When the sceptical Middleton, in his “Essay on the Gift of Tongues,” pretended to think that “an inspired language would be perfect in its kind, with all the purity of Plato and the eloquence of Cicero,” and then asserted that “the style of the New Testament was utterly rude and barbarous, and abounding with every fault that can possibly deform a language,” Warburton, as was his custom, instantly acquiesced; but hardily maintained that “this very barbarism was one certain mark of a divine original.”[167]—The curious may follow his subtile argument in his “Doctrine of Grace;” but, in delivering this paradox, he struck at the fundamental principles 255 of eloquence: he dilated on all the abuses of that human art. It was precisely his utter want of taste which afforded him so copious an argument; for he asserted that the principles of eloquence were arbitrary and chimerical, and its various modes “mostly fantastical;” and that, consequently, there was no such thing as a good taste,[168] except what the consent of the learned had made; an expression borrowed from Quintilian. A plausible and a consolatory argument for the greater part of mankind! It, however, roused the indignation of Leland, the eloquent translator of Demosthenes, and the rhetorical professor at Trinity College, in Dublin, who has nobly defended the cause of classical taste and feeling by profounder principles. His classic anger produced his “Dissertation on the Principles of Human Eloquence;” a volume so much esteemed that it is still reprinted. Leland refuted the whimsical paradox, yet complimented Warburton, who, “with the spirit and energy of an ancient orator, was writing against eloquence,” while he showed that the style of the New Testament was defensible on surer grounds. Hurd, who had fleshed his polished weapon on poor Jortin, and had been received into the arms of the hero under whom he now fought, adventured to cast his javelin at Leland: it was dipped in the cold poison of contempt and petulance. It struck, but did not canker, leaves that were immortal.[169] Leland, with the native warmth of his soil, could not resist the gratification of a reply; but the nobler part of the triumph was, the assistance he lent to the circulation of Hurd’s letter, by reprinting it with his own 256 reply, to accompany a new edition of his “Dissertation on Eloquence.”[170]
We now pursue the SECRET PRINCIPLE, operating on lighter topics; when, turning commentator, with the same originality as when an author, his character as a literary adventurer is still more prominent, extorting double senses, discovering the most fantastical allusions, and making men of genius but of confined reading, learned, with all the lumber of his own unwieldy erudition.
When the German professor Crousaz published a rigid examen of the doctrines in Pope’s “Essay on Man,” Warburton volunteered a defence of Pope. Some years before, it appears that Warburton himself, in a literary club at Newark, had produced a dissertation against those very doctrines! where he asserted that “the Essay was collected from the worst passages of the worst authors.” This probably occurred at the time he declared that Pope had no genius! Bolingbroke really WROTE the “Essay on Man,” which Pope versified.[171] His principles may be often objectionable; but those 257 who only read this fine philosophical poem for its condensed verse, its imagery, and its generous sentiments, will run no danger from a metaphysical system they will not care to comprehend.
But this serves not as an apology for Warburton, who now undertook an elaborate defence of what he had himself condemned, and for which purpose he has most unjustly depressed Crousaz—an able logician, and a writer ardent in the cause of religion. This commentary on the “Essay on Man,” then, looks much like the work of a sophist and an adventurer! Pope, who was now alarmed at the tendency of some of those principles he had so innocently versified, received Warburton as his tutelary genius. A mere poet was soon dazzled by the sorcery of erudition; and he himself, having nothing of that kind of learning, believed Warburton to be the Scaliger of the age, for his gratitude far exceeded his knowledge.[172] The poet died in this delusion: he consigned his immortal works to the mercy of a ridiculous commentary and a tasteless commentator, whose labours have cost so much pains to subsequent editors to remove. Yet from this moment we date the worldly fortunes of Warburton.—Pope presented him with the entire property of his works; introduced him to a blind and obedient patron, who bestowed on him a rich wife, by whom he secured 258 a fine mansion; till at length, the mitre crowned his last ambition. Such was the large chapter of accidents in Warburton’s life!
There appears in Warburton’s conduct respecting the editions of the great poets which he afterwards published, something systematic; he treated the several editors of those very poets, Theobald, Hanmer, and Grey, who were his friends, with the same odd sort of kindness: when he was unknown to the world, he cheerfully contributed to all their labours, and afterwards abused them with the liveliest severity.[173] It 259 is probable that he had himself projected these editions as a source of profit, but had contributed to the more advanced labours of his rival editors, merely as specimens of his talent, that the public might hereafter be thus prepared for his own more perfect commentaries.
Warburton employed no little art[174] to excite the public 260 curiosity respecting his future Shakspeare: he liberally presented Dr. Birch with his MS. notes for that great work the “General Dictionary,” no doubt as the prelude of his after-celebrated edition. Birch was here only a dupe: he escaped, unlike Theobald, Hanmer, and Grey, from being overwhelmed with ridicule and contempt. When these extraordinary specimens of emendatory and illustrative criticism appeared in the “General Dictionary,” with general readers they excited all the astonishment of perfect novelty. It must have occurred to them, that no one as yet had understood Shakspeare; and, indeed, that it required no less erudition than that of the new luminary now rising in the critical horizon to display the amazing erudition of this most recondite poet. Conjectural criticism not only changed the words but the thoughts of the author; perverse interpretations of plain matters. Many a striking passage was wrested into a new meaning: plain words were subtilised to remove conceits; here one line was rejected, and there an interpolation, inspired alone by critical sagacity, pretended to restore a lost one; and finally, a source of knowledge was opened in the notes, on subjects which no other critic suspected could, by any ingenuity, stand connected with Shakspeare’s text.
At length the memorable edition appeared: all the world knows its chimeras.[175] One of its most remarkable results was 261 the production of that work, which annihilated the whimsical labours of Warburton, Edwards’s “Canons of Criticism,” one of those successful facetious criticisms which enliven our literary history. Johnson, awed by the learning of Warburton, and warmed by a personal feeling for a great genius who had condescended to encourage his first critical labour, grudgingly bestows a moderated praise on this exquisite satire, which he characterises for “its airy petulance, suitable enough to the levity of the controversy.” He compared this attack “to a fly, which may sting and tease a horse, but yet the horse is the nobler animal.”[176] Among the prejudices of criticism, is one which hinders us from relishing a masterly performance, when it ridicules a favourite author; but to us, mere historians, truth will always prevail over literary favouritism. The work of Edwards effected its purpose, that of “laughing down Warburton to his proper rank and character.”[177]
Warburton designates himself as “a critic by profession;” and tells us, he gave this edition “to deter the unlearned writer from wantonly trifling with an art he is a stranger to, at the expense of the integrity of the text of established authors.” Edwards has placed a N.B. on this declaration:—“A writer may properly be called unlearned, who, notwithstanding all his other knowledge, does not understand the subject which he writes upon.” But the most dogmatical absurdity was Warburton’s declaration, that it was once his design to have given “a body of canons for criticism, drawn out in form, with a glossary;” and further he informs the reader, that though this has not been done by him, if the reader will take the trouble, he may supply himself, as these canons of criticism lie scattered in the course of the notes. This idea was seized on with infinite humour by Edwards, who, from these very notes, has framed a set of “Canons of Criticism,” as ridiculous as possible, but every one illustrated by authentic examples, drawn from the labours of our new Stagirite.[178]