reaſon is ſhock'd by the Religion which is joyn'd with the Poe⯑try; by the Religion, I ſay, which gives the force to the Paſſions, as we have ſhewn above; I would fain know how the Paſſions can very well find their account. I know indeed very well, that a Poet, by the force of a ſtrong Imagination, may enter into the Grecian [177] Religion when he ſets himſelf to write, and tranſport himſelf to the Age and Scene of his Action; and conſequently may draw a great deal of advantage from the Religion of that Country, and of that Age, in order to the being mov'd; and if the Poet is extremely mov'd him⯑ſelf, why they who read him muſt be mov'd in ſome meaſure too; but whe⯑ther the generality of Readers can be ſo very much mov'd, as if the Paſſions de⯑riv'd their Force from a Religion that is more familiar to them, I have a great deal of reaſon to doubt: But if Reaſon cannot find its account in the Grecian Religion joyn'd with the Modern Poetry, much leſs would the Paſſions find their ſatisfaction in Deiſm or the Ancient Phi⯑loſophy. The Chriſtian Religion alone can ſupply a Poet with all that is Sub⯑lime and Majeſtick in Reaſon; all that is either ſoft or powerful, either enga⯑ging or Imperious in the Paſſions; and with all the objects that are moſt admi⯑rable to the ſences, and conſequently moſt delightful; as ſhall be ſhewn at large in the following Chapter.

CHAP. II.

WE ſhew'd in the former part of this Treatiſe that the Ancients excell'd the Moderns in the greatneſs of Poetry, becauſe they incorporated Poe⯑try with Religion; and we pretended to ſhew in this Second Part, That by joyning Poetry with the true Religion, the Moderns in the main will have the advantage of the Ancients. In order to the proving which, we ſhew'd in the firſt Chapter, that the deſign of the Chriſtian Religion was agreeable to that of Poetry; whereas the Deſigns of Pa⯑ganiſm and Deiſm and Philoſophy were not agreeable to it. We ſhew'd that the true Deſign of Poetry, as well as of the Chriſtian Religion, was to pleaſe the Reaſon, the Paſſions and the Sences at the ſame time. For we ſhew'd in the former part of this Treatiſe, that Paſſi⯑on, whether ordinary or Enthuſiaſtick, is the principal thing in Poetry; and no⯑thing is more certain than that the more [179] the Sences are ſtirr'd, and the more the Reaſon at the ſame time is ſatisfied, the more ſtrongly for the moſt part the Paſſi⯑ons of Reaſonable creatures are mov'd.

Now in this Chapter we pretend to ſhew, that the true Divine Poetry has the advantage of the Pagan Poetry; that it ſatisfies the Reaſon more, at the ſame time that it raiſes a ſtronger Paſſi⯑on, and that it entertains the Sences, and eſpecially the Eye, more delight⯑fully; and we pretend to give undeni⯑able inſtances of it, both from Sacred Writ, and from one of the Fathers, and from one of our own Poets.

There is certainly to ſubject ſo great as the power of God, and both Homer and Virgil have handled it to admirati⯑on. The latter ſays of Jupiter, who preſided at the Council of the Gods, in the Tenth Book.

[180] And thus Mr Dryden has made it Engliſh.

But Virgil has handled this ſubject ſtill after a greater manner, in the firſt of the Georgicks. And that the Reader may have all the force of it ſet before his Eyes, we ſhall ſhow him how 'tis prepared, and begin a little before it▪

And Mr Dryden has made it Engliſh after ſo noble a manner, that he has done all the Juſtice, that our Language would allow him, to the admirable ori⯑ginal.

But now let us ſee how the Pſalmiſt has treated the ſame ſubject in the eighteenth Pſalm, and we ſhall find, that the greatneſs of Virgil is littleneſs compared to his.

Now, in the firſt place, Reaſon finds its account better here than it does in Virgil; for the more amazing effects that we ſee of Divine diſpleaſure, the more it anſwers our Idea of infinite wrath. But there is nothing that Vir⯑gil has ſaid upon this ſubject, but what is much ſtronger in the Pſalmiſt; and there are ſeveral things in the latter, which are by no means in Virgil. For example, how much ſtronger is the Hills alſo moved, and were ſhaken, becauſe he was wroth, than that of Virgil.

Which only ſignifies the Thunders rend⯑ing the tops of the Mountains; which any one may ſee is weak in compariſon of what David ſays, That the very Mountains ſeem'd to have a ſenſe of the Indignation of their Creator. Mr Dry⯑den endeavour'd to add ſtrength to this paſſage of Virgil:

But he too falls very much ſhort of the force of the Pſalmiſt; for he makes the Trembling of the Earth, and the Nod⯑ding of the Mountains, to be only the natural neceſſary effects of mechanical motion.

And that which ſatisfies the Reaſon the more here, raiſes the Paſſion more ſtrongly, and entertains the ſences the better, becauſe there are more, and [186] more amazing effects of the Divine plea⯑ſure. For how great, how lofty, how terrible is that; He bowed the Heavens and came down, and darkneſs was under his feet? How much ſtronger than that of Virgil, Ipſe pater, &c. And how Poetical and how Dreadful is that. Then the Channels of the Waters were ſeen, and the foundations of the World were diſ⯑covered; at thy Rebuke, O Lord, at the blaſt of the breath of thy noſtrils. How terribly is the Eye delighted here, which is a ſence that the Poet ought chiefly to en⯑tertain; becauſe it contributes more than any other to the exciting of ſtrong Paſſion? And here I deſire the Reader to conſider, that there is more Terror here, both ordinary and Enthuſiaſtick, and conſequently more ſpirit in a faint Copy, nay, a Proſaick Copy, tranſlated in the Imperfection of our Tongue, and by men who in all likelihood had no manner of notion of Poetry, than there is in Virgil's original. What force and what infinite Spirit muſt there not have been in the original Hebrew? Since theſe are thoughts that are ſo truly great, and ſo truly lofty, that they carry with them ſpirit and force and fire, through [187] whatever head they paſs, and whatever language; how admirable and inimita⯑ble muſt they not have been, in the hands of that Divine Poet, who knew how to ſhew them to the utmoſt ad⯑vantage. The Character of Buchanan is by no means Elevation, but yet he is ſo exalted in this deſcription, that he ſoars above Virgil, who is by nature lofty.

Now how much ſtronger and more Po⯑etical is,

Than that of Virgil,

[189] And how much weaker is,

How much weaker is this, I ſay, than

Where Buchanan ſhews the Mountains not only disjoynted with the terrible fright, and ſhaken from their very foun⯑dations; but every one of them roaring with Infernal Thunder, like Mongivell or Veſuvius. Beſides that, in this paſ⯑ſage of the Pſalmiſt every thing is great and every thing is ſuſtain'd, whereas in that of the firſt Georgick even the great Virgil forgets himſelf.

How poorly does the laſt Verſe of the Triplet anſwer to the greatneſs of the other two?

But now if any one pretends here, that Virgil is deſcribing only a common Storm, whereas David is deſcribing the extraordinary indignation of God; to him I anſwer, that Virgil, to heighten that common Storm, ſhews it to be the effect of Divine wrath, and Divine wrath muſt at all times be Infinite. But to ſhow the In⯑validity of ſuch an objection, I deſire any one to produce any thing from theGreci⯑an and Roman Poets, upon the ſame ſub⯑ject, that is any ways comparable to this paſſage of the Pſalmiſt. For, as our Religion gives us more exalted notions of the power of an Infinite Being, than the Heathen Religion did to the Greci⯑an and Roman Poets; it conſequently produces a ſtronger ſpirit in Poetry, when it is manag'd by thoſe who have Souls that are capable of expreſſing it.

[191] I could produce a hundred paſſages more out of Sacred Writ, which are in⯑finitely ſuperiour to any thing that can be brought upon the ſame ſubject from the Grecian and Roman Poets.

And the only reaſon why I refuſe to do it, is becauſe it may be pretended, that the Writers in Sacred Writ had the peculiar advantage of Divine Inſpira⯑tion, and that no conſequence can be drawn from them in the behalf of the Moderns, who pretend not to the ſame advantage. And therefore I ſhall pro⯑duce ſome inſtances of the preheminence of the Chriſtian over the Pagan Poets; whoſe Authors cannot be pretended to have been Divinely aſſiſted, in a more peculiar manner, than any of the Mo⯑derns may be. The firſt inſtance that I ſhall bring, ſhall be from the Hymn of St Ambroſe, a Father of the Church, who lived in the third Century; a Hymn more exalted than either Orphens or Ho⯑mer or Callimachus ever produced. I have given the former part of it a dreſs of my own; thro the which, tho perhaps it may appear diſguis'd to the Reader, yet even thro that diſ⯑guiſe, he may diſcern a Greatneſs, and a [192] Beauty, that are not every where to be found.

The next Inſtance is from Milton, who in the ſeventh Book of the Para⯑dice loſt, has handled the ſubject of the Creation better than either Ovid or Vir⯑gil himſelf has done. Tho he is cer⯑tainly above Ovid by the force of his own genius, as much as by the advan⯑tage of his Religion; but 'tis by the lat⯑ter only that he excels Virgil, than [201] whom I do not believe that any man can have a greater Genius. When I ſay that Milton excels Virgil, I mean that he does ſo ſometimes both in his Thought and in his Spirit, purely by the advan⯑tage of his Religion. But at the ſame time I am very far from thinking that he ſo much as equals him either in the continual harmony of his Verſification; or the conſtant of Beauty of his expreſſi⯑on, or his perpetual exaltation. He writ in a Language that was not capable of ſo much Beauty, or ſo much Harmo⯑ny; and his Inequality proceeded from his want of Art to manage his ſubject, and make it conſtanly great. For it would be an eaſie matter to prove that none of the Moderns underſtood the Art of Heroick Poetry, who writ before Boſſu took pains to unravel the Myſtery. But nothing can make more for my ſub⯑ject than to ſhow that Milton, who lay under theſe vaſt diſadvantages, very oft⯑en excell'd, even the Prince of the Roman Poets, both in the greatneſs of of his Thought and his Spirit.

But firſt let us ſee how he ſurpaſſes Ovid, in his deſcription of Chaos, and the Creation of the World from [202] Chaos. And in order to that let us ſee the account that the Roman gives of it in the beginning of his Metamorphoſis.

And thus Mr Dryden has tranſlated it in the beginning of the third Miſcella⯑ny.

Let us examine Milton's deſcription of Chaos in the ſecond Book of Paradice Loſt, where he ſhews Satan and Sin and Death, taking a ſurvey of it from Hells Gate.

[205] Now I leave it to any Reader to judge, who has never ſo little diſcern⯑ment in theſe affairs, which of theſe Deſcriptions is moſt fine, moſt figura⯑tive and moſt Poetical. But now let us ſee how Ovid begins his account of the Creation.

And thus Mr Dryden has made it Engliſh.

But how poor is this beginning com⯑par'd to the pompous preparative with which Milton uſhers in his account of the ſame thing, in the ſeventh of his Paradice loſt.

And 'tis plain, that Milton owes this Greatneſs and this Elevation to the Ex⯑cellence of his Religion. How mean is

To Milton's deſcription of the firſt great Fial.

How low is the formation of Earth and Sea in Ovid, compar'd to Milton's.

[209] Let us now ſee Milton's account of this.

What an Image is here? and taken appa⯑rently from ourReligion, which teaches us the moſt exalted notions of God, and the immediate obedience of the Creatures to their Creator. But Milton goes on, and at the ſame time ſets before us another wonderful ſight.

[210] But Milton goes on.

Theſe three Verſes are cold and flat, and inharmonious, for there can be no true Harmony in Numbers without Paſſion; but let us ſee whether the Verſes that follow will make amends for them.

What an Image is here again, with which none but our own Religion could have poſſibly ſupply'd him!

Let us now examine Virgil's account of the beginning of the World in the ſixth Eclogue, and ſee if we can meet with any thing that may be compar'd to theſe thoughts of Milton, which at the ſame time that they are wonderful are ſimple, and are naturally produc'd by the ſubject.

[212] Which by Mr Dryden is thus tranſlated.

And now any one may ſee how much Virgil's God is Inferiour to Milton's An⯑gel. 'Tis true, I know very well that it may be urg'd in Virgil's behalf that he does not pretend to ſet down Silenus his Song, but only the principal heads of it; whereas Milton makes the Angel Raphael give an account at large of the [213] Creation. I know this very well I ſay, but I am ſatisfied at the ſame time, that Virgil making Silenus proceed upon the Epicurean Hypotheſis, if he had given never ſo full and artful an account of the Creation, could never poſſibly have equall'd Milton; for that Hypotheſis runs directly counter to thoſe lofty Thoughts, and thoſe noble Images, which Milton has ſhown in ſuch won⯑drous motion. For theſe Verſes,

And this:

Are directly contradictory of thoſe no⯑ble Images, which we find in the fol⯑lowing account of Milton.

Here are four flat unmuſical Verſes a⯑gain; but thoſe which follow will more than make amends for them.

What a number of admirable Images are here crowding upon one another? So natural and peculiar to the ſubject, that they would have been as abſurd and extravagant in any other, as they are wonderfully juſt in this. And yet even in this ſubject nothing could have ſupply'd a Poet with them, but ſo Di⯑vine a Religion. So that at the ſame time that the eye is raviſhingly enter⯑tain'd, Admiration is rais'd to a height, and the Reaſon is ſupremely ſatisfied. For are not theſe effects that are worthy of an infinite Cauſe? Can any thing be more ſurprizingly ſtrong than this ener⯑getick Image?

Is not the following one great and wonder⯑ful?

And how admirable is the next.

He began to riſe even before he was finiſh'd, and his Horns were finiſh'd in riſing.

I thought to have proceeded, and to have compar'd the Councils and Fights of Virgil and Milton; and above all, their Deſcription of Hell and its Torments; in which both thoſe great Poets ſeem to have exerted all their ſtrength. But I am afraid I have already run into length, and there is matter remaining for an entire volume.

And thus I have endeavour'd to ſhow in the former part of this Book, that the princi⯑pal reaſon why the Ancient Poets excell'd the Moderns in the greatneſs of Poetry, was becauſe they incorporated Poetry with Re⯑ligion; and in the Second Part, That the Moderns, by joyning the Chriſtian Religion with Poetry will have the advantage of the Ancients; that is, that they will have the aſſiſtance of a Religion that is more agree⯑able to the deſign of Poetry than the Grecian Religion.