A discourse concerning ridicule and irony in writing (1729) — Themes and Context

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Collins, Anthony, 1676-1729, Bloom, Edward A. (Edward Alan), 1914-1994 [Editor], Bloom, Lillian D., 1920-2002 [Editor] Project Gutenberg 2009 Not confirmed
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Words 32,954
Reading time 144 min
Text sections 5

A discourse concerning ridicule and irony in writing (1729) — Themes and Context can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 32,954 words, 2 hr 24 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.

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Anthony Collins's 1729 defense of ridicule and irony as tools for intellectual inquiry, examined through its opening, middle, and later excerpts. The editorial note focuses on how the text's structure, rhetorical strategies, and specific examples guide a first reading, without summarizing the entire work.
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Collins was animated by his many debates. Indeed, "he sought the storms." Otherwise he would not, could not, have participated in these many verbal contests. Throughout them all, his basic strategy--that of provocation--was determined by the very real fact that he had many more enemies than allies, among them, for instance, such formidable antagonists as Swift and Richard Bentley.[10] To survive he had to acquire a tough resilience, a skill in fending off attacks or turning them to his own advantage. Nevertheless, he remained a ready target all his life. Understandably so: his radicalism was stubborn and his opinions predictable. Such firmness may of course indicate his aversion to trimming. Or it may reveal a lack of intellectual growth; what he believed as a young man, he perpetuated as a mature adult. Whether our answer is drawn from either possibility or, more realistically, from both, the fact remains that he never camouflaged the two principles by which he lived and fought:

1. That universal liberty be established in respect to opinions and practises not prejudicial to the peace and welfare of society: by which establishment, truth must needs have the advantages over _error_ and _falsehood_, the _law_ of _God_ over the _will_ of _man_, and _true Christianity tolerated_; private _judgment_ would be really exercised; and men would be allowed to have suffered to follow their consciences, over which God only is supreme:...

2. Secondly, that nothing but the _law of nature_, (the observance whereof is absolutely necessary to society) and what can be built thereon, should be enforced by the civil sanctions of the magistrate:...[11]

There is very little in this statement to offend modern readers. Yet the orthodox in Collins's own time had reason to be angry with him: his arguments were inflammatory and his rhetoric was devious, cheeky, and effective. Those contesting him underscored his negativism, imaging him as a destroyer of Christianity eager "to proselyte men, from the Christian to no religion at all."[12] Certainly it is true that he aimed to disprove a Christian revelation which he judged fraudulent and conspiratorial. In place of ecclesiastical authority he offered the rule of conscience. For orthodoxy he substituted "a Religion antecedent to Revelation, which is necessary to be known in order to _ascertain Revelation_; and by that Religion [he meant] _Natural Religion_, which is presupposed to Revelation, and is a Test by which Reveal'd Religion is to be tried, is a Bottom on which it must stand, and is a Rule to understand it by."[13] Categorical in tone, the statement frustrated the Anglican clergy by its very slipperiness; its generalities left little opportunity for decisive rebuttal. It provided no definition of natural religion beyond the predication of a body of unnamed moral law which is rational and original, the archetype of what is valid in the world's religions.

His dismissal of revelation and his reduction of Christianity to what he called its "natural" and hence incontrovertible basis carried with it a corollary, that of man's absolute right to religious enquiry and profession. Here he became specific, borrowing from Lockean empiricism his conditions of intellectual assent. "Evidence," he said, "ought to be the sole ground of Assent, and Examination is the way to arrive at Evidence; and therefore rather than I wou'd have Examination, Arguing and Objecting laid aside, I wou'd chuse to say, That no Opinions whatever can be dangerous to a Man that impartially examines into the Truth of Things."[14] The church leadership saw in this statement and others like it not an epistemological premise but a deliberate subterfuge, an insidious blind to vindicate his attacks upon an organized priesthood. We can recognize now that his opponents oversimplified his intention, that they blackened it to make his villainy at once definitive and vulnerable. At the same time we must admit that he often equated the ideas of repression and clerical authority, even as he coupled those of freedom and the guide of private conscience.

Anthony Collins's A Discourse Concerning Ridicule and Irony in Writing (1729) opens not with a direct argument but with a portrait of the author as a target of satire. The introduction by Edward A. Bloom and Lillian D. Bloom notes that Collins was 'lampooned, satirized, and gravely denounced from pulpit and press' as a defiler of church and state. Yet the editors immediately complicate this image by quoting a posthumous character sketch that presents Collins as a model country gentleman: 'he had an opulent Fortune, descended to him from his Ancestors, which he left behind him unimpair'd.' This juxtaposition sets up a central tension: the man who wrote about ridicule was himself a subject of it.

The Rhetorical Strategy of the Opening

The opening pages of the Discourse establish a defensive posture. Collins, writing in the wake of attacks on his Discourse of Free-Thinking, frames his subject as a response to 'the many and great Abuses of Ridicule and Irony' by his opponents. The editors' introduction highlights that Collins was 'often at war with his world.' This combative tone is evident in the excerpt where he defends the use of ridicule against Dryden's The Hind and the Panther, calling it 'one of the most mean Compositions that ever the Press produc'd.' Collins does not merely argue abstractly; he provides a concrete example of how irony can be wielded as a weapon. The reader is thus primed to see the Discourse as both a theoretical treatise and a practical demonstration.

The Middle Excerpts: Irony in Action

In the middle of the text, Collins moves from defense to offense. He cites a parody of Dryden's poem, The Hind and Panther transvers'd to the Story of the Country-Mouse and City-Mouse, and reproduces a passage where a mouse complains about 'stum'd Claret.' The dialogue is a burlesque of Catholic arguments about transubstantiation, with lines like 'What is approved by them must needs be right' mocking appeals to authority. Collins's choice to include this extended quotation reveals his method: he lets the parody speak for itself. He does not explain the joke; he trusts the reader to recognize the absurdity. This section demonstrates that Collins values wit as a form of argument, one that can expose logical fallacies more effectively than solemn refutation.

The Later Excerpts: Defending the Indefensible

Later in the Discourse, Collins tackles the most controversial case: Jonathan Swift's A Tale of a Tub, a work that had been condemned for ridiculing Christianity. Collins asks pointedly whether 'High-Church would be willing to have the reverend Author of the Tale of a Tub ... punish'd for that or any other of his drolling Works.' He notes that the Convocation, in its 'famous Representation of the Profaneness and Blasphemy of the Nation,' took no notice of Swift's drolling on Christianity, while Queen Anne and her ministry rewarded Swift with a church preferment. Collins uses this inconsistency to argue that ridicule is tolerated when it serves the interests of the powerful. This section shows Collins at his most polemical, turning the tables on his accusers by exposing their hypocrisy.

The Structure of the Argument

The Discourse is structured as a series of examples and counterexamples, moving from the general to the particular. Collins begins by establishing the legitimacy of ridicule in philosophical debate, then applies this principle to specific cases: Dryden, Swift, and the Convocation. The excerpts suggest that Collins is less concerned with defining irony than with demonstrating its use. He relies on the reader's ability to discern the difference between legitimate raillery and mere abuse. The text's structure mirrors its content: it is itself an ironic performance, using wit to defend wit. A first-time reader should pay attention to how Collins shifts between serious argument and playful parody, as this oscillation is key to his rhetorical strategy.

Reading Collins's Discourse requires attention to its context: the pamphlet wars of early eighteenth-century England. The excerpts reveal a writer who is both a theorist and a practitioner of irony. Rather than looking for a systematic philosophy, the reader should follow the thread of examples, noting how Collins uses each case to advance his defense. The text rewards those who can appreciate its wit and its polemical edge.

Reading Collins’s defense of ridicule, I kept thinking how the sharpest wit still needs quiet companionship. That same gentle tension—the dance between a pointed thought and its softer echo—came back to me in Letters, sentences and maxims — Edition Insights. It felt like finding an old letter among newer notes, familiar yet somehow more private.

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