For, after the proper allowances, which candid criticism requires to be made on this head, it will still be true (and nothing in this Essay attempts to contradict it) “that coincidences of a certain kind, and in a certain degree, cannot fail to convict a writer of imitation.” What these are, the impatient reader, I suppose, is ready to enquire. And, not entirely to disappoint him, I have thrown together, at the close of this volume, some remarks which, perhaps, will be of use in solving that difficult question[33]. In the mean time, it seemed of importance to free the mind from the perversion of that early prejudice, which is so prompt to mistake resemblance universally for imitation. And what other method of effecting this, than by taking a view of the extent and influence of the genuine powers of nature, which, when rightly apprehended, make it an easier task to detect, in particular instances, the intervention of design?
Allowing then (what this previous inquiry not only no way contradicts but even assists us in perceiving more clearly) that certain resemblances may be urged as undoubted proofs of imitation, it remains only to the integrity of this discourse, to satisfy that other question, “how far the credit of the imitator is concerned in the discovery;” or, in other words, (since the praise of invention is of the highest value to the poet) “how far the concession of his having borrowed from others, may be justly thought to detract from him in that respect.” An inquiry, which, though for its consequences to the fame of all great writers, since the time of Homer, of much importance, may yet be dispatched in few words.
SECTION II.
In entering on this apology for professed imitators, I shall not be suspected of undervaluing the proper merits of invention, which unquestionably holds the first place in the virtutes of a poet, and is that power, which, of all others, enables him to give the highest entertainment to the reader. Much less will it be thought, that I am here pleading the cause of those base and abject spirits, who have not the courage or ability to attempt any thing of themselves, and can barely make a shift, as a great poet of our own expresses it, to creep servilely after the sense of some other. These I readily resign to the shame and censure, which have so justly followed them in all ages; as subscribing to the truth of that remark, “Imitatio per se ipsa non sufficit, vel quia pigri est ingenii, contentum esse iis, quae sunt ab aliis inventa.” My concern is only with those, whose talent of original genius is not disputed, but the degree of strength and vigour, with which it prevails in them, somewhat lowered in the general estimation, from this imputed crime of PLAGIARISM. And, with respect to such as these, something, I conceive, may be said, not undeserving the notice of the candid reader.
1. The most universal cause, inducing imitation in great writers, is, the force of early discipline and education. Were it true, that poets took their descriptions and images immediately from common nature, one might expect, indeed, a general similitude in their works, but such, as could seldom or never, in all its circumstances, amount to a strict and rigorous correspondency. The properties of things are so numerous, and the lights in which they shew themselves to a mind uninfluenced by former prejudices, so different, that some grace of novelty, some tincture of original beauty, would constantly infuse itself into all their delineations. But the case is far otherwise. Strong as the bent of the imagination may be to contemplate living forms, and to gaze with delight on this grand theatre of nature, its attention is soon taken off, and arrested, on all sides, by those infinite mirrors, and reflexions of things, which it every where meets with in the world of imitation. We are habituated to a survey of this secondary and derivative nature; as presented in the admired works of art, through the entire course of our education. The writings of the best poets are put into our hands, to instruct us in the knowledge of men and things, as soon as we are capable of apprehending them. Nay, we are taught to lisp their very words, in our tenderest infancy. Some quick and transient glances we cannot chuse but cast, at times, on the phænomena of living beauty; but its forms are rarely contemplated by us with diligence, but in these mirrors, which are the constant furniture of our schools and closets. And no wonder, were we even left to ourselves, that such should be our proper choice and determination. For, by the prodigious and almost magical operations of fancy on original objects, they even shew fairer, and are made to look more attractive, in these artificial representations, than in their own rude and native aspects. Thus, by the united powers of discipline and inclination, we are almost necessitated to see nature in the same light, and to know her only in the dress, in which her happier suitors and favourites first gave her to observation.
The effect of this early bias of the mind, which insensibly grows into the inveteracy of habit, needs not be insisted on. When the poet, thus tutored in the works of imitation, comes to address himself to invention, these familiar images, which he hath so often and so fondly admired, immediately step in and intercept his observation of their great original. Or, if he has power to hold them off, and turn his eye directly on the primary object, he still inclines to view it only on that side and in those lights, in which he has been accustomed to study it. Nor let it be said, that this is the infirmity, only, of weak minds. It belongs to our very natures, and the utmost vigour of genius is no security against it. Custom, in this as in every thing else, moulds, at pleasure, the soft and ductile matter of a minute spirit, and by degrees can even bend the elastic metal of the greatest.
And if the force of habit can thus determine a writer knowingly, to imitation, it cannot be thought strange, that it should frequently carry him into resemblance, when himself perhaps is not aware of it. Great readers, who have their memories fraught with the stores of ancient and modern poetry, unavoidably employ the sentiments, and sometimes the very words, of other writers, without any distinct remembrance of them, or so much as the suspicion of having seen them. At the least, their general cast of thinking or turn of expression will be much affected by them. For the most original writer as certainly takes a tincture from the authors in which he has been most conversant; as water, from the beds of earths or minerals, it hath happened to run over. Especially such authors, as are studied and even got by heart by us in our early youth, leave a lasting impression, which is hardly ever effaced out of the mind. Hence a certain constrained and unoriginal air, in some degree or other, in every genius, throughly disciplined by a course of learned education. Which, by the way, leads to a question, not very absurd in itself, however it may pass with most readers for paradoxical, viz. “Whether the usual forms of learning be not rather injurious to the true poet, than really assisting to him?” It should seem to be so for a natural reason. For the faculty of invention, as all our other powers, is much improved and strengthened by exercise. And great reading prevents this, by demanding the perpetual exercise of the memory. Thus the mind becomes not only indisposed, but, for want of use, really unqualified, to turn itself to other views, than such as habitual recollection easily presents to it. And this, I am persuaded, hath been the case with many a fine genius, and especially with one of our own country[34]; who, as appears from some original efforts in the sublime allegorical way, had no want of natural talents for the greater poetry; which yet were so restrained and disabled by his constant and superstitious study of the old classics, that he was, in fact, but a very ordinary poet.
2. But were early habit of less power to incline the mind to imitation, than it really is, yet the high hand of authority would compel it. For the first originals in the several species of poetry, like the Autocthones of old, were deemed to have come into the world by a kind of miracle. They were perfect prodigies, at least reputed so by the admiring multitude, from their first appearance. So that their authority, in a short time, became sacred; and succeeding writers were obliged, at the hazard of their fame, and as they dreaded the charge of a presumptuous and prophane libertinism in poetry, to take them for their guides and models. Which is said even without the licence of a figure; at least of one of them; whom Cicero calls the fountain and origin of all DIVINE institutions[35]; and another, of elder and more reverend estimation, pronounces to be ὁ θεὸς καὶ θεῶν προφήτης[36]·
And what is here observed of the influence of these master spirits, whom the admiration of antiquity hath placed at the head of the poetic world, will, with some allowance, hold also, of that of later, though less original writers, whose uncommon merits have given them a distinguished rank in it.
3. Next, (as it usually comes to pass in other instances) what was, at first, imposed by the rigour of authority, soon grew respectable in itself, and was chosen for its own sake, as a virtue, which deserved no small commendation. For, when sober and enlightened criticism began to inspect, at leisure, these miracles of early invention, it presently acknowledged them for the best, as well as the most ancient, poetic models, and accordingly recommended, or more properly enjoined them by rule, to the imitation of all ages. The effect of this criticism was clearly seen in the works of all succeeding poets in the same language. But, when a new and different one was to be furnished with fresh models, it became much more conspicuous. For, besides the same or a still higher veneration of their inventions, which the distance of place and time insensibly procured to them, the grace of novelty, which they would appear to have in another language, was, now, a further inducement to copy them. Hence we find it to be the utmost pride of the Roman writers, such I mean as came the nearest to them in the divinity of their genius, to follow the practice, and emulate the virtues, of the Grecian.