Dionysius Longinus - On The Sublime

^.
JS/f
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
.
OEORCxE,
EARL OF MACCLESFIELD,
Baron Parker of Macclesfield.
V'ucount Parker of Eicelme, and
My
Lord,
The
in,
greatest degree of purity
and splendour
united, that
Longinus has for some ages appeared the patronage of the late L,ord Macclesfield. A writer of so much spirit and judgwas under
had a just claim to the protection oj'so elevated a genius, and so judicious an encourîger of Longinus is now going to appear polite learning. in an English chess, and begs the support of your Lordship's name. He has undeigone no farther alteration, than what teas absolutely necessary to make him English. His sense is fait hjully reprement,
sented
;
but whether this translation has any of the

is
original spirit,
irho can
a decision peculiar only to those
relish unaffected
grandeur and natural
Sublimity, ivith the same judicious taste as your
Lordship.
It
is
needless to say
any thing
to
your Lordship
about
the other parts of this
performance, since they
alone can plead effectually for themselves.
I went
through
this ivork,
animated with a view (f pleas-
665536
IV
DEDICATION.
;
ing every body

pleasing' none.
this
some fear of Yet I lay hold with pleasure on

it
and puhlish
in
opportunity of paying
atid
my
respects to
your
that
Lordship,
giving
this public
proof
J am,
My
Lord,
obedient
Your Lordship s most
and most humble Servant,
W1LLL\M SMITH,
PREFACE.
It
will,
without doubt, be expected, that the Reader should

to the reasons
be made privy
taken, and
is
upon which
this
Work w as
under-
piece
itself first allured
the public,
tlie
now made pubHc. The intrinsic beauty of the me to the attempt and a regard for especially for those who might be unable to read
;
original,
was the main inducement
to its publication.
The
Treatise on the
in
Sublime
had slept for several ages,

till
covered up
the dust of libraries,
the middle of die six-
teenth century.
The
Geneva
lirst
Latin version by Gabriel de Petra I6l2. But the

first
was
of
it
printed at
into any
in
good
translation
modern language, was
the
French one of the

faithful to the text,
famous Boileau, which, though not always
yet has an elegance and a spirit which few will ever be able
to equal,
much
less to surpass.
The
present translation was finished before I
knew of any
prior attempt to
translation of
in
make Longinus speak

I
English.
The
first
him
I
met
with,
was published by Mr. Welsted,

a perusal, to
1724.
it
But
was very much surprised, upon

impaired,
find
only Boileau's translation misrepresented and mangled.

is
For every beauty

error (even
if
not totally effaced^ and every
down
to those of the printer)
most injudiciously
preserved.
I
have since accidentally met with two other English ver;
sions of this Treatise
one by J. Hall, Esq. London, 1652
the other without a name, but printed at

said in the title-page to have
Oxford
in 1(J08, ar.d
been compared with the French

in
of Boileau.
saw noUiiug
either of these uliich did not
yield the greatest encouragement to a
new attempt.
finishini;-
Mo
less
than nine years have intervened since the
VI
oi'
PREFACE.
this
translation, in
wliitli
space
it
lias
been frequently
re-
vised, submitted to the censure of friends,
and amended again

original.
:
and again by a more attentive study of the

sign was,
if
The
de-
possible, to
make
it
read like an original
whether
;
I have succeeded in this, the bulk of
my
readers
may judge
but whether the translation be good, or come any thing near

to the
life,
the spirit, the energy of Longinus,
is
a decision pethe
diffi-
culiar to
culties
tial
men
of learning and
taste,
who
alone
know
will
which attend such an undertaking, and
be impar-
enough
to give the translator the necessary indulgence.
Longinus himself was never accurately enough published,

nor thoroughly understood,
his late editions at
till
Dr. Pearce * did him justice
in
London.
My
thanks are due to that gen-
tleman, not only for his correct editions, on account of which

the
whole learned world
is
indebted to him, but for those anithis translation,
madversions and corrections of

so kindly favoured
tions
with which he
me.
Most
I
of the remarks and observahis
were drawn up before
had read
Latin notes.
am
not the least in pain about the pertinency of those in-
stances which I have brought from the sacred writers, as well

as
from some of the
finest
of our
I
own
country, to illustrate the

lest,
criticisms of
Longinus.
am
only fearful,
among
the
multiplicity of
such as might be had, I may

I
be thought to
have omitted some of the best.

have done, might be done
gouil fortune to contribute a
am
sensible, that
;
what
much
little
better
but
if I
have the
towards the fixing a true juto distinguish sense
dicious
taste,
and enabling my readers
from sound, grandeur from pomp, and the Sublime from fustian
and bombast,
to
1 shall think
to the
my
time well spent
and
shall
be ready
submit
censures of a judge, but shall only

is
smile at the snarling of what
commonly
called a critic.
Now
Lord
IVisliop
of Rodiester.
Jas.
1770.
CONTENTS.
P; gr
Some
Sect.
account of the Life, AVritings, and Character

.,
treatise
of Longiuus
1.
Snbhnie That CeciUus's on imperfect, and why 2. Whether Sublime may be learned .... Of Bombast
the
is
the
44 48
51
3.
Of Puerilities Of the Parenthyrse, 4. Of the Frigid

5.
55
5()
or ill-timed emotion
6.
7.
8.
Whence imperfections That knowledge of Sublime How Sublime may be known ...... sources of SubThat
these
take
their
rise
57
() 1
the true
is
attainable
6'Z
the
63 66 70
there
are live
the
lime
9.
10.
That
Of Elevation of Thought
a choice and connexion of proper
will
circumstances
lime
11.
1'2.
produce the Sub-
Of Amplification That
rhetoric
92
104
which the writers of
is
the definition
give
of Ampliiication
im1()6
proper
Sublimity Of Of Imitation That authors ought be our models writing Of Images Of Figures That Figures and Sublimity mutually one another Of Question and Of Asyndetons 20. Of Heaps of Figures 21. That Copulatives weaken
13.
Plato's
109
Ill
14.
the
best
to
in
114
115 128
133 135
1
15.
16.
17.
as-
sist
18.
Interrogation
19.
38
140
142
the style
Vill
CONTENTS.
Pag*-
Sect. 22.
Of Ilyperbatons 23. Of Change of Number 24. That Singulars sometimes cause Sub25. Of Change of Tense Of Change of Person 27. Of another Change of Person Circumlocution 28. Of grows 29. That Circumlocution
limity
'2(5.
144 150 154

155
156 159
163
Periphrasis or
carried too far
insipid
I6G
of
Terms 3 .Of Vulgar Terms

1
30. Of Choice
167 I69
32.
33.
Of Multitude of Metaphors That Sublime, with some

the
ter
172
faults, is bet-
than what
is
correct and faultless
without being Sublime

34.
180
By
the
preceding rule Demosthenes and
Hyperides are compared, and the preference given to the former

So.
184
That Plato
Lysias
is
;
is
in all
respects superior to
and
in general, that
whatever
great and
uncommon
soonest raises
admiration
a view S7. Of Similes and Comparisons ........ 38. Of Hyperboles 39. Of Composition or Structure of Words..
IBQ
in
36.
Sublime writers considered
parallel
192 194 195 201
40.
Of apt
Connexion of the constituent
parts
of discourse
41.
206
That broken
and precipitate measines de-
base the Sublime
209 210
diminishes
the
That Words of
dicial to the
short syllables are preju-
Sublime
That Contraction of Style Sublime 43. That low terms blemish of sublime 44. The
42.
scarcity
for
210
21]
the
Sublime .... writers accounted
215
SOME ACCOUNT OF THE

LIFE, WRITINGS, ^
OF
CHARACTER,
LONGINUS.
no part of history more agreeable in itself, nor more improving to the mind, than the lives of those who have distinguished themselves from the herd of
is
THERE
mankind, and
gard.
set themselves
up to public
reis
particular tribute of admiration

is
always due, and
generally paid, to the

It
hero, the philosopher, and the scholar.
requires, indeed, a strength of understanding
and a
solidity
of judgment, to distinguish
those actions which are truly great, from
such as have only the show and appearance

of it.
The
noise of victoiies
and the pomp of
triumphs are apt to make deeper impressions
on
common
minds, than the calm and even

of a studious and philosophilatter are, for the
labours of
cal turn,
men
though the
most
10
part,
THE LIFE AND WRITINGS

more commendable
useful to
in themselves
and
more
their
the world.
is
The imagination
more
is
of the bulk of mankind
alive than
judgment
hence C?esar
he acted
in
more ad-
mired
for the part
the plains of
Pharsalia, than for the recollection of his
mind the night after the victory, by which he armed himself against the insolence of
success,
and formed resolutions of forgiving his enemies, and triumphing more by clemency and mildness, than he had before by Deeds which we his courage and his arms.
can only admire, are not so templation, as those which
tate.
fit
for sedate con-
we may
also imi-
We may not be able to plan
or execute
a victory with the Scipios and Caesars, but
we may improve and fortify our understandingSy by inspecting their scenes of studj^ and we may apply the contemplations reflection
;
of the wise to private use, so as to
make our
passions obedient to our reason, our reason
productive of inward tranquillity, and sometimes of real and substantial advantage to

all
our fellow-creatures.
be no improper introduction to whatever may be collected concerning the life of our Author,
Such remarks
as the preceding can
It will turn out at best but dark
and imper-
OF LONGINUS.
feet,
11
yet open into two prineipal views, which
may
prove of double use to a thoughtful and
considerate reader.
As a Writer of a
him
refined
and polished
taste, of
it
a sound and penetratto such
methods of thinking, as are the innocent and embellishing amusements of life as a Philosopher of enlarged and generous sentiments, a friend to virtue, a steady champion, and an
ing judgment,
will lead
;
intrepid martyr for liberty,
it will
teach him,
and glorious, which is not just and good and that the dignity of what we utter, and what we act, depends entirely on the dignity of our thoughts, and the inward grandeur and elevation of the
that nothing can be great
;
soul.
Searching for the particular passages and

incidents of the
velling
life
of Longinus,
is
like tra-
now-a-days through those countries in which it was spent. We meet with nothing
but continual scenes of devastation and ruin.
In one place, a beautiful spot smiling through
the bounty of nature, yet overrun with weeds
and thorns
to view
;
for
want of
culture, presents itself
in another,
a pile of stones lying in
same confusion in which they fell, with here and there a nodding wall and somethe
;
times a curious pillar

V
still
erect, excites the
B 2
12
sorrowful
remembrance of what noble edifices and how fine a city once crowned the Tyrants and barbarians are not less place.
pernicious to learning and improvement, than
to cities and nations.
Bare names are preto us,
served and handed
down
regret,
but
little
more.
rest,
Who
is
were the destroyers of
all
the
wc know with
destroyed,
but the value of

guess and
what
we can only
deplore.
What countryman Longinus

oiiiaas.
^^j^g^
1
cannot certainly be discoo ^^me
J. JonsiKs.
Dr.Pearce.
^'^^'^^^-
fancy him a Sy-
and that he was born at Emisa, because an uncle of his, one Fronto, a rhetorician, is called by Suidas an Emisenian. But others, with greater probability, suppose
rian,
him an Athenian. That he was a Grecian, is plain from two * passages in the following Treatise; in one of which he uses this expression, " If we Grecians ;'' and in the other he expressly calls Demosthenes his countryman. Hisnamewas Dionysius Longinus, to which Suidas makes the addition of Cassius;
but that of
point
(it is
his father is entirely
unknown; a
since
true) of small importance,
See Sect.
xii.
OF LONGINUS.
a son of excellence and worth,
13
reflects a glory
upon, instead of receiving any from,
his father.
By
his
mother Frontonis he was
allied, after
two or three removes,

tarch.
to the celebrated Plu-
We
own
are also at a loss for the employtheir station in

;
ment of his parents,

of his
life,
andthe
beginning of his education
but a * remnant
writings informs us, that his youth
was spent intravelUng with them, which gave him an opportunity to increase his knowledge, and open his mind with that generous enlargement, which men of sense and judgment will
unavoidably receive, from variety of objects
and diversity of conversation. The improvement of his mind was always uppermost in his
thoughts, and his thirst after knowledge led
him
to
those channels by which
it
is
con-
Wherever men of learning were to be found, he was present, and lost no opportunity of forming a familiarity and intimacy with Ammonius and Origen, philosophers them. of no small repi^'tation in that age, were two of those whom he visited and heard with the As he was not deficient greatest attention.
veyed.
in vivacity of parts, quickness of apprehension,
and strength of understanding, the pro* Fragment, quintum.

.
14
THE LITE AND WHITINGS
gress of his
improvement must needs have been equal to his industry and diligence in
seeking after
it.
He was
capable of learning
whatever he desired, and no doubt he desired

to
learn
whatever was commendable and
useful.
The
travels of
Longinus ended with
his ar-
rival at
Athens, where he fixed his residence.
This city was then, and had been for some

ages, the University of the world. It
was the
constant resort of
all
who were
able to teach,
or willing to improve; the grand and lasting
and learning, from whence were drawn every rivulet and stream that watered and cultivated the rest of the world. Here our author pursued the studies of humanity and philosophy wdth the greatest application, and soon became the most remarkable person in a place so remarkable as Athens. Here he published his Treatise on the Sublime, which raised his reputation to such a height, as no critic, -either before or since, durst ever aspire to. He was a perfect master of the ancient writings of Greece, and intimately acquainted not only with the works but the very genius and spirit with which
reservoir of philosophy
they were written.
His cotemporaries there

laith in his
had such an implicit
judgment,
or LONGINUS.
15
and were
of his
so well convinced of the perfection
taste, that
they appointed him judge
of all the ancient authors, and learned to distinguish between the genuine and spurious
productions of antiquity, from his opinions
and sentiments about them. He was looked upon by them as infallible and unerring, and
therefore by his decrees were fine writing
and fine sense establishe^l, and his sentence stamped its intrinsic valie upon every piece. The entrusting any one person with so delicate a commission, is an extraordinary instance of complaisance
:
it is
without a preshould,
in re-
cedent in every age before, and unparalleled

in
any of the succeeding as it is till another Lonoinus shall arise.

;
fit it
But
gard to him, lodged

it
it
docs honour to those
who
in his hands.
ever suffered in
For no classic writer character from an erroneous
censure of Longinus.
He
was, as I observed
before, a perfect master of the style
culiar turn of thought of
them
all,
and peand could
discern every beauty or blemish in every
composition.
In vain might inferior critics

this
exclaim against
monopoly of judgment.
Whatever objections they raised against it were mere air and unregarded sounds. And
whatever they blamed, or whatever they com-
16
THE LIFE AND AVRITINGS
mended, was received or rejected by the public, only as it met with the
Eunapius.
approbation of Longinus, or Avas

confirmed and ratified by his so-
vereign decision.
}\.:..
His stay at Athens seems to have been of

long continuance, and that
cit}^
perhaps had
never enjoyed so able a Professor of fine

learning, eloquence,
and philosophy united. Whilst he taught here, he had, amongst others,

the famous Porphyry for his pupil.
The
sys-
tem of philosophy which he went upon, was the Academic for whose founder, Plato, he had so great a veneration, that he celebrated
;
the anniversary of his birth with the highest

solemnity. There is something agreeable even
in the
distant fancy
how
delightful
then
must those reflections have been, which could

not but arise in the breast of Longinus, that
he was explaining and recommending the doctrine of Plato, in those calm retreats where he himself had w ritten that he was
;
teaching his scholars the eloquence of De-
mosthenes, on the very spot, perhaps, where
and was prohe had formerly thundered fessing rhetoric in the place where Cicero had
;
studied
r.-
'ii!
The mind of our Author was not
so con-
OF LONGINUS.
tracted, as to be
fit
1?
life
only for a
of stillness
and
tranquillity.
Fine genius, and a true phi-
losophic turn, qualify not only for study and

retirement, but will enable their owners to
more honourable, but in more conspicuous views, and to appear on the public stage of life with dignity and honour. And it was the fortune of Long;inus to be drawn from the contemplative shades of Athens, to mix in more active scenes, to train up young princes to virtue and glory, to guide the busy and ambitious passions of the great to noble ends, to struggle for, and at last to
shine, I will not say in
die in the cause of liberty. '
'''
'
''^
During the residence of Longi- TrebeUius nus at Athens, the Emperor Va- Pollio. t lerian had undertaken an expedition against the Persians, who had revolted from the Roman yoke. He was assisted in it by Odenathus, king of Palmjâ, who, after the death of Valerian, carried on the war with uncommon spirit and success. Gallienus, who
;
succeeded his father Valer-ian
at
Rome, being
soul, of the
a prince of a weak and effeminate
most dissolute and abandoned manners, without any shadow of worth in himself, was
willing to get a support in the valour of
Ode-
nathus, and therefore he
made him
his part-
18
THE LirK AND WllITlKGS

title
ner in empire by the
of Augustus, and
decreed his medals, strucken in honour of the Persian victories, to be current coin throughout the empire. Odenathus, says an historian,
seemed born for the empire of the world, and would probably have risen to it, had he not been taken off, in a career of victory, by the
treachery of his
own
relations.
His
abilities
were so great, and his actions so

person then alive, except his
illustrious,
that they were above the competition of every
own
wife Ze-
nobia, alady of so extraordinary magnanimity
and
virtue, that she
outshone even her hus-
band, and engrossed the attention and admiration of the world. She was descended from
the ancient race of Ptolemy and Cleopatra,
and had all those qualifications which are the ornament of her own, and the glory of the
other sex.
to a prodigy
A
:
miracle of beauty, but chaste

in
punishing the bad, inflexibly
severe
in
rewarding the good, or relieving
the distressed, benevolent and active. Splendid, but not profuse

;
and generous without

toils
prodigality.
Superior to the
and hard-
ships of war, she was generally on horseback
and would sometimes march on foot with She was skilled in several lanher soldiers.
guages, and
is
said to have
drawn up
herself
OF LONGINUS.
19
an epitome of the Alexandrian and Oriental

history.
The great reputation of Longinus had been wafted to the ears of Zenobia, who prevailed upon him to quit Athens, and undertake the
education of her sons.
He
quickl}^ gained
an uncommon share in her esteem, as she found him not only qualified to form the tender minds of the young, but to improve
the virtue, and enlighten the understanding
of the aged.
In his conversation she spent

life,
the vacant hours of her
modelling her
sentiments by his instructions, and steering
by his counsels in the whole series of her conduct and in carrying on that plan of empire, which she herself had formed, which her husband Odenathus had begun to execute, but had left imperfect. The number of comherself
;
petitors,
who,
in the vicious
and scandalous
reign of Gallieilus, set
up
for the empire, but
with
abilities far inferior to
those of Zenobia,
gave her an opportunity to extend her conquests,

all
by an uncommon
Claudius,
tide of success, over
the East.
who succeeded Galhis
lienus at
Rome, was employed during
whole reign, which was very short, against the Northern nations. Their reduction was afterwards completed by Aurelian, the great-
20
THE LITE AND WRITINGS

had
est soldier that
imperial purple.
worn the He then turned his arms

for a long time
against Zenobia, being surprised as well at the

rapidity
of"
her conquests, as enraged that she

to
had dared
the East.
Tr
f
assume the
title
of
Queen of
with
opiscus.
He marched
no check
a2;ainst her *
Zosimus.
the best of his forces, and
met with
till
in his expedition
he
advanced
as far as Antioch.
Zenobia was there
in readiness to
oppose
his further progress.
But the armies coming to an engagement at Daphne, near Antioch, she was defeated by the
good conduct of Aurelian, and leaving Antioch at his mercy, retired with her army to Emisa. The Emperor marched immediately after, and found her ready to give him battle in the plains before the city. The dispute was
shai'p
and bloody on both
sides,
till
at last thie
;
victory inclined a second time to Aurelian
and the imfortunate Zenobia, not daring to confide in the Emisenians, was again compelled to retire towards her capital, Palmyra.
As
the town was strongly fortified, and the

full
inhabitants
of zeal for her service, and
affection for her person, she
made no doubt
till
of defending herself here, in spite of the
warmest
efforts
of Aurelian,
she could
OF LONGINUS.
raise
21
new
forces,
open
his
field.
his activity
and venture again into the Aurelian was not long behind, impelled him forwards, to crown
His march was terribly
former success, by completing the con-
quest of Zenobia.
harassed by the frequent attacks of the Syrian banditti

;
and when he came up, he

fortified
found Palmyra so strongly
and
so
it
bravely defended, that though he invested
with his army, yet the siege was attended
with a thousand
daily
difficulties.
His army was
weakened and
resistance
life
by the gallant of the Palmyrenians, and his own

dispirited
sometimes in the utmost danger. Tired
at last with the obstinacy of the besieged,
and almost worn out by continued fatigues, he sent Zenobia a written summons to surrender, as if his words could strike terror into her, whom by force of arms he was unable
to subdue.
AURELIAN, EMPEROR OF THE ROMAN WORLD, AND RECOVERER OF THE EAST, TO ZENOBIA AND IIER ADHERENTS.
"
Why am
forced to
command, what
you ought voluntarily to have done already ? I charge you to surrender, and thereby
22
avoid the certain penalty of death, which
You, Zenobia, shall spend the remainder of your life, where I, by the advice of the most honourable senate, shall think proper to place you. Your jewels,
otherwise attends you.
your
silver,
your gold, your
finest apparel,
your horses, and your camels, you

sign to the disposal of the
to preserve the
shall re-
Romans,
in order
di-
vested of
all
Palmyrenians from being their former privileges.'"
Zenobia, not in the least affrighted by the
menace, nor soothed by the cruel promise of

a
life in
exile
and obscurity
resolved by her
answer to convince Aurelian, that he should

find the stoutest resistance
from her,
whom
he thought to frighten into compliance. This answer was drawn up by Longinus in a spirit
peculiar to himself, and worthy of his mis'
tress.
ZENOBIA, QUEEN OF THE EAST, TO THE EMPEROR AURELIAN.

" Never was such an unreasonable
demand
proposed, or such rigorous terms offered, by
any but yourself. Remember, Aurelian, that

in war,
whatever
is
done, should be done by
OF LONGINUS.
valour.
23
to
You
;
imperiously
command me
title
surrender
but can you forget, that Cleoof

?
patra chose rather to die with the
Queen, than
to live in
any
inferior digiiity
;
We
expect succours from Persia

;
the
Sa-
racens are arming in our cause
even the
Syrian banditti have already defeated your
army.
Judge what you are
to expect
from
be
a conjunction of these forces.
You
shall
compelled to abate that pride, with which,
you were absolute lord of the universe, you command me to become your captive."
as if
Aurelian, says Vopiscus, had no sooner
read
this disdainful letter,
than he blushed
(not so
tion.
much with shame, as) with indignaHe redoubled his efforts, invested the
closely than ever,
town more
continual alarms.
No
art
and kept it in was left untried,
which the conduct of a general could suggest, or the bravery of angry soldiers could put in execution. He intercepted the aid which
was marchino- from Persia
either
to its relief.
He
reduced the Saracen and Armenian forces,
by strength of arms, or the

;
subtilty
of intrigues
till
at length, the Palmyre-
nians, deprived of all prospect of succour,
and worn out by continual
assaults
from with-
24
out,
and by famine within, were obliged to open the gates and receive their conqueror. The Queen and Longinus could not tamely
stay to put on their chains.
swiftest camels, they
Mounted on
the
endeavoured to
fly into
Persia, to
make
fresh
head against Aurelian,

find his vic-
who entering the city was vexed to
tory imperfect, and Zenobia yet unsubdued.
A body of the
was immediately dispatched in pursuit, who overtook and made them prisoners as they were
swiftest horse
Zosimus.
crossing the Euphrates.

lian, after
Aure-
he had settled Palmyra,
returned to Emisa, whither the captives were

carried after him.
He sat on
his tribunal to re-
ceive Zenobia, or rather to insult her.
man
soldiers
throng around her,
The Roand demand

Zenobia
she
her death with incessant shouts.
now was no
longer herself: the former great;
ness of her spirit quite sunk within her
owned a master, and pleaded for her life. " Her counsellors (she said) were to be blamed, and not herself. What could a weak short-sighted woman do, when beset by artful and ambitious men, who made her subservient to
all
their
schemes
She never had

it
aimed
at empire,
had they not placed

alkirements,
belet-
fore her eyes in
all its
The
OF LONGINUS.
ter
25
which affronted Aurelian was not her own Longinus wrote it, the insolence was his." This was no sooner heard, than Aure;
enough to conquer, but not hero enough to forgive, poured all his vengeance on the head of Longinus. He was borne away to immediate execution,
lian,
who was
soldier
amidst the generous condolence of those who
knew
his merit,
and admired the inward
ge-
nerosity of his soul.
comforted
slavery,
his
He pitied Zenobia, and friends. He looked upon death

it
as a blessing, since
rescued his body from
and gave
breath)
his soul the
most desirable
but a prison
freedom.
piring
" This world (said he with his exis
nothing
happy therefore he who gets soonest out of it, and gains his liberty.'" r ...,:: The writings of Longinus are numerous, some on philosophical, but the greatest part
on
critical
subjects.
Dr. Pearce has col-
lected the
titles
of twenty-five Treatises, none
of which, except this on the Sublime, have
escaped from the depredations of time and

barbarians.
a wreck,
And even this is rescued as from damaged too much and shattered
Yet on
this
little
by
and imperfect piece has the fame of Longinus been founded and erected. The learned and judithe' storm.
26

commenis its
cious have bestowed extraordinary
dation upon
general
title.
it.
The Golden
Treatise
It is
one of those valuable rem-
nants of antiquity, of which enough remains

to engage
our admiration,
and excite an
it
earnest regret for every particle of
that
has perished.
statues,
ruins.
It resembles those mutilated
which are sometimes digged out of Limbs are broken off, which it is not
living artist to replace,
fine
in the
power of any
because the
proportion
and
delicate
finishing of the trunk excludes all
hope of
equalling such masterly performances.
From
of
^
a constant inspection and
close study
such an antique fragment of Rome, Michael
Angelo learned
to execute
;
and
to teach the
art of Sculpture
it
was therefore called Mi-
chael Angelo's School.
The same use may

on the Subcritics,
be made of
lime, since
this imperfect piece

it
is
a noble school for

historians.
poets, orators,
and
" The Subhme,'' says Longinus, "
is
an
image
reflected
from the inward greatness
The remark is refined and jusl and who more deserving than he of its appliof the soul."
cation
?
Let
his sentiments
be considered
;
as reflections from his
own mind
let
this
piece on the Sublime be regarded as the
OF LONGINUS.
picture of
its autlior.
27
It
is
;
a pity
we have not
a larger portrait of him
but as that cannot
be had, we must take up at present with

this
incomplete, though beautiful miniature.

features are graceful, the air
is
The
it
noble,
fine
the colouring lively enough to shew
how
was, and
how many
qualifications are ne-
cessary to form the character of a critic with
dignity and applause.
Elevation of thought, the greatest qualification
an orator or poet, is equally necessary to a critic, and is the most

requisite to
shining talent in Longinus.
Nature had im-
planted the seeds of
it
within him, which he
himself improved and nursed up to perfection,
by an intimacy with the greatest and

AVhenever he has
his fire,
sublimest writers.
in view,
Homer
he catches
light
and ardour of it. heaven and earth marks out the extent of the
poet's genius;
and increases the The space between

itself
but the world

thoughts
seems too
narrow a confinement
for that of the critic*
And though
his
are
sometimes
stretched to an immeasurable size, yet they

are always great without swelling, bold with-
out rashness, far beyond what any other could
* See Sect.
ix.
'
'
'
::
O.'-
c 2
28
or durst have said, and always proper and

judicious.
As
and
his sentiments are

is
noble and lofty, so
his style
masterly, enlivened
flexible with ease.
pointed out by him in
by variety, There is no beauty any other, which he

Avhilst
does not imitate, and frequently excel,
making remarks upon it. How he admires and improves upon Homer, has been
he
is
hinted already.
When
Plato
is
his subject,
the words glide along in a smooth, easy, and
peaceable flow.
rides,
When
he speaks of Hype-
he copies at once
his
engaging manner,
the simplicity, sweetness, and

style.
harmony of his
With Demosthenes he is vehement, abrupt, and disorderly regular; he dazzles

with his lightning, and
terrifies
with his thun-
When he Roman orator,

der.
is
parallels the
he shews
in
Greek with the two periods the

first
all
distinguishing excellences of each; the
a very hurricane, which bears down

it;
beits
fore
the
last,
a conflagration, gentle in
dispersed,
beginning,
gradually
increasing
and getting to such a head, as to rage beyond resistance, and devour all things. His sense
is
every where the very thing he would ex-
press,
and the sound of

.
his
words
is
an echo
to his sense.
OF
His judgment
in
is
LONG IN US.
'<
29
exact and impartial, both
what he blames and what he commends. The sentence he pronounces is founded upon and supported by reasons which are satisfactory and just. His approbation is not attended with
fits
of stupid
admiration,
or
gaping, like an idiot, at something surprising
which he cannot comprehend

censures fretful and waspish.
the bee,
nor are his

stings, like
He
what actually annoys him; but carries honey along with him, which, if it heals not the wound, yet assuages the smart. His candour is extensive as his judgment.
The penetration of the one obliged him

reprove what was amiss
;
to
the secret workings
of the other bias him to excuse or extenuate

it
in the best
manner he
is
able.
Whenever
he lays open the faults of a writer, he forgets

not to mention the quahties he had which
were deserving of praise.

sinks into
trifles,
Where Homer
sometimes, he
he cannot help reproving
him
is
but though
still
;
Homer nods
all
Homer
excelling
the world
when
broad awake, and
in his fits of drowsiness,
dreaming
like a god.
also,
The good-nature,
to the sneers
of Longinus must
not pass without notice.
He
bore an aversion
and
cavils of those
who, un-
30

and become
its
equal to the weighty province of criticism,
abuse
it,
nuisance.
He
fre-
quently takes pains to shew

their animadversions are,
how misplaced
injured from aspersions.
and to defend the There is an in-
stance of this in his vindication of
Theopom-
pus from the censure of Cecilius.*

not endure to see what
perverted into error;
errs, will
is
He
can-
right in that author
nor where he really

to pass unreproved.-i-*
itself again,
he
his
sufiêr
him
Yet here
good-nature exerts
and he proposes divers methods of amending what is wrong. The judgment, and candour, and impartiality, with which Longinus declares his sentiments of the writings of others,
will, I
am
persuaded, rise in our esteem, when
we reflect
on that exemplary piece of justice he has done to Moses. The manner of his quoting
that celebrated passagej from him,
is
as hoitself
nourable to the
to the
critic, as the
quotation
Jewish
legislator.
Whether he believed
is
the Mosaic history of the creation,

in
a point
which we are not in the least concerned; but it was plainly his opinion, that though it
be condescendingly suited
* Sect. xxxi.
to the finite con-
t Sect,
xliii.
Sect. ix.
OF LONGINUS.
ception of man, yet
it is
31
manner not inconsistent with the majesty of God. To contend, as some do, that he never read Moses, is trifling, or rather litigious. The Greek translation had been dispersed throughrelated in a
out the
in
Roman
empire, long before the time

:
which he lived
less
it
and no man of a
serious,
much
ject
bia,
of a philosophical turn, could reperusal. Besides,
as
unworthy a
Zeno-
according to the testimony of Photius,*
was a Jewish convert.
And
have some-
where seen
it
mentioned from Bellarmine,

but as I
that she was a Christian;
am
it.
stranger to the reasons on which he founds the assertion, I shall lay no stress
upon
But there is strong probability, that Longinus was not only acquainted with the writings of the Old Testament, but with those
also of the
New,
since to a manuscript of
is
the latter in the Vatican library, there

fixed a passage
pre-
from some of
is
this
Author's
writings,
which
preserved there as an in-
stance of his judgment.
He
is
drawing up
of the greatest orators, and at the close he says, " And further, Paul of Tarsus, the
list
chief supporter of an opinion not yet esta-
Piefixcd to Uudbon's Lon<iimis.
33
THE LITE AND WKITINGS

Fabricius, I own, has been so
offi-
blished/'
ciously kind as to attribute these words to

Cliristian forgery;*
but for what reasons I
cannot conjecture. If for any of real weight and injportance. certainly he ought not to have concealed them from the world.
If Longinus ever saw
any of the writings
of St. Paul, he could not but entertam a
Such a judge must needs applaud so masterly an orator. For where is the writer that can vie with him in sublime and pathetic eloquence? Demosthenes could rouse up the Athenians against Philip, and Cicero strike shame and confusion into the breasts of Antony or Catiline and
high opinion of him.
;
did not the eloquence of St. Paul, though
bound
sive,
in
degrading
fetters,
make the
oppres-
the abandoned Felix treuible, and alin spite of all

his
most persuade Agrippa,

his death,
prejudice, to be a Christian?
was looked upon

St.
as
Homer, after more than huto his
man, and temples were erected

and was not
whilst he
honom'
Paul admired as a god, even
was on earth, when the inhabitants of Lystra would have sacrificed to him? Let his w^ritings be examined and judged by the
* Bibliolhccu Gra^ca,
1.
4. c. 31.
OV LONGINUS.
severest test of the severest critics,
33
and they
cannot be found deficient; nay, they will appear more abundantly stocked with sublime and pathetic thoughts, wnth strong
beautiful figures, with nervous
and
in
and elegant
expressions, than
any other composition

it is
the world.
But, to leave
this digression
a remark
of Sir William Temple, that no pure Greek
was written
after the reign of the Antonini.
But
the
diction
of Longinus,
is
though
less
pure than that of Aristotle,
elegant and
nervous, the conciseness or diffuseness of his
periods being always suited to the nature of

his subject.
The terms he
uses are generally
so strong
artfully
and expressive, and sometimes so compounded, that they cannot be
rendered into another language without wide

circumlocution.
He
has a high and mascu-
line turn of thought,
unknown
to
any other
which enforced him to give all possible strength and energy to his Avords, that his language might be properly adjusted to his sense, and the sublimity of the latter be uniformly supported by the grandeur of the
writer,
former.
rJ
;;jf ;r
But further, there appears not in him the least show or afiectation oi Icainino-, thoui^h
34

was wonderfully
large, yet
his stock
without
any prejudice
to the brightness of his fancy.
Some
writers are even profuse of their

in this respect.
mendations of him
comFor how
extensive must his reading have been, to deserve those appellations given
pius, that
him by Euna-
and a walking museiim? Large reading, without a due balance of judgment, is like a voracious apliving library,
he was a
petite with a
bad digestion
it
breaks out
difter-
according to the natural complexion of

brisk but insipid pedantry.
ent persons, either into learned dulness, or a
In Longinus,
it
was so far from palling or extinguishing, that on the contrary it sharpened and enlivened his taste. He was not so surly as to reject the
sentiments
of others without examination,
but he had the wisdom to stick by his own.
Let us pause a
is
little
here,
and consider what

taste, the
a disagreeable and shocking contrast there
between the genius, the
candour,
the good-nature, the generosity, and modesty
of Longinus, and the heaviness, the dulness,

the snarling and sneering temper of
critics,
modern
slips,
who can
feast
on inadvertent
and triumph over what they think a blunder. His very rules are shining examples of what
they inculcate
;
///s
remarks the very excel-
or LONGINUS.
lences he
is
35
pointing out.
is
Theirs are often
inversions of what
right,
and sinking other
men by clogging them with a weight of their own lead. He keeps the same majestic
pace, or soars aloft with his authors
;
thei/
are either creeping after, or plunging below
them,
fitted
more by nature
for heroes of
Dunciad, than
fine writing.
for judges of fine sense
and
not
The
business of a critic
all
is
only to find fault, nor to be

gall.
Yet such behaviour,
in
and those who have

bitterness
office into
usurped the name, has brought the

scandal and contempt.
An
Essay on
;
Criti-
cism appears but once in an age
a tedious interval
is
and what there between Longinus

-
and Mr. Addison!
-u
Having traced our Author thus far as a critic, we must view him now in another light, In him these are I mean as a Philosopher. not different, but mutually depending and coTo existing parts of the same character. judge in a worthy manner of the performances of men, we must know the dignity of human
nature, the reach of the
ing, the ends for
human understandwhich we were created, and

In these spe-
the
means of
their attainment.
culations Longinus will
make no contempt-
36

and
I
ible figure,
hope the view
will
not ap-
pear superfluous or useless.

^
cannot arrive to a just and proper un^ derstanding of himself, without worthy no-
Man
tions of the
vations
Supreme Being. The sad depraof the pagan world are chiefly to be
to
attributed
a deficiency in this respect. Homer has exalted his heroes at the expense of his deities, and sunken the divine nature
far
below the human and therefore deserves that censure of blasphemy which Longinus has passed upon him. Had the poet designed
;
have turned the imaginary gods of his idolatrous countrymen into ridicule, he could
to
hardly have taken a better method. Yet what he has said has never been understood in that
light
and though the whole may be allegorical, as his commentators would fain persuade us, yet this will be no excuse for the malignancy of its effects on a superstitious The discourses of Socrates, and the world. writings of Plato, had in a great measure cor;
rected the notions of inquisitive and thoughtful men in this particular, and caused the
distinction of religion into vulgar
phical.
and philoso-
By what Longinus
has said of Ho-
mer,
it is
plain to me, that his religion was
OF LONGINUS.
of the latter sort.
to
3?
allow
Though we
him not
be a Christian or a Jewish convert, yet he

idolater, since without a
was no
knowledge
and reverence of the Divine perfections, he never could have formed his noble ideas of
human
This
nature.
life
he considers as a public theatre,

their parts.
on which men are to act

after glory,
thirst
is
and an emulation of whatever

excellent,
is
great and
implanted in their
:
minds, to quicken their pursuits after real

grandeur, and to enable them to approach,
as near as their finite abilities will admit, to
Divinity
itself.
Upon
these principles, he
accounts for the vast stretch and penetration
human understanding to these he ascribes the labours of men of genius and by

of the
;
the predominancy of them in their minds,

ascertains the success of their attempts.
In
the
same manner he accounts for that turn in the mind, which biasses us to admire more what is great and uncommon, than what is ordinary and familiar, however useful. There
are other masterly reflections of this kind in
the 33d and 34th Sections, which are only to
be excelled by Mr. Addison's Essay on the

Imagination.
Whoever reads
this
part of
'
Longinus, and that piece of Mr. Addison's
38
THE LIFE
will
v\ND
WRITINGS
with attention,
form notions of them both

to pursue
very
much
to their honour.
Yet
is
telling us
we were born
what
is
great, without
informing us what
so,
would avail but little. Longinus declares for a close and attentive examination of all things. Outsides and surfaces may be splendid and
alluring, yet
nothing be within deserving our

that suffers himself to be daz-
applause.
zled with a
He
gay and gaudy appearance, will be betrayed into admiration of what the wise contemn his pursuits will be levelled at wealth, and power, and high rank in life, to
;
the prejudice of his inward tranquillity, and

^
perhaps the wreck of his virtue.
The pageantry and pomp of life will be regarded by such a person as true honour and glory and
;
he
are
will neglect the
nobler acquisitions, which
more
suited to the dignity of his nature,
which alone can give merit to ambition, and centre in solid and substantial grandeur.
and standard of whatever can be considered as great and illustrious in any light. From this our actions and our words must flow, and by this must they be weighed. We nmst think well, beis
The mind
the source
fore
it is
we can
act or speak as
we
ought.
And
the inward vigour of the soul, though
OF LONGINUS.
39
variously exerted, which forms the patriot,
the philosopher, the orator, or the poet
this
was the
rise
of an Alexander, a Socrates, a
Demosthenes, and a Homer.
Yet
this in-
ward vigour
nature,
tion,
is
owing to the bounty of cherished and improved by educais
chiefly
but cannot reach maturity without other

causes, such as public liberty,
concurrent
and the strictest practice of virtue. That the seeds of a great genius in any kind must be implanted within, and cherished and improved by education, are points in
which the whole world agrees.
portance of liberty in bringing
tion,
But
it
the im-
to perfec-
may
perhaps be more liable to debate.

is
Longinus
clear
on the affirmative
side.
He
it,
speaks feelingly, but with caution about
because tyranny and oppression
were
tri-
umphant
at the time
he wrote.
He
soul,
avers, with a spirit of generous indigis
-^
,
nation, that slavery
the confinement of the

=>*=
and a public dungeon.
On
this
he ""^
(
charges the suppression of genius and decay
of the sublime.
plorable,
ties,
The
condition of
man
is
de-
when he
dares not exert his abili-
and runs into imminent danger by say* Sect.

-
xliv.
'
'"
'"
40

Tyranny, erect-
ing or doing what he ought.
ed on the ruins of liberty, lays an immediate

restraint
on the minds of
of genius
is
vassals, so that the
inborn
fire
quickly damped, and
suffers at last a total extinction.
This must
always be a necessary consequence, when
what
and
to
ouo^ht to be the reward of
an honour-
able ambition
flatterers.
becomes the prey of knaves But the infection gradually
spreads, and fear and avarice will

it,
whom
bend those nature formed for higher employ-
ments, and sink lofty orators into

flatterers.
pompous
will
The
truth
of this remark
easily appear, if
we compare Cicero speakThat

spirit
ing to Catiline, to the same Cicero pleading

before Caesar for Marcellus.
adulation, which prevailed so
of
much
in
Eng-
land about a century ago, lowered one of the

greatest geniuses that ever lived,
and turned
even the Lord Bacon into a sycophant.

this will
And
be the case wherever power en:
croaches on the rights of mankind

fear will clog
will strike
a servile
and
fetter every rising genius,

it
such an awe upon
in its tender
and infant and check
state, as will stick for ever after,

its
generous
sallies.
No
one
will
write or speak well in such a situation, unless
V ôn
subjects of
mere amusement, and which
OF LONGINUS.
41
cannot, by any indirect tendency, affect his

masters.
For how shall the vassal dare to talk sublimely on any point wherein his lord acts meanly ? But further, as despotic and unbridled
is
power
generally obtained, so
unjustifiable
it is
as often
supported by
methods.
The
splendid and ostentatious pageantry of those

at the helm, gives rise to luxury
and profusefatal
ness
among
the subjects.
These are the
sources of dissolute manners, of degenerate

sentiments, of infamy and want.
As
plea-
sure is supplied by money, no method, however mean, is omitted to procure the latter, because it leads to the enjoyment of the for-
mer.
Men become
corrupt and abject, their

to
minds are enervated and insensible

" The faculties of the soul
Longinus)
will * will
(in
shame.
the words of
then grow stupid, their spirit

\
and good sense and genius must lay in ruins, when the care and study of man is engaged about the mortal, the worthless
be
lost,
\|
part of himself, and he has ceased to cultivate

virtue,
and polish
his nobler part, the soul.''
The scope
of our Author's reflections in the

;
latter part of the Section is this
that genius
* Sect.
xliv.
4^

itself,
can never exert
or rise to sublimity,
where virtue
depraved.
chapter to
is
neglected, and the morals are
Cicero was of the same opinion

Quinctilian
before him, and
has a whole
prove that the great orator must
be a good man.
Men
of the finest genius,

the world,
who have
have been
ciples.
I
hitherto appeared in
for the
fective in their
most part not very demorals, and less in their prinsensible there are exceptions
am
to this observation, but little to the credit of
become the severest satires on themselves, and the manifest opposition between their thought and practice detracts its weight from the one, and marks out the other for public abhorrence.
the persons, since their works
An
inward grandeur of soul
is
the
common
is
centre, from
whence every ray of sublimity,

all
either in thought, or action, or discourse,
minds are no more of the same complexion, than all bodies of the same In the latter case, our eyes would texture. meet only with the same uniformity of colour
darted out. For
in every object
all
:
in the former,
all
we should be
all
orators or poets,
philosophers, or
blockheads.
This would break in upon that

as
beautiful and useful variety, with which the
Author of nature has adorned the rational
OF LONGINUS.
well as the material creation.
43 There
is
in
every mind a tendency, though perhaps

ferently inclined, to
lent.
dif-
what
is
great and excel-
culiar
Happy they, who know their own bent, who have been blessed with
it
pe-
op-
portunities of giving
the proper culture
and are not cramped or restrained in the liberty of shewing and declaring it to others There are many fortunate concurrences, without which we cannot attain to any
polish,
!
and
quickness of taste or rehsh for the Sublime.
hope what has been said will not be thought an improper introduction to the folI
lowing Treatise, in which (unless

ceived) there
is
am
de-
a just foundation for every re-
mark
that has been made.
The Author apnot only in
pears sublime in
every view,
what he has written, but in the manner in which he acted, and the bravery with which he died by all acknowledged the Prince of
;
and by no worse judge than Boileau esteemed a philosopher, worthy to be ranked with Socrates and Cato.
Critics,
;','
J:'.'i.
I)
2!
nk
LONGINUS
ON THE
SUBLIME,
SECTION
You
that
I.
remember,
my dear ^Terentianus,
together
^
when we read over
Cecihus's
it
Treatise on the Sublime,
we thought
too
it is
mean
for a subject of that nature, that
entirely defective in its principal branches,
and that consequently
its
advantage (which
ever}" writer)
ought to be the principal aim of
Who
this
Terentiauus, or Posthumius Terentianus, was,

this Treatise, is
to
whom
the
Author addresses
is it
not possible to
be discovered, nor
pears,
of any great importance.

in the sequel
But
it
ap-
from some passages
of
this
work, that he
was a young Roman, a person of

taste,
a bright genius, an elegant
and a particular friend
to
Longinus.
witli
What he
says of
him, I
am
confident,
was spoken
sincerity
more than
flatter,
complaisance, since Longinus must have disdained to

like a
^
modern
dedicator.
Cecilius
was a
Sicilian
rhetorician.
He
lived
under
Augustus, and was cotemporary with Dionysius of Halicarnassus, with

is
whom
he contracted a very close friendship.

first
He
thought to have been the
who wrote on
the Sublime.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
45
would prove very small to the readers. Besides, though in every treatise upon any science two points are indispensably required the first, that the science, which is the subject of it, be fully explained ; the second (I mean
in order of writing, since in excellence
far the
it is
superior), that
plain directions
be
given,
how and by what method such science may be attained yet Cecilius, who brings a
;
thousand instances to shew what the Sublime

is,
as if his readers
were Avholly ignorant of
the matter, has omitted, as altogether umiecessary, the
method which, judiciously ob-
served, might enable us to raise our natural
Sublime. But, perhaps, this writer is not so much to be blamed for his omissions, as commended for
genius to any height of this
his
good designs and earnest endeavours. You indeed have laid your commands upon me, to give you my thoughts on this Sublet us then, in
lime;
obedience to those com-
mands, consider whether any thing can be drawn from my private studies, for the service of
^
those
who
write for the wôrld, or

,
speak in pubUc.
" Those who write

all this
for the world, or

in the original
speak
in
public."] I
take
to
be implied
word
Tru\i-it:oiv.
46
-

!But I request you, tny dear friend, to give
m<b jour opinion on whatever I advance, with
that exactness, which
is
is
due to truth, and

natural to yourselfi
that sincerity which
For
well did the * sage
answer the question,
" In what do we most resemble the gods?" when he replied, " In doing good and speaking truth/'
friend,
to
But since I write, you, who are versed
my
be
dear
in every
little
branch of polite learning, there

occasion to use
V ing, that the
will
many
previous words in provis
Sublime
a certain eminence
or perfection of language, and that the greatest writers,
and prose, have by this alone obtained the prize of glory, and For the filled all time with their renown. Sublime not only persuades, but even throws an audience into transport. The Marvellous
both
in verse
always works with more surprising force than

that which barely persuades or delights.
^
In
most
cases,
it
is
wholly in our
own power
But
irresisti-
either to resist or yield to persuasion.
the Sublime, endued with strength

'
ble, strikes
hearer.
home, and triumphs over every Dexterity of invention, and good
order and
economy
in composition, are not to
* Pythagoras.
LONGINUS ON THE SLTBLIME.
4?
be discerned from one or two passages, nor

scarcely sometimes from the whole texture of
a discourse
but
the Sublime,
when seasonit,
ably addressed, with the rapid force of light-
ning has borne

at
down
all
before
and shewn
one stroke the compacted might of genius. But these, and truths like these, so well
familiar to himself, I
known and
dent
am
confi-
my dear Terentianus
can undeniably
prove by his own practice.
" The Sublime, when seasonably addressed," &c.] This

is
sentence
inimitably fine in the original.
Dr. Pearce has an
ingenious observation
upon
it.
"
It is
not easy (says he) to
determine, whether the precepts of Longinus, or his example,
be most to be observed and followed
in the
course of
this
work, since his style

subject.
is
possessed of
all
the sublimity of his
Accordingly,
in this passage,
to express the
all
power
the art
said
of the Sublime, he has
made
use of his words, with
and propriety imaginable.

^lacpopfi
Another writer would have
and
eyleiKi'vrai^hut this
had been too dull and languid.
Our Author
the
strikes the
uses the preterperfect tense, the better to express

rapidity with
its
power and
which sublimity of discourse

It is like
minds of
hearers.
lightning (says our

this,
Author) because you can no more look upon

sent, than
when
pre-
you can upon the

words
flash of that.
Besides, the strucis
ture of the
in the close
of the sentence
admirable.
They run
vowels.
along, and
are hurried in the celerity

life
of short
They
represent to the
the rapid motion either of
lightning, or the
Sublime."
48
SECTION
But we
art in the
II.
ought not to advance, before we whether or no there be any
clear the point,
Subhme.^
For some are entirely
of opinion, that they are guilty of a great

mistake, who would reduce it to the rules of " The Sublime (say they) is born within art.
us,
and
is
not to be learned by precept.

it, is,
The
only art to reach
to
have the power
from nature. And (as they reason) those effects, which should be purely natural, are
In
all
the editions
is
added
?;
fiaQovQ,
or the
profound : a
rise to
perplexing expression, and which perhaps gave

tise
a trea-
on the Bathos.
this plain
it.
It
was purposely omitted
in the transla-
tion, for
substantial reason, because I could not
make
sense of
have since been favoured
^vith
a sight of
this
the learned Dr. Tonstal's conjectural
emendations on
li-aOovQ.
Author, and
liere for fiadovg
he readeth
The minute
alteration of a single letter enlightens
and clears the whole
passage
the context, the whole tenor of the piece, justifies

1
the emendation.
beg leave therefore

:
new
version of the passage
" Butwe ou^ht not

some are
to give the
following
to advance,
art in
before
we
clear the point, whether or
no there be any
the Sublime or the Pathetic. Tor
entirely of opinion,
that they are guilty of a great mistake,

to the
who would reduce them

(say they) are
rules
of
u.s,
art.
These high attainments

to
lioin within
art to
and are nut

is
be learned by precept: the only
reach ihcni,
to
have the })o\vcr from nature."
49
^,

dispirited
and weakened by the dry impovermight
ishing rules of art."
But
^
I maintain, that the contrary
easily appear,
would they only reflect that though nature for the most part challenges a sovereign and uncontrollable power in the
Pathetic and Sublime, yet she
is
not altoge-
Tliese observations of Lotiginus, and the following lines

are a very proper illustration for one another:
of
Mr. Pope,
First follow nature,
and your judgment frame

is still
'
,
By
her just standard, which

still
the
same:
Unerring nature,
divinely bright,
One
clear, unchang'd,
and universal
light,
'
;a':-i.;
Life, force, and beauty
must
to all imjârt,
; [ j r,
j
j
At once
Art from
the source, and end, and test of art.

Uiat fund each just
supply provides.
presides
:
'
Works without show, and without pomp In some fair body thus the secret soul
With
spirits feeds, with
'
.'.j;;'> V^:
vigour
lills
the
whole;
'.,,
liach motion guides, and every nerve sustains,

Itself unseen, but in th' effect remains.
There
are,
whom
much
Ileav'n has bless'd with store of wit.
Yet want
as
again to
manage
it
'
For wit and judgment ever are

Thou2;h meant each other's
'Tis
at strife,
aid, like
man and
wife.
'''
more
to guide, than spur the
muse's steed.
;
Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed
The winged
Shews most
'
:
courser, like a generous horse,

true mettle
,
^^
''
''
when you check

/
\
his course.
;,
;?
ssin/ on Ci iiuism.
50
LONGINUS ON
That again
TTIE
SUBLIMK.
/ ther lawless, but delights in a proper regulation.
though she
is
the founda-
and even the source of all degrees of the Sublime, yet that method is able to point out in the clearest manner the peculiar tendencies of each, and to mark the proper seasons in which they ought to be enforced and applied.
tion,
And
dom
further
that
flights
of
grandeurâre
left at
then in the utmost danger,

to themselves, having
when
no
ran-
ballast proper-
ly to poise,
no hehu to guide
their course,
but cumbered with their

^
own
it
weight, and
bold without discretion.
Genius
may some-
times want the spur, but
stands as fre-
quently in need of the curb.
Demosthenes somewhere judiciously observes, " That in common life success is the that the next, and no less imgreatest good portant, is conduct, without which the other must be unavoidably of short continuance.'^ Now the same may be asserted of Composi;
tion,
where nature
will
supply the place of
and art the place of conduct. But further, there is one thing which deserves particular attention. For though it must be owned, that there is a force in elo(juence, which depends not upon, nor can be
success,
learned by, rule, yet even this could not be

known without
from
art.
If,
51
that hght which
we
receive
therefore, as I said before,
he
who condemns such Avorks as this in which I am now engaged, would attend to these rehave very good reason to beheve he would no longer think any undertaking of
flections, I
this
nature superfluous or useless.
>
>
'i
SECTION
ID.
Let them the chimney's flashing flames
repel.
Could but
these eyes one lurking wretch arrest,
I'd whirl aloft
one streaming curl of flame,

turn his crackling
I
And into embers
dome.
> ^
J;
But now a generous song
have not sounded.
Streaming curls of flame, spewing against heaven, and ^ making Boreas a piper, with
^
Here
is
a great defect
but
it is
evident that the Author
is
treating of those imperfections
which are opposite
to the true
Sublime, and among those, of extravagant swelling or bombast, an
example of which he produces fr6m some old
tragic
poet, none of whose lines, except these here quoted, and
some
expressions below, remain at present.

*
" Making Boreas a piper

same kind of bombast
"'\
Shakespeare has
fallen into
the
the southern wind
Doth
play the trumpet to hi? purposes.

Firi^t
Part of Henri/ IF.
52
LONGINUS CN THE SUBLIME.

For those forced and unnaimages corrupt and debase the style,
;
such-like expressions, are not tragical, but

super-tragical.
tural
and cannot possibly adorn or raise it and whenever carefully examined in the light, their show of being terrible gradually disappears,
and they become contemptible and riTragedy will indeed by its nature diculous.
admit of some
pompous and magnificent

it is
swellings, yet even in tragedy
an unpar-
donable offence to soar too high;

allowable must
ino-,
it
much
less
therefore be in prose-writ-
or those Avorks which are founded in
truth.
^
Upon
this
account some expressions
of Gorgias the Leon tine are highly ridiculed,
Gorgias the Leontine, or of Leontium, was a Sicilian
rhetorician,
versal
and father of the Sophists.
He
was
in
snch uni-
esteem throughout Greece, that a statue was erected to
his lionour in the
temple of Apollo
at
Delphos, of sohd gold,

them.
though
liie
custom had been only

it
to gild
His
styling
Xerxes
the Persian Jupiter,
is
thought,
may be defended
their
from the custom of the Persians to salute

that high
title.
monarch by
Calling vultures living sepulchres, has been
more
severely censured by
Hermogenes than Longinus.
The
authors of such quaint expressions (as he says) deserve themselves to be buried in such tombs.
It
is
certain that writers
of great reputation have used allusions of the same nature.
Dr. Pearce has produced instances from Ovid, and even from
Ciccio
;
and observed
further, that
Gregory Nazianzcn has

who
styles
calls vultures
53
Xerxes the Persian Jupiter, and

Uving sepulchres.
Some
exprestreat-
sions of ^Callisthenes deserve the
same
ment, for they shine not

like meteors.
this
like stars,
but glare
And ^ Chtarchus comes under

still
censure
more, who blusters indeed,

it,
.''
and blows,
Loud
^
as
Sophocles expresses
sounding blasts not sweetened by the stop.

^
Amphicrates,
Hegesias,
and
Matris,
styled those wild beasts that devour
men, runnwg sepulcin cs.

little
However, at best they are but conceits, with which

in all ages will
wits
be delighted, the great
may
accidentally slip
will
into,
and such as men of true judgment may overlook, but
hardly
*
commend.
':
Callisthenes succeeded Aristotle in the tuition of

affairs
Alexan-
der the Great, and wrote a history of the

^
of Greece.
Clitarchus wrote an account of the exploits of Alexander
the Great, having attended

trius
him
in his
expeditions.
Demeupon
if
Phalereus, in his treatise on Elocution, has censured his
swelling description of a wasp.

the mountains, and
flies
"
It
feeds (says he)

It
into hollow oaks."
seems as
he
was speaking of
not of such a
a wild bull, or the
boar of Erymanthus, and
piriful creature as a
is
wasp.
And
for this reason,
says Demetrius, the description

^
cold and disagreeable.

orator.
Amphicrates was an Athenian
Being banished
there,
to Seleucia,
and requested
to set
up a school
he replied,
with arrogance and disdain, that "
The
dish
was not luge
enough
"^
for dolphins."
Dr. Pearce.
Cicero, in his Orator, c.
Hegesias was a Magnesian.
226, says humorously of him, "
He
is
faidty
no
less
in his
54
niaj

all
be taxed with the same imperfections.
For
are
often,
all
when,
in their
own
opinion, they
Divine, what they imagine to be god-
like spirit, proves
empty simple
is
froth
.^
Bombast however
which are most
amongst those
be avoided.
faults
difficult to
All
thoughts than his expressions, so that no one
knowledge of him need ever be

pertinent."
at a loss for a
who man to
has any
call
im-
One
of his frigid expressions
is still
remaining.
Alexander was born the same night that the temple of Diana
at
Ephesus, the
finest edifice in
the world,
was by a
terrible
fire
reduced to ashes. Hegesias,
in a panegyrical
declamation
on Alexander the Great, attempted thus

to his
to turn that accident that

:
honour:
*'
No
wonder
(said he)
Diana's temple
the goddess
was consumed by so
so taken
that she
terrible a conflagration
was
up
in assisting at Olinthia's delivery of Alexander,
had no
leisure to extinguish the
flames which were
destroying her temple."

(says Plutarch in Alex.)
sufticient
I is
"
The
coldness of this expression

it
so excessively great, that

fire
seems
of
itself to
have extinguished the
of the temple."
quarter to
wonder Plutarch, who has given so

till
little
He-
gesias, has himself escaped censure,
Dr. Pearce took cogsometimes infectious

falls into his
;
nizance of him. " Dulness (says he)

for while Plutarch
is
is
censuring Hegesias, he
very
character."
^
Who
^Nlatris
was
cannot
find,
but commentators observe
from Athenagus, that he wrote

Hercules.
9
in
prose an
Encomium upon
Delph.
vol. 1.
Vid. Cic.
is
I.
4.
Rhetoricorum,
p. 97. ed.
What
said there about the Suffiata constructio
verborum,
agrees very exactly with Longinus's sense of the bombast.
'
55
^
men
aim at grandeur. Hence it is, that by shunning with the utmost diligence the censure of impotence and
are naturally biassed to
phlegm, they are hurried into the contrary

exjreme. They are mindful of the maxim, that
In great attempts
i-
'
'tis
glorious ev'n to
fall.
','/
hu-
But tumours
in writing, as well as in the
man
body, are certain disorders.
Empty and
veiled over with superficial bigness, they only
delude, and work effects contrary to those

for
which they were designed.

is
" Nothing,"
drier than a
.
according to the old saying, "
person distempered with a dropsy."'
'
Now
the only failure in

is,
this
swoln and
puffed-up style
that
it
endeavours to go
Puerilities
beyond the true Sublime, whereas

are directly o|)posite to
grovelling,
it.
They
are low and
meanly and faintly expressed, and in a word are the most ungenerous and unpardonable errors that an author can be
guilty of.
But what do we mean by a Puerility ? Why, it is certainly no more than a schoolboy's thought, which, by too eager a pursuit
of elegance, becomes dry and insipid.

those persons
And
commonly fail
in this particular^

56
who, by an ill-managed zeal for a neat, correct, and, above all, a sweet style, are burned into low turns of expression, into a heavy and
nauseous affectation.
To
these
may
be added a third sort of im-
perfection in the Pathetic, which
^^Theodoill-,
Rus has named

/
/
the Parenthyrse, or an
It
is
timed emotion.
to
an unnecessary attempt
is
work upon the

;
passions, where there
no
need of a Pathos
deration
is
or
requisite.
some excess, where moFor several authors, of
no sober understandings, are excessively fond ^ of passionate expressions, which bear no relation at all to their subject, but are whims of their own, or borrowed from the schools. The consequence is, they meet with nothing but contempt and derision from their unaffected audience. And it is what they deserve, since they force themselves into transport and emotion,
whilst their audience
is
calm, sedate,
and unmoved.
But
must
reserve the Pa-
thetic for another place.
Theodorus
is
ihouglit to have
been born
at Gaclara,
and
to
to
have taught
is
at
Rhodes.
Tiberius Ctesar, according
Quinclilian,
reported to have heard him with apphcation,

in that island.
during his retirement
Langbahie.
57
SECTION
IV.
^TiMiEus abounds very much in the Frigicl> the other vice of which I am speaking;
a writer,
it
is
true,
sufficiently
skilled
in
other points, and
who sometimes reaches
the
was indeed a person of a ready invention, polite learning, and a But great fertility and strength of thought.
genuine Sublime.
these qualifications are, in a great measure,
He
clouded by the propensity he has to blazon

the imperfections of others, and a wilful blindness in regard to his
sire
own
though a fond de-
of
new
thou2;hts
and uncommon turns
has often plunged him into shameful Puerilities.
The
truth of these assertions I shall
confirm by one or two instances alone, since

Cecilius has already given us a larger number.
When
he
tells
he commends Alexander the Great, us, ** that he conquered all Asia in
Timffius was a Sicilian historian.

/.
Cicero has sketched a

2. c. 14. whicli agrees
is
short character of him in his Orator,
very well with the favourable part of that which

this
drawn
in
Section. But Longinus
takes notice further of his severity
to others,
which even drew upon him the surname of Epi-
timaeus, from the
Greek
eniTifii^ci',
because he was continually
chiding and finding fault.
58
fewer years than Isocrates was composing his
Panegyric/'
A wonderful parallel indeed, be!
tween the conqueror of the world and a professor of rhetoric
By your method
of compufall
tation, Timaeus, the
Lacedemonians
vast-
ly short of Isocrates, in expedition; for they
spent thirty years in the siege of Messene, he only ten in writing that Panegyric
But how does he inveigh against those

Athenians who were made prisoners after the
defeat in Sicily!
" Guilty (says he) of sacri-
lege against Hermes,
and having defaced
his
;
images, they were
now
severely punished
somewhat extraordinary, by Hermocrates the son of Hermon, who was paternally descended from the injured deity/' Reand what
is
ally,
my Terentianus, I am
;
surprised that
he has not passed the same censure on Dionysius the tyrant " who, for his heinous impiety
towards Jupiter (or Dia) and Hercules (Heraclea),
was dethroned by Dion and Ilerashould I dwell any longer upon Ti-
clides/'
Why
maeus,
when even the very heroes of good writing, Xenophon and Plato, though educated in the school of Socrates, sometimes
forget themselves,
affectation
and transgress through an

?
of such pretty flourishes
The
59
former, in his Polity of the Lacedemonians, speaks thus " They observe an uninterrupt:
ed silence, and keep their eyes as fixed and unmoved, as if they were so many statues of
stone or brass.
You
^
mio;ht with reason think
them more modest

eyes."
than the
virgins in their
al-
Am phi crates
to use the
might, perhaps, be
lowed
is it
term of modest tirgins for
the impils of the eye; but

in
what an indecency the great Xenophon ? And what a
" Than the

is
virgins in their eyes."]
Xenophon,
in
this
passage,
shewing
the care which that excellent la\\giver
Lycurgu? took to accustom the Spartan youth to a grave and
modest behaviour. He enjoined them, whenever they appeared in pubUc, " to cover their arms with their gown, to walk
silently, to
keep
their eyes
from wandering, by looking always

it
directly before
them."
Hence
was, that they differed from

that turn
statues only in their motion.
But undoubtedly
were
upon
the
word
Kopn,
here blamed by Longinus, M'ould be a great

it
blemish to
author.
this fnie piece, if
justly chargeable
on the
But Longinus must needs have
made
it
use of a very
incorrect copy, which, by an unpardonable blunder, had tv

Toig o(/j0aX/iO(c instead
of ev tolq âXafiotg^ as
stands
now
in
the best editions, particularly that at Paris by
H.
Stephens.
This quite removes the cold and insipid turn, and restores a
sense which
is
worthy of Xenophon
in
" You would
think
them more modest

the bridal bed."
^
their
whole behaviour, than
virgins in
The word
Kop>;,
signifying both a virgin
and the pupil of
the eye, has given occasion for these cold insipid turns.
E 2
60
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME*
strange persuasion, that the pupils of the eye
should be in general the seats of modesty^
when impudence
than in
no where more the eyes of some? Homer,

is
visible
for in-
stance, calls a person,

Drunkard
-ii.
'_-:
thou dog in eye *

!
Timaeus, as
if he
had found a treasure^ could
not pass by this insipid turn of
Xenophon
without imitation.
thus of Agathocles
:
Accordingly he speaks " He ravished his own
and on the very day when she was first seen by her husband without a veil a crime, of which none but he who had prostitutes, not virgins,
cousin, though married to another person,
"*
in his eyes, coukl be guilty/'
Neither
is
the
divine Plato to be acquitted of this failure,
when he
*
*
says, for instance
" After they are
Iliad. 1. 1. V. 225. " The very day when

apaKa\virrt]piu)v .
veil."]
All this
is
implied in the
word
It
was the custom throughout Greece,

for the
and the Grecian colonies,

appear
in public, or to
unmarried
women
never to
converse with men, without a veil.

it
The
second or third day after marriage,

to his bride,
was usual
for the
bridegroom to make presents

at'UKuXvTrrripM, for then she
which were called
immediately unveiled, and liberty

after.
ii.
was giveu him

.?;
to
converse freely with her ever
See Potto's Antiquities, v.
p. 294-5.

press memorials/'*
6l
written, they deposit in the temples these cy-
And
in another passage
" As to the walls, Megillus, I join in the opinion of Sparta, to let them sleep supine on the Neither earth, and not to rouse them up/'-f
does an expression of Herodotus
it,^
fall
short of
when he
calls beautiful
women, " the pains

indeed
of the eye/'J
Though
this
may admit
it is
of some excuse, since in his history
spoken
by drunken barbarians.
a case,
is it
But
neither in such
prudent to hazard the censure of
posterity, rather than pass oyer a pretty conceit.
SECTION
All
these
V.
'
"';'':
and such-like indecencies in composition take their rise from the same ori* Plato 5. Legum. " When he calls of
+ Plato
the eye."]
this
6.
Legum.
strangely
The
critics are
divided about the justice of
remark. Authorities are urged,
and
parallel
it,
expressions quoted on both sides.
Longinus
plea
blames
but
afterwards
candidly
alleges the only

it
which can be urged

barbarians.
in its favour, that
was
said
by drunken
And who,
but such
in
sots,
would have giren the
most delightful objects

lation
?
nature so rude and uncivil an appel-
1 appeal to the ladies for the propriety of this ob'

.
servation.
,'
'
--
I Herod. Terpsichore,
c. 18.
.
,
,'
62
ginal
;

I
mean
that eager pursuit of
uncom^
'^
mon
turns of thought, which almost infatu-
For our excellences and defects flow almost from the same common source. So that those correct
ates the writers of the present age.
and
elegant, those
pompous and
beautiful exchiefly con-
pressions, of
sists,
which good writing
are frequently so distorted as to
become
the unlucky causes and foundations of opposite
blemishes. This
plurals
;
is
manifest in hyperboles
and
but the danger attending an in-
judicious use of these figures, I shall discover

in the sequel of this work.
At
present
it
is
.
incumbent upon me to inquire, by what means we may be enabled to avoid those vices, which border so near upon, and are so
easilv
blended with, the true Sublime.
^
:
SECTION
VI.
Tins indeed may be
easily learned, if
we
can gain a thorough insight and penetration into the nature of the true Sublime, which, to
by no means an easy, or a ready acquisition. To pass a right judgment upon composition is generally the effect of a
speak truly,
is

long experience, and the
last
63
improvement of
study and observation. But however, to speak

in the
way
of encouragement, a more _expe-
method to form om' taste, may perhaps, by the assistance of Rules, be successditious
fully attempted.
SECTION
that in
VII.
You cannot be ignorant, my dearest friend,

common
life
there
is
nothing great, a
contempt of which shews a greatness of soul. So riches, honours, titles, crowns, and whatever
is
veiled over with a theatrical splendour,
and a gaudy
outside, can never
be regarded
as intrinsically good, in the opinion of a wise
man,
glory
since
is
by despising such things no little acquired. For the persons who have.^
through anf
ability sufficient to acquire, but
inward generosity scorn such acquisitions, are|_
more admired than those who actually

sess
pos-J
them.
In the same manner we must judge of what-f

ever looks great both in poetry and prose.
We must
carefully
-
examine whether
it
be not
of
all
only appearance.
We
must divest
it
64
superficial
pomp and
trial,
garnish.
If
it is
it
cannot
stand this
without doubt
only swell-
ed and puffed up, and it will be more for our honour to contemn than to admire it. ^ For
the
mind
is
naturally elevated by the true

its live-
Sublime, and so sensibly affected with

ly strokes, that
it
swells in
transport and an
inward pride, as if what was only heard had been the product of its own invention.
He
therefore
who
has a competent share of
natural and acquired taste,
may
easily dis-
cover the value of any performance from a bare recital of it. If he finds that it transports not his soul, nor exalts his thoughts
that
it calls
;
not up into his mind ideas more enlarged than what the mere sounds of the
words convey, but on attentive examination its dignity lessens and declines he may con;
clude, that whatever pierces no deeper than the cars, can never be the true Sublime. ^That
It
IS
remarked
in the notes to Boileau's translation, that
the great Prince of Contie,

out,
*
upon hearing
this
passage, cried
Foila
le
is
Sublime
a very
it is
voi/d son veritable caraclere!

description of the
itself.
" This
still,
fine
Sublime, and
finer
because
;
description
and
it
it is only a does not appear that Longinus intended,
very sublime
But
any where
in this Treatise,
is,
to give
an exact definition of
it.
The
reason
because he wrote after Cecilius,
who
(as
he
65
on the contrary is grand and lofty, which the more we consider, the greater ideas we conceive of it; whose force we cannot possibly
withstand
;
which immediately sinks deep,
and makes such impressions on the mind as
tells
us) had
employed
is.
all his
book, in defining and shewing
M'hat the Sublime
But
since this
book of Cecilius
is lost,
it
it.
I believe
it
will not
be amiss
to venture here a detinition of

at least
it
my own
This
is
way, which may give

the
is
an imperfect idea of
manner
in
which
I think
may be
defined.
The
and
Sublime
ti
a certain force in discourse, proper to elevate

;
ansport the soul
and which proceeds either from grandeur
of thought and nobleness of sentiment, or from magnificence
of words, or an harmonious,
pression
;
lively,
and animated turn of exre-
that
is
to say,
or,
from any one of these particulars
garded separately,
what makes the perfect Sublime, from
these three particulars joined together."
Thus
far are
Boileau's
own words in his twelfth
reflection
on
Longinus, w here, to
illustrate the
preceding definition, he sub-
joins an example from Racine's Athalie, or Abner, of these

three particular qualificationsof sublimity joined together.
One
of the principal ofiRcers of the court of Judah represents to

Jehoiada, the high-priest, the excessive rage of Athaliah against
him and
all
the
Levites
adding, that, in his opinion, the
haughty Princess would
in a short
time
come and
attack
God
even
in his sanctuary.
To
this the high-priest,
not in the least
moved, answers;
Celui qui met un frein a
Sait aussi des
la fureur
des
flots,
'
mechans
arreter les complots,
Soumis avec respect a

le crains
sa volonte sainlc,
Dieu, cher Abuer, etn'ai point d'autre crainte.
66

easily
worn out or effaced. In a word, you may pronounce that sublime, beaus^^tiful, and genuine, which always pleases, and takes equally with all sorts of men. For when persons of different humours, ages, professions, and inclinations, agree in the same joint approbation of any performance; then this
cannot be
,
union of assent,
this
combination of so
many
in-
different judgments,
stamps a high and
disputable value on that performance, which
meets with such general applause.
i.:
SECTION
if I
VIII.
it, fivê
There are,
may
so express
if
very
copious sources of the Sublime,
pose an abihty of speaking well,
we presupas a comand
in-
mon
but
I.
foundation for these

it,
.fite sorts,
deed without
little.
an}^ thing besides \vin avail
and most excellent of these is a boldness and grandeur in the Thoughts, as I have shewn in my Essay on Xenophon.
The Jirst
11.
The
second
is
called the Pathetic, or
the power of raising the passions to a violent
and even enthusiastic degree; and these two

being genuine constituents of the Sublime,

are the gifts of nature, whereas
sorts
-^
67
the other
art.
depend
in
some measure upon
III.
The
third consists in a skilful applica-
tion of Figures,
which are twofold, of
senti-
ment and language. - IV. The fourth is a noble and graceful manner of Expression, which is not only to
choose out significant and elegant words, but
also to adorn
and embellish the
style,
by the
assistance of Tropes.
-V. The Jifth source of the Sublime, which

completes
all
the preceding,
is
the Structure
all
or composition of all the periods, in

ble dignity
possi-
and grandeur.
but nuist
first
I proceed next to consider each of these
sources apart
observe, that,
of the
Jive, Cecilius
has wholly omitted the

the
Pathetic.
Now, if he looked upon
Grand
and
and Pathetic
For
"
^
as including one another,
in effect the same, he
was under a mistake.

vastly distant
some passions are
from
Some
passions are vastly distant,"

is
8cc,]
is
The
pathe-
tic
without grandeur
preferable to that which
great with-
out passion.
cellent
;
Whenever both
is
unite, the passage will be ex-
and there
more of
in
this in the
book of Job, than
in
any other composition
the world. Longinus has here quoted
a fine instance of the latter from
Homer, but
has produced
i
none of the former, or
the pathetic without grandeur.
6'8

as lamentation, sorrow, fear
grandeur, and are in themselves of a low degree

;
;
and on
When
and
pity,
a writer applies to the
more tender passions of love

though there be
when
a speaker endeavours to engage our affections,
or gain our esteem, he
may succeed
says.
well,
nothing grand
in
what he
Nay, grandeur would someit
times be unseasonable iu such cases, as

imagination.
strikes
always at the
There
is
a deal of this sort of Pathetic in the words of our
Saviour to the poor Jews,

hided into
fatal errors
who were imposed upon and
de-"
by the Scribes and Pharisees, mIio had
long been guiUy of the heaviest oppression on the minds of

the people
:
(Matt.
xi.
28
30.) " Come unto me,

rest
is
all
ye that
labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest.
Take
lowly
my
yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I
am meek and
in heart,
and ye
shall
find
unto your souls.
For
my
yoke
is
easy, and
my
burden
light."
So
ties,
r.gain in
Matt,
xxiii.
37. after taking notice of the cruel-
inhumanities, and murders, which the Jewish nation had

guilty of towards those
been
who had exhorted them

them from
and
to repent-
ance, or would have recalled
their blindness
and
superstition to the practice of real religion
virtue,
he on a
sudden breaks
off with,
killest the
"
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that
prophets,
and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would
1
have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth
her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!"
The
to the
expression here
is
vulgar and
is
common,
the allusion
hen taken from an object which

is
daily before our eyes,

it
and yet there
as
much
tenderness and significance in
as
can any where be foiuid
in the
same compass.
is
1 beg leave to observe farther, that there
a coulinuei;! straia

the contrary,
^
69
there are
many
;
things grand
as,
and
lofty
without any passion
among a
thousand instances, we
^the poet has said,
the Aloides
:*
wîth
may see, from what so much boldness, of
* to raise
Huge Ossa on Olympus' top they strove, And place on Ossa Pelion with its grove
That heaven
itself,
'
thus climb'd, might be assail'd.
-f.
\
But the boldness of what he afterwards

adds
is
yet greater
Nor would
success their bold attempts have
fail'd, 8tc.
of
this sort
of Pathetic
in
in St. Paul's farewell
speech to the
it
Ephesian elders
audience
read
^
it
Acts xx.
ver.
What an effect
had upon
his
is
plain
from
36
38.
It
is
scarcely possible to
seriously without tears.

first
The
book of Paradise Lost
is
a continued instance of
Sublimity without Passion.
The
descriptions of Satan and
the other fallen angels aro very grand, but terrible.
They do
not so
much
exalt as terrify the imagination.
See Mr. Ad-
dison's observations,
^
Spectator, No. 339-
" The poet."]
Longinus, as well
in
as
many
other writers,
frequently styles
if
Homer
314.
an eminent manner, the poet, as

that tide.
r
none but he had deserved
* Odyss.
*
X. V.
Milton has equalled,
if
not excelled, these bold lines of
Homer
in his fight of angels.
See Mr. Addison's
fine
obi
servations
upon
it,
Spectator,
No. 333.
70
Among the orators, all panegyrics, and

tions
ora-
composed
for
pomp and
show,
may be
orators,
grand throughout, but yet are for the most

part void of passion.
So that those
who
excel in the Pathetic, scarcely ever suc-
ceed as panegyrists; and those whose talents

lie chiefly at
>
-
Panegyric, are very seldom able
to affect the passions.
But, on the other
hand,
if Cecilius
was of opinion, that the Pait
thetic did not contribute to the Sublime,
on that account judged

tion,
not worth his
and men-
he
is
guilty of an unpardonable error.
For
I confidently aver, that
nothing so
much
raises discourse, as a fine pathos seasonably
applied.
It
animates a whole performance

spirit,
with
uncommon life and

(as
it^
and gives mere
words the force
were) of inspiration.
PART SECTION
But
of
I.
IX.
though the
divisions,
first
and most important

Elevation of
these
mean.
Thought, be rather a natural than an acquired qualification, yet wc ought to spare no pains

to educate our souls to grandeur,
71
and impreg-
nate them with generous and enlarged ideas.
" But how/'

done?''
it will
be asked, " can this be
Why,
have hinted in another place,

is
that the Sublime
an image
i"eflected
from
it
the inward greatness of the soul.
Hence
naked thought without words challenges admiration, and strikes by Such is ^ the silence of Ajax its grandeur.
comes
to pass, that a
" The silence of Ajax," &c.]
Dido
in
Virgil
behaves
with the same greatness and majesty as Homer's Ajax.

disdains the conversation of the
injuriously defrauded
He
had
man, who,
to his tliinking,
;
him of
the arms of Achilles
and she
opinion,
scorns to hold conference with him, who, in her
own
had basely forsaken her
and, by her silent retreat, shews her
resentment, and reprimands iEneas more than she could have
done
in a
thousand words.
oculos aversa tenebat,
Ilia solo fixos
Nee magis incepto vultum sermone movetur, Quam si dura silex, aut stet Marpesia cautes. Tandem corripuit sese, atque inimica refugit
In nemus umbriferum.
Disdainfully she look'd
;
jEn.
vi. v.
469.
then turning round,
She
fix'd
her eyes unmov'd upon the ground.
And what
he looks and swears, regards no more

roar.
Than the deaf rocks, \\ hen the loud billows But whirl'd away to shun his hateful sight, Hid in the forest and the shades of night.
Drj/dcn.
The
by
Pathetic, as well as the Grand,
is
expressed as strongly
silence, or a bare
word, as
in a
number of periods.
There
72
in the
LONGINUS ON THE StfBLIME.

Odyssey, which
far
and
is
undoubtedly noble, above expression.

is
it
an admirable instance of
4. Sc. 4.
in Shakespeare's Julius
Cajsar,
Act
terly
manner
The preceding we see there, in
scene
is
wrought up
in a
masand
the truest light, the noble
generous resentment of Brutus, and the hasty choler and as

hasty repentance of Cassius.
After the reconciliation, in the
beginning of the next scene,

Cassius.
Brutus addresses himself to
Bra.
many griefs. Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use,

Cassius
!
am
sick of
If you give place to accidental evils.
Sru.
Cas.
Jjru.
No man
Ha!
She
is
bears sorrow better
Portia's dead.
Portia!
dead.
Cas.
How
stroke
'scap'd I killing
is
when
I cross'd
you so
The
is
heavier, as
it is
it
conies unexpected.
The
is
grief
abrupt, because
inexpressible.
start at
The
in
heart
melted in
an instant, and tears will
once
any audience that has
generosity enough to be moved, or

pity.
\^
is
capable of sorrow and
hen words are too weak, or colours too

silent,
faint, to
represent
a Pathos, as the poet will be
so the painter will hide
what he cannot shew.

nia,
Timanthes,
;
in his Sacrifice
of Iphige-
gave Calchas a sorrowful look

;
he then painted Ulysses

all
more sorrowful
and afterwards her uncle Menelaus, with
the grief and concern in his countenance which his pencil
was
able to display.
sion, and had no
By
this
gradation he had exhausted the pasdie distress of her father
art left for
Agamemall.
non, which required the strongest heigliteni\)g of

therefore covered
He
the
up
his
head
in
his garn)ciit,
and
left
spectator to imagine Uiat excess of anguish which colours

wertt unable to express.

To
arrive at excellence like this,
is
73
we must
must
needs suppose that which
the cause of it;
I^nigan, that an orator of the true genius
have_no mean and ungenerous way of think-,

ing.
For
it is
impossible for those

servile ideas, or are
life,
who have
\
\
grovelling
and
engaged in
the sordid pursuits of
to
produce any
'
thing worthy of admiration, and the perusal
of
all
sions
Grand and sublime expresmust flow from them and them alone, ^^
posterity.
.
wiiose conceptions are stored and big with

greatness.
And hence it
is,
that the greatest a-
thoughts are always uttered by the greatest'

souls.
When Parmenio
cried,
^"I would
"
would accept these proposals," &c.]
There
is
great gap in the original after these words.
The
sense has
been supplied by the editors, from the well-known records of

history.
The
proposals here mentioned were

;
ander by Darius
and were no
less than his
half his kingdom, to purchase peace.
made to Alexown daughter, and They would have con-
tented Parmenio, but were quite too small for the extensive
views of his master.

.Dr.
Pearce, in his note to
this
passage, has instanced a brave
reply of Jphicrates.
When
he appeared to answer an accu-
sation preferred against
him by Aristophon, he demanded of
him, " Whether he would have betrayed his country for a

X)f
money
?"
Aristophon replied
in the negative.
''
sum Have I
then done," cried Iphicrates, " what even you would have
scorned to do
r"

f4

;"
accept these proposals, if I was Alexander Alexander made this noble reply, " And so
would
was Parmenio/' His answer shewed the greatness of his mind. So ^ the space between heaven and earth
I,
if I
marks out the vast reach and capacity of ^ Homer's ideas, when he says,*
*
*
While scarce the
skies her horrid
head can bound,

*
She
stalks
on earth.
Mr. Pope.
There
is
the
same evidence of a generous
heart,
in the
Prince of Orange's reply to the

to incline
Duke
of
Buckingham, who,
him
to
an inglorious peace with the French, dein that desperate situation of
manded, what he could do

self
him-
and
his country
" Not
to live to see its ruin, biit die in
the last dike."
These
short replies have
more
force,
shew
a greater soul,
dis-
and make deeper impressions, than the most laboured

courses.
The
soul seems to rouse and collect itself, and then

in the noblest
darts forth at
once
and most conspicuous point
of view.
^
Longinus here
sets
is
out in
all
the
pomp
and
spirit
!
of
Homer.
How
idea,
vast
the reach of man's imagination
and
is
what a vast
" The space between heaven and

it
!
earth,"
here placed before
Dr. Pearce has taken notice of such a

of
thought in the
leaped
earth."
Wisdom
it
Solomon
"Thy
it
almighty
Word
down
touched the heaven, but

l6.
stood upon the
Chap,
xviii. 15,
*
*
Iliad, c. V.
443.
to this description of Discord, in Îr.
it
See the note
Pope's
it
translation.
Virgil has copied
verbatim, but applied
to
Fame:
:>!; -vj

This description
75
may
with more justice be
applied to Homer's genius than the extent of

discord.
But what
is
disparity,
what a
fall
there
in
Hesiod's description of melanchol}^

\
Ingrediturque solo et caput inter nubila condit.
^
.f.:
Soon grows
the
pigmy
to gigantic size,
Her
feet
on
earth, her forehead in the skies.
Shakespeare, wiUiout any imitation of these great masters,

has,
by the natural strength of
his
own
genius, described the
extent of Slander in the greatest
pomp
:
of expression, elevation
of thought, and
fertility
of invention
Slander,
Whose head
Out-venoms
is
sharper than the sword, whose tongue

the
all
worms
of Nile, whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie

All corners of the world.
Kings, queens, and
states,
Maids, matrons, nay the secrets of the grave,

This viperous slander enters.
Cymbelme.
And
for the
Milton's
description of Satan,
combat,
is
(according to
when he prepares Mr. Addison, Spectator, No.
321
.)
equally sublime with either the description of Discord in

that of
Homer, or
Fame
all his
in Virgil
..-.,..'
.
,
Satan alarm'd,
Collecting
might, dilated stood

:
Like Tenerift' or Atlas unremov'd
His
stature reach'd the sky,
and on
his crest
Sat horror plum'd.

'^
The image
of Hesiod, here blamed by Longinus,

life,
is
bor-
rowed from low

It offends the
and has something
in
it
exceedingly nasty.
stomach, and of course cannot be approved by
r 2
*t6
if

the
poem
A
filthy
of the Shield
may be
ascribed
to
him
moisture from her nostrils flow'd.*
the judgment.
This brings to
my remembrance
the conduct
are setoff
is
of Milton, in his descrijjtion of Sin and Death,

in the
who
most horrible deformity.

;
In that of Sin, there
indeed
in that
something loathsome
and what ought to be painted

?
manner sooner than Sin

out with the nicest
Yet
and
the circumstances are picked
skill,
raise
a national abhorrence of
such hideous objects.
The
one seem'd
woman
many
!
to the waist,
and
fair,
'
But ended
foul in
a scaly fold.
Voluminous and
vast
:
a serpent arm'd
With mortal
sting
about her middle round
cry of hell-hounds never ceasing bark'd

full
With wide Cerberean mouths
loud, and runo-
A hideous
And
peal
Yet when they

yet there
list
would creep.
If aught disturb'd their noise, into her
womb.
kennel there
still
bark'd, and howl'd
Within, unseen.
Of Death
he says,
'v
black
it
stood as night.
hell.
Fierce as ten furies, terrible as
And
shook a dreadful
dart,
But Milton's judiciousness
in selecting
such circumstances
is
as tend to raise a just and natural aversion,
no where more
visible than in his description of a lazar-house.
Book
11th.
An inferior
on the
genius might have amused himself, with expatiating
filthy
and nauseous objects abounding

like a
in
so horrible
a scene, and written perhaps
surgeon rather than a poet.

v.
* Hesiod.
in
Scuto Here.
267
77
He
has not represented his image terrible,
but loathsome and nauseous.

But Milton aims only
entailed
at
at the passions,
by shewing the miseries

manner, and exciting
upon man,
in the at the
most
affecting
once our horror
woes of
the afflicted,
and a generous
sympathy
in all their afflictions.
Immediately a place
Before his eyes appeared, sad, noisome, dark, &c.
It is too long to quote,
but the whole
is
exceedingly poetic
the latter part of

startle
it
sublime,
solemn, and touching.
We
and groan
at this
is
scene of miseries, in which the whole
race of mankind
perpetually involved, and of
some of which
'^'^^^
we
ourselves must one day be victims.
Sight so deform, what heart of rock could long
Dry-ey'd behold
.-
'
jOfiV/-.
To
return
to the remark.
There
is
a serious turn, an
inborn sedateness in the mind, which renders images of terror!

grateful
and engaging.
Agreeable sensations are not

lively objects,
onlyf.
produced by bright and

as are
ful
but sometimes by
suchi\
gloomy and solemn.

.
It is not the blue sky, the cheerall
sunshine, or the smiling landskip, that give us
our plea.
sure,
smce we
are indebted for
no
little
share of
it
to the silent
/
night, the distant
howling wilderness, the melancholy grot, the
dark wood, and hanging precipice.
What
is terrible,
cannot
"-^
be described too well

described at
all,
what
is
disagreeable should not be
or at least should be strongly shaded.
When
an eye,
|'
'-}
.*/ C^
Apelles drew the portrait of Antigonus,
who had
lost
I.'
he judiciously took
blemish.
his face in profile, that
he might hide the
i]
It is the art of the
painter to please,
to
and not tov|

-^
offend the sight.
It is the poet's
make us sometimes
thoughtful and sedate, but never to raise our distaste by foul
ynd niiuseous represcnlalious.

and
On the other hand, with what majesty pomp does Homer exalt his deities
Far
as a shepherd
from some point on high

his
O'er the wide main extends
boundless eye,
Through such a space of
air,
with thund'ring sound.
At one
long leap
th'
immortal coursers bound.*
Mr. Pope.
He
measures the leap of the horses by the
extent of the world.
And who
is
there, that,
considering the superlative magnificence of

this thought,
would not with good reason cry

the steeds of the Deity were to
^
out, that "
if
take a second leap,
the world itself would
want room
for
it !"
How
*
Iliad.
grand also and pompous are those
descriptions of the
. V.
combat of the gods!^
770.
^ It is
highly worthy of remark,
inspired with the genius of
how Longinus seems here Homer. He not only approves

I
and admires
this
Divine thought of the poet, but imitates,

it.
had
almost said, improves and raises
The
is
is
space which
Homer
assigns to every leap of the horses,
equal to that which the
eye
will
run over
when
a spectator
placed upon a lofty emiis

;
nence, and looks towards the sea, where there

struct the prospect.
nothing to ob-
This
is
sufficiently great
but Longinus
has said what
is
greater than this, for he bounds not the leap

sight,
by the reach of the

tent of the world
leaps.
'
but boldly avers, that the whole exfor
would not afford room enough
two such
Dr. Pearce.
i5
^Milton's description of ihc ilght of angels
well able to
'

Heav'n
iu
79
loud thunders bids the trumpet sound,
And
Th'
wide beneath them groans the rending ground.*

the dismal regions of the
Deep in
dead
head
infernal
monarch
rear'd his horrid
stand a parallel with the
combat of
the gods in
Homer,
His
Venus and Mars make a ludicrous

their defeat
sort of appearance, after
by Diomed.
a
little
The engagement between Juno and

air
Latona has
of the
of burlesque.
His commentators
fine allego-
indeed labour heartily

lies
in his defence,
and discover
under these
is
sallies
of his fancy.
This may
satisfy
them,
but
by no means a
su^'licient
excuse for the poet.
Homer's
excellences are indeed so

incline us to
many and
to
so great, that they easily

aie dis-
grow fond of those few blemishes which

poems, and
contend that he
is
cernible in his
broad awake,
when he
is
actually nodding.
But
lines
let
:
us return to Milton,
and take notice of the following
Now storming fury rose

And clamour, such as heard in heav'n, till now, Was never ; arms on armour clashing bray'd
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels
"-
' '
'
'
;
'
Of brazen chariots rag'd dire was the noise Of conflict! overhead the dismal hiss Of fiery darts in flaming voUies flew, ; And flying vaulted either host with fire.
: .,
^
,;
.
,,
;.
,.
.,
^
ui
,i
;.
-,<-
So under
Both
fiery
cope together rush'd
battles main, with ruinous assault
^^
,
And
inextinguishable rage
all
heav'n
all
>
^ ^
_
Resounded; and had
earth been then,
earth
_J
Had
The
by the
to her centre shook.
thought of " fiery arches being drawn over the armies

flight
of flaming arrows," may give us some idea of Mil-
Iliad,
(p.
vcr.
3SS.

80

Leap'd from his throne,
lest
Neptune's arm should lay
His dark dominions open
to the day,
And pour
in light
on Pluto's drear abodes,

to
Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful ev'n

-,
gods.*
Mr. Pope,
What a
prospect
is
its
here,
my
friend
!^
The
earth laid open to
centre; Tartarus itself
commotion, and tottering on its basis and what is more, heaven and hell, things mortal and immortal, all combating together, and sharing the danger of this important battle But yet,
disclosed to view; the whole world in
! !
these bold representations, if not allegorically
ton's lively imagination

latively great, of the
.
as the last thought,
which
is
super-
reach of his genius

all
and had earth been then,

to her centre shook.
earth
.'.j'uoii
his
Had
He
seems apprehensive, that the mind of
readers
was
not stocked enough widi ideas, to enable them to form a notion of this battle
;
and
to raise
it
the more, recals to their re-
membrance
it
the time, or that part of infinite duration in
which
ex-
was fought, before time was, when
this visible creation
isted only in the prescience of
God.
<-
*
^
Iliad, v. ver. O'l.
'
'
'>':':
That magnificent description of
the
combat of
in
the gods,
cannot possibly be expressed or displayed
more
in
concise,
more
This
clear,
is
or
more sublime terms, than here
Longinus.
to discern
in ilkis-
the excellence of a true critic, to
be able
the excellences of his author, and to display his

Irating
own
them.
Dr. Pearcc.

extravagantly shocking.
opinion,
^
81
understood, are downright blasphemy, and
For Homer,
in
my
when he
gives us a detail of the
wounds, the seditions, the punishments, imprisonments, tears of the deities, with those
evils
of every kind under which they lan-
guish, has to the utmost of his

his heroes,
power exalted
who
fouglit at Troy, into gods,
and degraded his gods into men. Nay, he makes their condition worse than human for when man is overwhelmed in misfortunes, death affords a comfortable port, and rescues him from misery. But he represents the
;
infelicity of the
gods as everlasting as their
nature.
And how
tions
far does
he excel those descripgods,
of the combats of the a deity in his true

all
when
he
sets
him
in
fection; as
and paints his majest}^, grandeur, and perin that description of Neptune,
light,
Plutarch, in his treatise on reading the pods,

:
is
of the
in
same opinion with Longinus
" Wlien you read (says he)
Homer, of gods thrown out of heaven by one another, or of gods wounded by, quarrelling with, and snarling at, one another,
you may with reason
say,
Here had
thy fancy glow'd with usual heat,

'
..
;,
Thy
gods had shonemore uniformly great."
>;.
82
which has been already apphiudcd by several

writers
Fierce as he pass'd the lofty mountains nod.
The And
forests shake, earth

felt
trembled as he trod,
I
J
the footsteps of th' immortal god.
'"
The Deity
is
described, in a thousand
passages
of
Scripture, in greater majesty,

in
pomp, and
perfection, than that
which
Homer
arrays his gods.

in
The books
10,
is
of Psalms and
of
Job abound
" Then
such Divine descriptions.
That
particu-
larly in the
18th Psalm, ver. 7
inimitably grand:
the earth shook and trembled, the foundations also
of the
hills
moved, and were shaken, because he was wroth.

his nostrils,
at
it.
There went up a smoke out of

];ôuth
and
fire
out of his
the
devoured
coals
were kindled
He bowed
filing
heavens also and came down, and darkness was under
his feet.
And
he rode upon a cherub, and did

-
fly,
and came
r
upon
the wings of the wind."
So again, Psalm Ixxvii. l6 19. " The waters saw thee, O God,
were
afraid
:
the waters
saw
thee,
and
the
depths
air
also
were troubled.
The
clouds
poured out water, the

abroad.
thundered, and thine arrows went
The
voice of thy thunder was heard round about;
the lightnings shone
upon
the
ground, the
is in
eartli
was moved
and slK)ok withal.

^
Thy way
the sea, and thy paths ia
great waters, and thy footsteps are not
known."
any description of the
And
in general, wherever there
is
works of Onjnipotence, or the excellence of the Divine Being, the
same vein of sublimity
is
always to be discerned.
beg the reader to peruse in this view the following Psalms,

xlvi. Ixviii. Ixxvi. xcvi. xcvii. civ.
cxiv. cxxxix. cxlviii. as also
chapter
iii.
of
Habakkuk, and
the description of the

xix.
1
1
Son of
-
God
in the
book of Revelation, chap.
17.

His whirling wheels the glassy surface sweep;
83
Th' enormous monsters
rolling o'er the deep,
j.
Gambol around him on the wai'ry way,
And heavy whales The sea subsiding
in
awkward measures
pîy
spreads a level plain,

:
Exults and owns the monarch of the main
The parting waves before his coursers fly The wond'ring waters leave the axle dry.*
;
^
'
Mr. Pope.
^^
So likewise the Jewish
legislator,
no ordi-
Copying such sublime images

ture,
in
in the poetical [)arts
of Scripthe gods
and heating
his imagination with the
combat of
Homer, has made Milton succeed

If
so well in his light of
angels.
Homer
can
deserves such vast
encomiums from
the
critics, for
describing
Neptune with
sufficiently
so
much pomp and mag-
nificence,
tions
how
ve
admire those Divine descripr
which Milton gives of the Messiah
He on the wings of cherub rode sublime On the crystalline sky, in sapphire throu'd,
lllustiious far
>
',
'
'
'-
'
'
and wide.
"
"
Before him pow'r Divine his way prepar'd
; >
''
At
his
command
th'
up-rooted
hills retir'd
'
'
Each to
his place, they
heard his voice and wont
'
Obsequious: Heav'n
his
wonted face renewed,
'
And
*
with fresh flowretshill and valley smil'd.
Iliad, y. ver.
1827.
many
of
" This Divine passage has furnished a handle for
those
who
it
are willing to be thought critics, to
shew
their pertlight of
ness and stupidity at once.
Though
its
bright
lustre,
as the
which
cern
speaks^ they are blind to
and
will
not dis-
its
Sublimity.
Some
pretend that Lonyiiuis never saw
84
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME,

God, has nobly expressed
and
nary person, having conceived a just idea of

the power of
it
tliis
passage, though he has actually quoted

left
it
that
he
never read Moses, though he has
so candid an acknow-
ledgment of
will
his
merit.
In such company, some, no doubt,
be surprised to find the names of Huet and

it
Le
Clerc.
Tliey have examined, taken to pieces, and sifted

they were able, yet
still
as long as
It is
they cannot find
it
Sublime.
simple, say they, and therefore not grand.

it
by a law of
They have tried Horace misunderstood, and therefore condemn it.

its
Boilcau undertook
it.
defence, and has gallantly performed

is
He
shev's
them, that Simplicity of expression

to
so far the
from being opposed
Sublimity, that
it
;
it
is
frequently
is
cause and foundation of
(and indeed there

vvitii
not a page in
Scripture which abounds not
instances to strengthen this
reniark.) Horace's law, that a beginning should be unadorned,
does not by any means forbid
it
to be grand, since gran-
deur consists not

large, that
in
ornament and dress.
He
then shews at
whatever noble and majestic expression, elevation
of thought, and importance of event, can contribute to Sublimity,
may be found
united iu this passage.
Whoever has
the
in
curiosity to see the particulars of this dispute,
may
find
it
the edition of Boileau's works, in four

It is
volumes 12mo.
will
however remarkable,
tiie
that
this
though Monsieur Huet

passage
:
not alluu
tols the
Sublimity of
in
Moses, yet he exit
following in the
;
33d Psalm
it
*'
For he spake, and
was done
There
he commanded, and
a particularity in the
stood fast."
this
is
manner of quoting
pas-
sage by Longinus, which 1 think has hitherto escaped obser-r

vation.
" God said /IV/y;^? Let

carries with
there be light,"
&c. That
iutcrrogation between the narrative part and the Mords of the
Almighty himself,
it
an
air
of reverence and vene-.

in the beginning of his Law.*
said,

"
85
And God
What?
Let there be
be,
hght, and there
was hght.
was."
I
Let the earth
and the earth
hope mj friend will not think me tedious, if I add another quotation from the poet, in regard to his mortals that you may see how he accustoms us to mount along with him to heroic grandeur. A thick and impenetrable cloud of darkness had on a sudden enveloped the Grecian army, and suspended the battle, Ajax, perplexed what course to take, prays
;
thus
if-
warrior's pray'n, eternal Jove This cloud of darkness from the Greeks remove
ration.
Accept a
It
seems designed
to
awaken
the reader, and raise his
awful attention to the voice of the great Creator.

Instances of
this
majestic simplicity and unaffected gran-
deur, are to be met with in great plenty through the Sacred

Writings.
St. Matt.
Such
viii.
as St. Joliu xi. 43.
" Lazarus, come
fortli,"
3.
" Lord,
if
thou wilt, ihou canst
make me
iv.
clean."
I will;
be thou clean."
And
St.
Mark
39.
where Christ hushes the tumultuous sea into a cahii, with " Peace (or ratlier, be silent), be still." The waters (says a
critic,
Sacred Classics, p. 325.) heard that voice, which comuniversal nature into being.
manded
ment,
''
They sunk
at his
com-
mand, who has
the sole privilege of saying to that unruly ele:
Hitherto shalt thou pass, and no farther
here shall
thy proud waves be stopped."
* Gen.
i.
3.
Iliad.
,0,
ver.
G4a.
S6
;

Give us but
light,
fall,
and
let
us see our foes,
We'll bravely
though Jove himself oppose.
The sentiments
cally expressed
:
of Ajax are here patheti-
not for
life;
Ajax himself. He begy a request like that would be beit is
neath a hero. But because in that darkness he could display his valour in no illustrious
exploit,
and
his
great heart was unable to

field
brook a sluggish inactivity in the

tion,
of ac-
he only prays for
light,
not doubting to
crown his fall with some notable performance, though Jove himself should oppose his Here Homer, like a brisk and faefforts. vourable gale, renews and swells the fury of the battle he is as warm and impetuous as
;
liis
heroes arc, or (as he says of Hector)

With such
a furious rage his steps advance.
As when the god of battles shakes his lance, Or bah ful flames on some thick forest cast,
Suift marching lay the wooded mountain waste
:
Around
his
mouth a foamy moisture
stands.*
Yet Homer himself shews

(what
ral I
am
going to add
is
Odyssey necessary on sevein the

is
accounts), that
when a great genius
in
decline, a fondness for the fabulous clings fast

to aoc.
Manv
aroumcnts
may be brouoht
to
Iliad, o. vcr. f)05.

prove that
this
8?
poem was
written after the
Ihad
but
this especially, that in the
Odyssey
he has occasionally mentioned the sequel of

those calamities, which began at Troy, as so
many
episodes of that fatal war; and that he
introduces those terrible dangers and horrid

disasters, as formerly
undergone by
is
his heroes.
For, in reality, the Odyssey

the epilogue of the Iliad
There warlike Ajax,
Patroclus there, a
:
no more than
there Achilles
lies,
;
,'
man
divinely wise
There too my dearest son.*
It proceeds, I suppose,
from the same reahe has furnished
son, that having written the Iliad in the youth
and vigour of
his genius,
it
with continued scenes of action and combat
whereas the greatest part of the Odyssey

^^
is
spent in narration, the delight of old age.
So
that, in the Odysse}-,
Homer may
with
* Odyss.
*"
y. ver. 109-
Never
did any criticism equal,

sublimity,
much
his
less
exceed,
this
of
Longinus
in
lie gives
opinion, ihat
Homer's
in the
Odyssey, being the work of his old age, and written

cline of his life,
in violence
de-
and
in every respect
equal to the Ihad, except

to
and impetuosity, may be resembled

tlie
" the
its
setting
sun,
whose grandeur continues

same fejvent heat."
same, though
ravs re-
tain not the
Let us here take
view of
Longinus, whilst he points out the beauties of the best wi iters,

88

whose
remains, without the meridian
own.
Equal himself to the most cethe eulogies
justice be resembled to the setting sun,
grandeur
and
at the
still
same time
his
lebrated authors, he gives
them
due
to their merit.
He not only judges his
predecessors by the true laws and stand-
ard of good writing, but leaves posterity in himself a model
and pattern of genius and judgment.
Dr. Pearce.
to the sun,
is
This
fine
comparison of
Homer
It is
certainly
an
honour
to poet
and
critic.
a fine resemblance, great,
beautiful,
and
just.
He
will
describes
Homer in
and
the
same elevaoft
tion of thought, as
Homer
himself would have set

its spirit,
his
he-
roes.
Fine genius
its
shew
in every
age and
will,
climate displays
1
natural inherent vigour.
This remark
hope, be a proper introduction
to the following lines

is
of Mil-
ton, where grandeur, impaired and in decay,
described by
an allusion to the sun
in eclipse,
by which our ideas are wonwhat

il
derfully raised to a conception of
was
in all its glory
He, above
Stood
like a tow'r
the rest.
In shape and gesture proudly eminent.

:
his
form not yet had
lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than archangel
ruin'd,
and
th'
excess
Of glory
Shorn of
obscur'd
as
when
the sun new-ris'n

air,
Looks through the

his
horizontal misty
;
beams
or from behind the
moon,
Tn dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half
the nations, ant! with fear of

;
change
Perplexes monarchs
darken'd so, yet shone
Above them
all Ui'
archangel.
Tiiat horrible grandeur in which Milton arrays his devils

througliout his
his invention,
poem,
is
an honourable proof of the stretch of
and the
solidity of his
judgment.
Tasso,
in his

beat of his beams.
89
The style
is
not so grand
and majestic as that of the Ihad; the subhmity

not continued with so
uniformly noble
;
much
spirit,
nor so
the tides of passion flow not

profusion, nor do they
along with so
much
hurry away the reader in so rapid a current.
There
is
not the same volubility and quick

;
variation of the phrase

bellished with so
nor
is
the
work em-
many
strong and expressive
images.
shores,
Yet, like the
ocean, whose very

tide,
when deserted by the

it
mark out
and
how wide
nius,
sometimes flows, so Homer's geinto all those fabulous
when ebbing
it
incredible ramblings of Ulysses, shews plainly
how sublime
once had been.
Not
that I
am
forgetful of those storms,
which are de-
4th canto, has opened a council of devils

of them
is
but his description
frivolous
and puerile, savouring too much of old

fantastic
women's
tales,
and the
dreams of ignorance.
He
makes some of them walk upon

out their resemblance of a
instead of hair
;
the feet of beasts, and dresses
human head
with twisting serpents
horns sprout upon their foreheads, and after

tail.
them they drag an immense length of

he makes
ical
It
is
true,
when
his
Pluto speak (for he has made use of the old poetspirit,
names), he supports his character with a deal of

into his
and puts such words and sentiments

perly diabolical.
mouth
as are pro-
His
devil talks
somewhat
like Milton's,
but
looks not with half that horrible

g'ory.
;,
.
pomp,
.
.
;
that height of
obscured
,, ..
90

y
scribed in so terrible a
manner in
several parts
of the Odyssey
of Ulysses' adventures Avith
the Cyclop, and some other instances of the

true sublime.
old age, but
ever,
it
No
am
speaking, indeed, of
it is
the old age of
Homer. How-
is
evident, from the whole series of

is
the Odyssey, that there

in
it
far
more narration
merely for the
than action.
far
have digressed thus
sake of shewing, that, in the decline of their

vigour, the greatest geniuses are apt to turn
aside unto
trifles.
Those
stories of shutting
up the winds in a bag; of the men in Circe's island metamorphosed into swine, whom
^^Zoilus calls
little
squeaking pigs
of Jupiter's
being nursed
;
b}^
the doves like one of their
young of Ulysses in a wreck, when he took no sustenance for ten days and those incre;
dible absurdities concerning the death of the

suitors
:
all
these are undeniable instances of
^"' Zoilus."] of
The most infamous name of a certain author, Thracian extraction, who wrote a treatise against the Iliad
entitled
it,
and Odyssey of Homer, and
Homer's Reprimand
were
which so exasperated the people of
that age, that they

it
put the
author to death, and sacrificed liim as genius of

his
to the injured
Homer.
His enterprise was
certainly too daring,
punishment undoubtedly too severe.
Dr. Pearce.

this in the
Ql
Odyssey.
^^
Dreams indeed they
are,
but such as even Jove might dream.
Accept,
my
friend, in further excuse of
this digression,
my
desire of convincing you,
that a decrease of the Pathetic in great orators
and poets often ends in the^^ moral kind
^*
After Longinus had thus
summed up
the imperfections
of Homer, one might imagine, from the usual bitterness of

critics, that
a heavy censure
would immediately follow.

to excuse,
But
the true critic
knows how
is
to pardon,
and
to exte-
nuate.
at
Such conduct
uncommon, but
just.
We
see by
it
once the worth of the author, and the candour of the judge.
a bent, his Translator has fared
faults (in that
With persons of so generous

as well as
Homer.
Mr. Pope's "
performance)
are the faults of a man, but his beauties are the beauties of an
angel."
*^
Essai/ on the Odi/ssei/.
The word moral

word
rjôs,
does not fully give the idea of the ori^

\
ginal
that
'
but our language will not furnish any other

it.
comes so near
The meaning
of the passage
is,
that
'-
great authors, in the youth and tire of their genius,

qhiefly. in s,uc.h
abound
but in
passions as are strong and vehement;
their old
age and decline, they betake themselves to such as
J.^
I
are mild, peaceable^ and sedate^^
At
first
they endâypur to
move,
light,
to
warm,
to transport
but afterwards to amuse, destrike at the
and persuade.
In youth, they
imagination
^^
in age, they
speak more to our reason.
For though the pas-
sions are the

differ in
same
in their nature, yet, at different ages, they
degree.
;
^Love, for instance,
is
a violent, hot, and im-
petuous passion
Esteem
is
a sedate,
and cool, and peaceable

lits
affection of the mind.
The youthful
and transports of the

latter.
former, in progress of time, subside and settle in the
So
G 2
92
Thus the Odyssey, furnishing us with rules of morality, drawn from that course
of writing.
of
life
which the
suitors led in the palace of
some degrees the air of a comedy, where the various manners of men are ingeniously and faithfully described.
Ulysses, has in
SECTION
Let
find out
X.
us consider next, whether
we cannot
some other means
to infuse sublimity
into our wTitings.

jects
no subwhich are not attended by some adherent circumstances, an accurate and judicious
as there are
a storm
is
is,
Now,
dififerent
from a
gale,
though both are wind.
Hence
it
that bold
scenes of action, dreadful alarms, af-
fecting images of terror,
and such violent turns of passion, as
require a stretch of fancy to express or to conceive, employ the
vigour and maturity of youth, in which consists the nature of

the Pathetic
lightful
;
but amusing narrations, calm descriptions, de-
landskips,
and more even and peaceable affections,

life,
are agreeable in the ebb of
and therefore more frequently
attempted, and more successfully expressed by a declining genius.
This
is
the moral kind of writing here mentioned,

is
and
by
these particulars
Homer's Odyssey
distinguished from
his Iliad.
The
the
tto-Joc
and vôq so frequently used, and so imcritics,
portant in
Greek
are fully explained
by Quincti-
iian, iu the sixth
book of
his Institut. Orat.

stances,
93
choice of the most suitable of these circum-
and an ingenious and
skilful
con-
nexion of them into one body, must necessarily
produce the Sublime.
For what by the
judicious choice, and what by the skilful con-
nexion, they cannot but very
much
;
affect the
imagination.
Sappho
is
an instance of
this
who, having
observed the anxieties and tortures inseparable to jealous love, has collected
and
dis-
played them
ness.
all
with the most lively exact-
But
in
what particular has she shewn
her excellence? In selecting those circumstances which suit best with her subject,
and
afterwards connecting them together with so
much
art.
Blest as th' immortal gods
is
he,
,"
The
youth
hears,
who
fondly
sits
by thee,
the while
-
<r.
And
and sees thee
all
"
:
Softly speak, and sweetly smile.
'...
.[V
'Twas
this depriv'd
my
soul of rest,
in
And
rais'd
such tumults
1 gaz'd, in
my
breast;
For while
transport tost,
My
Ran
breath was gone,
my
voice was
lost.
My bosom
O'er
glow'd; the subtile flame

all
,.
quick through
my
vital
frame
;
..
my dim
eyes a darkness hung;
My
ears with hollow
murmurs
rung.
94

In dewy damps
my
limbs were
chill'd
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd; My feeble pulse forgot to play,

I fainted, sunk,
:
-
and died away.^

"
Philips.
There
is
a line at the end of this

is
Ode
if
of
Sappho
in the
original,
which
is
taken no
notice of in the translation,

it,
because
it
the
sense
complete without
and
admitted,
would
throw confusion on the whole.
The
title
is,
of
this
Ode
in
Ursinus, in the fragments of

is
Sappho,
To
the beloved
Fair; and it
the right.
For Plu-
tarch (to omit the testimonies of
has these words of her beloved
many others), in his Eroticon, " The beautiful Sappho says, that at sight
her voice was suppressed," &c.
tells us, that
fair,
Besides,
fair
Strabo and Athenteus
the
name
of
this
one
was Dorica, and

brother.
that she
was loved by Charaxus, Sappho's

that this Dorica,
Let us then suppose
Sappho's
in-
famous paramour, receives the addresses of Charaxus, and

admits him into her company as her lover.
This very moat
ment Sappho unexpectedly

sees, feels tormenting
enters,
and stricken
In
this
what she
emotions.
Ode,
therefore, she
endeavours to express that wrath, jealousy, and anguish, which

distracted her with such variety of torture.
This, in
my
opi-
nion,
is
the subject of the
Ode.
And whoever
joins in
my
sentiments, cannot but disapprove the following verses in Uie
French
translation
les
by Boileau
dans
And,
doux transports
oil
s'cgare
mon ame
,Te
tombe dans des donees langueurs.

will in
The \\OT(\ doHX
no wise express the rage and

is
distraction
of Sappho's mind.
It
always used in u contrary sense.
; :
95
in
Are you not amazed, my friend, to find how the same moment she is at a loss for her
Ode
almost verbally, and Lucre-
Catullus has translated this

tius
..
has imitated
it
in his third
book.
Dr. Pearce.
The
English translation I have borrowed from the SpectaIt
tor,
No. 229.
was done by Mr. Philips, and has been

the following line.
very
much applauded, though

For while
I gaz'd, in transport tost,
and
this.
My blood with
will
gentle horrors thrill'd,
be
liable to the
same censure with Boileau's douces lan-
gueurs.
A
it
critique
on
this
Ode may
be seen
in the
same Spectator.
It has
been admired
in all ages,
and besides the imitation of

it
by Catullus and Lucretius, a great resemblance of

Horace's
4.
its
is
easily perceivable in
in Virgil's
Ode
to Lydia,lib. 1. od. 13.
and
^neid,
lib.
Longinus
attributes
beauty to the judicious choice of
those circumstances which are the constant, though surprising

attendants
upon
love.
It
is
certainly a passion that has
more
prevalent sensations of pleasure and pain, and affects the mind
with a greater diversity of impressions, than any other.
Love
is
a smoke, rais'd with the

fire
fume of
sight
:
Being purg'd, a
sparkling in lovers' eyes
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with
lovers' tears
What
is it
else
madness most
discreet,
A choking gall,
The
and a preserving sweet.

Shakespeare, in
Romeo and Juliet.

proper for the ma-
qualities of love are certainly very

It
is
nagement of a good poet.
a subject on which
many
may.
96

body, her
all
soul, her
ears, her tongue,
her eyes,
her colour,
of them as
much
all
absent from
that whining
shine in different lights, yet keep clear of

rant with
and
an-
which the stage
is
continually pestered.
it
The
cients have scarcely
meddled with
it,
in
any of their tragedies.

degrees, by different
Shakespeare has shewn
in
almost
all its
characters in one or other of his plays.

it
Otway has wrought

Dryden expresses
up
finely in the
Orphan,
to raise our pity.
its
thoughtless violence very well, in his All for Love.

it
Mr,
in
Addison has painted
both successful and unfortunate, with
the highest judgment, in his Cato.
But Adam and Eve,

affection,
Milton, are the finest picture of conjugal lo.e that ever was
drawn.
In them
it is
true
;
warmth of
without the
violence or fury of passion
a sw eet and reasonable tenderness,
without any cloying or insipid fondness.

sunshine,
it is
it is
In
its
serenity
and
noble, amiable, endearing, and innocent.
When
jars and goes out of tune, as
on some occasions
is
it
will, there
anger and resentment.

still its
He
gloomy, she complains and
weeps, yet love has
force.
Eve knows how

manner
in
to submit,
and
Adam
to forgive.
We
are
pleased that they have quar-
relled,
when we
see the agreeable
which they are

and
will share
reconciled.
They have enjoyed
prosperity,
adversity together.
And
is
the
last
scene in which
we behold
this unfortunate coup'e,
when
slow,
They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and Through Eden take their solitary way.
Tasso, in
his
Gierusalemme Liberata, has
lost
no opportunity
of embellishing his
poem w ith some
incidents of Uiis passion.
He even
breaks in upon the rules of Epic, by introducing the

in his
episode of Olindo and Sophronia,
Cd canto
for they
in the ac-
never appear again

tion of
it.
in
the poem, and have no share
Two
of his great personages are a husband and

her, as if they
97
to her?
had never belonged

effects
chills,
And what contrary

ther
?
;
does she
feel toge-
She glows, she
she raves, she rea-
and now she is dying away. In a word, she seems not to be attacked by one alone, but by a combination of the most violent passions.
sons
now
she
is
in tumults,
All the
symptoms of
I
this
kind are true
ef-
fects of jealous love;
but the excellence of
this
Ode, as
observed before, consists in the
judicious choice and connexion of the most
notable circumstances.
his
And
it
proceeds from
due application of the most formidable
incidents, that the poet excels so
much
in
describing tempests.
The âuthor of
the
wife,
who
fight
always side by side, and die together.

is
The
dis-
power, the allurements, the tyranny of beauty,

played
in the coquettish character
amply
of Armida, in the 4th canto.

in
He
indeed always shews the effects of the passion

;
true
colours
but then he does more, he retines and plays upon

conceits.
them with fine-spun

every
little
He
flourishes like
Ovid on
incident, and recals our attention
from the poem,

in the
in his
to take notice of the poet's wit.

Italian taste, but
fine characters of
it is
This might be writing
not nature.
Homer was
above
it,
Hector and Andromache, Ulysses and PeVirgil has rejected

it,
nelope.
The judicious
in his natural
picture of Dido.
Milton has followed and improved upon

and judgment.
is
his great masters, with dignity

? Aristaeus,
the Procouuesian,
said to have wiote a pccni,
: ;
98

the Arimaspians
full
poem on
Ye
doubts not but

of terror
ships so
frail
these Hnes are great and

pow'rs, what madness
!)
!
How on
(Tremendous thought
For stormy
Plant Nvoods
can thoughtless mortals
sail
seas they quit the pleasing plain,

in
waves, and dwell amidst the main.

trackless path) they go,
Far o'er the deep (a
And wander
oceans in pursuit of woe.
No ease their hearts, no rest their eyes can find, On heav'n their looks, and on the waves their mind
Sunk
are their spirits, while their
arms they
rear,
And
gods are wearied with
their fruitless pray'r.
Mr. Pope.
Every impartial reader will discern that these lines are florid more than terrible. But
how
does
Homer
raise a description, to
men-
tion only one

^
example amongst a thousand

them
all
He bursts upon
Bursts as a wave that from the cloud impends,
And
swell'd with tempests on the ship descends

are the decks with
o'er the masts,
White
foam
the winds aloud

:
Howl
and sing through every shroud
called
Apifia/T-rreia; or,
of the aifairs of the Arimaspians, a Scy-
thian people, situated far
from any
sea.
The lines
here quoted
seem
to
be spoken by an Arimaspian, wondering
how men
dare trust themselves in ships, and endeavouring to describe

the
^
seamen
in the extremities of a storm.

is
Dr. Pearce.
and has more
There
a description of a tempest in the 107th Psalm,

in a very high
which runs
vein of sublimity,

Pale, trembling,
tir'd,
99
the sailors freeze with fears,

ev'ry
And
instant death
on
wave appears,*
Mr. Pope.
spirit in it
than the applauded descriptions in the authors of
antiquity; because
when
the
storm
is
in all
is
its
rage,
and
the danger
become extreme, almighty power
introduced to
to the
calm
at
once the roaring main, and give preservation

It
miserable distressed.
ends in that fervency of devotion,

fitted to raise in the
which such grand occurrences are

of the thoughtful.
minds
"
He
up
commandeth and
the waves
thereof.
raiseth the
stormy wind, which

to heaven, they
lifteth
They mount up
;
go down again
to the depths
their soul is
melted away be-
cause of trouble.
They
reel to
and
fro like a
drunken man,
and are
trouble,
at their wit's-end.
Then
they cry unto the
Lord
in their
and he bringeth them out of

that the
their distresses.
He
still.
maketh the storm a calm, so
waves thereof are
Then
the
are they glad, because they

their desired haven.
be quiet;
!
so he bringeth praise
them unto
Oh
that
men would
Lord
for his goodness,

!"
and
for his
wonderful works to the
children of men
Shakespeare has, with inimitable

in his tragedy
art,
made use of
it
a storm
of King Lear, and continued

it,
through seven
scenes.
In reading
one sees the piteous condition of those
who
fury,
are
exposed
to
it
in
open
air
one almost hears the wind
and thunder, and beholds the
flashes of lightning.
The
anger,
and passionate exclamations of Lear himself, seem to
rival the storm,
which
is
as outrageous in his breast, inflamed

his daughters, as in the ele-
and ulcerated by the barbarities of

ments themselves.
We
view him
fretful
Contending with the
elements.
sea,
Bids the wind blow the earth into the
Iliad, o. ver. 6*24.
100
Aratus has attempted a refinement upon

the last thought, and turned
it
thus,
their fate.
A
Or
slender plank preserves
them from
swell the curled waters 'bove the main,

things might change or cease
:
That
tears his white hair.
Which
Catch
the impetnous blasts with eyeless rage

in their fury.
.
,
We
afterwards see the distressed old

;
man exposed
to all the
inclemencies of the weather

der, but he as violent
nature
itself in
hurry and disor:
and boisterous as the storm

fire,
Rumble
thy belly-full, spit
spout rain
Nor
rain,
wind, thunder,
fire,
I
are
my
daughters
I tax not you, ye elements
And immediately
That keep
Find out
after,
;'
>
...
Let the great gods,

this dreadful
'
thund'ring o'er our heads,
tiieir
enemies now.
Tremble, thou wretch.
That
hast within thee undivulged crimes
Unwhipt of justice.
Hide
thee, thou bloody hand,
Thou
That
perjur'd,
and thou simular

:
man
of virtue.
'
"
art incestuous
caitiff,
shake to pieces,
That
Hast
under covert and convenient seeming

practis'd
on man's
life.
Close pent-up
guilts,
*
,
Rive your concealing continents, and ask
These dreadful summoners grace.
The
There
storm
still
continues, and the poor old
man
is
forced
along the open heath, to take shelter in a wretched hovel.

the poet has laid
new
incidents, to
stamp
fresh terror
on
the imagination, by lodging
Edgar
in
it
before them.
The
* Arati Pha;nomen. ver. Cyj).
LONGINUS
ON"
THE SUBLIME.
101
But instead of increasing the terror, he only and besides, he lessens and refines it away sets a bound to the impending danger, by
;
saying, " a plank preserves them," thus ba-
nishing their despair.
But
the poet
is
so far
from confining the danger of his sailors, that he paints them in a most desperate situation, while they are only not swallowed up in every
passions of the old king are so turbulent, that he will not be
persuaded to take any refuge.
When
own
honest Kent entreats
him
to
go
in,
he
cries, in thyself,
Prithee go
seek thy
ease
This tempest
will not give
me
leave to ponder
On
things
would hurt me more

in
;
Nay, get thee That
I'll
pray, and then
I'll
sleep
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you
are,
!
'bide the pelting of this pitiless storm

shall
How
your houseless heads, and unfed sides.
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these Oh 1 have ta'en physic, pomp, Too little care of this Take
?
Expose
thyself to feel
what wretches
feel,
That thou mayst shake
the superflux to them,

just.
And shew the

The
heav'ns
more
miseries and disorders of Lear and
Edgar
are then
painted with such judicious horror, that every imagination must
be strongly affected by such tempests

1 have quoted those passages
in
in reason
and nature.
which have the moral reflections

terror,
them, since they add solemnity to the

variety of passions.
and alarm
at
once a
102

*
wave, and have death before their eyes as fast

as they escape
is
it.
Nay
more, the danger
discerned in the very hurry and confusion

;
of the words
the verses are tossed
up and
down
with the ship, the harshness and jarring
of the syllables give us a lively image of the

storm, and the whole description
terrible
is
in itself a
and furious tempest. It is by the same method that Archilochus lias succeeded so well in describing a wreck and Demosthenes, where he relates * the con-
" Nay more,
the danger," Sec.
] I
have given
this
sentence
such a turn as I thought would be most suitable to our language,
and have omitted the following words, \vhich occur

ginal
:
in the ori-
" Besides, he has
forcibly united
some prepositions
heaped
that are
naturally averse to union, and

vir
them one
is
upon another,
n:
'âraroio.
By
this
means the danger
discerned," See.
The
beauty Longinus here
commends
is
in
Homer, of making
the words correspond \\h\\ the sense,

cellent that can
one of the most ex-
be found
in
composition.
The many and reit.
fined observations of this nature in Dionysius of Halicarnassus,

are an evidence
how
exceedingly fond the ancients were of
There should be a
style
of sound as well as of words, but
such a st)le depends on a great

musical ear.
command
it
of language, and a
We
see a great deal of

It
in
Milton, but in
folly to
Mr.
Pope
hear.
it
appears to perfection.
would be
quote exread and
amples, since they can possibly escape none
who can
* Oral, de Corona.
a\.

fusions at Athens,
103
news.-^
upon
figure,
arrival of
ill
" It was (says he) in the evening/' &c.

I
If
may
speak by a
they reviewed the
forces of their subjects,
and culled out the
flower of them, with this caution, not to place
any mean, or indecent, or coarse expression For such expressions in so choice a body. are like mere patches, or unsightly bits of matter, which in this edifice of grandeur entirely
confound the
fine
proportions,
mar
The whole
It
passage in Demosthenes' oration runs thus

a courier brought the
"
was evening when
news
to the
ma-
gistrates of the surprisal of Elatea.
Immediately they arose,
though
in the midst of their repast.
Some
of them hurried
away
to the
Forum, and
Others Hed
driving the tradesmen out, set fne to

to advertise the
their shops.
commanders of
the
army of
whole
the news, and to
summon
the public herald.

the
The
city
was
full
of tumult.
On
morrow, by break of
day, the magistrates convene the
senate.
You, gentlemen,
V.
obeyed the summons.
Before the public council proceeded hen the senate

their
to debate, the people took their seats above.
were come
in,
the magistrates laid
open the reasons of
meeting, and produced the courier.

port.
The herald demanded aloud. Nobody rose up. The iicrald repeated
times.
He confirmed their reWho would harangue

?
the question several
In
all
vain
nobody
rose
up
nobody harangued
there,
though
the conniianders of the
army were
though
the orators were present, though the
common
voice of our
oration for the
country joined in the petition, and

public safety."
demanded an

104
the symmetry, and deform the beauty of the
whole.
SECTION XL
There
cation
;
is
another virtue bearing great
affi-
nity to the former, which they call Amplifi-
whenever (the topics on which we
write or debate, admitting of several beginnings, and several pauses in the periods) the
great incidents, heaped one
upon another, ascend by a continued gradation to a summit Now this may be done to of grandeur.^
*
Lucan has put a

:
very grand amplification iu the

" -
mouth
of Cato
Estne dei sedes,
nisi terra, et
?
pontus, et aer,
ultra
?
Et
ccelum, et virtus
est,
Superos quid quserimus

vides,
Jupiter
quodcunque
quocunque movebis.
There
sermon
:
is
a very beautiful one in Archbishop Tillotson's 12th
" 'Tis pleasant

excel
is
to
:
be virtuous and good, because that
is
to
many
others
'Tis pleasant to grow better, because that

:
to excel ourselves
lusts,
Nay,
'tis
pleasant even to mortify and

victory
:
subdue our
because that
is
'Tis pleasant to
comdue
mand
our appetites and passions, and to keep them
in
order, within the
bounds of reason and
religion,
because
this is

ennoble what
is
105
familiar, to aggravate
what is
wrong, to increase the strength of arguments,

to set actions in their true light, or skilfully
manage a passion, and a thousand ways But the orator must never forget besides. this maxim, that in things however amplified,
to
there cannot be perfection, without a senti-
ment which is truly Sublime/ûnless when we are to move compassion, or to make things appear as vile and contemptible. But in all other methods of Amplification, if you take away the sublime meaning, you separate as it
were the soul from the body.
For no sooner
all their
are they deprived of this necessary support,
but they grow dull and languid, lose

vigour and nerves.
What
have said now
differs
from what
went immediatel3^ before. My design was then to shew how much a judicious choice and an artful connexion of proper incidents heighten a subject. But in what manner this
But no author
amplifies in so noble a
manner
as St. Paul.
He
rises gradually
from earth
all
to heaven,
from mortal man to
God
himself.
" For
things are yours, %vhether Paul, or

life,
Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or

present, or things to
or death, or things
;
come
all
are yours
iii.
and ye are Christ's
and Christ
viii.
is
God's."
Cor.
21
23.
See
also
Rom.
29, 30. 38, 39.

II
106

from Amplification,
sort of Sublimity differs

will
soon appear by exactly defining the true

latter.
notion of the
SECTION
I
XII.
of the defini-
CAN by no means approve
which writers of rhetoric give of Amplification. " Amplification (say they) is a form
tion
of words aggrandizing the subject."

definition
Now this
may
equally serve for the Sublime,
the Pathetic, and the application of Tropes

for these also invest discourse with peculiar
airs
of grandeur.
:
In
my opinion,
they differ
lofti-
in these respects
ness,
Sublimity consists in
;
but Amplification in number

former
is
whence
the
often
visible
in
one single
rising
thought; the other cannot be discerned, but

in
series
and chain of thoughts
one
upon another.
" Amplification therefore (to give an exact
idea of
it),
is
such a
full
and complete con-
nexion of
all
the particular circumstances
inherent in the things themselves, as gives
them additional
strength,
by dwelling some
a^^
time upon, and progressive!}^ heightening

particular point/'
It differs
107"
from Proof in a
is
material article, since the end of a Proof

establish the matter in debate
to
[The remainder of the Author's remarks on Amplification is lost. AVhat comes next is
imperfect
;
but
it is
evident from what

is
fol-
lows, that Longinus
drawing a parallel between Plato and Demosthenes.] * * *
(Plato)
may be compared
to
the ocean,
whose waters, -when hurried on by the tide, overflow their ordinary bounds, and are diffused into a vast extent.
this is the
And
in
my
opinion,
cause thatthe orator (Demosthenes),
striking with
more powerful might
at the pas-
sions, is inflamed
with fervent vehemence,

;
and passionate ardour whilst Plato, always grave, sedate, and majestic, though he never was cold or flat, yet fell vastly short of the impetuous thundering of the other. And it is in the same points, my dear TeRENTiANUs, that Cicero and Demosthenes
(if
we Grecians may be admitted
to speak our
opinions), differ in the Sublime.
The one is at
ut-
the same time grand and concise, the other
grand and
diffusive.
Our Demosthenes,
tering every sentence with such force, precipitation, strength,
seems to be
all fire,
and vehemence, that it and bears down every H 2
]08
IvONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.

it,
thing before
may justly be
resembled to
a thunderbolt, or a hurricane.
But Cicero, like a wide conflagration, devours and spreads on all sides his flames are numerous, and
;
their heat
is
lastino-;
thev break out at dif-
ferent times in difterent quarters,
and are
nourished up to a raging violence by successive additions of proper fuel.

I
must not
however pretend
as you.
forcible
to
judge
in this case so wêll
But
the true season of applying so
and intense a Sublime as that of Demosthenes, is,Mn the strong efforts of discourse, in vehement attacks upon the passions, and whenever the audience are to be stricken at once, and thrown into consternation. And recourse must be had to such diffusive eloquence as that of Cicero,
when they
are to be soothed and brought over by gentle
and
soft insinuation.
is
Besides, this diffuse
kind of eloquence
most proper
for all fa-
mihar topics
historj^,
for perorations, digressions, for
easy narrations or
pompous amusements,
other sorts.
for
for short accounts of the operations
of nature, and
many
LONGINUS OX THE SUBLIME.

109
SECTION
^
XIII.
To leave
this digression.
Though
Plato's
style particularly excels in smoothness,
and
an easy and peaceable flow of the words, 3'et neither does it want an elevation and irrandeur*: and of this you cannot be ignorant,
^
'^
To
leave this digression."]
These words
refer to
what
Secit is
Longinus had
tion,
said of Plato in that part of the preceding
which
is
now
almost wholly lost: and from hence
abundantly evident, that the person
whom
he had there com-
pared with the orator was Plato.

^
Dr. Pearce.
in
That Archbishop Tillotson was possessed,

which are so much admired
an eminent
degree, of the same sweetness, fluency of style, and elevated

sense,
in Plato,
can be denied by
none who are versed

lowing passage, on
in the writings of that author.
The
fol-
much
he
the
same subject
as the instance here

in strength-
quoted by our Critic from Piato, may be of service

ening
in sin
*'
this assertion
:
is
speaking of persons deeply plunged
If consideration," says he,
" happen
to take
it
them
at
any
advantage, and they are so hard pressed by
that they cannot
escape the sight of their
own
condition
yet they find themin
selves so miserably entangled
and hampered
an
evil
course,
and bound so
fast in
chains of their
own
wickedness, that they
know not how

world
;
to get loose.
Sin
is
the saddest slavery in the
it
breaks and sinks men's
spirits,
and makes them so
base and servile, that they have not the courage to rescue themselves.
No
sort of slaves are so poor-spirited as they that are
in
bondage
to their lusts.
Their power
is
gone; or
if
they

110
as
you have read the following passage in his Republic* " Those wretches (says he) who
never have experienced the sweets of wisdom
and virtue, but spend all their time in revels and debauches, sink downwards day after day, and make their whole life one continued
series of errors.
They never have
the cou-
rage to
lift
the eye upwards towards truth,
they never
felt
any the
least inclination to
it.
They
taste
no
real or substantial pleasure;
but resembling so many brutes, with eyes always fixed on the earth, and intent upon
their loaden tables, they
pamper themselves
So that hurried on
up by
in luxury
and
excess.
their voracious
and
insatiable appetites,
they are continually running and kicking at
one another with hoofs and horns of steel, and are embrued in perpetual slaughter."'
have any
left,
they have not the heart to
make use of
than to
it.
And
though they see and

sit
feel their misery, yet they
choose rather to
down
in
it,
and tamely
to
submit to
it,
resolute attempts for their liberty."
And
of
all
afterwards
" Blind
make any
and miserable men

ings of
this
that, in despite
the merciful warn-
God's word and providence,
will run themselves into
desperate state, and never think of returning to a better

till
mind
their retreat
is difficult,
almost to an impossibiUty."
29th Sermon, Vol. I. folio.

* Plato,
lib. y,
de Rep.
p.
586.
edit.
Steph.

This excellent writer,
to follow his guidance,
if
Ill
we can but
resolve
opens here before us

those
another path,
besides
already
men-
tioned, which will carry to the true Sublime.
And what
friend,
is
this
path ?
Why, an imitation
and
^
arid eniulation of the greatest orators
poets that ever flourished.
And
let this,
my
and
be our ambition
that
be
this the fixed
lasting scope of all our labours.
numbers of imitators are ravished and transported by a spirit not their own, Mike the Pythian Priestess, when she approaches the sacred tripod. There is,
For hence
it is,
if
Fame
speaks true, a chasm in the earth,
fi'om zt'hence exhale Divine evaporations, which
This
parallel or
comparison drawn between the Pythian

is
Priestess of Apollo and imitators of the best authors,
happily
invented, and quite complete. Nothing can be
more
beautiful,
for the
more analogous, more

Pythian to
frenzy
sit
expressive.
tripod,
till
It
was the custom

was rapt
into
on the
she
Divine
by the operation of
effluvia issuing out of the clefts of
the earth. In the
same manner,
says Longinus, they,
who
In
imi-
tate the best waiters,
seem
to
be inspired by those
their
whom
they
this
imitate,
and to be actuated by
sublime
set
spirit.
comparison, those Divine writers are

the gods
;
on a
level
almost with
the
they have equal
power
attributed to
them with
deity presiding over oracles,
and the
eiFect of their operations

title
on
Dr. Pearce.
their imitators
is
honoured with the
of a Divine
spirit.

112

and cause
in her the utter-
impregnate her on a sudden with the inspiration of her god,
ance of oracles and predictions.

the siibHme
spirit
So,
from
of the ancients, there arise
some
fine effluvia, like
vapours from the sa-
cred vents, which work themselves insensibly

into the breasts of iuiitators,
and
fill
those,,
who
naturally are not of a towering genius,

fire
with the lofty ideas and
of others.
Was
Herodotus alone the constant imitator of Ho-
mer ? No ^ Stesichorus and Archilochus imitated him more than Herodotus but Plato more than all of them who, from the copious Homeric fountain, has drawn a thou:
sand rivulets to cherish and improve

productions.
cessity of
this
his
own
Perhaps there might be a ne-
producing some examples of had not Ammonius done it to my hand.

is
my
Nor
such proceeding to be looked upin
on as plagiarism, but,
methods consistent with the nicest honour, an imitation of the finest pieces, or copying out those bright ori-
Stesichorus, a noble poet, inventor of the Lyric Chorus,
Avas born, according to Suidas, in the thirty-seventh
Olympiad.
If he
Quinctilian,
Instit.
Orat.
1.
x. c. 1. says thus of to
him :"
to
had kept
in
due bounds, he seems
have been able
come
the
nearest to a rivalship witli
Homer."
Dr. Pearce.

ginals.
113
Neither do
I think that
Plato would
have so
much
embellished his philosophical
tenets with the florid expressions of poetr}^
^had he not been ambitious of enterinoj the

lists,
like a youthful
champion, and ardently
contending for the prize with Homer, who had a Ions: time ensfrossed the admiration of
the world.
The attack was perhaps
too rash,
the opposition perhaps had too
much
the air
Plato, in his younger days, had an inclination to poetiy,

in
and made some attempts
tragedy and epic
but finding them
unable to bear a parallel with the verses of Homer, he threw
them
into the fire,
and abjured that
sort of writing, in
which he
was convinced he must always remain an
inferior
however, the
style of his prose has a poetical sweetness, majesty,

tion.
and elevain his

is
Though he
despaired of equalling
in
Homer
own
way, yet he has nobly succeeded

esteemed the
another,
and
justly
Homer
of philosophers.
said,
Cicero was so great an
admirer of him that he
"
If Jupiter conversed widi

It
men,
he would
talk in the
language of Plato."
was a
common
report in the age he lived, that bees dropped honey on his lips
as he lay in the cradle.
And
a
it is
said, that, the night before
he was placed under die
tuition of Socrates, the philosopher
dreamed he had embraced

after his feathers
young swan
in his
bosom
who,
were
full
grown, stretched out
his wings,
and
time
soared to an
immense height
in the air, singing all the
with inexpressible sweetness. This shews at least what a great
opinion they then entertained of his eloquence, since diey
thought
its
appearance worthy
to
be ushered into the world
with omens and prognostics.
114

it
of enmity, but yet
could not
fail
of some
advantage;
for, as
Hesiod says,*
the
Such brave contention works
good of men.
A greater
prize than the glory and
renown
for,
of the ancients can never be contended
where victory crowns with never-dying applause;

petition,
when even a
is
defeat, in such a
com-
attended with honour.
SECTION XIV.
If ever therefore
we
are engaged in a
which
rec[uires a
grandeur of style
work and ex-
alted sentiments,
would
it
not then be of use
to raise in ourselves such reflections as these?
How
Or
if
?
in this case
would Homer, or Plato,
or Demosthenes, have raised their thoughts?

it
be historical
how
would Thucy-
For these celebrated persons, being proposed by us for our pattern and imitation, will in some degree lift up our souls to the
dides
standard of their
of greater use,
own
genius.
It will
be yet
if to
the preceding reflections
we add
these^
What
would Homer or Dethis
mosthenes have thought of
piece? or
what judgment would they have passed upon

* Hesiod.
in operibus et die bus, vcr. 24.

it?
115
It
is
really a noble enterprise, to

sit
frame
such a theatre and tribunal, to
on our own
compositions, and submit them to a scrutiny,

in
which such celebrated heroes must preside as our judges, and be at the same time our evidence. There is yet another motive which
may
yield
most powerful incitements,
if
we
ask ourselves
What character
will posterity
form of
this
work, and of me, the author ?i
For if any one, in the moments of composing, apprehends that his performance may not be
able to survive him, the productions of a soul,
whose views are so short and confined, that it cannot promise itself the esteem and applause of succeeding ages, must needs be imperfect and abortive.
SECTION XV.
some are called Images, contribute very much, my dearest youth, to the weights magnificence, and force of compositions. The name of an Image is generally given to any idea, however represented in the mind, which is communicable to others by discourse but a more particu"^
Visions,
which
by
lar sense of
it
has
now
prevailed
"
When
116

is
the imagination
that
so
warmed and
affected,
you seem to behold yourself the very things you are describing, and to display them to the life before the eyes of an audience/'
You
cannot be ignorant, that rhetorical
and poetical images have a different intent. The design of a poetical image is surprise,
that of a rhetorical
*
is
perspicuity.
However,
is
to
move and
strike the imagination

to both.
a de-
sign
^
common
Pity thy offspring, mother, nor provoke
Those vengeful Furies
to
torment thy son.
Virgil refers to this passage in his fourth
^neid,
ver.
470.
Aut Agamemnonius
scenis agitatus Orestes,

et serpentibus atris
Armatani facibus matrem
Cum
r
fugit, ultricesque
sedent in limine Diris.
Or mad
Orestes when his mother's ghost

face infernal torches toss'd,
:
nil in his
And
The
shook her snaky locks
he shuns the sight,

fri right,
^
V
Flies o'er the stage, surpris'd with mortal
Furies guard the door, and intercept his his
flight.
Dryden.
" There
is
not (says
jNIr.
Addison, Spectator, No. 421.) a

person,
sight in nature so mortifying as that of a distracted
when
his imagination
is
troubled, and his whole soul disordered

in ruins is
and confused: Babylon

tacle."
not so melancholy a spec-
The
is
distraction of Orestes, after the
murder of
it ia
his
mother,
a fine representation in Euripides, because
natural.
The

What
horrid sights!
twistins;
11?
how
glare their bloody eyes!
How
snakes curl round their venom'd heads!
consciousness
of
what he has done
is
uppermost
in
his
thoughts, disorders his fancy, and confounds his reason.

is
He
strongly apprehensive of Divine vengeance, and the violence
of his fears places the avenging furies before his eyes.

ever the mind
is
Whenand
harassed by the stings of conscience, or the
horrors of guilt, the senses are liable to infinite delusions,

startle at
hideous imaginary monsters.
The
poet,
who can
minds of
;
touch such incidents with happy dexterity, and paint such
images of consternation,
others.
will infallibly
work on
in
the
This
is
what Longinus commends

that
Euripides
and
here
it
must be added,
no poet
in this
branch of writing
can enter into a parallel with Shakespeare.
When Macbeth
imagination
is
is
preparing for the murder of Duncan, his

is
big with the attempt, and

is
quite
upon
the rack.
Within, his soul

enterprise
ing.
;
dismayed with the horror of so black an

affrightstart at
and every thing without looks dismal and

rebel against his reason, and
reality.
His eyes
make him
images that have no

Is this a dagger
which
I see before
me,
let
The
I
handle tow'rd
my
hand
come
me
clutch thee
have thee not
and
it is
yet 1 see thee
still.
He
then endeavours to
summon
his
reason to his aid, and

;
convince himself that
mere chimera
but in vain, the ter:
ror stamped on his imagination will not be shaken off

1 see thee yet, in
form as palpable
1
..
As
delusion, but
it is
this
which now
draw.
Here he makes
new attempt
I see
to reason himself out of the

:
quite too strong
thee
still.
And on
thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was
not so before.
There's no
such thing.

118
LONGTNUS ON THE SUBLIME.

In deadly wmth the hissing monsters
rise,
Forward
they spring, dart out,

:
and leap around me.*
And
agjain
Alas
! she'll
kill
me ! whither
shall I fly ?+
'
The
delusion
is
described in so skilful a manner, that the

start at the
audience cannot but share the consternation, and

visionary dagger.
The
genius of the poet will appear more surprising,
if
consider
how
the horror
is
continually worked up, by the

is
we me-
thod in which the perpetration of the murder
represented.
The
contrast between
Macbeth and
his wife is justly charac-
terized,
by the hard-hearted villany of the one, and the qualms
of remorse in the other.

their
The
least noise,
die very sound of

:
own
voices,
is
shocking and frightful to both
Hark
It
peace
was the owl
that shriek'd, the fatal bell-man,
Which
gives the stern'st good-night
he
is
about
it.
And
again, immediately after,
Alack
'tis
am
afraid they have awak'd,
And
not done: th' attempt, and not the deed,

us.
Confounds
Hark!
commend The
I laid their
daggers ready,
He
The
could not miss them.
best
way
to
it,
as
is
it
deserves,
would be
to
quote the whole scene.

affecting horror as
fact
represented in the same

at sight
reality,
would
rise in the
mind
of the actual
commission.
the soul.
Every single image seems

seize the
and alarms
r'
They
tiic
whole
attention, stiffen
and benumb
the sense,
very blood curdles and runs cold, through the
strongest abhorrence and detestation of the crime.
* Euripid. Orest. ver. 255.
+ Euripid. Iphigen. Taur.
ver,
408.

The poet here
IIQ
actually saw the furies with

,
the eyes of his imagination, and has compelled his audience to see
himself.
what he beheld
Euripides therefore has laboured

in his tragedies to describe the
love,
very
much
two passions of madness and

succeeded
and has
(if I
much
better in these than
am
not mistaken) in any other.
Sometimes,
indeed, he boldly aims at Images of different

kinds.
For though
rally great, yet in
was not natumany instances he even

his genius
forced
it
up
to the true spirit of tragedy
and that he may always rise where his subject demands it (to borrow an allusion from
the Poet)*
Lash'd by
his tail his
heaving sides incite

for fight.
His courage, and provoke himself
The foregoing assertion

chariot to Phaeton
~
:
is
evident from that
passage, where Sol delivers the reins of his
Drive on, but cautious shun the Lybian
air
That hot unmoisten'd region of

Will drop thy chariot.
the sky
*
~
Iliad. V. ver. 170.
This passage,
in all probability,
is
taken from a tragedy of
Euripides,
named Phaeton, which

f
is
entirely lost.
Ovid had
Two
fiagmejits of Euripides.

120

a
little after,
let
And
Thence
the Pleiads point thy

the god.
"
wary course.
haste
Thus spoke
Th' impatient youth with
certainly an eye to
into the
it
in his
Met.
1. ii.
when he puts
these lines
mouth of Phoebus, resigning

:
the chariot of the
Sun
to Phaiiton
Zonarumque trium contentus

Ilac
fine,
polumque
'
Effugit australem, junctamque aquilonibus arcton:

sit iter:
manifesta rotoi vestigia cernes.
Utque
ferant itquos et coelum et terra calores,
Nee
preme, nee
summum
molire per aethera currum.

;
Altius egressus, coelestia tecta cremabis

Jnferius terras
:
medio tutissimus
ibis.
Drive 'em not on directly through the
skies,
But where
the Zodiac's winding circle lies,
Along
the
midmost Zone
but
sally forth,
Nor to the distant South, nor stormy North, The horses' hoofs a beaten track will shew But neither mount too high, nor sink too low That no new fires or heav'u or earth infest Keep the mid-way, the middle way is best.
:
Addisori'
The
sublimity which
Ovid here borrowed from Euripides

vitiated,
he has diminished, almost
by
flourishes.
sublimer
image can no where be found than

after Sisera's defeat (J lulges, v.
in
),
the song of
Deborah,
C8
v\'here the vain-glorious
boasts of Sisera's mother,
when expecting
a
his return, and, as

:
she was confident, his victorious return, are described

**
The mother
of Sisera looked out
at
window, and cried
through the
tarrv the
lattice,
Why
is
his chariot so long in

?
coming
why
wheels of his chariots
Her
wise ladies answered
121

Snatches the reins, and vaults into the seat.
He
starts
the coursers,
whom
the lashing
whip
Excites, outstrip the winds, and whirl the car
High through
Borne on
the airy void.
Behind, the
pursues
sire,
his planetary steed,

intent,
I
With eye
and warns him with

!
!
his voice,
!
Drive there
now here here
turn the chariot here
Who
poet
would not
saj, that the soul of the
mounted the
chariot along with the
rider, that it shared as well in
danger as in raFor, had he
pidity of flight with the horses?
not been hurried on with equal ardour through

all this
ethereal course, he could never have
conceived so grand an image of it. There are
some
parallel
Images
Ye
in his
Cassandra
.--.,,
martial Trojans, &c.
^schylus has made bold attempts in noble and truly heroic Images as, in one of his tragedies, the seven commanders against
;
Thebes, without betraying the least sign of

pity or regret, bind themselves
to survive Eteocles
:
by oath not
her
yea, she returned answer to herself:

?
have they not divided the prey
to every
Have they not sped ? man a damsel or two

;
to Sisera a prey of divers colours, a
prey of divers colours of
needle- work, of divers colours of needle-work on both sides,
meet
'
for the
necks of them that take the spoil

of Euripides
I
is
?"
Dr. Pearce.
The Cassandra
now
entirely lost.
12'2
*
LONGTNIS ON THE SUBLIME.

The
seven, a warlike leader each in chief,
;
Stood roumi
and o'er the brazen shield

;
tliey
slew
sullen bull
then plunging deep their hands
Into the foaming gore, with oaths invok'd
Mars, and Enyo, and blood-thirsting
terror.
* The following Image The fallen angels, fired by
in
Milton
is
great and
dreadful.
the speech of their leader, are too
violent to yield to his proposal in words, but assent in a
man-
ner that at once displays the art of the poet, gives the reader a
terrible idea of the fallen angels,
liorror
and imprints a dread and
on the mind
He
Of
spake; and to confirm his words, out flew
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs
mighty cherubim
the
;
sudden blaze
highly they rag'd
.-5^^
-.
Far round
iliumiii'd hell
Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms

Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war,
Hurling defiance tow'rd the vault of heav'n.

.
'
't
How
itself in
vehemently does the fury of Northumberland exert

Shakespeare, when he hears of the death of his son
Hotspur.
The
now he
rage and distraction of the surviving father

in his opinion.
shews how important the son was

njust be,
is
Nothing
not: nature
frantic, his
!
itself
must
fall
with Percy.
:
His grief renders him
anger desperate
let
:
Let heav'n
kiss earth
now
not nature's hand

let
Keep
the wild flood confin'd
order die.
And
let this
world no longer be a stage
To
feed contention in a ling'ring act

let
But
one
spirit
of the first-born Cain

set
Reign
in all
bosoms, that each heart being
On
bloody courses, the rude scene

dailiies^ be
llii'
may
end,
And
burier of the deatl.

Sometimes, indeed, the thoughts of
123
this
;
author are too gross, rough, and unpolished
yet Euripides himself, spurred on too fast by

emulation, ventures even to the brink of like
imperfections.
In ^schylus the palace of
Lycurgus is surprisingly affected by the sudden appearance of Bacchus

:
The
Reel
frantic
dome and
roaring roofs couvuls'd,
to
and
fro, instinct
with rage divine.
Euripides has the same thought, but he has
turned
priety
:
it
with
much more
softness
and pro-
The vocal mount And echoes back
in agitation shakes,^
the Bacchanalian cries.
Tollius
is
of opinion, that Longinus blames neither the
thought of
Euripides
nor
jEschylus, but only the
word
/3a)c^Vi, which,
he says, has not so
much
sweetness, nor raises
so nice an idea, as the word
avfi(iaicxVi.
Dr. Pearce thinks
^schylus
is
censured for making the palace instinct with Bac-
chanalian fury, to which Euripides has given a softer and
sweeter turn, by making the mountain only reflect the cries of

the Bacchanals.
There
is
a daring image, with an expression of a harsh sound,

its
on account of
antiquity, in Spenser's Fairy
Queen, which
may
parallel that of
iEschylus
She
foul
blasphemous speeches
forth did cast.
And
That
bitter curses horrible to tell
ev'n the temple wherein she was plac'd.

to hear,
Did quake
and nigh asunder brast.

I
124

has
Sophocles
succeeded
nobly in his
all
Images, when he describes his CEdipus in
the agonies of approaching death, and bury-
ing himself in the midst of a prodigious tempest

;
when he gives us a
sight of the
appari-
Milton shews a greater boldness of

pides or JEschylus, and tempers
it
fiction than either Euri-
with the utmost propriety,

fruit,
when,
at
Adam's
eating the forbidden
Earth trembled from her
entrails, as
again
In pangs, and nature gave a second groan
Sky lower'd, and mutt'ring thunder, some sad dnops
Wept,
"
at
completing of the mortal
sin.
The
tragedy of Sophocles, where

is
this
apparition
is
de-
scribed,
entirely lost.
it
Dr. Pearce observes, that there

in the
is
an
;
unhappy
imitation of
in
beginning of Seneca's Troades

lib. xiii.
and another
Ovid.
Metam.
441. neat without
spirit,
and elegant without grandeur.

Ghosts are very frequent
as well as fairies,
in
English tragedies
but ghosts,
seem
to be the peculiar province of
Shake-
speare.
In such circles none but he could
move
with dignity.
That
in
Hamlet
is
introduced with the utmost solemnity, awful
throughout, and majestic.
At
the appearance of
Banquo
in
Macbeth (Act
horror, which
3. Sc. 5.) the
Images
are set off in the strongest
expression, and strike the imagination with high degrees of

is
supported with surprising art through the
whole scene.
There
on men,
is
a fine touch of this nature in
Job
iv.
13.
"^
In
thoughts from the visions of the night,

fear
to
when deep
sleep falleth
came upon me, and

shake
:
trembling, which
made
;
all
my
bones
then a spirit passed before

It
my
face
the
hair of
my
flesh stood up.
stood
still,
but I could not dis-

tion of Achilles
125
upon
his
tomb, at the depart-
ure of the Greeks from Troy.
But
know
not whether
parition
anyone has described

divinely than
''
that ap-
more
Simonides.
To
quote
all
these instances at large
would be
endless.
To
return
Images
in
poetry are pushed to

*
a fabulous excess, quite surpassing the bounds
of probability beauty consists
whereas
in
:
in
oratory,
their
the most exact propriety
and nicest truth and sublime excursions are absurd and impertinent, when mingled with^ fiction and fable, where fancy sallies out into
direct impossibilities.
Yet
to excesses like
these, our able orators (kind
Heaven make
them really such!) are very much addicted. With the tragedians, they behold the tormenting furies, and with all their sagacity never
find out, that
when
Orestes exclaims,*
cern the form thereof: an image
before mine eyes

man be more
artificial
silence
and
God?"
7
I heard a voice,
&.C.
Shall mortal
just than
&c.
'
;
"
:
Simonides the Ceian was a celebrated poet.

1,
Cicero, de
Orat.
2. declares
1.
him the inventor of

him
this
memory
that
and
Quinctilian,
x. c. 1. gives
commendation
as a poet
" His excellency

prefer
lay in
moving compassion, so
all
some
him
in
this
particular before
other writers."-
Dr. Pearce. * Euripid. Orcst.

V. -264.
126

Loose me, thou
fury, let
me
go, torment' ress
Close you embrace, to plunge

Into
th'
me
headlong
down
abyss of Tartarus
Image had seized his fancy, because the mad fit was upon him, and he was actually
the
raving.
What
*
then
is
the true use of Images in
Oratory?
cases, to
They are capable, in abundance of add both nerves and passion to our
For
if
Images be skilfully blended with the Proofs and Descriptions, they not only persuade, but subdue an au^ " If any one (says a great orator*) dience. should hear a sudden outcry before the trithe
speeches.
bunal, whilst another brings the news that the
and the captives escaped, no man, either young or old, would be of so abject a spirit as to deny his utmost assistance. But if amongst this hurry and confusion another should arrive, and cry out. This is the Author of these disorders the miserable accused, unjudged and unsentenced, would perish on the spot/' So Hyperides, when he was accused of passis
prison
burst open
ing an illegal decree, for giving liberty to jjlaves, after the defeat of Chaeronea ; " It was
J)cniu?th. C>rat.
conUa
I'itnoci.
nun piocul a
fine.
LONGINUS OX
HE SUBLIME.
127
not an orator," said he, " that

cree,
made
this de-
but the battle of Chceronea/'
At
the
same time that he exhibits proofs of his legal proceedings, he intermixes an Image of the battle, and by that stroke of art, quite passes It is natural the bounds of mere persuasion.
to us to hearken always to that which
is
ex-
traordinary and surprising
whence
it is,
that
'
we regard not
eclipses the
the Proof so
much
as the gran-
deur and lustre of the Image, which quite
Proof itself. This bias of the mind

;
has an easy solution
since,
when two such

and
efficacy of
things are blended together, the stronger will

attract to itself
all
the virtue
the weaker.
These observations
cient,
will, I
fancy, be
suffi-
concerning that Sublime

its
w hich herise either

/ I
longsto the Sense, and takes
from an Elevation of Thought, a choice and connexion of proper Incidents, Amplification, Imitation, or
Images.
.,,

128
PART
The
is
11.
'
Pathetic, which the Author, Sect.

for the second source of the
it
viii.
laid
down
Sub^
hme,
omitted here, because
was reserved
for a distinct treatise.
See Sect. xHv. with

^
the note.
>
..
PART
111.
SECTION
'
XVI.
is
The
topic
that comes next in order,

;
that of Figures
for these,
little
used, conduce not a

since
it
when judiciously to greatness. But

if
all
would be tedious,
shall instance
not
infinite la-
bour, exactly to describe
the species of
them, I
only some few of those
which contribute most to the elevation of the style, on purpose to shew that we lay
not a greater stress upon them than
their due.
is
really

Demosthenes
is
12.9
producing proofs of
his
upright behaviour whilst in
Now, which
doing
this
?
is
pubKc employ. the most natural method of

were not in the wrong,
("
You
Athenians, when you courageously ventured
your
lives in fighting for the liberty
and safety
illus-
of Greece, of which you have domestic

trious examples.
For neither were they in the wrong who fought at Marathon, who
fought at Salamis,
who fought
at Plataeae/')
Demosthenes takes another course, and filled as it were with sudden inspiration, and transported by a godlike warmth, he thunders out an oath by the champions of Greece " You were not in the wrong, no, you were not, I swear, by those noble souls, who were so lavish of their lives in the field of Marathon,"* &c. He seems, by this figurative manner of swearing, which I call an Apostrophe, to have deified their noble ancestors at the same time instructing them, that they ought to swear by persons, w^ho fell so gloriously, as by so many gods. He stamps into the
;
breasts of his judges the generous principles
of those applauded patriots; and by transferring
what was naturally a proof, into a

* Oiat, dc Corona;
p. 124. cd.
Oxon.

130
LONGINU-S ON THE SUBLIME.
soaring strain of the Sublime and the Pathetic,
strengthened by^ such a solemn, such
an unusual and reputable oath, he instils that balm into their minds, which heals every
painful reflection, and assuages the smart of
misfortune.
them by his artful encomiums, and teaches them to set as great a value on their unsuccessful engagement with Philip, as on the victories of Marathon and Salamis. In short, by the
breathes
life
He
new
into
sole application of this Figure,
he violently
and attention of his audience, and compels them to acquiesce in the event, as they cannot blame the underseizes the favour
taking.
Some would
No
!
insinuate, that the hint of this
oath was taken from these lines of Êupolis:

by
my
labours in that glorious * field.
Their joy
shall not
produce
my
discontent!
'
The
there
observations on this oath are judicious and solid.

is
But
<*
one
iuliuitely
more solemn and awful
in
Jeremiah
xxii. 5.
But
if
ye will not hear these words, I swear by myself,

this
saith the
Lord, that
house
shall
become
vi.
a desolation."
See Genesis
"
xxii. \G.
and Hebrews
13.
Eupolis was an Athenian writer of comedy, of

at
whom
nothing remahis
present, but the
renown of
his
name,
Dr. Pearce. * Marathon.

^
131
But
the grandeur consists not in the bare

in
appHcation of an oath, but
applying
it
in
the proper place, in a pertinent manner, at
the exactest time, and for the strongest rea-
Yet in Eupolis there an oath, and that addressed to

sons.
is
nothing but
the Athenians,
at a time they were flushed with conquest,
and consequently did not require consolation. Besides, the poet did not swear by heroes, whom he had before deified himself, and
thereby
raise
sentiments in
;
the
audience
their lives
worthy of such virtue

those illustrious souls,
for their country, to
but deviated from
who ventured
In
swear by an inanimate
object,
the
battle.
Demosthenes, the
oath
is
addressed to the vanquished, to the
end that the defeat of Chaeronea may be no longer regarded by the Athenians as a misfortune.
one time a clear demonit stration that they had done their duty
It
is
at
This judgment
all
is
admirable, and
Longinus alone says

examined
this
more than
the writers on rhetoric that ever Quinctilian, indeed,

if
passage of Demosthenes.
was very
sensi-
ble of the ridiculousness of using oaths,
they were not ap-
plied as happily as the orator has applied
them
but he has
not at the
same time
laid
open the
defects,
which Longinus
evidently discoveis, in a bare examination of this oath in

polis.
Eu-
Dacier,
132
LONGINUS ON
T II K SUBLIME.
gives occasion for an illustrious

is
example;
it
an oath
artfully addressed, a just
encomium
and a moving exhortation. And whereas this objection might be thrown in his way, " You speak of a defeat partly occasioned
b}^
your own
ill
conduct, and then you swear

victories ;" the
his
by those celebrated
took care to weigh
orator
all
words
in the ba- $/
lances of art, and thereby
brings them off
with security and honour. >^rrom which pru-
dent conduct we
of
may
infer, that sobriety
and
moderation must be observed, in the warmest

fits
fire
and transport.
says,
In speaking of
their
ancestors, he
" Those
who
so
bravely exposed themselves to danger in the
Marathon, those who were in the naval engagements near Salamis and Artemisium, and those who fought at Plata3ae;"
plains of
industriously suppressing the very mention
of the events of those battles, because they
were successful, and quite opposite to that of Chaeronea. Upon which account he anticipates
all
objections,
all
by immediately sub-
joining, "
whom,
iEschines, the city ho-
noured with a public funeral, not because

they purchased victory with their
lives,
but
because they
lost
those for their country,"
LONG IN us ON THE SUBLIME.
133
SECTION
I
XVII.
MUST
not in this place,
my
:
friend,
I will
omit
an observation of
tion in
turally
my
own, which
men-
the shortest
manner
to,
Figures na-
impart assistance
it
and on the other
side receive
ner,
again, in a wonderful
manI will this is
from sublime sentiments. And now shew where, and by what means,
done.
A
of
too frequent and elaborate application

it
of Figures, carries with

artifice, deceit,
a great suspicion
and fraud, especially when,

before a judge, from
in pleading,
we speak
lies
whose sentence
more,
if
no appeal; and nmch before a tyrant, a monarch, or any
one invested with arbitrary power, or unbounded authority. For he grows immediately angry,
if
he thinks himself childishly
amused, and attacked by the quirks and subtleties
of a wily rhetorician.
He
regards the
attempt as an insult and affront

standino[,
to his undcr-
and sometimes breaks out into bitand though perhaps he may ter indignation suppress his wrath, and stitle his resentments for the present, yet he is averse, nay even
;
134

most plausible and persuasive
AVherefore,
^
deaf, to the
arguments that can be alleged.

a Figure
is
then most dexterously applied,^

that
it
is
when
it
cannot be discerned
Figure.
Now
a due mixture of the Sublime and /
Pathetic very
much
increases the force,
and
removes the suspicion, that commonly attends on the use of Figures. -^For veiled, as it were,
and wrapt up in such beauty and grandeur, they seem to disappear, and securely defy discovery. I cannot produce a better example to strengthen this assertion, than the pre-
ceding from Demosthenes

noble souls," &c.
" I swear by those
For
in
what has the orator

its
here concealed the Figure? Plainly, in

lustre.
own^
For as the
stars are quite
dimmed
and obscured, when the sun breaks out in^

all
his blazing rays, so the artifices of rheto-
ric are entirely
overshadowed by the superior
splendour of sublime thoughts.

illustration
parallel
:
may be drawn from
painting
for
when several colours of light and shade are drawn upon the same surface, those of light
seem not only
even to
lie
to rise out of the piece,
but
much
nearer to the sight.
the Sublime and Pathetic, either
So by means
of a great affinity they bear to the springs

and movements of our
souls, or
135
by
their
own
superlative lustre, always outshine the ad-
jacent Figures, whose art they shadow, and
whose appearance they cover,

perior beauties.
in a veil of su-
SECTION
XVIII.
of Question and
What
shall I say here
Interrogation?
*Is
not discourse enlivened,
Deborah's words,
in the
person of Sisera's mother, in-
stanced above on another occasion, are also a noble example

of the use of Interrogations.
Nor can
I in this place pass

;
by a passage
in the historical part
of Scripture
mean
the
words of Christ, in this Figure of self-interrogation and answer : " What went ye out into the wilderness to see ? a reed
shaken with the wind
?
But what went ye out
for to see? a
man
see
?
clothed in
soft
raiment? behold, they that wear soft
clothing, are in kings' houses.
But what went ye out
for to
a prophet
yea, I say unto you, and
more than a pro-
phet."
Matt.
xi.
79.
Dr. Pearce.
and pro-
That
this
the sense receives strength, as well as beauty, from

is
Figure,
no where so
visible as in the poetical
phetical parts of Scripture.

easily
Numberless instances might be

to pitch
produced
and we are puzzled how
on any
in
particular, amidst so fine variety, lest the choice
might give
room
to call our
judgment
in question,
for taking
no notice of
others, that perliaps are
more remarkable.
is
Any
reader will observe, that there
a poetical air in the
136
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLlMEi

of Figure
in the
strengthened, and thrown, more forcibly along
by
this sort
^"
Would you/'
says
predictions of
that there
is is
Balaam
23d chapter of Numbers, and

grandeur
lie,
particularly an
uncommon
Hath he
shall
in ver. IQ.
" God
man,
that
not a man, that he should
neither the son of
he should repent. he spoken, and

of
this
said,
and
shall
it
he not
do
it ?
or, hath
is
he not make
good r"
hat
the cause
grandeur will immediately be
seen, if the sense be preserved, and the words thrown out of

interrogation
"
God
is
not a man, that he should
lie,
neither the son of

;
man,
that he should repent.

will
What
he has said, he will do
and what he has spoke, he
make good."
it
The
upon
it.
difference
is
so visible, that
is
needless to enlarge
How
him
artfully
does St. Paul, in Acts xxvi. transfer his disIn ver. 26. he speaks of
course from Festus to Agrippa.

in the third
person.
" The King (says he) knovveth of

1 also
these things, before
whom
speak freely
:
"
Then
in the following he turns short
upon him
" King Agrippa,
believest thou the prophets r" and immediately after answers

his
own
question,
"
know
that
thou believest."
The
smoothest
eloquence, the
most
insinuating
complaisance,
could never have made such impression on Agrippa, as this
unexpected and pathetic address.
To
these instances
may be added
the whole 38th chapter
of Job; where we behold the Almighty Creator expostulatonce the maing- with his creature, in terms which express at
jesty
and perfection of the one, the meanness and
frailty
of
the other.
terrogation
There we see how

is,
vastly useful the Figure of In-
in giving us a lofty idea of the
Deity, whilst
every Question awes us into silence, and inspires a sense of
our insufficiencv.

Demosthenes,*
*'
137
and demand what news ? What greater news can ^ there be, than that a Macedonian enslaves the Athenians, and lords it over Greece? Is
go about the
city,
Philip dead?
No:
but he
is
very sick.
And
what advantage wôuld accrue to you from / his death, when, as soon as his head is laid,y you yourselves will raise up another Philip?'* And again,f " Let us set sail for Macedonia. But where shall we land? ^The very war will
discover to us the rotten and un2;uarded sides
of Philip."
Had
this
been uttered simply

it
and without Interrogation,

fallen vastly short
would have
the energy
of the majesty requisite to
the subject in debate.
But
as
in
it is,
and rapidity that appears and answer, and the quick
every question
replies to his
own
demands,
as if they
were the objections of

but more plausible
another person, not only renders his oration*^
more sublime and
lofty,
and probable. For the Pathetic then works the most surprising effects upon us, when it
* Demosth. Philip, lina.
-
-f
Ibid.
Here
are
two words
;
in the original,
which are omitted
in
the translation
ijpero
rtc,
somebody
may demand;
but they
manifestly debase the beauty of the figure.
Dr. Pearce has
an ingenious conjecture,
that,
having been sometime set as
marginal explanations, they crept insensibly into the text.
138
^

fitted to the subject
seems not
bj the
skill
of
it.
the speaker, but to flow opportunely from
And
this
method of questioning and answerself,
\ing to one's
imitates the quick emotions

its
of a passion in
conversation,
i
birth.
For
in
common
when people are questioned, they are warmed at once, and answer the demands put to them with earnestness and truth. Ând thus this Figure of Question and Answer is of wonderful efficacy in prevailing upon the hearer, and imposing on him a belief,
that those things, which are studied
and
laboured, are uttered without premeditation,

in the heat
and fluency of discourse.

is
[What
evident,
follows here
the beginning of a sentence
now maimed and
imperfect, but
it is
from the few words yet remaining, that the Author was going to add another instance of the use of this Figure from Herodotus.] * *
**4:*
*
*
*
* #
*
*
^
*
*
*
*
^
#:
-_
'
SECTION XIX.
*
|-rp|^g
beginning of
is
this
Section
is lost,
but the sense
easily sup-
plied from what immediately follows.]
An-
LO>fGINUS OX THE SUBLIME.

Other great help in attaining grandeur,
is
139
ba-
nishing the Copulatives at a proper season.
For sentences, artfully divested of Conjunctions, drop smoothly down, and the periodsi, are poured along in such a manner, that they
seem
to outstrip
^
the very
(says
thought of the
speaker.
"
Then
Xenophon*) closing
*"The want
lesser
of a scrupulous connexion draws

spirit
tilings into
a
.
compass, and adds the greater
and emotion.
For
is
the
more
rays are collected in a point, the
more
vigorous
the
flame.
Hence
is
there
in
is
yet greater emphasis,
when
the rout of
as in the
an army
shewn
the
1.
same contracted manner,
24th of the Odyssey,
6lO, which has some resemblance to
Sallust's description of the
same
thing,
agreeable to his usual
conciseness, in these four words only, sequi^ fugere, occidi,

capi.'^
Essat/ on the
Odj/ssei/, p. 2d,
IS.
Voltaire has endeavoured to
shew
in the
la
the
huny and confusion
of a battle, in the same manner,
Henriade. Chant. 6.
fureur assemble,
Francois, Anglois, Lorrains, que
Avancoient, combattoient, frappoient, mouroient ensemble.
The
hurry and distraction of Dido's

is
spirits, at
iEneas's de-
parture,
visible from the abrupt and precipitate manner in
which she commands her servants
to
endeavour
Ite,
to stop
him
Ferte
citi
flammas, date vela, impellite remos.

jEneid. II.
Haste, haul
my
galleys out
pursue the foe
Bring flaming brands,
set sail,
and quickly row.

Drj/den.
Rerum
Grsec. p. 219. ed.
Oxon.
et in Orat.
de Agesil.
K 2
140

were pushed, they
their shields together, they
fought, they slew, they were slain."
So Eu-
rylochus in
Homer
!
:*
We
'
went, Ulysses
(such was thy
command)
;
Through
'
1
the lone thicket, and the desert land
A palace m a woody vale

Brown
we found.
with dark forests, and with shades around.
Mr. Pope.
For words of this sort dissevered from one another, and yet uttered at the same time with precipitation, carry with them the energy and marks of a consternation, which at once restrains and accelerates the words. So skilfully has
Homer
rejected the Conjunctions.
SECTION XX.
^ But nothing so effectually moves, heap of Figures combined together.
* Odyss.
^
as a
^
For
K.
ver.
251.
Amongst
the various and beautiful instances of an assem-
blage of figures, which

quently occur
may be produced, and which

mean
so fre-
in the best writings,
one, I believe, has hitherto

the four last verses of the
not been taken notice of; I
24th Psalm.
**
Lift
up your heads,
ye gates, and be ye
shall
lift
up, ye ever-
lasting doors,
and the King of glory
come
in.
Who
is

when two
confederacy,
141
or three are linked together in firm
they
communicate
strength,
efficacy, and beauty to one another.
So
in
Demosthenes' oration* against Midias, the Asyndetons are blended and mixed together with the repetitions and lively description. " There are several turns in the gesture, in the
look, in the voice of the
man, who does

it is
vio-
lence to another, which
impossible for
the party that suffers such violence, to express.''
And
that the course of his oration
might not languish or grow dull by a further progress in the same track (for calmness and sedateness attend always upon order, but the
Pathetic
always rejects
order,
because
it
throws the soul into transport and emotion),
he passes immediately to new Asyndetons

The Lord
Lift
the
King of
glory
strong and mighty, the
Lord
mighty
lift
in battles.
up your heads,
ye gates, and be ye
shall
:
up, ye-êverlasting doors, and the
King of glory
come
he
is
in.
Who
There
is
the
King of glory
!"
The Lord
of hosts
the
King of
glory
are innumerable instances of this kind in the poetical
partsof Scripture, particularly in the
Songof Deborah (Judges,

scarce one thought in
is
chap. V.) and the Lamentation of David over Saul and Jonathan, (2 Samuel, chap,
i.)
;
There
is
them, which
tiful.
is
not figured
nor one Figure which
not beau-
* Pag. 337. ed. Par.
>.
:"
'd'
142

fresh repetitions
and
" in the gesture, in
the look, in the voice
when
hke a
ruffian,
when Hke an enemy, when with his fist, when on the face." The effect of these words upon his judges, is that of the blows of him who made the assault the strokes fall thick upon
one another, and their very souls are subdued by so violent an attack. Afterwards, he charges again with all the force and impetuo" AVhen with his fist, sity of hurricanes
:
when on
outrages.
the face/'
" These
things affect,
to such
these things exasperate
men unused
Nobody,
in giving
a recital of
these things, can express the heinousness of

them.''
By
frequent variation, he every
where preserves the natural force of his Repetitions and Asyndetons, so that with him order seems always disordered, and disorder carries
with
it
a surprising regularity.
SECTION XXI.
To
illustrate the foregoing observation, let
us imitate the style of Isocrates, and insert

the Copulatives in this passage, wherever they
may seem
obs ervation
requisite.
to
Nor indeed is one be omitted, that he who com"

mits violence
things,
143
on another,
may do many
which,"
first SfC
in his gesture, then in his

thirdlif in his voice,
countenance, and
cj-c.
you proceed to insert the Conjunctions, ^you will find, that, by smoothing the roughness, and filling up the breaks by such additions, what was before forcibly, surif
And
prisingly, irresistibly pathetical, will lose all

its
energy and
spirit, will
have
all its fire
im-
mediately extinguished.
of racers,
is
To bind
the limbs
them of active motion and the power of stretching. In like manner, the Pathetic, when embarrassed and entangled in the bonds of Copulatives, cannot subto deprive
sist
without
difificulty.
its
It
is
quite deprived
of liberty in
race,
and divested of that

it
impetuosity, by which
stant
it is
strikes the very in-
discharged.
made
No
writer ever
a less use of Copulatives than St.

in so fast
Paul.
His thoughts poured
upon him,
that he
had
but
no
leisure to knit
them together, by the help of

spirit,
particles,
has by that means given them weight,

significance.
energy, and strong

in
An
instance of
it
may be seen
2 Corinth,
chap.
vi.
From
if
ver. 4, to 10, is
but one sentence, of near
thirty different
members, which
are all detached from one an-
other ; and
the Copulatives be inserted after the Isocratean

will
manner, the strength
be quite impaired, and the sedate

flat
grandeur of the whole grow
and heavy.

144
LONGINUS ON TUE SUBLIME.
SECTION
Hy PER BATONS
among
baton
^
XXII.
are
to
also
be ranked
the serviceable Figures.

is
An Hyper-
a transposing of words or thoughts

very
Virgil
is
happy
in his application
of
this
Figure.
Moriamur,
et in
media arma ruainus.

jEiieid.
I. ii.
ver. 348.
And again, Me, me, adsum
qui feci, in
me
convertiteferrum.
Id. lib.
ix. ver. 4'27.
In both these instances, the words are removed out of

right order into an irregular disposition,
their
which
is
a natural con-
sequence of disorder
in the
mind.
in the
Dr
Pcarce.
There
is
a fine
is
Hyperbaton
5 th book of Paradise Lost;

rising sweet.
Sweet
the breath of
morn, her
birds
:
With charm of earliest
pleasant the sun.
When
His
first
on
this delightful
land he spreads
orient
beams, on herb,
tree, fruit,
and
flow'r,
Glist'ring with
dew: fragrant the

:
fertile
earth
After soft show'rs
and sweet the coming on

silent night,
this fair
Of grateful
With
this
evening mild: then
her solemn bird, and
moon,
And
But
these the
gems of
heav'n, her starry train.
neither breath of morn,
when
:
she ascends,
fruit,
With charms of
Glist'ring with
earliest birds
:
nor herb,
flowV,
dew
nor fragrance after show'rs

:
Nor
With
grateful ev'ning mild

this
nor
silent night.
her solemn biid: nor walk by noon.
Or glitt'riiig starlight,
without thee
is
sweet.

145
out of their natural and grammatical order, and it is a figure stamped as it were with the^
truest
image of a most forcible passion.^ When men are actuated eitlier by wrath, or fear, or indignation, or jealousy, or any of
those numberless passions incident
to
the
mind, which cannot be reckoned up, thej fluctuate here, and there, and every where
are
still
upon forming new
resolutions,
and
breakin2[ throuoh measures before concerted,
without any apparent reason
still
unfixed
and undetermined,
petual hurry;
till,
their thoughts are in per-
tossed as
it
wêre
by some
and
re-
unstable blast, they sometimes return to their

first
resolution: so thatjfby this
flux,
^^
flux of
passion, thcj alter their thoughts,^
u
/
their language,
sion, a
and
their
thousand times.
manner of expresHence it comes to
pass, that^ an imitation of these transposi-
Longinus here,
in
explaining the nature of theHyperbaton,
and again
in the close
of the Section, has
made
use of an Fly-
perbaton, or (to speak more truly) of a certain confused and
more extensive compass of

by accident, or design,
thinks
it
a sentence.
Whether he did
this
cainiot determine;
though Le Fevre
a piece of art in the Author in order to adapt the dic-
tion to the subject.

^
Dr. Pearce.
illustrated
tlic
This
tine
remark may be
by a celebrated passage
in Shakespeaie's
Hamlet, where
poet's art has hit ofl ihe

146

most celebrated writers the
art
tions gives the

\
greatest resemblance of the inward workings
of nature.
strongest and
For
may then be termed

The
per-
most exact resemblance of nature.
beha-
Tiour of his mother

that his mii'.d
is
makes such impression on the young prince^

it,
big with abhorrence of

;
but expressions
fail
him.
He
begins abruptly
but as refieclions crowd thick uphis father.
on
his mind,
he runs off into commendations of
Some
it,
time after his thoughts turn agahi on that action of his
mother, which had raised his resentments, but he only touches
and
flies oft'
again.
In short, he takes up nineteen lines in

in less than
telling us, that his

after her
mother married again

:
two months
husband's death
But two months dead
nay not so much, not two
So
excellent a king, that was to this

to a satyr
:
Hyperion
so loving to
my
mother,
That he permitted not
the winds of heav'n
Visit her face too roughly!

INIust 1
Heav'n and earth?
remember
why, she would hang on him,
As if iucreiise of appetite had grown By what it fed on yet within a month Let me not think ^Frailty, ihy name is woman!
:
little
mouth
or ere those shoes were old,
^\ ilh
which she follow 'd

all
my
poor
father's
body.
Like Niobe,
tears
why
she, ev'n she
Oh
Heav'n
a beast that wants discourse of reason,
WouUl have mourn'd
longer
married with mine uncle.

like
My
Ere
father's brother
but no more
!
my father.
!
Than
I to
Hercules
Within a nn)uth
yet the salt of

left
most unrighteous
tears
'
Had
the flushing of her galled eyes,
Shcmanied!
Oh
most wicked speed!

feet
147
and consummate, when it seems to be^ natm-e; and nature then succeeds best, when she conceals what assistance she receives from art. In Herodotus,* Dionysius the Phocean " For our speaks thus in a Transposition
:
come to important moment,

aftairs are
their crisis;
now
is
the
lonians, to secure your

cruelt}^
liberty, or to
undergo that
is
and op-
pression which
fugitive slaves.
the portion of slaves, nay,
Submit yourselves then to toil and labour for the present. This Un\ and labour will be of no long continuance it will defeat your enemies, and guard your free" O lodom.'' The natural order was this nians, now is the time to submit to toil and
:
labour, for your affairs are

crisis,''
<^^c.
come
to
their
But
as he transposed the salutaafter
tion, lonians,
and
having thrown them

it
into consternation, subjoins it;

fright
seems as
if
had hindered him,

civility to his
at setting out,
from
paying due
audience.
In the
next place, he inverts the order of the thoughts. Before he exhorts them to " submit to toil and
labour," (for that
tion)
is
the end of his exhorta-
he mentions the reason why labour and
* Herod.
I.
(i.e. 11.
'
>*
148
toil
LONGIXUS ON THE SUBLIME.

must be undergone. " Your
affairs (says
he) are
come
to their crisis,''
so
that his
words seem not premeditated, but to be forced unavoidably from him.
But Thucydides
master
posing and
things,
is still
more of a
of
perfect
in that surprising dexterity
of transthose
in-
inverting
the order
which seem naturally united and

as Tlmcydides, yet he
is
separable. Demostliencs, indeed, attempts not

this so often
more
disci eetly liberal of this
kind of Figure than
any other
writer.
.^He seems to invert the
*The eloquence
of St. Paul, in most of his speeches and
argumentations, bears a very great resemblance to that of
mosthenes, as described in this Section by Longinus.

important point being always uppermost
leaves his subject, and
as unexpectedly
flies
DeSome
in his
view, he often
from
it
with brave irregularity, and
agam
returns to his subject,

lost sight of
it.
when one would

instance, in his
in
imagine that he had entirely
For
defence before Kshg Agrippa, Acts, chap. xxvi. when,

tj
order
wipe
off the aspersions
thrown upon him by the Jews, that

sets out with
"he was
a tuibuleiit
and seditious person," he
clearuig his character, proving the integrity of his morals, and

his inoti'eujrive
unblameable behaviour, as one who hoped, by

aliain that
those means, to
happiness of another
life,
for
which
the "twelve tribes served

a sudden
*'
God
continually in the temple ;"
on
lu;
drops the continuation of his defence, and cries out,

it
Why should be thought God should raise the dead?"
a thing incredible with you, that

It nnglit
be reasonably expected,
flying to
that this
would be the end of
his
argument; but by

very order of his discourse, and, what
to utter every thing extempore
;
149
more,
is
so that
by
means of his long Transpositions he drags his readers along^, and conducts them throusih all the intricate mazes of his discourse frequent:
ly arresting his thoughts in the midst of their
career, he
jects,
makes excursions
into different sub]
and intermingles several seemingly unnecessary incidents by this means he gives ^^ his audience a kind of anxiety, as if he had lost his subject, and forgotten what he was
:
about
and
so strongly engages their concern,)
that they tremble for,
and bear
:
their share in,
the dangers of the speaker
at length, after
a long ramble, he very pertinently, but unexpectedly, returns to his subject, and raises
the surprise and admiration of
daring, but
all,
by these
in his
happy Transpositions. The plenty
of examples, which every where occur

orations, will be
ticular instance.
my
excuse for giving no par-
it,
in so
quick and unexpected a transition, he catches his au-
dience before they are aware, and strikes
dumb
his
enemies,
though they
carried,
will not
be convinced.
And
this
point being once

I
he comes about again as unexpectedly, by, "

till it
verily
thought," &c. and goes on with his defence,
brings
him
again to the same point of
tlie resurrection, in ver.
23.

150
SECTION
Those
totes,
XXIII.
^
Figures, which are called

also ^Collections,
Pol vp-
as
^Changes, and
" Polyptotes."] Longinus gives no instance of this Figure:
but one
may be produced from

says,
Cicero's oration for Citlius^
where he
"
We
fact,
will
contend with arguments,
we
:
will
refute accusations by evidences brighter than light itself

shall
fact
engage with
cause with cause, reason with reason."

that of Virgil, iEn. lib. x. ver.
To
which may be added
36l.
H'jeretpede
^2
Collections."]
pes, densusque viro vir.
Dr. Pearce.
The
\\
orator
makes use of
this
Figure,
all its
when, instead of the

particulars
:
hole of a thing, he
numbers up
of which
:
we have an
instance in Cicero's oration

this
for Mavcellus
"
The The
centurion has no share in
honour,
If Ci-
the lieutenant none, the cohort none, the troop none."
cero had said, "

this
soldiers have
his
no share
in this
honour,"
would have declared

See
also
meaning, but not the force of the

Orat.
1.
speaker.
Quinctilian, Instit.
viii.
c. 2.
de
congerie
verborum ac senteutiarum idem
significantium.
Dr. Pearce.
'
" Changes."] Quinctilian

Orat.
''
1.
gives an instance of this Figure,
Instit.
ix. c.
3, from Cicero's oration for Sex. Rosis
cius
For though he
master of so
is lit
much
art,
as to
seem
the only person alive
who
to
appear upon the stage; yet
he
is
possessed of such noble qualities, that he seems to be the
only
man
alive
w ho may seem worthy never
to
appear there."-
Dr. Pearce.

*
151
friend)
Gradations, are (as you know,
my
well adapted to emotion, and serviceable in
adorning, and rendering what

respects,
we
say, in all
more grand and affecting. And to what an amazing degree do Changes either
'^
of Time, Case, Person, Number, Gender, diversify
and enliven the style As to Change of Numbers, I assert, that in words singular in form may be discerned all^ the vigour and efficacy of plurals, and that
!
such singulars are highly ornamental.

^
Along
the shores an endless

noise,
crowd appear,
ear.
Whose
and din, and shouts, confound the
" Gradations,"] There

V.
is
an instance of
tlie
this
Figure in
llie
Rom.
It
is
continued
latter part
throughout
chapter, but
branches of the
Transpositions.
appear not
plainly,
because of the
justified
It begins ver. 1.
" Therefore being
by
faith,
we have peace
with
God, through our Lord Jesus

access by faith into this grace
in
Christ,
By whom
we
stand,
also
we have
wherein
and rejoice
hope of the glory of God.
And
not only so, but
we
glory in tribulations also, knowing
that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience;
and experience, hope; and hope maketh not ashamed; because," &c. &c.
*
Changes of Case and Gender
fall
not under the district of
the
Enghsh tongue.
On those
this
of Time, Person, and
Number,
Longinus enlarges
^Tlie beauty of
tion.
in the sequel,
Figure
will, I fear,
be
lost in the translacroze d,

is
But
it
must be observed,
that the
word
of the
singular,
and appear, of the plural number. Allowance must
152
LONGINLS OX THE SUBLIME.

are most worthy of remark, be-
Hut plurals
cause they impart a greater magnificence to

the style, and by the copiousness of
number
give it more emphasis and grace. So the words
of CEdipus in Sophocles
;'*
Oh
You
first
nuptials, nuptials
produc'd, and since our
fi'tal
birth
Have mix'd
Blended
/
our blood, and
ail
our race confounded.
in horrid
and incestuous bonds
See! fathers, brothers, sons, a dire alliance! See!

sisters,
wives, and mothers!

lust or incest
all
the
names
That
e'er
from
could
arise.
All these terms denote
on the one side
CEdipus only, and on the other Jocasta. But

the
number thrown
into the plural, seems to
multiply the misfortunes of that unfortunate

pair.
So another poet has made use of the same method of increase,

Then Hectors and Sarpedons
issued forth.
Of
this
Figure
is
that expression of Plato
concerning the Athenians, quoted by me in my other writings. " For neither do the
Pelops's, nor the Cadmus's, nor the
iEgyp-
be made
guage
bly
in
such cases; for when the genius of another lannot

retain
it,
will
the original beauty
must unavoida-
fly off.
* (Edip. Tyran.
ver.
1417.

tus's,
153
nor the Danaus's, dwell here with us,
nor indeed any others of barbarous descent

but we ourselves, Grecians entirely, not having our blood debased
tures,
by barbarian mix-
dwell here alone,^' &c.
*When
the,
words are thus confusedly thrown into multitudes,
one upon another, they excite in us
more elevated ideas of things. Tet recourse is not to be had to this Figure on all occasions, but then only when the subject will admit of an Amplification, an Engreater and
largement, Hyperbole, or Passion, either one

or more.
''
For
is
to
hang such trappings
to
every passage
highly pedantic./
* Plato in Menexeno,
''
p. 245. ed. Par.

8cc.]
" For
to
hang such trappings,"
I have given this
passage such a turn

English reader.
bells every
as, I liope, will clear the

literal translation is,
The
is
meaning to an " For hanging the
where savours too much of the sophist or pedant."
The metaphor
who,
bells
at public
(K(i)C(t)yag)
borrowed from a custom among the ancients,

to
games and concourses, were used

on the bridles and trapping of
chiming might add
hang
little
their horses, that
their continual
pomp
to the solemnity.
The robe
sation,
or
ephod of the
high-priest, in the
Mosaic dispen-
had
this
ornament of bells, though another reason, bedignity of the sound,

is
sides the
pomp and
xxviii.
alleged for
it
in
Exodus
33.
154
SECTION XXIV.
\
On
the contrary also, plurals reduced and

^
contradicted into singulars, have sometimes
much grandeur and

sides, all
magnificence.
" Be-
Peloponnesus was at that time rent And, " At the representainto factions.''*
tion of Phrynicus's tragedy, called.
The Siege
of Miletus,
the whole theatre was melted
" Besides,
all
Peloponnesus.'']
Instead of,
"
all
the in-
habitants of Peloponnesus were at that time rent into factions."

St.
Paul makes use of
this figure, jointly
with a change of
person, on several occasions, and with different views.
In
Rom,
first
vii.
to avoid the
direct charge of disobedience

transfers the discourse
on the
into
whole body of the Jews, he
the
all
person, and so charges the insufficiency and
frailty
of
his countryrcen
on himself,
to
guard against the invidiousness
which an open accusation might have drawn upon him. See

ver.
925.
p. 17. ed.
* Demosth. Orat. de Corona,

=
Oxon.
all
" The whole
theatre."]
Instead of, "

city
the people in
the theatre."
Miletus was a
of Ionia, which the Per-
sians besieged and took.
Phrynicus, a tragic poet, brought

this city.
a play on the stage about the demolition of
But
the
Athenians (as Herodotus informs us) fined him a thousand
drachm,
for ripping
open afresh
their
domestic sores
and
published an edict, that no one should ever after write on that

subject.^
Dr. Pearce,
this
Shakespeare makes a noble use of
Figure, in the fol-
'

into tears/'*
155
For uniting thus one complete,
number out of several distinct, renders a disBut the course more nervous and solid.
beauty, in each of these figures, arises from
same cause, which is the unexpected change of a word into its opposite number! For when singulars occur unexpectedly to multiply them into plurals, and by a sudden and unforeseen change, to contract plurals into one singular sounding and emphatical,
the
is
the
mark of a pathetic
speaker.
SECTION XXV
When
no longer
you introduce things past

and
in the
relate,
as actu-
ally present,
moment of action, you
but display, the very action
lowing lines from his Antony and Cleopatra, though in the

close, there is a very strong
dash of the Hyperbole
The
Her
Enthron'd
i'lh'
city cast
people out upon her, and Antony

market-place, did
sit
alone
Whistling to
th' air;
which but
for vacancy,
''^
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra And made a gap in nature.

* Herod.
1.
too,
''
"''
'>'^^-
'*A
'-'^'t ->'
.'
6. c. 21.
.yj
.-n.-y
-''
l2
156

"
*
before the eyes of your readers.

(says
soldier
Xenophon*) falls down under Cyrus's horse, and being trampled under foot, wounds him in the belly with his sword. The horse, impatient of the wound, flings about, and
throws off Cyrus.
He
falls
to the ground/'
Thucy dides very

Figure. - v,
frequently
makes use of this
_.
SECTION XXVI.
Change
eyes,
of persons has also a wonderful
effect, in setting the
very things before our
and making the hearer think himself actually present and concerned in dangers.
So
Virgil,
^n.
1.
xi. ver.
637.
Orsilochus Romuli, quando ipsum horrebat adire,
Hastam
intorsit
equo, ferrumque sub aure
reliquit.
Quo
sonipes ictu furit aiduus, altaque jactat
Vulneris impatiens adrecto pectore crura.

Volvitur
ille
excussus humi.
of the present tense, Virgil makes the reader
By making use
of the warrior.
see almost with his eyes, the
wound
of the horse, and the
fall
D7\ Pearce.
fnstitut.
I.
* Xenophon de Cyri
7.
.^

when he
them.
is
l57
only attentive to a recital of
No force could vanquish them, thou would'st have thought, No toil fatigue, so furiously they fought.*
And
And
sail
so x^ratusj-jsea in that sad
O put not thou to

this
month
:J
*
!
passage of Herodotus
"
You
shall
upwards from the city Elephantina, and at length you Avill arrive upon a level coast. After you have travelled over this tract of
land,
sail
you shall go on board another ship, and two days, and then you will arrive at a
great city, called Meroe."
You
see,
my
* IHad.
^
0. ver.
698.
f
ver.
Arati Phaenom. ver. 287.
Virgil supplies another instance of the efficacy
of
-k
this
figure, in the
^n.
1. viii.
689...It
Una omnes
ruere, ac
totum spumare reductis
Convolsum remis
rostrisque tridentibus zequor.

'
Alta petunt: pelago credas innare revolsas
-"
'
Cycladas, aut montes concurrere montibus altos,
'
The allusions
in the last
two
lines prodigiously heighten
and
exalt the subject.
So Tasso
describes the horror of a battle
very pompously, in his
Gierusalemme Liberata.
il
Canto 9no.
L'horror, la crudelta, la tema,
lutto
Van
d'intorno scorrendo
et in varia
imago
Vincitrice la morte errar per tutto
Vedresti, et andeggiar di sangue un lago.

^
X Herod.
1.
2.
c.
29.
,..

158
friend,

how he
carries
your imagination along

!
with him in this excursion

it
how he conducts
through the different scenes, making even And all such passages, dihearing sight
!
rectly addressed to the hearers,
make them
fancy themselves actually present in every occurrence. But when you address your discourse, not in general to
particular, as here,*
"
all,
but to one in
You
could not see, so tierce Tydides rag'd,

for
Whether
'
Greece or
Ilion he engag'd
Mr. Pope.
\ By
you not only strike more upon his passions, but fill him with a more earnest attention, and a more anxious impathis address,
tience for the event.
*
2
Iliad.
ver. 85.
in
Solomon's words,
Prov.
viii.
34,
bear some resem-
blance,
in the Transition, to this instance
from Homer: " She
crieth at the gates, at the entry of the city, at the
coming
voice
is
in
of
the doors
Unto you, O
also an
men,
1 call,
and
my
to the
sons of men."
Dr. Pearce.
example of
to tell
it
There
is
in St.
Luke,
v.
14.
" And
thyself
he commanded him
to the priest."
no man, but
Go, shew
cxxviii. 2.
And
ed are
another more remarkable, in

all
Psalm
" Bless-
they that fear the Lord, and walk in his ways
For
thee,
thou shalt eat the labour of thy hands.
Oh
well
is
and happy
shalt thou
be
!"
159
SECTION XXVII.
Sometimes when
a writer
is
saying any
in,
thing of a person, he brings him
by a sudThis
fi-
den Transition, to speak for himself.
gure produces a vehement and lively Pathetic.

^
Now
Hector, with loud voice, renew'd their

assault the ships
I lind at distance
toils,
;
Bade them
But whom
and leave the

from the
spoils
fleet,
He
from
this
vengeful arm his death shall meet,*
That part of the narration, which he could
There
is
a celebrated
and masterly
transition of this kind,
in the
4th book of Milton's Paradise Lost.

at their
Thus
Both
shady lodge
arriv'd,
both stood,
-^
.^
turn'd,
and under open sky ador'd

_'
The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heav'n, Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe And starry pole Thou also mad'st the night, ^ Maker omnipotent, and thou the day,
'
'
>,
'
Mr. Addison
observes,
^^
That most of the modern heroic

but as
poets have imitated the ancients, in beginning a speech, with-
out premising that the person said thus, or thus
it is
easy to imitate the ancients in the omission of two or three
words,
it
requires
judgment
to
do
it
in
such a manner as they
shall not
be missed, and
that the
speech may begin naturally
without them."
Spectator,
No. 321.
.
Iliad, o. ver.
346.

160
go through with decently, the poet here assumes to himself, but, without any previous notice, claps this abrupt menace into the mouth of his angry hero. How flat must it
have sounded, had he stopped to put
Hector spoke
thus, or thus?
in,
But now the
quickness of the Transition outstrips the very
thought of the poet. Upon which account

exigency of time
will
this
figure
is
then
most seasonably applied, when the
pressing-
not admit of any stop
or delay, but even enforces a transition from
persons to persons, as in this passage of ^Hecataeus " Ceyx, very much troubled at these
:
proceedings, immediately
commanded
all
the
descendants of the Heraclidse to depart his

territories
For
am
unable to
assist
you.
To
prevent therefore your
own
destruction,
and not to involve me in yovn* ruin, go seek a retreat amongst another people." ^ Demosthenes has made use of this Figure
" Hecatzeus,"]
of the
Laugbaiiie.
in the
'
He
means Hecataeus
the Milesian,
tlê
first
historians, according to Suidas,
who wrote
in
prose.
'
" Demosthenes has made use," &c.] Reading here

o,
original ov instead of
a very small alteration due to the sa-
gacity of Dr. Tonstal, clearly preserves the sense.
For unin
doubtedly Demosthenes makes use of a Transition
the

in a different
l6l
manner, and with much more
passion and volubihtj, in his oration against Aristogiton :* " And shall not one among you
boil with wrath,
when
the iniquity of this inis
solent
and
?
profligate wretch
laid before
I say,
!
your eyes
This insolent wretch,
^Thou most abandoned creature
who when
excluded the liberty of speaking, not by bars or gates, for these indeed some other might
have burst/'
fect
The thought
;
is
here
left
imper-
and unfinished, and he almost tears his words asunder to address them at once to dif" Who Thou most abanferent persons doned creature !" Having diverted his discourse from Aristogiton, and seemingly left him, he turns again upon him, ând attacks
same manner with Homer and Hecatieus.

translate
it
thus "
would therefore
use of this
Demosthenes hath
also
made
figure, not truly in a different
manner, but with much more
passion and volubility."

* Oral, prima in Aristog. p. 486. ed. Paris.
*
" And
attacks
him afresh," &c.]
This
figure
is
very art-
fully
used by
St. Paul, in his Epistle to the
Romans.
His
drift is to
shew, that the Jews were not the people of God,
exclusive of the gentiles, and had no
more reason than
they,
to form such high pretensions, since they had been equally guilty of violating the
moral law of God, which was anteceYet, not to
dent to the Mosaic, and of eternal obligation.

exasperate the
Jews
at setting out,
and so render them averse
162

afresh with
him and
^
passion.
more violent strokes of heat So Penelope in Homer,*

!
The
lordly suitors send
But why must you

?
Bring; baneful
mandates from that odious crew
to
all
the arguments he might afterwards produce, he begins

all their vices,
with the gentiles, and gives a black catalogue of
which
(in reality
were, as well as) appeared excessively heinous
in the eyes of the
Jews,
till,
in the
beginning of the second

with,
chapter, he unexpectedly turns
upon them
" Therefore
judg-
thou art inexcusable,

est," ver. 1.
man, whosoever thou

ver. 3.
art, that
and again,
"And
thinkest thou this,

things,
man,
that judgest
them which do such
and dost the
same, that thou
shall
escape the judgment of God?'' &c.&c.
If the whole be read with attention, the apostle's art will be
found surprising,
his
eloquence will appear grand, his strokes
cutting, the attacks he

rising in their strength.
makes on the Jews
successive,
and
* Odyss.
^
c.
ver.
68 1
suit-
In these verses Penelope, after she had spoken of the
ors in the third person,
seems on a sudden exasperated
at their
if
proceedings, and addresses her discourse to them as
they
were present.
Why
To
thus, ungen'rous
in
men, devour
my
son? &c.
which passage
iii.
Homer, one
in Virgil bears great re-
semblance, iEn.
ver. 708.
Hie
pelagi tot tempestatibus actus,
Heu
genitorem, omnis cura? casusque levamen,

;
Amitto Anchisen
Deseris, heu
!
hie
me, pater optima, fessum

periclis.
tantis
nequicquam erepte
in the poetical
As
does a passage also
book of Job, chap,
xvi. ver. 7,
where,
after
he had said of God, " But
now he
hath

LONGINUS
What
!
ON"
THE SUBLIME.
my
lord
to
l63
must the
faithful servants of
Forego
their tasks for
them
crown
the board?
;
1 scorn their love,
and I detest
their sight
And may
they share their last of feasts to-night
Why Why
And
Did
thus, uugen'rous
riot thus,
till
men, devour
my
?
son
he be quite undone
Heedless of him, yet timely hence

fear the
retire,
sire.
vengeance of
his
awful
not your fathers oft his might

children you the
commend?
?
And
wondrous
tale attend
That injur'd hero you return'd may see, Think what he was, and dread what he may
be.
SECTION XXVIII.
That
>
a Periphrasis (or Circumlocution)
is^
a cause of Sublimity, nobody, I think, can deny. For as in music an important word
is
by the which are run harmoniously upon

rendered
more sweet,
divisions
it
;
so a
Periphrasis sweetens a discourse carried on in
propriety of language, and contributes very
much
to the
ornament of
it,
especially
it,
if
there be no jarring or discord in
but every
part be judiciously and musically tempered.
made me weary," by
speech to
hast
a sudden Transition, he addresses his
God
in the
all
words immediately following, " Thou
made
desolate
my company."
Dr. Pearcc
16'4
LONCINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
This
may be
established
a passage of Plato, in
neral Oration
:
beyond dispute from the beginning of his Fuhave now discharged

to these our departed
fatal
"
We
the last duties

friends,
we owe
who, thus provided, make the
voyage.
They have been conducted pub-
Archbishop Tillotson
will afford us
an instance of the use
of
this
Figure, on the same thought almost as that quoted by
Longinus from Plato.
" When we consider

here, that
that
we have
but a
little
while to be
we
are
upon our journey
travelling towards our heaall
venly country, where

desire,
it
we
shall
meet with
the delights
we can
ought not to trouble us
much
to
endure storms and
foul ways, and to
want many of those accommodations we

This
as
is
might expect
at
home.
the
common
fate of travellers,
and we must take things
we
find
them, and not look to have

difficulties
every thing just to our mind.
These
and incon-
veniences will shortly be over, and after a few days will be quite
forgotten, and
be
to us as
though they had never been.
And
we
all
when we
sure shall
are safely landed in our
own
country, with what plea-
we
look back on these rough and boisterous seas

?"
have escaped
1st
Vol. p. 98, folio.

is
In each passage Death
the principal thought to
which
;
the circumstances of the Circumlocutions chiefly refer the Archbishop has
but
wound
it
up
to a greater height,
and tem-
pered
it
with more agreeable and more extensive sweetness.

;
Plato inters his heroes, and then bids them adieu

Christian orator conducts
but the
them
to a better world,
from whence
he gives them a retrospect of that through which they have

passed, to enlarge the comforts, and give them a higher enjoy-
ment of
the future.

licly
l65
on their way by the whole body of the city, and in a private capacity by their paHere he calls Death rents and relations/' " the fatal voyage/' and discharging the funeral offices, a
pubhc conducting of them by And who can deny that the their country. sentiment by this means is very much exalted ? or that Plato, by infusing a melodious '^ Circumlocution, has tempered a naked and
barren thought with harmony and sweetness ? So Xenophon :* " You look upon toil as the
guide to a happy
life.
Your
souls are pos-
sessed of the best qualification that can adorn a
martial breast. Nothing produces in

sensible emotions of joy as
you such commendation/'

toil
By
expressing an inclination to endure
in this Circumlocution, "
You
look upon la-
bour as the guide

larging:
to a
happy
life /'
and by en-
some other words

to his
after the
same man-
ner, he has not only exalted the sense, but given
new grace
encomium.
So that inimi-
table passage of Herodotus \\ "

afflicted those Scythians,
The goddess
sacrilegi-
who had
ously pillaged her temple with^ the female

disease."
* Xenophon. Cyropsed.
lib. 1.
+ Herod.
"
1.
I.e. 105.
this Periphrasis,
The
beauty of
which Longiniis so highly
166
'^'
SECTION XXIX.
is
^Circumlocution
it
"
indeed more dan-
gerous than any other kind of figure, unlessv
be used with great circumspection
it is
otherwise very apt to grow trifling and insi-
and savour strongly of pedantry and dulness. For this reason, Plato (though for
pid,
the generality superior to
all
in his figures,
is ri-
yet being sometimes too lavish of them)

diculed very
much
for the following expres-
commends, appears not
at present.
Commentators indeed
this disease
have laboured hard to discover what
was, and
abundance of remarks, learned and curious

been made upon
it.
to
be sure, have
The
best
leave
way
will
be
to imitate the de-
corum of Herodotus, and

^
it still
a mystery.
" Circumlocution
is
indeed,"
&c.]
sick
Shakespeare,
in
King Hichard
the Second, has
made
John of Gaunt pour

indeed sound very
:
out such a multitude to express England, as never was, nor

ever will be met with again.
Some of them
fmely, at least, in the ears of an Englishman
for instance,
This royal throne of kings,
this seat
of Mars,
'
..
This other Eden, demy paradise,

This
fortress built
by nature
for herself
;

Against infection in the hand of war
'
'
".
This happy breed of men,

This precious stone
this little
world,
set in the silver sea.

sion in his Treatise of
16?
Laws
:*
" It
is
not to
be permitted, that wealth of either gold or

silver
should get footing or settle in a city/'

he, say the critics, forbidden the pos-
Had
session of cattle, he
might have called
it
the
wealth of mutton and beef. And now, what has been said on
ject, will, I
this sub-
presume,
my dear Terenti anus,
abundantly shew, of what service Figures may be in producing the Sublime. For it is
manifest, that
all
have mentioned render
compositions more pathetic
and
affecting.
For the Pathetic partakes

racter can
as
much
of the
Sublime,âs writing exactly in rule and cha-
do of the Agreeable.
PART
IV.
SECTION
But
by the
light they
XXX.
since the sentiments and the lancruage
of compositions are generally best explained
throw upon one another.
Plato da Legibus,
1.
5. p. 741. ed.
Pa
168

the next place consider,
let US in
what
it
is
that remains to be said concerning the Dic-^

tion.
:
And
here, that a judicious choice of
t^
proper and magnificent terms has wonderful

effects in
winning upon and entertaining an
audience, cannot, I think, be denied)

it is
For
from hence, that the greatest writers de-
rive with indefatigable care the grandeur, the
beauty, the solemnity, the weight, the strength,
and the energy of

dress,
their expressions.
This
clothes a composition in the
most beautiful
all
makes
it
shine like a picture in

it
the
>^
gaiety of colour, and, in a word,
animates
our thoughts, and inspires them with a kind of vocal

life.
\
But
it is
needless to dwell
upon
these particulars, before persons of so

taste
much
and experience. Fine words are indeed the peculiar light in which our thoughts must shine. l.But then it is by no means proper ^/ that they should every where swell and look big. -^For dressing up a trifling subject in grand exalted expressions, makes the same ridiculous appearance, as the enormous mask of a tragedian would do upon the diminutive face of an infant. But in poetry
"*'
******
* * *
[The remainder of this Section
is lost.]
l69
SECTION XXXI.
*
*
[The beginning of
* In this verse of
is
this Sec-
tion
is lost.]
Anacreon,
a simplinatural
the terms are vulgar, yet there

city in
it
which pleases, because

shall this
it is
I^
Nor
Thracian vex
me more
And
for this reason, that celebrated expres-
sion of Theopompus seems to

nificant of
lius
me the most
sig-
any
I ever
met
with, though Ceciit
has found something to blame in
"Philip (says he) was used to swallovr affronts,

in
compliance with the exigencies of his

^
affairs/'
Vulgar terms are sometimes
much more
There never was a
line
of higher grandeur, or more ho-
nourable to
human
nature, expressed at the
same time
in
a greater plainness and simplicity of icrma, than the following,

in the
Essay on
Man
common life, or familiar objects,
to
An
'
honest man's the noblest work of God.

stand
Images, drawn from
in
need of a deal of judgment
support and keep them from
sinking, but have a
much
better effect,
and are
far
more ex-
pressive,
when managed by
:
a skilful hand, than those ot a
higher nature
the truth of this
remark
is
:
visible
from these
lines in Shakespeare's
Romeo
and Juliet
170

most ornamental could
are easily understood, be-
significant than the
possibly be.
They
I
And
That
would have thee gone
yet no further than a wanton's bird.

lets it
hop a
httle
from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner
in his twisted gyves,

it
And
So
with a silk thread pulls
back again^
loving jealous of
its liberty.
Mr. Addison
has
made use of an Image of
a lower nature
in his Cato, where the lover cannot part with his mistress with-
out the highest regret
as the lady could not with her lover in
the former instance from
Shakespeare.
:
lie has touched
it
with equal delicacy and grace
Thus
o'er the dying
lamp,
th'
;
unsteady flame
ofif
Hangs
quiv'ring to a point
leaps
its
by
fits,
And
falls
again, as loath to quit
hold.
I have ventured to give these instances of the beauty
and
strength of
Images taken from low and common
objects, bein
cause what the Critic says of Terms, holds equally
regard to
^,
Images.
An
expression
is
not the worse for being obvious

it
and
familiar,
for a judicious application gives
new
dignity
and
to
strono; significance.
All Images and

spirit.
Words
their
are dangerous
such as want genius and
By
management,
grand Words and Images, improperly thrown together, sink

into burlesque
liar are
and sounding nonsense, and the easy and fami-
tortured into insipid fustian.
true genius will steer
securely in either course, and with such bold rashness on particular occasions, .Inat he will almost
touch upon rocks, yet

in
never receive any damage.
This remark,
that part of
it
which regards the Terras, may be

lines of
illustrated
by the following
Shakespeare, spoken by Apemantus to Timon,
when

cause borrowed from
is
171
common
life
and what
most familiar
to us, soonest
engages our
belief.
Therefore,
when a
person, to promote
ill
his ambitious designs, bears
treatment and
reproaches, not only with
patience,
but a
seeming pleasure, to say that he swallows affronts, is as happy and expressive a phrase as
could possibly be invented.
The
following
passage from Herodotus in
my opinion comes
very near
it.*
" Cleomenes (says he) being
he had abjured
all
human
society,
and vowed
to pass the re-
mamder
.
of his days in a desert:
What
think'st
thou
That
the bleak air, thy boist'rous chamberlain,

shirt
Will put thy
on warm
will these moist trees,
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels.
And skip when

Candied with
thou point'st out
will the cold brook,
ice,
cawdle thy morning

?
taste
To cure
Of
thy o'er-night's surfeit
Call the creatures.

the spite
Whose naked
natures live in
all
wreakful heav'n, whose bare unhoused trunks,

the conflicting elements expos'd.
;
To
Oh
Answer mere nature

!
bid them
flatter
thee
'
thou shalt find

is
The whole
by such an
carried
on with so much
it
spirit,
and supported
air
of solemnity, that
is
noble and affecting.

inferior hands,
Yet
the
same expressions and
allusions, in
might have retained

ridiculous.
'
their original
baseness, and been quite

'
* Herod.
I.
6. c. 75.
'

172

his flesh into small pieces,
seized with madness, with a little knife that
he had, cut
till,
having entirely mangled his body, he expired/' And again,* " Pythes, remaining still
in the ships fought courageously,
till
he was
hacked in pieces/^ These expressions approach near to vulgar, but are far from having vulgar significations.
SECTION XXXII.
As
cilius
number of Metaphors, Cehas gone into their opinion, who have

to a proper
two or three at most, in expressing the same object. But in this also, let Desettled it at
mosthenes be observed as our model and guide;
and by him we
to apply them,
shall find, that the

is,
proper time^
when
the passions are so
much worked
rent,
up, as to hurry on like a tor-
and unavoidably carry along with them a whole crowed of metaphors. " ^ Those
* Herod.
^
1.
7. c.
181.
in
this
'
Demosthenes,
instance, bursts not out
upon the
traitorous creatures of Philip, witli

strikes
such bitterness and severity
them not dumb,

;
witli
such a continuation of vehement
and cutting Metaphors
as St.
:
Jude some
profligate \Yretches
in his Epistle, vcr. IC, 13
173
prostituted souls, those cringing traitors, those

furies of the
bined to
commonwealth, who have comwound and mangle their country,

its
who have drunk up
liberty in healths, to
Philip once, and since to Alexander, measur-
ing their happiness by their belly and their

lust.
As
for those generous
principles of
to
honour, and that maxim, never
endure a
master, which to our brave forefathers were
the high ambition of hfe, and the standard
of
felicity, these
they have quite subverted.''

this
Here, by means of
multitude of Tropes,
traitors in the
the orator bursts out
upon the
It
is,
warmest indignation.
however, the
''
These
are spots in your feasts of charity,

:
when
they feast
with you, feeding themselves without fear without water, carried about of winds
withereth,
:
clouds they are
trees,
whose
:
fruit
without
sea,
is
fruit,
plucked up by the roots

their
raging
waves of the
stars, to
foaming out
own shame
wandering
whom
reserved the blackness of darkness for ever."

the bold defence of Christianity, against the
lusts,
By how much
lewd practices,
insatiable
is
and impious blasphemies of

glorious than the defence of a
;
wicked abandoned men,
more
petty state, against the intrigues of a foreign tyrant
or,
by
how much more honourable

for the glory of
a'ld
praiseworthy
it is,
to contend
God
and
religion, than the reputation of

this
one
republic
that of
by so much does
passage of the apostle exceed

in
Demosthenes, commended by Longinus,
force of
expression, liveliness of allusion, and height of Sublimity.
174
*
precept of Aristotle and Theopbrastus, that
bold Metaphors ought to be introduced with
some small
alleviations
;
such
as, if
it
so expressed
and
as
it
were, and if
may he I may
speak with so much boldness.
For
this excuse,
say they, very

the figures.
much
palliates the hardness of
Such a rule hath a general use, and therefore I admit it yet still I maintain, what I advanced before in regard to Figures, that bold Metaphors, and those too in good plenty, are very seasonable in a noble composition, where they are always mitigated and softened, by the vehement Pathetic and generous Sublime dispersed through the
;
'^
This remark shews the penetration of the judgment of
Longinus, and proves the propriety of the strong jSIetaphors

in
Scripture;
as
''
when arrows
sword
to
are said to be
"drunk with
uses stronger,
blood," and a
devour flesh."
(Deut. xxxii. 42.)
It illustrates the eloquence of St. Paul,
who
styles
more
expressive, and
;
more accumulated
for instance,
JNIetaphors,
than any
other writer
*'
as
when,
he
his converts,
His joy,
his
crown,
iii.
his
hope, his glory, his crown of reto
joicing." (Phil.
Christ."
*'
9-)
^Vhen he exhorts them "
put on
(Rom. xiii. 14.) When he speaks against the heathens, who had changed the truth of God into a lie." (Rom. i.
23.)
When
iii.
against wicked
is
men, " whose end

and whose glory
is
is
destruction,
whose God
(Phil.
their belly,
their
iii.
shame."
13
lij.)
See
a chain of sliong ones,
Rom.
18.

175
whole.
tic
For
all
as
it is
the nature of the Pathe-
and Sublime,
to run
rapidly along, and
carry
before them, so they require the
worked up in, to be strong and forcible, and do not so much as give leisure to a hearer, to cavil at their number, befigures, they are
cause they immediately strike his imagination,
and inflame him
^\dth all
the
warmth
and fire of the speaker. But further, in Illustrations and Descriptions, there is nothing so expressive and significant, as a chain of
continued Tropes.
described, in so
By
these has
Xenophon *
pom-
pous and magnificent terms, the anatomy of the human body. By these has Plato -f described the
so Divine a
same
tiling, in
so unparalleled,
manner.
"
Tlie head of
man
he
*
f-
A7r01.1rrif.10r, 1. 1. c.
45. ed. Oxon.
Phito
in
TimEeo passim.
The
Allegory or chain of ^letapliors that occurs in Psalm
Isxx. 8,
is
no way
inferior to this of Plato.
The
royal author
s|)eaks thus of the
people of Israel under the Metaphor of a
vine
" Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt

out the heathen and planted
it.
tliou
hast cast
when
it
had taken root,
it
Thou madest room for it, and filled the land. The hills were
it,
covered with the shadow of

like the
and the boughs thereof were

stretched out her branches
goodly cedar-trees.
She
unto the sea, and her boughs unto the river."
Dr. Pearce.
176
calls

a citadel.
The neck
is
an isthmus placed
^'between the head and the breast.

tebrae, or joints,
The
ver-
on which
is
it
turns, are o
many
allures
hinges.
Pleasure
the bait, which

is
men
to evil,
and the tongue
the in-
former of
St.
tastes.
The
heart, being the
knot
Meta-
Paul has nobly described,
in
a continuation of
phors, the Christian armour, in his Epistle to the Ephesians,
chap.
vi.
13, 8cc,
The
19
reader
sublime description of the horse in Job, chap, xxxix.
25, has been highly applauded
by several writers.
The
may see some just observations on it, in the Guardian, No. 86. But the 29th chapter of the same book will aft'ord as
of the beauty and energy of this figure as can any
:
fine instances
where bs met with

*'
Oh
that
were as
in
months
the
past, as in the days
when
'
God
preserved
me
when
Almighty was yet with me,

:
when my
me when I washed my steps with butter, and the rock poured me out rivers of oil When and when the eye saw the ear heard me, then it blessed me The blessing of him that was me, it gave witness to me.
children were about
!
ready to perish came upon me, and 1 caused the widow's heart
to sing for joy.
I
put on righteousness, and
it
clothed
me;
judgment was
blind,
as a robe
and a diadem.
1
I was
eyes to the
and
is
feet
was
I to the lame.
was a
father to the poor."
There
another beautiful use of this Figure in the latter
part of the 65th Psalm.
The
description
is
lively,
and what
been
fre-
the French call riante, or laughing.
It has indeed
quently observed, that the Eastern writings abound very

in strong ISIetaphors })orted
;
much
.
but
in Scripture
they are always sup-
by
ground-work of masculine and nervous strength,
without which they arc apt to swell into ridiculous Bombast.
LOJfGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.

of the
the
veins,
177
blood
all
and the fountain from whence arises, and briskly circulates

is
through
the members,
fortified.
a watch-tower
completely
The
pores he calls naris
row
streets.
And
because the heart
sub-
ject to violent palpitations, either
turbed with fear
when disof some impending evil, or

wrath, the gods, says he,
ill
when inflamed with

hence
arise,
have provided against any
effect that
might
by giving a place in the body to the lungs, a soft and bloodless substance, furnished with inward vacuities, like a sponge,
that whenever choler inflames the heart, the
lungs should easily yield, should gradually
break
its
violent strokes,
and preserve
it
from
harm.
The
seat of the concupiscible pas-
sions, he has
named the apartment of the wo-
men
the seat of the irascible, the apartment
of the men.
entrails,
The
spleen
is
the sponge of the

filled
from whence, when
with excre-
ments,
it is
swelled and bloated.

all
Afterwards
those parts
(proceeds he) the gods covered
with
flesh, their
rampart and defence against
the extremities of heat
out like
and cold, soft throudia cushion, and gently giving way to
outward impressions.
pasture of the flesh
;
The blood
he calls the
for the
and adds, that
sake of nourishing the remotest parts, they
178
opened the body into a number of rivulets, like a garden well stocked with plenty of
canals, that the veins might
by
this
means
re-
ceive their supply of the vital moisture from
the heart, as the

it
common
source, and convey
through
all
the sluices of the body.
And
left
at the
approach of death, the
soul, he says, is
loosed, like a ship from her cables,

at the liberty of driving at pleasure."
and
Many
other turns of the same nature in the sequel
might be adjoined, but these already abundantly shew, that the Tropes are naturally^/
endued with an
air
of grandeur, that Meta-
phors contribute very
much
to Sublimity,
and are of very important service in descriptive and pathetic compositions. That the use of Tropes, as well as of all other things which are ornamental in discourse,
may be
it
carried to excess,
is
obvious
it.
enough,, though I should
not mention
Ilcncc
comes
to pass, that
many
severely _
if
censure Plato, because oftentimes, as
he
was mad
self to
to utter his words, he suffers
him-
be hurried into raw undigested Meta" For phors, and a vain pomp of Allegory.
is it
not (says he) * easy to conceive, that a
Pl;ito, I.G.
de Legibus, p. 773. ed. Par.
179
city ought to resemble a goblet replenished
with a well-tempered mixture? where, when

the foaming deity of wine sparkles and fumes
;
is
poured
in, it
but when ehastiscd by

it
another more sober divinity,

alliance,
joins in firm
and composes a pleasant and palaFor

(say they) to call water a
table liquor/'
sober divinihj,
is
and the mixture chastisement, a shrewd argument, that the author was
Cecilius
not very sober himself.
had certainly these
trifling flou-
rishes in view,
when he had
the rashness, in his
Essay on
sions
Lysias, to declare him

it
nmch
pre-
ferable to Plato; biassed to
equally indiscreet.
loved Lysias as well as his
by two pasFor though he own self, yet he
bated Plato with more violence than he could

possibly love Lysias.
ried on
Besides, he was hur-
by so much heat and prejudice, as to presume on the concession of certain points which never will be granted. For Plato being oftentimes faulty, he thence takes occasion to cry
up Lysias
for a faultless
and con-
Lysias was one of the ten celebrated orators of Athens.
He
was a
neat,
elegant, correct, and

calls
witty writer, but
not
sublime.
Cicero
him
j^rope perfectum^ almost perfect.

like a clear fountain than a great
Quinctilian says he
river.
was more
180

writer; which
it is
summate
of
it.
so far
from being
truth, that
has not so
much
as the
shadow
SECTION XXXIII.
But
let
us for once admit the possibiHtj

;
of a faultless and consummate writer

then, will
it
and
not be worth while to consider at
large that important question,
Whether, in
grand in the
its
poetry or prose, what
is
truly
midst of some
faults,
be not preferable to
that which has nothing extraordinary in

best parts, correct however throughout,
faultless?
and
And
further,
whether the excel-
lence of fine writing consists in the
number
its
of
its
beauties,
?
or
in the
grandeur of
strokes
For these points, being peculiar to the Sublime, demand an illustration.

I readily allow, that writers of a lofty
and
^^
towering genius are by no means pure and

correct, since whatever
is
neat and accurate
throughout, must be exceedingly liable to

flatness. In the
Sublime, as in great affluence

will
it
of fortune, some minuter articles

voidably escape observation.
unais
But
al-^/
most impossible
for a
low and grovelling
181
genius to be guiltj of error, since he never
endangers himself by soaring on high, or aiming at eminence, but

still
goes on in the same

its
uniform secure track, whilst
very height
and grandeur exposes the Sublime to sudden

falls.
Nor am
I ignorant
indeed of another
no doubt be urged, that ^ in. passing our judgment upon the works of an author, we always muster his imperfections, so that the remembrance of his faults sticks indelibly fast in the mind, whereas that of his
thing, Avhich will
excellences
is
quickly worn out.
For
my
part, I have taken notice of
no inconsiderable
number of
Homer, and some other of the greatest authors, and cannot by any means be blind or partial to them however, ^ I judge them not to be voluntary faults, so
faults in
;
much
as accidental slips incurred through inas,
advertence; such
w4ien the
mind
is
intent
" In passing our judgment/' &e.]

i.
So Horace, Ep.
1.
ii.
Ep.
262.
Discit enim citius meminitque libentius illud,
Quod
*
quis deridet,
quam quod
probat et veneiatur.
"
judge them,"&c.]
So Horace, Ars Poet. 331.

non ego paucis
Ubi plura
nitent in carmine,
Offendor macnlis, quas aut incuriafudit,
Aut huniana parum
cavit natura.
182
LOXGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.

nature, will creep in-
upon things of a higher

sensibly into
compositions.
it
And
for
this
reason I give
as
my
real opinion,
-^
that the
great and noble flights,
though they cannot
every where boast an equality of perfection,

yet ought to carry off the prize, by the sole
merit of their
*
own
intrinsic o grandeur.
Apollonius, author of the Argonautics, was

:
a writer without a blemish
and no one ever

than Theocritus,
succeeded better
in Pastoral
excepting some pieces where he has quitted

his
own
province.
But yet, would you choose
" Though they cannot every where boast," &c.] So Mi\

in the spirit
Pope,
of Longinus
Great wits sometimes inay gloriously offend,
And rise to faults true critics dare not mend From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the rules of art
;
Which, without passing through

Tlie heart, and
all its
the judgment, gains

attains.
end
at
once
Essay on Criticism,
*
Apollonius was born at Alexandria, but called a Rhodian,

at
because he resided
Rhodes.
He
was the scholar of Callias keeper of Ptolemy's

still
machus, and succeeded Eratosthenes

library
:
he wrote the Argonautics, which are
extant.
Instit.
Of
this
1.
poet Quinctilian has thus given his judgment,

X. c.
1.
Orat.
"
He
published a performance, which was
not despicable, but had a certain even mediocrity throughout."
Dr. Pearce.
183
LGNGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
to be Apollonius or Theocritus rather than
Homer ?
Erigone
is
Is the
poet
Eratosthenes, whose
a complete and delicate perform-
ance, and not chargeable with one fault, to
be esteemed a superior poet to Archilochus, who flies off into many and brave irregularities;
a godlike spirit bearing him forwards in
the noblest career, such spirit as will not bend

to rule, or easily
brook control?
^
In Lyrics,
would you sooner be

dar, or
''
Bacchylides than Pin-
lo the
Chian, than the great So-
phocles?
Bacchylides and lo have written

;
smoothly, delicately, and correctly they have
Eratosthenes the Cyrenean, scholar of Callimachus
tlie
poet.
Among
other pieces of poetry, he wrote the Erigone.

to
He
^
was predecessor
ApoUonius,
in
Ptolemy's library at
Alexandria.
Dr. Pearce.
;
Bacchylides, a Greek poet, famous for lyric verse
born
at lulis, a
town
in the Isle of
Ceos.
He
wrote the ApodeJulian was so
mics, or the travels of a deity.
The Emperor
is
pleased with his verses, that he
said to have
drawn
froin
thence rules for the conduct of
life.
And Hiero
the Syra-
cusan thought them preferable even to Pindar's, by a judg-
ment
quite
contrary to what
is
given here by Longinus.
Dr. Pearce.
"^
lo the Chian, a dithyrambic poet, who, besides Ocks,
is
said to have
composed
forty fables.
He
is
called by Aristo-
phanes,
writing an
The Eastern Star, because he died whilst he wa Ode that began with those words. Dr. Pearce,
184
left

nothing without the nicest decoration
in
but
Pindar and Sophocles, who carry
fire
alons; with
them
throuo;h the violence of their

fire is
motion, that very
many
times unsea-
sonably quenched, and then they drop most

unfortunately down.
certain,
But yet no one,

^
am
who
has the least discernment, will

Qildipus of So-
scruple to prefer the single

phocles, before
all
that lo ever composed.
SECTION XXXIV.
If the beauties of writers are to be
esti-
number, and not by their quality or grandeur, then Hyperides will prove far superior to Demosthenes. He has
mated by
their
more harmony and a finer cadence, he has a greater number of beauties, and those in a
degree almost next to excellent.
bles
He
resem-
a champion,
five
master of the
severally
who, professing himself exercises, in each of them

t,he
must
yield
superioriey toothers,
The Oedipus Tyrannus,
the
most celebrated tragedy of
Sophocles, which (as Dr. Pearce observes) poets of almost all

nations have endeavoured to imitate, though in
my
opinion
very
little
to their credit.

but
ill
185
all
together stands alone and unriin
valled.
For Hyperides has
every point, exall
cept the structure of his words, imitated
the virtues of Demosthenes, and has abun-
and beauties of Lysias. When his subject demands simplinor city, his style is exquisitely smooth does he utter every thing with one emphatical air of vehemence, like Demosthenes. His thoughts are always just and proper, tempered wîth most delicious sweetness and the softest harmony of words. His turns of
dantly added
^
the graces
wit are inexpressibly
fine.
He
is
raises a
laugh
with the greatest
art,
and
prodigiously
'
" The graces

this
;
of
Lysias."]
For the
clearer imderstaMfling
of
passage,
we must
observe, that there are two sorts of
graces
the one majestic and grave, and proper for the poets,
the other simple, and like railleries in comedy.

last sort enter into the
Those of
the
composition of the polished

Xnynv
;
style, called
by the rhetoricians
yXacjjvpoy
and of
this
kind were
the graces of Lysias, who, in the
judgment of Dionysius of
Halicarnassus, excelled in the polished style; and for this reason
Cicero
calls
him ve/iustissimum oratorem.

:
We
have one in-
stance of the graces of this pretty orator

against iEschines,
is
Speaking one day
who was
in love
with an old
woman, "
teeth
He
enamoured
(cried he) with a lady,
whose
this
may be
counted easier than her fingers."

trius
Upon
account
Deme,
.,
has ranked the graces of Lysias in the same class with
those of Sophron, a farce writer.
Dacier.
...
; !
186
LONG IN us OX THE SUBLIME.

His strokes of
;
dexterous at irony or sneer.

raillery are far
from ungenteel
by no means
far-fetched, like those of the depraved imitators of Attic neatness, but apposite
per.
How
skilful
and proat evading an argument
With what humour does he ridicule, and with what dexterity does he sting in the midst
of a smile!
graces in
all
In a word, there are inimitable
he says.
Never did any one

;
more
artfully excite
compassion
narration;
never was never any
any more
diffuse in
and resuming his subject with such easy address, and such
at quitting
more dexterous
pliant activity.
little
This plainly appears in his
poetical fables of
Latona
and besides,
never
will,
he has composed a funeral oration with such
pomp and
ornament, as
I believe
or can, be equalled.
Demosthenes, on the other

characters of
side,
has been
unsuccessful in representing the humours and
men
;
he was a stranger to
dif-
fusive eloquence
awkward
in his address
in his
void of
all
pomp and show
language
and, in a word, for the most part, deficient

in all
the qualities ascribed to Hyperides.

his subject
Where
compels him to be merry
or facetious, he
at himself.
makes people laugh, but it is And the more he endeavours at

raillery, the
18?
^
more
distant
is
he from
it.
Had
he ever attempted an oration for a Phryne
Hyperides, of
the Author
whom
in this
mention has been made already, and

Section compares with Demosthenes
whom
was one of
scholar,
the ten famous orators of Athens.

to
He
was Plato's
and thought by some
have shared with Lycurgus in

for
the public administration.

noo-enes were very
His orations
Phryne and Athe-
much
esteemed, though his defence of the
former owed
its
success to a very remarkable incident,
men-
tioned by Plutarch.
(L?/e of the ten orators, in Hi/perides.)

;
Phryne was the most famous courtezan of that age her form so beautiful, that it was taken as a model for all the
statues of
Venus carved
at that time
throughout Greece
yet
an intrigue between her and Hyperides grew so scandalous,

that an accusation
was preferred against her

all
in the
court of
Athens.
Hyperides defended her with
the art and rhetoric

his oration
which experience and love could teach him, and

for her
was
as pretty
and beautiful
as
his subject.
But
as
what
as
is
spoken to the ears makes not so deep an impression

is
what
shewn
to the eyes,
Hyperides found
his
eloquence
unavaihng, and effectually to soften the judges, uncovered the

lady's
bosom.
Its
snowy whiteness was an argument
in
her
favour not to be resisted, and therefore she was immediately

acquitted.
Longinus's remark
is
compliment
to
Hyperides, but does
a secret honour to Demosthenes.
Hyperides was a graceful,
genteel speaker, one that could say pretty things, divert his
audience, and
when
a lady
was the
topic, quite outshine

to
Deany
mosthenes
whose eloquence was too grand
appear
for
thing but honour and liberty.

port,
Then he could warm,

in his
trans-
and triumph
could revive
degenerate countrymen
;
a love of their country and a zeal for freedom
could make
n2
]88
LONGINUS O^ THE SUBLIME.

to Hjperides.
or an Athenogenes, he would in such attempts
have only served as a
foil
Yet
after
all,
in
my
opinion, the numer-
ous beauties of Hyperides are far from having any inherent greatness.
They shew the
sedateness and sobriety of the author's genius,
but have not force enough to enliven
or to
warm an
is
audience.
No
one that reads
him,
tion.
ever sensible of extraordinary emo-
Whereas Demosthenes, addins; to a continued vein of grandeur and to magnificence

of diction (the greatest qualifications requisite in
sion,
dress,
an orator), such lively strokes of passuch copiousness of words, such adand such rapidity of speech and,
;
what
is
his masterpiece,
such force and ve-
hemence,
as the greatest writers besides durst

;
never aspire to
furnished with
sin to call
being,
I say,
abundantly
(it
all
these Divine
would be
them human) abilities, he excels all before him in the beauties which are really his own and to atone for deficiencies
;
in those he has not, overthrows
all
opponents
easier
with the irresistible force and the ghttering

blaze of his lightning.
For
it is
much
them
cry out in rau;c and fury, " Let us arm, let us away, let
...
< .
Ub luai oil against Philip."
..^^.
LOXGINUS ON THE Sl'BLIMK.

to behold, with steadfast
189
eyes,
and undazzled
than
the
flashino;
liohtnins^,
those ardent
strokes of the Pathetic, which
come
so thick
one upon another
in his orations.
SECTION XXXV.
The
parallel
between Plato and

falls
nent must be drawn in a different

Lysias not only
lence, but in the
oppolight. For
his
short of him in the excelalso of his beauties.

falls
number
And what
him
in the
is
more, he not only
short of
number of
his beauties,
but ex-
ceeds him vastly in the
number of
his faults.
What
much
then can
like writers
in
we suppose that those godhad in view, who laboured so

of the Sublime, and looked
corothers, let this reason
raising their compositions to the
highest pitch
down with contempt upon accuracy and

rectness?
x\mongst
Nature never designed man to be a groveUing and ungenerous animal, but brought him into life, and placed him in the world, as in a crowded theatre, not to be an
be accepted.
idle spectator, but spurred
thirst
on by an eager
in
of excelhng, ardently to contend
the pursuit of glory.
For
this
purpose, she
190

his soul
implanted in
an invincible love of
grandeur, and a constant emulation of whatever seems to approach nearer to divinity
than himself.
universe
is
Hence
it
is,
that the whole
not sufficient for the extensive

piercing speculation of the
It passes the
^ reach and
human
understanding.
bounds of the
material world, and launches forth at pleasure into endless space.
Let any one take

which, in
its
an exact survey of a
scene,
is
life,
every
conspicuous on account of excel-
lence, grandeur,
soon discern for

born.
and beauty, and he will what noble ends we were

inclines
little
Thus the impulse of nature
us to admire, not a
clear transparent
rivulet that ministers to
our necessities, but

still
the Nile, the Ister, the Rhine, or
much
more, the Ocean.
We
are never surprised
at the sight of a small fire that burns clear,
on our own private hearth, but view with amaze the celestial fires, though they are often obscured by vapours and ^ Nor do we reckon any thing eclipses.
and
blazes out
We
have a noble description of the volcano of iEtna in

I.
iii.
Virgil.
iEn.
v.
571. which will
illustrate this
passage in
Longinus
Horrificis juxta tonat
^tna
minis,
Interdiimqiie atram prorunipit ad ajthcra nubcin.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIiME.

in nature
IQl
more wonderful than the boiling furnaces of ^tna, which cast up stones, and sometimes whole rocks, from their labouring abyss, and pour out whole rivers of liquid and unmino^led flame. And from hence we
and necessary to man, lies level to his abilities, and is but whatever exceeds the easily acquired common size, is always great, and always
infer, that
may
whatever
is
useful
amazmg.
Turbine funianteni piceo

Attollitque globos
et
candente
favilla.
flammarum,
et sidera
lambit
'-
Interdiun scopulos, avolsaqiie viscera moutis

Erigit eructans, liquefactaque saxa sub auras
Cum
gemitu glomerat, fundoque exaestuat imo.
The
That now
coast where jEtna

its
lies,
;
Horrid and waste,
entrails fraught with fire
casts out dark
fumes and pitchy clouds.

in the
Vast show'rs of ashes hov'ring
smoke
Now belches
molten stones, and ruddy flames
Incens'd, or tears
up mountains by
aloft in air.
the roots.
Or slings a broken rock The bottom works with
smother'd
fire,
involvM
In pestilential vapours, stench, and smoke.
Addison.
Longinus's short description has the same

with Virgil's.
swell
in
is
it,
spirit
and grandeur
The
which
sidera lambit,
in the
iii.
fourth line, has the

calls super-tragical.
Longinus, Sect.
This
the remark of
Dr. Pearce
and
it
is
observable, that
Mr. Addison has taken no

lation.
notice of those words in his trans-

192
SECTION XXXVI.
With
writers,
regard, therefore, to those sublime

flight,
however exalted, ^never fails of its use and advantage, we must add another consideration. Those other inferior
whose
beauties shew their authors to be
men; but
the Sublime mji^ves near approaches to the
God. VjVhat is correct and faultless, comes off barely without censure; but the grand and the lofty command admiration j
lieight of
What
can I add further?
One
exalted
and
sublime sentiment in
those
noble authors
makes ample amends for all their defects. And, what is most remarkable, were the errors of Homer, Demosthenes, Plato, and the rest of the most celebrated authors, to be culled carefully out and thrown together,
" NcvtM-
fails
of
its
use and advantage."] Longinus, in the
preceding Section, had said, that

celestial fires
men " view

the
with amaze the
(such as the sun and moon), though they are freis
quently obscured ;" the case
same with
the burning
fire
mountain iEtna, though

abyss
;
it
casts
up pernicious
from
its
but here,
when he
returns to the sublime authors, he

is
inliniates, that the sublinH>
the
more
to
be admired, beit is
cause, far from being useless or amusing merely,

service to
its
of great
authors, as well as to the public.
Dr. Pearce.
193
they would not bear the least proportion to

those infinite, those inimitable excellences,
which are so conspicuous

antiquity.
in these heroes
of
And
for this
reason, has every
age and every generation, unmoved by partiality,
laurels
still
and unbiassed by env}^ awarded the to these great masters, which flourish
green and unfadino; on their brows, and
will flourish,
As long as Or Spring
streams
in silver
mazes rove,
'
>
with annual green rene\AS the grove.

Feiiton,
A
level
certain writer objects here, that an

set
ill-
wrought -Colossus cannot be

with a
little
upon the
for in-
faultless statue;
stance, ^thehttle soldier of Polycletus: but
the answer to this
is
very obvious.
In the
works of art we have regard

tion;
in those of nature,
to exact proporto
is
grandeur and
a
gift
magnificence.
Now speech
bestowed
The
Colossus was a most famous statue of Apollo, erected

a size so vast, that the sea ran,
sailed,
at
Rhodes by Jalysus, of
of the
greatest
and
ships
burden
between
its
legs.
Dr. Pearce.
The Doryphorus, brated statuary. The

^
it,
a small statue
by Polycletus, a
cele-
proportions were so tinely observed in

ail his
that
Lysippus professed he had learned

it.
ait
from the
studv and imitation of
194

us
upon
by nature. As, therefore, resemblance and proportion to the originals is reso, in
quired in statues,
dinary, something
the noble faculty of
discourse, there should be something extraor-
more than humanly
great.
But to close this long digression, which had been more regularly placed at the beginning of the Treatise since it must be owned, that it is the business of art to avoid defect and
;
blemish, and almost an impossibility in the
Sublime, always to preserve the same majes-
same exalted tone, art and nature should join hands, and mutually assist one another. For, from such union and alliance, perfection must certainly result. These are the decisions I have thouo-ht
tic air,
the
y/'
proper to
debate.
I
make concerning
let
the questions in
thc}^ are
pretend not to say

those
abso-
lutely right;
who
are willing,
'-
make
use of their own judgment.
SECTION XXXVIL
To
return.
^Similes and
bear so near an affinity to

The manner
Comparisons Metaphors, as to
differ
in
which Similes or Comparisons
from
Metaphors, we
c.annot
know
fron!
Lonijinus, hecansc of the

differ
195
from them only in one particular * * * * * [The remainder of this Section

#
#
IS lost.]
SECTION XXXVIII.
*
*
*
[The beginning of
is lost.]
on Hyperboles
* *
******
this
Section
Hyperbole, for instance, is exceeding bad: " If you carry not your brains
this
As
gap which follows

expression.
in the original
but they
differ only in the
To say
that fine eyes are the eyes of a dove, or

;
that cheeks are a
bed of spices, are strong Metaphors

if
which
become Comparisons,
expressed thus
are as the eyes of a
dove, or as a bed of spices. These two Comparisons are taken
from the description of the Beloved

(ver.
in the
Song of Solomon
10
16.), in
which there are more, of great strength and

sweetness
:
propriety, and an
uncommon
is
"
My Beloved
His head
sweet and ruddy, the chief among ten thouas the
sand.
is
most
fine gold
his locks are
bushy,
and black
rivers
as a raven.
His eyes are
as the eyes of a
fitly
;
dove by the
of water, washed with milk, and
set.
His cheeks
are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers
his lips like lilies,
dropping sweet-smelling myrrh.

set with the beryl
:
His hands are
as gold-rings
his belly
is
as bright as ivory overlaid with
sapphire.
fine gold.
His
legs are as pillars of marble set

is
upon sockets of
as the
His countenance
His mouth
is
as
Lebanon, excellent
yea,
cedars.
lovelv."
most sweet,
he
is
altogether
196

and tread upon
in the soles of 3ôur feet,
them/'*
One
consideration, therefore,
to,
must
always be attended
the
"
How far the
thought'
can properly be carried." î'or overshooting
mark often spoils an Hyperbole; and whatevL T is overstretched loses its tone, and
immediately relaxes;
na\% sometimes proit
duces an effect contrary to that for which
was intended.)
ment, has
fallen
Thus
Isocrates,
childishly
ambitious of saying nothing without enlargeinto a shameful puerility.
The end and
desig-n of his
Panegyric
is
to
prove that the Athenians had done greater
body of Greece than the Lacedemonians and this is his beginning " The virtue and efficacy of eloquence
service to the united
;
:
is
so great, as to be able to render great things

trifling subjects in
is
contemptible, to dress up
pomp and
show, to clothe what
old
and
* Demosthenis seu potius Ilegesippi Oral, de HalonesQ, ad

fjnem.
^
" Panegyric."]
This
is
the
most celebrated oration of

say, fifteen years' labour
Isocrates, which^ after ten, or, as
some
spent upon
Sect.
iii.
it,
begins in so indiscreet a manner.
Longinus,
has censured Timieus, for a frigid
parallel
between
the expedition of Alexander and Isocrates;
yet Gabriel de
Petra.an editor of lônginns,
is
guilty of the
same
fault, in
making even an elephant more expeditious than

cause they breed faster than he wrote.
Isocrates, be-

obsolete in a
197
ocwill
new
dress,
and put
off
new
currences in an air of antiquity/'

it
And
not be immediately demanded,
Is this
what you are going

monians?
to practise with regard
to the affairs of the Athenians and Lacede-
For
is
this
ill-timed
encomium of
eloquence
an inadvertent admonition to
the audience, not to listen or give credit to
what he
^
says.
in short are the best
Those Hyperboles
The whole
that
of
this
remark
is
curious and refined.
It is the
importance of a passion which qualifies the Hyperbole, and
makes
commendable, when
in
uttered in
warmth and velm-
mence, which
able.
coolness and sedateness would be insupportinvidiously of Caesar, in order

:
So Cassius speaks
to
raise the indignation of
Brutus
.w
..
,.
-.
Why, man, he Walk under
doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty

his
men
huge
legs,
and peep about
To
find ourselves dishonourable graves.

in return to the swelling
.?
So, again,
arrogance of a bully,
?
To whom An arm as
to thee
what
?
art
thou
have not
big as thine
I
a heart as big?
:
Thy words
grant are bigger
for I
wear not
My
dagger in
my
mouth.
Shakespeare's Cymhelme.
Hyperboles
literally
are impossibilities,
and therefore can
only then be seasonable or productive of Sublimity, \\hen the
circumstances
they
may be stretched beyond their proper may appear without fail important and great.
size,
that
198
(as I

have before observed of Figures) which
air
have neither the appearance nor

perboles.
of
Hy-
And
this
never
fails
to be the
state of those,
floAv
which
in the heat of a passion
out in the midst of some grand circum-
Thus Thucydides has dexterously applied one to his countrymen that perished in Sicily :* " The Syracusans (says he) came down upon them, and made a slaughter The chiefly of those who were in the river. Avater was immediately discoloured with But the stream polluted with mud blood. and gore, deterred them not from drinking it greedily, nor many of them from fighting
stance.
desperately for a draught of
it."
circumgives
stance so
uncommon and
for
affecting,
those expressions of drinking
mud and
an
air
gore,
and fighting desperately

bability.
it,
of pro-
Herodotus has used a
like
Hyperbole, con-
cerning those warriors who fell at Thermo" In this place they defended thempylae
i-j^'
selves with the
with their
weapons that wxre left, and hands and teeth, till they were
Is
buried under the arrows of barbarians.''
* Thucydid.
1.
7- p.
446. ed. Oxon.

-;
.
t Herod.
1.
7. c.
225.
I-ONCINUS ON THE SIBLIINIE.

it
199
possible,
you
will say, for
men
?
to defend
themselves Avith their teeth, against the fury
and violence of armed

sible that
assailants
Is
it
pos-
men
could be buried under arrows?

all
Notwithstanding
probability in
it.
this,
there
is
a seeming
For the circumstance does not appear to have been fitted to the Hyperbole; but the Hyperbole seems to be the necessary
production
of
the
circumstance.
For applying these strong Figures, only where

the heat of action, or impetuosity of passion
demands them
insist upon),
(a
point I shall never cease to
very
much
softens
and mitigates
the boldness of too daring expressions.

in
^So comedy, circumstances wholly absurd and

because they
raise a laugh.
incredible pass off very well,
answer their end, and

this passage: "
As
in
He was owner
as
*
of a piece of
let-
ground not so large

^
a Lacedemonian
The Author
has hitherto treated of Hyperboles as con-
ducive to Sublimity, which has nothing to do with

mirth, the peculiar province of
humour and
the incidents
Comedy.
Here
must be so over-stretched
as to
promote diversion and laughter.
Now
what
is
most absurd and nicredible, sometimes becomes
the keenest joke.

surdities
But
there
;
is
judgment even
in writing
ab-
and
incredibilities
it,
otherwise, instead of raising the
laugh, they sink below
and give the spleen.
Genius and
discretion are requisite to play the fool widi applause.

*
Demetrius Phalereus has commended one of these
letters
'
200
ter."
LONOINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
For laughter is a passion arising from some inward pleasure. But Hyperboles equally serve to two purposes; they enlarge and they lessen. Stretching any thing beyond its natural size is the
property of both.
And
the
Diasyrm
trifles
(the
other species of the Hyperbole) increases the
lowness of any thing, or renders

triflins;.'^
more
for
its
sententious and expressive conciseness, which has been

It
is
often quoted to iUustrate this passage.
very well wortU

:
observation.
'.
The
direction
is
longer than the letter

to Philip.
'
The Lacedemonians
.
*'
Dionysitis
this
is
at Corinth."
At
the time
when
that
was
written, Dionysius, mIio for hi
tyranny had been driven out of Sicily, taught school at Corinth

for bread.
So
it
was
a lunt to Philip not to proceed, as
he had bejrun,
to the
to imitate his
conduct,
lest
he should be reduced
same necessitous condition.
^Shakespeare has made Richard III. speak a merry Diasyrn\
upon himself:
I, that
am
rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty.
To
strut before a
wanton ambling nymph
I, that
am
curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,

Deform'd, unfmish'd, sent before
Into this breathing woild
;
my
time.
scarce half
made up.
And
That
that, so
lamely and unfashionably,

I
doijs hark at nic as
halt
by them.
LONGINUS
ON"
THE SUBLIME.
201
PARr
V.
SECTION XXXIX.
We
have now,
my
friend,
fifth
brought down
last
our inquiries to^ the
and
source of
The Author,
in the fifth division, treats
of Composition, or
such a structure of the words and periods, as conduces most to
harmony of sound.
This subject has been handled with the

writers, particu-
utmost nicety and refinement by the ancient

larly
Dionysius of Hahcarnassus and Demetrius Phalereus.

former, in his Treatise on the Structure of Words, has resorts of style, has divided
is
The
counted the different

periods of which
it
each into the
composed, has again subdivided those
periods into their different members, those
members
into
liieir
words, those words into syllables, and has even anatomized the
very syllables into letters, and
ferent natures
made
observations on the dif-
and sounds of the vowels, half-vowels, and
mutes.
tus,
He
shews, by instances drawn from

Sec.
Homer, Herodothose great
Thucydides,
with what artful
management
But
authors have sweetened and ennobled their Compositions, and
made
their
sound to echo to the sense.

without any grandeur, and
a style, he says,
may be sweet
Xenophon
may be grand without

latter,
any sweetness.
Thucydides
;
is
an example of the
and
of the former
but Herodotus has succeeded in
both, and written his history in the highest perfection of style.
202

the Composition or Struc-
Sublimity, which, according to the divisions
premised at
first, is
ture of the words.
And though
treatises,
have drawn
up, in two former
whatever obser-
An
English reader would be surprised to see with what
exactness they lay
down
rules for the feet, times,
and measures
of prose as well as of verse.
This was not peculiar to the

in his rhetorical
Greek
writers, since
in rules
Cicero himself,
this
works,
abounds
of
nature for the Latin tongue.
The
works of that great orator could not have lived,
and received
such general applause, had they not been laboured with the
utmost
art
;
and, what
is
really surprising,
how
it
careful soever
his attention was, to the length of his syllables, the

his feet,
measure of
and the modulation of
his
words, yet
has not
damped
one
the spirit, or stiffened the freedom of his thoughts.
Any
of his performances, on a general survey, appears grand and
noble
on a closer inspection, every part shews peculiar sym-
metry and grace.
Longinus contents himself here with two or three general

observations, having written
ject.
two volumes already on
this
subin
The
loss of these, I fancy, will raise
no great regret
the
mind of an English
reader,
who
has
little
notion of such
accuracies in composition.
The
free language
we speak
will
not endure such refined regulations, for fear of incumbrance
and
restraint.
Harmony
indeed
it is
capable of to a high de-
gree, yet such as flows not from precept, but the genius
and
judgment of composers.
since with
it
good ear
is
worth a thousand rules
the periods will be
rounded and sweetened, and
the style exalted, so that judges shall

to
commend and
teach others
admire
and without
it,
all
endeavours to gain attention
shall
be vain and ineffectual, unless where the grandeur of
the sense will atone for rough and unharmonious expression.

vations I had
Si03
made on
this head,
yet the
present occasion lays
me
under a necessity
of making some additions here.
Harmonious Composition has not only a natural tendency to please and to persuade,
but inspires
us, to
a wonderful ^ degree, with
generous ardour and passion.

in
^Fine notes
music have a surprising
effect
on the pasfill
sions of an audience.
Do
they not
lift
the
breast with inspired warmth, and
up the
heart into heavenly
transport?
The very
music,
limbs receive motion from the notes, and the

hearer, though he has
is
no
skill at all in
all its
sensible,
however, that
turns
make
are in
a strong impression on his body and mind.
The sounds of any musical instrument

of the
air,
themselves insignificant, yet, by the changes

the agreement of the chords,
and
symphony of the
nary pleasure, as
parts, they give extraordi-
we
daily experience, to the
minds of an audience. Yet these are only spurious images and faint imitations of the
In
this
passage two musical instruments are mentioned,

;
avKoQ and
KiQapt]
but as what
is
said of
them
in the
Greek
will
not suit with the modern notions of a pipe and a harp, I hope
I shall not
be blamed
for
dropping those words, and keeping
these remarks in a general application to music.
o 2
204
persuasive voice of man, and far from the ge-
nuine effects and operations of human nature.
What an
opinion therefore
may we
justly
form of fijieJCompositjon^, the effect of ^ that harmony, which nature has implanted in the
'i
voice of
man
It
is
made up
of words, which
by no means die upon the ear, but sink withAnd then, in, and reach the understanding.
does
it
not inspire us with fine ideas of senti-
ments and things, of beauty and of order, qualities of the same date and existence with our souls ? Does it not, b}' an elegant structure and marshalling of sounds, convey the
passions of the speaker into the breasts of his
audience? Then, does

tention, and,
it
not seize their atedifice of
by framing an
words
and transport, and raise those ideas of dignity and grandeur, which it shares itself, and was designed, by the ascendant it gains upon the mind, to excite in others? But it is folly to endeavour to prove what all the world will
to suit the sublimity of thoughts, delight,
"
Tanta
oblectatio est in ipsa facilitate dicendi, ut nihil hopossit.
minuni aut auribus aut mentibus jucundius percipi
Quis
enim
caiitus nioderata orationis pronunciatione diilcior inveniri

?
potest
quod carmen
artiriciosa
1.
ii.
verborum conclusione aptius
Cicero de Oratore,

allow to be true.
205
For experience
is
an indis-
putable conviction.
That sentiment seems very lofty, and justly deserves admiration, which Demosthenes immediately subjoins to the decree;* Tovro
v^vi(pi(ruoc
to
rev tots tv TToXst
"Zirspta-TocvTOi
mvovvov "srap-
tXêiv
sTTOiTja-eu, ucriTi^ vi<t>og.
" This very decree
scattered, like a vapour, the danger
which at
hung hovering over the city.'' Yet the sentiment itself is not more to be admired than the harmony of the period. It consists
that time
throughout of Dactylics, the
finest
measure,
and most conducins;
to
Sublimitv.
And
hence are they admitted into heroic verse, univcrsallv allowed to be the most noble of
But for further satisfaction, only pose a word or two, just as you please
all.
trans;
Tovro
TO
T^JTiptcixa,
oxT'TTSf)
vB<pog,
e7roi7](re
rov
rors Kivdwov
'sroc^zx^ziv
or take
v(pog,
ex9etv cog
away a syllable, eTroiTia-s ts-ocând you will quickly discern

first
how much Harmony conspires with Sublimity.

In
word moves along in a stately measure of four times, and when one syllable is taken away, as cog vB(pog, the subtraction maims the Sublimity. So, on the other side, if you lengthen it, -zs-cc^sxQuv tiroivia-Bv^
uo-TTs^ vscpog,
the
* Oial. de Coiona.
p.
M,
ed.
Oxon,

ua-TTs^si ve(pog,
the sense indeed

is
is still
preserved,
but the cadence

laxeth,
For the grandeur of the period languisheth and reentirel}^

lost.
when
laid
enfeebled
by the
stress that
must be
upon
the additional syllable.
SECTION XL.
But, amongst
other methods, an apt Con-
nexion of the parts conduces as
much
to the
aggrandizing discourse,^ as symmetry in the
members of the body
to a majestic mien.
If
they are taken apart, each single
have no beauty or grandeur,

fully
member will but when skilis
knit together,
they produce what
called ajinc person.
So the constituent parts
of noble periods, when rent asunder and divided, in the act of division fly off and lose
their Sublimity
;
but when united into one
body, and associated together by the bond of harmony, they join to promote their own
So Mr.
Pope:
wit, as nature,
'
In
what
affects our hearts
Is notth' exactness of peculiar parts;
'Tis not a
lip or
cheek
we
beauty
call,
all.
But
the joint force and full result of
Efisou on Criticism.

elevation,
20?
and multiplicity bestow a more emphatical turn upon every period. Thus several poets, and other writers,
and by
their union
possessed of no natural Sublimity, or rather

entire strangers to
it,
have very frequently

vulgar
terms,
made
use of
common and
;
that have not the least air of elegance to re-
commend them
and
artfully
yet,
by musically disposing
such terms,
they
connecting
clothe their periods in a kind of

exaltation,
pomp and
their in-
and dexterously conceal

.
trinsic lowness.
Many
writers have succeeded

^
by
this
me-
thod, but especially
Philistus, as also Ari-
stophanes, in some passages, and Euripides

in
very many.
Thus Hercules,
after
.
the
r
murder of
I'm
full
his children, cries,*

.
of mis'ries
there's not
room
for
more.
The words
are very vulgar, but their turn
answering so exactly to the sense, gives the
Commentators
differ
about
this Philistus.
Some
affirm
it
should be Philiscus, who, according to Dacier, wrote comedy,
but according
to
Tollius,
tragedy.
Quinctilian
(whom Dr.
fa-
Pearce follows) mentions Philistus a Syracusan, a great

vourite of Dionysius the tyrant,
whose
history he wrote, after
the
manner of Thucydides, but with

ver.
the sincerity of a courtier.
f Euripid. Hercules furens,
1250, ed. }3arnes.

208

air.
you transpose tliem into any other order, you Avill quickly be convinced, that Euripides excels more in fine composition than in fine sentiments. So
period an exalted
if
And
in his description of
Dirce dragged along
by the
bull,
"
Zethus and Ampliion
tied their mother-in-law, Dirce,
by
the hair of her head to a wild bull, which image Euripides has
represented in
this
passage. Langbaine observes, that there

this subject,
is
a tine sculpture on
by Taurisius,
in the palace
of
Farnese
at
Rome,
1.
of which Baptista de Cavalleriis has given

p. 3. antiq. statuariun iirhis
us a print in
iii.
Homce.
There
Lost, B.
is
much
greater Imaire than this in the Paradise

this
vi.
644, with which
remark of Longinus on the
sedate grandeur and judicious pauses will exactly square:
From
They
their foundations loos'ning to
and
fro,
pluck'd the seated

;
hills,
with
ail their
load,
Rocks, waters, woods

Uplifting bore
and by the shaggy tops

hands.
them
ii.
in their
^
the fallen spirits are
So
again in
in
Book
ver. .557.
When
engaged
will,
deep and abstruse researches concerning
fate, free-
foreknowledge, the very structure of the words expresses

;
the intricacy of the discourse
and the repetition of some of

difii-
the words, with epithets of slo\v pronunciation, shews the

culty of
making advancements
Odiers apart
sat
in
such unfathomable points
on a
hill retir'd.
In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high
Of
providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate
Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute
And
found no end,
in
wand'ring mazes
lost.

Whene'er
the madd'ning creature rag'd about
209
And whirl'd his bulk around in awkward circles, The dame, the oak, the rock, were dragg'd along.
The thoudit
itself is
noble, but
is
more
it
ennobled, because the terms used in
are
harmonious, and neither run too hastily off

the ear, nor are, as
accelerated.
it
were, mechanically
into
They
all
are disposed
due
pauses,
mutually supporting one another;

of a slow and stately
these pauses are
measure, sedately mounting to sohd and substantial grandeur.

.,
,
'}"r.
SECTION XLI.
Nothing
^
so
much debases Sublimity
as
broken and precipitate measures, such as

Pyrrhics, Trochees, and Dichorees, that are
for nothing
fit
but dances.
yr*eriods
tuned
in these
numbers, are indeed neat and brisk,

;/
and their cadence being eternally the same, becomes very disBut what is still worse, as in agreeable. soncrs, the notes divert the mind from the
but devoid of passion
sense,
and make
is
us
attentive only
to
the
P) rihic
a foot of
;
two
and
a
short syllables
Trochee of
one long and one short
Dichorce
is
a double Trochee.
210
music
;

so these brisk
never raise in
and rhyming periods the audience any passion suitHence, foreseeing the
able to the subject, but only an attention to
the run of the words.
places where they must necessarily rest, they
have gestures answering to every turn, can

even beat the time, and
>
tell
beforehand, as ex-
actly as in a dance, where the pause will be.
In like manner. Periods forced into too nar-
row compass, and pent up in words of short and few syllables, or that are, as it were, nailed together in an awkward and clumsy manner, are always destitute of grandeur.
SECTION
XLIl.
";:^
of Style is another great diminution of Sublimity. ^ Grandeur requires
Contraction
room, and when under too much confinement, cannot move so freely as it ought. I do not
mean
here Periods, that

;
demand
a proper
conciseness
but, on the contrary, those that
are curtailed and minced.

traction lays a restraint
Too much Con-
upon the sense, but And Conciseness strengthens and adjusts it. on the other side, it is evident, that when periods arc spun out Into a vast extent, their
life

and
lost,
211
is
spirit evaporate,
and
all their
strength
by being quite overstretched.
SECTION
Low
XLIII.
and sordid words are terrible bler> mishes to fine sentiments. Those of Herodotus, in his description
of a tempest, are divine-
ly noble,
but the terms in which they are expressed, very much tarnish and impair their Thus, when he says,* " The seas belustre.
gan ^ to seeth," how does the uncouth sound of the word seeth, lessen the grandeur ? And further, " The wind (says he) was tired out, and those who were wrecked in the storm, ended their lives very disagreeably.'' To be and tired out, is a mean and vulgar term
;
that disagreeably, a word highly dispropor-
tioned to the tragical event

press.
'
it is
'
used to ex-
* Herod.l. 7. c. 19I. 1 " To seeth."] I have chosen

which
is
this
word
rather than hoil,

:
not a blemished term in our language
and besides,
ill
seeth resembles
that
it
more
the
Greek word
is
iÊcratrtjc
in the
sound
has upon the palate, which
the fault that
Longinus
finds with the
word
in
Herodotus.
ear,
1-
Milton has something of
the like sort
which offends the
when we read
3
^
in
Book
r.,
;
i.
Azazel, " as his right," Sec.
21^
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLiaiE.

in like
^Theopompus,
manner,
after setting
out splendidly in describing the Persian expedition into Egypt, has spoiled
all,
by the
in-
termixture of some low and trivial words. " What city or what nation Avas there in all
Asia, which did not compliment the king
Avith
an embassy?
art,
What
rarity
was
there,
either of the
work of
produce of the earth, or the with which he was not presented?
and gorgeous carpets, with vestments purple, white, and particoloured ?

rich
How many
How many
tents of golden texture, suitably

all
furnished with
necessaries?
How many
embroidered robes and sumptuous beds, besides an immense quantity of wrought silver
and gold, cups and goblets, some of which you might see adorned with precious stones, and others embellished with most exquisite
and costly workmanship ? Add to these innumerable sorts of arms, Grecian and Barbarian, beasts of burden beyond computaart
tion,
and
cattle
fit
to
form the most luxurious
repasts.
And
further,
how many
?
bushels of
pickles and
-
preserved fruits
How many
Isocrates.
Tlieopompus was
a Cliian and a scholar of

whicli
His genius was too hot and impetuous,
was the occa-
now
of a remark of his master Isocrates, that " Kphorus always

a 5pur,
wanted
bulThcopompus
curb."
,^
>,
.,,-.
LOXGINUS OS THE SUBLIME.
213
hampers, packs of paper, and books, and all things besides, that necessity or convenience
could require?
In a word, there was so great
abundance of ail sorts of flesh ready salted, that when put together, they swelled to prodigious heights, and were regarded by persons at a distance, as so many mountains or lie has hillocks piled one upon another/' here sunk from a proper elevation of his sense
to a shameful lowness, at that very instant,
when
his subject required
an enlargement.
And
bssides,
by
his
confused mixture of
baskets, of pickles, and of packs, in the narrative of so grand preparations, he has shifted
the scene, and presented us with a kitchen.

If,
upon making preparation
for
any grand
expedition, any one should bring and throw
down
a parcel of hampers and packs, in
the midst of massy goblets adorned witli in-
estimable stones, or of silver embossed, and

tents of golden stuffs,
tacle
what an unseemly specin
would such a gallimaufry present to the

It
is
eye
the
same with description,
which these low terms, unseasonably applied, become so many blemishes and flaws. Now he might have satisfied himself with
giving
only a sunmiary account of those

(as
mountains
he says they were thought) of
214
and when he came to other particulars of the preparations, might have varied " There was a great mulhis narration thus
provisions,
;
titude of camels
all
and other
beasts, laden with
sorts of
meat
:"
requisite either for satiety
or delicacy
or have termed them, " heaps
of
all sorts
of viands, that would serve as well
to form an exquisite repast, as to gratify the
nicest palate
;''
or rather, to
comply with
all
his
humour of
caterers
relating things exactly, "
that
and cooks could prepare,
as nice
and
delicate/'
In the Sublime, we ought never to take up

with sordid and blemished terms, unless re-
by the most urgent necessity. The dignity of our words ought always to be
to
it
duced
proportioned to the dignity of our sentiments.
Here we should imitate the proceeding of

nature in the
h^man
fabric,
who has
is
neither
placed those parts, which
it
indecent to
mention, nor the vents of the excrements, in
open view, but concealed them as much as " removed their channels is possible, and (to make use of Xenophon's words*) to the
greatest distance from the eyes," thereby to
* Xenoph.
ATTOfxrtjfiov.
1.
2. p. 45. edit.
Oxon.
LOXGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
215
preserve the heauty of the animal entire and
unblemished.^^
bj a particular recital of whatever diminishes and impairs the Sublime, would be a needless task. We have already shewn what methods elevate and ennoble, and it is obvious to every one that their opposites must lower and debase it.
this topic further,
~
To pursue
SECTION XLIV.
Something
which, because
it suits
yet remains to be said, upon

well with
your inqui-
sitive disposition, I shall
not be averse from
enlarging.
It
is
not long since a philosopher
of
my
"
acquaintance discoursed
me
in
the
following manner.
It is (said he) to
me, as well as to many
others, a just matter of surprise,

to pass, that in the
how
it
comes
age we
live,
there are
many
geniuses
Avell
practised in the arts of
eloquence and persuasion, that can discourse

with dexterity and strength, and embellish
Quje partes autem corporis, ad
naturoe necessitatem datae,
adspectum essent deformem habitinas ac turpem, eas contexit

atque abdidit.
Cicero
cle
Offic.
p.6l,
6'2.
Edit.Cochman.
216
LOXGINUS ON THE SUBLIMIT.

manner, but
next to none)
(or so few, that they are
their style in a very graceful
none
who may be said to be truly great and sublime. The scarcity of such writers is general througliOut the world. May we believe at
last,
that there
is
solidity in that trite obseris
vation,
That democracy
;
the nurse of true
genius
that fine writers will be found only
in this sort of
government, with which they

produces
it
flourish
and triumph, or decline and die?

it is
Liberty,
in
said,
fine
sentiments
men
of genius;
invigorates their hopes,
excites an honourable emulation, and inspires
an ambition and thirst of excelling. And what is more, in free states there are prizes to be gained, which are worth disputing. So
that
by
this
means, the natural faculties of
the orators are sharpened and polished by
continual practice, and the liberty of their

thoughts, as
it is
reasonable to expect, shines
conspicuously out in the liberty of their debates.
" But
1"
for
our parts (pursued he) Mve were

in subjection,"
We
were born
See]
"-le
The words
in
the
original xatÔjitaQftc (ôuXaac ^tcatnc
differently interpreted
hy persons of gieat learning and sagacity.

has taken occasion to mention
rence.
tlieni
Madame
Dacier
in
her notes
upon Te-
Her words
are these
" In the
last
chapter of Longi-

born
true,
in subjection, in
^17
it is
lawful subjection,
to arl)itrarj
government.
cit:aiaQ, signifies not,
Hence, the
we
are from our
nus, TraicofiaOeiQ covXEiag
infancy used to a lazeful government, but to an easi/ govern-
ment, chargeable with neither tyranny nor violence."
Dr.
Pearce
is
of a quite contrary opinion. "
The word
cikcuu (says
he) does not signify 7nild or easy, as some think, hut just and
lazeful vassalage,
when
kings and rulers are possessed of a full

:
power and
uses
authority over their subjects
and we find Isocrates
flpx'/ î-Kaia (a
despotical government) in this sense."
The
this
Doctor then
gives his
opinion, that " Longinus added
word, as well as some which follow, that
his affection to the
Roman emperor
might not be suspected."
I have chosen to translate these words in the latter sense,
which (with submission

seems preferable
Dacier has given
pher
to,
it.
to the
judgment of so learned a
lady),
and more natural than, that which
Madame
The Critic (in

is
the person of the philoso-
who
;
speaks here)
accounting for the scarcity of sublime

to
writers
and avers democracy
be the nurse of genius, and
the greatest encourager of sublimity.

the republics of
The
fact
is
evident from
Greece and Rome.
In Greece, Athens was
most democratical, and

hence
(1. i.
it
a state of the greatest liberty.
And
was, that, according to the observation of Paterculus
near the end),
" Eloquence
flourished in greater force

all
and plenty
in that city alone,
than in
Greece besides
insodis-
much
that (says he)
though the bodies of the people were

yet you would think
persed into other
cities,
their genius to
have been pent up within the bare precincts of Athens."

dar the Theban, as he afterwards owns,
to this remark.
liberty
is
Pin-
the only exception
So
the city of
Rome was
not only the seat of
and empire, but of true wit and exalted genius.

indeed outHved the
The
Roman power
Roman
it.
liberty,
a
but wit
and genius could not long survive
What
high value

218
LONGINUS ON THE SUDLIME.

made
too strong an im-
prevailing manners
pression on our infant minds, and the infection
was sucked
fertile
all
in with the
milk of our
that
nurses.
We have never
that
is
tasted hberty, that

all
is
copious and
tiful
source of
beau-
and of
great,
and hence are
we nothing but pompous flatterers. It is from hence that we may see all other qualifications displayed to perfection, in the minds
of slaves
but never yet did a slave become

spirit
an orator. His
being eftectually broken,

still
the timorous vassal will
be uppermost
For, according
the habit of subjection continually overawes
and beats down

to
his genius.
Homer,*
Jove
fix'd
it
certain, that whatever day
Makes man
a slave, takes half his worth away.
Pope.
ought we then to
set
upon
liberty, sirce
without
it,
nothing
great or suitable to the dignity of
human
nature, can possibly
be produced
Slavery
is
the fetter of the tongue, the chain of

It embitters life, sours
faculties
the mind, as well as of the body.
and
corrupts the passions,

within us, and
stifles in
damps
the towering
implanted
is
the birth the seeds of every thing that
amiable, generous, and noble.
Reason and Freedom
are our
own, and given
to continue so.
We
are to use, but cannot
resign them, without rebelling against
Him who
privileges
gave them.
The
of
invaders of either ought to be resisted by the united force
all
men, since they encroach on the

* Odyss.
we
receive
from God, and traverse the designs of

ver.
infinite
goodness.
3C2.

" Thus I have heard
in this case
(if
219
what
have heard
mav
deserve credit) that the cases
in
which dwarfs are kept, not only prevent
the future growth of those

in them, but diminish
who
are inclosed
what bulk they already

slavery
have, by too close constriction of their parts.
So
slavery, be
it
never so easy, yet
is
and may deservedly be called the prison of the soul, and the pubhc dungeon." Here I interrupted. " Such complaints as
still,
yours, against the present times, are generally
heard, and easily made.

that this
But are you sure corruption of genius is not owing to

?
the profound peace which reigns throughout
the world
or rather, does
it
not flow from k;

j
the war within us, and the sad effects of our
own turbulent passions? Those passions plunge

us into the worst of slaveries,
cally drag us
and tyranniAvarice
is
wherever they please.
(that disease of
which the whole world
sick
beyond a
if I
cure),
aided by voluptuousness,
;
holds us fast in chains of thraldom
or rather,
lii'e
may
so express
it,
overwhelms
itself,
as well as all that live, in the depths of misery.
For love of money

ders us most abject
is
;
the disease which ren-
and love of pleasure

I
it,
is
that which renders us most corrupt.
have,
al '
indeed, thought
much upon
r 2
but after
220
judge
LONGINUS ON THK SUBLIME.

it
impossible for the pursuers, or, to

truly, the adorers
speak more
and worsliip-
pers of immense riches, to preserve their souls
from the infection of those vices wliich are

fn-ndy allied to them.
For profuseness
will
be
wherever there
is
affluence.
They
are firmly
linked together, and constant attendants
upon
one another.
cities,
Wealth unbars the gates of

:
and opens the doors of houses profuseness gets in at the same time, and there they jointly fix their residence. After some
continuance in their new establishment, they
build their nests (in the language of philoso-
phy), and propagate their species. There they
hatch arrogance, pride, and luxury, no spurious brood, but their genuine offspring.
If
these children of wealth be fostered and suffered to reach maturity, they (juickly engen-
der the most inexorable tyrants, and
make
the soul groan under the oppressions of inso-
and the most seared and hardened impudence. When men are thus fallen, what I have mentioned must needs result from their depravity. They can no longer endure a sight of any thing above their groand as for reputation, they revelling selves gard it not. AVhen once such corru[)tion infects an age, it gradually spreads and becomes
lence,
injustice,
;
LONGINLS ON THE SUBLIME.

universal.
221
/The
faculties of the soul will then
grow stupid, their spirit will be lost, and good sense and genius must lie in ruins, when the care and study of man is engaged about the mortal, the worthless part of himself, and he
has ceased to cultivate virtue, and polish his
nobler part, the soul.
_
."
A corrupt and dishonest judge is incapable of making unbiassed and solid decisions by the rules of equity and honour. His
"
habit of corruption
unavoidably
prevents
what is right and just, from appearing right and just to him. Since then tlie whole tenor of life is guided only by the rule of interest, to promote which, we even desire the death
of others to enjoy their fortunes, after having
by base and disingenuous practices crept into their wills; and since we frequently
hazard our
lives for
little pelf,
the misera-
ble slaves of our
own
avarice, can
we expect,
in such a general corruption, so contagious a
depravity, to find one generous and impartial
soul above the sordid views of avarice,

clear of every selfish passion, that
and
are
may
distinguish
fit
what
is
truly great,
?
what works
to live for ever
Is
it
not better for
persons in our situation, to submit to the
yoke_oJLgovernment, rather than continue
222
Lo
n:
on
i:
f.
masters of themselves, since such headstrong
when set at liberty, would rage like madmen, who have burst their prisons, and
passions,
inflame the whole world with endless dis-
orders? /In a word, aiiiaseiisibility.to-whatever

is
truly great has beeiitlie
bane of every
rising genius of the present age.
Hence
and
life
in general (for the exceptions are exceeding
few)
is
thrown away
in indolence
sloth.
In this deadly lethargy, or even any brighter

intervals of the disease, our faint endeavours
aim at nothing but pleasure and empty ostentation,
too
weak and languid

which take their
in
for those high
accjuisitions,
rise
from noble
einuhition,
and end
real
advantage and
substantial glory."
Here perhaps it may be proper to drop this subject, and pursue our business. ^ We
'
"
We
come
Jiow to the Passions," &c.]

to
The
learned
loss
Morkl ought certainly

tlicy
be condoled with, on die great
have sustained in Longinus's Treatise on the Passions.

excelleiKc of this on the Sublime, makes us regret the
the loss of the other, and inspires us with deep resent-
The
more
ments of die irreparable depredations committed on learning
and the valuable productions of

monks, and time.
There, in
all
antiquity,
by CioUis, and
probability, \\c should have
beheld the secret springs and movements of the soul disclosed

to view.
There we should have been taught,
if
rule
and obser-
vation in this case can teach, to elevate an audience into joy,

LONGINUS ON THE SUBLTMF.
come now
which
I
223
to
the Passions,
lui
account of
,
have promised before in a distinct

they not only constitute the
if
treatise, since
ornaments and beauties of discourse, but

I
am
not mistaken) have a
sjreat
share in the
Sublime.
we
or melt them into tears.

ever, to
Tliere
sliould
have learned,
heart,
if
work upon every
passion, to put every
every
pulse in emotion.
At
present
we must
sit
down contented
on the
under the
loss,
and be
satisfied with this invaluable piece
Sublime, which with
much
hazard has escaped a w reck, and
gained a port, though not undamaged.
Great indeed are the

it,
commendations which thejudicious bestow upon

the least disproportioned to
its
but not iu
merit.
fine
For
in
it
are treasured
fine taste.
up
the laws
and precepts of
writing, and a
Here
once
are the rules
which polish the
writer's invention,
and
refine the critic's
judgment.
Here
is
an object proposed at
for our admiration
and imitation.
will
Dr. Pearce's advice

'^
be a seasonable conclusion
Read
over very frequently this golden Treatise (which de-
serves not only to
be read but imitated), that you may hence
understand, not only

learn yourself to
how
the best authors have written, but the

first
become an author of
it,
'
rank.
Read
it
therefore and digest

Virgil's
then take up your pen in the words of

'
'
Nisus
Aliquidjamdudiun invadere
magnum
est.'
Mens
agitat mihi,
nee placida contenta quiete
FIX IS.
INDEX OF AUTHORS
MENTIONED BY LONGINUS.
^SCHYLUS
Ainnionius
121, 123
. .
Homer,
112 Amphicratcs 53, 59 169 Anacreon 182,183 Apollonius 100, 157 Aratiis 102, 112, 183 Archilochus Arimaspians, Author of the Poem on the 97 Aristophanes 207 Aristotle 174
.

60, 74, 75, 78, 81, 86, 87, 89, 98, 112, 113, 114, 140, 162, 181, 192, 218 Hyperides, 126, 184, 185, 186,
188
lo the Chian Isocrates
. .
183
58,42, 96
Lysias
185,189
. .
Matris
Bacchylides
Cecilius
183
Moses
Philistus
53 83
207
4t, 45, 57, 67, 70, 169, 179 Callisthenes 53 107, 108 Cicero 53 Clitarchus
....
. .
Phrynicus . Pindar 183, 184 Plato, 58,60, 107,109, 113,
'154
114,164,165,166,175,178, 179, 189, 193
Demosthenes, 50, 102, 107, 108,114,129,131,134,137, 141,148,160,172,184,185, 186, 188, 192, 205
Eratosthenes
Eiipolis
.
Sappho
Simonides
93
125 Sophocles,53, 124,152,183,184
Stesichorus
.112
182, 183
'
183
130. 131
Euripides
119, 123, 207, 208
. Theocritus Thcodoriis Thcophrastiis
Gorgias ihc Leontine
52
56 74 Theopoinpus 169,212 Thucydides, 1 14, 148, 156, 198 Timceus 57, 58

....
Hccatn?us 160 Hegcsias 53 Herodotus, 61,112, 147, 157, 165, 171,198, 211 75, 114 Hesiod
Xenophon, 58, 59, 60, 66, 1 39, 156, 165, 175,214

Zoilus
....
90
Piinl(d by
J.
F.
Do\r,
St.
John's Stjuare.
PilyEDO.
HUGHES, PRINTER, MAIDEN-LANE, COVENT-GARDEN.
PHiED O:
DIALOGUE
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
Ctan0fatet from te
dDrecfe
of jaiato.
An
toti
morimur ? nullaque pars manel
Nostri ;
cum profugo
spiritus habitu
in aera,
Immistus nebulis cessit
Et nudum
tetigit subdita fax latus?
Seneca in Troad. Act II.
v. 378,
LONDON
PRINTED FOR JAMES BLACK,
rORK-STREET, COFEXT-UARDES
1813.
THE SPEAKERS.
ECHECRATES.
PH.EDO.
Persons introduced
in the
Dialogue.
APOLLODORUS.
SOCRATES.
CEBES.
SIMMIAS.
CRITO.
Officer of the Eleven Masistrates.
DEDICATION.
TO ^^tp^^^
^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^
T'CiO
SIR,
JHad
I
prefixed your
feel
name
to this
Address,
should
that
some apology were due
from me,
for taking the liberty to inscribe
the annexed essay to your patronage, without
having previously apprized you of the intention; but as the

trust,
form here adopted
will,
sufficiently
preclude the necessity of

not trouble you with
such apology,
I shall
any further observations

but proceed
shortly
to
on
state
the
subject,
the motives
11
DEDICATION.
which induce
pubHcation.
me
to
hazard
the
present
The
following pages were written several
years since, both as an exercise with a view

to the attainment of
some
proficiency in the
to
original language,
and from a desire
be
acquainted with the arguments which reason,

unassisted
by
revelation,
could
assign
I
in
support of a future existence.
When
was
the
induced
Ph.edo,
to
I
attempt
translation
of
was not aware that any other
person had ever been engaged in a similar
undertaking; and
if I
now
venture to solicit
your attention
endeavours,
I
to this
specimen of my humble
encouraged by a
it
am
chiefly
conviction that you will receive
with every
candid allowance for the
difficulties I
have
had
to encounter.
And
here I must entreat
DEDICATION.
your particular indulgence
imperfections in the style.
*
Ill
for the
numerous
aim
My principal
has been to produce as
literal
an interpretasubject would
tion as the intricacy of the
allow; and every expression has been studiously rejected which might appear
marked
to
with the affectation of ornament:
but,
convey any thing like an adequate idea of

the
pure
and eloquent
language
of the
original,
would be a task which the most
accomplished scholars could scarcely aspire

to execute. to flatter
It
would
certainly
I
be too much,
myself that
have been able, in

detail
every instance, successfully to
the
statement, whether of refutation or confirmation,
which
but
is
pursued
trust
it
in
this
celebrated
treatise;
may be
is
found that
not unfaith-
the general line of argument

fully presented
;
or, at least, that there is
no
IV
DEDICATION.
palpable violation of the author's principles,

or want of connexion in the reasoning.
In the Notes, which
have thought
it
necessary to subjoin, I have confined myself
almost
entirely
to
those
passages
allusion,
which,
from the remoteness of the
seemed
more
particularly to require
some explana-
tion: in one or
will,
two instances, the extracts
perhaps, appear extended to an unusual

;
length
rial
but
it
was conceived
that any mateeffect
curtailment would
have the
of
weakening the statement which

tion
their inser-
was designed
to illustrate.
The
partiality of friendship is so generally

I
apt to bias the judgment, that

resisted
have hitherto
every application
I
to
submit
suffer
this
attempt to the Public.
now
my
DEDICATION.
reluctance to be subdued, in the hope that

if
the annexed translation should have the

it
fortune to attract the notice of criticism,
may be
the
means of procuring, from some

less imperfect
more competent hand, a
sketch
of an inimitable original.
In addresses of this nature, Sir,

it
I believe
is
usual
to
offer
some complimentary
worth of the
I
tribute to the public or private
individual
who may be
their object.
have,
however, no design to assume the privileges
of a
dedicatio7i
and
I shall
equally forbear
every allusion, either to the uprightness and
independence of your conduct when
in
par-
liament, or
to the active discharge of the
more
tion
retired duties connected with the situa-
and character of a country gentleman.
Indeed, I have no oblation to present besides
VI
DEDICATION.
an assurance of the unfeigned respect and

gratitude with which I have the honour to
subscribe myself,
SIR,
Your most
obliged, faithful,
And
affectionate servant,
T. R. J.
London, July 30, 1813.
INTRODUCTION,
A SHORT
retrospect of the distinguishing traits in the
character of Socrates, and of the events which preceded

his arraignment,
may, perhaps, not be unacceptable to
the reader, as ilkistrative of the object and occasion of the subjoined treatise.
This extraordinary
man was born
at
Athens, between
aera.
four and five hundred years before the Christian
His
origin
was ignoble, and

his
his figure ungraceful
but
the rich
endowments of
mind furnished ample com-
pensation for the huniility of his extraction and the

deficiencies of personal beauty.
He
pursued, for some
time, the occupation of his father ; but

*
was induced
to
statuary.
Vm
relinquish that
INTRODUCTION.
employment
for the study
of philosophy,
to appreciate
at the entreaties of Crito,

his
who knew how
genius, and
who
earnestly sought his friendship.
But
him
the tranquil labours of the closet did not disqualify

for the active duties of the patriot.
Like the
rest
of his countrymen, he appeared
in the field
of battle,
where he was soon distinguished by an exhibition of

courage the most ardent and heroic
which, his pupils,
;
to
an exertion of
Xenophon and
Alcibiades,
owed
the
preservation of their lives.
On
another occasion, he
signalized himself by opposing the violence of popular
clamour, which was raised against the Athenian admirals after the battle at Argineusae, when, instead of
being rewarded for so brilliant a victory, the com-
manders* were made a barbarous example of the
power and
ingratitude
of
their
countrymen.
The
in
popular incendiaries were so loud and vehement

their
demands
for justice,
fight
that
the magistrates were

it
* Upon a relation of the

they had
stiftered their
before fte senate,
was urged, that
men
to perish
by shipwreck, from a neglect of
employing the proper means of preserving them.

lost
The Peloponesians
about seventy
sail,
the Athenians twenty-five.
INTRODUCTION.
intimidated,
IX
and Socrates was the only person who

sufficient
appeared with
resokition
all
to
refuse
acting
contrary to law.
He
was on
occasions the un-
daunted champion of rational
liberty,
and lashed the
bigotry of the age with the most severe and caustic

raillery.
One
of his panegyrists describes him as the

;
common
Father of the Republic
so zealous was he in
promoting the welfare of
his country.
It has
been well remarked, that the philosophy of
Socrates forms an important epoch in the history of

the
human mind
it
was
this
which
first
called the
attention of
mankind from the abstruse
subtleties
of
metaphysical research, and, by inculcating the soberer

lessons
of morality,
engaged
his
disciples
in
the
pursuit
of virtue and rational religion.
The
utility
of every design must be estimated by the probability of attaining

its
ultimate object:
and
as
it
is
an
hopeless task to
vices
amend
the aged, to attempt to root out
and
follies
which through habit and prejudice

the
have
become
inveterate,
Philosopher
confined
X
his
INTRODUCTION.
labours
principally to
the
instruction
of youth,
in
whose unadulterated minds the

likely to
lessons of
wisdom
were more
produce a lasting impression.
He
had no school or fixed place,
like other philosophers,
for delivering his lectures, but taught in all places,
and
on
all
occasions
in walking, in conversation, at repasts,
in the midst of the
camp,
in the solitude
of retirement,
or in crowded assemblies.
A
nical
character such as this in a turbulent and tyranstate like
Athens, presenting, by
its virtues,
living satire against the enormities of the
times, ne-
cessarily
created
many powerful enemies.

But
He
was
accordingly devoted to destruction.
as his irrehis
proachable manner of
doctrine, procured
life,
and the popularity of

it
him many adherents,
was judged
necessary to prepare the public mind previously to the

exertion
of any act of
severity.
For many
years,
therefore, before his death, he

for
ridicule
;
had been held as a mark

writers,
and
the
comic
Eupolis and
fit
Aristophanes, were taught to consider him as a
INTRODUCTION.
subject for the stage.
XI
The
latter author, in his cele-
brated
comedy of The Clouds, made him and
his
pursuits the direct object of attack; and
the Philo-
sopher himself was introduced suspended in a basket,
and speaking
sublimity.
in
a tone correspondent to his
mock
Socrates,
who was
present at the repre-
sentation, did not betray the least emotion, but rose
from
his seat
and openly exhibited
his
person to the
Shaftesbury,*
spectators. "
The divinest man," says lord

in the
"
that
had appeared ever
heathen world, was, in

all
the height of witty times, and by the wittiest of

poets,
most abominably ridiculed on purpose.
in a
whole comedy
this
writ and acted
But, so far was
from
sinking his reputation, or suppressing his philosophy,

that they both increased the
more
for
it,
and he appa-
rently
grew to be more the
ejivy
of other teachers.
He
he
was not only contented

might help the poet as
to be ridiculed, but, that

as possible,
much
he presented
himself openly in the theatre, that his real figure (which
was no advantageous one) might be compared with

*
letter
concerning enthusiasm.
Xii
INTRODUCTION.
which the witty poet had brought
on the
stage.* as his repre-
that
sentative
Such was
his
good humour.
Nor
could there be in the world a greater testimony of
the invincible goodness of the

stration
man, or a greater demoneither in his
that
there
was no imposture,
For
character or opinions.
that imposture should dare
sustain the encounter of a grave
enemy
is
no wonder.
solemn
attack, she
is
knows,
she
is
not of such danger to
her.
There
nothing
abhors
and dreads
like
pleasantness and good humour.'^
As soon
as
the charges
alleged
against
him had
assumed a decisive shape,

promptest measures for
his friends
concerted the
his defence.
Lycias, the most
distinguished orator of the day, prepared an elaborate

discourse, in
which the tenour of Socrates'

all
life
and
conduct was pourtrayed with

pathetic reasoning.
the force of the most
Socrates
is
said to have expressed
When
his friends
inquired whether he did not feel (he severity

:
of the satire," Not at all," said he
"I
fancy myself at a feast,
where
all
my
friends enjoy
me."
INTRODUCTION.
much
gratification
at the
XIU
performance.
it,
As a com-
position, he
warmly approved
and tendered many

;
expressions of gratitude to the author

it
but conceiving
to
be more conformable to the rules of rhetoric
than to the sentiments of philosophy, he declined to
accept
it.
On
the day fixed for his
trial,
the proceedings
com-
menced with
as
his
the usual formalities.
Melitus appeared
accuser.
The
purport of the charge brought

was, that he did not profess
against this
great
for
man
the
veneration
gods
acknowledged
by
the
republic, but that he introduced

that
new
divinities;
and
he was employed
in
corrupting the Athenian
youth.
To
these charges Socrates replied at length, in a

its
speech chiefly remarkable for
temperate but intrepid

;
tone, without passion, without emotion
"
full
of the
noble liberty of a philosopher, with no other ornament
XIV
INTRODUCTION.
than that of truth, and brightened universally with the

character and language of innocence."*
The
faction,
however, was sufficiently
strong
to
procure his conviction, and he was sentenced to drink
hemlock, the usual mode of execution

Athens.
at that
time in
The
Philosopher heard the sentence with the most

tranquillity.
unmoved
the
One
of his disciples expressing
bitterest lamentation
that his master
should die
innocent,
" Would you, then,"

die guilty ?
said Socrates, smiling,
" have me
Melitus and Anytus
may
kill,
but they cannot injure me."
After his condemnation, he preserved throughout the
same
intrepidity of carriage
and serenity of countenance
* Plato,
who was
present and heard

it
him deliver
is
his defence,
afterwards committed
to writing:
this
the subject of one of his
most finished pieces, which he has called the Apology of Socrates.
INTRODUCTION.
XV
with which he had uniformly enforced virtue, and held

tyrants in awe.
his friends
His prison was constantly

disciples,
visited
by
and
whom
he continued to exhort
by
his precepts,
and
to animate
by
his
example.
Owing
to a particular circumstance, the execution
of the sentence was retarded for thirty days

before the time had expired, Crito
but, just
came
to apprize
him
of his approaching
fate,
and
at the
same time assured

jailer
him
that he
had taken measures with the
for
effecting his escape;
and that he had secured him a

Socrates smiled at this pro-
safe retreat in Thessaly.
posal, and inquired
if
there were any place
out of
Crito
Attica where
men
could be secured from death.
urged
his
entreaties
with
increased anxiety, adding
every motive that the most ardent attachment could

inspire; but
when he had
in
vain assailed
ties
him with
every argument drawn from the
of friendship, he
if it
enforced the justice of his cause, and demanded
was not
essential to
his
own goodness
blood
to
spare his
fellow-citizens the guilt of innocent
but
if
those
XVI
INTRODUCTION.
motives were insufficient, and he were regardless of

his
personal interest, could he be insensible to
the
welfare of his children?

the
Could the
all
stern virtues
of
Philosopher absorb
?
the finer feelings of the
parent
Socrates listened to him

but, before
m ith
his
affectionate attention
he could adopt
recommendation, he
it
deemed
it
proper to examine whether
were con-
formable to the idea of justice, to leave the prison

without the consent of the magistrates.
tion
This examina-
canvasses
an inquiry, whether a
man
unjustly
condemned
to death, can, without a crime, escape
from
the ministers of the law.

inclined
The
rigid integrity of Socrates
him
to
pronounce such conduct
to
be unjust;
and he therefore heroically refused to leave the prison.
He
reverenced the institutions
of his
country,
and
sealed his obedience by his death.
On
the fatal day,
almost
all
his friends repaired to the prison early in
the morning.
sun-set,
The
sentence was not enforced

the
intervening
till
after
and he
employed
time in
INTRODUCTION.
discussing a subject of
all
XVll
others the most important to
a reasoning being, the immortality of the soul.
The
discussion arose from a question casually introduced,
Whether a philosopher ought not

dying
?
to
be desirous of
to
This, taken too
literally,
seemed
imply an
opinion, that a philosopher might be the author of his
own
death.
Socrates shews the falsity of such opinion,

at length the various
is
and explains
arguments by which
Avith a
a future existence
upheld.
These, together
refutation of the objections alleged against them, constitute the subject
of the following dialogue.
The small Jigures in the
text refer to their respective
numbers in the Notes at the end.
PH^DO,
1.
Echecrates.
Were
you, Phaedo,^ in
the
the prison with Socrates,
when he drank
poison ; or were you informed of his decease
by some other person ?

Phaedo.
Echec.
I
was present
myself, Echecrates."
By what
peculiar circumstances
was
his death distinguished,
and what was

I
the nature of his last conversation ?
would
;
gladly listen to so interesting a narrative
for
the inhabitants of Phlius have scarcely any

intercourse with Athens, nor has any stranger
lately visited us,
who was
at all capable of
giving any detailed account;

that his death
we heard
only
was occasioned by
poison, and
PH.EDO.
have hitherto been unable to acquire any

further information.
Ph<sd.
Did you hear nothing

trial ?
respecting
the process observed at his
Echec. With that indeed

acquainted, and
felt
we were made
astonishment at
much
the interval which elapsed between the sen-
tence and his execution:
to
what
is
such
delay to be attributed ?
Pliced.
Entirely to accident;
that
stern
for,
on the
day
preceding
the
on
of
which
the
he
was
Avhich
arraigned,
vessel,
the Athenians send annually to Delos,
was
solemnly crowned for the voyage.

Echec.
On what
?
occasion was this cere-
mony
instituted
Pliced.
According to an Athenian
tradition,
this is the
same
vessel
in
which Theseus^
formerly sailed to Crete, with the fourteen
chosen boys and
virgins,
whose redemption
he effected without incurring any personal

injury.
During
this expedition, the citizens
PHiEDO.
of Athens
3
if
made a vow to Apollo,
the youths
escaped destruction, to send each year a
solemn procession
to Delos,
which they have
ever since religiously fulfilled

offering to the deity.
by an annual
On
the
commencement
of the ceremony, the law enjoins a purification of the city,

to
and no criminal can be put

the ship has arrived at
death
till
after
Delos, and returned again from thence.
This
sometimes employs a considerable length of

time,
from the occasional violence of the winds.

festival
The
begins
when
the priest of Apollo

:
has crowned the stern of the vessel
this,
as I
before stated, took place on the day preceding

Socrates' trial
;
and
it
was that circumstance
which caused
after his
2.
his detention in prison so long
condemnation.
is
Echec. But the event of his death
the
point on which I
ation.
crisis,
am most
anxious for inform-
How
did he conduct himself at that
and on what subjects did he principally
converse ?
Were any
of his disciples present,
PHiEDO.
or did the magistrates deny them admission ?
And
did he thus meet death unattended by

his friends ?
:
any of
Phced. Far otherwise

ciples continued with
several of his dis-
him
constantly.
Echec.
If then
you are not too much
engaged, pray acquaint

ticular.
me
with every par-
Phced. I
am
perfectly at leisure,
and
for,
will to
endeavour to
satisfy
your wishes:
recall Socrates to
my
or
recollection, either
by
the
speaking myself,
by attending
to
narrative of others, constitutes

pleasure.
my
highest
Echec.
will
Be
assured, Phaedo, your audience

;
be similarly affected
enter, therefore, at
large into the detail,
and
relate
each circum-
stance as distinctly as possible.
Phced. Indeed
was
agitated in no ordi-
nary manner ;
tions of pity
for I felt not those
keen emo-
which the spectacle of a dying

be supposed
to inspire. Socrates
friend might
PHiEDO.
had every appearance of being and so tranquil were
truly
happy
his spirits, so collected
was
his conversation, with
such exalted
fortitude,
I
sentifinally
ments and such unshaken

closed his
existence,
he
that
was strongly
impressed with the idea of his descending

to
the shades under the guidance of
some
to
protecting deity,
who would conduct him

Thus
was
those habitations which are reserved for the
mansions of the blessed.

totally
neither
overcome by sorrow,
like those
who
are witnesses to scenes of deep affliction, nor
could
be conscious of that
gratification,
which
his philosophical discourses

to create.
were ac-
customed
mingled sensation of
pain and pleasure arose in

I reflected
my
mind,
when
how
soon he would for ever leave
us. All present participated in these emotions,
yielding
alternately
to
either
passion: but
are well ac-
ApoUodorus, with
quainted,
rest.
whom you
distinguished
himself above
the
PHiEDO.
Echec. Phced.
I
know
his disposition.
The
transitions,
from grief
to joy,
were
in
him more marked and
violent,
while
those of myself and the others were confused
and
less evident.
Echec.
Phced.
Who
were present
at this scene?
Apollodorus,^ Critobulus, and his
father Crito,
Hermogenes, Epigenes, Êschines,
Antisthenes, Ctesippus, Menexenus, and a few
other Athenians.
severe indisposition.
Plato was prevented by
Echec. Phced.
Were
there no strangers present?
Yes: Simmias the Theban, and

Phaedondes,
with
Oebes and
Euclid and
Terpsion, from Megara.
Echec.
Were
No:
not Aristippus*^ and Cleom-
brotus there?
Phced,
they were supposed to have
been otherwise engaged at iEgina.^

Echec. Are these
all
who
attended him ?
Phced.
believe I have nearly mentioned
the whole party.
PH^DO.
3.
Ecliec.
Now
then acquaint
me
with the
purport of his discourse.

Phced.
I will
endeavour to give you the

It
most ample information.
was our regular

for
practice to visit Socrates daily,
which
in the
purpose we assembled every morning

judicial forum,
where he was arraigned, and

to the prison.
which was contiguous
Here
we remained
till
in conference
with each other
the
doors were thrown open for our
admission,
Socrates,
when we
instantly proceeded to
and generally passed the remainder
of the day in his society.

his execution,
On
the morning of
we were
earlier
than usual in
our attendance, being assured, when
we
left
the prison on the preceding evening, that the

vessel
was returned from Delos.
We
resolved
therefore on meeting at the accustomed place
soon after the

jailer,
dawn
to
and on our
arrival, the
who used
admit us, desired we would

till
wait,
self
and not attempt an entrance

to
he him-
came
conduct us
adding, that the
PHiEDO.
off the
Eleven Magistrates ^ were then striking

irons with
which Socrates was confined, having
decreed on that day that he should suffer

death.
short time after he returned, and
acquainted us, that

in,
we had
permission to go
just freed
sitting
when we discovered Socrates

fetters,
from his
and
his wife
Xantippe
near him with his child in her arms.
On
ob-
serving us, she burst into those exclamations
with which
women
usually vent their sorrows,
crying out, "
Socrates, for the last time

!
your friends address you
never will you see
them more !" Socrates,

Crito, said, "
then, turning towards
Pray
let
somebody attend her
home." She was soon afterwards led away by

Crito's servants,
weeping with the most pasSocrates
sionate expressions of tenderness.
then rose up in his bed, and gently bending

his leg, chafed
it
for
some time with
his hand.
While he was engaged

"
in this occupation,
How
strangely complicated,
is
my
friends,"
said he, "
that
quality,
which mankind
PHiEDO.
denominate pleasure
!
How
admirably
is
it
interwoven with pain; to which, from the

incompatibility of their union in the
same
who-
person,
it is
apparently so opposite
yet,
ever
is
successful in his pursuit of the one,

participate in the other; as
must unavoidably
if
they were both derived from the same

origin.
common
If
JEsop had indulged
in
reflections of this nature,
he would probably
have composed a
fable, representing the deity
desirous to reconcile these conflicting sensations, but, failing in his design, at length
uniting their sources ; on
which account, who-
ever
is
subjected to the impressions of one,

its
shortly after feels the influence of

ciate.
asso-
This
I
;
myself experience at the prefor the pain
sent
moment
which arose from
the pressure of the iron on
my
leg, has,
on
its
removal, been succeeded by pleasure."

4.
Here Cebes, interrupting him, exclaimed,

have happily reminded
"
You
me
of several
to
inquiries,
which have been put
me by
10
PHMDO.
of
many
very
my
acquaintance, and by Evenus^
lately,
with respect to your version of
jEsop's fables,
and
the
hymn
to Apollo.
They
are
all at
a loss to conceive
how
you,
who had
ment
never shewn any previous attach-
to poetry,
it
could have been induced to

in confinement.
If,
cultivate
when
therefore,
I
Evenus should repeat
this inquiry,
and
have
every reason to think he
will, instruct
me what
answer
may
return him."
is
" Tell him," said
Socrates, "
what
exactly the truth, that I
did not engage in such an undertaking from
any desire
to rival his productions, (for I well
knew
the difficulty of such an attempt,) but
with a view to expound the purport of certain dreams,
and to discharge a religious
cere-
mony,
if
haply the pursuit of poetry should
prove to be that particular species of music*
which they had frequently enjoined

exercise.
me
to
For the same dream has been

the term music,
ôus-txrj,
often
*
art.
The Athenians gave
to every
See note at the end.
PH.EDO.
presented to
11
my
'
imagination under different
appearances, and always conveying the same
admonition
Socrates, apply yourself to the
cultivation ofmusic.^
This
formerly consi-
dered as nothing more than an injunction to
pursue the course of
life
had adopted, as
runners are exhorted not to relax their efforts

in
the race.
to
therefore
imagined myself
application to
charged
*
persevere in an
to
music,'
and
philosophy as the most ex-
cellent species.
tion, (the festival
But
since
my
condemna-
of Apollo having retarded
the completion of the sentence,) supposing

the
admonition to have intended the more
common and
judged
it
popular province of music,' I

'
less
hazardous to obey the voice of

than to die unabsolved of a
my
a
monitor,
sacred duty.
On
this account, I
composed
hymn
in
honour of the
;
deity, w^hose rites
were then celebrating

taining an idea that
but afterwards, enterto the
whoever aspired
poet,
reputation
of
a true
ought not to
12
PHiEDO.
confine himself merely to the production of
moral precepts, but should occasionally vary
and
illustrate
them by
fables;
and having
turned to
myself no mythological
talents, I
those of jEsop, and adapted to the measures

of poetry such as
first
offered themselves to
my
recollection.
5.
" This, Cebes,
is
the answer you

at the
may
time,
if
give Evenus.
Assure him,
;
same
of
my
best wishes
and recommend him,
he would truly consult

me,
his interest, to follow

to take
who am
this
life
day destined
;
my
departure from
the Athenians."
for
such
is
the decree of
" What," replied Simmias, "
is
the recomI
mendation which you send Evenus?

frequently been thrown into his
have
company;
and, as far as I
will
am
capable of judging, he
always receive your admonitions with
reluctance."
" Is
not
Evenus a philosopher?"
said
Socrates.
PHiEDO.
" I believe so," answered Simmias.
will follow
13
"
He
me
then, without hesitation," con;
tinued Socrates
" as will every true votary
of that exalted profession. deed, put a period to his
He
will not, in;
own
existence
for
such practice
is
condemned by the
this
laws."
Having made
{eet
remark, he withdrew his
from the bed, and placed them on the
floor, in
which attitude he remained during

Cebes then
reconcile the
the rest of his conversation.
demanded of him how he could

illegality
of suicide with his observation, that
a philosopher should be desirous of accom-
panying a person doomed
to
suffer
death?
He
replied,
this
by inquiring
if
they had never
heard
point examined
by
Philolaus.^
it
They assured him they had never found

sufficiently explained.
" I," said Socrates,
" can speak only from
what
have heard on
the subject; but this I have no scruple in
communicating.
peculiarly
Perhaps too
the
it
is
a duty
incumbent on
person con-
1^
PH^DO.
to
demned
me, to
make
the progress which awaits
investigate, as far as possible, its ten:
dency and nature
and how
shall
we more
advantageously employ the interval between

the present hour and sun-set ?" ^
6.
"
On what
account," said Cebes, "

I
is
suicide considered unlawful?
have often
a declar-
known
any
Philolaus and others

its
make
ation of
illegality,
but have never heard
explicit reason assigned for the prohibir
tion."
"
Be
attentive, then," said Socrates, "

;
and
you may be soon convinced though, perhaps,

it
will
fill
you with astonishment

is,
to learn,
that this
of
all
others,
an eternal and
immutable truth:
fixed,
and independent of
equally applicable
varying circumstances,
it is
to the situation of those to
whom death would

and who, being
be a refuge from greater
evils,
denied the privilege of effecting their
own
release, are destined to receive their deliver-
ance from another."
PHiEDO.
" Jupiter alone can decide
smiling.
this," said
13
Cebes,
"
Such a
regulation appears irre;
concilable to human reason yet, perhaps,
some
argument may be offered
in its support.
The
doctrine repeated in the celebration of the

mysteries,
station,
that
mankind are posted
to
from whence they have no authority

indeed not easily
to
to dismiss themselves, is
intelligible
;
but
assent entirely
us, that
the
declaration,
which assures
we
are
the property of the gods,
who watch
over
our interests with attentive benignity."

"
Are your sentiments the same on

*'
this
point?"
They
are;" replied Cebes.
" Ima-
gine, then,
one of your slaves to have laid
violent
hands on himself, without receiving
any
notification that
you desired
his death:
would not such conduct

sure? and
if
excite your displea-
he were susceptible of punishinflict
ment,
would you not

;"
it?"
" Yes,
doubtless
said Cebes.
" It follows then,
by
parity of reasoning, that
mankind should
16
PHiEDO.
suicide,
be debarred the commission of
and
taught to expect an express order from God,
and await,
in patient expectation, a
summons
similar to that
7.
which
have just received."
" This," said Cebes, " I allow to be a

:
rational conclusion
tion, that
but your former affirma-
a philosopher should be desirous of

it
dying, carries with
an
air of absurdity, if
we admit
an
the idea of
mankind being the proare supposed to take
perty of the gods,
who
interest in their welfare

it
and preservation.
For
is
unreasonable to imagine, that the
wisest amongst the sons of
men should
not
deplore the loss of the best and most powerful
of patrons.
Surely no person, even in

absolute
possession of the most
freedom,
could hope to find an abler guardian in himself.
The
fool
indeed
may
think in his heart

all
that a ruler ought, under

to
circumstances,
be avoided
not reflecting that the good
should
be cultivated,
and
their
authority
prolonged.
Thus he would
unhesitatingly
PH^DO.
17
relinquish the benefit of such superintendence
but the prudent
man
will ever
be desirous of
remaining with one whose superior excellence
he has
felt
and approved.
On
this account,
Socrates, I
trary
to
draw a conclusion
directly conaffirm,
your declaration; and
that
the wise repine at death, while fools will wel-
come
its
approaches."
Socrates appeared pleased with this reasoning; and, turning towards us, said, " Cebes
always examines the strength of an argument,
and does not

proposition."
easily assent
to
any untried
" I too," said Simmias, " achis observation

:
knowledge the force of
for
what
prevailing
motive can induce
men
of
understanding to renounce those patrons

are confessedly so
who
and
and
much
from
their superiors,
their
rashly withdraw
protection?
I
influence
imagine Cebes must have di-
rected his remarks more particularly to you,
who can
your
retire
with so
little
reluctance from
friends,
and abandon the tutelage of

c
18
PH^DO.
the gods,
whom
you describe as such excel-
lent governors."
" Justly remarked,"

" I see
answered Socrates
should enter on
you wish that
my
defence with as
of justice."
much
solemnity as in a court
" Such," replied Simmias, " are
our earnest entreaties."

8.
" Let
me
then
flatter
myself that
will find
this
vindication of
my
conduct
a more
it
favourable construction with you than
for-
merly received from the judges.
should
indeed act inconsistently, in resigning

life
my
with composure, were
not impressed
with an idea of being translated to the presence of other wise and beneficent
deities,
and of being allowed
to
mingle
in the circle
of superior intelligences, released from their

existence
upon
earth.
I die in the sure
and
dis-
certain hope of joining the society of
men
tinguished by their excellence
but though
on
this point I
cannot speak with entire con-
fidence, yet I
have no hesitation to express,
PH^DO.
in the strongest terms,
19
a conviction of finding
gods endowed
^vith
every perfect attribute.
On
this account, I
am
enabled to meet death

is
with tranquillity, trusting there

reserved for departed
spirits,
some good
vir-
and that the
tuous will be advanced far beyond the reach
and condition of the malevolent."
"
Would
you," said Simmias, " leave us without com-
municating these sentiments;
or will
you
admit your friends into a participation of
them?
nefit
it
To me
be a
it
appears that a public be-
would
result
from their disclosure; and

your
will
sufficient establishment of
defence,
should you produce conviction in

shall
your hearers." " Such," said Socrates, "

be
my
endeavour.
But
let
us
first
inquire
what Crito has
to acquaint us with, for
he
has long shewTi an anxiety to deliver some

information."
" I have nothing to state," re-
plied Crito, " but that the executioner has
desired I would admonish you, as

possible,
much
as
to
avoid discussion:
for
ho has
20
PHiEDO.
remarked, that disputants become heated by

controversy; and, as in such
their constitutions resist
temperament
efforts
is
the
of the
often
poison,
a repetition
of the dose
rendered necessary."
" Entreat him," said

;
Socrates, " to be under no uneasiness

let
only
him prepare a
sufficient quantity,
should
he be required a second, or even a third time,

to
administer the potion."

;
" I anticipated " but he strongly

"
;
such an answer," said Crito

urged
me
to
speak
wîth you."
Think of
" but let
him no
further," replied Socrates
me
explain to you, as to
my
judges, those
reasons,
which
incline
me
to the idea, that a
philosopher ought to rejoice in the hour of

death,
and on what grounds he may indulge
the hope of meeting in futurity
more
trans-
cendant blessings and fulness of enjoyment.
To
9.
you, Simmias and Cebes, I particularly
address these observations

"
Mankind
in
general seem unaware,
that true philosophy consists in learning
how
PHiEDO.
to die.^
21
Surely, then,
it
would be grossly
in-
consistent in those
who have
directed their
views to such an object, Avere they to repine

at the possession of
what
it
has been the chief
business of their lives to attain." " You compel
me," cried Simmias, " to smile, however contrary to
my
inclination; but I cannot help
fancying
how many,
would
rould
tliey
hear this
declaration,
implicitly
subscribe to
your opinion.
The
Athenians, in particular,
phi-
would acknowledge the propriety of a

losopher's
engaging
in
such pursuit, being
perfectly apprized of his superior claims to receive the reward
annexed
to
it."
"
They
would
thus,"
exclaimed Socrates,
is
" unde-
signedly speak what
truth,
from an igno-
rance of the motives by which philosophers

are
influenced.
Let
us,
however,
avoid
introducing them into our discussion, but
proceed uninterruptedly with the
inquiry.
Do
you consider death as being
really
any
thing?"
" Unquestionably," said Simmias.
22
PHyEDO.
Does
it
"
produce a separation oj^the soul

after
from the body; and,
such disunion,
has the soul an independent existence, perfectly free

this
and uncontrolled by the body ?
Is
a correct definition of death?'

replied Simmias.
" Per-
fectly;"
" Let us, then,"
continued Socrates, " examine whether our

sentiments have any further agreement, for
we
shall thus
more
clearly understand the
object of investigation.
that a philosopher
is
Are you of
opinion,
devoted to what are

" Surely
called the pleasures of the table?"

not," said Simmias.
" Is he addicted to the

"
passion of love?"
Far otherwise."
to
"
Do
you imagine he attaches any value
such
bodily embellishments as are derived from
gorgeous dresses, or sandals^ of exquisite
workmanship? or does he disregard
all
per-
sonal ornament as beneath his consideration?"
"
true philosopher,
in
my
opinion," anto objects
swered Simmias, "pays no attention

of this
nature."
*'
Do
not the principal
FllJEDO,
23
pursuits of such a person lead him, on the

contrary, to neglect the importunities of the
body, and to apply his energies to the

vation of the soul?"
" Certainly."
cultiit
" Is
not then sufficiently manifest, that a philosopher, beyond

all
other descriptions of men,
directs his efforts to detach the soul from its
connexion with the body?"
" Clearly so."
*'Yet the generality of mankind, Simmias,

conceive a person of such description to be
insensible of the
charms of existence, and
deserving only death.

10.
" Let us further consider, whether the

acts as an obstruction in the pursuit of
body
knowledge. Are the organs of sight or hearing
exempted from the
possibility of illusion
or
are the poets ^ justified in their assertion, that
we can
neither hear nor see any thing with

If these, the
accuracy?
most excellent of
the body's attributes, are defective, surely all

its
other
endowments must be
Is
fallible
and
imperfect.
not
such
your
opinion?"
24
PHiEDO.
"
"Entirely."
By what
process then
for,
is
the
as-
soul enabled to arrive at truth?
when
sociated with the body,
it is
evident that real

Is
it
knowledge eludes
its
attainment.
not
by reason alone
that
?"
we
are conducted to "
any true conclusion
" Assuredly."
But
the soul most powerfully exerts this faculty
when
divested of
all
corporeal incumbrances
when, insensible to the impressions of either

joy or
grief,
and
inattentive to the seductions

it
of the eye or ear,

itself,
remains collected in
unshackled by communion with the

Is
it
body.
not principally from this con-
sideration, that the soul of a philosopher dis-
cards
all
connexion with the body, and aspires

independent existence?"
*'
to a separate,
" I
should imagine so."
How
then shall
we we
decide respecting those objects which come
imder the
call justice
soul's
contemplation?
'*
Shall
a reality?"
Most
to
certainly."
"
Are goodness and beauty

*'
be considered
as real essences?"
Vndonbtedly." " Could
PH^DO.
you ever see
"
25
these
realities?"
"Never."
Did you
ever view, through the

sense,
medium
of
any bodily
such qualities as magni?
tude, strength, or soundness
or,
indeed, any
other objects which have a real existence?
And
if these
are invisible to the body's organs,
will not
he the soonest arrive at a knowledge
of them,
who employs no
faculties
but what
are furnished
by the mind ?
Will he not the
most
effectually
accomplish his object,
who
proceeds to the investigation by rejecting the
agency of the senses, and who trusts to the
unclouded energies of reason

into
Is
to
penetrate
the essence of whatever really exists?
not such a person,
Simmias, the most
likely to acquire a true perception of things ?"
"
You
have
spoken
incomparably;" said
Simmias.
11.
"It necessarily
follows, then, that all
true philosophers should entertain these sentiments,
and adopt
this language.
Reason
;
is
the path to guide us in our inquiries
but
g6
PHiEDO.
while the soul continues suffering from the
contamination of the body,
it
never can em-
brace the truth, which

after.
it
so eagerly longs
The body
its
requires incessant attention,
on account of
necessary sustenance
its
the
diseases which are incidental to
nature,
unavoidably clog the progress of the mind, in

addition to such obstacles as arise from the
influence of love, fear, vehement desire,
all
and
the extravagancies
of the imagination.
controul,
While
subject
to
such
we can
Battles,
never hope to attain true wisdom.

tumult, and sedition,
the body's appetites:
all
owe
their origin to
wars are undertaken
for the acquisition of riches,^
and these are
necessarily resorted to as the
means of ad-
ministering to the body's wants.
On
this
account,
little
we
are compelled to
dedicate so
of our time to the labours of philosophy.

all
But, what surpasses

us, taking
other
evils,
if
any of
advantage of an interval of
leisure,
should apply himself to close and abstract
PHyEDO.
meditation,
27
inquiry, the
;
in the midst of his

;
body
his
interferes
deranges his views
confuses
it;
ideas;
bears
down
all
before
and,
finally,
less.
renders any clear investigation hope-
But
it
has been fully shewn, that,
if
we would
must
plate
it
truly
understand any thing,
we
totally discard the body,

it
and contem-
with the faculties of the soul.
Hence
appears probable, that in an hereafter
we
shall
be permitted
to
obtain what
we now
desire so fervently: but while
on
earth, our
researches must ever be imperfect and embittered.
For
if
the
body
it
is
unqualified for
the reception of wisdom,
follows that true
knowledge can only be attainable by death

the soul being then
first
liberated from all
bodily impediments.
Yet while we remain

to
all
on
earth,
we
shall
approach more nearly
this
knowledge,
in proportion as
we
avoid
;
unnecessary intercourse with the body

serving ourselves unpolluted
till
pre-
by
its
contagion,
the Deity judges proper to release us.
28
PHiEDO.
shall
Then, pure and undefiled, we
be as-
sociated with kindred spirits, and
endowed
with
a perception of
every true essence.
But corruption cannot hold communion with

incorruption.
" Such, Simmias, according to

are the sentiments which
all
my
ideas,
sincere votaries
of learning
other.
should interchange with
each
Do
you
entertain the
same opinion ?"
" Entirely, Socrates."

12. "
Thus, then,
my friends, we may indulge

we
so actively
there-
a rational, well-grounded hope of accomplishing, after death, those objects
pursued while
fore,
living;
and the progress,
which now awaits me, may be cheerundertaken by another, whose mind has
fully
undergone the necessary preparation.

soul, as I before
The
expressed myself, becomes

in
more
highly purified
proportion as
it
recedes from the body, and accustoms

to
itself
an independent existence.
Now, do we
not call that death, which produces a total
PHMDO.
29
separation of the soul from any correspond-
ence with the body?"
" Certainly;"
said
Simmias.
vince of
all
"
But
is it
not peculiarly the pro-
true philosophers, to apply their

dis-
utmost energies towards effecting such

union?" "
"
I
conceive so;" replied Simmias.

not, then,
Would
it
be ridiculously inconhis
sistent in
any man, who had so regulated
ideas as constantly to present death to his
imagination, were he on
its arrival,
to betray
any symptoms of impatience ?" " Assuredly."

" Persuade yourself then, Simmias, that
true philosophers are desirous of dying
that to
;
all
and
them death comes armed with fewer

mankind. Exposed
terrors than to the rest of

to incessant assaults
from the body, and con-
stantly endeavouring to escape their influence,
would
it
not be the height of
folly, to
?
repine
at the success of
such
efforts
Or,
who
but
a senseless idiot would embark with reluct-
ance to the haven of his wishes, where the
mind
will
meet repose, and the body cease
30
PH/EDO.
Are
there not
from importuning!
stances of men,
to their lives,
many
in-
who put a
voluntary period
from a confident expectation of
being thus restored to those departed relatives,
who
constituted their dearest interests
on earth?
And
shall the ardent votary of
WISDOM, who fondly cherishes the hope of

finding her through death, reluctantly submit
to die?
Will he not rather hail with joy

departure?
the hour of his
Such, surely,
would be the resolution of a true philosopher, since he
must be strongly impressed
with a belief, that the fountain of wisdom can
he approached by no other channel.

it
Would
not then be strangely inconsistent in such
man
to
contemplate death with sentiments

"
of terror?"
Beyond
all
question;" replied
Simmias.
13.
" Hence, then,
we may fairly infer,

life
that
whoever yields up
is
his
with reluctance,
a lover of pleasure more than a lover of

is
truth: that he
devoted to the passion of
PHiEDO.
31
wealth, and the calls of ambition; selecting
one as his favourite object, or being equally a

slave to both." "
The inference," said Simmias,
"
is
extremely just."
" Is not the virtue

cised
tion
?
we
call fortitude, exer-
by philosophers
in its highest perfec-
And
is
not temperance, which, in the
common
acceptation of the term, implies an
abstinence from lawless pleasures, and enjoins a chasteness
and sobriety of conduct,
peculiarly enforced
by
the practice of those
who
are exclusively engaged in the pursuit of " Assuredly."

"
wisdom?"
But an
as
attentive
examination of these virtues,

usually practised, will
they are
discover
sufficiently
is
how
"
*'
vahi and irrational
their foundation."
How
You
does this appear?" inquired Simmias.

will allow," continued Socrates, " that
is
death
universally considered as the

all
se-
verest of
calamities
?"
"It
is
so
;"
said
Simmias.
"
When men
of courage therefore
undergo
this
calamity with firmness, they are
32
PHÊDO.
still
influenced by a dread of sufferings

acute.
more
Thus
all
mankind, except philoso-
phers,
fear
;
become brave from an impression of

and that courage must surely be
irra-
tional, to
whose exertion
"
terror acts as the
incentive."
tirely ;" said
You have
convinced
it
me
en-
Simmias.
" Is
otherwise with
those
who have acquired
the reputation of
being abstinent? or are they temperate only
from motives of intemperance ? This, though

apparently impossible, results from an impru-
dent and ill-judged exercise of the virtue.
Dreading a deprivation of the pleasures they

most eagerly covet, they
refrain
from the
allurements of a few to revel uncontrolled in

the remainder.
Intemperance, they allow,

to
consists in an unconstrained submission
the
passions;
yet,
while
they acquire an
ascendancy over
their less
powerful appetites,
they yield an unlimited indulgence to every

darling gratification.
Thus, as was before
observed, they practise temperance from an
PHtEDO.
impulse of the opposite vice."
indeed," said Simmias.
fore, that the
33
" It appears so,
"
We conclude, therewisdom
is
unerring path to
not
discoverable
by the
substitution of one plea-
sure for another, or by discarding one grief or

anxiety for others of a different complection, as
smaller pieces of
for
money are
given in exchange
one of greater value: wisdom, the only true

coin,
and genuine
can alone be entitled to uni-
versal currency.
By this, all objects of intrinsic

:
worth may be attained
this is alone sufficient
to ensure to us the possession of temperance,

fortitude,
and
justice.
In short, true virtue
is
the constant
companion of wisdom,
uninflu-
enced either by misfortune or success.

torn from her society,
it
When
instantly
assumes a
base and servile aspect
no vestige remaining
is
of that pristine excellence, without which, nothing

is
pure, nothing
holy.
Truth
is
the
sacred essence, redeemed from
all pollution.
Temperance,
justice, fortitude
and prudence,
are the instruments and agents of its power.
Far
otherwise than objects of derision, but men well
31
skilled
PH^DO.
ill
human
nature,
rites,
were the authors of

signified to the
those mysterious
aspirants,
which
by emblematical
devices, the future

suffer,
punishments they are decreed to
who who
descend
to the infernal
world unprepared by
;
the ceremony of initiation
while those
submitted to the necessary purification were

assured of an admission, after death, to the
mansions of the gods. For, as the dispensers^

of the expiations declare, there are
many
to
be found invested with the ensigns of the
deity,
but few to represent the image of the god-
head/
will
This glorious distinction,

their lot,
I imagine,
be
who have
invariably pursued
;
the dictates of philosophy
in the
number
of
whose votaries
life to
it
has been the business of
my
be enrolled. Pass but a few short hours,

I shall
and soon, with the permission of heaven,

learn
how
far
my efforts have been successful

Simmias and
Cebes,
are the
" These,
reasons I allege for quitting unreluctantly the

ties
of friendship and the tutelage of the

I
gods: induced by the consideration, that
PHiEDO.
shall hereafter
still
35
to associate
be permitted
with friends not less sincere, and patrons not

less
bounteous.
Mankind
in general receive
such doctrines with distrust; but if this defence

obtains from you a reception
more indulgent
than the judges would allow

sufficiently
14.
it,
my object will
be answered."
Socrates had finished speaking,
"
I
When
Cebes thus expressed himself.
To
the
most part of your arguments

assent;
implicitly
but
those
remarks,
which
apply
more immediately
to the soul, will
always be
heard with diffidence by the great mass of
mankind, who are apprehensive that on

separation from the
its
body
it
ceases to exist
it
being impressed with an idea, that

its flight in
takes
the instant of death, and vanishes

If indeed
it
like a meteor, for ever.
could
remain collected
injuries
in itself,
secure from the
above described, there might be some

for believing that
grounds
stated
is
what you have just

but
it
essentially true
requires no
36
PHiEDO.
slender powers of reasoning to demonstrate

that the soul does really survive the body,
endowed with any

understanding."
"
attributes of strength
and
The remark,"
said Socrates, "
is
not un-
deserving attention.
Shall
we
then examine
the probability of the statement you controvert?"
" I
am most
anxious," replied Cebes,
" to hear your sentiments on so interesting a

point."
" I think,"
added Socrates,
" I shall
thus escape at least the imputation of frivolity

for, surely,
no person, even though he were

this subject
a writer of comedies,^ can think
unbecoming
fore
my
present situation.
If therewill
you approve the discussion, we

to inquire
proceed
whether the souls of the
deceased have any existence in the invisible

regions.
15.
spirits
"It
is
an ancient
tradition,^ that the
of the departed retire from this world,

return to earth,
to the
that they again
and that
the dead are
awakened
enjoyments
PH.EDO.
of light and
life.
37
this
If
is
it
we acknowledge
doctrine as truth,
not a necessary conin the interval

for if the
sequence that the soul should be detained

spark of
it
in
some depository?
vitality
were utterly extinguished,
could be no more relumined.
Assuming
this principle as already recognized, that the
living are created
from the dead, the doctrine

at
of immortality
is
once established
if
you
reject such principle,

to other arguments."
we
"
miist have recourse
By
all
means;" ex-
claimed Cebes.
" But, to
gible,
let
make
the subject
more
intelli-
us not confine the inquiry to the
human
race,
but rather
let
our consideration
extend to the productions of animated nature.
Do
are
not those qualities to which any others

directly
contrary,
;
owe
is
their
origin
to
such contrariety
as beauty
the opposite to
deformity, and injustice the reverse of justice?
Let us further consider, whether

absolutely necessary that
all
it
is
not
things
which are
38
PHtEDO.
susceptible of contrariety, should have derived

their
existence
from the
contrary object.
is
Thus, when any substance

size,
increased in
does not such an increase proceed from

its first
an enlargement of
dimensions ? and
is
not every smaller object rendered so by a

subtraction from
tainly."
its
former bulk?"
debility
is
" Cer-
"
Does not
result
from
something- stronger? and

velocity derived from
not an increased
at first
what
was slow?
Again; when any subject becomes deteriorated,

is it
not
by
falling off
from
its
original
perfection? and does not vice acquire both

its
nature and
its
name from
a necessary " As-
contrast to the attributes of virtue?"

suredly."
" It has sufficiently been shewn,
then, that all things are generated
by
their
immediate contraries."
Cebes.
" Sufficiently;" said
" Is there not also some subsisting

opposite qualities
;
medium between two
and
are there not two generations
the one flowing
from
this to that, the other again returning
PHiEDO.
from that
to this?
39
Addition and subtrac-
tion constitute the
medium between what
is
great and small ; the one suffering diminution,
and the other acquiring an
enlargement.
Does not then

and
the
same
rule apply to mixture
separation, to the process of heating
and
cooling,
and
all
other similar operations, to
which, though
cular
we do
is
it
not always
affix parti-
names,
not in fact essentially
necessary that they should reciprocally be

the instruments of their
own
production?"
" Certainly
16. "
;"
answered Cebes.
life
Has
is
also its peculiar opposite,
as sleep
" It has."
the contrary to watchfulness?" " In
what does
it
consist?"
" In
death."
"
Do
then these contraries alter-
nately create each other ; and are there
two
generations which subsist between them?"
" Undoubtedly."
said Socrates,
"
The
nature of the
first,"
;
" I will detail to you
the
other you
may
yourself explain to me.

I
Sleep
and watchfulness
define
to
be
directly
40
opposite;
PH.EDO.
and
assume,
that
watchfulness
is
proceeds from sleep, and that sleep

offspring of watchfulness
:
the
the former being

senses,
produced by a languor of the

latter arising
and the
from their renovation.
Do
make myself sufficiently understood ?"

fectly so."
" Per-
"
Now
then, Cebes,
unfold the
life
nature of the connexion between

death.
life,
and
You
state death to
be the opposite of
originate from
life ?"
and that they mutually
each other.
What then
is
the produce of
" Death." "
And what
the progeny of death?"

to
"
It
must necessarily be acknowledged

"
be
all
life."
We
conclude, then, Cebes, that
livmg objects are produced from death." "

appears so," answered Cebes.
"
It
The
souls,
therefore, of the deceased are deposited in
the infernal regions.

"
Of
is
the two generations above recited,

sufficiently manifest;
one
the reality
of
death wants no confirmation.

"
What
then must be our decision ?
Shall
FUJEDO.
41
we
its
ascribe to death the

contrary,
power of producing
to consider nature
or are
we
as defective in this respect?"
"We
its
must,
unquestionably," said
Cebes, " attribute to

opposite."
death a capacity to generate

"
What
"
it
is
that opposite?"
if
"
The
return to
life."
But
a resurrection takes place,

life to
must
not consist in a renewal of

"Certainly."
"
the
departed?"
We
arrive then
at this conclusion, that the living arise
from
the dead as necessarily as the dead proceed
from the
living
and hence too we
infer, that
the souls of the deceased remain in

depository, from
some
whence they are
called to
renewed animation."
" This," said
Cebes,
" naturally results from
the principles
we
agreed to establish."
17.
" Reflect
then,
Cebes, whether such

to
principles
do not appear
:
be supported by
the evidence of reason
for if there
was not a
constant reproduction of matter carried for-
ward, as
it
were, in a never-ending round of
43
PHiEDO.
if,
generation and decay; but

trary,
it
on the condistinct
were ordained that every

confined
to
species should be
the simple
its
process of creation and a departure to
immediate opposite, without returning to the

peculiar stamp and
mould from whence
it
was
originally fashioned; consider whether,
under such
regulation,
every
material
substance would not in time assume
the
to
same unvaried form, and ultimately cease

have existence."
"
How
does that appear?" said Cebes.

is
" There
surely,"
answered Socrates, " no

;
difficulty in the declaration
for
were we
to
suppose
to sleep,
all
nature endowed with a capacity

its
but denied
opposite, the
lie
power
of waking, the whole creation would

in
down
an eternal night, and the story of Endymion^

senseless fiction: or should every
become a
thing be so blended in confusion as to defy
the possibility of separation, Anaxagoras's"

doctrine must necessarily be realized, and
all
FHMDO.
things return to their original
parity of reasoning, therefore,
43
chaos.
By
if all
created
beings were to die and continue in death,
without any subsequent revival
could any
thing short of universal annihilation be the

inevitable consequence
?
for if living objects,
though proceeding from others, were themselves
perishable,
what arrangement could
prevent an eventual extinction of the whole ?"

" I
know
of none," answered Cebes,
*'
but
assent entirely to your assertions."
" Such,"
continued Socrates, " appear to
me
as un-
objectionable truths, and no illusion of the

fancy.
There surely
is
a future resurrection
of the dead, and a prolonged existence of the

souls of the departed: a
happier destiny
WILL ATTEND THE GOOD, AND PUNISHMENT

AWAITS THE IMPIOUS."
18.
Cebes
here
interposing,
said,
"
If,
Socrates, according to your favourite theory,

all
knowledge
really consists in reminiscence^
that knowledge, so remembered,
must have
44
PHJEDO.
been acquired at some antecedent period;

but
this
would be quite impossible, unless

its
the soul had an existence previously to

introduction
to
the
present
human body.
its
From such
consideration, therefore,
im-
mortality appears to be established."

" Produce," however, said Simmias, " the
demonstrations which support this doctrine;

for at present they escape
my
recollection."
" It
may be
proved," said
Cebes,
" most
satisfactorily.
All mankind reply with accu-
racy to such questions as are intelligibly
proposed; but of
capable, unless
this
they would be
in-
endowed with
the possession
of knowledge and right reason.

to the solution
*"
Apply them
of any geometrical figure,*

et
Habet (i. e. animus) priimim nicmoiiam,
cam
infinilam,
rerum innumerabilinm.
Qnam quidcm
Plato recordationem
esse vult superioris viUe.
Nam
ea
sic
in illo libio, qui inscribitur
Mcnon, pnsioncm quemlam

dimcnsioue
qiiadrati.
Socrates iutcrrogat geometrica de

respondct, ut puer: et tamcn
Ad
ita faciles interrogationes sunt, ut
gradatim respondens codem
perveniat, quo
si
gcometrica didicisset.
sit nisi
Ex
quo
effici
vult
Socrates ut discerc nihil aliud
recordari."
lib.
i.
Vid. Ti'sc. Disp.
cap. 24.
PHiEDO.
and the truth of
ently appear."
**
45
this observation will suffici-
Should such arguments," said Socrates,

producing conviction, consider then
"
fail in
the subject in this view.
"
You deny
that " I
knowledge consists
in
it,"
recollection?"
do not absolutely deny

;
answered Simmias
" but I
am
desirous of
hearing the term more specifically defined.
What
fell
from Cebes has,
in
a great measure,
inclined
me
to assent to the principle: neverstill
theless, I
am
anxious to receive a further
explanation from you." " Reflect, then," said

Socrates,
" that
we must
necessarily have
is
had a previous knowledge of whatever

subject of our recollection
:
the
par-
thus,
when a
ticular object is presented to the imagination,
either
by the
eye, the ear, or
by the
inter-
vention of any other of the senses, and this
object
is
associated with
some other
totally
different,
have
we
not every rational motive
for supposing, that
such association proceeds
46
PHiEDO.
from an exertion of the powers of memory?
How is
"
*'
this
demonstrable ?
The
idea of a man," continued Socrates,

lyre,
and the idea of a

from
each
are distinct and
foreign
other;
but
^
have
you
observed no instance of a lover
calling to
mind
the image of his

lyre,
favourite,
when he
any other
beheld the
the habit,
or
instrument, which the object of his attach-
ment was accustomed

the
its
lyi'e is
to use
The
idea of
accompanied by a knowledge of
owner
and
it
this is the effect of recollec-
tion.
Thus
happens,
that,
on
seeing
Sinnnias,
we remember Cebes: and
there are
Is
numberless examples of the same kind.

it
not then a more particular exertion of the

to
memory,
renew those
ideas,
which through
length of time, had in
some degree become

"
obscured?"
*'
Assuredly."
Cannot the
picture of a horse, or lyre, present the

to one's fancy?
owner
and may not a painting of

to
Simmias occasion us
think of Cebes?
PHtEDO.
Surely,
then,
47
a portrait
of
Simmias
will
remind us of the original ?"

19. "
" Undoubtedly."
it
From
hence,
then,
is
manifest,
that reminiscence arises partly from objects
which resemble each

such
as
other,
and partly from
are
dissimilar.
But
as often as
recollection exerts itself
on such qualities as
resemble a particular object,
must
it
not
necessarily discover whatever variance subsists
between them ?"
" Certainly."
" Let
us then pursue this consideration.

allow the existence
equality? I do not
Can we
of a perfect abstract
mean such
equality as
;
one tree or stone
may
bear to another
but,
leaving things of that description out of our
contemplation,
is
there any subject to
which
the term equality

affixed?"
exists."
*'
may
vdth propriety be
" Unquestionably such a quality
Have we any
distinct idea of this
equality?" " Certainly." "
How did we acquire
our knowledge ?
Have we not, in contemplating
such objects as were just mentioned, formed
48
PHiEDO.
an idea of such equality,
to our imaginations
although not inherent in the objects themselves

?
Do
not, for
example, the same trees
or stones frequently vary their appearance;
sometimes presenting a complete uniformity,
and
at others exhibiting only an imperfect
resemblance?
Are then
things really equal,
apparently unequal, or do equality and inequality assume the
same form?"
There
is
"
By no
means, Socrates."
"
no resemblance
then between ideas and the material objects
which they appear

"
to represent in the
mind?"
Assuredly not."
"
But from these equal
objects,
however unconnected with equality,
you have acquired an idea of the abstract

quality
"
itself."
" Certainly
;"
said Simmias.
Does
this
observation apply with the
same
force,
whether those objects which
present the idea of equality have any re-
semblance
*'
to
it
or
not?"
" Precisely."
There can, indeed, be no
difference,"
added
Socrates; " for in proportion to the knowledge
PHiEDO.
49
we
derive of any particular object, from the
contemplation of another, either unlike or resembling

operates.
it,
so far recollection necessarily

then, is the inference
What,
from
we
the
deduce
this
consideration?
Is
equality observable in trees and stones cor-
respondent to our conceptions of the abstract
term?"
"
By no
means."
"
We
conclude,
therefore, that
when any person, on observing
a particular object, such, for instance, as that

to
it
which
now
direct
my
eyes, discovers in
a strong tendency to an equality with other

it
objects, but that
is
incompetent to reach
that
full
perfection
of equality which the

in his
abstract idea
had imprinted
mind;
we acknowledge
necessity have
that such person
must of
had a preconception of the
essence to which he could determine that

the subject he contemplates bears only an
inadequate
*'
resemblance."
" Necessarily."
And
a
is
not the same conclusion applicable of

equality
to
comparison
with
equal
50
things?"
PHiEDO.
"Certainly."
"Our
knowledge,
then, of such an essence
must have preceded
the time when, on observing equal objects,
we
first
discovered
it,
that
they approached
at
towards
though incapable of arriving
the same degree of exactitude.
",We
allow,
still
further,
that
all
such
It
knowledge was acquired by

is
sensation.
from the senses, then, that
we
derive the
notion that those equal objects, which are
subject to their cognizance,

the true equality, but
fall
tend towards
short of a perfect
resemblance."
"
this
" Certainly."
We
must then have been possessed of
idea before
we had
exerted any sensual
organ; or
how could we
regard
it
as
standard of comparison to detect the imperfection of those other equal objects,
which
come under the
senses' observation?
But
we began
to exercise
our senses the instant

"
we were
born?"
"True."
The knowledge,
preceded
therefore,
of equality must have
PHiEDO.
our birth."
51
" It necessarily appears so;" said
Simmias.
20. "
If,
therefore,
we were
in possession
first
of this knowledge, previously to our trance into
en-
human
nature,
we were
created
not merely with an accurate idea of equality,

excess,
and
inferiority,
all
but with a perfect
understanding- of
things of the
I
same rank
and description:
remarks
to
for
do not confine
my
to equality alone,
but extend them

goodness,
all
the consideration
sanctity,
of beauty,
to
justice,
qualities,
and indeed
other
which we distinguish by the name
of real essences.
Were we
to
retain
the
memory
of these ideas unimpaired, the wis-
dom
imparted at our birth would adhere to

life:
us through
for
knowledge consists
in
is
an undiminished preservation of whatever

impressed upon the mind.
forgetfulness to
Do we
not define
be a
If,
loss
of knowledge?"
" Certainly."
lose
"
then,
on being born,
we
that knowledge,
of which before our
52
birth
PH.EDO.
we were
in full
it
possession,
and are
enabled to acquire
of the senses,
is
again by the assistance

is
not what
usually called
attri-
learning, the recovery of
some mental
bute? and
is
not such properly denominated

is
recollection?" " Undoubtedly." " It

evident, that a person
surely
may
present to his
imagination some
particular
object which
had escaped
ception of
is
his
remembrance, by the perother, to
some
which
its
its
aflSnity
not affected, either by
resemblance or
dissimilarity; hence, one of these
two conclu-
sions
must
inevitably follow
either
we
retain
through
or those
life
the ideas given us at our birth,
we
afterwards acquire are produced

of the
by an
effort
memory; and
learning,
therefore,
must consist
in reminiscence.
21. "
To
which, Simmias, do you give the
preference?
Are we born with
the possession
of knowledge, or have
lection of
we a subsequent recol" I
to
what we formerly knew^ ?"

answered Simmias, " how
am
at a loss,"
make
PUMDO.
55
my
on
choice."
this point?
"
Can you not, however, decide

Is a
man
of science compe-
tent to give a rational account of those sub-
jects in
is
which
his
knowledge consists ?" "

"
He
surely capable."
all
Do
you imagine too
that
mankind are
qualified to afford a
satisfactory explanation of those topics
we
have just been arguing."
" I wish I could
answer that they were," said Simmias, " but

I greatly fear that
on to-morrow*
all
hope of
finding any one such person will be entirely

fruitless."
"
You do
"
not think, then, that
the world in general possess this knowledge?"
" Certainly not." those ideas
They
retrieve, therefore,
which they acquired

" It
at
some
so."
former
*'
period?"
should
seem
When
did the soul
first
get possession of
it
such ideas ?
not be after
We
its
have already seen
could
entrance into
"
human
nature."
" Clearly not."
They must have been
* The gracefulness and delicacy of the compHraent conveyed by this expression, will scarcely escape the reader's observation.
54
PH^DO.
then in
received
some
"
pre-existent staler"
soul, therefore,
" Undoubtedly."
The
had
all
a being prior to the body, endowed with
the powers of thought and understanding." " Unless," said
Simmias,
"
it
received
:
its
knowledge
interval
it
at the
moment
for
:
of our birth
that "
is still left
such purpose."
^'
Be
so," said
Socrates
its
but at what other

lost?
instant
was
knowledge
We
have
it.
already agreed that
we were born without
Did we then
received
it
;
lose the gift the
moment we
still
or have you any other crisis

*'
in reserve?"
was
I
too
little
aware," said
its
Simmias, " that what

refutation."
stated carries
own
22. " If, therefore, goodness, beauty, and those
other qualities which are constantly the theme
of conversation do in reality exist

refer the objects of
and
if
we
our senses to that essence our nature,
which we
find exactly resembling

in
but antecedent
creation
if
these things
have a prior existence, our souls must also
PHiEDO.
have had being previous to our birth
the other
:
55
if
on
hand they are mere chimeras of the must be vain and
fancy, all our discussion
nugatory.
But
is it
not a just and obvious
consequence, that the pre-existence of the soul
should be supported or denied by the same
arguments which assert the

other essences?" "
reality of those
The
conclusion," answered
Simmias,
"
is
both just, and calculated to
excite our admiration;
and your discourse

existin-
most ably proves that the soul had an
ence prior to our birth, equally with that

telligible
essence to which you before alluded.

is
Nothing
more evident
to
my
conception
I
than the reality of those qualities, and
acquiesce entirely in the force of the demonstration."
"But what,"
said Socrates, " are the

I
sentiments of Cebes ?
is
w ould
fain
convince
already,"
him
also."
"He
;
persuaded
answered Simmias
" for although few
men
I
so forcibly maintain their
own
opinions,
think he cannot resist your reasoning, but
56
will readily
PHiEDO.
acknowledge that the soul had
indeed a being before mankind were created."

23. " It
is
not, however, sufficiently evident,

its
even to me, that
existence
still
is
prolonged
after our decease: I
participate in the
common
is
apprehension, that
is
when
the
body
also.
destroyed, the soul

is
annihilated
its
For how
the circumstance of
life
having
been endowed with

into
before its introduction
human
on
nature, incompatible with a disits
solution
removal
is
from the body?"
"
Your
observation
extremely just," said
Cebes.
" Socrates proves only half,
when he
demonstrates the pre-existence of the soul:

if
he would complete his argument,
it
remains
full
for
him
to
shew
its
that
it
preserves a
pos-
session of
faculties subsequently to the
body's extinction."
*'
You
will
acknowledge
it
to
have been
if
shewn already," answered Socrates, "

connect this last observation with the
you
state-
ment you before
admitted,
when
it
was
PHtEDO.
5T
established that the living are created from
the dead.
For
if
the soul had an existence
before
its
entrance into
human
from
life,
and was
;
of necessity produced
death
why
should not the same necessity enjoin a continuation of

its
being, since
it is it
ordained by
the decrees of nature, that

return to life?
must otherwise
which
The
proof, therefore,
you required has thus been

24. "
given.
But
I perceive
you are desirous of

with particular
at-
examining
this statement
tention, not altogether undivested of a puerile
apprehension that the soul, on quitting the
body,
is
carried
;
away by
especially
the winds
if it
and
its
totally dispersed
takes
departure in a tempest."
" Pray, then," said
Cebes, " address your observations to our

fears
:
or rather
consider us
as perfectly
undisturbed by any visionary terrors, though,

perhaps, there
may be something
childish in
our nature, which encourages disquietude.
Let us then exert our
efforts to
convince
it
58
that death
its
is
PHiEDO.
not a hideous phantom, to excite
horror." "
You must
have recourse," said
Socrates, smiling,
tions."
"to spells and incanta" shall
"
But where," said Cebes,
we
left
find
a skilful exorcist,
when you have

learned
us?"
"There
are
many
men
in
Greece," continued Socrates: " you
may like-
wise extend your inquiries to the nations of

Barbarians, and spare neither cost nor labour
in so interesting a search
:
for
you can have
no pursuit
in
which they may be employed

also your
more advantageously. Explore
own
circle; for, perhaps^ you will not easily discover
elsewhere those
who
are
more competent
to
such an undertaking."
*'
"We will ;" said Cebes

first,
but
let
us
now
return from our digression."

then,"
25. "
We
should
proceeded
Socrates, " inquire into the nature of such

qualities as are subject to decay,
and examine
what those are whose

inspire
dissolution ought to
us with
a rational
anxiety:
from
thence
we may be
led to a consideration of
PHiEDO.
59
the soul, and thus enabled to arrive at a

conclusion, either favourable to our hopes,
or justifying our apprehensions.
Is not every
compounded substance
decomposition? and
is
naturally liable to
not that which
is
created without parts, the only essence which
can be exempt from such condition ?"
" I
should imagine
so," said
Cebes.
"
Are we
not warranted in supposing that those things
which are always uniform, are
also
uncom-
pounded, and that those which undergo perpetual alteration, are created with component
parts?" "
*'
So
should conceive," replied Cebes.
Let
us, then, revert to those qualities
which
were above
is
recited,
all
and whose
:
real existence
allowed on
hands
are these uniform or
mutable ? Are beauty and justice susceptible

of variation, or does every real essence constantly
retain
the
same unaltered
form>
unmoved by any power of time

stance?"
or circum-
"They
are, necessarily,"
answered
*'
Cebes, " exempt from any change."
Do
all
60
PHMDO.
also, as
such beautiful objects,

habits,
tion,
men, horses,
and other things of a similar descrip-
present the same unvaried appearance,
or are they rather formed with properties

necessarily subject to perpetual fluctuation?"
" These," said Cebes,

fleeting."
*'
are ever variable
and
"
But
these," continued Socrates,

;
" are tangible substances
visible to the eye,

:
and perceptible by the other senses but such

as are eternally the same, can only be dis-
cerned by meditation."
"
What you
it
advance," said Cebes, " carries
with
the conviction of truth,"
26. "
tions
Let
us, then, present to

;
our imagina-
two
distinct objects
invisible:
the one visible,

let
and the other

that
and
us assume
the
latter
maintains
the
a constant uniis
formity,
while
former
subject
to
incessant variation.
consist of
Now,
does our nature

" Surely of
any other properties than those of

no
the
body and the soul?"

"
other,"
To
which,
then,
of the above-
>
PHiEUO.
61
mentioned objects does the body bear the
most
resemblance?"
"
*'
Doubtless to
the
visible."
And
to
which does the soul most

Is
it
forcibly assimilate?
invisible essence ?"
a visible or an
" Invisible, unquestion-
ably, to
human
organs."
"
Do
you imagine,
then," said Socrates, " that I mention these
subjects with reference to the faculties of any
other than a
the question,
to
human being?
But, to repeat
relative
how
is
shall
it
we determine
"
the soul?
visible,
or otherwise?"
" Assuredly
is
it is
invisible."
The
soul then
conformable to invisible objects, and the

to those
body
which are
visible?"
"This,"
said Cebes, "

27. "
is
a necessary consequence."
stated,
to the
that,
Have we not already
whenever the soul has recourse

of the senses,
it
agency
is
unavoidably attracted to
those objects which are ever changing and

inconstant; and that,
influence,
it
when
subject to such
becomes perturbed and giddy,

fro like
reeling to
and
a drunken man ?
But
62
as
often
as
it
PHyEDO.
proceeds to
its
inquiries,
it
'(iivested
of
all
bodily embarrassments,
advances to that pure, eternal essence, which

is
always equable; and while

it
it
can continue
unpolluted,
stance.
dwells as with a kindred suball its
Then
wanderings cease, co-
mingling with those qualities which
know no
has
change
been
and
this condition of the soul
denominated wisdom."
"
"
Admirably
species,
observed," cried Cebes.
To which
is
it
then," continued Socrates, "
the soul most
similar;
and with which

?
'
is
more imme-
diately connected
" Surely," replied Cebes,
" even the most unthinking must see sufficient
reason to acknowledge, that the soul bears a

stronger resemblance to what
is
immutable
and uniform, than
to those objects
which are
perishable and changing."

fore,
To which, theredoes the body most approximate ?" " To

" "
those of a character directly opposite."

28.
Let us
reflect, also,
that the soul

is
and body are so constituted, that the one
PHiEDO.
endowed with
province of
its dictates.
tlie
6S
it
authority,
and that
is
the
other to yield submission to

situation, therefore, parit
Which
takes most of the divine? Is
inconsistent
with
the nature of divinity to be invested

is
with controul and government? and
not
the condition of mortality most suited to
obedience?"
" Certainly."
" Which,
then,
It is
does the soul most forcibly resemble?

evident
that
the
soul
participates
is
in
the
divine essence,
in
and that the body
clothed
mortality.
Reflect then, Cebes, whether
we
are not entitled to
draw
this inference,
and assert that the soul most perfectly resembles whatever

intelligent,
is
divine, immortal, uniform,
indissoluble
is
and unchangeable;
and that the body
allied to
what
:
is
human,
material, perishable
and complex
liable to
be directed by every accidental impulse, and
swayed by every
fancy.
fluctuation of caprice or
Have you any
thing to allege in con-
tradiction to this reasoning?"
" Nothing."
64
29. " Is
VHMDO.
it
not, then, suitable to the body's

it
organization, that
should be susceptible of
speedy dissolution
and that the soul should,

for ever undissolved ?"
on the contrary, remain

" Certainly."
"
You
observe, that, on a man's

is
decease, the visible body, or what
called
the corpse, and which
is
naturally subject to
corruption and decay, does not immediately
experience this
effect,
but remains for some

:
time unimpaired by putrefaction

particularly
and
this
is
the
case
when any person
is
accidentally cut off while in the possession
of health and vigour.

are
Those bodies which

the
embalmed,
after
process
in
use
amongst the Egyptians, generally continue

nncorrupted for a length of years
;
or, if the
other parts should moulder, the bones and
nerves preserve a perfect state, and become,

as
it
were, almost immortal.
Shall, then, the
soul,
on
its
departure to some kindred habiitself, is
tation,
which, like
also pure, invisible,

to the presence
and
glorious,
and returning
PHiEDO.
of a
65
God endowed
with every attribute of

:
goodness and of wisdom
(and thither, with

my
'
the permission of the Deity, soon will
soul
repair;) shall this essence, so constituted, so
prepared,
house,' be
when escaping from

instantly
its
prison-
dispersed,
and vanish
its
into nothing?
Such, surely,
far
it
cannot be
is
destiny.
By
more
takes
rational
its flight
the conveiled
jecture, that, if
in its
when
own
fine vehicle, totally purified
and
disengaged from the gross matter which

encloses and encumbers
it,
now
it
and with which
never willingly held intercourse, but constantly

retired within itself,
absorbed
in meditation
and the thoughts of death, such being properly

the province of philosophy
qualified, shall
tality,
;
if
the soul, thus
escape the trammels of mor-
the deductions of reason instruct us
that
it
then will instantly repair to some con-
genial
and immortal Being;
Being
all
divine, eternal,
and omniscient.
There, re-
leased from
the pressure of ignorance, no

F
66
PH^DO.
longer a prey to the terrors and anxieties
which disquieted
it
on
eartli, its
future habi-
tation, as is said of the initiated, will
be estab-
lished for ever in the mansions of Heaven.

30. " But, should the soul depart stained
with pollution and uncleanness, as having
always been united with the body;
if too it
had
been so enchanted by
its
desires as to
deem
nothing true beyond what was corporeal,
beyond those substances wliich could be

seen and
felt;
which could administer
to the
gratifications of the palate, or
which were the

;
objects of
its
sensual pleasures
if,
also,
it
had constantly shewn an abhorrence of those

intellectual
essences which
by philosophy
it
alone are comprehensible, is
possible that
the soul, in such condition, should withdraw
from
its
abode
'
unmixed with baser matter?'
Must it not rather have been deeply blemished

by the
infection of the
body
?
Avith
which
it
was
so intimately connected
The
pollution,
therefore, thus received, should
be regarded
PHiEDO.
as a heavy, gross,
67
and earthly mass, which

and bears
;
weighs upon the
soul,
it
down-
wards
to the visible sphere
where, dreading
it
the light of the infernal world,
wânders
round the tombs and sepulchres.*
There too
are seen the airy phantoms ^ of those spirits
who were
dismissed the body
w hile
yet un-
cleansed from the impurities of matter. These,
Cebes, are the spirits of the impious, doomed,

as a punishment, to
wander
in those scenes
of loathsomeness,
till
that corporeal appetite,

shall
which constantly attends them,

enabled to
effect their
be again
union with the body.

is
31. " This reunion^
formed with a
refer-
ence to those pursuits in which their former

lives
had been exhausted. Such,
for instance,
as were addicted to gluttony, or any head-
strong
asses,
inclinations,
assume the shape of

Is not
and animals of that description.
such a retribution probable?
Those, too,
tyranny,
who
held
deeds
*
of rapine,
viii.
and
See Matt. chap.
28,
68
PH^DO.
violence in honour, are changed to wolves,
and hawks, and vultures

class
shall
or to
what other
is
we
assign
them?
It
further
to
probable, that the rest w\\\ be
condemned
animate the bodies of such beasts as are
endowed with
dispositions analogous to their
former courses.
Are not
in
those,
then,
the
most fortunate
their
destiny,
and conever
signed to the happiest places,

practised the
justice,
civil virtues
who have
of temperance and
though unaided by the lessons of

"
philosophy ?"
From what sources

*'
will their
happiness proceed ?"
They
will
probably
be appointed
ants, or
to
assume the form of bees or

creatures
:
some such provident
or,
possibly, they
may
return again to animate
the
human body, and

But
thus become distin-
guished by their prudence and sagacity.

32. "
it is
a privilege confined to the

in spotless
philosopher,
purity, to
whose soul departs
approach the nature of the gods.
Influenced by this consideration, the zealous
PHiEDO.
69
votaries of learning are enabled to repel the
body's appetites, and subdue the incentives

to voluptuousness.
Unlike those who are

riches,
wedded
to
their
they
betray no
emotion of despondency when oppressed by

the weight of domestic loss
;
nor, like the
candidates for popular distinction, are they
dismayed by the
scoffs of
contumely, or the
"
tauntings of reproach."
Such conduct,"
become them."
exclaimed Cebes, " would

*'
ill
111
indeed," said Socrates
" they only,
who
regard the welfare of the soul, unmindful of

the body's importunities, pursue an unerring
progress.
Convinced that philosophy should
be obeyed, and the purification she enjoins

adopted, they resign themselves entirely to
her
guidance,
and
implicitly
attend
her
whithersoever she would lead them.

33. "
Men
devoted to the attainments of
science are well aware that
when philosophy
addresses
itself to
the soul, thus tied and
bound with the chains of the body, and
70
PH.EDO.
compelled to view, as from the recesses of

a dungeon, those objects which
look
it
;
cannot
on
with
in
unclouded
such
faculties
they
its
know
that,
situation,
philosophy,
perceiving
how
the fetters of the
mind are
principally forged
by the turbulence of
own ungoverned
exhortation,
release.
passions, proceeds
by
gentle
its
and gradually
effectuates
She points out the
fallacy of those
perceptions which are acquired by any of

the senses, and recommends a rejection of
their
agency, unless absolute necessity retheir
quires
in the
interference.
She encourages
reliance
mind a confident
on
all
itself,
and shews that the
reality
of
things
should be questioned which have not been
examined by
teaches that
its
OAvn immediate powers
she
all
other objects are visible and
gross; but those which the soul contemplates, are
invisible
and
intellectual.
The
soul,
therefore,
of every true
it
philosopher,
being convinced that
should not oppose
PHiEDO.
its
71
own
deliverance,
applies
its
utmost
energies
grief
towards resisting the approach of

fear
and pleasure, of
and sensuality;
any
rightly judging,
that while subject to

it
such impression,
is
not only liable to
those distresses which result from sickness,

or a loss of fortune, but that
to bear the last
it is
doomed
and greatest of all

its
calamities,
though
"
still
unconscious of
influence."
To what
evil
do you particularly allude?"
said Cebes.
" It arises," answered Socrates,
" from this circumstance,
that
the soul of
every person,
either
when
violently agitated
with
the
joy
or
sorrow,
conceives
that
imaginary objects which excite his passions,
do
is
in reality exist.
While
in
such a
situation,
not the soul absolutely subdued by the
body?"
"In what
respect?"
"Every
sengrief,
sation of pleasure,
every emotion of
connects the soul and body together as with
a clasp, and thus so forcibly unites them,

that the one regards as truth whatever
is
72
PHiEDO.
esteemed so by the other.

ciation,
From
this asso-
compelled to engage in the same
pursuits,
and nourished by the same support,
the soul can never descend with purity to
the world below; but,

ruptions of matter,
it
filled
with the corfalls

it
quickly
back
to
animate some other body, where

as in a kindred
soil,
flourishes
lost to
all
intercourse
with the divine and hallowed essence

34.
"It
is
from motives of
this nature,"
continued Socrates, " that philosophers be-
come courageous and temperate; not from

the influence of such considerations as are
vulgarly ascribed to them.
Are not
these,
my
friend,
your sentiments?"
"
"Entirely;"
said Cebes.
The
soul of a philosopher
meditates within
that
it
itself,
and
rightly judges
has not been enabled to triumph over
the assaults of mortality, only to surrender

itself
a second time to the controlling power
of the passions; and, like the labours of

Penelope, to engage in an undertaking which
PHtEDO.
would
defeat
it
73
its
own
exertions.
On
the
contrary,
preserves a serenity unruffled;
and, following the dictates of reason, incessantly contemplates
what
is
divine
and
true.
Strengthened and supported by these

tions,
it
reflec-
pursues through
life
an unvaried
rule of conduct,
and encourages the hope,
that after death

genial
it
may
depart to some conall
habitation,
'
removed from
those
sorrows
flesh is heir to.'
While acting under
the guidance of such principles, there surely
can be
little
reason for alarm,

it
lest,
on
its
separation from the body,

tered
should be scat-
by the breath of the winds, or melt
into annihilation."
35.
When
Socrates had thus expressed
himself, a long pause ensued:

to revolve in his
he appeared
mind the observations which
grew out of the discussion, while we were

intent
on examining the arguments he had
74
PHiEDO.
Simmias and Cebes engaged
in
advanced.
a separate conversation; and Socrates, perceiving them,
inquired
if
what had been
already stated was sufficient to remove their

scruples.
difficulties
"
There are
will
still,"
said he, "
many
which
appear unexplained,
should any one think proper to pursue the

investigation.
If,
therefore,
you are occupied

it
by some other
but, should
topic, I will not interrupt
you have any doubts connected
with this subject, do not hesitate to declare
your sentiments,
lead to a
if I
if
you imagine they

;
will
more
perfect demonstration
and
can be of any assistance
in the inquiry,
pray admit
" "
me
as an associate."
To
confess
the
truth,"
said
Simmias,
we have both
for
entertained doubts, on certain
points,
a considerable time; and each
has attempted to induce the other to apply

for
a solution
but,
from an apprehension of
being troublesome at the present melancholy

juncture, neither could be prevailed on to
PHiEDO.
75
make
the application."
" Indeed, Simmias,"

I
answered Socrates, gently smiling, "
should
not easily persuade the rest of mankind that

I regard
my
present fortune as
otherwise
than calamitous, since I

convincing even you,
am
incapable of
find
who
fear to
me
more
of
austere
life.
now
than at any former period

really
my
You
talents
seem
to regard to
my
prophetic
as
inferior
what the
at the
swans enjoy,* who sing most sweetly
point of death, being elated with the thoughts
of resorting to the presence of that deity to
whom
death,
they were devoted.
Mankind, who
are themselves alarmed at the approach of
represent
these
notes as
songs
of
* Cygni fabula Pytliagorica

gorica quidem,
iibi dicit,
est,
atque allegorica.
Pytha-
cygni
in
vero intelligitur,
tineri
:
cygnum
animam siipervivere: allegorice numcro solarium animalium con;
et
Socratem Solaicm esse

est, turn
turn quia Plioebi oracuio ap-
hominum medebatur. Adde vaticinium esse quadruplex, divinum, daemoniacuni, humanum, naturale: idque ultimum in bestiis fieri quodam instinctu
probatus
quia mentibus
naturae.
Itellige
:
etiam cygnos innocentes sine pbilosophia

saepe
homines
qui,
quum mortem
i.
minime timeant,
significant,
philosophos absolutes timere earn nullo
modo debere.
FiciNUS.
See also Tusc.
30.
76
PHiEDO.
lamentation, without reflecting that no bird

is
ever heard to carol
when
either cold or
hungry, or otherwise dejected.

lapwing,
the
Not even
the
swallow,
is
or the nightingale,
whose melody
said to originate in grief,
have been ever known to sing while suffering
under the pressure of those
evils.
Such birds
from
do not appear
to
pour forth
their strains
the impulse of sorrow, any
more than the

to Apollo, are
swans
and these being sacred
gifted with the
powers of divination: and,
foreseeing thus the joys which are reserved for
them, sing with unusual ecstasy at the

of their departure.
I also
moment
regard myself as
being consecrated to the service of the same

deity,
from
whom
am
have received at least an

gifts
equal portion of the
of prophecy, and
consequently
enabled to resign
my
life
with as few motives for despondency.
Let no
suggestion, therefore, of delicacy interfere to
prevent your proposing as

the time allowed
many
questions as
by
the Eleven will admit."
PH^DO.
"
77
I will
Thus
authorized," said Sinimias, "

to
proceed
state
the
doubts which have
perplexed me,
and Cebes can afterwards
point out those arguments which are considered
questionable by him.
subscribe
entirely to
difficult,
if
your remark, that
it is
extremely
not utterly impossible, to arrive

life
;
at truth in this
but, that, to desist

it
from
with
the inquiry, or to refuse to prosecute

all
imaginable diligence,
totally
till
every effort has
been
subdued,
is
the
mark of a
and
dis-
position
at
once
effeminate
indolent.
In
all investigations
of this nature,
is
we must
or
either discover
what
true ourselves,
receive
it
from some other person: should

insufficient,
both these methods prove
we
must
tions
single forth from
amongst the sugges-
of
human
and
reason, that
least
fallible.
which
is
the
strongest
Trusting to
such conveyance, we
may
sail as
on a
raft^
through the storms and tempests of

unless
this life
some holy
oracle^
should
happily
78
PHiEDO.
point out a path more sure, and strewed
with fewer dangers.

permission,
I
But, since I have your
will
no
longer
that
I
hesitate
to
propose
my
objections,
may
thus
avoid any future self-reproach for neglecting

to
have stated every distrust and anxiety.

suspicion of the inadequacy of the
My own
proofs has been strengthened by a conference
with Cebes
and we are both of opinion that

suffi-
the arguments hitherto adduced are not

ciently convincing."
36. " Probably," said Socrates, " your ob-
jections are well founded
but to what parts
of
the
demonstration
do you principally
has been advanced,"
directthem?"
"What
replied Simmias, " relative to the soul, will
apply with equal force to the strings and
harmony^ of a
lyre.
For the harmony of a
well-regulated instrument
may be
described
as beautiful, divine, invisible,
and immaterial
regarded as the
and the lyre
itself
may be
body, whose constituent parts are material.
PRMDO.
compounded, and of earthly
therefore, this instrument
79
texture.
to
If,
were
be rent
in
pieces,
or
its
strings
become broken and

affirm,
otherwise
damaged, might we not
with equal reason, that the harmony continues
uninjured?
For surely
it
is
it
quite
is
impossible that the lyre, formed as

perishable matter,
strings
of
its
should remain after
are demolished,
and the harmony,
which partakes of the divine nature, be

reduced to nothing.
On
the contrary, the
harmony must
injury,
after
exist
without the slightest
the strings
and body of the

I
instrument are totally destroyed.
presume
you are aware that the soul has been considered as a

is
harmony
aud
that, as the
body
composed from a mixture of the elements of
heat and cold, moisture and dryness, so the

soul
is
formed from a due proportion of
the same elements, properly harmonized and
blended with each other.

soul
is
If, it
therefore, the
reallv a
harmonv,
is
evident that,
80
PHiEDO.
original,
it
though of divine
must inevitably
too
perish whenever the

laxed, or too
body
is
much
re-
violently
strained,
from the
inci-
influence of those diseases
which are
is
dental to
all
its
nature.
Such
the case with
other descriptions of harmony, whether
arising
from
sounds
or
the
effect
of into
struments.
Instruct us,
therefore,
how
answer
this objection,
should any one imagine
that the soul, being produced

of those elements
by a mixture
first
which form the body,
perishes in the event called death."

37. Socrates here, smiling with his usual
serenity, said, "
Your
observations, Shnmias,
are just
and
forcible.
Therefore,
is
if
any of
I
the present
company
more ready than
am
for
with an answer,
the
let
him come forward;
exceptions
have been taken with

Before, however, I
will
considerable ingenuity.
proceed to a reply,
it
be proper to
hear what Cebes has to allege, and then to

deliberate
on the mode of
refutation.
If
PHiEDO.
the objections appear to be supported
reason,
81
by
:
we
shall not
withhold our assent
if,
on the other hand, they are judged

sufficiently valid,
to be not
we must defend our former
declaration.
Explain, therefore, Cebes, those
points which
you conceive
"
to
be the
least
admissible."
To
in
me," said Cebesf " the
arguments are yet

factory,
many
respects unsatisstill
and the former objections
retain
much
human
of their force.
life
That the soul was

its
endowed with
nature,
before
entrance into
suffi-
consider as almost
;
ciently demonstrated
but
am by
no means
disposed to admit that
its
existence, subse-
quently to our decease, has been supported
by proofs equally cogent.
do
not,
how-
ever, participate in the objection of
Simmias,
that
it
is
of a nature more perishable than

it
the body; for I conceive

infinitely
to
be created
it
superior.
I
Why,
its
then,
may be
Since
asked, do
deny
immortality?
that
you have ocular
conviction,
when a
82
PUMDO:
is
man
dead, his weaker parts do not im*

is
it
mediately decay,
not rational to con-
clude that those which are more durable
should continue also?
To answer
this,
must, like Simmias, have recourse to a comparison.

It strikes
me, then^ that what has
been stated on
this subject is
if
much
of the
to dis-
same nature
as
any person were
credit the deatli of an old weaver,
who had
actually deceased,
and were
to
produce the
garments which he had formerly worn as

a proof of his continuance in health and
vigour.
Should any one appear
dissatisfied
with
this reasoning,
he would demand, which
was of the most
brittle quality, the
man, or
the clothes he wears?
If
it is
answered, that
mankind are the most

his
durable, he conceives
established:
is
argument
is suflSciently
for,
since that
which was most perishable
not
destroyed, unquestionably the stronger sub-
stance must remain unimpaired.
The parallel,
however,
is
not just, as must be sufficiently
PHiEDO.
obvious; for
it
83
is
evident that the weaver,
w^ho had worn out
many
last
dresses, necessarily
expired before the
was quite decayed:
but surely
proves that
this
circumstance by no means
nature
is
human
more subject
to corruption
than a garment.
The same
analogy exists between the body and the

soul,
and the same comparison may con:
sequently be applied to them

will
and thence
it
appear that the soul
is
the
more durable
to the
essence,
and the body most exposed

I
ravages of time.
soul survives
life
would add,
too, that the

its
many
bodies, particularly if
years.
is
is
protracted
many
For
if
the
body
in a fluent state during the
man's ex-
istence,
and the soul constantly repairs what

it is
has thus been exhausted,
clear that
its
own extinction must precede the

habit.
body's latest
After this dissolution, the body inits
stantly betrays
weakness, and sinks into
corruption;
so
that
we
are very far from
having any grounds for confidently trusting
84
PH7EDO.
beyond
to
that the soul's existence will extend
the grave.
For should any one assent
even more than what you have advanced,
and were
to allow not only that the soul
had
being previously to our birth, but granted

also that
its
existence
was continued
after
death, subject to repeated

(its
reproductions
it
natural strength enabling
to withstand
the injuries of
many
generations,) yet such
concession
could not
it
be
extended to an
avowal that
sustained no waste or
it
damage
at
from the process, or that

length be totally destroyed.
to state
would not
It is
impossible
will pro-
what corporeal dissolution

of the soul,
duce the extinction
as
such
knowledge
discovery.
is
If,
beyond the reach of human

then, this reasoning
his
is
correct,
none but a person bereft of
understand-
ing could rejoice at the approach of death;

for unless
he were able
is
to prove incontestably
that the soul
an imperishable essence, he
feel
must
necessarily
anxious
lest,
on
its
PH.EDO.
disunion from the body,
like
it
85
should fade away
an unsubstantial phantom."
38.
Phcedo.
These observations, as we
occasioned
us
afterwards
acknowledged,
considerable embarrassment: for the proofs
which before appeared
irresistible,
seemed
now
to
far less
powerful
and not only served

in
weaken our
belief
the
preceding
evidences, but indisposed us to attach
much
we
that
credit to any subsequent reasoning; as
naturally
became apprehensive
either
the arguments themselves might be intrinsically false, or that
we should be
incapable
of estimating their validity.

Echecrates.
Indeed, Pha^do,
for
can easily
make allowance
by your
myself
any
conduct
under
such circumstances;
for I
have been induced,
report of the conversation, to ask
this question:
on what doctrine can
we
implicitly rely,
since the arguments of
86
PHiEDO.
Socrates, which lately appeared unanswerable,
have
now
lost all their weight.
The
idea, that the soul is a
kind of harmony, has
always pleased
my
I
imagination; and what

this point,
was
the
lately
urged on
has recalled
I
sentiments
formerly entertained:
therefore require a
tion to persuade
new
order of demonstra-
me
that the soul does not
partake of the dissolution of the body.
Tell
me, then,
I entreat you, in
:
what way Socrates
pursued his statement

in
whether he appeared
any degree displeased, or supported his

;
opinions with his usual amenity of manner

in short,
whether his succeeding remarks

futile
were ultimately
Phced.
I
or conclusive ?
assure you,
I before
Echecrates,
that,
however ardently
admired him,
my
was
admiration was extremely heightened by his
conduct on that occasion.

at all surprised
Not
that I
by the acuteness with which
he answered the objections; but what particularly
charmed me, was the mild and
PH^DO.
engaging
to these
affability
87
with which he repHed
young men; the promptness with

full
which he discovered the

impression
their
extent of the
suggestions
had
created,
and the
removed
skilfulness
it.
with which he totally

us like routed forces,
to
He rallied
and dexterously turned our thoughts
new
consideration of the subject.
Echec. Phced.
How did
I
he resume the discussion?

inform you.
will
As
was
sitting at his right
hand, on a small stool
near the bed, but considerably below him,
he began toying in his usual manner with

the hair which flowed in ringlets over
shoulders, and
at
my
will
length exclaimed, " To-
morrow, Phaedo, these beautiful locks

be
all
shorn." Probably, I answered. " Not,"

"
if
said he,
you
will suffer
I.
me
to
direct
I,"
you."
Why
so? cried
"
You and
continued he, " should each of us part with
our hair to-day,
if
our arguments are to be
thus entirely demolished;
and were
in
88
PH/EDO.
situation, I
your
would make a solemn vow,
like the
men
at Argos,^ never to allow

till
my
But
hair to
grow
had completely
foiled the
allegations
of Simmias
I,
and Cebes."
even Hercules, said

" Call,
then,"
must yield
" on
I
to odds.
he
replied,
me,
as
Hercules called on lolaus."*
do apply to
you, said I: not indeed as Hercules would
summon
lolaus, but as lolaus imploring aid
from Hercules.
39. " It should be our principal endeavour
to guard against the approach of scepticism,

lest
we
contract a dislike to
all
reasoning,
as
some men
of
are said to acquire a general

nature.
hatred
human
Nothing can
a
distaste
be more prejudicial
this kind,
than
of
which
as
is
indeed derived from the
same source
that
from whence misanantipathy to

the
thropy originates.
species
is
This
occasioned by our having incaugreat confidence in
tiously reposed too
an
individual,
whom we
supposed qualified with
'^r
PH^DO.
all
89
the requisites of sincerity and truth, but
whom we
afterwards
detect
to
be both
treacherous and dishonest.
When
any person
has repeatedly suffered from such kind of

imposition,
especially
if
the impostors are
discovered to be those
whom
he had selected
as his chosen companions

friends,
and most familiar
he gradually conceives a disgust
for
all
the
whole
race,
and
imagines
that
mankind are equally
perfidious.
Have
this
you never remarked any instances of

kind?"
evident,
Frequently.
that
" Is
is
it
not perfectly
whoever
a dupe to such
in
conduct,
must have engaged
habits
of
intimacy with
men whose
dispositions he
had
not sufficiently studied? for had he attentively
examined human nature, he would
soon have learned that examples, either of
unblemished virtue or abandoned

are seldom to be found, and that
villany,
it
is
the
middle compound character which

prevalent."
is
chiefly
1.
How
does this appear? said
90
PH^DO.
replied
He
by an
allusion to
*'
the general
said he,
stature of mankind.
Do you not,"
it
" observe
how unusual
is
to see
any of
the species with the proportions either of a

giant or of a dwarf?
The same
is
the case
with the brute creation ; and the observation
may be
to
applied to beauty and deformity,
speed and slowness, to light and dark
colours:
all
Have you never
noticed, that, in
these instances, the two extremes
are
scarcely ever seen, but that the intervening
shades are almost always discernible?"

tainly.
Cer-
"
You
think, then, that
if
a contest
for impiety
were
instituted, there
would be
but few entitled

rank?"
to
a place in the foremost

said
I.
*'
Most probably;
It
is
highly probable," said he.

the parallel
follow you
this,
;
" Here, however,

will
fails:
for
now
closely
in
but the resemblance consists
that
when any person incapable

as
truths
of
due examination, adopts
those
arguments, which on a subsequent revision
PHiEDO.
91
may appear
wise;
futile,
whether really so or other^
when
such a person has repeatedly

is
suffered from delusions of this nature, as
frequently the case with controversialists, he

at length concludes all
knowledge
is
con-
centrated within himself, having arrived at
a discovery that there
is
nothing true or
constant, either in things or reasons ; but that,

like Euripus,^ all are in perpetual agitation. Is
it
not, then, seriously to
be regretted, that
those
any man should
feel inclined to reject
arguments which are easily
intelligible,
and
in-
which he had once received, from the

fluence of that reasoning where truth
and
falsehood are not properly distinguished ?

40. "
We
must therefore
firmly resolve to
discourage every idea which would represent

all
reasoning as fallacious: on the contrary,
we
should rather suspect the insufficiency of
our knowledge, and apply every exertion to

strengthen and enlarge the
understanding.
You
will
adopt such conduct from a regard
92
PIIyEDO.
to your future lives
and
I,
who am
its
at the
point of death, can peculiarly feel

ance.
import-
Indeed, I
am
rather apprehensive of
bearing a greater resemblance to a sect of

eager disputants, than to a sincere philosopher.
their
Such men
are
more anxious
to induce
audience to assent to their deductions,
than accurately to investigate the subjects
which are so zealously debated and

;
have
only this advantage over them, that I do not
merely endeavour to produce conviction
in
my hearers, but am equally For fying my own mind.

manner:
if
desirous of satisI
reason in this
is
the preceding statement
true,
our highest interests demand an acquiescence

in
it
;
if
there
is
really no hereafter,
still
the
less
idea of a future state will render
me
troublesome to
my
friends,
by preventing
life
me
from employing what remains of

lamentation.
in
useless
This uncertainty will

I
indeed soon leave me, or

as a severe calamity.
should regard
it
Encouraged, therefore,
PHiEDO.
93
by such
and
reflections, I return to
I
our inquiry;
should
succeed in the attempt to
establish that
which
it
has been
my
object
to prove, I entreat
you
to consider yourselves
not as assenting personally to me, but as

yielding to the force of truth.
If,
on the
to
other hand,
the
arguments
appear
be
weak and
inconclusive,
;
oppose them with

otherwise deceive
your utmost strength
lest I
both myself and friends, and leave
my venom,
like the bee,^ to rankle after death.
41.
*'
Let us
first,
however, recapitulate the

disagreement,
that
principal
points of our
they
may
not appear to have escaped
my
recollection.
Simmias,
soul,
I believe,
expressed
an alarm that the
though confessedly
of a nature more divine and excellent than

the body, might
still
be annihilated before
;
it,
as being only a kind of

if I
harmony and Cebes,
mistake not, assented to the declaration,
that the soul
was the more durable

it
essence,
but alleged that
was beyond the reach of
94
PHiEDO.
to
human understanding
discover whether,
after repeatedly exhausting
many
bodies,
it
does not
last
:
itself perish
on removing from the
and
that, as the
body
is
constantly in a
state of dissolution, this final extinction of
the soul
death.
is
the circumstance which occasions

these the chief topics for
Are not
our
consideration?"
They both
"
acknow-
ledged that they were.
Are any of the
preceding arguments to be regarded as ad*

missible, or will
you
reject
them altogether?"
"
They consented
then," said he, "
to receive several.
How
do you determine respecting

all
the declaration which states

to consist in recollection,
knowledge
as
and
infers,
necessary consequence,
that the soul
must
its
have existed somewhere previously to

union with the body?"
" I have already,"
answered Cebes, " expressed an acquiescence

in its truth
;
and
I see
no inducement
I,"
to alter
my
opinion."
"
And
added Simmias,
on
this
" presence
my
sentiments
point
PHiEDO.
unchanged; and should mdeed
feel
95
much
astonishment were they to suffer any alteration."
"
Your
thoughts, however," answered

revolution, if
Socrates, "
still
must undergo a
you
is
persist in the idea that
harmony
is
composition, and that the soul
a harmony,
formed from those elements which compose

the
body
for surely
you
will not attempt to
maintain that harmony was created before

those
qualities
which are
essential to
;"
its
existence."
*'
" Certainly not
said Simmias.
Are you not aware,
then, of the inconsistency

states
of that doctrine, which
the soul to
its
have been created anterior to

into
entrance
human
nature,
and
to
be compounded
from those principles which had as yet no

being?
The harmony, which you say

is
the
soul resembles,
lyre
not produced
till
after the dis-
and
strings are fashioned,
and the
cordant sounds have been correctly modulated

:
it
results at length
from a just union

first
of t^t whole,
and
is
necessarily the
96
PHiEDO.
then, will your present
which perishes. How,
observations agree with your former state-
ment?" " They are indeed," said Simmias, " absurd and contradictory."
Socrates, "
if
"And yet, "continued

in
any discourse should remain

itself,
unison with
surely that ought

its
which
has
harmony
for
subject."
" True;"
replied
Simmias.
is
'
But yours,"
;
added
us hear,
pre-
Socrates, "
then, to
ference.
is
directly otherwise
let
which idea you

Is
will give the
knowledge only remembrance, or

" I
the soul a kind of harmony?"

election,"
I
make
my
answered Simmias, " with the

suf-
first; for
adopted the other without
ficient
demonstration,
being influenced by
those plausible comparisons which are cal-
culated
to
please
the
multitude.
its
That
from
reasoning,
which
draws
proofs
analogies, is frequently specious

tive;
and decep-
capable of misleading, without great
precaution, equally in geometry as in other

sciences.
But the statement which represents
PRMDO.
knowledge
to
97
is
proceed from recollection,

;
supported by a rational hypothesis for
it
has
been affirmed, that the soul had a certain

state before
it
became connected with the
body, as being that essence which has an

undeniable existence.
tion, I
To such
I
a declara-
persuade myself,
was
fully justified
in assenting;
and consequently every

to
idea,
which intimates the sovd
be a kind of
harmony, whether arising from the suggestions of
my own
mind, or produced by the
arguments of others, must be considered as

completely inadmissible."
42.
"
Do
you imagine," said Socrates,
" that either harmony, or any other

sition,
compoconstiits
can
differ essentially
from
its
tuent parts?"
" Certainly not."

all
"Does
action or passion vary at
from the action

it
or passion of those qualities from which

is
compounded
?"
Simmias
"
allowed
they
there-
were in each the same.

fore,
Harmony,
cannot precede, but must inevitably
98
PRJEDO.
all
follow the production of

" Unquestionably."
"
such qualities ?"

it
Hence
can have
its
it
neither sound nor motion, but as

direct?"
parts
"
Undoubtedly
not."
" Is
not the
nature of every kind of harmony to be more

or less perfect, in proportion as
ill
it is
well or
modulated?"
"I do not
sufficiently un-
derstand you;" answered Simmias.
"
Does
not a less or an increased degree of harmony
depend upon the concord of

" Entirely."
"
its
parts?"
May
as
then
the
same
ob-
servation be extended to the soul?
and can
we
represent
it
departing (even in the
minutest
circumstance)
from
its
original
formation, and becoming, either in a greater
or a less " Again

:
degree,
a soul?"
*'
Surely not."
are not those souls described as
good, which are endowed with understanding and the attributes of virtue ? and are not
those termed wicked, which are blemished
by
folly
and impiety?" " Certainly."
*'
How
then will the patrons of the harmonic system
PHTEDO.
describe these opposite qualities
call
?
99
Will they
the
?
one
all
harmony, and the other

vir-
discord
Will they affirm, that the
tuous soul, being produced from harmony,

contains another
that the vicious
harmony within
soul
is
itself;
and
destitute
of such
addition?"
" I
am
to
utterly at a loss," said
Simmias, "
how
answer you; but
it
is
probable that some such explanation
may
be offered by them."
" It has already been
established," proceeded Socrates, " that one
soul
is
not more or less a soul than another;

to a confession that
which amounts
one har-
mony
which
is
not more or less a harmony than

" Granted."
invariable,
another."
is
"
But
that
harmony
must be always equally

" I allow
it."
attuned and modulated."

it
" Is
then possible, that

is
when
the concord of
the parts
equal, the degrees of
harmony
*'
should be unequal?" " Certainly not."

therefore,
Since,
less
one soul cannot be more or

it
soul than another,
cannot have a greater
100
PHiEDO.
or a less degree of concord than another."
" True."
"
And
consequently
is
not susdiscord."
ceptible either of
more harmony or
"
If,
" Evidently not."
therefore, virtue is
the same with harmony, and vice no other
than discord, can one soul be more eminently

gifted
with the
former,
or
in
a stronger
degree polluted by the

"
latter,
it
than another?"
From such
"
reasoning,
would appear imthen,
possible."
Would
it
not,
be more
is
rational to affirm, that, as the soul
a har-
mony,
for
it
is
therefore inaccessible to vice?

it
harmony, as long as
retains its nature,
can never be associated with discord; neither
can the
soul, while
it
preserves
evil.
its
essence,
if
have any intercourse with
For
is
we
admit the preceding statement, how
such
a union possible ? Hence, therefore, not only

the soul of every
human
being, but those of
the whole animal creation, are equally im-
pressed with the principles of virtue."
" It
would appear
so,
indeed
;"
said
Simmias.
PHiEDO.
"
101
Do
you then think the hypothesis, which

is
represents the soul as a harmony,

to the
consonant
maxims of reason?"
Yet further
still
:
"
By no
all
means."
43. "
ties
Of
the proper-
of our nature, can any be asserted to
possess
dominion or authority, except the
soul?
especially
when informed with any
sound principles of judgment or decision?"

" I
know
its
of none
;"
said Simmias.
"
Does
it
exert
power by
controlling the passions
of the body, or by yielding them indulgence ?
Does
it,
for
example, when the body

thirst,
is
attacked by
repel
its
or raging heat, forcibly

;
inclination to drink
or,
when urged
it
by the violence of hunger, does

an indulgence of the palate?
berless other instances,
its
prevent
in
And
num-
do we not observe
opposition to the body's appetites?" "
Un-
questionably." "
that
if
But we have already agreed,

it
considered as a harmony,
its
could
never emit any sound but as

parts direct
;
component
by which
it is
either raised or
102
PH^DO.
and
in
lowered,
cipates,
whose
affections
it
parti-
being necessarily subject to their

"
government."
this statement;"
We
certainly
assented to
Is not,
answered Simmias. "
then, the
conduct of the soul
in every respect
the opposite to this?
Does she not preside
over
all
those qualities which have been mis-
takenly described as the ingredients of her
composition ?
Is
it
not evident that she com-
pletely rules them, in every possible direction

;
by exacting,
as a punishment from some,
the harsher discipline of medicine and the
gymnastic exercises, and treating others with
more
lenient
and persuasive measures? and,

herself with threats
fear,
in short,
by addressing
and
conciliation
to every passion,
or
corporal affection?
Thus Homer
:^
represents
Ulysses admonishing his heart
^Trjdog ê 7rX)jt,ag, Kpalb^v rjviTraTTE fxiQw^
TtrKaQi,
Stj
Kpaâj kui Kvvrtpov clXKo iror

!
trXtjg.
Poor
suffering heart
he cried, support the pain

restrain.
Of wounded honour, and thy rage
Pope,
PH.EDO.
"
103
Do
you imagine the poet
wi'ote this
under
the idea of the soul being a harmony,
and
subordinate to the body

rather imagine that he
or should
you not
was impressed with

infinitely tran-
the belief that
it is
something
scendant?"
"
Most
assuredly."
friend,
"
We must
no
longer, then,
is
my
the
adopt the notion
that the soul
same with harmony, or
we
*'
shall
both dissent from the divine poet,

declaration."
Homer, and contradict our own

I yield entirely to
your sentiments;" said
Simmias.
44. " Thus, then," continued Socrates, "
it
appears
we have
sufficiently propitiated the
Theban^ harmony; but how, Cebes,
shall
we disarm
"
the
power of Cadmus ? by what

is
happy arguments
he to be appeased?"
Cebes,
far
You
can have no
difficulty," replied
:
" in supplying
them
indeed,
you have
exceeded
my
expectations
for
by the discourse
first
on harmony;
when Simmias
I
pro-
posed his doubts,
imagined them to be
104
PHMDO.
I
unanswerable: hence
to find
was much astonished

first
them shrink before your
attack.
It will, therefore,
be by no means a subject
of surprise, to find
equally confuted."
said
"
my own observations Let me beseech you,"

express yourself less
Socrates,
" to
extravagantly:^
construction
reasoning.
otherwise
pervert
things,
some
the
invidious
may
These
subsequent
are at
us,
however,
:
the disposal of the
Deity
but
let
to
in
adopt the language of Homer,^ engage

close
combat, and try whether your argutest of
ments will bear the

tion.
minute examina-
If I mistake not, the

:
sum
of what you
require amounts to this
that the soul should

if
be proved
to
be an imperishable essence,
we would
vindicate from the charge of folly
those philosophers,
death,
in
who
exult in the hour of
and who indulge the hope of finding

infi-
an hereafter, a degree of happiness

to
nitely superior
furnish.
any which
this life
can
For you
allege, that the
demonstra-
PH.EDO.
tion
105
of
its
being a durable substance,
of
divine original,
viously to
and endowed with
life
pre-
our creation, so far from estab-
lishing the soul's immortality, serves only to
shew
that
it
had an antecedent
faculties of
its
existence,
enhvened with the

action;
for
that,
it
thought and
on
first
entrance into
human
nature,
;
instantly imbibes the seeds

its life
of corruption
is
that from such period,

;
life
of misery
and that
it
finally perishes
in the event called death.
You
farther state,
is
that whether
its
connexion with the body
confined to a single union, or whether the

association
is
many
times
repeated,
the
grounds
affected;
is
for
it
our alarm are not materially
being rational for every man,

feel
who
not bereft of his reason, to
an appreis
hension on this subject, unless he

of
fully
capable
eternity.
ascertaining
I
the
souls
are
;
These,
Cebes,
believe,
the
I
leading
points in your observations
and
have been
the
more anxious
to detail them, both to
106
PH^DO.
any remark of consequence from
prevent
escaping
my
attention,
and
to
furnish
you
with an opportunity of making what alterations
or
additions
your
wishes
might
suggest."
"
You
have accurately stated," answered
Cebes,
" those topics
which
principally
urged, and I have no desire either to lengthen

or abridge them."
45. Socrates, then, after
in meditation,
some time spent
addressed himself to Cebes in
the following manner. " The explanation you

require,
culty, as
is
it
attended with considerable
diffi-
involves an inquiry into the cause
of generation
and decay.
If
you
please,
investi-
therefore, I will lay the result of
my
gation on this subject before you, and you

are at perfect liberty to adopt whatever
may
appear conducive
ment."
sion;"
to
support your
own
state-
" I shall not disregard such permis-
answered Cebes.
" Attend to me;"

life,
continued Socrates.
" In early
was
PHiEDO.
107
extremely desirous of attaining that science
which
I
is
usually termed natural history : for

it
considered
a high degree of knowledge
to
all
be acquainted with the causes by which

things are produced,
and
to ascertain the
principle
by which they
exist,
and the imme-
diate process
I therefore
which leads
to their extinction.
facilitate
used every exertion to

;
my
pursuit
and commenced the inquiry by
considering whether (as some have asserted)
animals really derive their creation and support from a certain corruption of heat and
cold: whether our understanding proceeds
from the blood,
the
fire,
or
the
air;
or
whether the brain alone
is
the seat of
intelli-
gence, and the source from which the senses
of sight,
of hearing and smelling,
are de-
duced
if
memory and
opinion originate in
is
these senses, and whether knowledge

joint result of both.
the
Afterwards, I became
anxious to
know
the cause of their decay,

to
and was proceeding
examine
into
the
108
PHyEDO.
and the phenomena of
I at
properties of the earth,
the heavenly bodies,
when
length
became
convinced of the fruitlessness of any such

attempt, and of
my
total incapacity for all
such investigation.
Of
all
this I will give
you a
convincing proof: for

I before
of,
those subjects, which

sufficiently
imagined myself
informed
became absolutely
unintelligible;
and
was
quite incapable of explaining even those principles
by which the human

I
figure
is
increased
it
in size.
had formerly conceived
must be
manifest to every body, that an enlargement

of our stature was the necessary consequence
of the food
we
received
and
that,
as from
such nutriture an addition of
flesh
was im-
parted to the former mass, as bones were
added
to bones,
and that as
all
the other
parts received an increase from an operation
of the same cause,
it
obviously followed, that
what was
originally small
became a bulkier
thus enabled to
substance, and that
man was
acquire his
full
proportions.
Such were then
PH/EDO.
109
rational ?"
my
sentiments
do you think them
" Certainly."
" Observe, then,

tall
what
follows.
When
saw a
person
standing near
it suffi-
another of shorter stature, I thought
ciently evident that the height of the former
exceeded that of the

I
latter,
still
by
the head;
and
conceived
it
to
be
clearer that the
addition of tivo constituted the superiority of

the
number
ten over the
number
eight ; and
that two cubits
were greater than
one,
because
are
they contained one half more.''
"
What
your present sentiments on these points?"

said Cebes.
*'
"
So
far,"
answered Socrates,
in-
am
from believing myself accurately

I
formed respecting them, that
am
unable to
determine when one and one are added to
each other, whether the unity which has

received
this
addition
becomes
is
two,
or
whether the number two
produced by the
combined powers of each.
For
it
is
an
extraordinary circumstance, that

in its
solitary state, apart
when each
from the other.
110
PHiEDO.
could
make
only one, their approximation
should be the
Neither can
I
means
of
producing"
two.
understand, satisfactorily,
why
two should
In
result
from a division of unity.
the former instance,
we
see the direct

:
contrary to have been the case
then one and

this
one being joined with each other, gave

result
;
now the same

I
effect arises
from their
separation.
am
equally at a loss to comitself; nor,
prehend the origin of unity
indeed,
by such kind of reasoning, am

discover the
rise,
:
able to
existence, or decay of
any
other quality
have therefore recourse to
some
different system, resolving to
abandon
this altogether.
46. "
As
happened
to hear
some person
read a treatise of Anaxagoras, which states

the Divine intellect to be the
all things,
first
cause of
to
and the power which gave

its
each
I
created particle
form and character,
was
instantly
struck with the grandeur of
the idea; for I imagined that whatever
was
PHiEDO.
Ill
disposed and ordained by such a power,
must be necessarily
all
allotted to a situation of
its
others the best suited to

therefore,
nature.
conceived,
that if any
one was
desirous
of discovering
the
is
principle
by
which a particular quality
generated, he
is
must previously ascertain what

beneficial
to
the most
his
in-
such quality.
Hence
quiry would be confined to the consideration

of what
is
best ; and by acquiring this know-
ledge, he
would necessarily be informed of

which
is
that also
the
most
evil.
Thus
congratulated myself with having found a
master capable of instructing

extent of
me
to
the
my
desires; one,
who would
not
merely acquaint
the earth
me whether
the surface of
was
flat
or globular, but
who would
and who
also explain the cause Avhicli necessarily oc-
casioned
it
to
assume that
figure,
would
it
affirm,
and demonstrably prove, that

to its properties.
was the best adapted

if
In
the same manner,
he were to assert that
112
PHiEDO.
was placed
in the to
the earth
centre of the
that such
universe, I expected
him
sheW
a situation was the best that could be possibly assigned

it.
And
if
his demonstrations
had been
solved
I
sufficiently convincing, I
was
re-
to
discard every other
hypothesis.
intended also to propose a variety of ques-
tions with regard to the nature of the sun,
the moon,
and the
stars
with a view to
ascertain their revolutions
and
relative de-
grees of velocity ; and, indeed, to be informed
why
the particular
is
course which was pre-
scribed them
necessarily superior to any

:
other which could be ordained
for
when he
in their
had asserted that they were disposed

respective ranks
intellect,
I
by the power of the Divine
did not imagine that he would

exist-
have alleged any other cause for their

ence, than that
it
was right
that they should

therefore, that
so exist.
in
1 flattered myself, this

j)rinciple,
adopting
he would have
demonstrated, satisfactorily, both what was
PHiEDO.
113
peculiarly beneficial to the individual essence,
and what was productive of the general good

of the whole.
These hopes
to relinquish
could not have
been induced
tion;
on any considera-
but
purchased the books with the

curiosity,
most
eager
anxious
to
evil
inform
of
all
myself wherein the good

things consisted.
47.
and
"I
soon, however,
fell
from these
lofty
promises,
I
when
in the progress of the treatise
observed the author discarding the agency

intellect,
of the
and attributing the order and
disposition
of the system to the influence

the aether, and the waters, and
of the
air,
adopting other reasons equally extravagant.

Indeed, he appeared to
me
to
commit
full
as great an absurdity as any person

liable to,
would be
who should
assert, that Socrates, in
all his actio7is, is directed
by his understand-
ing; and then, proceeding to explain the

motives of
sit
my
conduct, were to aver that
here
because
my body
is
composed of
I
]14
PH/EDO.
and
nerves.
hones
The
solid,
bones,
he would
at
state, are
hard and
;
and separated
the joints
and the nerves, being of a nature
capable of distension and contraction, envelope them with skin and

therefore,
joints, I
flesh.
The
bones,
being properly balanced on their
have the power of folding them at

;
pleasure
sit
and such
is
the reason
why
now
ridi-
in
the present attitude.
Equally
culous would be the conduct of any man,
undertaking
to
assign
the
cause
of our
present conference,
who should
air,
insist
only
on sounds, and the

hearing,
and the sense of
and
totally neglect the true reason,

this consideration
:
which
is
founded on
that
since the Athenians have thought proper to
condemn me,
honourable to
I
sit
have judged
it
right
and
here and await the punish-
ment they have decreed.

these bones
For
swear,
and nerves should long since
have transferred
if I
me
to Maegaris or Bceotia,
it
had not considered
more equitable
to
PHiEDO.
115
undergo the execution of the sentence passed
on
me by
the city, than to have recourse to
flight,
as the
means of avoiding
it.
Where-
fore, it is the
height of absurdity to state the

effi-
above-mentioned circumstances as the

cient cause.
If,
indeed,
it
were alleged that
without the assistance of bones and nerves,

I
should be incapable of performing
many
things which are
now
within the reach of

strictly
my
power, the assertion would be

cite
is
correct; but to
these
as
the primary
motives of action,
less
to
adopt a very thought-
and unfounded
declaration.
For
it
would
have the
effect of destroying all distinction
between the cause and that which occasions

the
often
cause's
existence;^
which,
indeed,
is
the case with the generality of
man-
kind,
who resemble
persons searching for
objects in the dark, and who, being guided
only by the touch, employ those terms which
do not properly belong
to them.
Hence some
have imagined the earth to be surrounded by
116
PHiEDO.
a vortex,^ arising from a violent agitation of

the air; and have therefore conceived
it
to
to
be stationary
others
again suppose
it
be a vast trough, borne up by the pressure

of the air beneath
it.
But they
totally overall
look that
Power which has arranged
things in the order best adapted to their

nature,
and regard
Him
as destitute of any
dis-
divine authority.
They fancy they have
covered some mightier and more immortal

Atlas,
and discard every idea of the

I
inter-
ference of utility and virtue.
would gladly
have become the

qualified to instruct
disciple
of any person
me
in the nature of
such
I
a cause.
Shall I then explain the

after I
method
had recourse to,
was disappointed
in the
expectations I had formed of Anaxagoras, and
found myself unable to proceed by

unassisted exertions
?"
my own
it."
" I
am most anxiously
desirous," answered Cebes, " to hear

48.
" After I
had long fatigued myself

I
with these considerations,
thought
it
pru-
PH^DO.
117
dent to guard against an occurrence similar

to
what
befalls
persons
;
contemplating an
eclipse of the sun
for these lose the
power
of seeing, unless they view the reflection in

water,
felt
or through
some other medium.

lest
if I
apprehensive, therefore,
my
under-
standing should be darkened,

to penetrate into the
attempted
arcana of nature by the

senses.
mere agency of any of the

judged
it
Hence
necessary to apply to reason, as to
the power capable of reflecting truth. Perhaps

this
comparison
I
is
not entirely applicable;
for
am
far
from asserting that he
who
beholds objects in the mirror of reason, discerns them
more perfectly by
similitudes,
than he
who
regards them in their external
operations.
I
Such, however, was the course
pursued
and adopting that reason which

regarded
it
I believed the strongest, I
as the
standard of truth, both with respect to things
and causes.
Whatever was conformable
to
this I admitted,
and what was inconsistent
118
PH.EDO.
it
with
rejected
as
false..
But
will
explain this more particularly, as I fear the present statement

gible."
is
not sufficiently inteUi;"
"
"
Not
entirely so
said Cebes.
49.
And
yet," continued
;
Socrates, " I
advance nothing new
but merely urge what

I
has been already insisted on.
aim
to de-
monstrate the nature of the cause which was

so
much
the object of
my
consideration,
and
return therefore to those qualities which have
repeatedly been mentioned,
assuming that
beauty, magnitude, and goodness have an
independent abstract existence.

assent to
these principles,
I
Should you
entertain the
to elucidate
hope of being thus enabled both
the cause, and satisfactorily to establish the

soul's immortality."
" I admit them, fully,"
answered Cebes
'*
proceed, therefore, to the
conclusion." " Consider, then," said Socrates,
" whether you acquiesce also in what follows.

I
am
of opinion, that
if
there
is
any thing
it
really beautiful besides beauty itself,
can
PILEDO.
119
only have acquired this property by partaking of the original essence

:
and the same
may be
affirmed of
to this?"
all
other qualities.
"
Do
you agree
" Perfectly.''
Those
profound reasons which are frequently given

us, I confess, very far surpass
my
compre-
hension
but
if
any person were
to assign as
the cause of beauty in a particular object,

either the liveliness
of
its
colours, or
the
exact symmetry of
its
form, I should dismiss
every suggestion of that nature, as having
only a tendency to produce confusion, and
adhere to the opinion, (which
have perhaps
is
unskilfully adopted,) that whatever

tiful
beau-
must have derived
its
beauty,
by some
process or other, from the abstract quality.

I
am
ignorant, indeed, of the

is
mode by which
;
the communication
state, that all things
effected
but simply
which are
beautiful, are
rendered so by beauty* alone. This appears

*
Because they partake,
in a certain degree, of the im-
mutable idea ofbeaiUy eternally existing in the Divine mind.
; ;
120
PH^DO.
me
an answer, of
all others,
to
the least liable

I
to error,
and the most satisfactory which

offer to
can either
myself or submit to the
consideration of others.
opinion, Cebes?"
ner,
Are you of the same

manmag-
"Entirely." " In like
whatever
is
large
owes
its
origin to
nitude,
and whatever
" True." "
is little
proceeds from
not, then,"
littleness."
You would
states
continued Socrates, " regard that as an accurate expression,
which
one man's height

head^
to exceed another's
by
the
and that
it
:
the shorter person

contrary,
is
is
surpassed by
allege,
on the
you would
its
that whatever
great acquires
greatness
is
by magnitude
and that whatever

smallness.
small becomes so
by
For
imagine you would fear
being involved in contradiction, were you to

assert
that
the
same person
:
is
both large
and small by the head

declaration
first,
because such a
would imply
that magnitude
and
diminution proceeded from the same source
and
next, that the head,
which
is
a small
PHtEDO.
object,
121
constituted
the
greatness
of
the
larger
which
fear
is
an evident absurdity. Should

this
you not
some objections of
kind?"
Cebes, smihng, answered, " that he should

necessarily feel
some such apprehensions."

reason, then," said Socrates,
refuse to affirm, that ten
tivo,
" For the

"
same
would you not
surpasses eight
by
and not by quantity ?
or that two cubits are greater than one,
by
the half, and not by magnitude? for similar
grounds
for
dissent
exist
in
both
cases.
to
Again;
when one and one
are added
each other, would you not avoid saying that

addition has produced two
is
;
or
when unity
divided,
that
two
have resulted from

not rather forcibly
division?
urge, that
Would you
you have no conception how any

be created otherwise than by
quality can
participating in that essence from

is
which
it
derived
and
that, consequently, the
only
is
rational cause for the existence of
two
participation of the dual in the
same manner
122
niMDO.
?
as one proceeds from unity
Therefore, these
all
additions and divisions, and

tions,
similar opera-
you may leave

are
to
be adopted by those
who
endowed with a superior degree of

;
acuteness
and from a scrupulous

all
distrust of
this
your capacity, rest

least fallible basis.
your replies on
Should any one attack
such
principle,
till
suffer
him
to
remain unall
answered
you have examined whether
the consequences are
consistent with each

to assign
other
and when you are called on
a reason,
you
will
assume some position
similar to those above mentioned, selecting
that
which
is
the best adapted to the par-
ticular subject in discussion.
At
the
same
time, if
truth,
you are
really desirous to arrive at
you must
carefully guard against that

is
confusion which
troversialists
so
frequent with condisputations
in
their
about
principles.
These men
discover
are, perhaps,
not very
anxious
to
truth;
for
they can
after
remain in perfect unity with themselves,
PHiEDO.
they have thrown
order.
all
123
things else into dis-
But
I flatter
myself that you,

philosophy,
I
who
will
are
zealously
devoted to
pursue the
prescribed."
line
of conduct which
have
Here Simmias and Cebes both
expressed their entire acquiescence in the

propriety of his observations.
Echecrates.
fully justified
;
By
heaven, Phaedo, they were
for Socrates' statement
seems
sufficiently clear for the
comprehension even
of the most uncultivated understanding.
Phcedo. Such, Echecrates, were the opinions of his audience.
Echec. But what are the remaining argu-
ments which he employed upon

50. Phced. After they
this subject?
had admitted that
every distinct species had a real existence,
and that whatever partook of
its
essence
assumed
also
its
name, he proceeded with

:
his questions thus
"
When you
assert that
Simmias
is
larger
than Socrates, but less
than Phaedo, do you not virtually affirm that
124
PHTEDO.
in the
magnitude and smallness reside

object?
*'
same
But you
allow," continued Socrates,
that the declaration
which
states Siramias
is
to
be greater than Socrates,

literal
not correct,
according to the
for
it
import of the words ?
is
not the circumstance of his being
Simmias, that constitutes his superiority of size

over Socrates, but his possession of magni-
tude: neither
is
he greater than Socrates,

is
because Socrates
Socrates, but because
Socrates has littleness in comparison with his
enlarged dimensions.
Nor, again,
is
he ex-
ceeded but
in stature
by Phaedo,
has
as being Phaedo,
because
Phaedo
greatness
when
little."
viewed
" True
in opposition to
;"
Simmias,
who is
said
Cebes.
" Thus," proceeded
Socrates, "
Simmias having the proportions

size,
of the middle
acquires the appellation

:
both of great and small

Socrates,
less than
being greater than
by partaking of magnitude, and

Phaedo, by participating in
smiling,
*'
little-
ness."
Then he added,
appear
PHiEDO.
to
125
have dwelt on
this
topic
like
a diffuse
writer; but I
entertain the
am
For
desirous that you should
same sentiments with me on

I
these points.
am
of opinion, not only

at
that greatness can never be
once
botli
great
and
is
little,
but
that
all
the magnitude
which
in us refuses for
it
connexion with
littleness;
either recedes as the con-
trary approaches, or
on
its
arrival perishes
entirely; being unwilling,
by a
participation
of littleness, to change
for
its
essence.
Thus,
example,
I
who have
received littleness,
while
sarily
continue such as I am, must neceslittle

;
be
for that
which
;
is
large never
attempts to become small
nor,
on the other
hand, does littleness ever encroach on magnitude.
In short, no contrary, while

its
it
pre-
serves
nature, will ever be found blended
with
its
opposite; but on the accession of
one, the other either disappears or

totally absorbed."
becomes
" I perfectly agree with
you;" said Cebes.
126
51.
PHiEDO.
But one of the
party, I forget exactly
which, hearing this last declaration, eagerly

exclaimed, "
early part
Did you
not, Socrates, in the
of your discourse, lay
down a
principle directly the reverse of the present,
and
assert that
magnitude proceeded from

littleness
littleness,
and that
flowed from mag-
nitude by the reciprocal production of contrary qualities

to
?
Now, however, you appear

such process
heard
these
is
affirm that
impossible."
When
Socrates
remarks,
said, "
he
turned towards the speaker, and
You
have very properly recalled the statement to

our recollection, though without sufficiently
distinguishing between the present and the
former declaration.
that every contrary
It
was then
its
asserted,
its
owes
existence to
opposite:
is
we now
contend, that a contrary

itself,
never contrary to
either in us or in
any of the operations of nature.
We
to
there
spoke of those
qualities
which were suseach
ceptible of contrariety,
and assigned
PH^DO.
its
127
particular
name: here we speak of the
abstract contraries, which give a denomination to their subjects;
and
never affirmed
that such underwent any alternate generation."
Then, turning toward Cebes, he

if
in-
quired
all
the foregoing observations
had
at
disturbed
him?
;
"
Not
in
the least,"
answered Cebes
" and indeed there are
now
few considerations capable of giving

uneasiness."
"
me much
said
We
subscribe,
then,"
Socrates, " to this simple proposition,
that
itself."
a contrary can never be contrary to

" Entirely
;"
said Cebes.
52. " Consider also whether
you can extend
your
assent
to
that
which follows:
Are
heat and cold qualities which really exist?"

" I believe so."
*'
Are they the same
as fire
and snow
therefore,
?"
*'
Assuredly not."
diflferent
" Is heat,
fire,
something
from
and
cold something distinct from snow?"

questionably."
"
Un-
" I think, then, you will likeits
wise admit that snow, after
exposure
to
128
PHyEDO.
the influence of heat, cannot possibly retain

its
original
at
nature,
and become snow and

that,
warmth
one and the same time ; but

latter, it
on the approach of the
must
either
withdraw or
entirely cease to be.

fire
In the
same manner,
either recedes or
becomes
totally extinguished,
as
the cold advances

fire,
towards
it;
its
existence, as
being
in-
capable of any association with cold." " Undoubtedly."

traries
"
There are also some con-
which do not confine a particular

it
denomination to the species, but extend
to
other qualities, which invariably preserve the

likeness of the species as long as they have
any being.
intelligible
This
will,
perhaps, appear more
by the following consideration:

retain the
Must not an odd quantity always

same name which
" Surely."
"
Is,
it
bears
at
present?"
then, this denomination ex-
clusively confined to the
odd
quantity, or
is
there any besides, which, in addition to
its
proper name, bears also that of oddness, from
PHiEDO.
the circumstance of
its
M
in-
having something
separable from the
odd quality?
Are you
not, for instance, of opinion that the
number
three should
be called both by
its
own name
and
the
also
by that of an odd rmmher; though

three and oddness are in them-
number
selves distinct
and separate ? Yet such

five,
is
the
nature of the number three,
and every
other arithmetical inequality, that, although
they are not the same with oddness

yet each of
itself,
them must of necessity be always
odd.
In the same manner, two, four, and
every regular progression of numbers, must
be always even, though distinct from the

abstract quality of evenness.
this
Do
you admit
answered
statement?"
" Completely;"
Cebes.
" Attend, then, to the object of

I infer, that
my
demonstration:
contraries,
not only those
which disallow a mutual reception

all
of each other, but that
things else, which,
though not opposite among themselves, have

still
their respective contraries, are incapable
130
PHiEDO.
is
of receiving whatever
inherent qualities
;
contrary
its
to
their
and that on
totally
approach
they
retire,
or
become
annihilated.
its
Will not the number three necessarily lose

nature before
" Assuredly."
three."
it
can possibly become even ?"
"
Yet two are not contrary

"
to
" Granted."
Hence
is
it
appears
that the rejection of contraries
not exclu-
sively confined to the contrary species, but
that certain other qualities equally
withdraw
essentially
from the approach of that which

different
is
from their own nature."

;"
"
Most
truly stated
said Cebes.
53, " Shall
we
then attempt a definition of
these qualities?"
"By
all
means."
"Are
they not so constituted as to compel every

subject in which they reside, not merely to
preserve
its
own
intrinsic character,
its
but to
reject every association with
contrary?
You
are aware that whatever presents the
idea of the ternary number,
must of necessity
" Certainly."
be not only
three,
but odd."
*'
We
assert, therefore, that

its
whatever
is
con-
trary to
constituent essence
it."
can never
'
approximate towards
" Never."
"
But
was not oddness

*'
its
is
constituent essence?"
It
was."
"
And
not evenness the oppois."
site
of oddness?"
" It
" Evenness, then,

in three?"
cannot possibly be resident

possible."
" Im-
" Three, then, "
is
destitute of even-
ness?"
" Entirely."
The number
three
is
therefore uneven ?"
" Yes, certainly." " Thus,
then, I have explained
how some
qualities,
which are not immediately opposite
to
each
other, are as incapable of association as the direct contraries.
Such
is
the
number
three,
which, though not directly opposite to evenness, is nevertheless imable to receive that
property; for
it
carries with
it
something
in
which contradicts the idea of evenness,

the
same manner
as the
number two has
something repugnant to the notion of unevenness,
and
fire
to
the
acceptation of cold.
satisfied
Reflect, therefore,
whether you are
132
PHJEDO.
:
with this definition
that
it is
not merely one
contrary which refuses admission to another,

but also
that
whatever quality conveys any
thing of a nature contrary to that of the subject

toivards which
it
advances, can never receive

to
a property or character opposite

ivhich
further
is
;
that
still
thus conveyed.
for
it
Consider
this
may
it.
not be uninteresting
fre-
quently to repeat
The number
become odd
five will
never become even, any more than ten, which

is its
double, will ever

half,
neither
can the
or the third part of a whole,
assume the properties of the whole."
" I
assent entirely," said Cebes, " to this state-
ment."
54. "
Answer, then,
to those
questions I
shall propose, in the
same manner which you
see
me
adopt
for,
besides the certain
method
is
which has already been explained, there
another, equally infallible, resulting from the
observations I have just enforced.
^you
Thus,
if
were
to
ask
me what
that element
was
PH^DO.
which renders the body
give
that
hot, I
133
should not
you the cautious and

it
insufficient reply,
is
heat:
but,
acquiring from the
late disquisition
a more accurate
mode
it
of
answering,
would inform you

you
to inquire
is
fire.
Neither, were
what
it is
which
tell
occasions the body's sickness, should I
you
it
is
the disease, but the fever: in the

I
same manner
would
affirm, that
;
it is
unity
which renders a number uneven

the rest.
and so of
sufficiently
Do
make myself
understood?"
" Tell me, then,
"Perfectly so;" said Cebes.
what
it is
which gives
life
to
the body?"
sally the
"
The
"
Soul."
" Is this univerit
same?"
*'
Why
?"
should
be other-
wise?"
life
The
it
soul, then, invariably carries
wherever
enters
"Assuredly."
"Is
life?"
there any thing

"
directly contrary to
There
is."
" In
what does
it
consist?"
" In death."
" It follows, then, as a necessary
consequence, from those principles to which
we have
assented, that the soul
ivill
never
134
PH.^DO.
what
it
receive
is
thus opposite to the property
which
universally conveysT
"
Most
cer-
tainly not;" said Cebes.
55.
*'
How
do we denominate that quality

to
which refuses
"
admit the idea of evenness?"

"
The odd number."
And by what name

and with melody?" and the other
is
do we distinguish those which reject any

association with justice
"
The one
is
termed
"
injustice,
dissonance."
pressed,
By what term
is
that
ex-
which
inaccessible
to
is
death?"
inaccestherefoiêy
" Immortality."
"
But the soul
sible to death ?" " It is." "

is
The soul,
immortal r " Assuredly." "

the
May we
said
then
consider
demonstration
" Sufficiently;"
as
sufficiently
established?"
Cebes.
"
If,"
continued Socrates, " the odd number
were necessarily exempt from corruption,
would not
three
be incorruptible also?" " Un"
questionably."
And
if,
of necessity, that
which
is
destitute of heat
were also impeafter its
rishable,
would not snow,
exposure
PH.EDO.
to
135
the action of the
fire,
remain perfectly
congealed ? for being thus of a nature not subject to dissolution,

it
would not be
"
affected
by the
heat's severest influence."
True ;"
1
said Cebes.
ceive, that if
" In the
same manner,
is
con-
whatever
free
from cold were

its
also inextinguishable, fire

original
force,
would preserve
undiminished by the cold's

" Certainly." "
utmost intenseness."
The
same conclusion
if,
is
applicable to immortality:
therefore, that
it
which
is
is
immortal
is
also
incorruptible,
impossible
that
the
soul
should
it
perish
is
on
the
approach of
death; for
evident, from the foregoing
arguments, that the soul will never die or

suffer dissolution,
any more than
three,
or
any odd number, can ever become even, or

fire
it
be changed
to coldness.
is
But, perhaps,
may be
urged, that there
something in
will
the nature of oddness
which
always
prevent
its
becoming even by the accession

;
of evenness
but that on the extinction of
136
PHiEDO.
odd number, the even may succeed
to its
the
place.
To
this objection
we cannot oppose
it is
that the
odd does not
vanish, since
not
imperishable.
Had we
proved
it
to
be of
an incorruptible nature,
tend, that as the even
we might
safely con-
approached the odd
disappeared.
And
the
same might have been

fire,
asserted with respect to

subjects.
heat,
and other
grant that
it
Now,
is
therefore, if
is
we
whatever
immortal
also incorruptible,
is
must
inevitably follow that the soul
both
immortal and entirely exempted from decay:

if
we cannot
agree to this conclusion,

to
it
will
be necessary
tional
have recourse to some addi-
powers of reasoning.
is
For
these,
howit
ever, there
surely no occasion; since

to
would be
folly
imagine that any thing

if
should escape destruction,
an immortal
its
and
eternal
being can
be
subject to
ravages.
56. "
The imperishable
itself,
nature of the Deity,
of
life
and of every other immortal
PHiEDO.
essence, has
universal
137
been
fully established
by the
:
concurrence
will
of
mankind
these
is
and
senti-
surely
the gods
confirm
ments. Since, therefore, whatever

is
immortal
also incorruptible, can an immortal soul

to see corruption?"
be destined
sible."
"
Imposis
" Thus,
when
the
hand of death
laid
on man,
his mortal part dissolves;
but
that
which
is
immortal withdraws uninjured,

grave.
victorious
over the
Hence,
then,
Cebes,
soul
is
we may
rationally conclude that the
a deathless and incorruptible being;

will
and that our souls
have a future exist-
ence in the invisible world."

" I have nothing," said Cebes, " to offer in
opposition to your reasoning
but
if
Simmias,
or any other person, can suggest any thing

further,
he will do well not to suppress his
observations, for I
tunity to
know
of no other opporinteresting
,
which the discussion of so
a topic can be advantageously deferred."
" I
am
incapable," said Simmias, " of urging any
1S8
PHiEDO.
thing by which the preceding arguments
may
be weakened; or of refusing
their deductions
;
my
assent to
yet,
from the great import-
ance of the subject, and perhaps from the

imperfection of
distrusts
still
human
to
nature,
some
slight
cling
my
mind."
"
You
have
they
express yourself," answered Socrates, " with

great propriety;
for
although
we
admitted
the preceding observations,

;
require to be attentively reviewed
and when
you have
fully
pondered on
will
their separate
force, I trust
you
obey the impulse of
reason as far as the limited powers assigned

to
man
are qualified to
comprehend
it."
57.
" It
becomes
us,
then,
my
friends,
attentively to consider, that since the soul

is
immortal,
;
it
will
demand our unceasing

life,
care
not only in the time of this mortal

all
but throughout
eternity:
and dreadful
PH^DO.
will
139
be the danger incurred by him who shall

its
neglect
cultivation.
If annihilation
was
the consequence of death, the impious
would
receive an unlooked-for benefit, in being thus
released from the sufferings of the body,
and
the retribution due to their enormities:^ but

since the immortality of the soul
it
is
evident,
can have no refuge from future misery but

just
by becoming
and
it
virtuous.
to the
The
soul
takes nothing with
lower regions
but
its
discipline
and
culture, which,
we
are
told, operates either to its prejudice or
hap-
piness,
immediately on
life.
its
departure from
human
It is also said,i that the
daemon
living,
who attended
place where
their sentence
to the
the individual while
conducts him, after death, to that destined

all
;
must assemble
to
receive
from whence they are ushered
world below, under the guidance of a
leader
whose peculiar
office it is to
conduct
them.
Here, meeting the reward they merit,

allotted season, they
and having waited the
140
PHiEDO.
back
to life
are again brought
by a new
conductor,
after
many
revolutions of ages.
The
wise and
temperate
soul
voluntarily
follows
its leader,
and recognises the passing

is
events; but that which
devoted to the
pleasures of the body, after
much
struggling
in this visible world, is at length, with vio-
lence
and
difficulty,
is
forced
away by
it.
the
daemon who
given in charge over
On
arriving at the appointed place,
where the
appear
others also are assembled,
if it shall
stained with murder, or any of those foul

actions
which guilty and abandoned souls

all
dare perpetrate,
it:
loathe
and
utterly avoid
thus, destitute of
it
any guide or compaa dreary solitude,

till,
panion,
wanders
in
on the completion of the destined time,

is
it
carried
by Necessity
to its allotted habita-
tion.
But they whose conduct has been pure

will mingle in the
and temperate,
company
PH.EDO.
141
of gods, and dwell for ever in the happy
mansions
to
which
their
virtues
may be
the most
respectively entitled."*
63.
*'
Thus, Simmias,
we have
of
powerful incitements to
virtue
make wisdom and

our
pursuit
the reward anis
the
great
for
objects bright
is
through
life:
nexed
to
them,
and
brilliant
all
the hope
which they
inspire.
That
have stated
which regards
futurity, will in every respect
be realized, no
man
in
the
possession
of
his reason will venture confidently to affirm
but, since the immortality of the soul

fully manifest, there
in
seems
can be no impropriety
its
asserting
in
that
condition
hereafter
will
some measure resemble what has

This idea should
been above described.

*
The
five
intervening sections (from 58 to 62, both inclu-
sive,) are
omitted, as having no connexion witli the
imme-
diate subject of inquiry.
They contain a
fanciful description
of
what
is
termed a pure eaHh, and an account of the
invisible
tradition.
regions,
drawn
possibly
from
some
Egyptian
U2
PH^DO.
;
operate as a charm to sooth our spirits

I
and
have therefore dwelt more particularly on
the subject.
Whoever has been
inattentive to
the blandishments of the body, deeming those
pleasures far
more exalted which proceed
from a cultivated mind,

his soul with its
who
has enriched
own
intrinsic treasures, not
by the aid of any

has adorned
justice,
it
foreign decorations,
and
with the virtues of prudence,
fortitude, liberty,
and truth
such
person
may
confidently wait the
moment of
his departure, being at all times equally pre-
pared to obey the mandate.
You, Simmias
go hence at
is
and Cebes, and the
rest, will all
the appointed season.
My
!'
hour
already
come! and, as a tragedian would exclaim,

'
Fate summons
"
It is
it
me away
now
high time to repair to the bath

I
for
will
be better that
should take the
poison after ablution, than that by any useless

procrastination, I should render
to
it
necessary
have
my
corpse washed by the women."
PH^DO.
64.
143
When he had
thus expressed himself,

Socrates, be
it
Crito exclaimed, "
then so!
but have you nothing to give us

respecting your children;
in
charge
and
is
there no
dying injunction you can leave, to afford

us the gratification of executing your last
wishes?"
Socrates,
" I
have
nothing,"
answered
" to state in addition to

:
what
I
!'
have already urged
'
To yourselves be true
and though you make no professions as

your future
lives,
to
your actions will be both
highly gratifying to me, and administer to
your individual pleasures.
But
if,
regardless
of your own esteem, you neglect those precepts of morality which

1
have always been desirous
to enforce, the strongest protestations will

insufficient to secure
be
a rectitude of conduct."
"
Our
sincerest efforts," said Crito, " shall
be
devoted to the objects of your recommendation; but
what
directions will
you give us
respecting your funeral?"
"
Bury me how
you
you
please," replied Socrates, " provided
144
PH^DO.
I
can find me, and

pursuit."
do not escape from your
Then, gently smiling, and turning

us, " I cannot,
towards
" persuade Crito that

Socrates
my friends," said he, I am the individual
who is now
conversing with you, and
arranging the order of his different arguments
but he imagines
am
the person
whom
Thus
he
will presently see dead,
and therefore quesall
tions
me
for
relative to
my
interment.
I
which
our joint consolation
have so long
been endeavouring
to prove, all that has a
tendency to demonstrate that on drinking the

poison I shall remain no longer here, but
depart hence to participate in the pleasures

of the blessed, has failed to produce any influence on his opinions.
Be
you, then,
my
pledges to Crito, for the reverse of what he
pledged himself to the judges

that I
He
engaged
would continue here; but you must
assure him that after death I shall certainly
not remain, but take

that
when he
my eternal departure beholds my body burning
so
on
'
PHiEDO.
the
pile,
145
or laid beneath the earth, he
may
not
weep over me
as one exposed to an
unhappy
destiny, nor exclaim at the funeral ceremony,

'
Socrates
!
is
laid out!
is
Socrates
!
is
carried
forth
Socrates
in
itself,
interred
is
" Impropriety of expression
not only
wrong
but injurious to the soul.
Assume,
body
then, a brighter hope,
and say my
is to
be interred, which you may dispose
of in any
way you judge
proper, and in the

to the institutions
manner most conformable

of the law."
65.
Having made these observations, he

into
withdrew
an apartment
;
to bathe,
where
he was followed by Crito but we were desired

to wait without.
We
continued, therefore, in
our former
situation, discoursing
with each
other on those subjects which had lately been
debated, and reviewing the different argu-
ments which had been successively brought

forward:
then
we dwelt on
L
the
impend
ing calamity, representing ourselves in the
146
PHMDO.
melancholy situation of children bereft of their

parent.
After he
left
the bath, his three sons

infants,
(two of
whom
were
but the third
advancing to manhood,) and the

his
women
With
of
household came to see him.
these
he conversed some time

Crito
;
in the presence of
and having given them
his last
comand
mands, he desired them

then came back to us.
sun-set began to
to withdraw,
And now the
hour of
draw
near, for he spent a
considerable time in the inner apartment.

his return
On
he seated himself on the bed,

little.
and spoke but
Soon
after,
the Officer
of the Eleven entered, and advancing towards

him, said, " I have never observed in you,
Socrates, any of those
symptoms of anger
in
which
I experience
from others, when,
obedience to the order of the magistrates, I

enjoin
them to drink the poison
you
have
always found to be the
best, the noblest,
and
most benevolent of men, that ever came within

these walls.
I
am
persuaded, therefore, that
PHiEDO.
147
you are not displeased with me, and that you

confine your indignation to the authors of
your sentence.
the motive for
But now
(for
you
fully
know
my
coming) farewell! and

evil
endeavour to support with firmness the
which cannot be avoided."

into tears,
Then, bursting
he turned aside, and withdrew.

!"
" Farewell
cried Socrates, looking towards
him, " I will do as you

turning round to us,
he, " are the
*'
recommend me !" and,
How
this
courteous," said
manners of
person
He
fre-
quently visited
me
in confinement,
and some-
times entered into conversation, and
now with
Let us
if
what generosity he laments

then, Crito,
my
fate !
;
obey the summons

bruised, let
and
the
poison
hither
;
is sufficiently
it
be brought
" But,"
otherwise he
may prepare
still
it."
said Crito, " the sun
shines
:
upon the
mountains, and
is
not yet set
have known
many
persons delay taking the poison long
after the
mandate was delivered
to them,
and
who have
previously indulged in the most
148
PIIiEDO.
gTatitications.
sensual
Do
not,
therefore,
unnecessarily hasten the sad event, since there

is still
ample time." " Truly,
Crito,"
answered
Socrates, " those
men
act in character
who
seek a pleasure in the practices you mention,

since they imagine that they thus advance
their interests: I shall reject
them from a
it
contrary persuasion.
For
cannot regard
as any advantage, to postpone the draught

for a
few minutes, and thus render myself
ridiculous in
my own eyes,
life,
by an extravagant
to
fondness for
preserve
its
and an over anxiety

Go, therefore,
dregs.
to
my
friend,
and refuse not
comply with
my
desires."
66. Crito then gave the signal to the slave
that
after
was
in waiting, wlio instantly
withdrew
some time he returned, and brought

office it
with him the person whose
was
to
administer the poison, and which he held
ready prepared in a cup.
As soon as
Socrates
observed him, " Instruct me,

said he, (" for
my good friend,"
in trans-
you are well versed
'#
PH^DO.
actions of this nature,)
149
what
is
to
be done."
"
You
have only to drink the poison," antill
swered the man, " and continue walking
you
will
feel
a weight in your legs; and then
it
be necessary to lay down." At the same
time he presented the cup, which Socrates

received with a joyful countenance, and with-
out betraying the slightest symptoms of alarm,

or shewing the least alteration of feature
;
but,
preserving his usual intrepidity of carriage,
he inquired
if it
was lawful
"
to
make
a libation
with the draught.

executioner, "
We
never," said the

is
mix a
greater quantity than
sufficient for the
person destined to drink

;
it."
" I understand you," replied Socrates
"
it is,
however, both allowable and proper to
offer
up a prayer
to the gods, that
my passage from
hence to eternity
sincerely
may be
auspicious, which I
and most fervently implore !" Having

it
said this, he drank
off
with a cheerful and
unshaken composure.
liad
Hitherto
many
of us
been enabled to refrain from weeping;
150
PHiEDO.
but when
liquor,
we beheld him
drain the fatal
we could
suppress our tears no longer.

effort to
Mine, in spite of every

fell
subdue them,
covered
copiously from
face with
me;
robe,
:
I therefore
my
my
and indulged
it
my
grief in full transport
for
was not so much
the fate of Socrates that I deplored, as the

loss of so valuable a friend.
Crito,
who could
grief,
not restrain the emotions of his
had
already risen up before me; but Apollodorus,
who had
scarce ceased from weeping the
whole of the day, was now so loud in his

expressions
of
anguish,
that
all
present,
except
Socrates,
became
affected
by the
keenness of his sensations.

he,
" Reflect," cried
"
my
it
friends,
on what you are now

to
doing:
was principally with a view

this
guard against any weakness of

I
kind that
for I
ordered the
it
women
to
withdraw;
have heard
remarked, that death should

grati-
be accompanied by expressions of
tude and resignation.
Awaken,
then,
your
PHiEDO.
151
constancy, and assume a becoming firmness."
This reproof
filled
us with confusion, and
forced us to suppress the violence of sorrow.
When
he perceived his legs had grown heavy
with walking, he lay
down on
his
back,
agreeably to the directions of the person administered the poison.
who
Soon afterwards,
feet,
the executioner examined his

ing
and, bindviolence,
feel
them
up with considerable
if
inquired of Socrates
pressure.
similar
he could
the
He
answered, " No."
Presently, a
to
us,
bandage was applied

the jailer,
his
legs,
when
returning
to
shewed
torpid.
us,
that he
was already become cold and

felt his extremities,
Socrates also
and told
that as soon as the poison reached his heart,
he should take his
final
departure.
And now
the lower part of the stomach
began to grow cold; when, throwing aside

the covering which had been laid over his
body, he thus spoke, for the last time

Crito, I
" O,
owe a cock
to
iEsculapius
neglect
152
PH.EDO.
not to acquit
shall
me
of
my vow."
"
Your
desire
be
fulfilled ;" said Crito.
" Is there any
thing further you
would charge me with?"
To
this
inquiry Socrates
made no
reply;
but shortly after he gave a
faint struggle,
and the executioner proceeded

him,
to
uncover
when
his looks appearing quite fixed,
Crito advanced towards
him and closed
his
eyes and mouth.
Such, Echecrates, are the circumstances
which attended the dissolution of our

of one
wisest,
friend
whom we
regarded as the best, the
and most virtuous of mankind.
NOTES.
NOTES.
Section
1.
title,
Page
1.
-T H^DO, from
whom
the present treatise receives

It
its
was
descended from a noble family in Elis.
happened
that,
when
very young, he was seized by pirates, and sold to
a house of common, dishonest resort.
In
this situation,
being
of
compelled
Socrates,
to
sit
at
the
door, he
attracted
the notice
who was
so struck with the ingenuous graces of his
countenance, that he prevailed on some* of his disciples to pay

the price of his redemption.
From
this time,
Phasdo diligently
addicted himself to the study of philosophy, and became the
constant disciple of his friend and benefactor.
After the death
of Socrates, he returned to his native country, and instituted a

sect of philosophers called the Elean.
* Laertius says, he was purchased at the desire of Socrates,

either
by Alcibiades or Plato
but A. Gellius ascribes the ransom
to Cebes.
156
2,
NOTES.
There were several persons of the name of Echecrates,
is
and there
mentioned.
some
difficulty in identifying the individual
here
Phlius, of which he was probably an inhabitant,

in the province of Sicyonia, not far distant from
was a town
the isthmus of Corinth.
3.
Androgens, son of Minos
II.,
king of Crete, having been
assassinated by JEêus, king of Athens, the former
monarch
declared war against the Athenians, and prosecuted hostilities
with such success, that he compelled them to send yearly to

Crete, seven
young persons of each sex,
to
be devoured by the
this
Minotaur.
tribute
Theseus delivered his country from
sanguinary
efifected his
by destroying the monster, and afterwards
escape by the assistance of Ariadne, the king's daughter,
who
was enamoured of
his person,
and furnished him with a clue
of thread, which enabled him to trace back his steps through

all
the intricacies of the labyrintli.
Section 2
1.
Pa(/e
6.
Xenophou
also
mentions the extravagant attachment

to Socrates.
shewn by Apollodorus
Crito
Apol. 28.
Socrates, to
was an Athenian, and a scholar of
whom
he devoted himself with the most ardent and disinte-
rested friendship.
He was
the author of several dialogues, one

:
of which bears
tiiis
remarkable inscription
The good
ate not
made such by
learniny.
Laert.
are classed by Laertius
Her mogenes, Epigcnes, and Ctesippus
NOTES.
among
157
the children of Crito. This statement, liovvever, appears
very questionable. of
a-
Xenophon
(iu
Apol. Soc.) mentions the son
certain Hipponicus
by the name of Herraogenes; and
Plato himself, in another dialogue, calls Epigenes the son of
Antipho,
Trarj/p
*
in
^'
'Av7t(j)(vy
K.i](j)i(Tttvg
irom^ 'ETrtytVse
is
Apol. 22.
Socrates, in the place

:
refeired to,
repre-
sented as replying to the charge of having corrupted the morals

of the Athenian youth
this accusation
he refutes by an appeal
of those
to the immediate friends
and
relations
who were
others
.supposed to be the victims of his seduction.
Amongst
the
Mho were
Epigenes.
present, he
enumerates Antipho,
father of
Antisthenes founded the sect of Cynic philosophers, and was

preceptor to Diogenes.
The name
of
Menexenus
is sufficiently
familiar to the learned
reader, from the celebrated funeral oration to

fixed.
which
it is
pre-
Euclid was a native of Megara in Achaia.
lie founded a
sect called, from the place of his birth, the Megaric.
2. Aristippus
was founder of the

Iiis
sect of Cyrenian philoso-
phers.
all
The
particulars of
life
and doctrine are detailed by
who have
written on the subject of philosophy.

city of Epirus,
Cleombrotus was a native of Ambracia, a

the Acheron.
near
He
is
the subject of the famous epigram of
Callimachus, alluded to by Cicero:
Callimachi
quidem
ait,
epi-
gramma
in
Ambraciotam Cleombrotum
est: quern
cum
158
NOTES.
muio
i.
nihil ei accidisset adversi, e
se in
mare
abjecisse, lecto
Platonis libro.
Tusc. Quest,
is
34.
The Epigram
as follows
EtTrac 'H\t x<p KXeofifipoTog

,
^fi(ipaKi(OTt]f
"H\ar
a(j'
v\pT]X5 Tei\ôg tig
uictjv,
"Aîov ^v
iSdjy
davdm
kukov,
aWa
IlXdnovos
"Ev TO
TTfpt
4'^X^^ ypi"j"' dvaXe^dfisvog.
3.
is
The
allusion to the absence of Arislippus
and Cleombrotus
cited by a writer on elocution as an example of the most
pointed and delicate censure.

at
Plato naturally
felt
indignant
in
the thoughtless gaiety with which they were revelling
iEgina, while their friend and instructor was exposed to the

rigours of a prison, and in the daily expectation of falling a
sacrifice to
a tyrannical sentence.
their negligence
still
What made
less
;
excusable, was the
shortness of the distance from Athens
an interval of scarcely
200
stadia.
The
philosopher, however, avoids the invidious-
ness of a direct attack, but introduces

the persons
gives a
list
an inquiry respecting
Phaedo
who
assisted at the death of Socrates.
of each individual
if
who was
present
and on being
questioned
Cleombrotus and Aristippus were of the number,

" They," says he, " were
replies expressly in the negative.
absent at
^gina :"
thus emphatically proclaiming, by a single
expression, their sensuality, sloth, and ingratitude.

fact is left to speak itself,
The bare
without any comment from the
speaker.
NOTES.
159
is
In the preceding catalogue, the most striking omission

that of the
it
name
of
Xenophon.
Athenaeus appears to ascribe

:
to a feeling of jealousy
on the part of Plato
the true reason,
probably, was, that at the time of Socrates' death,
Xenophon
had not returned from
his Asiatic expedition.
Section 3
1.
Page
8.
Ot ivhKa, TJie Eleven, were magistrates, whose
ofiBce
very
much resembled
that of our
shcriflFs.
It
was
their peculiar
province to assist at the execution of malefactors, and to take
charge of such as were committed to the public prisons.
They
were called The Eleven, from
their
number, and were elected

tribes
from the body of the people, each of the ten

privilege of appointing one: to these
having the
Register,
was added the
TpafjLixanvQ.
Section 4
1.
Page
10,
Evenus was an
elegiac poet, of Pares.
The term
music was not, in
its
original acceptation, conat present bears

its
fined to the particular science

it
which
name
was anciently used
to express every art
which can adorn or
embellish civilized society.
Nam
turn
quis ignorat musicen (ut de hac

illis
primum
loquar) tan>
jam
antiquis temporibus non studii modo, verum etiam
Venerationis habuisse, ut iidcm musici, et vates, et sapientes
judicarcntur?
mittam
alios:
Orphens et Linus, quorum utrum-'
que
diis
genitum, alterum vero, quod rudes quoque et agrestes
J60
NOTES.
animos admiratione mulceret, non feras modo, sed saxa etiam

slyvasque duxisse, posteritatis
memoriae
traditum
est.
Et
Tiraagenes aiictor
est,
omnium
:
in liteiis studiorum antiquissi-
mam
apud
musicen
extitisse
et testimonio sunt clarissimi poetae,
qiios inter regalia convivia
laudes heroum ac deorum

ille Virgilii,
ad eitharam canebantur.
lopas vero
nonne
canit,
Eirantem
lunani, solisque labores?
(juibus certe palam confirraat auctor eminentissimus, musicen
cum
diviuarum etiam rerum cognitione esse conjunctam.

:
Qiiinctilian
Instit. Orat,
i.
10.
The
following passage
is
from Aristophanes' comedy of The
Kiiiyhts.
AA.
(JW, m ^yai\
irXijv
ovda fJL0V(nKy)v
i7rt<âjLiaiy
ypa/niiarwr, Kai Tavru fxivroi kuku KaKWf.
inn.
AVhich the Scholiast thus explains
ovce
/novcnKt)y
(ptjai.
188.
ini'â/Liai.
On
ct
liisfTtKijv
Ttfv
^yKvXiov
TTUi^dau
C
Tpdfifiara
cut
rd
Trpwra
<rot)^7a.
Aa
ij
TQ
liBp-ôfxivnQ
ypa/xjuaTOJv
TrailevtaQai^
yap
TTaiBtia Tue aTOTThg iKvptTra Xoyiafxig.
Vide Terent. Phorm.

also Cicero, Orat.
iii.
Prol. 18.
and Heautont.
Pro!.
23. See
44.
By
^t]fx(oor]g /nuariKt} is
probably meant that particular descrip-
tion of verse which, from the ease

struction,
and simplicity of
its
con-
was calculated
to attract the attention of the least
informed of the populace.
NOTES.
Section 5
1.
161
Page
13.
Philolaus
was a native of Crotona, and a follower of the

Plato
is
Pythagorean philosophy.
said to
have purchased his
works
for
an unusually large sum, and to have transferred the
tenets contained in
them
to
many
of his
own
compositions.
The
institutions of
Pythagoras prohibited suicide.
2.
The Athenian laws
prohibited executions during the day.
Section 9
1.
Page 21.
vita, ut ait
Tota enim philosophorum
idem, comnientatio
mortis est:
aliud est,
Secernere autem a corpore animuni,ncc quidquam

discere.
quam emori
Tusc.
i.
30, 31.
2.
Sandals, or slippers, were classed by the Athenians amongst

tlieir
the elegancies of dress, and
shape and adaptation to the
foot studied with particular attention.
Athenaeus mentions
those
worn by Alcibiades
and another author has noticed the

to
variations of size
and figure
which the caprice of
taste
had
successively modelled these costly ornaments of the person.

Socrates, however, according to
Xenophon, (Mem.
;
lib.
i.
6,)
was always
bare-footed, avvTTocrjrog
a circumstance to which
of
Aristophanes has alluded in the
comedy
The
Clauds.
TOVQ
akaCovag^
TOVQ W-)(piQvTag^ TOVQ UVVTTolriTOVQ XtyftC)
wv
6 KaKocctifxwi' ^wKpcirtjQ Kui
Xaipf^wj'. v<j&. 103.
162
NOTES.
Section
10 Page
23.
1.
The
poets alluded to are Pannenides, Empedoclcs, and

;
Epicharmus
sions,
KCtt
the last mentioned of

Kai.
whom
Se
has these expresircivra

KiiXâ
N5c vpd
vovg
acwjt
rti
aWa
TV(p\d.
Section 13
1.
Page 34.
tccq
EtVi yap
c>],
fami'
oi irepi
TsKirag^ vapdt]KO(j)6pot
/.tey
TToWotj
jSciKyôi
Si tb iravpoi.
These expressions are
allusive to the rites observed at the
celebration of the festivals in honour of Bacchus, as described

in the fragments attributed to Orpheus. tators
Some
of the
commen-
have disposed the words into metrical regularity, but the

is
verse
not in the collection published by Gesner.
IloWo/
-OL
vapdrjKofopoi irui/poi ci re fidicyoi.
The
wands
vapBi]KO(f)6pot
/3ck-)ôt,
;
were those
in the procession
who
carried
the priests or ministers of Bacchus.
Clemens
of Alexandria
cites this passage as parallel to the expressions of

dt ticXtKToi.
our Saviour, ttoWoI tlm KXtjroi, oXlyoi

16. xxii. 14.)
(Matt. xx.
that the
The
obvious meaning of Socrates
is,
pretenders only to science arc numerous:

that there are
in other words,
many
sophists, but
few philosophers.
For a paris
ticular account of the Eleusinian
ceremonies, the reader

Legation,
refened to the
2nd book of
The Divine
and
to
Plutarch's treatise of Isis and Osiris, as edited by the late
learned bishop Squire.
The
reader
may
also find
much
inte-
NOTES.
resting information
16S
work published some
on
this subject in a
years since, entitled, "
The Enthusiasm of Methodists and
Papists, compared.
Section 14
Par/e 36.
1.
el
(CW^tWÔTTOtOe
til].
These words are supposed
to refer to a satirical passage in
Eupolis, but the speaker probably intended

equally to Aristophanes,
them
to apply
whose attack he has expressly noyap iwpuTe Kcd

rivd
iicei
ticed in another place: rotavra
civtoi
rfj
\\pi-o(j)dv&g
Kio/uuî^,
luiKpdrrjv
TrtpKîpofxevov^
fua-Korrd
re
.
itepofiaTslv^
3.
Kui
aXXtjv
TroWyji'
(fKvaplav
fXvapovvra
Apol.
The
expression here particularized,

V.
is
in the
comedy of The
Clouds*
225.
depojoardj^
Kcii
TrtpK^povoj tov ijfkiov.
See also
v.
1487, &c.
* This celebrated drama has several times appeared in an English

dress.
The greater
part
may be found
in
Stanley's Lives of the
Philosophers. It was said also to have been translated throughout by
Mr. Young and the admirable author of The History of a Foundling

but their performance can
now
be obtained only with great difficulty
indeed, a writer in a distinguished periodical work, mentions the
Plutus as the joint production of Mr. Fielding and his friend.
The
reader may, however, easily procure a very elegant and spirited

version
by the
late
Mr, Cumberland.
164
NOTES.
Section 15
Page
36.
1.
WciKatoQ
f.ih-
ovv
k. t.
X.
freely concerning
to
this
" But
now
to
declare our sense
pliilosophy of the ancients,
which seems
be so prodigiously
paradoxical, in respect to that prc-existence and transmigration
of souls;
we
conceive, indeed, that this ratiocination of theirs,
from that
principle, that nothing naturally, or of itself,
comes
from nothing, nor goes to nothing, was not only firmly conclusive against substantial forms and qualities of bodies, really
distinct
from their substance, but also
for substantial incorpo-
real souls,
and
their iugenerability out of matter;
and particu-
larly for the future immortality or post-existence of all
human
souls.
For since
it is
plain that they are not a
mere modifica-
tion of body or of matter, but an entity and substance really

distinct from
it,
we have no more
reason to think that they can
ever of themselves vanish into nothing, than that the substance

of the corporeal world, or any part thereof, can do
that in the consumption of bodies by
fire,
so.
For
or age, or the like,

is
there
is
the destruction of any real substance into nothing,
now
it
generally exploded as an idiotical conceit; and certainly

less idiotical to
cannot be a jot
suppose that the rational soul
in death is utterly extinguished.

this ratiocination of the ancients
Moreover, we add,
also, that
would be altogether as firm and transmigration
and irretiagable likewise

of souls, as did
it is
for post-existence
for their pro-existence
and future immortality,
we not
(as indeed
we
do) suppose souls to be created by
God
immediately, and infused in generations.
For they being
NOTES.
165
unquestionably a distinct substance from the body, and no substance, according to the ordinary course of nature,
coming out
in
of nothing,
tliey
must of necessity
either pre-exist
the
universe before generations, and transmigrate into

spective bodies, or else
their reis
come from God immediately, who

at
first
the foundation of
that
all,
and who
created
all
that substance
now
is
in the world, besides himself.
Now
the latter of
these was a thing which those ancient philosophers would by
no means admit
bring
of; they
judging
it
altogether incongruous to
God upon
the stage perpetually, and
make Him imme-
diately interpose every
where
in the generations of
men and
all
other animals, by the miraculous production of souls out of

nothing.
Notwithstanding which,
if
we
well consider
it,
we
shall find that there
may be
very good reason on the other side
for the successive Divine creation of souls; namely, that
God
did not do
forth all
all at first
that ever he could, or
would
do,
;
and put
his creative vigour at once, in a
moment
ever afterresults,
wards remaining a spectator oidy of the consequent
and permitting nature

sition of
to
do
all
alone, without the least interpoif
His at any time, just as
there were no
God
at all iu
the world.
For
this
may
be,
and indeed often hath been, the

this, to
effect of such an hypothesis as
make men
think that
there
is
no other God
also, for
in the
world but blind and dark Nature.

to us,
God might
other good and wise ends, unknown
reserve to himself the continual exercise of his creative power,

in the successive production of
new
souls.
And
yet these souls,
nevertheless, after they are once brought forth into being, will,
notwithstanding their juniority, continue as firmly in the same,
166
NOTES.
without vanishing of themselves iuto nothing, as the substance

of senseless matter, that was created
before,
many thousand
b.
i.
years
w ill
do."
Cudworth's Intellectual System,
sect. 34.
Section 17
1.
Page
42.
Endjmion
is
described in ancient mythology as having
successfully petitioned Jupiter to grant
him perpetual youth,

any extent he
chose.
with the power of prolonging
his sleep to
2.
Anaxagoras was a native of Glazomenae, son of Hegisibuand born

in the first year of the 70th
lus,
Olympiad.
Eminent
for his noble birth
and wealthy fortunes, but more
for his
mag-
nanimous contempt of them.
Cic. Tusc. Quest, v. 39.

all
He
held that the material principle of
things
is
one and
many o/ioto/ifpo, parts inflnite,

to the
other.
similar and contrary, continuous
touch,
sustaining themselves, not
contained by any
His
V.
opinions
are
thus
expressed
by
Lucretius,
(lib.
i.
830, &c.:)
Nunc
et
Anaxagoras scmtemur
OMOIOMEPEIAN,
Quam
Graii memorant, nee nostra dicere lingua

patrii
Concedit nobis
sermonis egestas,
facile est
Sed tamen ipsam rem

Prineipium rerum
exponere verbis,
quam
dicit
OMOIOMEPEIAN.
miiiutis
Ossa videlicet e pauxillis afque

Ossibus;
sic et
de pauxillis atquc niinutis

;
Visceribus viscus gigni
sanguenque creari
Sansruiuis inter se multis ooeuntibus sruttis:
NOTES.
Ex
aurique putat niicis cousistere posse
;
167.
Aurum
et
de
terris
;
terram concrescere parvis

esse.
Ignibus ex ignein
humorem ex humoribus
Castera consimili fingit ratione, putatque.
Nee tamen
esse ulla parte
Idem
in rebus inane
Concedit, neque corporibus finem esse secandis.
Section
1.
ISPage
46.
The
expressions in the original refer to a custom extremely
prevalent in the earlier periods of Grecian history.
Let not
the English reader startle at this note: the attachment here
described was not blemished by any sentiment repugnant to

the strictest laws of virtue.
is
Its tirst introduction into
Greece
veiled in uncertainty
but the practice was sanctioned by

:
liie
public allowance and encouragement of the laws
for
it
was
conceived that there could be no means more
efi'ectual to
excite their youth to noble enterprises, nor any greater security

to the
commonwealth,
tlian
the infhience of so generous a
passion.
This, according to Athenceus,
was frequently expe;
rienced by those
it
who attempted
to invade their libei ties
and
at length
became a received maxim
in the politics of tyrants,

it
to use their utmost efforts to extirpate
from their dominions

tiie
while
their
all
those states which consulted

to
advancement of
honour and independence, seem
have been unanimous

it.
in establishing laws to support
and reward
Let us take a
fiew of some few of them,*

* The following statement
Graeca.
is
chiefly taken
from the Archa-logia
168
" First,
NOTES.
we
shall find
it
to
have been so frenerally practised,
and so highly esteemed

and
I)cautiful
in Crete, that sucli of their well-born
youths as never had any lovers, incurred the
public censure, as persons
some way
or other faulty in their

to attract admiration,
morals.
But those who had the fortune

wit!)
were honoured
wore,
for
the
first
seats at public exercises,
and
a distinguishing badge of honour, a robe richly

this
adorned
they
still
retained, after arriving at
manhood,
in
testimony that they had once been kXutoi, eminent; which was
the
name
given by the Cretans to such youths as had lovers.
One remarkable circumstance connected
with this usage was,
that the lovers always took the objects of their regard

for
by
force
having placed their affections on an individual, they gave

it
notice of
to his relations,
and informed them of the day they
designed to take him.
If the lover
virtues
was unworthy,
his claims
were
resisted;
but
if his
were unimpeachable, the
friends of the boy

satisfy the law,
made
only a slight opposition, sufficient to

to his lodgings,
and pursued him
but then gave
their consent.
After this the lover carried the boy wherever

at the
he pleased, attended by those who assisted

his adoption.
ceremony of
He
entertained him for some time, but seldom
longer than two months, witii hunting and other diversions of

the
same kind, and then returned him

it
to his
home.
At
his de-
parture,
was enacted by the law, that the boy should receive a

an ox, and a cup, to which the lover added, out
suit of armour,
of his
own
bounty, several other presents of value.

tlie
The boy
being returned home, sacrificed

entertainment for
tiiose
ox
to Jupiter,
made an
and
who accompanied him
in his /light,
NOTES.
gave an account of the usage he received from his lover
:
169
for in
the event of his having been rudely treated, the law allowed
'
him the most ample

"
It is affirmed
redress,
all
by Maxiraus the Tyrian, that during
the
time of their association, nothing unseemly, nothing which in

the slightest degree contravened the
laws
of honour
and
decorum, was observable
in their
conduct; and however some
authors are inclined to censure the institution, yet the testi-
monies of many others, and the high character given by the

ancients of the laws and constitutions of Crete, by which the
custom was upheld, are

false
sufficient to vindicate
is,
it
from
all
such
imputations.
This
indeed, put beyond dispute by

it
Strabo,
who
has asserted that
was not so much the external
beauty of the boy, as his virtuous disposition, his modesty and

courage, whicli served to
recommend him.
pass to the Lacedemonians, several
"
From
the Cretans
we
of whose constitutions were derived from Crete.
Their love of
boys was
for the
known through
all
Greece, and universally admired

it.
conduct and consequences resulting from
There
was here no interchange of presents between the

arts
parties,
no
used to insinuate themselves into each other's affections
their love
It
was generous, and worthy the Spartan education.

conceived from a mutual esteem of each other's
was
first
virtue;
and the same motive which inspired the flame was

it.
alone sufficient to nourish and preserve
It
was not tainted

is
with so
much
as a suspicion of immodesty.
Agesilaus
said
to have refused even to kiss the
boy he loved,
for fear of cen-
sure
and
if
a person attempted any thing inconsistent with
: ;
170
NOTES.
the severest modesty, the laws (however encouraging a vir-
tuous love) condemned him to disgrace; by which he was

deprived of almost
all
tlie
privileges of free denizens.
The
same practice was adopted by the

towards their
that the
fairer part of the creation
own
sex
and was so much esteemed by them,

their
most virtuous matrons would publicly own

;
passion for a modest and beautiful virgin
which
is
a further
the
confirmation of the innocency of this custom.
Maximus
Tyrian assures us, that

otherwise than a
tlie
Spartans loved their
boys no
man may be enamoured
of a beautiful statue
which he proves from what Plutarch likewise reports, that

though several men's fancies met in one person, yet did not
that cause any strangeness or jealousy
among them, but was
rather the beginning of a very intimate friendship, whilst they

all
jointly
conspired
to
render the beloved boy the most

;
accomplislied in the world
for the end of this love was, that the
young men miyht

qualities,
be improved in all virtuous

v-ith
and commendable
by conversing
men of
probity and experience
whence
the lover and the beloved shared the honour

;
and
if
disgrace of ea(;h other

the
to
the lover especially
was blamed,
boy offended,
iiis
and suftercd what i)unishment was due
fault.
Plutarch has a slory of a Spartan fined by the
magistrates,
because
A\liil.st
the
youUi
whom
he loved cried out
effeminately
he was fighting.
The same attachment

;
continued when the boy was come to man's estate

preserved his former intimacy with
all
liis
he
still
lover,
imparted to him
appears
his designs,
and was directed by
his councils, as
from another of Plutarch's relations concerning Cleomenes, who,.
NOTES.
before
his
171
was beloved by
advancement
to
the kingdom,
after
Xenares, with
friendship,
till
whom
he ever
maintained a most intimate
he was engaged in a design to
new model
the
commonwealth: Xenares not approving

from him, but
still
this project,
departed
remained
faithful to
his friend,
and con-
cealed his intentions.

" If
we
pass from Sparta to Athens,
we
shall find that

;
Solon
restricted slaves from the exercise of this affection
thus, to
use the expressions of Plutarch, inviting the worthy to practise
what he commanded the unworthy

le^slator
is
to forbear.
That celebrated
;
himself said to have loved Pisistratus

in the
and the
most eminent men
Athenian state were influenced by

is
a similar feeling; the perfect purity of which
evident from
the severe laws enacted against the indulgence of a passion

of an opposite character."
There are many other examples of

be suiBcieut
Plutarch
to
this
nature
but
it
will
mention only the Thebans, whose lawgiver,

us,
tells
encouraged
;
this
affection
to
temper the
manners of
expectation
;
their youth
nor were they disappointed in their
a pregnant evidence of which (to omit others)

lepci
may be
band:
observed in the conduct of the
^>o\ay^, the sacred

lovers
it
was a party of 300 chosen men, composed of

and therefore called sacred;
the
till
and
their beloved,
it
gained
many
important victories, was

Spartans,
first
that
ever overcame the

irresistible,
till
whose courage
then seemed
upon
equal terms, and was
never vanquished
the battle at
Chasronea; after which, king Philip, taking a view of the

slain,
and Qoming
to the
place where these 300,
who had
; :
172
NOTES.
fought bis whole phalanx, lay dead together, he was struck
with wonder; and being informed that they were the band of
LOVERS, he exclaimed, under the influence of strong emotion,
accompanied by
tears,
" Let them perish, who suspect that

any
thing base /"
these
men
either did or suffered
Section 30
1.
Page 67.
to
These shadowy forms are alluded
by
Homer
as con-
fined to the realms of Tartarus:
'n
TTOTTOt,
7/
pd
TIQ i?t KCll llv aiÛO ÔfiOlUl
^v^^rj Kal
EIAflAON,
uTcip (ppiviQ ovK ivi irdfiTrav,

II. xxiii.
103.
And
is
in the Odyssey, (lib. xi. v, 600,) the
shade of Hercules
mentioned
in contradistinction to the hero himself,
who had
a seat assigned him in the assembly of the gods

ToJ' ci fiBTy elaavotjaa
fiitjy
'HpaKXtjiitjVy
EIAHAON.
The same
distinction
may be
(lib.
i.
recognised in the following

&c.:)
passage from Lucretius,
v. 121,
Esse Aeherusia templa
Ennius
aeternis
exponit versibus cdens
Quo
neqne permanent animm, neque corpora nostra,

miris.
Sed quaedam simulacra modis pallentia
And
Virgil introduces
Dido
at the point of death,
(^neid,
iv.
654,) using a similar expression
Et nunc magna mei sub
terras ibit
Imago.
NOTES.
Section
1.
173
'
^\Page
same
67.
" It
is
evident, that the
principle
its
which led the an-
ients to hold the soul's immortality, or

after death,
future
permanency
to maintain
its
must needs determine tliem likewise

or pre-existence,
its 7rpoi/7rap|g,
(TU)fictT<o(Ttg,
and consequently
furtv-
or transmigration.
For that which did pre-exist
before the generation of any animal, and

else,
was then somewhere
must needs transmigrate

it
is.
into
the body of that animal
where now
But
as
for
that other transmigration, of
human
souls into the bodies of brutes,
though
it
cannot be
it
denied but that
many
of these ancients admitted
also,
yet
Timaeus,* Locrus,
rejected
it
and divers others of the Pythagoreans,

as
it
any otherwise than
might be taken
for
an
is
allegorical description of that beastly transformation that
made
of men's souls by vice."

Cuchvorth's Intellectual System,
book i. chap.
i.
sect. 34.
Pythagoras, acknowledging the immortality of the soul, asserted also

its
pre-existence.
He
maintained that there
is
an
innumerable company of souls, and that those which transgress

are sent
down
into bodies, so as, being purified
by such
dis-
cipline, they
may
return to their original sphere.
Those who
life,
in this state of expiation lead
an
impious or irregular
are
condemned
to receive
(5
an additional and severer punishment,

:
by being sent
own
further into irrational creatures
the angry
and malicious into serpents, the ravenous
into wolves, &c.
De anim^ mundi
et aatura.
'
174
It
NOTES.
was probably on
this
ground that Pythagoras enjoined an

in conformity to the
abstinence from
transmigration,
flesh: for,
doctrine of
ail
animal creatures were considered to be of

in a
the
same nature with mankind, and
manner
v
allied to
them.
The
philosopher supported his tenets by a
ariety of instances
and by some drawn immediately from himself.
He
afErmed,
:
that he had formerly been Jithalides, the son of Mercury
after-
wards he came to be Euphorbus, and was

in the
slain
by Menelaus
a
Trojan war.
;
Then he was Hermotinus, next Pyrrhus,

and, lastly, Pythagoras.
fisherman of Delos
For
this reason,
he always expressed a particular partiality
to that
;
passage in
the Iliad which describes the death of Euphorbus
he adapted
the words to the Ijre, and was frequently heard to repeat

as his
them
own
''^mKrjîov.
The melody
of the numbers will justify the recalling
them
to the reader's recollection.
AHfiUTi ol dtvuy-o
JlXoy^luoc
S^',
K6f.iatj
\apirE<Tffiv o/nolai,
Kcti
01
'ypva^ te
ch'tjp
dpyvpu)
t(T(j)riK(iJVTO.
Oioy
Xoipw
de Tpt(j)H
fpvoQ
IpidrjXig iXairjg
civa(ii(ipv-îv vZiop
ly otOTToXw,
00'
uXic
KaXov,
TtjXeddoy, to i te TTvoial hoviovai

ch'ijxwv^
it,a7riyt]Q
i^tVpf;l/f
TlavToiwv
'ErA0tJi/
h"
Kui te ftpvei
dvEfxoq^ <tvv
it,ETa.vv(r(T
avQu Xevku
XaiXani
iirl
'
TroXXij
Bo6f8 T
Kat
yaitf
Totov Ylciydn
v'loy
iv/x/uEXhjy YjV(l>opl2oy
'Arpeihr^Q Mtvt'Aaocj fVtt
Kraye^
tev'^^s
tavXa.
51, &c.
II. xvii.
NOTES.
The
shilling circles of his
175
golden hair.
to wear,
Which
ev'n
tlie
Graces might be pleas'd
Instarr'd with
gems and
gold, bestrew the shore
With
dust dishonour'd, and deform'd with gore.

the young olive, in
As
some sylvan scene,
Crown'd by fresh fountains with eternal green,

Lifts the
gay head,
in
snowy
flow'rets fair,
;
And
plays and dances to the gentle air

lo
!
When
The
a whirlwind from high heav'n invades

all its
tender plant, and withers
shades
It lies
uprooted from
its
genial bed,
lovely ruin
now defaced and dead

beautiful,
Tims young, thus

While
Euphorbus
laj',
the fierce Spartan tore his arms away.
Pope.
" Porphyry and lamblichus acquaint us of the particular
affection Pythagoras
had
for these verses,
which he
set to the
it
harp, and used to repeat as his

his fondness
own
it
Epicedion.
Perhaps
was
of them which put
into his
head to say, that
his soul
transmiyrated to him
from
is
this
hero.
However
it
was, this
conceit of Pythagoras
famous in antiquity, and has given

is,
occasion to a dialogue in Luciaii, entitled The Cock, which

I think, the finest
piece of that author."
Ibid.
Section 35
Page
77.
1.
wffTTtp tTTt
aryêîa^.
Cicero ujopts the same illustration.
Itaque dubitans,
cir-
;;
176
NOTES.
ratis
cumspectans, haesitans, multa adversa revertens, tanquam

in raari immenso, nostra vehitur oratio.
Tusc. Disp.
i.
30.
2.
The
:
expressions which follow, in the original, are remark^'/ Tiq hiivaiTO a(T(j>a\i'^pov Kcii ciKivEvrorFpoy, tiri
rj
able
ft
(iifiaioripn o-ytJ/^ctTOQ
AOFOY 0EIOT rnôg ^laTropevBrjvai.

tivoq were possibly used as indicative
The words Xoys Bdov

of
tlie
reverence entertained by Socrates for the sacred myste-
ries
but they have sometimes been interpreted as propheti-
cally allusive to the great truths subsequently proclaimed
by
the gospel.
Section
1.
36 Page
78.
That the soul was a harmony produced by a just proporbeen a very
tion of the elements, appears at one time to have
prevalent opinion.
It
is
supposed to have originated in a
mistaken interpretation of some of the doctrines of Pythagoras.

Lucretius describes
it
as follows
Multa quidem sapientum turba putarunt
Sensum
aninii ccrta
non esse
in parte
locatum
esse,
Vcruni habitum quendam vilalem corporis
Harmoniam
Vivere
lit
Graii
quam
dicunt; quod faciat nos
cum
sensu, nulla
cum
in parte siet
Mens
bona saepe valetudo cum dicitur esse
Corporis, ct non est

Sic aniuii
tamcn
luec pars ulla valentis
sensum non certa parte reponunt.

Lib.
iii.
v, 98,
&c.
NOTES.
Section
1.
177
88.
38 Paye
When
Croesus was besieged by Cjtus, at Sardis, he sent for
assistance to the Lacedemonians, wlio were then at
war with
the Argians for the country of Thyrea, which the Spartans had
unjustly seized.
ritory,
Tlie Argians advanced to recover their ter-
but the contending powers came to an agreement that
three hundred men, chosen from each side, shoxild dispute the
possession,
party.
and the country be adjudged

so severe,
tliat,
to
tlie
the victorious
600, three
The combat was

left alive.
of
men
con-
only were
Two
of these were Argians,
who
to
ceiving themselves conquerors, ran with the
news
Argos.
But
the only survivor, on the part of the Lacedemonians, colit
lecting the spoil and carrying
to
the Spartan camp, con-
tinued in the
field.
The next
each
day, both armies
met
in the
same
place,
and
claimed
the
victory
the Argians
alleging that they
had more
survivors,
and the Lacedemonians

field.
that they had maintained possession of the
Hostilities
were thus renewed

decisive triumph.
and
at length the
Spartans obtained a
In consequence of this calamity, the Argians
cut
ofiF all
the hair which they had formerly been obliged to
wear
at considerable length,
it
and solemnly vowed they would
never suffer
to
grow, nor permit their

till
women
to array
them-
selves in ornaments of gold,
they should recover the lost

i.
Thyrea.
Herod,
lib.
i.
See also Job, cap.

Iphiclus,
v.
20.
2.
lolaus
was the son of
king of Thessaly: he
at the
assisted Hercules
(who was produced by Alcmena
same
birth with his father) to destroy the Lernaean hydra.
178
NOTES.
Section 39
Page
91.
1.
Euripus
is
a narrow strait separating the island

Its
Euboea
from the shores of Boeotia.
flux
and reflux became a

the ancients, and the
subject of attentive investigation
among
death of Aristotle has been ascribed to his vexation at being
unable to explain the cause of this phenomenon.
Plm.
2.
i.
95.
Section AOPacje 93.

1.
TO Kivrpov iyKCiTuXiTTujy
ol^^^rffrofxai.
Spicula caeca relinquunt

Affixae veuis,
auimasque
in vulnere ponunt.
Georg.
lib. iv. v.
237.
Section
1.
43Page
T. \.
102.
'^-I'ldoQ
Tr\}']t.aQ
K.
The author
of the English Odyssey has
left
an
ilhistrioui
testimony to the force and justice of the reasoning in this

passage, and notices an expression, observed by Dacier, which
bears the same import in the holy scriptures:
The
heaii of
is this
David smote him when he numbered

difference: in
the peaple.
There
Homer, by
heart
is
understood the corporeal

;
substance
in
the scriptures, the spiritual
but both
make
manifest distinction between the soul and body.
Section
1,
44 Page
103.
this to
'Ap/noi'iuQ QtiftaiKijc.
Dacier considers
be an
NOTES.
allusion to tlie story of Ampliion,
179
is
who
said to have raised

liis
the walls of Thebes by the liarmonious sound of
lyre:
in other words, to have wrought so powerfully on the affections
of a barbarous people, as to induce

tutions of a civilized
them
to submit to the insti-
community.
to
Thus Simmias
ascribes the
creation of
mankind
the effect of harmony: others have
imagined, from the resemblance of the name, that the expression refers
to
Harmonia, the daughter of Veiuis, who was
married to Cadmus, the Thcban monarch: and as Cadmus, by
sowing the teeth of the dragon, caused a race of men
to spring
from the earth, whose appearance was only momentary, Cebes,
by alleging the mortality of the

origin of
soul,
seemed
their
life
to
imply that the
mankind was
earthly,
and
confined to the
present transitory existence.

tions both of
Socrates thus meets the objecto traditions
Simmias and Cebes, by a reference
drawn from
their
common
country.
2. 'fl 'yaflf,
fit}
ixiya Xiys.
k".
r.
X.
~il YloXvdepffici] (piXoKipro/bit /ld'jttote Trd/UTrau

TJikojp
d<j)pa^h]g fiiya tiTrCiv^

iTTirpixl/ai
'
aXAa
Qeoiai
elcri.
M.vdov
tneir)
iroXi/ (j)ipTpoi
Odyss.
lib. xxii. v.
287.
3. *OiU7ipiKU)c^
tyyi/Q "iovtcq.
Vid.
II. c,
496,
&
i.
Gil.
Section 47
1.
Page
15.
reverence for the institutions of his country, and a
180
strong
feelint^
NOTES.
of courage, enabled Socrates to resist the en-
treaties of his best friends,
and submit to the rigours of
liis
sentence.
prison
;
This was the true cause of his continuance in the
and the consh-uction of the human body enabled him to
converse in the attitude he describes.
Section 57
1.
Page
139.
"
We
may
conclude the souls of
men
is
to
be immortal,
from the nature of God.

doubts)
a perfect being,
For He,
if
He
(which sure nobody
as
such, can do nothing in-
consistent with perfect or right reason.
"
To produce
a being into a state of clear happiness, in any

it
;
degree, can be no injury to
or into a state of mixt happiness,
provided the happiness certainly overbalances the contrary,
and the suifering part be not greater than what that being
would
choose in order to obtain the happiness.
Nor, again, can
any wrong be done by producing a being subject to more

misery than happiness,
avoid the misery, or so
if
that being hath
it
in
its
own power
to
much
of
it
as
may
leave the remainder
of misery not greater than what he would rather sustain than
miss the proportion of happiness.
The only
case, then,
by
is,
which wrong can be done,
in the production of
any being,
when
it is
necessarily
and irremediably
tliat
to
be
:
iniserable,
without
is
any recompence or balance of
misery
and
this
indeed
a case so grievous, so utterly irreconcilable to

the heart of a reasoning and considering
the thought of
it.
all reason,
that
man can
scarce bear
"
Now,
then, he
who
says the soul of
man
is
mortal,
must
NOTES.
say one of these two things
;
181
eitlier
that
God
is
an unreasonthis
able, unjust, cruel being, or that

life,
no man, in respect of
has a greater share of misery, unavoidable, than of hap-
piness.
To
say the former,
is
to
contradict that which, I
presume, has been proved beyond contradiction.

the
latter, is to
Then, to say
contradict the 7vhole story of mankind, and even
one^s
own
senses.
" Consider well the dreadful

desolations which
effects of all those
barbarous
we read
of:
what slavery
is,
and
:
how
how
many
have been brought into that lamentable state
many have brought
incurable diseases into the world with them:
how many more

whole
lives
such bodily infirmities as have rendered their
uneasy:
how many
are born to no other inheritance
but invincible poverty and trouble? but

for a
little taste
Instances are endless:
of the condition of mankind, reflect upon
that story related
by Strabo, (from Polybius,) and Plutarch,
where, even by order of the

of the best of
Roman
senate, P. ^milius, one
them
too, at
one prefixt hour sacked and defifteen
stroyed seventy
cities,
unawares, and drove
myriads of
innocent persons into captivity.
Peruse that account of the
gold-works in the confines of Egypt, given by Diodorus, and

think over the circumstances
there,
of the unfortunate labourers
who were
not only criminals, or
men
taken in war,
but such as calumny or unjust power had doomed to that

place of torment.
What inhuman
!
punishments were used

of
among
the
the
Persians
But,
instead
enumerating here
burnings,
crucifixions,
breakings
upon
the
wheel,
impalings, &c., I choose to refer you to those authors
who
182
NOTES.
have designedly treated of the torments and questions of the

ancients.
Examine
the prisons of the inquisition, the groans
of which those walls are conscious,

occasions
there.
and upon what
slicjht
men
are racked
tlie
and tortured by the tormenters
Indeed,
history of
mankind
is little
else than the
history of dreadful passages.
"
Now, among
it
all
those millions wljo have suffered eminently,
can
be imagined that there have not been multitudes whose
griefs
and pangs \\^\cfar outweighed
all
their
enjoyments; and
yet
who have
in
not been able, either by their innocence or
any power
them, to escape that
bitter
draught which they

i\\G
have drunk?
And
then,
how can we
acquit
justice
and
reasonableness of that
Being upon
whom
these poor creatures

losers
depend, and
who
leaves
them such great

state,
by
their
existence, if there be
no future
where the proper amends

is
may be made
So that the argument

:
brought to
this
undeniable issue
there
is
if
the soul of
man
is
not immortal, either
no God upon
whom we
depend, or
has been
He
is
an un-
reasonable
being; or there never
a)iy
man whose
sufl'erings in this
world have exceeded his enjoyments, without

it
his
being the cause of
himself.
But
surely
no one of these
things can be said.

"
Ergo,
suflFerers
That which aggravates the hard case of the poor

if
mentioned above,
there be uo future state,
is,
that
many
times their persecutors and tormenters pass their lives in plenty
and grandeur
that
is,
the innocent have not only the portion
that belongs to the criminal and unreasonable part of mankind,
but the guilty have that which belongs to the innocent.
Such
NOTES.
a transposition of rewards and punishments, ending in
183
itself,
without any respect to something which

after,
is
to
follow hereis
can never consist with the nature of a governor who
not very
much
helorv rational
a thought which
God
forbid
any should dare
to
admit of Him."
Woollastoti, Religion
of Nature
delineated, sect. ix.
Section
1.
60Page
151.
k. r.
rw
'Aff)cX/7rw ofsiXofiev
dXtKTpvoya,
X.
A variety
of reasons Lave been assigned for this dying injunction of

Socrates.
The
philosopher has been supposed, by some, to

this
effect,
have made a vow to
after
his
escape from the
carnage in one of his military expeditions.
Others imagine
the words to have been uttered from an impulse of gratitude

to Apollo, (the father of yEsculapius,)
who had pronounced The
Socrates to be the most enlightened of the sons of men.
expression
is
probably figurative
a cock was the usual offerliad
ing to -^sculapius, from those

of disease
;
who
subdued the ravages

to this ciLstom, might,
and Socrates, by an allusion
perhaps, have designed to indicate that the soul, being released
by the great physician, death, from

afflict
all
the disorders which

to its original health
mortality,
would thus be restored
and beauty.
The death
of Socrates took place in the
first
year of the 95th

after his exe-
Olympiad, and the 70th of his age.

cution,
Some time
when
the jealous and angry passions had subsided, the
184
NOTES.
Athenians became sensible of the extreme injustice of the

sentence which deprived their country of
its
brightest orna-
ment; and,
as
is
usual in such cases, sought to atone for their

his principal
own
folly
and cruelty by exacting retribution on
accusers. Melitus
into exile.
was condemned
to die,
all
and the others driven

shai'e in
According
to Plutarch,
who had any

became
all
instigating the charges against him,
objects of the
deepest execration
they were cut off from

;
intercourse with
fire,
the rest of the citizens
none would give them
answer any
questions, or practise any interchange of the rites of hospitality.
A statue
of brass was afterwards decreed to the Philosopher,

it
and executed by the celebrated Lysippus:

one of the most conspicuous places
was erected in
in the city.
The
historian
Eunapius has remarked,
that,
from the death of
Socrates, (as appears by a computation of events,) the Athenians
did nothing considerable
but that, from this period, their

its
affairs
gradually declined, and Greece sunk from

scale of nations.
ascendancy in the
&0
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UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

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Dionysius Longinus - On The Sublime

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^.

V'ucount Parker of Eicelme, and

greatest degree of purity

but whether this translation has any of the

a decision peculiar only to those

grandeur and natural

Sublimity, ivith the same judicious taste as your

the other parts of this

performance, since they

alone can plead effectually for themselves.

animated with a view (f pleas-

ing every body

some fear of Yet I lay hold with pleasure on

Your Lordship s most

and most humble Servant,

without doubt, be expected, that the Reader should

itself first allured

was the main inducement

had slept for several ages,

the dust of libraries,

the middle of die six-

Latin version by Gabriel de Petra I6l2. But the

modern language, was

French one of the

famous Boileau, which, though not always

present translation was finished before I

make Longinus speak

was published by Mr. Welsted,

was very much surprised, upon

only Boileau's translation misrepresented and mangled.

For every beauty

not totally effaced^ and every

to those of the printer)

have since accidentally met with two other English ver;

sions of this Treatise

one by J. Hall, Esq. London, 1652

the other without a name, but printed at

been compared with the French

either of these uliich did not

yield the greatest encouragement to a

than nine years have intervened since the

vised, submitted to the censure of friends,

and amended again

and again by a more attentive study of the

read like an original

I have succeeded in this, the bulk of

but whether the translation be good, or come any thing near

the spirit, the energy of Longinus,

which attend such an undertaking, and

to give the translator the necessary indulgence.

Longinus himself was never accurately enough published,

Dr. Pearce * did him justice

thanks are due to that gen-

tleman, not only for his correct editions, on account of which

whole learned world

indebted to him, but for those anithis translation,

madversions and corrections of

of the remarks and observahis

were drawn up before

not the least in pain about the pertinency of those in-

stances which I have brought from the sacred writers, as well

from some of the