JOHN DENNIS

From THE ADVANCEMENT AND REFORMATION OF MODERN POETRY (Chapters IV-VI)

[1701]

That the ancient Poets derived their greatness from the nature of their subjects.

If the ancient poets excelled the moderns in the greatness of poetry, that is, in epic poetry, in tragedy, and in the greater ode, they must necessarily derive their pre-eminence from the subjects of which they treated, since it has been plainly made to appear that they could not derive it from any external 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 moderns. And if the poems which have been written by the ancients of the forementioned 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 assert 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 achievements 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 captains. But then the partisans of the ancients reply that there is a difference between one

subject and another, which their adversaries seem not to have thought of. For, say they, human subjects can never differ so much among themselves as sacred subjects differ from human, for the difference 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 profane ones can be. And the subjects of the ancients in the forementioned poems were sacred. Now that we may engage the lovers of the ancients in their turns by supporting their just pretensions, let us endeavour to show in the following chapters that sacred poems must be greater than profane 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 poetry is and what is its chief excellence.

That passion is the chief thing in poetry and that all passion is either ordinary passion or enthusiasm.

But, before we proceed, let us define poetry ; which is the first time that a definition has been given of that noble art; for neither ancient nor modern critics have defined poetry in general.

Poetry, then, is an imitation of Nature by a pathetic and numerous speech. Let us explain it. As poetry is an art, it must be an imitation V 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 poetic diction from the periods of prose. Now

numbers are nothing but articulate sounds, and their pauses measured by their proper proportions of time. And the periods of prosaic diction are articulate sounds, and their pauses unmeasured by such proportions. That the speech by which poetry makes its imitation must be pathetic is evident, for passion is still more necessary to it than harmony. For harmony only distinguishes its instrument from that of prose, but passion distinguishes its very nature and character. For therefore poetry is poetry, because it is more passionate and sensual than prose. A discourse' that is written in very good numbers, if it wants passion, can be but measured prose. But a discourse that is everywhere extremely pathetic, and consequently everywhere bold and figurative, is certainly poetry without numbers.

Passion, then, is the characteristical mark of poetry, and consequently must be everywhere. For wherever a discourse is not pathetic, there it is prosaic. As passion in a poem must be everywhere, so harmony is usually diffused throughout it. But passion answers the two ends of poetry better than harmony can do, and upon that account is 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 epic poetry a man may instruct without harmony, but never without passion for the one instructs by admiration, and the other by compassion and terror. And as for the greater ode, if it wants passion, it becomes hateful and intolerable, and its sentences grow contemptible.

Passion is the characteristical mark of poetry, and therefore it must be everywhere; for without

passion there can be no poetry, no more than there can be painting. And though the Poet and the Painter describe action, they must describe it with passion. Let any one who beholds a piece of painting, where the figures are shown in action, conclude that if the figures are without passion the painting is contemptible. There must be passion everywhere in poetry and painting, and the more passion 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 their art when they describe a great deal of action with a great deal of passion. It is plain, then, from what has been said, that passion in poetry must be everywhere, for where there is no passion there can be no poetry, but that which we commonly call passion cannot be everywhere in any poem. There must be passion, then, that must be distinct from ordinary passion, and that must be enthusiasm. I call that ordinary passion, whose cause is clearly comprehended 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 comprehended by him who feels them. And those enthusiastic passions are sometimes simple, and sometimes complicated, of all which we shall show examples lower. And thus I have shown that the chief thing in poetry is passion; but here the reader is desired to observe, that by poetry we mean poetry in general, and the body of poetry; for as for the form or soul of particular poems, that is allowed by all to be a fable. But passion is the chief thing in the body of poetry, as spirit is in the human body. For without spirit the body languishes, and

the soul is impotent: now everything that they call spirit or genius in poetry, in short, everything that pleases, and consequently moves in the poetic diction, is passion, whether it be ordinary or enthusiastic.

And thus we have shown what the chief excellence in the body of poetry is, which we have proved to be passion. Let us now proceed to the proofs of what we propounded, that sacred subjects are more susceptible of passion than profane 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.

That passion is more to be derived from a sacred subject than from a profane one.

We have proved that passion is the chief thing in poetry, and that spirit or genius, and in short everything that moves, is passion. Now if the chief thing in poetry be passion, why, then, the chief thing in great poetry must be great passion. We have shown, too, that passion in poetry is of two sorts, ordinary passion or enthusiasm. Let us now proceed to convince the reader that a sacred poem is more susceptible of passion than a profane one can be; which to effect, let us show two things, that a sacred subject is as susceptible of ordinary passions as a profane one can be, and more susceptible of the enthusiastic.

The first is evident from experience: for the poetry among the ancients which shall be hereafter proved to be sacred, had in it greater ordinary passions than their human poetry either had or could possibly have.