^.
JS/f
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE . i
OEORCxE, EARL OF MACCLESFIELD,
V'ucount Parker of Eicelme, and Baron Parker of Macclesfield.
My Lord,
The greatest degree of purity and splendour
united, that Longinus has for some ages appeared
in, was under the patronage of the late L,ord Mac-
clesfield. A writer of so much spirit and judg-
ment, had a just claim to the protection oj'so ele-
vated a genius, and so judicious an encour^iger of
polite learning. Longinus is now going to appear
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 repre-
sented ; but whether this translation has any of the
original spirit, is a decision peculiar only to those
irho can 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 ; and puhlish it in some fear of
pleasing' none. Yet I lay hold with pleasure on
this opportunity of paying my respects to your
Lordship, atid giving this public proof that
J am,
My Lord,
Your Lordship s most obedient
and most humble Servant,
W1LLL\M SMITH,
PREFACE.
It will, without doubt, be expected, that the Reader should
be made privy to the reasons upon which this Work w as under-
taken, and is now made pubHc. The intrinsic beauty of the
piece itself first allured me to the attempt ; and a regard for
the public, especially for those who might be unable to read
tlie original, was the main inducement to its publication.
The Treatise on the Sublime had slept for several ages,
covered up in the dust of libraries, till the middle of die six-
teenth century. The lirst Latin version by Gabriel de Petra
was printed at Geneva in I6l2. But the first good translation
of it into any modern language, was the French one of the
famous Boileau, which, though not always faithful to the text,
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 make Longinus speak English. The first
translation of him I met with, was published by Mr. Welsted,
in 1724. But I was very much surprised, upon a perusal, to
find it only Boileau's translation misrepresented and mangled.
For every beauty is impaired, if not totally effaced^ and every
error (even 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 Oxford in 1(J08, ar.d
said in the title-page to have been compared with the French
of Boileau. I saw noUiiug in either of these uliich did not
yield the greatest encouragement to a new attempt.
Mo less than nine years have intervened since the finishini;-
VI PREFACE.
oi' this translation, in wliitli space it lias been frequently re-
vised, submitted to the censure of friends, and amended again
and again by a more attentive study of the original. The de-
sign was, if 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 pe-
culiar to men of learning and taste, who alone know the diffi-
culties which attend such an undertaking, and will be impar-
tial enough to give the translator the necessary indulgence.
Longinus himself was never accurately enough published,
nor thoroughly understood, till Dr. Pearce * did him justice in
his late editions at 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 ani-
madversions and corrections of this translation, with which he
so kindly favoured me. Most of the remarks and observa-
tions were drawn up before I had read his Latin notes.
1 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 own country, to illustrate the
criticisms of Longinus. I am only fearful, lest, among the
multiplicity of such as might be had, I may be thought to
have omitted some of the best. I am sensible, that what I
have done, might be done much better ; but if I have the
gouil fortune to contribute a little towards the fixing a true ju-
dicious taste, and enabling my readers to distinguish sense
from sound, grandeur from pomp, and the Sublime from fus-
tian and bombast, 1 shall think my time well spent ; and shall
be ready to submit to the censures of a judge, but shall only
smile at the snarling of what is commonly called a critic.
* Now Lord IVisliop of Rodiester.
Jas. 1770.
CONTENTS.
P;
gr
Some account of the Life, AVritings, and Character
of Longiuus ., 9
Sect. 1. — That CeciUus's treatise on the Snbhnie
is imperfect, and why 44
2. — Whether the Sublime may be learned .... 48
3. — Of Bombast 51
Of Puerilities , 55
Of the Parenthyrse, or ill-timed emotion 5()
4.— Of the Frigid 57
5. — Whence these imperfections take their
rise () 1
6. — That a knowledge of the true Sublime is
attainable 6'Z
7. — How the Sublime may be known ...... 63
8. — That there are live sources of the Sub-
lime 66
9. — Of Elevation of Thought 70
10. — That a choice and connexion of proper
circumstances will produce the Sub-
lime 92
11. — Of Amplification 104
1'2. — That the definition which the writers of
rhetoric give of Ampliiication is im-
proper 1()6
13. — Of Plato's Sublimity 109
Of Imitation , . . . , Ill
14. — That the best authors ought to be our
models in writing 114
15. — Of Images 115
16. — Of Figures 128
17. — That Figures and Sublimity mutually as-
sist one another , 133
18. — Of Question and Interrogation . 135
19. — Of Asyndetons 1 38
20. — Of Heaps of Figures 140
21. — That Copulatives weaken the style 142
Vill CONTENTS.
Pag*-
Sect. 22. — Of Ilyperbatons 144
23. — Of Change of Number 150
24. — That Singulars sometimes cause Sub-
limity 154
25. — Of Change of Tense 155
'2(5. — Of Change of Person 156
27. — Of another Change of Person 159
28. — Of Periphrasis or Circumlocution 163
29. — That Circumlocution carried too far grows
insipid I6G
30.— Of Choice of Terms 167
3 1 .—Of Vulgar Terms I69
32. — Of Multitude of Metaphors 172
33. — That the Sublime, with some faults, is bet-
ter than what is correct and faultless
without being Sublime 180
34. — By the preceding rule Demosthenes and
Hyperides are compared, and the pre-
ference given to the former 184
So. — That Plato is in all respects superior to
Lysias ; and in general, that whatever
is great and uncommon soonest raises
admiration IBQ
36. — Sublime writers considered in a parallel
view 192
S7. — Of Similes and Comparisons ........ 194
38.— Of Hyperboles 195
39. — Of Composition or Structure of Words.. 201
40. — Of apt Connexion of the constituent parts
of discourse 206
41. — That broken and precipitate measines de-
base the Sublime 209
That Words of short syllables are preju-
dicial to the Sublime 210
• - 42. — That Contraction of Style diminishes the
Sublime 210
43. — That low terms blemish the Sublime .... 21]
44. — The scarcity of sublime writers accounted
for 215
SOME ACCOUNT OF THE
LIFE, WRITINGS, ^ CHARACTER,
OF
LONGINUS.
THERE is 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
mankind, and set themselves up to public re-
gard. A particular tribute of admiration is
always due, and is generally paid, to the
hero, the philosopher, and the scholar. It
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
labours of men of a studious and philosophi-
cal turn, though the latter are, for the most
B
10 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
part, more commendable in themselves and
more useful to the world. The imagination
of the bulk of mankind is more alive than
their judgment ; hence C?esar is more ad-
mired for the part he acted in 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 cle-
mency and mildness, than he had before by
his courage and his arms. Deeds which we
can only admire, are not so fit for sedate con-
templation, as those which we may also imi-
tate. We may not be able to plan or execute
a victory with the Scipios and Caesars, but
we may improve and fortify our understand-
ingSy by inspecting their scenes of studj^ and
reflection ; we may apply the contemplations
of the wise to private use, so as to make our
passions obedient to our reason, our reason
productive of inward tranquillity, and some-
times of real and substantial advantage to all
our fellow-creatures.
Such remarks as the preceding can be no
improper introduction to whatever may be
collected concerning the life of our Author,
It will turn out at best but dark and imper-
OF LONGINUS. 11
feet, yet open into two prineipal views, which
may prove of double use to a thoughtful and
considerate reader. As a Writer of a refined
and polished taste, of a sound and penetrat-
ing judgment, it will lead him to such me-
thods of thinking, as are the innocent and
embellishing amusements of life ; as a Philoso-
pher of enlarged and generous sentiments, a
friend to virtue, a steady champion, and an
intrepid martyr for liberty, it will teach him,
that nothing can be great 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
soul. ■ -
Searching for the particular passages and
incidents of the life of Longinus, is like tra-
velling 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 for want of culture, presents itself
to view ; in another, a pile of stones lying in
the same confusion in which they fell, with
here and there a nodding wall ; and some-
times a curious pillar still erect, excites the
V B 2
12 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
sorrowful remembrance of what noble edi-
fices and how fine a city once crowned the
place. Tyrants and barbarians are not less
pernicious to learning and improvement, than
to cities and nations. Bare names are pre-
served and handed down to us, but little
more. Who were the destroyers of all the
rest, wc know with regret, but the value of
what is destroyed, we can only guess and
deplore.
What countryman Longinus
oiiiaas. ^^j^g^ cannot certainly be disco-
J. JonsiKs. 1 o n 1 • o
Dr.Pearce. ^'^^'^^^- ^^me fancy him a Sy-
rian, 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
him an Athenian. That he was a Grecian, is
plain from two * passages in the following
Treatise; in one of which he uses this ex-
pression, " If we Grecians ;'' and in the other
he expressly calls Demosthenes his country-
man. Hisnamewas Dionysius Longinus, to
which Suidas makes the addition of Cassius;
but that of his father is entirely unknown; a
point (it is true) of small importance, since
* See Sect. xii.
OF LONGINUS. 13
a son of excellence and worth, reflects a glory
upon, instead of receiving any from, his father.
By his mother Frontonis he was allied, after
two or three removes, to the celebrated Plu-
tarch. We are also at a loss for the employ-
ment of his parents, their station in life, andthe
beginning of his education ; but a * remnant
of his own 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 enlarge-
ment, which men of sense and judgment will
unavoidably receive, from variety of objects
and diversity of conversation. The improve-
ment of his mind was always uppermost in his
thoughts, and his thirst after knowledge led
him to those channels by which it is con-
veyed. Wherever men of learning were to be
found, he was present, and lost no opportunity
of forming a familiarity and intimacy with
them. Ammonius and Origen, philosophers
of no small repi^'tation in that age, were two
of those whom he visited and heard with the
greatest attention. As he was not deficient
in vivacity of parts, quickness of apprehen-
sion, 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
reservoir of philosophy 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 re-
markable 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
they were written. His cotemporaries there
had such an implicit laith in his judgment,
or LONGINUS. 15
and were so well convinced of the perfection
of his taste, that they appointed him judge
of all the ancient authors, and learned to dis-
tinguish 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 deli-
cate a commission, is an extraordinary in-
stance of complaisance : it is without a pre-
cedent in every age before, and unparalleled
in any of the succeeding ; as it is fit it should,
till another Lonoinus shall arise. But in re-
gard to him, it docs honour to those who
lodged it in his hands. For no classic writer
ever suffered in character from an erroneous
censure of Longinus. He was, as I observed
before, a perfect master of the style and pe-
culiar turn of thought of them all, and could
discern every beauty or blemish in every
composition. In vain might inferior critics
exclaim against this 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
he had formerly thundered ; and was pro-
fessing rhetoric in the place where Cicero had
studied ! r.- 'ii! ;
The mind of our Author was not so con-
OF LONGINUS. 1?
tracted, as to be fit only for a life 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
shine, I will not say in 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
die in the cause of liberty. '— '■'■■' ' ''^
During the residence of Longi- TrebeUius
nus at Athens, the Emperor Va- Pollio. t
lerian had undertaken an expedi- ;
tion against the Persians, who had revolted
from the Roman yoke. He was assisted in
it by Odenathus, king of Palmj^a, 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
a prince of a weak and effeminate soul, of the
most dissolute and abandoned manners, with-
out 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
ner in empire by the title of Augustus, and
decreed his medals, strucken in honour of the
Persian victories, to be current coin through-
out 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 illustrious,
that they were above the competition of every
person then alive, except his own wife Ze-
nobia, alady of so extraordinary magnanimity
and virtue, that she outshone even her hus-
band, and engrossed the attention and admi-
ration 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. A miracle of beauty, but chaste
to a prodigy : in punishing the bad, inflexibly
severe ; in rewarding the good, or relieving
the distressed, benevolent and active. Splen-
did, but not profuse ; and generous without
prodigality. Superior to the toils and hard-
ships of war, she was generally on horseback ;
and would sometimes march on foot with
her soldiers. She was skilled in several lan-
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
the vacant hours of her life, modelling her
sentiments by his instructions, and steering
herself 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 com-
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 con-
quests, by an uncommon tide of success, over
all the East. Claudius, who succeeded Gal-
lienus at Rome, was employed during his
whole reign, which was very short, against
the Northern nations. Their reduction was
afterwards completed by Aurelian, the great-
20 THE LITE AND WRITINGS
est soldier that had for a long time worn the
imperial purple. He then turned his arms
against Zenobia, being surprised as well at the
rapidity of" her conquests, as enraged that she
had dared to assume the title of Queen of
the East. • -
Tr • He marched a2;ainst her with
f opiscus. *
Zosimus. the best of his forces, and met with
no check in his expedition till 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 com-
pelled to retire towards her capital, Palmyra.
As the town was strongly fortified, and the
inhabitants full of zeal for her service, and
affection for her person, she made no doubt
of defending herself here, in spite of the
warmest efforts of Aurelian, till she could
OF LONGINUS. 21
raise new forces, and venture again into the
open field. Aurelian was not long behind,
his activity impelled him forwards, to crown
his former success, by completing the con-
quest of Zenobia. His march was terribly
harassed by the frequent attacks of the Sy-
rian banditti ; and when he came up, he
found Palmyra so strongly fortified and so
bravely defended, that though he invested it
with his army, yet the siege was attended
with a thousand difficulties. His army was
daily weakened and dispirited by the gallant
resistance of the Palmyrenians, and his own
life 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 sur-
render, 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 I forced to command, what
you ought voluntarily to have done already ?
I charge you to surrender, and thereby
22 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
avoid the certain penalty of death, which
otherwise attends you. 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,
your silver, your gold, your finest apparel,
your horses, and your camels, you shall re-
sign to the disposal of the Romans, in order
to preserve the Palmyrenians from being di-
vested of all 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. 23
valour. You imperiously command me to
surrender ; but can you forget, that Cleo-
patra chose rather to die with the title of
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
a conjunction of these forces. You shall be
compelled to abate that pride, with which,
as if you were absolute lord of the universe,
you command me to become your captive."
Aurelian, says Vopiscus, had no sooner
read this disdainful letter, than he blushed
(not so much with shame, as) with indigna-
tion. He redoubled his efforts, invested the
town more closely than ever, and kept it in
continual alarms. No art 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 to its relief. He
reduced the Saracen and Armenian forces,
either 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 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
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. Mounted on the
swiftest camels, they endeavoured to fly into
Persia, to make fresh head against Aurelian,
who entering the city was vexed to find his vic-
tory imperfect, and Zenobia yet unsubdued.
A body of the swiftest horse was immediately
dispatched in pursuit, who overtook and
made them prisoners as they were
Zosimus. crossing the Euphrates. Aure-
lian, after 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. The Ro-
man soldiers throng around her, and demand
her death with incessant shouts. Zenobia
now was no longer herself: the former great-
ness of her spirit quite sunk within her ; she
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 art-
ful and ambitious men, who made her sub-
servient to all their schemes ? She never had
aimed at empire, had they not placed it be-
fore her eyes in all its alkirements, The let-
OF LONGINUS. 25
ter which affronted Aurelian was not her
own ; Longinus wrote it, the insolence was
his." This was no sooner heard, than Aure-
lian, who was soldier 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,
amidst the generous condolence of those who
knew his merit, and admired the inward ge-
nerosity of his soul. He pitied Zenobia, and
comforted his friends. He looked upon death
as a blessing, since it rescued his body from
slavery, and gave his soul the most desirable
freedom. " This world (said he with his ex-
piring breath) is nothing but a prison ;
happy therefore he who gets soonest out of
it, and gains his liberty.'" • v 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. And even this is rescued as from
a wreck, damaged too much and shattered
by the' storm. Yet on this little and im-
perfect piece has the fame of Longinus been
founded and erected. The learned and judi-
c
26 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
cious have bestowed extraordinary commen-
dation upon it. The Golden Treatise is its
general title. It is one of those valuable rem-
nants of antiquity, of which enough remains
to engage our admiration, and excite an
earnest regret for every particle of it that
has perished. It resembles those mutilated
statues, which are sometimes digged out of
ruins. Limbs are broken off, which it is not
in the power of any living artist to replace,
because the fine proportion and delicate
finishing of the trunk excludes all hope of
equalling such masterly performances. From
a constant inspection and close study of
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
be made of this imperfect piece on the Sub-
lime, since it is a noble school for critics,
poets, orators, and historians.
" The Subhme,'' says Longinus, " is an
image reflected from the inward greatness
of the soul." The remark is refined and jusl ,
and who more deserving than he of its appli-
cation ? Let his sentiments be considered
as reflections from his own mind ; let this
piece on the Sublime be regarded as the
OF LONGINUS. 27
picture of its autlior. 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.
The features are graceful, the air is noble,
the colouring lively enough to shew how fine
it was, and how many qualifications are ne-
cessary to form the character of a critic with
dignity and applause.
Elevation of thought, the greatest qualifi-
cation requisite to an orator or poet, is
equally necessary to a critic, and is the most
shining talent in Longinus. Nature had im-
planted the seeds of it within him, which he
himself improved and nursed up to perfec-
tion, by an intimacy with the greatest and
sublimest writers. AVhenever he has Homer
in view, he catches his fire, and increases the
light and ardour of it. The space between
heaven and earth marks out the extent of the
poet's genius; but the world itself seems too
narrow a confinement for that of the critic*
And though his thoughts 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 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
or durst have said, and always proper and
judicious.
As his sentiments are noble and lofty, so
his style is masterly, enlivened by variety,
and flexible with ease. There is no beauty
pointed out by him in any other, which he
does not imitate, and frequently excel, Avhilst
he is making remarks upon it. How he ad-
mires and improves upon Homer, has been
hinted already. When Plato is his subject,
the words glide along in a smooth, easy, and
peaceable flow. When he speaks of Hype-
rides, he copies at once his engaging manner,
the simplicity, sweetness, and harmony of his
style. With Demosthenes he is vehement,
abrupt, and disorderly regular; he dazzles
with his lightning, and terrifies with his thun-
der. When he parallels the Greek with the
Roman orator, he shews in two periods the
distinguishing excellences of each; the first
is a very hurricane, which bears down all be-
fore it; the last, a conflagration, gentle in its
beginning, gradually dispersed, 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 LONG IN US. i '< 29
His judgment is exact and impartial, both
in what he blames and what he commends.
The sentence he pronounces is founded upon
and supported by reasons which are satisfac-
tory and just. His approbation is not at-
tended with fits of stupid admiration, or
gaping, like an idiot, at something surprising
which he cannot comprehend ; nor are his
censures fretful and waspish. He stings, like
the bee, what actually annoys him; but car-
ries 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 to
reprove what was amiss ; 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. Where Homer
sinks into trifles, he cannot help reproving
him ; but though Homer nods sometimes, he
is Homer still ; excelling all the world when
broad awake, and in his fits of drowsiness,
dreaming like a god.
The good-nature, also, of Longinus must
not pass without notice. He bore an aversion
to the sneers and cavils of those who, un-
30 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
equal to the weighty province of criticism,
abuse it, and become its nuisance. He fre-
quently takes pains to shew how misplaced
their animadversions are, and to defend the
injured from aspersions. There is an in-
stance of this in his vindication of Theopom-
pus from the censure of Cecilius.* He can-
not endure to see what is right in that author
perverted into error; nor where he really
errs, will he sufi^er him to pass unreproved.-i-*
Yet here his good-nature exerts itself again,
and he proposes divers methods of amending
what is wrong.
The judgment, and candour, and impar-
tiality, with which Longinus declares his sen-
timents 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 ho-
nourable to the critic, as the quotation itself
to the Jewish legislator. Whether he believed
the Mosaic history of the creation, is a point
in which we are not in the least concerned;
but it was plainly his opinion, that though it
be condescendingly suited to the finite con-
^ * Sect. xxxi. t Sect, xliii. I Sect. ix.
OF LONGINUS. 31
ception of man, yet it is related in a 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 through-
out the Roman empire, long before the time
in which he lived : and no man of a serious,
much less of a philosophical turn, could re-
ject it as unworthy a perusal. Besides, Zeno-
bia, according to the testimony of Photius,*
was a Jewish convert. And I have some-
where seen it mentioned from Bellarmine,
that she was a Christian; but as I am a
stranger to the reasons on which he founds
the assertion, I shall lay no stress upon it.
But there is strong probability, that Lon-
ginus was not only acquainted with the writ-
ings of the Old Testament, but with those
also of the New, since to a manuscript of
the latter in the Vatican library, there is pre-
fixed a passage from some of this Author's
writings, which is preserved there as an in-
stance of his judgment. He is drawing up
a list of the greatest orators, and at the close
he says, " And further, Paul of Tarsus, the
chief supporter of an opinion not yet esta-
Piefixcd to Uudbon's Lon<iimis.
33 THE LITE AND WKITINGS
blished/' Fabricius, I own, has been so offi-
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
high opinion of him. 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? Demos-
thenes could rouse up the Athenians against
Philip, and Cicero strike shame and confusion
into the breasts of Antony or Catiline ; and
did not the eloquence of St. Paul, though
bound in degrading fetters, make the oppres-
sive, the abandoned Felix treuible, and al-
most persuade Agrippa, in spite of all his
prejudice, to be a Christian? Homer, after
his death, was looked upon as more than hu-
man, and temples were erected to his honom' ;
and was not St. Paul admired as a god, even
whilst he 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. 33
severest test of the severest critics, and they
cannot be found deficient; nay, they will
appear more abundantly stocked with sub-
lime and pathetic thoughts, wnth strong and
beautiful figures, with nervous and elegant
expressions, than any other composition in
the world.
But, to leave this digression : it is a remark
of Sir William Temple, that no pure Greek
was written after the reign of the Antonini.
But the diction of Longinus, though less
pure than that of Aristotle, is 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 and expressive, and sometimes so
artfully 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
writer, 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 uni-
formly supported by the grandeur of the
former. / , . / rJ : ;;jf ;r i .
But further, there appears not in him the
least show or afiectation oi Icainino-, thoui^h
34 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
his stock was wonderfully large, yet without
any prejudice to the brightness of his fancy.
Some writers are even profuse of their com-
mendations of him in this respect. For how
extensive must his reading have been, to de-
serve those appellations given him by Euna-
pius, that he was a living library, and a walk-
ing museiim? Large reading, without a due
balance of judgment, is like a voracious ap-
petite with a bad digestion ; it breaks out
according to the natural complexion of difter-
ent persons, either into learned dulness, or a
brisk but insipid pedantry. 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 little here, and consider what
a disagreeable and shocking contrast there
is between the genius, the taste, the candour,
the good-nature, the generosity, and modesty
of Longinus, and the heaviness, the dulness,
the snarling and sneering temper of modern
critics, who can feast on inadvertent slips,
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. 35
lences he is pointing out. Theirs are often
inversions of what is 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 a
Dunciad, than for judges of fine sense and
fine writing. The business of a critic is not
only to find fault, nor to be all bitterness and
gall. Yet such behaviour, in those who have
usurped the name, has brought the office into
scandal and contempt. An Essay on Criti-
cism appears but once in an age ; and what
a tedious interval is there between Longinus
and Mr. Addison! - -u
Having traced our Author thus far as a cri-
tic, we must view him now in another light,
I mean as a Philosopher. In him these are
not different, but mutually depending and co-
existing parts of the same character. To
judge in a worthy manner of the performances
of men, we must know the dignity of human
nature, the reach of the human understand-
ing, the ends for which we were created, and
the means of their attainment. In these spe-
culations Longinus will make no contempt-
36 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
ible figure, and I hope the view will not ap-
pear superfluous or useless.
•^ Man cannot arrive to a just and proper un-
^ derstanding of himself, without worthy no-
tions of the Supreme Being. The sad depra-
vations of the pagan world are chiefly to be
attributed to 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
to have turned the imaginary gods of his ido-
latrous countrymen into ridicule, he could
hardly have taken a better method. Yet what
he has said has never been understood in that
light ; and though the whole may be allego-
rical, as his commentators would fain per-
suade us, yet this will be no excuse for the
malignancy of its effects on a superstitious
world. The discourses of Socrates, and the
writings of Plato, had in a great measure cor-
rected the notions of inquisitive and thought-
ful men in this particular, and caused the
distinction of religion into vulgar and philoso-
phical. By what Longinus has said of Ho-
mer, it is plain to me, that his religion was
OF LONGINUS. 3?
of the latter sort. Though we allow him not
to be a Christian or a Jewish convert, yet he
was no idolater, since without a knowledge
and reverence of the Divine perfections, he
never could have formed his noble ideas of
human nature. . f
This life he considers as a public theatre,
on which men are to act their parts. A thirst
after glory, and an emulation of whatever is
great and excellent, is 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
of the human understanding ; to these he
ascribes the labours of men of genius ; and by
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 v\ND WRITINGS
with attention, will form notions of them both
very much to their honour.
Yet telling us we were born to pursue what
is great, without informing us what is 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
applause. He that suffers himself to be daz-
zled with a 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 pa-
geantry and pomp of life will be regarded by
such a person as true honour and glory ; and
he will neglect the nobler acquisitions, which
are more suited to the dignity of his nature,
which alone can give merit to ambition, and
centre in solid and substantial grandeur.
The mind is the source and standard of
whatever can be considered as great and illus-
trious in any light. From this our actions
and our words must flow, and by this must
they be weighed. We nmst think well, be-
fore we can act or speak as we ought. And
it is 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 is chiefly owing to the bounty of
nature, is cherished and improved by educa-
tion, but cannot reach maturity without other
concurrent causes, such as public liberty,
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. But the im-
portance of liberty in bringing it to perfec-
tion, may perhaps be more liable to debate.
Longinus is clear on the affirmative side. He
speaks feelingly, but with caution about it,
because tyranny and oppression were tri-
umphant at the time he wrote.
He avers, with a spirit of generous indig- -^
nation, that slavery is the confinement of the ,
soul, and a public dungeon. =>*= On this he ""^
charges the suppression of genius and decay ( \
of the sublime. The condition of man is de-
plorable, when he dares not exert his abili-
ties, and runs into imminent danger by say-
* Sect. xliv. ^ ' - ■ •'" '" .
V
40 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
ing or doing what he ought. Tyranny, erect-
ed on the ruins of liberty, lays an immediate
restraint on the minds of vassals, so that the
inborn fire of genius is quickly damped, and
suffers at last a total extinction. This must
always be a necessary consequence, when
what ouo^ht to be the reward of an honour-
able ambition becomes the prey of knaves
and flatterers. But the infection gradually
spreads, and fear and avarice will bend those
to it, whom nature formed for higher employ-
ments, and sink lofty orators into pompous
flatterers. The truth of this remark will
easily appear, if we compare Cicero speak-
ing to Catiline, to the same Cicero pleading
before Caesar for Marcellus. That spirit of
adulation, which prevailed so 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. And
this will be the case wherever power en-
croaches on the rights of mankind : a servile
fear will clog and fetter every rising genius,
will strike such an awe upon it in its tender
and infant state, as will stick for ever after,
and check its generous sallies. No one will
write or speak well in such a situation, unless
^on 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
power is generally obtained, so it is as often
supported by unjustifiable methods. The
splendid and ostentatious pageantry of those
at the helm, gives rise to luxury and profuse-
ness among the subjects. These are the fatal
sources of dissolute manners, of degenerate
sentiments, of infamy and want. As plea-
sure is supplied by money, no method, how-
ever mean, is omitted to procure the latter,
because it leads to the enjoyment of the for-
mer. Men become corrupt and abject, their
minds are enervated and insensible to shame.
" The faculties of the soul (in the words of
Longinus) * will then grow stupid, their spirit •
will be lost, and good sense and genius must \
lay in ruins, when the care and study of man \|
is engaged about the mortal, the worthless j
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.
D
4^ THE LIFE AND WRITINGS
can never exert itself, or rise to sublimity,
where virtue is neglected, and the morals are
depraved. Cicero was of the same opinion
before him, and Quinctilian has a whole
chapter to prove that the great orator must
be a good man. Men of the finest genius,
who have hitherto appeared in the world,
have been for the most part not very de-
fective in their morals, and less in their prin-
ciples. I am sensible there are exceptions
to this observation, but little to the credit of
the persons, since their works become the se-
verest satires on themselves, and the manifest
opposition between their thought and prac-
tice detracts its weight from the one, and
marks out the other for public abhorrence.
An inward grandeur of soul is the common
centre, from whence every ray of sublimity,
either in thought, or action, or discourse, is
darted out. For all minds are no more of the
same complexion, than all bodies of the same
texture. In the latter case, our eyes would
meet only with the same uniformity of colour
in every object : in the former, we should be
all orators or poets, all philosophers, or all
blockheads. This would break in upon that
beautiful and useful variety, with which the
Author of nature has adorned the rational as
OF LONGINUS. 43
well as the material creation. There is in
every mind a tendency, though perhaps dif-
ferently inclined, to what is great and excel-
lent. Happy they, who know their own pe-
culiar bent, who have been blessed with op-
portunities of giving it the proper culture
and polish, and are not cramped or restrained
in the liberty of shewing and declaring it to
others ! There are many fortunate concur-
rences, without which we cannot attain to any
quickness of taste or rehsh for the Sublime.
I hope what has been said will not be
thought an improper introduction to the fol-
lowing Treatise, in which (unless I am de-
ceived) there is a just foundation for every re-
mark that has been made. The Author ap-
pears sublime in every view, not only in
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
Critics, and by no worse judge than Boileau
esteemed a philosopher, worthy to be ranked
with Socrates and Cato.
;',' J:'.'i.
I) 2!
nk
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME,
SECTION I.
You remember, my dear ^Terentianus,
that when we read over together ^ Cecihus's
Treatise on the Sublime, we thought it too
mean for a subject of that nature, that it is
entirely defective in its principal branches,
and that consequently its advantage (which
ought to be the principal aim of ever}" writer)
1 Who this Terentiauus, or Posthumius Terentianus, was,
to whom the Author addresses this Treatise, is not possible to
be discovered, nor is it of any great importance. But it ap-
pears, from some passages in the sequel of this work, that he
was a young Roman, a person of a bright genius, an elegant
taste, and a particular friend to Longinus. What he says of
him, I am confident, was spoken witli sincerity more than
complaisance, since Longinus must have disdained to flatter,
like a modern dedicator.
^ Cecilius was a Sicilian rhetorician. He lived under
Augustus, and was cotemporary with Dionysius of Halicar-
nassus, with whom he contracted a very close friendship. He
is thought to have been the first who wrote on the Sublime.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 45
would prove very small to the readers. Be-
sides, though in every treatise upon any sci-
ence 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 it is
far the 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 umie-
cessary, the method which, judiciously ob-
served, might enable us to raise our natural
genius to any height of this Sublime. But,
perhaps, this writer is not so much to be
blamed for his omissions, as commended for
his good designs and earnest endeavours.
You indeed have laid your commands upon
me, to give you my thoughts on this Sub-
lime; let us then, in obedience to those com-
mands, consider whether any thing can be
drawn from my private studies, for the ser-
vice of ^ those who write for the w^orld, or
speak in pubUc. , .
^ " Those who write for the world, or speak in public."] I
take all this to be implied in the original word Tru\i-it:oiv.
46 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
- !But I request you, tny dear friend, to give
m<b jour opinion on whatever I advance, with
that exactness, which is due to truth, and
that sincerity which is natural to yourselfi
For well did the * sage answer the question,
" In what do we most resemble the gods?"
when he replied, " In doing good and speak-
ing truth/' But since I write, my dear
friend, to you, who are versed in every
branch of polite learning, there will be little
occasion to use many previous words in prov-
V ing, that the Sublime is a certain eminence
or perfection of language, and that the great-
est writers, both in verse and prose, have by
this alone obtained the prize of glory, and
filled all time with their renown. For the
Sublime not only persuades, but even throws
^ an audience into transport. The Marvellous
always works with more surprising force than
that which barely persuades or delights. In
^ most cases, it is wholly in our own power
either to resist or yield to persuasion. But
the Sublime, endued with strength irresisti-
' ble, strikes home, and triumphs over every
hearer. 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 season-
ably addressed, with the rapid force of light-
ning has borne down all before it, and shewn
at one stroke the compacted might of genius.
But these, and truths like these, so well
known and familiar to himself, I am confi-
dent my dear Terentianus can undeniably
prove by his own practice.
* " The Sublime, when seasonably addressed," &c.] This
sentence is 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 is possessed of all the sublimity of his
subject. Accordingly, in this passage, to express the power
of the Sublime, he has made use of his words, with all the art
and propriety imaginable. Another writer would have said
^lacpopfi and eyleiKi'vrai^hut this had been too dull and languid.
Our Author uses the preterperfect tense, the better to express
the power and rapidity with which sublimity of discourse
strikes the minds of its hearers. It is like lightning (says our
Author) because you can no more look upon this, when pre-
sent, than you can upon the flash of that. Besides, the struc-
ture of the words in the close of the sentence is admirable.
They run along, and are hurried in the celerity of short
vowels. They represent to the life the rapid motion either of
lightning, or the Sublime."
48 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
SECTION II.
But we ought not to advance, before we
clear the point, whether or no there be any
art in the Subhme.^ For some are entirely
of opinion, that they are guilty of a great
mistake, who would reduce it to the rules of
^ art. " The Sublime (say they) is born within
us, and is not to be learned by precept. The
only art to reach it, is, to have the power
from nature. And (as they reason) those ef-
fects, which should be purely natural, are
^ In all the editions is added ?; fiaQovQ, or the profound : a
perplexing expression, and which perhaps gave rise to a trea-
tise on the Bathos. It was purposely omitted in the transla-
tion, for this plain substantial reason, because I could not
make sense of it. I have since been favoured ^vith a sight of
the learned Dr. Tonstal's conjectural emendations on this
Author, and liere for fiadovg he readeth li-aOovQ. The minute
alteration of a single letter enlightens and clears the whole
passage : the context, the whole tenor of the piece, justifies
the emendation. 1 beg leave therefore to give the following
new version of the passage : — " Butwe ou^ht not to advance,
before we clear the point, whether or no there be any art in
the Sublime or the Pathetic. Tor some are entirely of opinion,
that they are guilty of a great mistake, who would reduce them
to the rules of art. These high attainments (say they) are
lioin within u.s, and are nut to be learned by precept: the only
art to reach ihcni, is to have the })o\vcr from nature."
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 49
dispirited and weakened by the dry impover- ^,
ishing rules of art."
But I maintain, that the contrary might
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
of Mr. Pope, are a very proper illustration for one another:
First follow nature, and your judgment frame ' ,
By her just standard, which is still the same:
Unerring nature, still divinely bright,
One clear, unchang'd, and universal light, ' i ;a':-i.;
Life, force, and beauty must to all imj^art, ; [ j r, j » j -
At once the source, and end, and test of art. - - j
Art from Uiat fund each just supply provides.
Works without show, and without pomp presides : ' ' ^■
In some fair body thus the secret soul .'.j;;'> V^:
With spirits feeds, with vigour lills the whole; '.•,,■
liach motion guides, and every nerve sustains,
Itself unseen, but in th' effect remains.
There are, whom Ileav'n has bless'd with store of wit.
Yet want as much again to manage it ; '
For wit and judgment ever are at strife, : , .
Thou2;h meant each other's aid, like man and wife. '•'■■'
'Tis more to guide, than spur the muse's steed.
Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed ;
The winged courser, like a generous horse, ^^ ■'' ''
Shews most true mettle when you check his course. j
' : , •• ;, ; , ;? . / \ ^ r £ssin/ on Ci iiuism.
50 LONGINUS ON TTIE SUBLIMK.
/ ther lawless, but delights in a proper regula-
tion. That again — though she is the founda-
tion, 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.
And further — that flights of grandeur^are
then in the utmost danger, when left at ran-
dom to themselves, having no ballast proper-
ly to poise, no hehu to guide their course,
but cumbered with their own weight, and
^ bold without discretion. Genius may some-
^ times want the spur, but it stands as fre-
quently in need of the curb.
Demosthenes somewhere judiciously ob-
serves, " That in common life success is the
greatest good ; that the next, and no less im-
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
success, and art the place of conduct.
But further, there is one thing which de-
serves particular attention. For though it
must be owned, that there is a force in elo-
(juence, which depends not upon, nor can be
learned by, rule, yet even this could not be
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 51
known without that hght which we receive
from art. If, therefore, as I said before, he
who condemns such Avorks as this in which I
am now engaged, would attend to these re-
flections, I have very good reason to beheve
he would no longer think any undertaking of
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,
And into embers turn his crackling dome. > ^ J;
But now a generous song I 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 bom-
bast, 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 "'\ Shakespeare has fallen into
the same kind of bombast :
the southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to hi? purposes.
Firi^t Part of Henri/ IF.
52 LONGINUS CN THE SUBLIME.
such-like expressions, are not tragical, but
super-tragical. For those forced and unna-
tural images corrupt and debase the style,
and cannot possibly adorn or raise it ; and
whenever carefully examined in the light,
their show of being terrible gradually disap-
pears, and they become contemptible and ri-
diculous. Tragedy will indeed by its nature
admit of some pompous and magnificent
swellings, yet even in tragedy it is an unpar-
donable offence to soar too high; much less
allowable must it therefore be in prose-writ-
ino-, 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, and father of the Sophists. He was in snch uni-
versal esteem throughout Greece, that a statue was erected to
his lionour in the temple of Apollo at Delphos, of sohd gold,
though liie custom had been only to gild them. His styling
Xerxes the Persian Jupiter, it is thought, may be defended
from the custom of the Persians to salute their monarch by
that high title. Calling vultures living sepulchres, has been
more severely censured by Hermogenes than Longinus. The
authors of such quaint expressions (as he says) deserve them-
selves 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
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 53
who styles Xerxes the Persian Jupiter, and
calls vultures Uving sepulchres. Some expres-
sions of ^Callisthenes deserve the same treat-
ment, for they shine not like stars, but glare
like meteors. And ^ Chtarchus comes under
this censure still more, who blusters indeed,
and blows, as Sophocles expresses it,
Loud sounding blasts not sweetened by the stop. • .''
^ Amphicrates, ^ Hegesias, and ^ Matris,
styled those wild beasts that devour men, runnwg sepulcin cs.
However, at best they are but conceits, with which little wits
in all ages will be delighted, the great may accidentally slip
into, and such as men of true judgment may overlook, but will
hardly commend. • •. ; n % ■':■■
* Callisthenes succeeded Aristotle in the tuition of Alexan-
der the Great, and wrote a history of the affairs of Greece.
^ Clitarchus wrote an account of the exploits of Alexander
the Great, having attended him in his expeditions. Deme-
trius Phalereus, in his treatise on Elocution, has censured his
swelling description of a wasp. " It feeds (says he) upon
the mountains, and flies into hollow oaks." It seems as if he
was speaking of a wild bull, or the boar of Erymanthus, and
not of such a piriful creature as a wasp. And for this reason,
says Demetrius, the description is cold and disagreeable.
^ Amphicrates was an Athenian orator. Being banished
to Seleucia, and requested to set up a school there, he replied,
with arrogance and disdain, that " The dish was not luge
enough for dolphins." Dr. Pearce.
"^ Hegesias was a Magnesian. Cicero, in his Orator, c.
226, says humorously of him, " He is faidty no less in his
54 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
niaj all be taxed with the same imperfections.
For often, when, in their own opinion, they
are all Divine, what they imagine to be god-
like spirit, proves empty simple froth .^
Bombast however is amongst those faults
which are most difficult to be avoided. All
thoughts than his expressions, so that no one who has any
knowledge of him need ever be at a loss for a man to call im-
pertinent." 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 turn that accident
to his honour: *' No wonder (said he) that Diana's temple
was consumed by so terrible a conflagration : the goddess was
so taken up in assisting at Olinthia's delivery of Alexander,
that she had no leisure to extinguish the flames which were
destroying her temple." " The coldness of this expression
(says Plutarch in Alex.) is so excessively great, that it seems
sufticient of itself to have extinguished the fire of the temple."
I wonder Plutarch, who has given so little quarter to He-
gesias, has himself escaped censure, till Dr. Pearce took cog-
nizance of him. " Dulness (says he) is sometimes infectious ;
for while Plutarch is censuring Hegesias, he falls into his very
character."
^ Who ^Nlatris was 1 cannot find, but commentators observe
from Athenagus, that he wrote in prose an Encomium upon
Hercules.
9 Vid. Cic. I. 4. Rhetoricorum, p. 97. ed. Delph. vol. 1.
What is said there about the Suffiata constructio verborum,
agrees very exactly with Longinus's sense of the bombast.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 55
men are naturally biassed to aim at grandeur. ^
Hence it is, that by shunning with the ut-
most diligence the censure of impotence and
phlegm, they are hurried into the contrary '
exjreme. They are mindful of the maxim, that
In great attempts 'tis glorious ev'n to fall.
i- ■■','/■■
But tumours in writing, as well as in the hu-
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. " Nothing,"
according to the old saying, " is drier than a
person distempered with a dropsy."' . •'
Now the only failure in this swoln and
puffed-up style is, that it endeavours to go
beyond the true Sublime, whereas Puerilities
are directly o|)posite to it. They are low and
grovelling, 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 school-
boy's thought, which, by too eager a pursuit
of elegance, becomes dry and insipid. And
those persons commonly fail in this particular^ '
56 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
who, by an ill-managed zeal for a neat, cor-
rect, 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 ^^Theodo-
Rus has named the Parenthyrse, or an ill-
/ timed emotion. It is an unnecessary attempt -,
/ to work upon the passions, where there is no
\ need of a Pathos ; or some excess, where mo-
deration is requisite. For several authors, of
no sober understandings, are excessively fond
^ of passionate expressions, which bear no rela-
tion 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 emo-
tion, whilst their audience is calm, sedate,
and unmoved. But I must reserve the Pa-
thetic for another place.
^° Theodorus is ihouglit to have been born at Gaclara, and
to have taught at Rhodes. Tiberius Ctesar, according to
Quinclilian, is reported to have heard him with apphcation,
during his retirement in that island. — Langbahie.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 57
SECTION IV.
^TiMiEus abounds very much in the Fri-
gicl> the other vice of which I am speaking;
a writer, it is true, sufficiently skilled in
other points, and who sometimes reaches the
genuine Sublime. He was indeed a person
of a ready invention, polite learning, and a
great fertility and strength of thought. But
these qualifications are, in a great measure,
clouded by the propensity he has to blazon
the imperfections of others, and a wilful blind-
ness in regard to his own ; though a fond de-
sire of new thou2;hts and uncommon turns
has often plunged him into shameful Puerili-
ties. 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 commends Alexander the Great,
he tells us, ** that he conquered all Asia in
* Timffius was a Sicilian historian. Cicero has sketched a
short character of him in his Orator, /. 2. c. 14. whicli agrees
very well with the favourable part of that which is drawn in
this 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 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
fewer years than Isocrates was composing his
Panegyric/' A wonderful parallel indeed, be-
tween the conqueror of the world and a profes-
sor of rhetoric ! By your method of compu-
tation, Timaeus, the Lacedemonians fall 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 ;
and what is somewhat extraordinary, by Her-
mocrates the son of Hermon, who was pater-
nally descended from the injured deity/' Re-
ally, my Terentianus, I am surprised that
he has not passed the same censure on Diony-
sius the tyrant ; " who, for his heinous impiety
towards Jupiter (or Dia) and Hercules (He-
raclea), was dethroned by Dion and Ilera-
clides/'
Why should I dwell any longer upon Ti-
maeus, when even the very heroes of good
writing, Xenophon and Plato, though edu-
cated in the school of Socrates, sometimes
forget themselves, and transgress through an
affectation of such pretty flourishes ? The
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 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 ^ than the ^ virgins in their
eyes." Am phi crates might, perhaps, be al-
lowed to use the term of modest tirgins for
the impils of the eye; but what an indecency
is it in the great Xenophon ? And what a
2 " Than the virgins in their eyes."] Xenophon, in this
passage, is 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
directly before them." Hence it was, that they differed from
statues only in their motion. But undoubtedly that turn upon
the word Kopn, here blamed by Longinus, M'ould be a great
blemish to this fnie piece, if it were justly chargeable on the
author. But Longinus must needs have made use of a very
incorrect copy, which, by an unpardonable blunder, had tv
Toig o(/j0aX/iO(c instead of ev tolq ^aXafiotg^ as it 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 : " You would think
them more modest in their whole behaviour, than virgins in
the bridal bed."
^ 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 is no where more visible
than in the eyes of some? Homer, for in-
stance, calls a person,
Drunkard ! thou dog in eye ! *
-ii. '_-: *
Timaeus, as if he had found a treasure^ could
not pass by this insipid turn of Xenophon
without imitation. Accordingly he speaks
thus of Agathocles : " He ravished his own
cousin, though married to another person, 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,
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 — a veil."] All this is implied in the
word apaKa\virrt]piu)v . It was the custom throughout Greece,
and the Grecian colonies, for the unmarried women never to
appear in public, or to converse with men, without a veil.
The second or third day after marriage, it was usual for the
bridegroom to make presents to his bride, which were called
at'UKuXvTrrripM, for then she immediately unveiled, and liberty
was giveu him to converse freely with her ever after.
.?; See Potto's Antiquities, v. ii. p. 294-5.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 6l
written, they deposit in the temples these cy-
press memorials/'* And in another passage ;
" As to the walls, Megillus, I join in the opi-
nion of Sparta, to let them sleep supine on the
earth, and not to rouse them up/'-f Neither
does an expression of Herodotus fall short of
it,^ when he calls beautiful women, " the pains
of the eye/'J Though this indeed may admit
of some excuse, since in his history it is spoken
by drunken barbarians. But neither in such
a case, is it prudent to hazard the censure of
posterity, rather than pass oyer a pretty con-
ceit.
SECTION V. ' "';'':
All these and such-like indecencies in
composition take their rise from the same ori-
* Plato 5. Legum. + Plato 6. Legum.
^ " When he calls — of the eye."] The critics are strangely
divided about the justice of this remark. Authorities are urged,
and parallel expressions quoted on both sides. Longinus
blames it, but afterwards candidly alleges the only plea
which can be urged in its favour, that it was said by drunken
barbarians. And who, but such sots, would have giren the
most delightful objects in nature so rude and uncivil an appel-
lation ? 1 appeal to the ladies for the propriety of this ob-
servation. ' ■ . ,' ' ■■ • ■ h •--
I Herod. Terpsichore, c. 18. •. , •,'
62 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
ginal ; I mean that eager pursuit of uncom^
mon turns of thought, which almost infatu- '^
ates the writers of the present age. For our
excellences and defects flow almost from the
same common source. So that those correct
and elegant, those pompous and beautiful ex-
pressions, of which good writing chiefly con-
sists, are frequently so distorted as to become
the unlucky causes and foundations of oppo-
site blemishes. This is manifest in hyperboles
and plurals ; 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
speak truly, is by no means an easy, or a
ready acquisition. To pass a right judgment
upon composition is generally the effect of a
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 63
long experience, and the last improvement of
study and observation. But however, to speak
in the way of encouragement, a more _expe-
ditious method to form om' taste, may per-
haps, by the assistance of Rules, be success-
fully attempted.
SECTION VII.
You cannot be ignorant, my dearest friend,
that in common life there is nothing great, a
contempt of which shews a greatness of soul.
So riches, honours, titles, crowns, and what-
ever 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, since by despising such things no little
glory is acquired. For the persons who have.^
ability sufficient to acquire, but through anf
inward generosity scorn such acquisitions, are|_
more admired than those who actually pos-J
sess 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
only appearance. - We must divest it of all
64 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
superficial pomp and garnish. If it cannot
stand this trial, without doubt it is 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
Sublime, and so sensibly affected with its live-
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 trans-
ports 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, upon hearing this passage, cried
out, Foila le Sublime ! voi/d son veritable caraclere!
* " This is a very fine description of the Sublime, and
finer still, because it is very sublime itself. But it is only a
description ; and it does not appear that Longinus intended,
any where in this Treatise, to give an exact definition of it.
The reason is, because he wrote after Cecilius, who (as he
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 65
on the contrary is grand and lofty, which the
more we consider, the greater ideas we con-
ceive of it; whose force we cannot possibly
withstand ; which immediately sinks deep,
and makes such impressions on the mind as
tells us) had employed all his book, in defining and shewing
M'hat the Sublime is. But since this book of Cecilius is lost,
I believe it will not be amiss to venture here a detinition of it
my own way, which may give at least an imperfect idea of it.
This is the manner in which I think it may be defined. The
Sublime is a certain force in discourse, proper to elevate and
ti ansport the soul ; and which proceeds either from grandeur
of thought and nobleness of sentiment, or from magnificence
of words, or an harmonious, lively, and animated turn of ex-
pression ; that is to say, from any one of these particulars re-
garded separately, or, 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 la fureur des flots,
Sait aussi des mechans arreter les complots, '
Soumis avec respect a sa volonte sainlc,
«le crains Dieu, cher Abuer, etn'ai point d'autre crainte.
66 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
cannot be easily worn out or effaced. In a
, word, you may pronounce that sublime, beau-
s^^tiful, and genuine, which always pleases, and
takes equally with all sorts of men. For when
persons of different humours, ages, profes-
sions, and inclinations, agree in the same joint
approbation of any performance; then this
union of assent, this combination of so many
different judgments, stamps a high and in-
disputable value on that performance, which
meets with such general applause.
i.: SECTION VIII.
There are, if I may so express it, fiv^e very
copious sources of the Sublime, if we presup-
pose an abihty of speaking well, as a com-
mon foundation for these .fite sorts, and in-
deed without it, an}^ thing besides \vin avail
but little. _ „
I. The Jirst and most excellent of these is
a boldness and grandeur in the Thoughts, as
I have shewn in my Essay on Xenophon.
• 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,
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 67
are the gifts of nature, whereas the other
sorts depend in some measure upon art.
-^ 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
or composition of all the periods, in all possi-
ble dignity and grandeur.
I proceed next to consider each of these
sources apart ; but nuist first observe, that,
of the Jive, Cecilius has wholly omitted the
Pathetic. Now, if he looked upon the Grand
and Pathetic as including one another, and
in effect the same, he was under a mistake.
For ^ some passions are vastly distant from
^ " Some passions are vastly distant," 8cc,] The pathe-
tic without grandeur is preferable to that which is great with-
out passion. Whenever both unite, the passage will be ex-
cellent ; and there is more of this in the book of Job, than in
any other composition in the world. Longinus has here quoted
a fine instance of the latter from Homer, but has produced
none of the former, or the pathetic without grandeur. i
6'8 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
grandeur, and are in themselves of a low de-
gree ; as lamentation, sorrow, fear ; and on
/ When a writer applies to the more tender passions of love
and pity, when a speaker endeavours to engage our affections,
or gain our esteem, he may succeed well, though there be
nothing grand in what he says. Nay, grandeur would some-
times be unseasonable iu such cases, as it strikes always at the
imagination.
There is a deal of this sort of Pathetic in the words of our
Saviour to the poor Jews, who were imposed upon and de-"
hided into fatal errors 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, all ye that
labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take
my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly
in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my
yoke is easy, and my burden is light."
So r.gain in Matt, xxiii. 37. after taking notice of the cruel-
ties, inhumanities, and murders, which the Jewish nation had
been guilty of towards those who had exhorted them to repent-
ance, or would have recalled them from their blindness and
superstition to the practice of real religion and virtue, he on a
sudden breaks off with,
" O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the 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 expression here is vulgar and common, the allusion
to the hen taken from an object which is daily before our eyes,
and yet there is as much tenderness and significance in it as
can any where be foiuid in the same compass.
1 beg leave to observe farther, that there is a coulinuei;! straia
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 69
the contrary, ^ there are many things grand
and lofty without any passion ; as, among a
thousand instances, we may see, from what
^the poet has said, w^ith so much boldness, of
the Aloides :*
* 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 St. Paul's farewell speech to the
Ephesian elders in Acts xx. What an effect it had upon his
audience is plain from ver. 36 — 38. It is scarcely possible to
read it seriously without tears.
^ The first 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 as many other writers,
frequently styles Homer in an eminent manner, the poet, as
if none but he had deserved that tide.
* Odyss. X. V. 314. r
■* Milton has equalled, if not excelled, these bold lines of
Homer in his fight of angels. See Mr. Addison's fine ob-
servations upon it, Spectator, No. 333. i
70 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
Among the orators, all panegyrics, and ora-
tions composed for pomp and show, may be
grand throughout, but yet are for the most
part void of passion. So that those orators,
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 Pa-
thetic did not contribute to the Sublime, and
on that account judged it not worth his men-
tion, he is guilty of an unpardonable error.
y For I confidently aver, that nothing so much
raises discourse, as a fine pathos seasonably
applied. It animates a whole performance
with uncommon life and spirit, and gives mere
words the force (as it^ were) of inspiration.
PART I.
SECTION IX.
But though the first and most important
of these divisions, I mean. Elevation of
Thought, be rather a natural than an acquired
qualification, yet wc ought to spare no pains
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 71
to educate our souls to grandeur, and impreg-
nate them with generous and enlarged ideas.
" But how/' it will be asked, " can this be
done?'' Why, I have hinted in another place,
that the Sublime is an image i"eflected from
the inward greatness of the soul. Hence it
comes to pass, that a naked thought without
words challenges admiration, and strikes by
its grandeur. Such is ^ the silence of Ajax
^ " The silence of Ajax," &c.] Dido in Virgil behaves
with the same greatness and majesty as Homer's Ajax. He
disdains the conversation of the man, who, to his tliinking, had
injuriously defrauded him of the arms of Achilles ; and she
scorns to hold conference with him, who, in her own opinion,
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.
Ilia solo fixos oculos aversa tenebat,
Nee magis incepto vultum sermone movetur,
Quam si dura silex, aut stet Marpesia cautes.
Tandem corripuit sese, atque inimica refugit
In nemus umbriferum. jEn. vi. v. 469.
Disdainfully she look'd ; then turning round,
She fix'd her eyes unmov'd upon the ground.
And what he looks and swears, regards no more ■
Than the deaf rocks, \\ hen the loud billows roar. •
But whirl'd away to shun his hateful sight,
Hid in the forest and the shades of night. Drj/dcn.
The Pathetic, as well as the Grand, is expressed as strongly
by silence, or a bare word, as in a number of periods. There
72 LONGINUS ON THE StfBLIME.
in the Odyssey, which is undoubtedly noble,
and far above expression.
is an admirable instance of it in Shakespeare's Julius Cajsar,
Act 4. Sc. 4. The preceding scene is wrought up in a mas-
terly manner : we see there, in the truest light, the noble and
generous resentment of Brutus, and the hasty choler and as
hasty repentance of Cassius. After the reconciliation, in the
beginning of the next scene, Brutus addresses himself to
Cassius.
Bra. O Cassius ! I am sick of many griefs.
Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils.
Sru. No man bears sorrow better Portia's dead.
Cas. Ha! Portia!
Jjru. She is dead.
Cas. How 'scap'd I killing when I cross'd you so ?
The stroke is heavier, as it conies unexpected. The grief
is abrupt, because it is inexpressible. The heart is melted in
an instant, and tears will start at once in any audience that has
generosity enough to be moved, or is capable of sorrow and
pity.
\^ hen words are too weak, or colours too faint, to represent
a Pathos, as the poet will be silent, so the painter will hide
what he cannot shew. Timanthes, in his Sacrifice of Iphige-
nia, gave Calchas a sorrowful look ; he then painted Ulysses
more sorrowful ; and afterwards her uncle Menelaus, with all
the grief and concern in his countenance which his pencil was
able to display. By this gradation he had exhausted the pas-
sion, and had no art left for die distress of her father Agamem-
non, which required the strongest heigliteni\)g of all. He
therefore covered up his head in his garn)ciit, and left the
spectator to imagine Uiat excess of anguish which colours
wertt unable to express.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 73
To arrive at excellence like this, we must
needs suppose that which is the cause of it;
I^nigan, that an orator of the true genius must
have_no mean and ungenerous way of think-,
ing. For it is impossible for those who have \
grovelling and servile ideas, or are engaged in \
the sordid pursuits of life, to produce any \
thing worthy of admiration, and the perusal ' i
of all posterity. Grand and sublime expres- f
sions must flow from them and them alone, ^^
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
^ " I would accept these proposals," &c.] There is a
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 made to Alex-
ander by Darius ; and were no less than his own daughter, and
half his kingdom, to purchase peace. 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 sum
X)f money ?" Aristophon replied in the negative. '' Have I
then done," cried Iphicrates, " what even you would have
scorned to do r" •
f4 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
accept these proposals, if I was Alexander ;"
Alexander made this noble reply, " And so
would I, if I was Parmenio/' His answer
shewed the greatness of his mind.
So ^ the space between heaven and earth
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 Duke of Buckingham, who,
to incline him to an inglorious peace with the French, de-
manded, what he could do in that desperate situation of him-
self 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,
and make deeper impressions, than the most laboured dis-
courses. The soul seems to rouse and collect itself, and then
darts forth at once in the noblest and most conspicuous point
of view.
^ Longinus here sets out in all the pomp and spirit of
Homer. How vast is the reach of man's imagination ! and
what a vast idea, " The space between heaven and earth," is
here placed before it ! Dr. Pearce has taken notice of such a
thought in the Wisdom of Solomon : "Thy almighty Word
leaped down — it touched the heaven, but it stood upon the
earth." Chap, xviii. 15, l6.
* Iliad, c. V. 443.
* See the note to this description of Discord, in ^Ir. Pope's
translation. Virgil has copied it verbatim, but applied it to
Fame: — :>♦!;• -vj
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 75
This description may with more justice be
applied to Homer's genius than the extent of
discord.
But what disparity, what a fall there
is in ^ Hesiod's description of melanchol}^
Ingrediturque solo et caput inter nubila condit. \ , . ^
Soon grows the pigmy to gigantic size, .f.:
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 is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
Out-venoms all the 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 Milton's description of Satan, when he prepares
for the combat, is (according to Mr. Addison, Spectator, No.
321 .) equally sublime with either the description of Discord in
Homer, or that of Fame in Virgil : ■..-.,..'
Satan alarm'd, . , -
Collecting all his 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, is bor-
rowed from low life, and has something in it exceedingly nasty.
It offends the stomach, and of course cannot be approved by
r 2
*t6 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
if the poem of the Shield may be ascribed
to him !
A filthy moisture from her nostrils flow'd.*
the judgment. This brings to my remembrance the conduct
of Milton, in his descrijjtion of Sin and Death, who are setoff
in the most horrible deformity. In that of Sin, there is indeed
something loathsome ; and what ought to be painted in that
manner sooner than Sin ? Yet the circumstances are picked
out with the nicest skill, and raise a national abhorrence of
such hideous objects. —
The one seem'd woman to the waist, and fair, '
But ended foul in many a scaly fold.
Voluminous and vast ! a serpent arm'd
With mortal sting : about her middle round
A cry of hell-hounds never ceasing bark'd
With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and runo-
A hideous peal : Yet when they list would creep.
If aught disturb'd their noise, into her womb.
And kennel there ; yet there still bark'd, and howl'd
Within, unseen.
Of Death he says,
'v
black it stood as night.
Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell.
And shook a dreadful dart,
But Milton's judiciousness in selecting such circumstances
as tend to raise a just and natural aversion, is no where more
visible than in his description of a lazar-house. Book 11th.
An inferior genius might have amused himself, with expatiating
on the filthy and nauseous objects abounding in so horrible
a scene, and written perhaps like a surgeon rather than a poet.
. , ■ * Hesiod. in Scuto Here. v. 267 .
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 77
He has not represented his image terrible,
but loathsome and nauseous.
But Milton aims only at the passions, by shewing the miseries
entailed upon man, in the most affecting manner, and exciting
at once our horror at the 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 it sublime, solemn, and touching. We
startle and groan at this scene of miseries, in which the whole
race of mankind is 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 onlyf. \
produced by bright and lively objects, but sometimes by suchi\ \
as are gloomy and solemn. It is not the blue sky, the cheer-
ful sunshine, or the smiling landskip, that give us all our plea-
• . . . . t
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 ; what is disagreeable should not be "-^
described at all, or at least should be strongly shaded. When |' '-} .*/ C^
Apelles drew the portrait of Antigonus, who had lost an eye, I.'
he judiciously took his face in profile, that he might hide the i]
blemish. It is the art of the painter to please, and not tov|
offend the sight. It is the poet's to make us sometimes -^
thoughtful and sedate, but never to raise our distaste by foul
ynd niiuseous represcnlalious.
Y§ LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
On the other hand, with what majesty and
pomp does Homer exalt his deities !
Far as a shepherd from some point on high
O'er the wide main extends his 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
out, that " if the steeds of the Deity were to
take a second leap, ^ the world itself would
want room for it !"
How grand also and pompous are those
descriptions of the combat of the gods!^
* Iliad. £. V. 770.
^ It is highly worthy of remark, how Longinus seems here
inspired with the genius of Homer. He not only approves
and admires this Divine thought of the poet, but imitates, I had
almost said, improves and raises it. The space which Homer
assigns to every leap of the horses, is equal to that which the
eye will run over when a spectator is placed upon a lofty emi-
nence, and looks towards the sea, where there is nothing to ob-
struct the prospect. This is sufficiently great ; but Longinus
has said what is greater than this, for he bounds not the leap
by the reach of the sight, but boldly avers, that the whole ex-
tent of the world would not afford room enough for two such
leaps. — Dr. Pearce.
' ^Milton's description of ihc ilght of angels i5 well able to
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 79
Heav'n iu loud thunders bids the trumpet sound,
And wide beneath them groans the rending ground.*
Deep in the dismal regions of the dead
Th' infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head ;
stand a parallel with the combat of the gods in Homer, His
Venus and Mars make a ludicrous sort of appearance, after
their defeat by Diomed. The engagement between Juno and
Latona has a little of the air of burlesque. His commentators
indeed labour heartily in his defence, and discover fine allego-
lies under these sallies of his fancy. This may satisfy them,
but is by no means a su^'licient excuse for the poet. Homer's
excellences are indeed so many and so great, that they easily
incline us to grow fond of those few blemishes which aie dis-
cernible in his poems, and to contend that he is broad awake,
when he is actually nodding. But let us return to Milton,
and take notice of the following lines :
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 - j ^
Of conflict! overhead the dismal hiss . : ,, ;. ,;
Of fiery darts in flaming voUies flew, ., ; ,. ! , . ., ^
And flying vaulted either host with fire. ;. , -,<- ui
So under fiery cope together rush'd , . ,i
Both battles main, with ruinous assault ^^
And inextinguishable rage : all heav'n , >
Resounded; and had earth been then, all earth _J ^ _ ^
Had to her centre shook. »
The thought of " fiery arches being drawn over the armies
by the flight of flaming arrows," may give us some idea of Mil-
* Iliad, (p. vcr. 3SS.
80 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
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,
Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful ev'n to gods.*
-, Mr. Pope,
What a prospect is here, my friend !^ The
earth laid open to its centre; Tartarus itself
disclosed to view; the whole world in com-
motion, 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,
these bold representations, if not allegorically
ton's lively imagination ; as the last thought, which is super-
latively great, of the reach of his genius :
. and had earth been then, all earth
Had to her centre shook. .'.j'uoii
He seems apprehensive, that the mind of his readers was
not stocked enough widi ideas, to enable them to form a no-
tion of this battle ; and to raise it the more, recals to their re-
membrance the time, or that part of infinite duration in which
it was fought, before time was, when this visible creation ex-
isted only in the prescience of God.
* Iliad, v. ver. O'l. '■ ■' . ■■ <- '■>':'■:
^ That magnificent description of the combat of the gods,
cannot possibly be expressed or displayed in more concise,
more clear, or more sublime terms, than here in Longinus.
This is the excellence of a true critic, to be able to discern
the excellences of his author, and to display his own in ilkis-
Irating them. — Dr. Pearcc.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 81
understood, are downright blasphemy, and
extravagantly shocking. ^ For Homer, in my
opinion, when he gives us a detail of the
wounds, the seditions, the punishments, im-
prisonments, tears of the deities, with those
evils of every kind under which they lan-
guish, has to the utmost of his power exalted
his heroes, 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 far does he excel those descrip-
tions of the combats of the gods, when
he sets a deity in his true light, and paints
him in all his majest}^, grandeur, and per-
fection; as in that description of Neptune,
9 Plutarch, in his treatise on reading the pods, is of the
same opinion with Longinus : " Wlien you read (says he) in
Homer, of gods thrown out of heaven by one another, or of
gods wounded by, quarrelling with, and snarling at, one ano-
ther, you may with reason say,
Here had thy fancy glow'd with usual heat, .. ;, j
Thy gods had shonemore uniformly great." ' • >;. : .
82 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
which has been already apphiudcd by several
writers :
»» Fierce as he pass'd the lofty mountains nod.
The forests shake, earth trembled as he trod,
And felt the footsteps of th' immortal god. J
I
'" The Deity is described, in a thousand passages of
Scripture, in greater majesty, pomp, and perfection, than that
in which Homer arrays his gods. The books of Psalms and
of Job abound in such Divine descriptions. That particu-
larly in the 18th Psalm, ver. 7 — 10, is inimitably grand:
" Then the earth shook and trembled, the foundations also
of the hills moved, and were shaken, because he was wroth.
There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his
];^outh devoured : coals were kindled at it. He bowed the
heavens also and came down, and darkness was under his feet.
And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly, and came filing upon
the wings of the wind." - r
So again, Psalm Ixxvii. l6 — 19.
" The waters saw thee, O God, the waters saw thee, and
were afraid : the depths also were troubled. The clouds
poured out water, the air thundered, and thine arrows went
abroad. The voice of thy thunder was heard round about;
the lightnings shone upon the ground, the eartli was moved
and slK)ok withal. Thy way is in the sea, and thy paths ia
^ great waters, and thy footsteps are not known."
^ And in general, wherever there is any description of the
works of Onjnipotence, or the excellence of the Divine Be-
ing, the same vein of sublimity is always to be discerned. I
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 Son of
God in the book of Revelation, chap. xix. 1 1 — 17. -
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 83
His whirling wheels the glassy surface sweep;
Th' enormous monsters rolling o'er the deep, j.
Gambol around him on the wai'ry way,
And heavy whales in awkward measures p^iy ;
The sea subsiding 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 in the poetical [)arts of Scrip-
ture, and heating his imagination with the combat of the gods
in Homer, has made Milton succeed so well in his light of
angels. If Homer deserves such vast encomiums from the
critics, for describing Neptune with so much pomp and mag-
nificence, how can ve sufficiently admire those Divine descrip-
tions which Milton gives of the Messiah r
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. 18—27.
" This Divine passage has furnished a handle for many of
those who are willing to be thought critics, to shew their pert-
ness and stupidity at once. Though bright as the light of
which it speaks^ they are blind to its lustre, and will not dis-
cern its Sublimity. Some pretend that Lonyiiuis never saw
84 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME,
nary person, having conceived a just idea of
the power of God, has nobly expressed it
tliis passage, though he has actually quoted it ; and that he
never read Moses, though he has left so candid an acknow-
ledgment of his merit. In such company, some, no doubt,
will be surprised to find the names of Huet and Le Clerc.
Tliey have examined, taken to pieces, and sifted it as long as
they were able, yet still they cannot find it Sublime. It is
simple, say they, and therefore not grand. They have tried
it by a law of Horace misunderstood, and therefore condemn it.
Boilcau undertook its defence, and has gallantly performed
it. He shev»'s them, that Simplicity of expression is so far
from being opposed to Sublimity, that it is frequently the
cause and foundation of it ; (and indeed there is not a page in
Scripture which abounds not vvitii 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 in ornament and dress. He then shews at
large, that whatever noble and majestic expression, elevation
of thought, and importance of event, can contribute to Subli-
mity, may be found united iu this passage. Whoever has the
curiosity to see the particulars of this dispute, may find it in
the edition of Boileau's works, in four volumes 12mo.
It is however remarkable, that though Monsieur Huet will
not alluu tiie Sublimity of this passage in Moses, yet he ex-
tols the following in the 33d Psalm : *' For he spake, and it
was done ; he commanded, and it stood fast."
There is a particularity in the manner of quoting this pas-
sage by Longinus, which 1 think has hitherto escaped obser-r
vation. " God said— /IV/y;^?— Let there be light," &c. That
iutcrrogation between the narrative part and the Mords of the
Almighty himself, carries with it an air of reverence and vene-.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 85
in the beginning of his Law.* " And God
said, — What? — Let there be hght, and there
was hght. Let the earth be, and the earth
was."
I 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-
Accept a warrior's pray'n, eternal Jove ;
This cloud of darkness from the Greeks remove ;
ration. 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. Such as St. Joliu xi. 43. " Lazarus, come fortli,"
St. Matt. viii. 3. " Lord, if thou wilt, ihou canst make me
clean."— « I will; be thou clean." And St. Mark iv. 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 com-
manded universal nature into being. They sunk at his com-
mand, who has the sole privilege of saying to that unruly ele-
ment, '' Hitherto shalt thou pass, and no farther : here shall
thy proud waves be stopped."
* Gen. i. 3. - • • f Iliad. ,0, ver. G4a.
S6 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
; Give us but light, and let us see our foes,
We'll bravely fall, though Jove himself oppose.
The sentiments of Ajax are here patheti-
cally expressed : it is Ajax himself. He begy
not for life; a request like that would be be-
neath a hero. But because in that darkness
he could display his valour in no illustrious
exploit, and his great heart was unable to
brook a sluggish inactivity in the field of ac-
tion, he only prays for light, not doubting to
crown his fall with some notable perform-
ance, though Jove himself should oppose his
efforts. Here Homer, like a brisk and fa-
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 in the Odyssey
(what I am going to add is necessary on seve-
ral accounts), that when a great genius is in
decline, a fondness for the fabulous clings fast
to aoc. Manv aroumcnts may be brouoht to
. . , . * Iliad, o. vcr. f)05.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 8?
prove that this 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 his heroes.
For, in reality, the Odyssey is no more than
the epilogue of the Iliad :
There warlike Ajax, there Achilles lies, ,' ;
Patroclus there, a man divinely wise ; . i
There too my dearest son.*
It proceeds, I suppose, from the same rea-
son, that having written the Iliad in the youth
and vigour of his genius, he has furnished 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, much less exceed, this of
Longinus in sublimity, lie gives his opinion, ihat Homer's
Odyssey, being the work of his old age, and written in the de-
cline of his life, and in every respect equal to the Ihad, except
in violence and impetuosity, may be resembled to " the setting
sun, whose grandeur continues tlie same, though its ravs re-
tain not the same fejvent heat." Let us here take a view of
Longinus, whilst he points out the beauties of the best wi iters,
88 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
justice be resembled to the setting sun, whose
grandeur still remains, without the meridian
and at the same time his own. Equal himself to the most ce-
lebrated authors, he gives them the eulogies 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.
This fine comparison of Homer to the sun, is certainly an
honour to poet and critic. It is a fine resemblance, great,
beautiful, and just. He describes Homer in the same eleva-
tion of thought, as Homer himself would have set oft his he-
roes. Fine genius will shew its spirit, and in every age and
climate displays its natural inherent vigour. This remark will,
1 hope, be a proper introduction to the following lines of Mil-
ton, where grandeur, impaired and in decay, is described by
an allusion to the sun in eclipse, by which our ideas are won-
derfully raised to a conception of what il was in all its glory :
He, above the rest.
In shape and gesture proudly eminent.
Stood like a tow'r : his form not yet had lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess
Of glory obscur'd : as when the sun new-ris'n
Looks through the horizontal misty air,
Shorn of his 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 poem, is an honourable proof of the stretch of
his invention, and the solidity of his judgment. Tasso, in his
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 89
beat of his beams. The style is not so grand
and majestic as that of the Ihad; the subhmity
not continued with so much spirit, nor so
uniformly noble ; the tides of passion flow not
along with so much profusion, nor do they
hurry away the reader in so rapid a current.
There is not the same volubility and quick
variation of the phrase ; nor is the work em-
bellished with so many strong and expressive
images. Yet, like the ocean, whose very
shores, when deserted by the tide, mark out
how wide it sometimes flows, so Homer's ge-
nius, when ebbing into all those fabulous and
incredible ramblings of Ulysses, shews plainly
how sublime it once had been. Not that I
am forgetful of those storms, which are de-
4th canto, has opened a council of devils ; but his description
of them is frivolous and puerile, savouring too much of old
■women's tales, and the fantastic dreams of ignorance. He
makes some of them walk upon the feet of beasts, and dresses
out their resemblance of a human head with twisting serpents
instead of hair ; horns sprout upon their foreheads, and after
them they drag an immense length of tail. It is true, when
he makes his Pluto speak (for he has made use of the old poet-
ical names), he supports his character with a deal of spirit,
and puts such words and sentiments into his mouth as are pro-
perly diabolical. His devil talks somewhat like Milton's, but
looks not with half that horrible pomp, that height of obscured
g'ory. ;, . ,, .. , . . ;
G
90 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
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. No ; I am speaking, indeed, of
old age, but it is the old age of Homer. How-
ever, it is evident, from the whole series of
the Odyssey, that there is far more narration
in it than action.
I have digressed thus far merely for the
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."] The most infamous name of a certain author,
of Thracian extraction, who wrote a treatise against the Iliad
and Odyssey of Homer, and entitled it, Homer's Reprimand :
which so exasperated the people of that age, that they put the
author to death, and sacrificed liim as it were to the injured
genius of Homer. His enterprise was certainly too daring,
his punishment undoubtedly too severe. Dr. Pearce.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. Ql
this in the 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 ora- J
tors 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. But
the true critic knows how to pardon, to excuse, and to exte-
nuate. Such conduct is uncommon, but just. We see by it
at once the worth of the author, and the candour of the judge.
With persons of so generous a bent, his Translator has fared
as well as Homer. Mr. Pope's " faults (in that performance)
are the faults of a man, but his beauties are the beauties of an
angel." Essai/ on the Odi/ssei/.
*^ The word moral does not fully give the idea of the ori^
ginal word rj^os, but our language will not furnish any other \
that comes so near it. The meaning of the passage is, that
' great authors, in the youth and tire of their genius, abound '-
qhiefly. in s,uc.h passions as are strong and vehement; but in ;
their old age and decline, they betake themselves to such as J.^
are mild, peaceable^ and sedate^^ At first they end^aypur to I
move, to warm, to transport ; but afterwards to amuse, de-
light, and persuade. In youth, they strike at the imagination ; ^^
in age, they speak more to our reason. For though the pas-
sions are the same in their nature, yet, at different ages, they
differ in degree. ^Love, for instance, is a violent, hot, and im-
petuous passion ; Esteem is a sedate, and cool, and peaceable
affection of the mind. The youthful lits and transports of the /
former, in progress of time, subside and settle in the latter. So /
G 2
92 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
of writing. Thus the Odyssey, furnishing us
with rules of morality, drawn from that course
of life which the suitors led in the palace of
Ulysses, has in some degrees the air of a co-
medy, where the various manners of men are
ingeniously and faithfully described.
SECTION X.
Let us consider next, whether we cannot
find out some other means to infuse sublimity
into our wTitings. Now, as there are no sub-
jects which are not attended by some adherent
circumstances, an accurate and judicious
a storm is dififerent from a gale, though both are wind.
Hence it is, 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 ; but amusing narrations, calm descriptions, de-
lightful landskips, and more even and peaceable affections,
are agreeable in the ebb of life, and therefore more frequently
attempted, and more successfully expressed by a declining ge-
nius. This is the moral kind of writing here mentioned, and
by these particulars is Homer's Odyssey distinguished from
his Iliad. The tto-Joc and v^oq so frequently used, and so im-
portant in the Greek critics, are fully explained by Quincti-
iian, iu the sixth book of his Institut. Orat.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 93
choice of the most suitable of these circum-
stances, and an ingenious and skilful con-
nexion of them into one body, must necessa-
rily 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 insepara-
ble to jealous love, has collected and dis-
played them all with the most lively exact-
ness. But in what particular has she shewn
her excellence? In selecting those circum-
stances which suit best with her subject, and
afterwards connecting them together with so
much art.
Blest as th' immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee, <r. . . - ,"
And hears, and sees thee all the while - " :
Softly speak, and sweetly smile. '... .[V
'Twas this depriv'd my soul of rest,
And rais'd such tumults in my breast; ^
For while 1 gaz'd, in transport tost,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
My bosom glow'd; the subtile flame ,.
Ran quick through all my vital frame ;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung; ..
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. / - ;
94 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
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 Ode of Sappho in the
original, which is taken no notice of in the translation, because
the sense is complete without it, and if admitted, it would
throw confusion on the whole.
The title of this Ode in Ursinus, in the fragments of
Sappho, is, To the beloved Fair; and it is the right. For Plu-
tarch (to omit the testimonies of many others), in his Eroticon,
has these words : " The beautiful Sappho says, that at sight
of her beloved fair, her voice was suppressed," &c. Besides,
Strabo and Athenteus tells us, that the name of this fair one
was Dorica, and that she was loved by Charaxus, Sappho's
brother. Let us then suppose that this Dorica, Sappho's in-
famous paramour, receives the addresses of Charaxus, and
admits him into her company as her lover. This very mo-
ment Sappho unexpectedly enters, and stricken at what she
sees, feels tormenting emotions. In this 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 by Boileau :
— dans les doux transports oil s'cgare mon ame :
And,
,Te tombe dans des donees langueurs.
The \\OT(\ doHX will in no wise express the rage and distraction
of Sappho's mind. It is always used in u contrary sense.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 95
Are you not amazed, my friend, to find how
in the same moment she is at a loss for her
Catullus has translated this Ode almost verbally, and Lucre-
tius has imitated it in his third book. — Dr. Pearce.
.. The English translation I have borrowed from the Specta-
tor, No. 229. It was done by Mr. Philips, and has been
very much applauded, though the following line.
For while I gaz'd, in transport tost,
and this.
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd,
will be liable to the same censure with Boileau's douces lan-
gueurs.
A 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 it is
easily perceivable in Horace's Ode to Lydia,lib. 1. od. 13. and
in Virgil's ^neid, lib. 4.
Longinus attributes its 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 fume of sight ;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes :
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears :
What is it else ? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Shakespeare, in Romeo and Juliet.
The qualities of love are certainly very proper for the ma-
nagement of a good poet. It is a subject on which many may.
96 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
soul, her body, her ears, her tongue, her eyes,
her colour, all of them as much absent from
shine in different lights, yet keep clear of all that whining and
rant with which the stage is continually pestered. The an-
cients have scarcely meddled with it in any of their tragedies.
Shakespeare has shewn it, in almost all its degrees, by different
characters in one or other of his plays. Otway has wrought
it up finely in the Orphan, to raise our pity. Dryden expresses
its thoughtless violence very well, in his All for Love. Mr,
Addison has painted it both successful and unfortunate, with
the highest judgment, in his Cato. But Adam and Eve, in
Milton, are the finest picture of conjugal lo.e that ever was
drawn. In them it is true warmth of affection, without the
violence or fury of passion ; a sw eet and reasonable tenderness,
without any cloying or insipid fondness. In its serenity and
sunshine, it is noble, amiable, endearing, and innocent. When
it jars and goes out of tune, as on some occasions it will, there
is anger and resentment. He is gloomy, she complains and
weeps, yet love has still its force. Eve knows how to submit,
and Adam to forgive. We are pleased that they have quar-
relled, when we see the agreeable manner in which they are
reconciled. They have enjoyed prosperity, and will share
adversity together. And the last scene in which we behold
this unfortunate coup'e, is when
They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and slow,
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
episode of Olindo and Sophronia, in his Cd canto : for they
never appear again in the poem, and have no share in the ac-
tion of it. Two of his great personages are a husband and
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 97
her, as if they had never belonged to her?
And what contrary effects does she feel toge-
ther ? She glows, she chills, she raves, she rea-
sons ; now she is in tumults, 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.
All the symptoms of this kind are true ef-
fects of jealous love; but the excellence of
this Ode, as I observed before, consists in the
judicious choice and connexion of the most
notable circumstances. And it proceeds from
his due application of the most formidable
incidents, that the poet excels so much in
describing tempests. The ^author of the
wife, who fight always side by side, and die together. The
power, the allurements, the tyranny of beauty, is amply dis-
played in the coquettish character of Armida, in the 4th canto.
He indeed always shews the effects of the passion in true
colours ; but then he does more, he retines and plays upon
them with fine-spun conceits. He flourishes like Ovid on
every little incident, and recals our attention from the poem,
to take notice of the poet's wit. This might be writing in the
Italian taste, but it is not nature. Homer was above it, in his
fine characters of Hector and Andromache, Ulysses and Pe-
nelope. The judicious Virgil has rejected it, in his natural
picture of Dido. Milton has followed and improved upon
his great masters, with dignity and judgment.
? Aristaeus, the Procouuesian, is said to have wiote a pccni,
98 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
poem on the Arimaspians doubts not but
these Hnes are great and full of terror :
Ye pow'rs, what madness ! How on ships so frail
(Tremendous thought !) can thoughtless mortals sail ?
For stormy seas they quit the pleasing plain,
Plant Nvoods in waves, and dwell amidst the main.
Far o'er the deep (a trackless path) they go,
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 !
^ He bursts upon them all :
Bursts as a wave that from the cloud impends,
And swell'd with tempests on the ship descends ;
White are the decks with foam ; the winds aloud
Howl o'er the masts, 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. Dr. Pearce.
^ There is a description of a tempest in the 107th Psalm,
which runs in a very high vein of sublimity, and has more
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 99
Pale, trembling, tir'd, the sailors freeze with fears,
And instant death on ev'ry wave appears,*
Mr. Pope.
spirit in it than the applauded descriptions in the authors of
antiquity; because when the storm is in all its rage, and
the danger become extreme, almighty power is introduced to
calm at once the roaring main, and give preservation to the
miserable distressed. It ends in that fervency of devotion,
which such grand occurrences are fitted to raise in the minds
of the thoughtful.
" He commandeth and raiseth the stormy wind, which
lifteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to heaven, they
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 at their wit's-end. Then they cry unto the Lord in their
trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He
maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.
Then are they glad, because they be quiet; so he bringeth
them unto their desired haven. Oh ! that men would praise
the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the
children of men !"
Shakespeare has, with inimitable art, made use of a storm
in his tragedy of King Lear, and continued it through seven
scenes. In reading it, one sees the piteous condition of those
who are exposed to it in open air ; one almost hears the wind
and thunder, and beholds the flashes of lightning. The anger,
fury, and passionate exclamations of Lear himself, seem to
rival the storm, which is as outrageous in his breast, inflamed
and ulcerated by the barbarities of his daughters, as in the ele-
ments themselves. We view him
Contending with the fretful elements.
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
* Iliad, o. ver. 6*24.
100 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
Aratus has attempted a refinement upon
the last thought, and turned it thus,
A slender plank preserves them from their fate. *
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,
That things might change or cease : tears his white hair.
Which the impetnous blasts with eyeless rage
Catch in their fury. - . ,
We afterwards see the distressed old man exposed to all the
inclemencies of the weather ; nature itself in hurry and disor-
der, but he as violent and boisterous as the storm :
Rumble thy belly-full, spit fire, spout rain ;
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters ;
I tax not you, ye elements I
And immediately after, - ;' > ...
Let the great gods, '
That keep this dreadful thund'ring o'er our heads,
Find out tiieir enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch.
That hast within thee undivulged crimes
Unwhipt of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,
Thou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue.
That art incestuous : caitiff, shake to pieces, ' "
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast practis'd on man's life. Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and ask , *
These dreadful summoners grace.
The storm still continues, and the poor old man is forced
along the open heath, to take shelter in a wretched hovel.
There 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
lessens and refines it away ; and besides, he
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 honest Kent entreats
him to go in, he cries,
Prithee go in thyself, seek thy own ease ;
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder - ,
On things would hurt me more
Nay, get thee in ; I'll pray, and then I'll sleep
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That 'bide the pelting of this pitiless storm !
How shall 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
Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp,
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, • •
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
And shew the heav'ns more just.
The miseries and disorders of Lear and Edgar are then
painted with such judicious horror, that every imagination must
be strongly affected by such tempests in reason and nature.
1 have quoted those passages which have the moral reflections
in them, since they add solemnity to the terror, and alarm at
once a variety of passions.
102 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
wave, and have death before their eyes as fast
as they escape it. * Nay more, the danger
is 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 is in itself a
terrible 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 in the ori-
ginal : " Besides, he has forcibly united some prepositions
that are naturally averse to union, and heaped them one
upon another, vir n: •'^araroio. By this means the danger is
discerned," See.
The beauty Longinus here commends in Homer, of making
the words correspond \\h\\ the sense, is one of the most ex-
cellent that can be found in composition. The many and re-
fined observations of this nature in Dionysius of Halicarnassus,
are an evidence how exceedingly fond the ancients were of it.
There should be a style of sound as well as of words, but
such a st)le depends on a great command of language, and a
musical ear. We see a great deal of it in Milton, but in Mr.
Pope it appears to perfection. It would be folly to quote ex-
amples, since they can possibly escape none who can read and
hear.
* Oral, de Corona. . a\.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 103
fusions at Athens, upon arrival of ill news.-^
" It was (says he) in the evening/' &c. If
I may speak by a figure, 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
in so choice a body. For such expressions
are like mere patches, or unsightly bits of
matter, which in this edifice of grandeur en-
tirely confound the fine proportions, mar
^ The whole passage in Demosthenes' oration runs thus :
" It was evening when a courier brought the 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 driving the tradesmen out, set fne to
their shops. Others Hed to advertise the commanders of the
army of the news, and to summon the public herald. The
whole city was full of tumult. On the morrow, by break of
day, the magistrates convene the senate. You, gentlemen,
obeyed the summons. Before the public council proceeded
to debate, the people took their seats above. V. hen the senate
were come in, the magistrates laid open the reasons of their
meeting, and produced the courier. He confirmed their re-
port. The herald demanded aloud. Who would harangue ?
Nobody rose up. The iicrald repeated the question several
times. In vain : nobody rose up : nobody harangued ;
though all the conniianders of the army were there, though
the orators were present, though the common voice of our
country joined in the petition, and demanded an oration for the
public safety."
104 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
the symmetry, and deform the beauty of the
whole.
SECTION XL
There is another virtue bearing great affi-
nity to the former, which they call Amplifi-
cation ; whenever (the topics on which we
write or debate, admitting of several begin-
nings, and several pauses in the periods) the
great incidents, heaped one upon another,
ascend by a continued gradation to a summit
of grandeur.^ Now this may be done to
* Lucan has put a very grand amplification iu the mouth
of Cato : " -
Estne dei sedes, nisi terra, et pontus, et aer,
Et ccelum, et virtus ? Superos quid quserimus ultra ?
Jupiter est, quodcunque vides, quocunque movebis.
There is a very beautiful one in Archbishop Tillotson's 12th
sermon : —
" 'Tis pleasant to be virtuous and good, because that is to
excel many others : 'Tis pleasant to grow better, because that
is to excel ourselves : Nay, 'tis pleasant even to mortify and
subdue our lusts, because that is victory : 'Tis pleasant to com-
mand our appetites and passions, and to keep them in due
order, within the bounds of reason and religion, because this is
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 105
ennoble what is familiar, to aggravate what is
wrong, to increase the strength of arguments,
to set actions in their true light, or skilfully
to manage a passion, and a thousand ways
besides. But the orator must never forget
this maxim, that in things however amplified,
there cannot be perfection, without a senti-
ment which is truly Sublime/^unless 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
are they deprived of this necessary support,
but they grow dull and languid, lose all their
vigour and nerves.
What I 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 to heaven, from mortal man to
God himself. " For all things are yours, %vhether Paul, or
Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things
present, or things to come : all are yours ; and ye are Christ's ;
and Christ is God's." — 1 Cor. iii. 21 — 23. See also Rom.
viii. 29, 30. 38, 39.
II
106 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
sort of Sublimity differs from Amplification,
will soon appear by exactly defining the true
notion of the latter.
SECTION XII.
I CAN by no means approve of the defini-
tion which writers of rhetoric give of Ampli-
fication. " Amplification (say they) is a form
of words aggrandizing the subject." Now this
definition 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
in these respects : Sublimity consists in lofti-
ness, but Amplification in number ; whence
the former is often visible in one single
thought; the other cannot be discerned, but
in a series and chain of thoughts rising 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
time upon, and progressive!}^ heightening a^^
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 107"
particular point/' It differs from Proof in a
material article, since the end of a Proof is to
establish the matter in debate * * * *
[The remainder of the Author's remarks on
Amplification is lost. AVhat comes next is
imperfect ; but it is evident from what fol-
lows, that Longinus is 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 dif-
fused into a vast extent. And in my opinion,
this is the 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 Te-
RENTiANUs, that Cicero and Demosthenes
(if we Grecians may be admitted to speak our
opinions), differ in the Sublime. The one is at
the same time grand and concise, the other
grand and diffusive. Our Demosthenes, ut-
tering every sentence with such force, pre-
cipitation, strength, and vehemence, that it
seems to be all fire, and bears down every
H 2
]08 IvONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
thing before it, 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 succes-
sive additions of proper fuel. I must not
however pretend to judge in this case so w^ell
as you. But the true season of applying so
forcible and intense a Sublime as that of
Demosthenes, is,Mn the strong efforts of dis-
course, in vehement attacks upon the pas-
sions, and whenever the audience are to be
stricken at once, and thrown into consterna-
tion. And recourse must be had to such dif-
fusive eloquence as that of Cicero, when they
are to be soothed and brought over by gentle
and soft insinuation. Besides, this diffuse
kind of eloquence is most proper for all fa-
mihar topics ; for perorations, digressions, for
easy narrations or pompous amusements, for
historj^, for short accounts of the operations
of nature, and many other sorts.
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 irran-
deur*: and of this you cannot be ignorant,
^ '^ To leave this digression."] These words refer to what
Longinus had said of Plato in that part of the preceding Sec-
tion, which is now almost wholly lost: and from hence it is
abundantly evident, that the person whom he had there com-
pared with the orator was Plato. — Dr. Pearce.
^ That Archbishop Tillotson was possessed, in an eminent
degree, of the same sweetness, fluency of style, and elevated
sense, which are so much admired in Plato, can be denied by
none who are versed in the writings of that author. The fol-
lowing passage, on much the same subject as the instance here
quoted by our Critic from Piato, may be of service in strength-
ening this assertion : he is speaking of persons deeply plunged
in sin : —
*' If consideration," says he, " happen to take them at any
advantage, and they are so hard pressed by it that they cannot
escape the sight of their own condition ; yet they find them-
selves so miserably entangled and hampered in an evil course,
and bound so fast in chains of their own wickedness, that they
know not how to get loose. Sin is the saddest slavery in the
world ; it breaks and sinks men's spirits, and makes them so
base and servile, that they have not the courage to rescue them-
selves. 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 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
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 al-
ways fixed on the earth, and intent upon
their loaden tables, they pamper themselves
up in luxury and excess. So that hurried on
by 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 it. And
though they see and feel their misery, yet they choose rather to
sit down in it, and tamely to submit to it, than to make any
resolute attempts for their liberty." And afterwards — " Blind
and miserable men ! that, in despite of all the merciful warn-
ings of God's word and providence, will run themselves into
this desperate state, and never think of returning to a better
mind till their retreat is difficult, almost to an impossibiUty." —
29th Sermon, Vol. I. folio.
* Plato, lib. y, de Rep. p. 586. edit. Steph.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. Ill
This excellent writer, if we can but resolve
to follow his guidance, opens here before us
another path, besides those already men-
tioned, which will carry to the true Sublime.
— And what is this path ? — Why, an imitation
arid eniulation of the greatest orators and ^
poets that ever flourished. And let this, my
friend, be our ambition ; be this the fixed and
lasting scope of all our labours.
For hence it is, that 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,
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
Priestess of Apollo and imitators of the best authors, is happily
invented, and quite complete. Nothing can be more beautiful,
more analogous, more expressive. It was the custom for the
Pythian to sit on the tripod, till she was rapt into Divine
frenzy by the operation of effluvia issuing out of the clefts of
the earth. In the same manner, says Longinus, they, who imi- ,
tate the best waiters, seem to be inspired by those whom they
imitate, and to be actuated by their sublime spirit. In this
comparison, those Divine writers are set on a level almost with
the gods ; they have equal power attributed to them with the
deity presiding over oracles, and the eiFect of their operations
on their imitators is honoured with the title of a Divine spirit.
— Dr. Pearce.
112 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
impregnate her on a sudden with the inspira-
tion of her god, and cause in her the utter-
ance of oracles and predictions. So, from
the siibHme spirit 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,
with the lofty ideas and fire of others. Was
Herodotus alone the constant imitator of Ho-
mer ? No : ^ Stesichorus and Archilochus imi-
tated him more than Herodotus ; but Plato
more than all of them ; who, from the co-
pious Homeric fountain, has drawn a thou-
sand rivulets to cherish and improve his own
productions. Perhaps there might be a ne-
cessity of my producing some examples of
this had not Ammonius done it to my hand.
Nor is such proceeding to be looked up-
on as plagiarism, but, in 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.
Quinctilian, Instit. Orat. 1. x. c. 1. says thus of him :—" If he
had kept in due bounds, he seems to have been able to come the
nearest to a rivalship witli Homer." — Dr. Pearce. ^
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 113
ginals. 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,
and made some attempts in 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, and eleva-
tion. Though he despaired of equalling Homer in his own
way, yet he has nobly succeeded in another, and is justly
esteemed the Homer of philosophers. Cicero was so great an
admirer of him that he said, " If Jupiter conversed widi men,
he would talk in the language of Plato." It was a common
report in the age he lived, that bees dropped honey on his lips
as he lay in the cradle. And it is said, that, the night before
he was placed under die tuition of Socrates, the philosopher
dreamed he had embraced a young swan in his bosom ; who,
after his feathers were full grown, stretched out his wings, and
soared to an immense height in the air, singing all the time
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 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
of enmity, but yet it could not fail of some
advantage; for, as Hesiod says,*
Such brave contention works the good of men.
A greater prize than the glory and renown
of the ancients can never be contended for,
where victory crowns with never-dying ap-
plause; when even a defeat, in such a com-
petition, is attended with honour.
SECTION XIV.
If ever therefore we are engaged in a work
which rec[uires a grandeur of style and ex-
alted sentiments, would it not then be of use
to raise in ourselves such reflections as these?
— How in this case would Homer, or Plato,
or Demosthenes, have raised their thoughts?
Or if it be historical — how would Thucy-
dides ? For these celebrated persons, being
proposed by us for our pattern and imitation,
will in some degree lift up our souls to the
standard of their own genius. It will be yet
of greater use, if to the preceding reflections
we add these^ — What would Homer or De-
mosthenes have thought of this piece? or
what judgment would they have passed upon
* Hesiod. in operibus et die bus, vcr. 24.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 115
it? It is really a noble enterprise, to frame
such a theatre and tribunal, to sit 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 ap-
plause of succeeding ages, must needs be im-
perfect and abortive.
SECTION XV.
"^ Visions, which by 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 repre-
sented in the mind, which is communicable
to others by discourse ; but a more particu-
lar sense of it has now prevailed : " When
116 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
the imagination is so warmed and affected,
that you seem to behold yourself the very
things you are describing, and to display
them to the life before the eyes of an au-
dience/'
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,
* to move and strike the imagination is a de-
sign common to both.
^ 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,
Armatani facibus matrem et serpentibus atris
Cum fugit, ultricesque sedent in limine Diris.
Or mad Orestes when his mother's ghost
r nil in his face infernal torches toss'd,
And shook her snaky locks : he shuns the sight,
Flies o'er the stage, surpris'd with mortal fri
The Furies guard the door, and intercept his
Dryden.
" There is not (says jNIr. Addison, Spectator, No. 421.) a
sight in nature so mortifying as that of a distracted person,
when his imagination is troubled, and his whole soul disordered
and confused: Babylon in ruins is not so melancholy a spec-
tacle."
The distraction of Orestes, after the murder of his mother,
is a fine representation in Euripides, because it ia natural. The
sight, ^
right, V
his flight. J
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 11?
What horrid sights! how glare their bloody eyes!
How twistins; 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. He
is strongly apprehensive of Divine vengeance, and the violence
of his fears places the avenging furies before his eyes. When-
ever the mind is harassed by the stings of conscience, or the
horrors of guilt, the senses are liable to infinite delusions, and
startle at hideous imaginary monsters. The poet, who can
touch such incidents with happy dexterity, and paint such
images of consternation, will infallibly work on the minds of
others. This is what Longinus commends in Euripides ; and
here it must be added, that no poet in this branch of writing
can enter into a parallel with Shakespeare.
When Macbeth is preparing for the murder of Duncan, his
imagination is big with the attempt, and is quite upon the rack.
Within, his soul is dismayed with the horror of so black an
enterprise ; and every thing without looks dismal and affright-
ing. His eyes rebel against his reason, and make him start at
images that have no reality. —
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle tow'rd my hand r come let me clutch thee !
I have thee not — and yet 1 see thee still.
He then endeavours to summon his reason to his aid, and
convince himself that it is 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 .. .
As this which now 1 draw.
Here he makes a new attempt to reason himself out of the
delusion, but it is quite too strong : —
I see 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
audience cannot but share the consternation, and start at the
visionary dagger.
The genius of the poet will appear more surprising, if we
consider how the horror is continually worked up, by the me-
thod in which the perpetration of the murder is 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. The least noise, die very sound of
their own voices, is shocking and frightful to both :
Hark ! peace !
It 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 ! I am afraid they have awak'd,
And 'tis not done: th' attempt, and not the deed,
Confounds us. — Hark! — I laid their daggers ready,
He could not miss them.
The best way to commend it, as it deserves, would be to
quote the whole scene. The fact is represented in the same
affecting horror as would rise in the mind at sight of the actual
commission. Every single image seems reality, and alarms r'
the soul. They seize the whole attention, stiffen and benumb
the sense, tiic very blood curdles and runs cold, through the
strongest abhorrence and detestation of the crime.
* Euripid. Orest. ver. 255.
+ Euripid. Iphigen. Taur. ver, 408.
/
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. IIQ
The poet here actually saw the furies with
the eyes of his imagination, and has com- ,
pelled his audience to see what he beheld
himself. Euripides therefore has laboured
very much in his tragedies to describe the
two passions of madness and love, and has
succeeded much better in these than (if I
am not mistaken) in any other. Sometimes,
indeed, he boldly aims at Images of different
kinds. For though his genius was not natu-
rally great, yet in many instances he even
forced it up to the true spirit of tragedy ;
and that he may always rise where his sub-
ject demands it (to borrow an allusion from
the Poet)*
Lash'd by his tail his heaving sides incite
His courage, and provoke himself for fight.
The foregoing assertion is evident from that
passage, where Sol delivers the reins of his
chariot to Phaeton :
~ Drive on, but cautious shun the Lybian air ;
That hot unmoisten'd region of the sky
Will drop thy chariot. f
* Iliad. V. ver. 170.
~ This passage, in all probability, is taken from a tragedy of
Euripides, named Phaeton, which is entirely lost. Ovid had
■f Two fiagmejits of Euripides.
120 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME,
And a little after,
Thence let the Pleiads point thy wary course.
Thus spoke the god. " Th' impatient youth with haste
certainly an eye to it in his Met. 1. ii. when he puts these lines
into the mouth of Phoebus, resigning the chariot of the Sun
to Phaiiton : —
Zonarumque trium contentus fine, polumque
Effugit australem, junctamque aquilonibus arcton: '
Ilac 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
he has diminished, almost vitiated, by flourishes. A sublimer
image can no where be found than in the song of Deborah,
after Sisera's defeat (J lulges, v. C8 — ), v\'here the vain-glorious
boasts of Sisera's mother, when expecting his return, and, as
she was confident, his victorious return, are described :
** The mother of Sisera looked out at a window, and cried
through the lattice, Why is his chariot so long in coming ? why
tarrv the wheels of his chariots ? Her wise ladies answered
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 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 the airy void. Behind, the sire,
Borne on his planetary steed, pursues
With eye intent, and warns him with his voice,
Drive there I — now here ! — here ! turn the chariot here !
Who would not saj, that the soul of the
poet mounted the chariot along with the
rider, that it shared as well in danger as in ra-
pidity of flight with the horses? For, had he
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 in his ^ Cassandra :
Ye 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 by oath not
to survive Eteocles : —
her ; yea, she returned answer to herself: Have they not sped ?
have they not divided the prey ? to every 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 ?" — Dr. Pearce.
' The Cassandra of Euripides is now entirely lost.
I
12'2 LONGTNIS ON THE SUBLIME.
* The seven, a warlike leader each in chief,
Stood roumi ; and o'er the brazen shield tliey slew
A 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 in Milton is great and dreadful.
The fallen angels, fired by 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, and imprints a dread and
liorror on the mind :
He spake; and to confirm his words, out flew
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs
Of mighty cherubim : the sudden blaze .-5^^ . -.
Far round iliumiii'd hell ; highly they rag'd
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 vehemently does the fury of Northumberland exert
itself in Shakespeare, when he hears of the death of his son
Hotspur. The rage and distraction of the surviving father
shews how important the son was in his opinion. Nothing
njust be, now he is not: nature itself must fall with Percy.
His grief renders him frantic, his anger desperate :
Let heav'n kiss earth ! now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd : let order die.
And let this world no longer be a stage
To feed contention in a ling'ring act :
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that each heart being set
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end,
And dailiies^ be llii' burier of the deatl.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 123
Sometimes, indeed, the thoughts of 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 sud-
den appearance of Bacchus :
The frantic dome and roaring roofs couvuls'd,
Reel to and fro, instinct with rage divine.
Euripides has the same thought, but he has
turned it with much more softness and pro-
priety :
The vocal mount in agitation shakes,^
And echoes back the Bacchanalian cries.
^ Tollius is of opinion, that Longinus blames neither the
thought of Euripides nor jEschylus, but only the word
/3a)c^£V£i, which, he says, has not so much sweetness, nor raises
so nice an idea, as the word avfi(iaicx£V£i. 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,
on account of its antiquity, in Spenser's Fairy Queen, which
may parallel that of iEschylus :
She foul blasphemous speeches forth did cast.
And bitter curses horrible to tell ;
That ev'n the temple wherein she was plac'd.
Did quake to hear, and nigh asunder brast.
I 2
124 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
Sophocles has succeeded nobly in his
Images, when he describes his CEdipus in all
the agonies of approaching death, and bury-
ing himself in the midst of a prodigious tem-
pest ; when he gives us a sight of the ^ appari-
Milton shews a greater boldness of fiction than either Euri-
pides or JEschylus, and tempers it with the utmost propriety,
when, at Adam's eating the forbidden fruit,
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 this apparition is de-
scribed, is entirely lost. Dr. Pearce observes, that there is an
unhappy imitation of it in the beginning of Seneca's Troades ;
and another in Ovid. Metam. lib. xiii. 441. neat without spirit,
and elegant without grandeur.
Ghosts are very frequent in English tragedies ; but ghosts,
as ■well as fairies, 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 3. Sc. 5.) the Images are set off in the strongest
expression, and strike the imagination with high degrees of
horror, which is supported with surprising art through the
whole scene.
There is a fine touch of this nature in Job iv. 13. "^ In
thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth
on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all
my bones to shake : then a spirit passed before my face ; the
hair of my flesh stood up. It stood still, but I could not dis-
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 125
tion of Achilles upon his tomb, at the depart-
ure of the Greeks from Troy. But I know
not whether anyone has described that ap-
parition more divinely than '' 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 ; whereas in oratory, their
beauty consists in 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 torment-
ing furies, and with all their sagacity never
find out, that when Orestes exclaims,* —
cern the form thereof: an image — before mine eyes — silence
— and I heard a voice, — Shall mortal man be more just than
God?" &.C. &c. ■ ■■- ' ; - • "
7 Simonides the Ceian was a celebrated poet. Cicero, de
Orat. 1, 2. declares him the inventor of artificial memory : and
Quinctilian, 1. x. c. 1. gives him this commendation as a poet :
" His excellency lay in moving compassion, so that some
prefer him in this particular before all other writers."- —
Dr. Pearce.
* Euripid. Orcst. V. -264.
126 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
Loose me, thou fury, let me go, torment' ress :
Close you embrace, to plunge me headlong down
Into th' abyss of Tartarus
the Image had seized his fancy, because the
mad fit was upon him, and he was actually
raving.
What then is the true use of Images in
* Oratory? They are capable, in abundance of
cases, to add both nerves and passion to our
speeches. For if the Images be skilfully
blended with the Proofs and Descriptions,
they not only persuade, but subdue an au^
dience. " If any one (says a great orator*)
should hear a sudden outcry before the tri-
bunal, whilst another brings the news that the
prison is burst open and the captives es-
caped, no man, either young or old, would be
of so abject a spirit as to deny his utmost assist- .
ance. But if amongst this hurry and confu-
sion another should arrive, and cry out. This
is the Author of these disorders — the mi-
serable accused, unjudged and unsentenced,
would perish on the spot/'
So Hyperides, when he was accused of pass-
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 I HE SUBLIME. 127
not an orator," said he, " that made this de-
cree, 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
the bounds of mere persuasion. It is natural
to us to hearken always to that which is ex-
traordinary and surprising ; whence it is, that
we regard not the Proof so much as the gran-
deur and lustre of the Image, which quite '
eclipses the Proof itself. This bias of the mind
has an easy solution ; since, when two such
things are blended together, the stronger will
attract to itself all the virtue and efficacy of
the weaker.
These observations will, I fancy, be suffi-
cient, concerning that Sublime w hich he -
longsto the Sense, and takes its rise either /
from an Elevation of Thought, a choice and I
connexion of proper Incidents, Amplifica-
tion, Imitation, or Images. . . .,,
128 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
PART 11.
' The Pathetic, which the Author, Sect. viii.
laid down for the second source of the Sub^
hme, is omitted here, because it was reserved
for a distinct treatise. — See Sect. xHv. with
the note. • > ? . ^ ..
PART 111.
SECTION XVI.
•' \ The topic that comes next in order, is
that of Figures ; for these, when judiciously
used, conduce not a little to greatness. But
since it would be tedious, if not infinite la-
bour, exactly to describe all the species of
them, I shall instance 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 is really
their due.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 12.9
Demosthenes is producing proofs of his
upright behaviour whilst in pubKc employ.
Now, which is the most natural method of
doing this ? (" You were not in the wrong,
Athenians, when you courageously ventured
your lives in fighting for the liberty and safety
of Greece, of which you have domestic illus-
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 trans-
ported 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 trans-
ferring 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 Pa-
thetic, 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. He breathes new life into 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
sole application of this Figure, he violently
seizes the favour and attention of his audi-
ence, and compels them to acquiesce in
the event, as they cannot blame the under-
taking.
Some would insinuate, that the hint of this
oath was taken from these lines of ^Eupolis:
No ! by my labours in that glorious * field.
Their joy shall not produce my discontent!
' The observations on this oath are judicious and solid.
But there is one iuliuitely more solemn and awful in Jeremiah
xxii. 5.
<* But if ye will not hear these words, I swear by myself,
saith the Lord, that this house shall become a desolation." —
See Genesis xxii. \G. and Hebrews vi. 13.
" Eupolis was an Athenian writer of comedy, of whom
nothing remahis at present, but the renown of his name, —
Dr. Pearce.
* Marathon.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 131
^ But the grandeur consists not in the bare
appHcation of an oath, but in applying it in
the proper place, in a pertinent manner, at
the exactest time, and for the strongest rea-
sons. Yet in Eupolis there is nothing but
an oath, and that addressed to 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
worthy of such virtue ; but deviated from
those illustrious souls, who ventured their lives
for their country, to swear by an inanimate
object, the battle. In 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 mis-
fortune. It is at one time a clear demon-
stration that they had done their duty ; it
^ This judgment is admirable, and Longinus alone says
more than all the writers on rhetoric that ever examined this
passage of Demosthenes. Quinctilian, indeed, was very sensi-
ble of the ridiculousness of using oaths, if 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 Eu-
polis. — Dacier,
132 LONGINUS ON T II K SUBLIME.
gives occasion for an illustrious example; it
is 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
by those celebrated victories ;" the orator
took care to weigh all his words in the ba- $/
lances of art, and thereby brings them off
with security and honour. >^rrom which pru-
dent conduct we may infer, that sobriety and
moderation must be observed, in the warmest
fits of fire and transport. In speaking of
their ancestors, he says, " Those who so
bravely exposed themselves to danger in the
plains of Marathon, those who were in the
naval engagements near Salamis and Arte-
misium, and those who fought at Plata3ae;"
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 anti-
cipates all objections, by immediately sub-
joining, " all 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 XVII.
I MUST not in this place, my friend, omit
an observation of my own, which I will men-
tion in the shortest manner : Figures na-
turally impart assistance to, and on the other
side receive it again, in a wonderful man-
ner, from sublime sentiments. And I will
now shew where, and by what means, this is
done.
A too frequent and elaborate application
of Figures, carries with it a great suspicion
of artifice, deceit, and fraud, especially when,
in pleading, we speak before a judge, from
whose sentence lies no appeal; and nmch
more, if before a tyrant, a monarch, or any
one invested with arbitrary power, or un-
bounded authority. For he grows immedi-
ately angry, if he thinks himself childishly
amused, and attacked by the quirks and sub-
tleties of a wily rhetorician. He regards the
attempt as an insult and affront to his undcr-
standino[, and sometimes breaks out into bit-
ter indignation ; and though perhaps he may
suppress his wrath, and stitle his resentments
for the present, yet he is averse, nay even
134 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
deaf, to the most plausible and persuasive
arguments that can be alleged. AVherefore, ^
a Figure is then most dexterously applied,^
when it cannot be discerned that it is a
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 exam-
ple to strengthen this assertion, than the pre-
ceding from Demosthenes : " I swear by those
noble souls," &c. For in what has the orator
here concealed the Figure? Plainly, in its own^
lustre. 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. A parallel
illustration 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 to rise out of the piece, but
even to lie much nearer to the sight. So
the Sublime and Pathetic, either by means
of a great affinity they bear to the springs
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 135
and movements of our souls, or by their own
superlative lustre, always outshine the ad-
jacent Figures, whose art they shadow, and
whose appearance they cover, in a veil of su-
perior beauties.
SECTION XVIII.
What shall I say here of Question and
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 ; 1 mean the
words of Christ, in this Figure of self-interrogation and an-
swer : " 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 clothed in soft raiment? behold, they that wear soft
clothing, are in kings' houses. But what went ye out for to
see ? a prophet ? yea, I say unto you, and more than a pro-
phet." Matt. xi. 7—9. — Dr. Pearce.
That the sense receives strength, as well as beauty, from
this Figure, is no where so visible as in the poetical and pro-
phetical parts of Scripture. Numberless instances might be
easily produced ; and we are puzzled how to pitch 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.
Any reader will observe, that there is a poetical air in the
136 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLlMEi
strengthened, and thrown, more forcibly along
by this sort of Figure ? ^" Would you/' says
predictions of Balaam in the 23d chapter of Numbers, and
that there is particularly an uncommon grandeur in ver. IQ.
" God is not a man, that he should lie, neither the son of
man, that he should repent. Hath he said, and shall he not
do it ? or, hath he spoken, and shall he not make it good r"
W hat is the cause of this 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. What he has said, he will do ;
and what he has spoke, he will make good."
The difference is so visible, that it is needless to enlarge
upon it.
How artfully does St. Paul, in Acts xxvi. transfer his dis-
course from Festus to Agrippa. In ver. 26. he speaks of
him in the third person. " The King (says he) knovveth of
these things, before whom 1 also 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, " I 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 expostulat-
ing- with his creature, in terms which express at once the ma-
jesty and perfection of the one, the meanness and frailty of
the other. There we see how vastly useful the Figure of In-
terrogation is, in giving us a lofty idea of the Deity, whilst
every Question awes us into silence, and inspires a sense of
our insufficiencv.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 137
Demosthenes,* *' go about the city, and de-
mand what news ? What greater news can ^
there be, than that a Macedonian enslaves
the Athenians, and lords it over Greece? Is
Philip dead? No: but he is very sick. And
what advantage w^ould 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
and without Interrogation, it would have
fallen vastly short of the majesty requisite to
the subject in debate. But as it is, the energy
and rapidity that appears in every question
and answer, and the quick replies to his own
demands, as if they were the objections of
another person, not only renders his oration*^
more sublime and lofty, but more plausible
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.
K
138 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
^ seems not fitted to the subject bj the skill of
the speaker, but to flow opportunely from it.
And this method of questioning and answer-
\ing to one's self, imitates the quick emotions
of a passion in its birth. ^ For in common
conversation, when people are questioned,
i they are warmed at once, and answer the de-
mands put to them with earnestness and
truth. ^And thus this Figure of Question and
Answer is of wonderful efficacy in prevailing
upon the hearer, and imposing on him a be-
lief, that those things, which are studied and
laboured, are uttered without premeditation,
in the heat and fluency of discourse. — [What
follows here is the beginning of a sentence
now maimed and imperfect, but it is evident,
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 this
Section is lost, but the sense is easily sup-
plied from what immediately follows.] An-
LO>fGINUS OX THE SUBLIME. 139
Other great help in attaining grandeur, is ba-
nishing the Copulatives at a proper season.
For sentences, artfully divested of Conjunc-
tions, drop smoothly down, and the periodsi,
are poured along in such a manner, that they
seem to outstrip the very thought of the
speaker. ^ " Then (says Xenophon*) closing
*"The want of a scrupulous connexion draws tilings into a
lesser compass, and adds the greater spirit and emotion. — For .
the more rays are collected in a point, the more vigorous is the
flame. Hence there is yet greater emphasis, when the rout of
an army is shewn in the same contracted manner, as in the
24th of the Odyssey, 1. 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, 1 IS.
Voltaire has endeavoured to shew the huny and confusion
of a battle, in the same manner, in the Henriade. Chant. 6.
Francois, Anglois, Lorrains, que la fureur assemble,
Avancoient, combattoient, frappoient, mouroient ensemble.
The hurry and distraction of Dido's spirits, at iEneas's de-
parture, is visible from the abrupt and precipitate manner in
which she commands her servants to endeavour to stop him :
Ite,
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 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
their shields together, they were pushed, they
fought, they slew, they were slain." So Eu-
rylochus in Homer :*
We went, Ulysses ! (such was thy command)
Through the lone thicket, and the desert land ;
' ' 1 A palace m a woody vale we found.
Brown 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 skil-
fully has Homer rejected the Conjunctions.
SECTION XX.
^ But nothing so effectually moves, as a
heap of Figures combined together. ^ For
* Odyss. K. ver. 251.
^ Amongst the various and beautiful instances of an assem-
blage of figures, which may be produced, and which so fre-
quently occur in the best writings, one, I believe, has hitherto
not been taken notice of; I mean the four last verses of the
24th Psalm.
** Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up, ye ever-
lasting doors, and the King of glory shall come in. Who is
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 141
when two or three are linked together in firm
confederacy, 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 vio-
lence to another, which it is impossible for
the party that suffers such violence, to ex-
press.'' 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 King of glory ? The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord
mighty in battles. Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye
lift up, ye-^everlasting doors, and the King of glory shall come
in. Who is the King of glory ? The Lord of hosts : he is
the King of glory !"
There are innumerable instances of this kind in the poetical
partsof Scripture, particularly in the Songof Deborah (Judges,
chap. V.) and the Lamentation of David over Saul and Jona-
than, (2 Samuel, chap, i.) There is scarce one thought in
them, which is not figured ; nor one Figure which is not beau-
tiful.
* Pag. 337. ed. Par. ; >. :" 'd'
142 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
and fresh repetitions " 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-
sity of hurricanes : " AVhen with his fist,
when on the face/' — " These things affect,
these things exasperate men unused to such
outrages. 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 Repe-
titions 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 requisite. " Nor indeed is one
obs ervation to be omitted, that he who com-
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 143
mits violence on another, may do many
things, SfC— first in his gesture, then in his
countenance, and thirdlif in his voice, which,"
cj-c. And if you proceed to insert the Con-
junctions, ^you will find, that, by smoothing
the roughness, and filling up the breaks by
such additions, what was before forcibly, sur-
prisingly, irresistibly pathetical, will lose all
its energy and spirit, will have all its fire im-
mediately extinguished. To bind the limbs
of racers, is to deprive them of active motion
and the power of stretching. In like manner,
the Pathetic, when embarrassed and entan-
gled in the bonds of Copulatives, cannot sub-
sist without difificulty. It is quite deprived
of liberty in its race, and divested of that
impetuosity, by which it strikes the very in-
stant it is discharged.
* No writer ever made a less use of Copulatives than St.
Paul. His thoughts poured in so fast upon him, that he had
no leisure to knit them together, by the help of particles, but
has by that means given them weight, spirit, energy, and strong
significance. An instance of it may be seen in 2 Corinth,
chap. vi. From ver. 4, to 10, is but one sentence, of near
thirty different members, which are all detached from one an-
other ; and if the Copulatives be inserted after the Isocratean
manner, the strength will be quite impaired, and the sedate
grandeur of the whole grow flat and heavy.
144 LONGINUS ON TUE SUBLIME.
SECTION XXII.
Hy PER BATONS also are to be ranked
among the serviceable Figures. An Hyper- ^
baton ^ is a transposing of words or thoughts
^ Virgil is very 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 their
right order into an irregular disposition, which is a natural con-
sequence of disorder in the mind. — Dr Pcarce.
There is a fine Hyperbaton in the 5 th book of Paradise Lost;
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet.
With charm of earliest birds : pleasant the sun.
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His 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
Of grateful evening mild: then silent night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heav'n, her starry train.
But neither breath of morn, when she ascends,
With charms of earliest birds : nor herb, fruit, flowV,
Glist'ring with dew : nor fragrance after show'rs :
Nor grateful ev'ning mild : nor silent night.
With this her solemn biid: nor walk by noon.
Or glitt'riiig starlight, without thee is sweet.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 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, their thoughts are in per-
petual hurry; till, tossed as it w^ere by some
unstable blast, they sometimes return to their
first resolution: so thatjfby this flux, and re- ^^
flux of passion, thcj alter their thoughts,^ u
their language, and their manner of expres- /
sion, a thousand times. Hence it comes to \
pass, that^ an imitation of these transposi- j
- 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 a sentence. Whether he did this
by accident, or design, I cainiot determine; though Le Fevre
thinks it a piece of art in the Author in order to adapt the dic-
tion to the subject. — Dr. Pearce.
^ This tine remark may be illustrated by a celebrated passage
in Shakespeaie's Hamlet, where tlic poet's art has hit ofl ihe
146 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
tions gives the most celebrated writers the
\ greatest resemblance of the inward workings
of nature. For art may then be termed per-
strongest and most exact resemblance of nature. The beha-
Tiour of his mother makes such impression on the young prince^
that his mii'.d is big with abhorrence of it, but expressions fail
him. He begins abruptly ; but as refieclions crowd thick up-
on his mind, he runs off into commendations of his father.
Some time after his thoughts turn agahi on that action of his
mother, which had raised his resentments, but he only touches
it, and flies oft' again. In short, he takes up nineteen lines in
telling us, that his mother married again in less than two months
after her husband's death : —
But two months dead ! nay not so much, not two
So excellent a king, that was to this
Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother,
That he permitted not the winds of heav'n
Visit her face too roughly! Heav'n and earth?
INIust 1 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! —
A little mouth — or ere those shoes were old,
^\ ilh which she follow 'd my poor father's body.
Like Niobe, all tears — why she, ev'n she •
Oh Heav'n I a beast that wants discourse of reason,
WouUl have mourn'd longer — married with mine uncle.
My father's brother ; but no more like my father.
Than I to Hercules ! Within a nn)uth !
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing of her galled eyes, '
Shcmanied! Oh most wicked speed! • .
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 147
feet 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
speaks thus in a Transposition : " For our
aftairs are come to their crisis; now is the
important moment, lonians, to secure your
liberty, or to undergo that cruelt}^ and op-
pression which is the portion of slaves, nay,
fugitive slaves. 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-
dom.'' The natural order was this : " O lo-
nians, now is the time to submit to toil and
labour, for your affairs are come to their
crisis,'' <^^c. But as he transposed the saluta-
tion, lonians, and after having thrown them
into consternation, subjoins it; it seems as if
fright had hindered him, at setting out, from
paying due civility to his audience. In the
next place, he inverts the order of the thoughts.
Before he exhorts them to " submit to toil and
labour," (for that is the end of his exhorta-
tion) he mentions the reason why labour and
* Herod. I. (i.e. 11. ' - - - >•*
148 LONGIXUS ON THE SUBLIME.
toil 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 is still more of a perfect
master in that surprising dexterity of trans-
posing and inverting the order of those
things, which seem naturally united and in-
separable. Demostliencs, indeed, attempts not
this so often as Tlmcydides, yet he is 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 De-
mosthenes, as described in this Section by Longinus. Some
important point being always uppermost in his view, he often
leaves his subject, and flies from it with brave irregularity, and
as unexpectedly agam returns to his subject, when one would
imagine that he had entirely lost sight of it. For instance, in his
defence before Kshg Agrippa, Acts, chap. xxvi. when, in order
tj wipe off the aspersions thrown upon him by the Jews, that
"he was a tuibuleiit and seditious person," he sets out with
clearuig his character, proving the integrity of his morals, and
his inoti'eujrive unblameable behaviour, as one who hoped, by
those means, to aliain that happiness of another life, for which
the "twelve tribes served God continually in the temple ;" on
a sudden lu; drops the continuation of his defence, and cries out,
*' Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that
God should raise the dead?" It nnglit be reasonably expected,
that this would be the end of his argument; but by flying to
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 149
very order of his discourse, and, what is more,
to utter every thing extempore ; 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 I
career, he makes excursions into different sub-
jects, and intermingles several seemingly un- ]
necessary 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 un-
expectedly, returns to his subject, and raises
the surprise and admiration of all, by these
daring, but happy Transpositions. The plenty
of examples, which every where occur in his
orations, will be my excuse for giving no par-
ticular instance.
it, in so quick and unexpected a transition, he catches his au-
dience before they are aware, and strikes dumb his enemies,
though they will not be convinced. And this point being once
carried, he comes about again as unexpectedly, by, " I verily
thought," &c. and goes on with his defence, till it brings him
again to the same point of tlie resurrection, in ver. 23.
150 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
SECTION XXIII.
Those Figures, which are called ^ Pol vp-
totes, as also ^Collections, ^Changes, and
* " Polyptotes."] Longinus gives no instance of this Figure:
but one may be produced from Cicero's oration for Citlius^
where he says, " We will contend with arguments, we will
refute accusations by evidences brighter than light itself : fact
shall engage with fact, cause with cause, reason with reason."
To which may be added that of Virgil, iEn. lib. x. ver. 36l.
— H'jeretpede pes, densusque viro vir. —
Dr. Pearce.
^2 « Collections."] The orator makes use of this Figure,
when, instead of the \\ hole of a thing, he numbers up all its
particulars : of which we have an instance in Cicero's oration
for Mavcellus : " The centurion has no share in this honour,
the lieutenant none, the cohort none, the troop none." If Ci-
cero had said, " The soldiers have no share in this honour,"
this would have declared his meaning, but not the force of the
speaker. See also Quinctilian, Instit. Orat. 1. viii. c. 2. de
congerie verborum ac senteutiarum idem significantium. —
Dr. Pearce.
' " Changes."] Quinctilian gives an instance of this Figure,
Instit. Orat. 1. ix. c. 3, from Cicero's oration for Sex. Ros-
cius : '' For though he is master of so much art, as to seem
the only person alive who is lit 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.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 151
* Gradations, are (as you know, my friend)
well adapted to emotion, and serviceable in
adorning, and rendering what we say, in all
respects, more grand and affecting. And to
what an amazing degree do '^ Changes either
of Time, Case, Person, Number, Gender, di-
versify 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 crowd appear,
Whose noise, and din, and shouts, confound the ear.
* " Gradations,"] There is an instance of this Figure in
Rom. V. It is continued throughout tlie chapter, but llie
branches of the latter part appear not plainly, because of the
Transpositions. It begins ver. 1. " Therefore being justified
by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus
Christ, By whom also we have access by faith into this grace
wherein we stand, and rejoice in 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; be-
cause," &c. &c.
* Changes of Case and Gender fall not under the district of
the Enghsh tongue. On those of Time, Person, and Number,
Longinus enlarges in the sequel,
^Tlie beauty of this Figure will, I fear, be lost in the transla-
tion. But it must be observed, that the word croze d, is of the
singular, and appear, of the plural number. Allowance must
152 LONGINLS OX THE SUBLIME.
Hut plurals are most worthy of remark, be-
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 ! nuptials, nuptials !
You first produc'd, and since our fi'tal birth
Have mix'd our blood, and ail our race confounded.
Blended in horrid and incestuous bonds !
/ See! fathers, brothers, sons, a dire alliance!
See! sisters, wives, and mothers! all the names
That e'er from lust or incest 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 in such cases; for when the genius of another lan-
guage will not retain it, the original beauty must unavoida-
bly fly off.
* (Edip. Tyran. ver. 1417.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 153
tus's, nor the Danaus's, dwell here with us,
nor indeed any others of barbarous descent ;
but we ourselves, Grecians entirely, not hav-
ing our blood debased by barbarian mix-
tures, dwell here alone,^' &c. *When the,
words are thus confusedly thrown into mul-
titudes, one upon another, they excite in us
greater and more elevated ideas of things.
Tet recourse is not to be had to this Figure
on all occasions, but then only when the sub-
ject will admit of an Amplification, an En-
largement, Hyperbole, or Passion, either one
or more. — '' For to hang such trappings to
every passage is highly pedantic./
* Plato in Menexeno, p. 245. ed. Par.
'' " For to hang such trappings," 8cc.] I have given this
passage such a turn as, I liope, will clear the meaning to an
English reader. The literal translation is, " For hanging the
bells every where savours too much of the sophist or pedant."
The metaphor is borrowed from a custom among the ancients,
who, at public games and concourses, were used to hang little
bells (K(i)C(t)yag) on the bridles and trapping of their horses, that
their continual chiming might add pomp to the solemnity.
The robe or ephod of the high-priest, in the Mosaic dispen-
sation, had this ornament of bells, though another reason, be-
sides the pomp and dignity of the sound, is alleged for it in
Exodus xxviii. 33.
154 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
SECTION XXIV.
\ On the contrary also, plurals reduced and
contradicted into singulars, have sometimes
much grandeur and magnificence. ^ " Be-
sides, all Peloponnesus was at that time rent
into factions.''* And, " At the representa-
tion of Phrynicus's tragedy, called. The Siege
of Miletus, ^ the whole theatre was melted
1 " 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, vii. to avoid the direct charge of disobedience on the
whole body of the Jews, he transfers the discourse into the
first person, and so charges the insufficiency and frailty of all
his countryrcen on himself, to guard against the invidiousness
which an open accusation might have drawn upon him. See
ver. 9—25.
* Demosth. Orat. de Corona, p. 17. ed. Oxon.
= " The whole theatre."] Instead of, " all the people in
the theatre." Miletus was a city of Ionia, which the Per-
sians besieged and took. Phrynicus, a tragic poet, brought
a play on the stage about the demolition of this city. 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,
Shakespeare makes a noble use of this Figure, in the fol-
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 155
into tears/'* For uniting thus one complete,
number out of several distinct, renders a dis-
course more nervous and solid. But the
beauty, in each of these figures, arises from
the 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,
is the mark of a pathetic speaker.
SECTION XXV
When you introduce things past as actu- ^
ally present, and in the moment of action, you
no longer relate, 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 city cast
Her people out upon her, and Antony
Enthron'd i'lh' market-place, did sit alone
Whistling to th' air; which but for vacancy, • m ''^
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, ■'' ■"'' '>'^^-
And made a gap in nature. • '*A • '-'^'t ->•' i '
* Herod. 1. 6. c. 21. .yj : - . .' .-n.-y -''
l2
156 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
before the eyes of your readers. " * A soldier
(says 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 frequently makes use of this
Figure. - v- , _.
SECTION XXVI.
Change of persons has also a wonderful
effect, in setting the very things before our
eyes, 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.
By making use of the present tense, Virgil makes the reader
see almost with his eyes, the wound of the horse, and the fall
of the warrior. D7\ Pearce.
* Xenophon de Cyri fnstitut. I. 7. .^ *
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. l57
when he is only attentive to a recital of
them.
No force could vanquish them, thou would'st have thought,
No toil fatigue, so furiously they fought.*
And so x^ratusj-j-
O put not thou to sea in that sad month ! *
And this passage of Herodotus :J " You shall
sail upwards from the city Elephantina, and
at length you Avill arrive upon a level coast.
— After you have travelled over this tract of
land, you shall go on board another ship, and
sail two days, and then you will arrive at a
great city, called Meroe." You see, my
* IHad. 0. ver. 698. f Arati Phaenom. ver. 287.
^ Virgil supplies another instance of the efficacy of this
figure, in the ^n. 1. viii. ver. 689-
...It -k
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. Canto 9no.
L'horror, la crudelta, la tema, il 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. , v ,«..
158 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
friend, how he carries your imagination along
with him in this excursion ! how he conducts
it through the different scenes, making even
hearing sight ! And all such passages, di-
rectly addressed to the hearers, make them
fancy themselves actually present in every
occurrence. But when you address your dis-
course, not in general to all, but to one in
particular, as here,*
" You could not see, so tierce Tydides rag'd,
Whether for Greece or Ilion he engag'd
' Mr. Pope.
\ By this address, you not only strike more
upon his passions, but fill him with a more
earnest attention, and a more anxious impa-
tience for the event.
* Iliad. £. ver. 85.
2 Solomon's words, in 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 in of
the doors — Unto you, O men, 1 call, and my voice is to the
sons of men." — Dr. Pearce.
There is also an example of it in St. Luke, v. 14. " And
he commanded him to tell no man, but Go, shew thyself
to the priest."
And another more remarkable, in Psalm cxxviii. 2. " Bless-
ed are all they that fear the Lord, and walk in his ways — For
thou shalt eat the labour of thy hands. Oh ! well is thee,
and happy shalt thou be !"
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 159
SECTION XXVII.
Sometimes when a writer is saying any
thing of a person, he brings him in, by a sud-
den Transition, to speak for himself. This fi-
gure produces a vehement and lively Pathetic.
^ Now Hector, with loud voice, renew'd their toils,
Bade them assault the ships and leave the spoils ;
But whom I lind at distance from the 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.
Thus at their shady lodge arriv'd, both stood, ■-- ^ .^
Both 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
poets have imitated the ancients, in beginning a speech, with-
out premising that the person said thus, or thus ; but as 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 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
go through with decently, the poet here as-
sumes 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 in,
Hector spoke thus, or thus? But now the
quickness of the Transition outstrips the very
thought of the poet.
Upon which account this figure is then
most seasonably applied, when the pressing-
exigency of time will not admit of any stop
or delay, but even enforces a transition from
persons to persons, as in this passage of ^He-
cataeus : " Ceyx, very much troubled at these
proceedings, immediately commanded all the
descendants of the Heraclidse to depart his
territories — For I 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,"] He means Hecataeus the Milesian, tl^e
first of the historians, according to Suidas, who wrote in
prose. — Laugbaiiie.
' " Demosthenes has made use," &c.] Reading here in the
original ov instead of o, a very small alteration due to the sa-
gacity of Dr. Tonstal, clearly preserves the sense. For un-
doubtedly Demosthenes makes use of a Transition in the
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. l6l
in a different 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 in-
solent and profligate wretch is laid before
your eyes ? This insolent wretch, I say, who
^Thou most abandoned creature ! when
excluded the liberty of speaking, not by bars
or gates, for these indeed some other might
have burst/' — The thought is here left imper-
fect and unfinished, and he almost tears his
words asunder to address them at once to dif-
ferent persons ; " Who — Thou most aban-
doned creature !" Having diverted his dis-
course from Aristogiton, and seemingly left
him, he turns again upon him, ^and attacks
same manner with Homer and Hecatieus. I would therefore
translate it thus — " Demosthenes hath also made use of this
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 antece-
dent to the Mosaic, and of eternal obligation. Yet, not to
exasperate the Jews at setting out, and so render them averse
162 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
him afresh with more violent strokes of heat
and passion. 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
with the gentiles, and gives a black catalogue of all their vices,
which (in reality were, as well as) appeared excessively heinous
in the eyes of the Jews, till, in the beginning of the second
chapter, he unexpectedly turns upon them with, " Therefore
thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art, that judg-
est," ver. 1. and again, ver. 3. "And thinkest thou this, O
man, that judgest them which do such things, 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 makes on the Jews successive, and
rising in their strength.
* Odyss. c. ver. 68 1 .
^ In these verses Penelope, after she had spoken of the suit-
ors in the third person, seems on a sudden exasperated at their
proceedings, and addresses her discourse to them as if they
were present.
Why thus, ungen'rous men, devour my son? &c.
To which passage in Homer, one in Virgil bears great re-
semblance, iEn. iii. ver. 708.
Hie pelagi tot tempestatibus actus,
Heu ! genitorem, omnis cura? casusque levamen,
Amitto Anchisen ; hie me, pater optima, fessum
Deseris, heu ! tantis nequicquam erepte periclis.
As does a passage also in the poetical book of Job, chap,
xvi. ver. 7, where, after he had said of God, " But now he hath
LONGINUS ON" THE SUBLIME. l63
What ! must the faithful servants of my lord
Forego their tasks for them to crown the board?
1 scorn their love, and I detest their sight ;
And may they share their last of feasts to-night ! •
Why thus, uugen'rous men, devour my son ?
Why riot thus, till he be quite undone ? -
Heedless of him, yet timely hence retire,
And fear the vengeance of his awful sire.
Did not your fathers oft his might commend?
And children you the 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 rendered more sweet, by the divisions
which are run harmoniously upon it ; so a
Periphrasis sweetens a discourse carried on in
propriety of language, and contributes very
much to the ornament of it, especially if
there be no jarring or discord in it, but every
part be judiciously and musically tempered.
made me weary," by a sudden Transition, he addresses his
speech to God in the words immediately following, " Thou
hast made desolate all my company." — Dr. Pearcc
16'4 LONCINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
This may be established beyond dispute from
a passage of Plato, in the beginning of his Fu-
neral Oration : " ^ We have now discharged
the last duties we owe to these our departed
friends, who, thus provided, make the fatal
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 that we have but a little while to be
here, that we are upon our journey travelling towards our hea-
venly country, where we shall meet with all the delights we can
desire, it ought not to trouble us much to endure storms and
foul ways, and to want many of those accommodations we
might expect at home. This is the common fate of travellers,
and we must take things as we find them, and not look to have
every thing just to our mind. These difficulties 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
when we are safely landed in our own country, with what plea-
sure shall we look back on these rough and boisterous seas we
have escaped ?" — 1st Vol. p. 98, folio.
In each passage Death is the principal thought to which all
the circumstances of the Circumlocutions chiefly refer ; but
the Archbishop has 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 ; but the
Christian orator conducts 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.
/
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. l65
licly on their way by the whole body of the
city, and in a private capacity by their pa-
rents and relations/' Here he calls Death
" the fatal voyage/' and discharging the fu-
neral offices, a pubhc conducting of them by
their country. And who can deny that the
sentiment by this means is very much exalt-
ed ? 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 you such
sensible emotions of joy as commendation/'
By expressing an inclination to endure toil
in this Circumlocution, " You look upon la-
bour as the guide to a happy life /' and by en-
larging: some other words after the same man-
ner, he has not only exalted the sense, but given
new grace to his encomium. So that inimi-
table passage of Herodotus \\ " The goddess
afflicted those Scythians, who had sacrilegi-
ously pillaged her temple with^ the female
disease."
* Xenophon. Cyropsed. lib. 1.
+ Herod. 1. I.e. 105.
" The beauty of this Periphrasis, which Longiniis so highly
\
166 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
'^' * SECTION XXIX.
^Circumlocution is indeed more dan-
gerous than any other kind of figure, unlessv
it be used with great circumspection ; it is
" otherwise very apt to grow trifling and insi-
pid, and savour strongly of pedantry and
dulness. For this reason, Plato (though for
the generality superior to all in his figures,
yet being sometimes too lavish of them) is ri-
diculed very much for the following expres-
commends, appears not at present. Commentators indeed
have laboured hard to discover what this disease was, and
abundance of remarks, learned and curious to be sure, have
been made upon it. The best way will be to imitate the de-
corum of Herodotus, and leave it still a mystery.
^ " Circumlocution is indeed," &c.] Shakespeare, in
King Hichard the Second, has made sick John of Gaunt pour
out such a multitude to express England, as never was, nor
ever will be met with again. Some of them indeed sound very
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 little world, . ".
This precious stone set in the silver sea. •
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 16?
sion in his Treatise of Laws :* " It is not to
be permitted, that wealth of either gold or
silver should get footing or settle in a city/'
Had he, say the critics, forbidden the pos-
session of cattle, he might have called it the
wealth of mutton and beef.
And now, what has been said on this sub-
ject, will, I presume, my dear Terenti anus,
abundantly shew, of what service Figures
may be in producing the Sublime. For it is
manifest, that all I have mentioned render
compositions more pathetic and affecting.
For the Pathetic partakes as much of the
Sublime,^as writing exactly in rule and cha-
racter can do of the Agreeable.
PART IV.
SECTION XXX.
But since the sentiments and the lancruage
of compositions are generally best explained
by the light they throw upon one another.
Plato da Legibus, 1. 5. p. 741. ed. Pa
168 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
let US in the next place consider, 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) For
it is 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 their expressions. This
clothes a composition in the most beautiful
dress, makes it shine like a picture in all the
gaiety of colour, and, in a word, it 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 much
taste 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.] * * *
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. l69
SECTION XXXI.
* * * * * [The beginning of this Sec-
tion is lost.] * * In this verse of Anacreon,
the terms are vulgar, yet there is a simpli-
city in it which pleases, because it is natural :
Nor shall this Thracian vex me more I^
And for this reason, that celebrated expres-
sion of Theopompus seems to me the most sig-
nificant of any I ever met with, though Ceci-
lius has found something to blame in it —
"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 —
An honest man's the noblest work of God.
' Images, drawn from common life, or familiar objects, stand
in need of a deal of judgment to 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 : —
M
170 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
significant than the most ornamental could
possibly be. They are easily understood, be-
——I would have thee gone ;
And yet no further than a wanton's bird.
That lets it hop a httle from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread pulls it back again^
So 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
Hangs quiv'ring to a point ; leaps ofif by fits,
And falls again, as loath to quit its hold.
I have ventured to give these instances of the beauty and
strength of Images taken from low and common objects, be-
cause what the Critic says of Terms, holds equally in regard to
Images. An expression is not the worse for being obvious ^,
and familiar, for a judicious application gives it new dignity
and strono; significance. All Images and Words are dangerous
to such as want genius and spirit. By their management,
grand Words and Images, improperly thrown together, sink
into burlesque and sounding nonsense, and the easy and fami-
liar are tortured into insipid fustian. A true genius will steer
securely in either course, and with such bold rashness on par-
ticular occasions, .Inat he will almost touch upon rocks, yet
never receive any damage. This remark, in that part of it
which regards the Terras, may be illustrated by the following
lines of Shakespeare, spoken by Apemantus to Timon, when
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 171
cause borrowed from common life ; and what
is most familiar to us, soonest engages our
belief. Therefore, when a person, to promote
his ambitious designs, bears ill treatment and
reproaches, not only with patience, but a
seeming pleasure, to say that he swallows af-
fronts, 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 I think'st thou
That the bleak air, thy boist'rous chamberlain,
Will put thy shirt on warm ? will these moist trees,
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels.
And skip when thou point'st out ? will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, cawdle thy morning taste
To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit ? Call the creatures.
Whose naked natures live in all the spite
Of wreakful heav'n, whose bare unhoused trunks,
To the conflicting elements expos'd.
Answer mere nature ; bid them flatter thee ;
Oh ! thou shalt find - '
The whole is carried on with so much spirit, and supported
by such an air of solemnity, that it is noble and affecting.
Yet the same expressions and allusions, in inferior hands,
might have retained their original baseness, and been quite
ridiculous. ' '
* Herod. I. 6. c. 75. '
M 2
172 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
seized with madness, with a little knife that
he had, cut his flesh into small pieces, till,
having entirely mangled his body, he ex-
pired/' And again,* " Pythes, remaining still
in the ships fought courageously, till he was
hacked in pieces/^ These expressions ap-
proach near to vulgar, but are far from hav-
ing vulgar significations.
SECTION XXXII.
As to a proper number of Metaphors, Ce-
cilius has gone into their opinion, who have
settled it at two or three at most, in express-
ing the same object. But in this also, let De-
mosthenes be observed as our model and guide;
and by him we shall find, that the proper time^
to apply them, is, when the passions are so
much worked up, as to hurry on like a tor-
rent, and unavoidably carry along with them
a whole crowed of metaphors. " ^ Those
* Herod. 1. 7. c. 181. • ■ '
^ Demosthenes, in this instance, bursts not out upon the
traitorous creatures of Philip, witli such bitterness and severity ;
strikes them not dumb, witli such a continuation of vehement
and cutting Metaphors ; as St. Jude some profligate \Yretches
in his Epistle, vcr. IC, 13 : —
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 173
prostituted souls, those cringing traitors, those
furies of the commonwealth, who have com-
bined to wound and mangle their country,
who have drunk up its 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
honour, and that maxim, never to endure a
master, which to our brave forefathers were
the high ambition of hfe, and the standard
of felicity, these they have quite subverted.''
Here, by means of this multitude of Tropes,
the orator bursts out upon the traitors in the
warmest indignation. It is, however, the
'' These are spots in your feasts of charity, when they feast
with you, feeding themselves without fear : clouds they are
without water, carried about of winds : trees, whose fruit
withereth, without fruit, plucked up by the roots : raging
waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame : wandering
stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever."
By how much the bold defence of Christianity, against the
lewd practices, insatiable lusts, and impious blasphemies of
wicked abandoned men, is more glorious than the defence of a
petty state, against the intrigues of a foreign tyrant ; or, by
how much more honourable a'ld praiseworthy it is, to contend
for the glory of God and religion, than the reputation of one
republic ; by so much does this passage of the apostle exceed
that of Demosthenes, commended by Longinus, in force of
expression, liveliness of allusion, and height of Sublimity.
174 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
* precept of Aristotle and Theopbrastus, that
bold Metaphors ought to be introduced with
some small alleviations ; such as, if it may he
so expressed ; and as it were, and if I may
speak with so much boldness. For this excuse,
say they, very much palliates the hardness of
the figures.
^ Such a rule hath a general use, and there-
fore 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 com-
position, 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 are said to be "drunk with
blood," and a '' sword to devour flesh." (Deut. xxxii. 42.)
It illustrates the eloquence of St. Paul, who uses stronger,
more expressive, and more accumulated JNIetaphors, than any
other writer ; as when, for instance, he styles his converts,
*' His joy, his crown, his hope, his glory, his crown of re-
joicing." (Phil. iii. 9-) ^Vhen he exhorts them " to put on
Christ." (Rom. xiii. 14.) When he speaks against the heathens,
*' who had changed the truth of God into a lie." (Rom. i.
23.) When against wicked men, " whose end is destruction,
whose God is their belly, and whose glory is their shame."
(Phil. iii. lij.) See a chain of sliong ones, Rom. iii. 13 — 18.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 175
whole. For as it is the nature of the Pathe-
tic and Sublime, to run rapidly along, and
carry all before them, so they require the
figures, they are worked up in, to be strong
and forcible, and do not so much as give lei-
sure to a hearer, to cavil at their number, be-
cause they immediately strike his imagina-
tion, and inflame him ^\dth all the warmth
and fire of the speaker.
But further, in Illustrations and Descrip-
tions, there is nothing so expressive and sig-
nificant, as a chain of continued Tropes. By
these has Xenophon * described, in so pom-
pous and magnificent terms, the anatomy of
the human body. By these has Plato -f de-
scribed the same tiling, in so unparalleled,
so Divine a manner. " ^ Tlie head of man he
* A7r01.1rrif.10r, 1. 1. c. 45. ed. Oxon.
•f- 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 : tliou hast cast
out the heathen and planted it. Thou madest room for it, and
when it had taken root, it filled the land. The hills were
covered with the shadow of it, and the boughs thereof were
like the goodly cedar-trees. She stretched out her branches
unto the sea, and her boughs unto the river." — Dr. Pearce.
176 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
calls a citadel. The neck is an isthmus placed
^'between the head and the breast. The ver-
tebrae, or joints, on which it turns, are §o
many hinges. Pleasure is the bait, which
allures men to evil, and the tongue is the in-
former of tastes. The heart, being the knot
St. Paul has nobly described, in a continuation of Meta-
phors, the Christian armour, in his Epistle to the Ephesians,
chap. vi. 13, 8cc,
The sublime description of the horse in Job, chap, xxxix.
19 — 25, has been highly applauded by several writers. The
reader may see some just observations on it, in the Guardian,
No. 86. But the 29th chapter of the same book will aft'ord as
fine instances of the beauty and energy of this figure as can any
where bs met with :
*' Oh that I were as in months past, as in the days when '
God preserved me 1 — when the Almighty was yet with me,
when my children were about me : when I washed my steps
with butter, and the rock poured me out rivers of oil ! — When
the ear heard me, then it blessed me ; and when the eye saw
me, it gave witness to me. The blessing of him that was
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 as a robe and a diadem. I was eyes to the
blind, and feet was I to the lame. 1 was a father to the poor."
There is another beautiful use of this Figure in the latter
part of the 65th Psalm. The description is lively, and what
the French call riante, or laughing. It has indeed been fre-
quently observed, that the Eastern writings abound very much
in strong ISIetaphors ; but in Scripture they are always sup- .
})orted by a ground-work of masculine and nervous strength,
without which they arc apt to swell into ridiculous Bombast.
LOJfGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 177
of the veins, and the fountain from whence
the blood arises, and briskly circulates
through all the members, is a watch-tower
completely fortified. The pores he calls nar-
row streets. And because the heart is sub-
ject to violent palpitations, either when dis-
turbed with fear of some impending evil, or
when inflamed with wrath, the gods, says he,
have provided against any ill effect that might
hence arise, by giving a place in the body to
the lungs, a soft and bloodless substance, fur-
nished 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. The spleen is the sponge of the
entrails, from whence, when filled with excre-
ments, it is swelled and bloated. Afterwards
(proceeds he) the gods covered all those parts
with flesh, their rampart and defence against
the extremities of heat and cold, soft throudi-
out like a cushion, and gently giving way to
outward impressions. The blood he calls the
pasture of the flesh ; and adds, that for the
sake of nourishing the remotest parts, they
178 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
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 common source, and convey
it through all the sluices of the body. And
at the approach of death, the soul, he says, is
loosed, like a ship from her cables, and left
at the liberty of driving at pleasure." Many
other turns of the same nature in the sequel
might be adjoined, but these already abun-
dantly 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 descrip-
tive and pathetic compositions.
That the use of Tropes, as well as of all
other things which are ornamental in dis-
course, may be carried to excess, is obvious
enough,, though I should not mention it.
Ilcncc it comes to pass, that many severely _
censure Plato, because oftentimes, as if he
was mad to utter his words, he suffers him-
self to be hurried into raw undigested Meta-
phors, and a vain pomp of Allegory. " For
is it not (says he) * easy to conceive, that a
* Pl;ito, I.G. de Legibus, p. 773. ed. Par.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 179
city ought to resemble a goblet replenished
with a well-tempered mixture? where, when
the foaming deity of wine is poured in, it
sparkles and fumes ; but when ehastiscd by
another more sober divinity, it joins in firm
alliance, and composes a pleasant and pala-
table liquor/' For (say they) to call water a
sober divinihj, and the mixture chastisement,
is a shrewd argument, that the author was
not very sober himself.
Cecilius had certainly these trifling flou-
rishes in view, when he had the rashness, in his
Essay on * Lysias, to declare him nmch pre-
ferable to Plato; biassed to it by two pas-
sions equally indiscreet. For though he
loved Lysias as well as his own self, yet he
bated Plato with more violence than he could
possibly love Lysias. Besides, he was hur-
ried on by so much heat and prejudice, as to
presume on the concession of certain points
which never will be granted. For Plato be-
ing oftentimes faulty, he thence takes occa-
sion 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 witty writer, but not
sublime. Cicero calls him j^rope perfectum^ almost perfect.
Quinctilian says he was more like a clear fountain than a great
river.
180 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
summate writer; which is so far from being
truth, that it has not so much as the shadow
of it.
SECTION XXXIII.
But let us for once admit the possibiHtj
of a faultless and consummate writer ; and
then, will it not be worth while to consider at
large that important question, Whether, in
poetry or prose, what is truly grand in the
midst of some faults, be not preferable to
that which has nothing extraordinary in its
best parts, correct however throughout, and
faultless? And further, whether the excel-
lence of fine writing consists in the number
of its beauties, or in the grandeur of its
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
of fortune, some minuter articles will una-
voidably escape observation. But it is al-^/
most impossible for a low and grovelling
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 181
genius to be guilt j of error, since he never
endangers himself by soaring on high, or aim-
ing at eminence, but still goes on in the same
uniform secure track, whilst its very height
and grandeur exposes the Sublime to sudden
falls. Nor am I ignorant indeed of another
thing, Avhich will 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
excellences is quickly worn out. For my
part, I have taken notice of no inconsiderable
number of faults in 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
much as accidental slips incurred through in-
advertence; such as, w4ien the mind is intent
* " In passing our judgment/' &e.] So Horace, Ep. 1.
ii. Ep. i. 262.
Discit enim citius meminitque libentius illud,
Quod quis deridet, quam quod probat et veneiatur.
* " 1 judge them,"&c.] So Horace, Ars Poet. 331.
— Ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis
Offendor macnlis, quas aut incuriafudit,
Aut huniana parum cavit natura.
182 LOXGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
upon things of a higher nature, will creep in-
sensibly into compositions. And for this
reason I give it 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 grandeur.
— o
* Apollonius, author of the Argonautics, was
a writer without a blemish : and no one ever
succeeded better in Pastoral than Theocritus,
excepting some pieces where he has quitted
his own province. But yet, would you choose
^ " Though they cannot every where boast," &c.] So Mi\
Pope, in the spirit 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 the judgment, gains
Tlie heart, and all its end at once attains.
Essay on Criticism,
* Apollonius was born at Alexandria, but called a Rhodian,
because he resided at Rhodes. He was the scholar of Calli-
machus, and succeeded Eratosthenes as keeper of Ptolemy's
library : he wrote the Argonautics, which are still extant.
Of this poet Quinctilian has thus given his judgment, Instit.
Orat. 1. X. c. 1. " He published a performance, which was
not despicable, but had a certain even mediocrity through-
out." — Dr. Pearce.
LGNGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 183
to be Apollonius or Theocritus rather than
Homer ? Is the poet ^ Eratosthenes, whose
Erigone is 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 irregulari-
ties; 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 ^ Bacchylides than Pin-
dar, or '' 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.
He was predecessor to 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 Apode-
mics, or the travels of a deity. The Emperor Julian was so
pleased with his verses, that he is 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, The Eastern Star, because he died whilst he wa»
writing an Ode that began with those words. — Dr. Pearce,
184 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
left nothing without the nicest decoration ;
but in Pindar and Sophocles, who carry fire
alons; with them throuo;h the violence of their
motion, that very fire is many times unsea-
sonably quenched, and then they drop most
unfortunately down. But yet no one, I am
certain, who has the least discernment, will
scruple to prefer the single ^ Qildipus of So-
phocles, before all that lo ever composed.
SECTION XXXIV.
If the beauties of writers are to be esti-
mated by their number, and not by their
quality or grandeur, then Hyperides will
prove far superior to Demosthenes. He has
more harmony and a finer cadence, he has a
greater number of beauties, and those in a
degree almost next to excellent. He resem-
bles a champion, who, professing himself
master of the five exercises, in each of them
severally must yield t,he 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.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 185
but ill all together stands alone and unri-
valled. For Hyperides has in every point, ex-
cept the structure of his words, imitated all
the virtues of Demosthenes, and has abun-
dantly added ^ the graces and beauties of
Lysias. When his subject demands simpli-
city, his style is exquisitely smooth ; nor
does he utter every thing with one empha-
tical air of vehemence, like Demosthenes.
His thoughts are always just and proper,
tempered w^ith most delicious sweetness and
the softest harmony of words. His turns of
wit are inexpressibly fine. He raises a laugh
with the greatest art, and is prodigiously
' " The graces — of Lysias."] For the clearer imderstaMfling
of this 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. Those of the
last sort enter into the composition of the polished style, called
by the rhetoricians yXacjjvpoy Xnynv ; 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 : Speaking one day
against iEschines, who was in love with an old woman, " He
is enamoured (cried he) with a lady, whose teeth may be
counted easier than her fingers." Upon this account Deme-
trius has ranked the graces of Lysias in the same class with
those of Sophron, a farce writer. Dacier. ... , ., ,
N
186 LONG IN us OX THE SUBLIME.
dexterous at irony or sneer. His strokes of
raillery are far from ungenteel ; by no means
far-fetched, like those of the depraved imi-
tators of Attic neatness, but apposite and pro-
per. How skilful at evading an argument !
With what humour does he ridicule, and
with what dexterity does he sting in the midst
of a smile! In a word, there are inimitable
graces in all he says. Never did any one
more artfully excite compassion ; never was
any more diffuse in narration; never any
more dexterous at quitting and resuming his
subject with such easy address, and such
pliant activity. This plainly appears in his
little poetical fables of Latona ; and besides,
he has composed a funeral oration with such
pomp and ornament, as I believe never will,
or can, be equalled.
Demosthenes, on the other side, has been
unsuccessful in representing the humours and
characters of men ; he was a stranger to dif-
fusive eloquence ; awkward in his address ;
void of all pomp and show in his language ;
and, in a word, for the most part, deficient
in all the qualities ascribed to Hyperides.
Where his subject compels him to be merry
or facetious, he makes people laugh, but it is
at himself. And the more he endeavours at
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 18?
raillery, the more distant is he from it. ^ Had
he ever attempted an oration for a Phryne
- Hyperides, of whom mention has been made already, and
whom the Author in this Section compares with Demosthenes
was one of the ten famous orators of Athens. He was Plato's
scholar, and thought by some to have shared with Lycurgus in
the public administration. His orations for Phryne and Athe-
noo-enes were very 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 in the court of
Athens. Hyperides defended her with all the art and rhetoric
which experience and love could teach him, and his oration
for her was as pretty and beautiful as his subject. But as
what is spoken to the ears makes not so deep an impression
as what is 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 a 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 De-
mosthenes ; whose eloquence was too grand to appear for any
thing but honour and liberty. Then he could warm, trans-
port, and triumph ; could revive in his degenerate countrymen
a love of their country and a zeal for freedom ; could make
n2
]88 LONGINUS O^ THE SUBLIME.
or an Athenogenes, he would in such attempts
have only served as a foil to Hjperides.
Yet after all, in my opinion, the numer-
ous beauties of Hyperides are far from hav-
ing any inherent greatness. They shew the
sedateness and sobriety of the author's ge-
nius, but have not force enough to enliven
or to warm an audience. No one that reads
him, is ever sensible of extraordinary emo-
tion. Whereas Demosthenes, addins; to a con-
tinued vein of grandeur and to magnificence
of diction (the greatest qualifications requi-
site in an orator), such lively strokes of pas-
sion, such copiousness of words, such ad-
dress, and such rapidity of speech ; and,
what is his masterpiece, such force and ve-
hemence, as the greatest writers besides durst
never aspire to ; being, I say, abundantly
furnished with all these Divine (it would be
sin to call 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
with the irresistible force and the ghttering
blaze of his lightning. For it is much easier
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. 189
to behold, with steadfast and undazzled eyes,
the flashino; liohtnins^, than those ardent
strokes of the Pathetic, which come so thick
one upon another in his orations.
SECTION XXXV.
The parallel between Plato and his oppo-
nent must be drawn in a different light. For
Lysias not only falls short of him in the excel-
lence, but in the number also of his beauties.
And what is more, he not only falls short of
him in the number of his beauties, but ex-
ceeds him vastly in the number of his faults.
What then can we suppose that those god-
like writers had in view, who laboured so
much in raising their compositions to the
highest pitch of the Sublime, and looked
down with contempt upon accuracy and cor-
rectness? — x\mongst others, let this reason
be accepted. 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
idle spectator, but spurred on by an eager
thirst of excelhng, ardently to contend in
the pursuit of glory. For this purpose, she
190 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
implanted in his soul an invincible love of
grandeur, and a constant emulation of what-
ever seems to approach nearer to divinity
than himself. Hence it is, that the whole
universe is not sufficient for the extensive
^ reach and piercing speculation of the human
understanding. It passes the bounds of the
material world, and launches forth at plea-
sure into endless space. Let any one take
an exact survey of a life, which, in its every
scene, is conspicuous on account of excel-
lence, grandeur, and beauty, and he will
soon discern for what noble ends we were
born. Thus the impulse of nature inclines
us to admire, not a little clear transparent
rivulet that ministers to our necessities, but
the Nile, the Ister, the Rhine, or still much
more, the Ocean. We are never surprised
at the sight of a small fire that burns clear,
and blazes out on our own private hearth,
but view with amaze the celestial fires, though
they are often obscured by vapours and
eclipses. ^ Nor do we reckon any thing
^ We have a noble description of the volcano of iEtna in
Virgil. iEn. I. iii. v. 571. which will illustrate this passage in
Longinus :
Horrificis juxta tonat ^tna minis,
Interdiimqiie atram prorunipit ad ajthcra nubcin.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIiME. IQl
in nature more wonderful than the boiling
furnaces of ^tna, which cast up stones,
and sometimes whole rocks, from their labour-
ing abyss, and pour out whole rivers of liquid
and unmino^led flame. And from hence we
may infer, that whatever is useful and neces-
sary to man, lies level to his abilities, and is
easily acquired ; but whatever exceeds the
common size, is always great, and always
amazmg.
Turbine funianteni piceo et candente favilla. I
Attollitque globos flammarum, et sidera lambit : '-
Interdiun scopulos, avolsaqiie viscera moutis
Erigit eructans, liquefactaque saxa sub auras
Cum gemitu glomerat, fundoque exaestuat imo.
The coast where jEtna lies,
Horrid and waste, its entrails fraught with fire ;
That now casts out dark fumes and pitchy clouds.
Vast show'rs of ashes hov'ring in the smoke ;
Now belches molten stones, and ruddy flames
Incens'd, or tears up mountains by the roots.
Or slings a broken rock aloft in air.
The bottom works with smother'd fire, involvM ,
In pestilential vapours, stench, and smoke. — Addison. ,
Longinus's short description has the same spirit and grandeur
with Virgil's. The sidera lambit, in the fourth line, has the
swell in it, which Longinus, Sect. iii. calls super-tragical.
This is the remark of Dr. Pearce ; and it is observable, that
Mr. Addison has taken no notice of those words in his trans-
lation.
192 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
SECTION XXXVI.
With regard, therefore, to those sublime
writers, whose flight, however exalted, ^never
fails of its use and advantage, we must add
another consideration. — Those other inferior
beauties shew their authors to be men; but
the Sublime mji^ves near approaches to the
lieight of God. VjVhat is correct and fault-
less, comes off barely without censure; but
the grand and the lofty command admiration j
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 men " view with amaze the
celestial fires (such as the sun and moon), though they are fre-
quently obscured ;" the case is the same with the burning
mountain iEtna, though it casts up pernicious fire from its
abyss ; but here, when he returns to the sublime authors, he
inliniates, that the sublinH> is the more to be admired, be-
cause, far from being useless or amusing merely, it is of great
service to its authors, as well as to the public. — Dr. Pearce.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 193
they would not bear the least proportion to
those infinite, those inimitable excellences,
which are so conspicuous in these heroes of
antiquity. And for this reason, has every
age and every generation, unmoved by par-
tiality, and unbiassed by env}^ awarded the
laurels to these great masters, which flourish
still green and unfadino; on their brows, and
will flourish,
As long as streams in silver mazes rove, ' • - ■ >
Or Spring with annual green rene\AS the grove.
Feiiton,
A certain writer objects here, that an ill-
wrought -Colossus cannot be set upon the
level with a little faultless statue; for in-
stance, ^thehttle soldier of Polycletus: but
the answer to this is very obvious. In the
works of art we have regard to exact propor-
tion; in those of nature, to grandeur and
magnificence. Now speech is a gift bestowed
^ The Colossus was a most famous statue of Apollo, erected
at Rhodes by Jalysus, of a size so vast, that the sea ran, and
ships of the greatest burden sailed, between its legs.
Dr. Pearce.
^ The Doryphorus, a small statue by Polycletus, a cele-
brated statuary. The proportions were so tinely observed in
it, that Lysippus professed he had learned ail his ait from the
studv and imitation of it.
194 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
upon us by nature. As, therefore, resem-
blance and proportion to the originals is re-
quired in statues, so, in the noble faculty of
discourse, there should be something extraor-
dinary, something 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-
tic air, the same exalted tone, art and nature y/'
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
proper to make concerning the questions in
debate. I pretend not to say thc}^ are abso-
lutely right; let those who are willing, make
use of their own judgment. '■■-•
SECTION XXXVIL
To return. ^Similes and Comparisons
bear so near an affinity to Metaphors, as to
* The manner in which Similes or Comparisons differ from
Metaphors, we c.annot know fron! Lonijinus, hecansc of the
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 195
differ from them only in one particular * *
* * * * [The remainder of this Section
IS
lost.]
# # * *
SECTION XXXVIII.
* * * * [The beginning of this Section
on Hyperboles is lost.] ******
* * As this Hyperbole, for instance, is ex-
ceeding bad: " If you carry not your brains
gap which follows in the original ; but they differ only in the
expression. To say that fine eyes are the eyes of a dove, or
that cheeks are a bed of spices, are strong Metaphors ; which
become Comparisons, if 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 in the Song of Solomon
(ver. 10 — 16.), in which there are more, of great strength and
propriety, and an uncommon sweetness :
" My Beloved is sweet and ruddy, the chief among ten thou-
sand. His head is as the most fine gold ; his locks are bushy,
and black as a raven. His eyes are as the eyes of a dove by the
rivers of water, washed with milk, and fitly set. His cheeks
are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers ; his lips like lilies,
dropping sweet-smelling myrrh. His hands are as gold-rings
set with the beryl : his belly is as bright as ivory overlaid with
sapphire. His legs are as pillars of marble set upon sockets of
fine gold. His countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the
cedars. His mouth is most sweet, yea, he is altogether
lovelv."
196 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
in the soles of 3^our feet, and tread upon
them/'* One consideration, therefore, must
always be attended to, " How far the thought'
can properly be carried." ^i'or overshooting
the mark often spoils an Hyperbole; and
whatevL T is overstretched loses its tone, and
immediately relaxes; na\% sometimes pro-
duces an effect contrary to that for which it
was intended.) Thus Isocrates, childishly
ambitious of saying nothing without enlarge-
ment, has fallen into a shameful puerility.
The end and desig-n of his Panegyric ^ is to
prove that the Athenians had done greater
service to the united body of Greece than
the Lacedemonians ; and this is his begin-
ning : " The virtue and efficacy of eloquence
is so great, as to be able to render great things
contemptible, to dress up trifling subjects in
pomp and show, to clothe what is old and
* Demosthenis seu potius Ilegesippi Oral, de HalonesQ, ad
fjnem.
^ " Panegyric."] This is the most celebrated oration of
Isocrates, which^ after ten, or, as some say, fifteen years' labour
spent upon it, begins in so indiscreet a manner. Longinus,
Sect. iii. has censured Timieus, for a frigid parallel between
the expedition of Alexander and Isocrates; yet Gabriel de
Petra.an editor of l^onginns, is guilty of the same fault, in
making even an elephant more expeditious than Isocrates, be-
cause they breed faster than he wrote.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME, 197
obsolete in a new dress, and put off new oc-
currences in an air of antiquity/' And will
it not be immediately demanded, — Is this
what you are going to practise with regard
to the affairs of the Athenians and Lacede-
monians? — For this ill-timed encomium of
eloquence is an inadvertent admonition to
the audience, not to listen or give credit to
what he says.
^ Those Hyperboles in short are the best
* The whole of this remark is curious and refined. It is the
importance of a passion which qualifies the Hyperbole, and
makes that commendable, when uttered in warmth and velm-
mence, which in coolness and sedateness would be insupport-
able. So Cassius speaks invidiously of Caesar, in order to
raise the indignation of Brutus : .w , : .. . . ,. . ; -. , _
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
So, again, in return to the swelling arrogance of a bully,
To whom .? to thee t what art thou ? have not I
An arm as big as thine ? a heart as big?
Thy words I 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 may be stretched beyond their proper size, that
they may appear without fail important and great.
198 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
(as I have before observed of Figures) which
have neither the appearance nor air of Hy-
perboles. And this never fails to be the
state of those, which in the heat of a passion
floAv out in the midst of some grand circum-
stance. 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
chiefly of those who were in the river. The
Avater was immediately discoloured with
blood. But the stream polluted with mud
and gore, deterred them not from drinking
it greedily, nor many of them from fighting
desperately for a draught of it." A circum-
stance so uncommon and affecting, gives
those expressions of drinking mud and gore,
and fighting desperately for it, an air of pro-
bability.
Herodotus has used a like Hyperbole, con-
cerning those warriors who fell at Thermo-
pylae i-j^' " In this place they defended them-
selves with the weapons that wxre left, and
with their hands and teeth, till they were
buried under the arrows of barbarians.'' Is
* Thucydid. 1. 7- p. 446. ed. Oxon.
t Herod. 1. 7. c. 225. -; .
I-ONCINUS ON THE SIBLIINIE. 199
it possible, you will say, for men to defend
themselves Avith their teeth, against the fury
and violence of armed assailants ? Is it pos-
sible that men could be buried under arrows?
Notwithstanding all this, there is a seeming
probability in it. For the circumstance does
not appear to have been fitted to the Hyper-
bole; but the Hyperbole seems to be the ne-
cessary production of the circumstance.
For applying these strong Figures, only where
the heat of action, or impetuosity of passion
demands them (a point I shall never cease to
insist upon), very much softens and mitigates
the boldness of too daring expressions. ^So
in comedy, circumstances wholly absurd and
incredible pass off very well, because they
answer their end, and raise a laugh. As in
this passage: " He was owner of a piece of
ground not so large as * a Lacedemonian let-
^ The Author has hitherto treated of Hyperboles as con-
ducive to Sublimity, which has nothing to do with humour and
mirth, the peculiar province of Comedy. Here the incidents
must be so over-stretched as to promote diversion and laughter.
Now what is most absurd and nicredible, sometimes becomes
the keenest joke. But there is judgment even in writing ab-
surdities and incredibilities ; otherwise, instead of raising the
laugh, they sink below it, and give the spleen. Genius and
discretion are requisite to play the fool widi applause.
■* Demetrius Phalereus has commended one of these letters
200 LONOINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
ter." For laughter is a passion arising from
some inward pleasure.
But Hyperboles equally serve to two pur-
poses; they enlarge and they lessen. Stretch-
ing any thing beyond its natural size is the
property of both. And the Diasyrm (the
other species of the Hyperbole) increases the
lowness of any thing, or renders trifles more
triflins;.'^
for its sententious and expressive conciseness, which has been
often quoted to iUustrate this passage. It is very well wortU
observation. The direction is longer than the letter : —
' . '. The Lacedemonians to Philip.
. ' *' Dionysitis is at Corinth."
At the time when this was written, Dionysius, mIio for hi»
tyranny had been driven out of Sicily, taught school at Corinth
for bread. So that it was a lunt to Philip not to proceed, as
he had bejrun, to imitate his conduct, lest he should be reduced
to the 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 my time.
Into this breathing woild ; scarce half made up.
And that, so lamely and unfashionably,
That doijs hark at nic as I halt by them.
LONGINUS ON" THE SUBLIME. 201
PARr V.
SECTION XXXIX.
We have now, my friend, brought down
our inquiries to^ the fifth and last 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
utmost nicety and refinement by the ancient writers, particu-
larly Dionysius of Hahcarnassus and Demetrius Phalereus.
The former, in his Treatise on the Structure of Words, has re-
counted the different sorts of style, has divided each into the
periods of which it is 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 made observations on the dif-
ferent natures and sounds of the vowels, half-vowels, and
mutes. He shews, by instances drawn from Homer, Herodo-
tus, Thucydides, Sec. with what artful management those great
authors have sweetened and ennobled their Compositions, and
made their sound to echo to the sense. But a style, he says,
may be sweet without any grandeur, and may be grand without
any sweetness. Thucydides is an example of the latter, and
Xenophon of the former ; but Herodotus has succeeded in
both, and written his history in the highest perfection of style.
O
202 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
Sublimity, which, according to the divisions
premised at first, is the Composition or Struc-
ture of the words. And though I have drawn
up, in two former treatises, 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
Greek writers, since Cicero himself, in his rhetorical works,
abounds in rules of this 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 careful soever
his attention was, to the length of his syllables, the measure of
his feet, and the modulation of his words, yet it has not damped
the spirit, or stiffened the freedom of his thoughts. Any one
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 two volumes already on this sub-
ject. The loss of these, I fancy, will raise no great regret in
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. A good ear is worth a thousand rules ;
since with it the periods will be rounded and sweetened, and
the style exalted, so that judges shall commend and teach others
to 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.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. Si03
vations I had 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. ^Fine notes
in music have a surprising effect on the pas-
sions of an audience. Do they not fill the
breast with inspired warmth, and lift up the
heart into heavenly transport? The very
limbs receive motion from the notes, and the
hearer, though he has no skill at all in music,
is sensible, however, that all its turns make
a strong impression on his body and mind.
The sounds of any musical instrument are in
themselves insignificant, yet, by the changes
of the air, the agreement of the chords, and
symphony of the parts, they give extraordi-
nary pleasure, as we daily experience, to the
minds of an audience. Yet these are only
spurious images and faint imitations of the
2 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 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
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 with-
in, and reach the understanding. And then,
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 struc-
ture and marshalling of sounds, convey the
passions of the speaker into the breasts of his
audience? Then, does it not seize their at-
tention, and, by framing an edifice of words
to suit the sublimity of thoughts, delight, and
transport, and raise those ideas of dignity and
grandeur, which it shares itself, and was de-
signed, 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
•" Tanta oblectatio est in ipsa facilitate dicendi, ut nihil ho-
minuni aut auribus aut mentibus jucundius percipi possit. Quis
enim caiitus nioderata orationis pronunciatione diilcior inveniri
potest ? quod carmen artiriciosa verborum conclusione aptius ?
— Cicero de Oratore, 1. ii.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 205
allow to be true. For experience is an indis-
putable conviction.
That sentiment seems very lofty, and justly
deserves admiration, which Demosthenes im-
mediately subjoins to the decree;* Tovro to
v^vi(pi(ruoc rev tots tv TToXst "Zirspta-TocvTOi mvovvov "srap-
tX^eiv sTTOiTja-eu, ucriTi^ vi<t>og. " This very decree
scattered, like a vapour, the danger which at
that time hung hovering over the city.'' Yet
the sentiment itself is not more to be admired
than the harmony of the period. It consists
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
all. But for further satisfaction, only trans-
pose a word or two, just as you please ; Tovro
TO T^JTiptcixa, oxT'TTSf) vB<pog, e7roi7](re rov rors Kivdwov
'sroc^zx^ziv or take away a syllable, eTroiTia-s ts-oc^-
ex9etv cog v£(pog, and you will quickly discern
how much Harmony conspires with Sublimity.
In uo-TTs^ vscpog, the first word moves along in a
stately measure of four times, and when one
syllable is taken away, as cog vB(pog, the sub-
traction maims the Sublimity. So, on the
other side, if you lengthen it, -zs-cc^sxQuv tiroivia-Bv^
* Oial. de Coiona. p. 1 M, ed. Oxon,
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
ua-TTs^si ve(pog, the sense indeed is still preserved,
but the cadence is entirel}^ lost. For the
grandeur of the period languisheth and re-
laxeth, when enfeebled by the stress that
must be laid 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 member will
have no beauty or grandeur, but when skil-
fully knit together, they produce what is
called ajinc person. So the constituent parts
of noble periods, when rent asunder and di-
vided, 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
1 So Mr. Pope:— ' ! ;
\ ■ In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts
Is notth' exactness of peculiar parts;
'Tis not a lip or cheek we beauty call,
But the joint force and full result of all.
Efisou on Criticism.
y ■■
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 20?
elevation, and by their union and multiplicity
bestow a more emphatical turn upon every
period. Thus several poets, and other writers,
possessed of no natural Sublimity, or rather
entire strangers to it, have very frequently
made use of common and vulgar terms,
that have not the least air of elegance to re-
commend them ; yet, by musically disposing
and artfully connecting such terms, they
clothe their periods in a kind of pomp and
exaltation, and dexterously conceal their in-
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
murder of his children, cries,*
. . r
I'm full 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.
Pearce follows) mentions Philistus a Syracusan, a great fa-
vourite of Dionysius the tyrant, whose history he wrote, after
the manner of Thucydides, but with the sincerity of a courtier.
f Euripid. Hercules furens, ver. 1250, ed. }3arnes.
208 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
period an exalted air. And if you transpose
tliem into any other order, you Avill quickly
be convinced, that Euripides excels more in
fine composition than in fine sentiments. So
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 is
a tine sculpture on this subject, by Taurisius, in the palace of
Farnese at Rome, of which Baptista de Cavalleriis has given
us a print in 1. iii. p. 3. antiq. statuariun iirhis Homce.
There is a much greater Imaire than this in the Paradise
Lost, B. vi. 644, with which this remark of Longinus on the
sedate grandeur and judicious pauses will exactly square:
From their foundations loos'ning to and fro,
They pluck'd the seated hills, with ail their load,
Rocks, waters, woods ; and by the shaggy tops
Uplifting bore them in their hands. ^
So again in Book ii. ver. .557. — When the fallen spirits are
engaged in deep and abstruse researches concerning fate, free-
will, foreknowledge, the very structure of the words expresses
the intricacy of the discourse ; and the repetition of some of
the words, with epithets of slo\v pronunciation, shews the difii-
culty of making advancements in such unfathomable points :
Odiers apart sat 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.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 209
Whene'er the madd'ning creature rag'd about
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
ennobled, because the terms used in it are
harmonious, and neither run too hastily off
the ear, nor are, as it were, mechanically
accelerated. They are disposed into due
pauses, mutually supporting one another;
these pauses are all of a slow and stately
measure, sedately mounting to sohd and sub-
stantial grandeur. ., ,
'}"r.
SECTION XLI.
Nothing so much debases Sublimity as *
broken and precipitate measures, such as
^ Pyrrhics, Trochees, and Dichorees, that are
fit for nothing but dances. yr*eriods tuned
in these numbers, are indeed neat and brisk,
but devoid of passion ;/ and their cadence
being eternally the same, becomes very dis-
agreeable. But what is still worse, as in
soncrs, the notes divert the mind from the
sense, and make us attentive only to the
^ A P) rihic is a foot of two short syllables ; a Trochee of
one long and one short ; and a Dichorce is a double Trochee.
210 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
music ; so these brisk and rhyming periods
never raise in the audience any passion suit-
able to the subject, but only an attention to
the run of the words. Hence, foreseeing the
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.
";:^ Contraction of Style is another great di-
minution of Sublimity. ^ Grandeur requires
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. Too much Con-
traction lays a restraint upon the sense, but
^ Conciseness strengthens and adjusts it. And
on the other side, it is evident, that when pe-
riods arc spun out Into a vast extent, their life
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 211
and spirit evaporate, and all their strength is
lost, by being quite overstretched.
SECTION XLIII.
Low and sordid words are terrible bler>
mishes to fine sentiments. Those of Herodo-
tus, in his description of a tempest, are divine-
ly noble, but the terms in which they are ex-
pressed, very much tarnish and impair their
lustre. Thus, when he says,* " The seas be-
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
tired out, is a mean and vulgar term ; and
that disagreeably, a word highly dispropor-
tioned to the tragical event it is used to ex-
press. ' - '
* Herod.l. 7. c. 19I.
1 " To seeth."] I have chosen this word rather than hoil,
which is not a blemished term in our language : and besides,
seeth resembles more the Greek word i^Ecratrtjc in the ill sound
that it has upon the palate, which is the fault that Longinus
finds with the word in Herodotus. Milton has something of
the like sort which offends the ear, when we read in Book i.
Azazel, " as his right," Sec. 1- 3 ^ r., ; ^
21^ LONGINUS ON THE SUBLiaiE.
^Theopompus, in like manner, after setting
out splendidly in describing the Persian expe-
dition 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? What rarity was there,
either of the produce of the earth, or the
work of art, with which he was not presented?
How many rich and gorgeous carpets, with
vestments purple, white, and particoloured ?
How many tents of golden texture, suitably
furnished with all necessaries? How many
embroidered robes and sumptuous beds, be-
sides 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
art and costly workmanship ? Add to these
innumerable sorts of arms, Grecian and Bar-
barian, beasts of burden beyond computa-
tion, and cattle fit to form the most luxurious
repasts. And further, how many bushels of
pickles and preserved fruits ? How many
- Tlieopompus was a Cliian and a scholar of Isocrates.
His genius was too hot and impetuous, whicli was the occa-
now of a remark of his master Isocrates, that " Kphorus always
wanted a 5pur, bulThcopompus a 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 pro-
digious heights, and were regarded by per-
sons at a distance, as so many mountains or
hillocks piled one upon another/' lie has
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 nar-
rative 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, what an unseemly spec-
tacle would such a gallimaufry present to the
eye ! It is the same with description, in
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
mountains (as he says they were thought) of
214 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME.
provisions, and when he came to other parti-
culars of the preparations, might have varied
his narration thus ; " There was a great mul-
titude of camels and other beasts, laden with
all 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 his
humour of relating things exactly, " all that
caterers and cooks could prepare, as nice
and delicate/'
In the Sublime, we ought never to take up
with sordid and blemished terms, unless re-
duced to it by the most urgent necessity.
The dignity of our words ought always to be
proportioned to the dignity of our sentiments.
Here we should imitate the proceeding of
nature in the h^man fabric, who has neither
placed those parts, which it is indecent to
mention, nor the vents of the excrements, in
open view, but concealed them as much as
is possible, and " removed their channels
(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.^^
To pursue this topic further, bj a particu-
lar 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. ~
SECTION XLIV. r
Something yet remains to be said, upon
which, because it suits 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, how it comes
to pass, that in the 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.
their style in a very graceful manner, but
none (or so few, that they are next to none)
who may be said to be truly great and sub-
lime. The scarcity of such writers is general
througliOut the world. May we believe at
last, that there is solidity in that trite obser-
vation, That democracy is the nurse of true
genius ; that fine writers will be found only
in this sort of government, with which they
flourish and triumph, or decline and die?
Liberty, it is said, produces fine sentiments
in men of genius; it 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 de-
bates.
" But for our parts (pursued he) Mve were
1" We were born in subjection," See] The words in the
original xat^OjitaQftc (^ouXaac ^tcatnc "-le differently interpreted
hy persons of gieat learning and sagacity. Madame Dacier
has taken occasion to mention tlieni in her notes upon Te-
rence. Her words are these : " In the last chapter of Longi-
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. ^17
born in subjection, in lawful subjection, it is
true, to arl)itrarj government. Hence, the
nus, TraicofiaOeiQ covXEiag cit:aiaQ, signifies not, we are from our
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 authority over their subjects : and we find Isocrates
uses flpx'/ ^i-Kaia (a despotical government) in this sense." The
Doctor then gives his opinion, that " Longinus added this
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 to the judgment of so learned a lady),
seems preferable to, and more natural than, that which Madame
Dacier has given it. The Critic (in the person of the philoso-
pher who speaks here) is accounting for the scarcity of sublime
writers ; and avers democracy to be the nurse of genius, and
the greatest encourager of sublimity. The fact is evident from
the republics of Greece and Rome. In Greece, Athens was
most democratical, and a state of the greatest liberty. And
hence it was, that, according to the observation of Paterculus
(1. i. near the end), " Eloquence flourished in greater force
and plenty in that city alone, than in all Greece besides : inso-
much that (says he) though the bodies of the people were dis-
persed into other cities, yet you would think their genius to
have been pent up within the bare precincts of Athens." Pin-
dar the Theban, as he afterwards owns, is the only exception
to this remark. So the city of Rome was not only the seat of
liberty and empire, but of true wit and exalted genius. The
Roman power indeed outHved the Roman liberty, but wit
and genius could not long survive it. What a high value
P
218 LONGINUS ON THE SUDLIME.
prevailing manners made too strong an im-
pression on our infant minds, and the in-
fection was sucked in with the milk of our
nurses. We have never tasted hberty, that
copious and fertile source of all that is beau-
tiful and of all that is great, and hence are
we nothing but pompous flatterers. It is
from hence that we may see all other qualifi-
cations displayed to perfection, in the minds
of slaves : but never yet did a slave become
an orator. His spirit being eftectually broken,
the timorous vassal will still be uppermost ;
the habit of subjection continually overawes
and beats down his genius. For, according
to 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
the mind, as well as of the body. It embitters life, sours and
corrupts the passions, damps the towering faculties implanted
within us, and stifles in the birth the seeds of every thing that is
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 gave them.
The invaders of either ought to be resisted by the united force
of all men, since they encroach on the privileges we receive
from God, and traverse the designs of infinite goodness.
* Odyss. ver. 3C2.
LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 219
" Thus I have heard (if what I have heard
in this case mav deserve credit) that the cases
in which dwarfs are kept, not only prevent
the future growth of those who are inclosed
in them, but diminish what bulk they already
have, by too close constriction of their parts.
So slavery, be it never so easy, yet is slavery
still, and may deservedly be called the prison
of the soul, and the pubhc dungeon."
Here I interrupted. " Such complaints as
yours, against the present times, are generally
heard, and easily made. But are you sure
that this corruption of genius is not owing to
the profound peace which reigns throughout
the world ? or rather, does it not flow from k;
the war within us, and the sad effects of our j
own turbulent passions? Those passions plunge
us into the worst of slaveries, and tyranni- \
cally drag us wherever they please. Avarice
(that disease of which the whole world is sick
beyond a cure), aided by voluptuousness,
holds us fast in chains of thraldom ; or rather,
if I may so express it, overwhelms lii'e itself,
as well as all that live, in the depths of misery.
For love of money is the disease which ren- ^
ders us most abject ; and love of pleasure is
that which renders us most corrupt. I have,
indeed, thought much upon it, but after al
r 2 '■
220 LONGINUS ON THK SUBLIME.
judge it impossible for the pursuers, or, to
speak more truly, the adorers 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. Wealth unbars the gates of
cities, and opens the doors of houses : pro-
fuseness 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 spu-
rious brood, but their genuine offspring. If
these children of wealth be fostered and suf-
fered to reach maturity, they (juickly engen-
der the most inexorable tyrants, and make
the soul groan under the oppressions of inso-
lence, injustice, and the most seared and
hardened impudence. When men are thus
fallen, what I have mentioned must needs re-
sult from their depravity. They can no longer
endure a sight of any thing above their gro-
velling selves ; and as for reputation, they re-
gard it not. AVhen once such corru[)tion in-
fects an age, it gradually spreads and becomes
LONGINLS ON THE SUBLIME. 221
universal. /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 inca-
pable of making unbiassed and solid deci-
sions 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 a 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 impar-
tial soul above the sordid views of avarice,
and clear of every selfish passion, that may
distinguish what is truly great, what works
are fit to live for ever ? Is it not better for
persons in our situation, to submit to the
yoke_oJLgovernment, rather than continue
222 L o n: g I n I s on t u i: s j b l i m f. .
masters of themselves, since such headstrong
passions, when set at liberty, would rage like
madmen, who have burst their prisons, and
inflame the whole world with endless dis-
orders? /In a word, aiiiaseiisibility.to-what-
ever is truly great has beeiitlie bane of every
rising genius of the present age. Hence life
in general (for the exceptions are exceeding
few) is thrown away in indolence and sloth.
In this deadly lethargy, or even any brighter
intervals of the disease, our faint endeavours
aim at nothing but pleasure and empty osten-
tation, too weak and languid for those high
accjuisitions, which take their rise from noble
einuhition, and end in 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.] The learned
Morkl ought certainly to be condoled with, on die great loss
tlicy have sustained in Longinus's Treatise on the Passions.
The excelleiKc of this on the Sublime, makes us regret the
more the loss of the other, and inspires us with deep resent-
ments of die irreparable depredations committed on learning
and the valuable productions of antiquity, by CioUis, and
monks, and time. There, in all 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. 223
come now to the Passions, lui account of
which I have promised before in a distinct ,
treatise, since they not only constitute the
ornaments and beauties of discourse, but if =
I am not mistaken) have a sjreat share in the
Sublime.
or melt them into tears. Tliere we sliould have learned, if
ever, to work upon every passion, to put every heart, every
pulse in emotion. At present we must sit down contented
under the loss, and be satisfied with this invaluable piece on the
Sublime, which with much hazard has escaped a w reck, and
gained a port, though not undamaged. Great indeed are the
commendations which thejudicious bestow upon it, but not iu
the least disproportioned to its merit. For in it are treasured
up the laws and precepts of fine writing, and a fine taste.
Here are the rules which polish the writer's invention, and
refine the critic's judgment. Here is an object proposed at
once for our admiration and imitation.
Dr. Pearce's advice will 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 how the best authors have written, but
learn yourself to become an author of the first rank. Read it
therefore and digest it, then take up your pen in the words of
Virgil's Nisus — ' ' '
Aliquidjamdudiun invadere magnum
Mens agitat mihi, nee placida contenta quiete est.'
FIX IS.
INDEX OF AUTHORS
MENTIONED BY LONGINUS.
^SCHYLUS
Ainnionius
Amphicratcs
Anacreon
Apollonius
Aratiis •
121, 123
. 112
. 53, 59
. 169
182,183
100, 157
Archilochus • 102, 112, 183
Arimaspians, Author of the
Poem on the • • • 97
Aristophanes • • • 207
Aristotle • • • • 174
Bacchylides
183
Cecilius 4t, 45, 57, 67, 70,
169, 179
Callisthenes • • • • 53
Cicero • • • • 107, 108
Clitarchus • • • • 53
Demosthenes, 50, 102, 107,
108,114,129,131,134,137,
141,148,160,172,184,185,
186, 188, 192, 205
Eratosthenes • • • 183
Eiipolis • . • 130. 131
Euripides 119, 123, 207, 208
Gorgias ihc Leontine • 52
Hccatn?us • • • • 160
Hegcsias 53
Herodotus, 61,112, 147, 157,
165, 171,198, 211
Hesiod .... 75, 114
Homer, 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 •
Lysias •
Matris .
Moses
. . 183
58,42, 96
185,189
• • 53
. . 83
Philistus .... 207
Phrynicus • • • '154
Pindar . . . 183, 184
Plato, 58,60, 107,109, 113,
114,164,165,166,175,178,
179, 189, 193
Sappho 93
Simonides • • • • 125
Sophocles,53, 124,152,183,184
Stesichorus • . • .112
Theocritus . . 182, 183
Thcodoriis - » ' • 56
Thcophrastiis • • • 74
Theopoinpus • • 169,212
Thucydides, 1 14, 148, 156, 198
Timceus .... 57, 58
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 t§e dDrecfe of jaiato.
An toti morimur ? nullaque pars manel
Nostri ; cum profugo spiritus habitu
Immistus nebulis cessit in aera,
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 name to this Address,
I should feel 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 inten-
tion; but as the form here adopted will, I
trust, sufficiently preclude the necessity of
such apology, I shall not trouble you with
any further observations on the subject,
but proceed shortly to state the motives
11 DEDICATION.
which induce me to hazard the present
pubHcation.
The following pages were written several
years since, both as an exercise with a view
to the attainment of some proficiency in the
original language, and from a desire to be
acquainted with the arguments which reason,
unassisted by revelation, could assign in
support of a future existence. When I was
induced to attempt a translation of the
Ph.edo, I was not aware that any other
person had ever been engaged in a similar
undertaking; and if I now venture to solicit
your attention to this specimen of my humble
endeavours, I am chiefly encouraged by a
conviction that you will receive it with every
candid allowance for the difficulties I have
had to encounter. And here I must entreat
DEDICATION. Ill
your particular indulgence for the numerous
imperfections in the style. My principal aim
* has been to produce as literal an interpreta-
tion as the intricacy of the subject would
allow; and every expression has been stu-
diously rejected which might appear marked
with the affectation of ornament: — but, to
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. It would certainly be too much,
to flatter myself that I have been able, in
every instance, successfully to detail the
statement, whether of refutation or confirma-
tion, which is pursued in this celebrated
treatise; but I trust it may be found that
the general line of argument is not unfaith-
fully presented ; or, at least, that there is no
b
IV DEDICATION.
palpable violation of the author's principles,
or want of connexion in the reasoning.
In the Notes, which I have thought it
necessary to subjoin, I have confined myself
almost entirely to those passages which,
from the remoteness of the allusion, seemed
more particularly to require some explana-
tion: in one or two instances, the extracts
will, perhaps, appear extended to an unusual
length ; but it was conceived that any mate-
rial curtailment would have the effect of
weakening the statement which their inser-
tion was designed to illustrate.
The partiality of friendship is so generally
apt to bias the judgment, that I have hitherto
resisted every application to submit this
attempt to the Public. I now suffer my
DEDICATION. V
reluctance to be subdued, in the hope that
if the annexed translation should have the
fortune to attract the notice of criticism, it
may be the means of procuring, from some
more competent hand, a less imperfect sketch
of an inimitable original.
In addresses of this nature, Sir, I believe
it is usual to offer some complimentary
tribute to the public or private worth of the
individual who may be their object. I 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 retired duties connected with the situa-
tion 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
four and five hundred years before the Christian aera.
His origin was ignoble, and his figure ungraceful ; but
the rich endowments of his 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
* A statuary.
Vm INTRODUCTION.
relinquish that employment for the study of philosophy,
at the entreaties of Crito, who knew how to appreciate
his genius, and who earnestly sought his friendship.
But the tranquil labours of the closet did not disqualify
him 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 ; to an exertion of
which, his pupils, 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 ad-
mirals 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
popular incendiaries were so loud and vehement in
their demands for justice, that the magistrates were
* Upon a relation of the fight before fte senate, it was urged, that
they had stiftered their men to perish by shipwreck, from a neglect of
employing the proper means of preserving them. The Peloponesians
lost about seventy sail, the Athenians twenty-five.
INTRODUCTION. IX
intimidated, and Socrates was the only person who
appeared with sufficient resokition to refuse acting
contrary to law. He was on all 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 amend the aged, to attempt to root out
vices and follies which through habit and prejudice
have become inveterate, the Philosopher confined
X INTRODUCTION.
his labours principally to the instruction of youth,
in whose unadulterated minds the lessons of wisdom
were more likely to 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 character such as this in a turbulent and tyran-
nical state like Athens, presenting, by its virtues, a
living satire against the enormities of the times, ne-
cessarily created many powerful enemies. He was
accordingly devoted to destruction. But as his irre-
proachable manner of life, and the popularity of his
doctrine, procured him many adherents, it 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 had been held as a mark
for ridicule ; and the comic writers, Eupolis and
Aristophanes, were taught to consider him as a fit
INTRODUCTION. XI
subject for the stage. 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 in a tone correspondent to his mock
sublimity. 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
spectators. " The divinest man," says lord Shaftesbury,*
" that had appeared ever in the heathen world, was, in
the height of witty times, and by the wittiest of all
poets, most abominably ridiculed in a whole comedy
writ and acted on purpose. But, so far was this 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
was not only contented to be ridiculed, but, that he
might help the poet as much as possible, he presented
himself openly in the theatre, that his real figure (which
was no advantageous one) might be compared with
* A letter concerning enthusiasm.
Xii INTRODUCTION.
that which the witty poet had brought as his repre-
sentative on the stage.* Such was his good humour.
Nor could there be in the world a greater testimony of
the invincible goodness of the man, or a greater demon-
stration that there was no imposture, either in his
character or opinions. For that imposture should dare
sustain the encounter of a grave enemy is no wonder.
A solemn attack, she knows, is not of such danger to
her. There is nothing she abhors and dreads like
pleasantness and good humour.'^
As soon as the charges alleged against him had
assumed a decisive shape, his friends concerted the
promptest measures for his defence. Lycias, the most
distinguished orator of the day, prepared an elaborate
discourse, in which the tenour of Socrates' life and
conduct was pourtrayed with all the force of the most
pathetic reasoning. 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. XIU
much gratification at the performance. As a com-
position, he warmly approved it, and tendered many
expressions of gratitude to the author ; but conceiving
it 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 the usual formalities. Melitus appeared
as his accuser. The purport of the charge brought
against this great man was, that he did not profess
a veneration for the gods acknowledged by the
republic, but that he introduced new divinities; and
that he was employed in corrupting the Athenian
youth.
To these charges Socrates replied at length, in a
speech chiefly remarkable for its 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 at that time in
Athens.
The Philosopher heard the sentence with the most
unmoved tranquillity. One of his disciples expressing
the bitterest lamentation that his master should die
innocent, — " Would you, then," said Socrates, smiling,
" have me die guilty ? 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 him deliver his defence,
afterwards committed it to writing: this is 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 prison was constantly visited by
his friends and disciples, 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 ; but, just
before the time had expired, Crito came to apprize him
of his approaching fate, and at the same time assured
him that he had taken measures with the jailer for
effecting his escape; and that he had secured him a
safe retreat in Thessaly. Socrates smiled at this pro-
posal, and inquired if there were any place out of
Attica where men could be secured from death. Crito
urged his entreaties with increased anxiety, adding
every motive that the most ardent attachment could
inspire; but when he had in vain assailed him with
every argument drawn from the ties of friendship, he
enforced the justice of his cause, and demanded if it
was not essential to his own goodness to spare his
fellow-citizens the guilt of innocent blood : 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? Could the stern virtues of
the Philosopher absorb all the finer feelings of the
parent ?
Socrates listened to him m ith affectionate attention ;
but, before he could adopt his recommendation, he
deemed it proper to examine whether it were con-
formable to the idea of justice, to leave the prison
without the consent of the magistrates. This examina-
tion canvasses an inquiry, whether a man unjustly
condemned to death, can, without a crime, escape from
the ministers of the law. The rigid integrity of Socrates
inclined 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. The sentence was not enforced till after
sun-set, and he employed the intervening time in
INTRODUCTION. XVll
discussing a subject of all 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 to be desirous of
dying ? This, taken too literally, seemed to imply an
opinion, that a philosopher might be the author of his
own death. Socrates shews the falsity of such opinion,
and explains at length the various arguments by which
a future existence is upheld. These, together Avith a
refutation of the objections alleged against them, con-
stitute 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 prison with Socrates, when he drank the
poison ; or were you informed of his decease
by some other person ?
Phaedo. I was present myself, Echecrates."
Echec. By what peculiar circumstances
was his death distinguished, and what was
the nature of his last conversation ? I 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; we heard only
that his death was occasioned by poison, and
2 PH.EDO.
have hitherto been unable to acquire any
further information.
Ph<sd. Did you hear nothing respecting
the process observed at his trial ?
Echec. With that indeed we were made
acquainted, and felt much astonishment at
the interval which elapsed between the sen-
tence and his execution: to what is such
delay to be attributed ?
Pliced. Entirely to accident; for, on the
day preceding that on which he was
arraigned, the stern of the vessel, Avhich
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. 3
of Athens made a vow to Apollo, if the youths
escaped destruction, to send each year a
solemn procession to Delos, which they have
ever since religiously fulfilled by an annual
offering to the deity. On the commencement
of the ceremony, the law enjoins a purifica-
tion of the city, and no criminal can be put
to death till after the ship has arrived at
Delos, and returned again from thence. This
sometimes employs a considerable length of
time, from the occasional violence of the winds.
The festival 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 his detention in prison so long
after his condemnation.
2. Echec. But the event of his death is the
point on which I am most anxious for inform-
ation. How did he conduct himself at that
crisis, and on what subjects did he principally
converse ? Were any of his disciples present,
4 PHiEDO.
or did the magistrates deny them admission ?
And did he thus meet death unattended by
any of his friends ?
Phced. Far otherwise : several of his dis-
ciples continued with him constantly.
Echec. If then you are not too much
engaged, pray acquaint me with every par-
ticular.
Phced. I am perfectly at leisure, and will
endeavour to satisfy your wishes: for, to
recall Socrates to my recollection, either by
speaking myself, or by attending to the
narrative of others, constitutes my highest
pleasure.
Echec. Be assured, Phaedo, your audience
will be similarly affected ; enter, therefore, at
large into the detail, and relate each circum-
stance as distinctly as possible.
Phced. Indeed I was agitated in no ordi-
nary manner ; for I felt not those keen emo-
tions of pity which the spectacle of a dying
friend might be supposed to inspire. Socrates
PHiEDO. 5
had every appearance of being truly happy ;
and so tranquil were his spirits, so collected
was his conversation, with such exalted senti-
ments and such unshaken fortitude, he finally
closed his existence, that I was strongly
impressed with the idea of his descending
to the shades under the guidance of some
protecting deity, who would conduct him to
those habitations which are reserved for the
mansions of the blessed. Thus I was neither
totally overcome by sorrow, like those who
are witnesses to scenes of deep affliction, nor
could I be conscious of that gratification,
which his philosophical discourses were ac-
customed to create. A mingled sensation of
pain and pleasure arose in my mind, when
I reflected how soon he would for ever leave
us. All present participated in these emotions,
yielding alternately to either passion: but
ApoUodorus, with whom you are well ac-
quainted, distinguished himself above the
rest.
6 PHiEDO.
Echec. I know his disposition.
Phced. 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. Who were present at this scene?
Phced. Apollodorus,^ Critobulus, and his
father Crito, Hermogenes, Epigenes, ^Eschines,
Antisthenes, Ctesippus, Menexenus, and a few
other Athenians. Plato was prevented by
severe indisposition.
Echec. Were there no strangers present?
Phced. Yes: Simmias the Theban, and
Oebes and Phaedondes, with Euclid and
Terpsion, from Megara.
Echec. Were not Aristippus*^ and Cleom-
brotus there?
Phced, No: they were supposed to have
been otherwise engaged at iEgina.^
Echec. Are these all who attended him ?
Phced. I believe I have nearly mentioned
the whole party.
PH^DO. 7
3. Ecliec. Now then acquaint me with the
purport of his discourse.
Phced. I will endeavour to give you the
most ample information. It was our regular
practice to visit Socrates daily, for which
purpose we assembled every morning in the
judicial forum, where he was arraigned, and
which was contiguous to the prison. Here
we remained in conference with each other
till the doors were thrown open for our
admission, when we instantly proceeded to
Socrates, and generally passed the remainder
of the day in his society. On the morning of
his execution, 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 dawn ; and on our arrival, the
jailer, who used to admit us, desired we would
wait, and not attempt an entrance till he him-
self came to conduct us ; adding, that the
8 PHiEDO.
Eleven Magistrates ^ were then striking off the
irons with which Socrates was confined, having
decreed on that day that he should suffer
death. A short time after he returned, and
acquainted us, that we had permission to go
in, when we discovered Socrates just freed
from his fetters, and his wife Xantippe sitting
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, " O Socrates, for the last time
your friends address you ! never will you see
them more !" Socrates, then, turning towards
Crito, said, " Pray let somebody attend her
home." She was soon afterwards led away by
Crito's servants, weeping with the most pas-
sionate expressions of tenderness. Socrates
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, my friends,"
said he, " is that quality, which mankind
PHiEDO. 9
denominate pleasure ! How admirably is it
interwoven with pain; to which, from the
incompatibility of their union in the same
person, it is apparently so opposite : yet, who-
ever is successful in his pursuit of the one,
must unavoidably participate in the other; as
if they were both derived from the same
common origin. If JEsop had indulged in
reflections of this nature, he would probably
have composed a fable, representing the deity
desirous to reconcile these conflicting sen-
sations, but, failing in his design, at length
uniting their sources ; on which account, who-
ever is subjected to the impressions of one,
shortly after feels the influence of its asso-
ciate. This I myself experience at the pre-
sent moment ; for the pain 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,
" You have happily reminded me of several
inquiries, which have been put to me by
10 PHMDO.
many of my acquaintance, and by Evenus^
very 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 never shewn any previous attach-
ment to poetry, could have been induced to
cultivate it when in confinement. If, therefore,
Evenus should repeat this inquiry, and I have
every reason to think he will, instruct me what
answer I may return him." " Tell him," said
Socrates, " what is 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 cer-
tain 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 me to
exercise. For the same dream has been often
* The Athenians gave the term music, ^ous-txrj, to every
art. — See note at the end.
PH.EDO. 11
presented to my imagination under different
appearances, and always conveying the same
admonition : ' Socrates, apply yourself to the
cultivation ofmusic.^ This I formerly consi-
dered as nothing more than an injunction to
pursue the course of life I had adopted, as
runners are exhorted not to relax their efforts
in the race. I therefore imagined myself
charged to persevere in an application to
* music,' and to philosophy as the most ex-
cellent species. But since my condemna-
tion, (the festival of Apollo having retarded
the completion of the sentence,) supposing
the admonition to have intended the more
common and popular province of ' music,' I
judged it less hazardous to obey the voice of
my monitor, than to die unabsolved of a
sacred duty. On this account, I composed
a hymn in honour of the deity, w^hose rites
were then celebrating ; but afterwards, enter-
taining an idea that whoever aspired to the
reputation of a true poet, 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
myself no mythological talents, I turned to
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 may
give Evenus. Assure him, at the same time,
of my best wishes ; and recommend him, if
he would truly consult his interest, to follow
me, who am this day destined to take my
departure from life ; for such is the decree of
the Athenians."
" What," replied Simmias, " is the recom-
mendation which you send Evenus? I have
frequently been thrown into his company;
and, as far as I am capable of judging, he
will always receive your admonitions with
reluctance."
" Is not Evenus a philosopher?" said
Socrates.
PHiEDO. 13
" I believe so," answered Simmias. " He
will follow me then, without hesitation," con-
tinued Socrates ; " as will every true votary
of that exalted profession. He will not, in-
deed, put a period to his own existence ; for
such practice is condemned by the laws."
Having made this remark, he withdrew his
{eet from the bed, and placed them on the
floor, in which attitude he remained during
the rest of his conversation. Cebes then
demanded of him how he could reconcile the
illegality of suicide with his observation, that
a philosopher should be desirous of accom-
panying a person doomed to suffer death?
He replied, by inquiring if they had never
heard this point examined by Philolaus.^
They assured him they had never found it
sufficiently explained. " I," said Socrates,
" can speak only from what I have heard on
the subject; but this I have no scruple in
communicating. Perhaps too it is a duty
peculiarly incumbent on the person con-
1^ PH^DO.
demned to make the progress which awaits
me, to 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, " is
suicide considered unlawful? I have often
known Philolaus and others make a declar-
ation of its illegality, but have never heard
any 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 to learn,
that this is, of all others, an eternal and
immutable truth: fixed, and independent of
varying circumstances, it is equally applicable
to the situation of those to whom death would
be a refuge from greater evils, and who, being
denied the privilege of effecting their own
release, are destined to receive their deliver-
ance from another."
PHiEDO. 13
" Jupiter alone can decide this," said Cebes,
smiling. " 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, that mankind are posted to a
station, from whence they have no authority
to dismiss themselves, is indeed not easily
intelligible ; but I assent entirely to the
declaration, which assures us, that 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 excite your displea-
sure? and if he were susceptible of punish-
ment, would you not inflict it?" " Yes,
doubtless ;" said Cebes. " It follows then,
by parity of reasoning, that mankind should
16 PHiEDO.
be debarred the commission of suicide, and
taught to expect an express order from God,
and await, in patient expectation, a summons
similar to that which I have just received."
7. " This," said Cebes, " I allow to be a
rational conclusion : but your former affirma-
tion, that a philosopher should be desirous of
dying, carries with it an air of absurdity, if
we admit the idea of mankind being the pro-
perty of the gods, who are supposed to take
an interest in their welfare and preservation.
For it is unreasonable to imagine, that the
wisest amongst the sons of men should not
deplore the loss of the best and most power-
ful of patrons. Surely no person, even in
possession of the most absolute freedom,
could hope to find an abler guardian in him-
self. The fool indeed may think in his heart
that a ruler ought, under all circumstances,
to 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 draw a conclusion directly con-
trary to your declaration; and affirm, that
the wise repine at death, while fools will wel-
come its approaches."
Socrates appeared pleased with this rea-
soning; and, turning towards us, said, " Cebes
always examines the strength of an argument,
and does not easily assent to any untried
proposition." " I too," said Simmias, " ac-
knowledge the force of his observation : for
what prevailing motive can induce men of
understanding to renounce those patrons who
are confessedly so much their superiors, and
rashly withdraw from their influence and
protection? I imagine Cebes must have di-
rected his remarks more particularly to you,
who can retire with so little reluctance from
your friends, and abandon the tutelage of
c
18 PH^DO.
the gods, whom you describe as such excel-
lent governors."
" Justly remarked," answered Socrates :
" I see you wish that I should enter on my
defence with as much solemnity as in a court
of justice." " Such," replied Simmias, " are
our earnest entreaties."
8. " Let me then flatter myself that this
vindication of my conduct will find a more
favourable construction with you than it for-
merly received from the judges. I should
indeed act inconsistently, in resigning my
life with composure, were I not impressed
with an idea of being translated to the pre-
sence 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
certain hope of joining the society of men dis-
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. 19
in the strongest terms, a conviction of finding
gods endowed ^vith every perfect attribute.
On this account, I am enabled to meet death
with tranquillity, trusting there is some good
reserved for departed spirits, and that the vir-
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? To me it appears that a public be-
nefit would result from their disclosure; and
it will be a sufficient establishment of your
defence, should you produce conviction in
your hearers." " Such," said Socrates, " shall
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 much as
possible, to avoid discussion: for ho has
20 PHiEDO.
remarked, that disputants become heated by
controversy; and, as in such temperament
their constitutions resist the efforts of the
poison, a repetition of the dose is often
rendered necessary." " Entreat him," said
Socrates, " to be under no uneasiness ; only
let him prepare a sufficient quantity, should
he be required a second, or even a third time,
to administer the potion." " I anticipated
such an answer," said Crito ; " but he strongly
urged me to speak w^ith you." " Think of
him no further," replied Socrates ; " but let
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 you, Simmias and Cebes, I particularly
address these observations :
9. " Mankind in general seem unaware,
that true philosophy consists in learning how
PHiEDO. 21
to die.^ 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 con-
trary to my inclination; but I cannot help
fancying how many, rould tliey hear this
declaration, would implicitly subscribe to
your opinion. The Athenians, in particular,
would acknowledge the propriety of a phi-
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, " unde-
signedly speak what is 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
from the body; and, after such disunion,
has the soul an independent existence, per-
fectly free and uncontrolled by the body ? Is
this a correct definition of death?' " Per-
fectly;" replied Simmias. " Let us, then,"
continued Socrates, " examine whether our
sentiments have any further agreement, for
we shall thus more clearly understand the
object of investigation. Are you of opinion,
that a philosopher is devoted to what are
called the pleasures of the table?" " Surely
not," said Simmias. " Is he addicted to the
passion of love?" " Far otherwise." " Do
you imagine he attaches any value to 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?"
" A true philosopher, in my opinion," an-
swered Simmias, "pays no attention to objects
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 culti-
vation of the soul?" " Certainly." " Is it
not then sufficiently manifest, that a philo-
sopher, 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
body acts as an obstruction in the pursuit of
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
accuracy? If these, the most excellent of
the body's attributes, are defective, surely all
its other endowments must be fallible and
imperfect. Is not such your opinion?"
24 PHiEDO.
"Entirely." " By what process then is the
soul enabled to arrive at truth? for, when as-
sociated with the body, it is evident that real
knowledge eludes its attainment. Is it 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
of the eye or ear, it remains collected in
itself, unshackled by communion with the
body. Is it not principally from this con-
sideration, that the soul of a philosopher dis-
cards all connexion with the body, and aspires
to a separate, independent existence?" " I
should imagine so." *' How then shall we
decide respecting those objects which come
imder the soul's contemplation? Shall we
call justice a reality?" '* Most certainly."
" Are goodness and beauty to be considered
as real essences?" *' Vndonbtedly." " Could
PH^DO. 25
you ever see these realities?" "Never."
" Did you ever view, through the medium of
any bodily sense, 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 to penetrate
into the essence of whatever really exists?
Is 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 sen-
timents, 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 it so eagerly longs
after. The body requires incessant attention,
on account of its necessary sustenance : the
diseases which are incidental to its nature,
unavoidably clog the progress of the mind, in
addition to such obstacles as arise from the
influence of love, fear, vehement desire, and
all the extravagancies of the imagination.
While subject to such controul, we can
never hope to attain true wisdom. Battles,
tumult, and sedition, all owe their origin to
the body's appetites: 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, we are compelled to dedicate so
little of our time to the labours of philosophy.
But, what surpasses all other evils, — if any of
us, taking advantage of an interval of leisure,
should apply himself to close and abstract
PHyEDO. 27
meditation, — in the midst of his inquiry, the
body interferes ; deranges his views ; confuses
his ideas; bears down all before it; and,
finally, renders any clear investigation hope-
less. But it has been fully shewn, that, if
we would truly understand any thing, we
must totally discard the body, and contem-
plate it with the faculties of the soul. Hence
it 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 em-
bittered. For if the body is unqualified for
the reception of wisdom, it follows that true
knowledge can only be attainable by death ;
the soul being then first liberated from all
bodily impediments. Yet while we remain
on earth, we shall approach more nearly to
this knowledge, in proportion as we avoid all
unnecessary intercourse with the body ; pre-
serving ourselves unpolluted by its contagion,
till the Deity judges proper to release us.
28 PHiEDO.
Then, pure and undefiled, we shall 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 my ideas,
are the sentiments which all sincere votaries
of learning should interchange with each
other. Do you entertain the same opinion ?"
" Entirely, Socrates."
12. " Thus, then, my friends, we may indulge
a rational, well-grounded hope of accomplish-
ing, after death, those objects we so actively
pursued while living; and the progress, there-
fore, which now awaits me, may be cheer-
fully undertaken by another, whose mind has
undergone the necessary preparation. The
soul, as I before expressed myself, becomes
more highly purified in proportion as it
recedes from the body, and accustoms itself
to 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. " But is it not peculiarly the pro-
vince of all true philosophers, to apply their
utmost energies towards effecting such dis-
union?" " I conceive so;" replied Simmias.
" Would it not, then, be ridiculously incon-
sistent in any man, who had so regulated his
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 all
true philosophers are desirous of dying ; and
that to them death comes armed with fewer
terrors than to the rest of mankind. Exposed
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.
from importuning! Are there not many in-
stances of men, who put a voluntary period
to their lives, from a confident expectation of
being thus restored to those departed rela-
tives, 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
the hour of his departure? Such, surely,
would be the resolution of a true philoso-
pher, since he must be strongly impressed
with a belief, that the fountain of wisdom can
he approached by no other channel. Would
it not then be strangely inconsistent in such
a man to contemplate death with sentiments
of terror?" " Beyond all question;" replied
Simmias.
13. " Hence, then, we may fairly infer, that
whoever yields up his life with reluctance,
is a lover of pleasure more than a lover of
truth: that he is 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 we call fortitude, exer-
cised by philosophers in its highest perfec-
tion ? And is not temperance, which, in the
common acceptation of the term, implies an
abstinence from lawless pleasures, and en-
joins a chasteness and sobriety of conduct,
peculiarly enforced by the practice of those
who are exclusively engaged in the pursuit of
wisdom?" " Assuredly." " But an attentive
examination of these virtues, as they are
usually practised, will sufficiently discover
how vahi and irrational is their foundation."
" How does this appear?" inquired Simmias.
*' You will allow," continued Socrates, " that
death is universally considered as the se-
verest of all calamities ?" "It is so ;" said
Simmias. " When men of courage therefore
undergo this calamity with firmness, they are
32 PH^EDO.
influenced by a dread of sufferings still more
acute. Thus all mankind, except philoso-
phers, become brave from an impression of
fear ; and that courage must surely be irra-
tional, to whose exertion terror acts as the
incentive." " You have convinced me en-
tirely ;" said Simmias. " Is it 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,
consists in an unconstrained submission to
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. 33
impulse of the opposite vice." " It appears so,
indeed," said Simmias. " We conclude, there-
fore, that the unerring path to wisdom is 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 money are given in exchange
for one of greater value: wisdom, the only true
and genuine coin, 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. When
torn from her society, it instantly assumes a
base and servile aspect — no vestige remaining
of that pristine excellence, without which, no-
thing is pure, nothing is 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
D
31 PH^DO.
skilled ill human nature, were the authors of
those mysterious rites, which signified to the
aspirants, by emblematical devices, the future
punishments they are decreed to suffer, who
descend to the infernal world unprepared by
the ceremony of initiation ; while those who
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/ This glorious distinction, I imagine,
will be their lot, who have invariably pursued
the dictates of philosophy ; in the number of
whose votaries it has been the business of my
life to be enrolled. Pass but a few short hours,
and soon, with the permission of heaven, I shall
learn how far my efforts have been successful !
" These, Simmias and Cebes, are the
reasons I allege for quitting unreluctantly the
ties of friendship and the tutelage of the
gods: induced by the consideration, that I
PHiEDO. 35
shall hereafter still be permitted to associate
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 it, my object will
sufficiently be answered."
14. When Socrates had finished speaking,
Cebes thus expressed himself. " To the
most part of your arguments I implicitly
assent; 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 its
separation from the body it ceases to exist :
being impressed with an idea, that it takes
its flight in the instant of death, and vanishes
like a meteor, for ever. If indeed it could
remain collected in itself, secure from the
injuries above described, there might be some
grounds for believing that what you have just
stated is essentially true : but it requires no
36 PHiEDO.
slender powers of reasoning to demonstrate
that the soul does really survive the body,
endowed with any attributes of strength and
understanding."
" The remark," said Socrates, " is not un-
deserving attention. Shall we then examine
the probability of the statement you contro-
vert?" " 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
a writer of comedies,^ can think this subject
unbecoming my present situation. If there-
fore you approve the discussion, we will
proceed to inquire whether the souls of the
deceased have any existence in the invisible
regions.
15. "It is an ancient tradition,^ that the
spirits of the departed retire from this world,
that they again return to earth, and that
the dead are awakened to the enjoyments
PH.EDO. 37
of light and life. If we acknowledge this
doctrine as truth, is it not a necessary con-
sequence that the soul should in the interval
be detained in some depository? for if the
spark of vitality were utterly extinguished,
it could be no more relumined. Assuming
this principle as already recognized, that the
living are created from the dead, the doctrine
of immortality is at once established : if you
reject such principle, we miist have recourse
to other arguments." " By all means;" ex-
claimed Cebes.
" But, to make the subject more intelli-
gible, let us not confine the inquiry to the
human race, but rather let our consideration
extend to the productions of animated nature.
Do not those qualities to which any others
are directly contrary, owe their origin to
such contrariety ; as beauty is the opposite to
deformity, and injustice the reverse of justice?
Let us further consider, whether it is not
absolutely necessary that all things which are
38 PHtEDO.
susceptible of contrariety, should have derived
their existence from the contrary object.
Thus, when any substance is increased in
size, does not such an increase proceed from
an enlargement of its first dimensions ? and is
not every smaller object rendered so by a
subtraction from its former bulk?" " Cer-
tainly." " Does not debility result from
something- stronger? and is not an increased
velocity derived from what at first was slow?
Again; when any subject becomes deterio-
rated, is it not by falling off from its original
perfection? and does not vice acquire both
its nature and its name from a necessary
contrast to the attributes of virtue?" " As-
suredly." " It has sufficiently been shewn,
then, that all things are generated by their
immediate contraries." " Sufficiently;" said
Cebes. " Is there not also some subsisting
medium between two opposite qualities ? and
are there not two generations ; the one flowing
from this to that, the other again returning
PHiEDO. 39
from that to this? 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 the same rule apply to mixture
and separation, to the process of heating and
cooling, and all other similar operations, to
which, though we do not always affix parti-
cular names, is it not in fact essentially
necessary that they should reciprocally be
the instruments of their own production?"
" Certainly ;" answered Cebes.
16. " Has life also its peculiar opposite,
as sleep is the contrary to watchfulness?"
" It has." " 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." " The nature of the first,"
said Socrates, " I will detail to you ; the
other you may yourself explain to me. Sleep
and watchfulness I define to be directly
40 PH.EDO.
opposite; and assume, that watchfulness
proceeds from sleep, and that sleep is the
offspring of watchfulness : the former being
produced by a languor of the senses, and the
latter arising from their renovation. Do I
make myself sufficiently understood ?" " Per-
fectly so." " Now then, Cebes, unfold the
nature of the connexion between life and
death. You state death to be the opposite of
life, and that they mutually originate from
each other. What then is the produce of life ?"
" Death." " And what the progeny of death?"
" It must necessarily be acknowledged to be
life." " We conclude, then, Cebes, that all
livmg objects are produced from death." " It
appears so," answered Cebes. " The souls,
therefore, of the deceased are deposited in
the infernal regions.
" Of the two generations above recited,
one is sufficiently manifest; the reality of
death wants no confirmation.
" What then must be our decision ? Shall
FUJEDO. 41
we ascribe to death the power of producing
its contrary, or are we to consider nature
as defective in this respect?" "We must,
unquestionably," said Cebes, " attribute to
death a capacity to generate its opposite."
" What is that opposite?" " The return to
life." " But if a resurrection takes place,
must it not consist in a renewal of life to the
departed?" "Certainly." " 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 some
depository, from 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
principles do not appear to 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.
generation and decay; but if, on the con-
trary, it were ordained that every distinct
species should be confined to the simple
process of creation and a departure to its
immediate opposite, without returning to the
peculiar stamp and mould from whence it
was originally fashioned; consider whether,
under such a regulation, every material
substance would not in time assume the
same unvaried form, and ultimately cease to
have existence."
" How does that appear?" said Cebes.
" There is surely," answered Socrates, " no
difficulty in the declaration ; for were we to
suppose all nature endowed with a capacity
to sleep, but denied its opposite, the power
of waking, the whole creation would lie down
in an eternal night, and the story of Endymion^
become a senseless fiction: or should every
thing be so blended in confusion as to defy
the possibility of separation, Anaxagoras's"
doctrine must necessarily be realized, and all
FHMDO. 43
things return to their original chaos. By
parity of reasoning, therefore, 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 them-
selves 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
the soul had an existence previously to its
introduction to the present human body.
From such consideration, therefore, its 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 this they would be in-
capable, unless endowed with the possession
of knowledge and right reason. Apply them
to the solution of any geometrical figure,*
* " Habet (i. e. animus) priimim nicmoiiam, et cam infinilam,
rerum innumerabilinm. Qnam quidcm Plato recordationem
esse vult superioris viUe. Nam in illo libio, qui inscribitur
Mcnon, pnsioncm quemlam Socrates iutcrrogat geometrica de
dimcnsioue qiiadrati. Ad ea sic respondct, ut puer: et tamcn
ita faciles interrogationes sunt, ut gradatim respondens codem
perveniat, quo si gcometrica didicisset. Ex quo effici vult
Socrates ut discerc nihil aliud sit nisi recordari."
Vid. Ti'sc. Disp. lib. i. cap. 24.
PHiEDO. 45
and the truth of this observation will suffici-
ently appear."
** Should such arguments," said Socrates,
" fail in producing conviction, consider then
the subject in this view.
" You deny that knowledge consists in
recollection?" " I do not absolutely deny it,"
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: never-
theless, I am still anxious to receive a further
explanation from you." " Reflect, then," said
Socrates, " that we must necessarily have
had a previous knowledge of whatever is the
subject of our recollection : thus, when a par-
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,
*' and the idea of a lyre, are distinct and
foreign from each other; but have you
observed no instance of a lover ^ calling to
mind the image of his favourite, when he
beheld the lyre, the habit, or any other
instrument, which the object of his attach-
ment was accustomed to use ? The idea of
the lyi'e is accompanied by a knowledge of
its owner ; and this is the effect of recollec-
tion. Thus it happens, that, on seeing
Sinnnias, we remember Cebes: and there are
numberless examples of the same kind. Is
it not then a more particular exertion of the
memory, to 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 owner
to one's fancy? and may not a painting of
Simmias occasion us to think of Cebes?
PHtEDO. 47
Surely, then, a portrait of Simmias will
remind us of the original ?" " Undoubtedly."
19. " From hence, then, it is manifest,
that reminiscence arises partly from objects
which resemble each other, and partly from
such as are dissimilar. But as often as
recollection exerts itself on such qualities as
resemble a particular object, must it not
necessarily discover whatever variance sub-
sists between them ?" " Certainly." " Let
us then pursue this consideration. Can we
allow the existence of a perfect abstract
equality? I do not 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 may vdth propriety be
affixed?" " Unquestionably such a quality
exists." *' 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.
to our imaginations an idea of such equality,
although not inherent in the objects them-
selves ? 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 in-
equality assume the same form?" " By no
means, Socrates." " There is 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 it, so far recollection necessarily
operates. What, then, is the inference we
deduce from this consideration? Is the
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 which I now direct my eyes, discovers in
it a strong tendency to an equality with other
objects, but that it is incompetent to reach
that full perfection of equality which the
abstract idea had imprinted in his mind; —
we acknowledge that such person must of
necessity have had a preconception of the
essence to which he could determine that
the subject he contemplates bears only an
inadequate resemblance." " Necessarily."
*' And is not the same conclusion applicable
to a comparison of equality with equal
£
50 PHiEDO.
things?" "Certainly." "Our knowledge,
then, of such an essence must have preceded
the time when, on observing equal objects,
we first discovered that they approached
towards it, though incapable of arriving at
the same degree of exactitude.
",We allow, still further, that all such
knowledge was acquired by sensation. It
is from the senses, then, that we derive the
notion that those equal objects, which are
subject to their cognizance, tend towards
the true equality, but fall short of a perfect
resemblance." " Certainly."
" We must then have been possessed of
this idea before we had exerted any sensual
organ; or how could we regard it as a
standard of comparison to detect the im-
perfection 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,
therefore, of equality must have preceded
PHiEDO. 51
our birth." " It necessarily appears so;" said
Simmias.
20. " If, therefore, we were in possession
of this knowledge, previously to our first en-
trance into human nature, we were created
not merely with an accurate idea of equality,
excess, and inferiority, but with a perfect
understanding- of all things of the same rank
and description: for I do not confine my
remarks to equality alone, but extend them
to the consideration of beauty, goodness,
justice, sanctity, and indeed to all other
qualities, 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
us through life: for knowledge consists in
an undiminished preservation of whatever is
impressed upon the mind. Do we not define
forgetfulness to be a loss of knowledge?"
" Certainly." " If, then, on being born, we
lose that knowledge, of which before our
52 PH.EDO.
birth we were in full possession, and are
enabled to acquire it again by the assistance
of the senses, is not what is usually called
learning, the recovery of some mental attri-
bute? and is not such properly denominated
recollection?" " Undoubtedly." " It is surely
evident, that a person may present to his
imagination some particular object which
had escaped his remembrance, by the per-
ception of some other, to which its aflSnity
is not affected, either by its resemblance or
dissimilarity; hence, one of these two conclu-
sions must inevitably follow : either we retain
through life the ideas given us at our birth,
or those we afterwards acquire are produced
by an effort of the 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 we a subsequent recol-
lection of what we formerly knew^ ?" " I am
at a loss," answered Simmias, " how to make
PUMDO. 55
my choice." " Can you not, however, decide
on this point? — Is a man of science compe-
tent to give a rational account of those sub-
jects in which his knowledge consists ?" " He
is surely capable." " Do you imagine too
that all 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." " They retrieve, therefore,
those ideas which they acquired at some
former period?" " It should seem so."
*' When did the soul first get possession of
such ideas ? We have already seen it could
not be after its 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.
received then in some pre-existent staler"
" Undoubtedly." " The soul, therefore, had
a being prior to the body, endowed with all
the powers of thought and understanding."
" Unless," said Simmias, " it received its
knowledge at the moment of our birth : that
interval is still left for such purpose." " Be
it so," said Socrates : ^' but at what other
instant was its knowledge lost? We have
already agreed that we were born without it.
Did we then lose the gift the moment we
received it ; or have you any other crisis still
in reserve?" *' I was too little aware," said
Simmias, " that what I stated carries its own
refutation."
22. " If, therefore, goodness, beauty, and those
other qualities which are constantly the theme
of conversation do in reality exist ; and if we
refer the objects of our senses to that essence
which we find exactly resembling our nature,
but antecedent in creation : if these things
have a prior existence, our souls must also
PHiEDO. 55
have had being previous to our birth : if on
the other hand they are mere chimeras of the
fancy, all our discussion must be vain and
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 reality of those
other essences?" " The conclusion," answered
Simmias, " is both just, and calculated to
excite our admiration; and your discourse
most ably proves that the soul had an exist-
ence prior to our birth, equally with that in-
telligible essence to which you before alluded.
Nothing is more evident to my conception
than the reality of those qualities, and I
acquiesce entirely in the force of the demon-
stration." "But what," said Socrates, " are the
sentiments of Cebes ? — I w ould fain convince
him also." "He is persuaded already,"
answered Simmias ; " for although few men
so forcibly maintain their own opinions, I
think he cannot resist your reasoning, but
56 PHiEDO.
will readily acknowledge that the soul had
indeed a being before mankind were created."
23. " It is not, however, sufficiently evident,
even to me, that its existence is prolonged
after our decease: I still participate in the
common apprehension, that when the body
is destroyed, the soul is annihilated also.
For how is the circumstance of its having
been endowed with life before its introduction
into human nature, incompatible with a dis-
solution on its removal from the body?"
" Your observation is 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
for him to shew that it preserves a full pos-
session of its faculties subsequently to the
body's extinction."
*' You will acknowledge it to have been
shewn already," answered Socrates, " if you
connect this last observation with the 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 life, and was
of necessity produced from death ; — why
should not the same necessity enjoin a con-
tinuation of its being, since it is ordained by
the decrees of nature, that it must otherwise
return to life? The proof, therefore, which
you required has thus been given.
24. " But I perceive you are desirous of
examining this statement with particular at-
tention, not altogether undivested of a puerile
apprehension that the soul, on quitting the
body, is carried away by the winds and
totally dispersed ; especially if it takes its
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 PHiEDO.
that death is not a hideous phantom, to excite
its horror." " You must have recourse," said
Socrates, smiling, "to spells and incanta-
tions." " But where," said Cebes, " shall we
find a skilful exorcist, when you have left
us?" "There are many learned 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
more advantageously. Explore also your own
circle; for, perhaps^ you will not easily discover
elsewhere those who are more competent to
such an undertaking." "We will ;" said Cebes :
*' but let us now return from our digression."
25. " We should first, then," proceeded
Socrates, " inquire into the nature of such
qualities as are subject to decay, and examine
what those are whose dissolution ought to
inspire 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 naturally liable to
decomposition? and is 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 per-
petual alteration, are created with component
parts?" " So I should conceive," replied Cebes.
*' Let us, then, revert to those qualities which
were above recited, and whose real existence
is allowed on all hands : are these uniform or
mutable ? Are beauty and justice susceptible
of variation, or does every real essence con-
stantly retain the same unaltered form>
unmoved by any power of time or circum-
stance?" "They are, necessarily," answered
Cebes, " exempt from any change." *' Do all
60 PHMDO.
such beautiful objects, also, as men, horses,
habits, and other things of a similar descrip-
tion, present the same unvaried appearance,
or are they rather formed with properties
necessarily subject to perpetual fluctuation?"
" These," said Cebes, *' are ever variable and
fleeting." " 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 advance," said Cebes, " carries
with it the conviction of truth,"
26. " Let us, then, present to our imagina-
tions two distinct objects ; the one visible,
and the other invisible: and let us assume
that the latter maintains a constant uni-
formity, while the former is subject to
incessant variation. Now, — does our nature
consist of any other properties than those of
the body and the soul?" " Surely of no
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
forcibly assimilate? Is it a visible or an
invisible essence ?" " 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 human being? But, to repeat
the question, how shall we determine relative
to the soul? is it visible, or otherwise?"
" Assuredly it is invisible." " The soul then
is conformable to invisible objects, and the
body to those which are visible?" "This,"
said Cebes, " is a necessary consequence."
27. " Have we not already stated, that,
whenever the soul has recourse to the agency
of the senses, it is unavoidably attracted to
those objects which are ever changing and
inconstant; and that, when subject to such
influence, it becomes perturbed and giddy,
reeling to and fro like a drunken man ? But
62 PHyEDO.
as often as it proceeds to its inquiries,
'(iivested of all bodily embarrassments, it
advances to that pure, eternal essence, which
is always equable; and while it can continue
unpolluted, it dwells as with a kindred sub-
stance. Then all its wanderings cease, co-
mingling with those qualities which know no
change ; and this condition of the soul has
been denominated wisdom." " Admirably
observed," cried Cebes. " To which species,
then," continued Socrates, " is the soul most
similar; and with which is it 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." " To which, there-
fore, does the body most approximate ?" " To
those of a character directly opposite."
28. " Let us reflect, also, that the soul
and body are so constituted, that the one is
PHiEDO. 6S
endowed with authority, and that it is the
province of tlie other to yield submission to
its dictates. Which situation, therefore, par-
takes most of the divine? Is it inconsistent
with the nature of divinity to be invested
with controul and government? and is not
the condition of mortality most suited to
obedience?" " Certainly." " Which, then,
does the soul most forcibly resemble? It is
evident that the soul participates in the
divine essence, and that the body is clothed
in mortality. Reflect then, Cebes, whether
we are not entitled to draw this inference,
and assert that the soul most perfectly resem-
bles whatever is divine, immortal, uniform,
intelligent, indissoluble and unchangeable;
and that the body is allied to what is human,
material, perishable and complex : liable to
be directed by every accidental impulse, and
swayed by every fluctuation of caprice or
fancy. Have you any thing to allege in con-
tradiction to this reasoning?" " Nothing."
64 VHMDO.
29. " Is it not, then, suitable to the body's
organization, that it should be susceptible of
speedy dissolution ; and that the soul should,
on the contrary, remain for ever undissolved ?"
" Certainly." " You observe, that, on a man's
decease, the visible body, or what is 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 : and this is
particularly the case when any person is
accidentally cut off while in the possession
of health and vigour. Those bodies which
are embalmed, after the 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 habi-
tation, which, like itself, is also pure, invisible,
and glorious, and returning to the presence
PHiEDO. 65
of a God endowed with every attribute of
goodness and of wisdom : — (and thither, with
the permission of the Deity, soon will my soul
repair;) shall this essence, so constituted, so
prepared, when escaping from its ' prison-
house,' be instantly dispersed, and vanish
into nothing? Such, surely, cannot be its
destiny. By far more rational is the con-
jecture, that, if it takes its flight when veiled
in its own fine vehicle, totally purified and
disengaged from the gross matter which now
encloses and encumbers it, and with which it
never willingly held intercourse, but constantly
retired within itself, absorbed in meditation
and the thoughts of death, such being properly
the province of philosophy ; — if the soul, thus
qualified, shall escape the trammels of mor-
tality, the deductions of reason instruct us
that it then will instantly repair to some con-
genial and immortal Being; — a 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
alone are comprehensible,— is it 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. 67
as a heavy, gross, and earthly mass, which
weighs upon the soul, and bears it down-
wards to the visible sphere ; where, dreading
the light of the infernal world, it w^anders
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,
which constantly attends them, shall be again
enabled to effect their union with the body.
31. " This reunion^ is 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 inclinations, assume the shape of
asses, and animals of that description. Is not
such a retribution probable? Those, too,
who held deeds of rapine, tyranny, and
* See Matt. chap. viii. 28,
68 PH^DO.
violence in honour, are changed to wolves,
and hawks, and vultures : or to what other
class shall we assign them? It is further
probable, that the rest w\\\ be condemned to
animate the bodies of such beasts as are
endowed with dispositions analogous to their
former courses. Are not those, then, the
most fortunate in their destiny, and con-
signed to the happiest places, who have ever
practised the civil virtues of temperance and
justice, though unaided by the lessons of
philosophy ?" " From what sources will their
happiness proceed ?" *' They will probably
be appointed to assume the form of bees or
ants, or some such provident creatures : or,
possibly, they may return again to animate
the human body, and thus become distin-
guished by their prudence and sagacity.
32. " But it is a privilege confined to the
philosopher, whose soul departs in spotless
purity, to 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
wedded to their riches, 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,"
exclaimed Cebes, " would ill become them."
*' 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 it cannot
look on with unclouded faculties ; — they
know that, in such situation, philosophy,
perceiving how the fetters of the mind are
principally forged by the turbulence of its
own ungoverned passions, proceeds by gentle
exhortation, and gradually effectuates its
release. 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 re-
quires their interference. She encourages
in the mind a confident reliance on itself,
and shews that the reality of all things
should be questioned which have not been
examined by its OAvn immediate powers : she
teaches that all other objects are visible and
gross; but those which the soul contem-
plates, are invisible and intellectual. The
soul, therefore, of every true philosopher,
being convinced that it should not oppose
PHiEDO. 71
its own deliverance, applies its utmost
energies towards resisting the approach of
grief and pleasure, of fear and sensuality;
rightly judging, that while subject to any
such impression, it is not only liable to
those distresses which result from sickness,
or a loss of fortune, but that it is doomed
to bear the last and greatest of all calamities,
though still unconscious of its influence."
" To what evil do you particularly allude?"
said Cebes. " It arises," answered Socrates,
" from this circumstance, — that the soul of
every person, when violently agitated with
either joy or sorrow, conceives that the
imaginary objects which excite his passions,
do in reality exist. While in such a situation,
is not the soul absolutely subdued by the
body?" "In what respect?" "Every sen-
sation of pleasure, every emotion of grief,
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. From this asso-
ciation, 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, filled with the cor-
ruptions of matter, it quickly falls back to
animate some other body, where it flourishes
as in a kindred soil, 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 itself, and rightly judges
that it 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. 73
would defeat its own exertions. On the
contrary, it preserves a serenity unruffled;
and, following the dictates of reason, inces-
santly contemplates what is divine and true.
Strengthened and supported by these reflec-
tions, it pursues through life an unvaried
rule of conduct, and encourages the hope,
that after death it may depart to some con-
genial habitation, removed from all those
sorrows ' flesh is heir to.' While acting under
the guidance of such principles, there surely
can be little reason for alarm, — lest, on its
separation from the body, it should be scat-
tered by the breath of the winds, or melt
into annihilation."
35. When Socrates had thus expressed
himself, a long pause ensued: he appeared
to revolve in his mind the observations which
grew out of the discussion, while we were
intent on examining the arguments he had
74 PHiEDO.
advanced. Simmias and Cebes engaged in
a separate conversation; and Socrates, per-
ceiving them, inquired if what had been
already stated was sufficient to remove their
scruples. " There are still," said he, " many
difficulties which will appear unexplained,
should any one think proper to pursue the
investigation. If, therefore, you are occupied
by some other topic, I will not interrupt it :
but, should you have any doubts connected
with this subject, do not hesitate to declare
your sentiments, if you imagine they will
lead to a more perfect demonstration ; and
if I can be of any assistance in the inquiry,
pray admit me as an associate."
" To confess the truth," said Simmias,
" we have both entertained doubts, on certain
points, for 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,"
answered Socrates, gently smiling, " I should
not easily persuade the rest of mankind that
I regard my present fortune as otherwise
than calamitous, since I am incapable of
convincing even you, who fear to find me
more austere now than at any former period
of my life. You really seem to regard my
prophetic talents as inferior to what the
swans enjoy,* who sing most sweetly at the
point of death, being elated with the thoughts
of resorting to the presence of that deity to
whom they were devoted. Mankind, who
are themselves alarmed at the approach of
death, represent these notes as songs of
* Cygni fabula Pytliagorica est, atque allegorica. Pytha-
gorica quidem, iibi dicit, cygni animam siipervivere: allegorice
vero intelligitur, cygnum in numcro solarium animalium con-
tineri : et Socratem Solaicm esse ; turn quia Plioebi oracuio ap-
probatus est, turn quia mentibus hominum medebatur. Adde
vaticinium esse quadruplex, divinum, daemoniacuni, humanum,
naturale: idque ultimum in bestiis fieri quodam instinctu
naturae. Itellige etiam cygnos innocentes sine pbilosophia
homines : qui, quum mortem saepe minime timeant, significant,
philosophos absolutes timere earn nullo modo debere. — FiciNUS.
See also Tusc. i. 30.
76 PHiEDO.
lamentation, without reflecting that no bird
is ever heard to carol when either cold or
hungry, or otherwise dejected. Not even the
lapwing, the swallow, or the nightingale,
whose melody is said to originate in grief,
have been ever known to sing while suffering
under the pressure of those evils. Such birds
do not appear to pour forth their strains from
the impulse of sorrow, any more than the
swans ; and these being sacred to Apollo, are
gifted with the powers of divination: and,
foreseeing thus the joys which are reserved for
them, sing with unusual ecstasy at the moment
of their departure. I also regard myself as
being consecrated to the service of the same
deity, from whom I have received at least an
equal portion of the gifts of prophecy, and
consequently am enabled to resign my life
with as few motives for despondency. Let no
suggestion, therefore, of delicacy interfere to
prevent your proposing as many questions as
the time allowed by the Eleven will admit."
PH^DO. 77
" Thus authorized," said Sinimias, " I will
proceed to state the doubts which have
perplexed me, and Cebes can afterwards
point out those arguments which are con-
sidered questionable by him. I subscribe
entirely to your remark, that it is extremely
difficult, if not utterly impossible, to arrive
at truth in this life ; but, that, to desist from
the inquiry, or to refuse to prosecute it with
all imaginable diligence, till every effort has
been totally subdued, is the mark of a dis-
position at once effeminate and indolent.
In all investigations of this nature, we must
either discover what is true ourselves, or
receive it from some other person: should
both these methods prove insufficient, we
must single forth from amongst the sugges-
tions of human reason, that which is the
strongest and least fallible. Trusting to
such conveyance, we may sail as on a raft^
through the storms and tempests of this life ;
unless some holy oracle^ should happily
78 PHiEDO.
point out a path more sure, and strewed
with fewer dangers. But, since I have your
permission, I will no longer hesitate to
propose my objections, that I may thus
avoid any future self-reproach for neglecting
to have stated every distrust and anxiety.
My own suspicion of the inadequacy of the
proofs has been strengthened by a conference
with Cebes ; and we are both of opinion that
the arguments hitherto adduced are not suffi-
ciently convincing."
36. " Probably," said Socrates, " your ob-
jections are well founded ; but to what parts
of the demonstration do you principally
directthem?" "What has been advanced,"
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 ;
and the lyre itself may be regarded as the
body, whose constituent parts are material.
PRMDO. 79
compounded, and of earthly texture. If,
therefore, this instrument were to be rent in
pieces, or its strings become broken and
otherwise damaged, might we not affirm,
with equal reason, that the harmony con-
tinues uninjured? For surely it is quite
impossible that the lyre, formed as it is of
perishable matter, should remain after its
strings are demolished, and the harmony,
which partakes of the divine nature, be
reduced to nothing. On the contrary, the
harmony must exist without the slightest
injury, after the strings and body of the
instrument are totally destroyed. I presume
you are aware that the soul has been con-
sidered as a harmony ; aud that, as the body
is 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. If, therefore, the
soul is reallv a harmonv, it is evident that,
80 PHiEDO.
though of divine original, it must inevitably
perish whenever the body is too much re-
laxed, or too violently strained, from the
influence of those diseases which are inci-
dental to its nature. Such is the case with
all other descriptions of harmony, whether
arising from sounds or the effect of in-
struments. Instruct us, therefore, how to
answer this objection, should any one imagine
that the soul, being produced by a mixture
of those elements which form the body, first
perishes in the event called death."
37. Socrates here, smiling with his usual
serenity, said, " Your observations, Shnmias,
are just and forcible. Therefore, if any of
the present company is more ready than I
am with an answer, let him come forward;
for the exceptions have been taken with
considerable ingenuity. Before, however, I
proceed to a reply, it will be proper to
hear what Cebes has to allege, and then to
deliberate on the mode of refutation. If
PHiEDO. 81
the objections appear to be supported by
reason, we shall not withhold our assent : if,
on the other hand, they are judged to be not
sufficiently valid, we must defend our former
declaration. Explain, therefore, Cebes, those
points which you conceive to be the least
admissible." " To me," said Cebesf " the
arguments are yet in many respects unsatis-
factory, and the former objections still retain
much of their force. That the soul was
endowed with life before its entrance into
human nature, I consider as almost suffi-
ciently demonstrated ; but I am by no means
disposed to admit that its existence, subse-
quently to our decease, has been supported
by proofs equally cogent. I do not, how-
ever, participate in the objection of Simmias,
that it is of a nature more perishable than
the body; for I conceive it to be created
infinitely superior. Why, then, it may be
asked, do I deny its immortality? Since
you have ocular conviction, that when a
82 PUMDO:
man is dead, his weaker parts do not im*
mediately decay, is it not rational to con-
clude that those which are more durable
should continue also? To answer this, I
must, like Simmias, have recourse to a com-
parison. It strikes me, then^ that what has
been stated on this subject is much of the
same nature as if any person were to dis-
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 durable, he conceives
his argument is suflSciently established: for,
since that which was most perishable is not
destroyed, unquestionably the stronger sub-
stance must remain unimpaired. The parallel,
however, is not just, as must be sufficiently
PHiEDO. 83
obvious; for it is evident that the weaver,
w^ho had worn out many dresses, necessarily
expired before the last was quite decayed:
but surely this circumstance by no means
proves that human nature is 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 : and thence it
will appear that the soul is the more durable
essence, and the body most exposed to the
ravages of time. I would add, too, that the
soul survives many bodies, particularly if its
life is protracted many years. For if the
body is in a fluent state during the man's ex-
istence, and the soul constantly repairs what
has thus been exhausted, it is clear that its
own extinction must precede the body's latest
habit. After this dissolution, the body in-
stantly betrays its weakness, and sinks into
corruption; so that we are very far from
having any grounds for confidently trusting
84 PH7EDO.
that the soul's existence will extend beyond
the grave. For should any one assent to
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 reproductions —
(its natural strength enabling it to withstand
the injuries of many generations,) yet such
concession could not be extended to an
avowal that it sustained no waste or damage
from the process, or that it would not at
length be totally destroyed. It is impossible
to state what corporeal dissolution will pro-
duce the extinction of the soul, as such
knowledge is beyond the reach of human
discovery. If, then, this reasoning is correct,
none but a person bereft of his understand-
ing could rejoice at the approach of death;
for unless he were able to prove incontestably
that the soul is an imperishable essence, he
must necessarily feel anxious lest, on its
PH.EDO. 85
disunion from the body, it should fade away
like an unsubstantial phantom."
38. Phcedo. These observations, as we
afterwards acknowledged, occasioned us
considerable embarrassment: for the proofs
which before appeared irresistible, seemed
now far less powerful ; and not only served
to weaken our belief in the preceding
evidences, but indisposed us to attach much
credit to any subsequent reasoning; as we
naturally became apprehensive either that
the arguments themselves might be intrin-
sically false, or that we should be incapable
of estimating their validity.
Echecrates. Indeed, Pha^do, I can easily
make allowance for any conduct under
such circumstances; for I have been induced,
by your report of the conversation, to ask
myself this question: on what doctrine can
we implicitly rely, since the arguments of
86 PHiEDO.
Socrates, which lately appeared unanswer-
able, have now lost all their weight. The
idea, that the soul is a kind of harmony, has
always pleased my imagination; and what
was lately urged on this point, has recalled
the sentiments I formerly entertained: I
therefore require a new order of demonstra-
tion to persuade 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 : whether he appeared
in any degree displeased, or supported his
opinions with his usual amenity of manner ; —
in short, whether his succeeding remarks
were ultimately futile or conclusive ?
Phced. I assure you, Echecrates, that,
however ardently I before admired him, my
admiration was extremely heightened by his
conduct on that occasion. Not that I was
at all surprised by the acuteness with which
he answered the objections; but what par-
ticularly charmed me, was the mild and
PH^DO. 87
engaging affability with which he repHed
to these young men; the promptness with
which he discovered the full extent of the
impression their suggestions had created,
and the skilfulness with which he totally
removed it. He rallied us like routed forces,
and dexterously turned our thoughts to a
new consideration of the subject.
Echec. How did he resume the discussion?
Phced. I will inform you. As I 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 my
shoulders, and at length exclaimed, " To-
morrow, Phaedo, these beautiful locks will
be all shorn." Probably, I answered. " Not,"
said he, " if you will suffer me to direct
you." Why so? cried I. " You and I,"
continued he, " should each of us part with
our hair to-day, if our arguments are to be
thus entirely demolished; and were I in
88 PH/EDO.
your situation, I would make a solemn vow,
like the men at Argos,^ never to allow my
hair to grow till I had completely foiled the
allegations of Simmias and Cebes." But
even Hercules, said I, must yield to odds.
" Call, then," he replied, " on me, as
Hercules called on lolaus."* I 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 are said to acquire a general
hatred of human nature. Nothing can
be more prejudicial than a distaste of
this kind, which is indeed derived from the
same source as that from whence misan-
thropy originates. This antipathy to the
species is occasioned by our having incau-
tiously reposed too great confidence in an
individual, whom we supposed qualified with
■•'^r
PH^DO. 89
all 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 and most familiar
friends, he gradually conceives a disgust
for the whole race, and imagines that
all mankind are equally perfidious. Have
you never remarked any instances of this
kind?" Frequently. " Is it not perfectly
evident, that whoever is a dupe to such
conduct, must have engaged in habits of
intimacy with men whose dispositions he had
not sufficiently studied? for had he atten-
tively examined human nature, he would
soon have learned that examples, either of
unblemished virtue or abandoned villany,
are seldom to be found, and that it is the
middle compound character which is chiefly
prevalent." How does this appear? said 1.
90 PH^DO.
He replied by an allusion to the general
stature of mankind. *' Do you not," said he,
" observe how unusual it 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 applied to beauty and deformity,
to speed and slowness, to light and dark
colours: Have you never noticed, that, in
all these instances, the two extremes are
scarcely ever seen, but that the intervening
shades are almost always discernible?" Cer-
tainly. " You think, then, that if a contest
for impiety were instituted, there would be
but few entitled to a place in the foremost
rank?" Most probably; said I. *' It is
highly probable," said he. " Here, however,
the parallel fails: for I will now closely
follow you ; but the resemblance consists in
this, — that when any person incapable of
due examination, adopts as truths those
arguments, which on a subsequent revision
PHiEDO. 91
may appear futile, whether really so or other^
wise; — when such a person has repeatedly
suffered from delusions of this nature, as is
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
any man should feel inclined to reject those
arguments which are easily intelligible, and
which he had once received, from the in-
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 at the
point of death, can peculiarly feel its import-
ance. Indeed, I am rather apprehensive of
bearing a greater resemblance to a sect of
eager disputants, than to a sincere philoso-
pher. Such men are more anxious to induce
their audience to assent to their deductions,
than accurately to investigate the subjects
which are so zealously debated ; and I have
only this advantage over them, that I do not
merely endeavour to produce conviction in
my hearers, but am equally desirous of satis-
fying my own mind. For I reason in this
manner: if the preceding statement is true,
our highest interests demand an acquiescence
in it ; if there is really no hereafter, still the
idea of a future state will render me less
troublesome to my friends, by preventing
me from employing what remains of life in
useless lamentation. This uncertainty will
indeed soon leave me, or I should regard it
as a severe calamity. Encouraged, therefore,
PHiEDO. 93
by such reflections, I return to our inquiry;
and should I 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
other hand, the arguments appear to be
weak and inconclusive, oppose them with
your utmost strength ; lest I otherwise deceive
both myself and friends, and leave my venom,
like the bee,^ to rankle after death.
41. *' Let us first, however, recapitulate the
principal points of our disagreement, that
they may not appear to have escaped my
recollection. Simmias, I believe, expressed
an alarm that the soul, though confessedly
of a nature more divine and excellent than
the body, might still be annihilated before it,
as being only a kind of harmony ; and Cebes,
if I mistake not, assented to the declaration,
that the soul was the more durable essence,
but alleged that it was beyond the reach of
94 PHiEDO.
human understanding to discover whether,
after repeatedly exhausting many bodies, it
does not itself perish on removing from the
last : and that, as the body is constantly in a
state of dissolution, this final extinction of
the soul is the circumstance which occasions
death. Are not these the chief topics for
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 to receive several. " How
then," said he, " do you determine respecting
the declaration which states all knowledge
to consist in recollection, and infers, as a
necessary consequence, that the soul must
have existed somewhere previously to its
union with the body?" " I have already,"
answered Cebes, " expressed an acquiescence
in its truth ; and I see no inducement to alter
my opinion." " And I," added Simmias,
" presence my sentiments on this point
PHiEDO. 95
unchanged; and should mdeed feel much
astonishment were they to suffer any altera-
tion." " Your thoughts, however," answered
Socrates, " must undergo a revolution, if you
still persist in the idea that harmony is a
composition, and that the soul is 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
of that doctrine, which states the soul to
have been created anterior to its entrance
into human nature, and to be compounded
from those principles which had as yet no
being? The harmony, which you say the
soul resembles, is not produced till after the
lyre and strings are fashioned, and the dis-
cordant sounds have been correctly modu-
lated : it results at length from a just union
of t^t whole, and is necessarily the first
96 PHiEDO.
which perishes. How, then, will your present
observations agree with your former state-
ment?" " They are indeed," said Simmias, " ab-
surd and contradictory." "And yet, "continued
Socrates, " if any discourse should remain in
unison with itself, surely that ought which
has harmony for its subject." " True;"
replied Simmias. '■ But yours," added
Socrates, " is directly otherwise ; let us hear,
then, to which idea you will give the pre-
ference. Is knowledge only remembrance, or
is the soul a kind of harmony?" " I make
my election," answered Simmias, " with the
first; for I adopted the other without suf-
ficient demonstration, being influenced by
those plausible comparisons which are cal-
culated to please the multitude. That
reasoning, which draws its proofs from
analogies, is frequently specious and decep-
tive; capable of misleading, without great
precaution, equally in geometry as in other
sciences. But the statement which represents
PRMDO. 97
knowledge to proceed from recollection, is
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. To such a declara-
tion, I persuade myself, I was fully justified
in assenting; and consequently every idea,
which intimates the sovd to be a kind of
harmony, whether arising from the sugges-
tions 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 compo-
sition, can differ essentially from its consti-
tuent parts?" " Certainly not." "Does its
action or passion vary at all from the action
or passion of those qualities from which it
is compounded ?" Simmias allowed they
were in each the same. " Harmony, there-
fore, cannot precede, but must inevitably
H
98 PRJEDO.
follow the production of all such qualities ?"
" Unquestionably." " Hence it can have
neither sound nor motion, but as its parts
direct?" " Undoubtedly not." " Is it not the
nature of every kind of harmony to be more
or less perfect, in proportion as it is well or
ill 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 its parts?"
" Entirely." " May then the same ob-
servation be extended to the soul? and can
we represent it as departing (even in the
minutest circumstance) from its original
formation, and becoming, either in a greater
or a less degree, a soul?" *' Surely not."
" Again : are not those souls described as
good, which are endowed with understand-
ing 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. 99
describe these opposite qualities ? Will they
call the one all harmony, and the other
discord ? Will they affirm, that the vir-
tuous soul, being produced from harmony,
contains another harmony within itself; and
that the vicious soul is destitute of such
addition?" " I am utterly at a loss," said
Simmias, " how to 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;
which amounts to a confession that one har-
mony is not more or less a harmony than
another." " Granted." " But that harmony
which is invariable, must be always equally
attuned and modulated." " I allow it." " Is
it then possible, that when the concord of
the parts is equal, the degrees of harmony
should be unequal?" " Certainly not." *' Since,
therefore, one soul cannot be more or less a
soul than another, it cannot have a greater
100 PHiEDO.
or a less degree of concord than another."
" True." " And consequently is not sus-
ceptible either of more harmony or discord."
" Evidently not." " If, 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, than another?"
" From such reasoning, it would appear im-
possible." " Would it not, then, be more
rational to affirm, that, as the soul is a har-
mony, it is therefore inaccessible to vice?
for harmony, as long as it retains its nature,
can never be associated with discord; neither
can the soul, while it preserves its essence,
have any intercourse with evil. For if we
admit the preceding statement, how is 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
represents the soul as a harmony, is consonant
to the maxims of reason?" " By no means."
43. " Yet further still : Of all the proper-
ties 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 of none ;" said Simmias. " Does it
exert its power by controlling the passions
of the body, or by yielding them indulgence ?
Does it, for example, when the body is
attacked by thirst, or raging heat, forcibly
repel its inclination to drink ; or, when urged
by the violence of hunger, does it prevent
an indulgence of the palate? And in num-
berless other instances, do we not observe
its opposition to the body's appetites?" " Un-
questionably." " But we have already agreed,
that if considered as a harmony, it could
never emit any sound but as its component
parts direct ; by which it is either raised or
102 PH^DO.
lowered, and in whose affections it parti-
cipates, being necessarily subject to their
government." " We certainly assented to
this statement;" answered Simmias. " Is not,
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 direc-
tion ; 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,
in short, by addressing herself with threats
and conciliation to every passion, fear, or
corporal affection? Thus Homer represents
Ulysses admonishing his heart :^
^Trjdog ^e 7rX)jt,ag, Kpalb^v rjviTraTTE fxiQw^
TtrKaQi, Stj Kpa^aj kui Kvvrtpov clXKo iror trXtjg.
Poor suffering heart ! he cried, support the pain
Of wounded honour, and thy rage restrain.
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 ? or should you not
rather imagine that he was impressed with
the belief that it is something infinitely tran-
scendant?" " Most assuredly." " We must
no longer, then, my friend, adopt the notion
that the soul is the same with harmony, or
we shall both dissent from the divine poet,
Homer, and contradict our own declaration."
*' 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
happy arguments is he to be appeased?"
" You can have no difficulty," replied Cebes,
" in supplying them : indeed, you have far
exceeded my expectations by the discourse
on harmony; for when Simmias first pro-
posed his doubts, I imagined them to be
104 PHMDO.
unanswerable: hence I was much astonished
to find them shrink before your first attack.
It will, therefore, be by no means a subject
of surprise, to find my own observations
equally confuted." " Let me beseech you,"
said Socrates, " to express yourself less
extravagantly:^ otherwise some invidious
construction may pervert the subsequent
reasoning. These things, however, are at
the disposal of the Deity : — but let us, to
adopt the language of Homer,^ engage in
close combat, and try whether your argu-
ments will bear the test of minute examina-
tion. If I mistake not, the sum of what you
require amounts to this : that the soul should
be proved to be an imperishable essence, if
we would vindicate from the charge of folly
those philosophers, who exult in the hour of
death, and who indulge the hope of finding
in an hereafter, a degree of happiness infi-
nitely superior to any which this life can
furnish. For you allege, that the demonstra-
PH.EDO. 105
tion of its being a durable substance, of
divine original, and endowed with life pre-
viously to our creation, so far from estab-
lishing the soul's immortality, serves only to
shew that it had an antecedent existence,
enhvened with the faculties of thought and
action; for that, on its first entrance into
human nature, it instantly imbibes the seeds
of corruption ; that from such period, its life
is a life of misery ; and that it finally perishes
in the event called death. You farther state,
that whether its connexion with the body is
confined to a single union, or whether the
association is many times repeated, the
grounds for our alarm are not materially
affected; it being rational for every man, who
is not bereft of his reason, to feel an appre-
hension on this subject, unless he is capable
of fully ascertaining the souls eternity.
These, Cebes, I believe, are the leading
points in your observations ; and I have been
the more anxious to detail them, both to
106 PH^DO.
prevent any remark of consequence from
escaping my attention, and to furnish you
with an opportunity of making what alter-
ations or additions your wishes might
suggest."
" You have accurately stated," answered
Cebes, " those topics which I principally
urged, and I have no desire either to lengthen
or abridge them."
45. Socrates, then, after some time spent
in meditation, addressed himself to Cebes in
the following manner. " The explanation you
require, is attended with considerable diffi-
culty, as it involves an inquiry into the cause
of generation and decay. If you please,
therefore, I will lay the result of my investi-
gation on this subject before you, and you
are at perfect liberty to adopt whatever may
appear conducive to support your own state-
ment." " I shall not disregard such permis-
sion;" answered Cebes. " Attend to me;"
continued Socrates. " In early life, I was
PHiEDO. 107
extremely desirous of attaining that science
which is usually termed natural history : for
I considered it a high degree of knowledge
to be acquainted with the causes by which
all things are produced, and to ascertain the
principle by which they exist, and the imme-
diate process which leads to their extinction.
I therefore used every exertion to facilitate
my pursuit ; and commenced the inquiry by
considering whether (as some have asserted)
animals really derive their creation and sup-
port 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
these senses, and whether knowledge is the
joint result of both. Afterwards, I became
anxious to know the cause of their decay,
and was proceeding to examine into the
108 PHyEDO.
properties of the earth, and the phenomena of
the heavenly bodies, when I at length became
convinced of the fruitlessness of any such
attempt, and of my total incapacity for all
such investigation. Of this I will give you a
convincing proof: for all those subjects, which
I before imagined myself sufficiently informed
of, became absolutely unintelligible; and I was
quite incapable of explaining even those prin-
ciples by which the human figure is increased
in size. I had formerly conceived it 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
substance, and that man was thus enabled to
acquire his full proportions. Such were then
PH/EDO. 109
my sentiments : do you think them rational ?"
" Certainly." " Observe, then, what follows.
When I saw a tall person standing near
another of shorter stature, I thought it suffi-
ciently evident that the height of the former
exceeded that of the latter, by the head; and
I conceived it to be still 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
they contained one half more.'' " What are
your present sentiments on these points?"
said Cebes. " So far," answered Socrates,
*' am I from believing myself accurately in-
formed respecting them, that I am unable to
determine when one and one are added to
each other, whether the unity which has
received this addition becomes two, or
whether the number two is produced by the
combined powers of each. For it is an
extraordinary circumstance, that when each
in its solitary state, apart from the other.
110 PHiEDO.
could make only one, their approximation
should be the means of producing" two.
Neither can I understand, satisfactorily, why
two should result from a division of unity.
In the former instance, we see the direct
contrary to have been the case : then one and
one being joined with each other, gave this
result ; — now the same effect arises from their
separation. I am equally at a loss to com-
prehend the origin of unity itself; nor, indeed,
by such kind of reasoning, am I able to
discover the rise, existence, or decay of any
other quality : I have therefore recourse to
some different system, resolving to abandon
this altogether.
46. " As I happened to hear some person
read a treatise of Anaxagoras, which states
the Divine intellect to be the first cause of
all things, and the power which gave to each
created particle its form and character, I
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 allotted to a situation of
all others the best suited to its nature. I
conceived, therefore, that if any one was
desirous of discovering the principle by
which a particular quality is generated, he
must previously ascertain what is the most
beneficial to such quality. Hence his in-
quiry would be confined to the consideration
of what is best ; and by acquiring this know-
ledge, he would necessarily be informed of
that also which is the most evil. Thus I
congratulated myself with having found a
master capable of instructing me to the
extent of my desires; one, who would not
merely acquaint me whether the surface of
the earth was flat or globular, but who would
also explain the cause Avhicli necessarily oc-
casioned it to assume that figure, and who
would affirm, and demonstrably prove, that
it was the best adapted to its properties. In
the same manner, if he were to assert that
112 PHiEDO.
the earth was placed in the centre of the
universe, I expected him to sheW that such
a situation was the best that could be pos-
sibly assigned it. And if his demonstrations
had been sufficiently convincing, I was re-
solved to discard every other hypothesis.
I 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 course which was pre-
scribed them is necessarily superior to any
other which could be ordained : for when he
had asserted that they were disposed in their
respective ranks by the power of the Divine
intellect, I did not imagine that he would
have alleged any other cause for their exist-
ence, than that it was right that they should
so exist. 1 flattered myself, therefore, that
in adopting this j)rinciple, 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 I could not have
been induced to relinquish on any considera- .
tion; but I purchased the books with the
most eager curiosity, anxious to inform
myself wherein the good and evil of all
things consisted.
47. "I soon, however, fell from these lofty
promises, when in the progress of the treatise
I observed the author discarding the agency
of the intellect, and attributing the order and
disposition of the system to the influence
of the air, the aether, and the waters, and
adopting other reasons equally extravagant.
Indeed, he appeared to me to commit full
as great an absurdity as any person would be
liable to, who should assert, that Socrates, in
all his actio7is, is directed by his understand-
ing; and then, proceeding to explain the
motives of my conduct, were to aver that I
sit here because my body is composed of
I
]14 PH/EDO.
hones and nerves. The bones, he would
state, are hard and solid, and separated at
the joints ; and the nerves, being of a nature
capable of distension and contraction, en-
velope them with skin and flesh. The bones,
therefore, being properly balanced on their
joints, I have the power of folding them at
pleasure ; and such is the reason why I now
sit in the present attitude. Equally ridi-
culous would be the conduct of any man,
undertaking to assign the cause of our
present conference, who should insist only
on sounds, and the air, and the sense of
hearing, and totally neglect the true reason,
which is founded on this consideration : that
since the Athenians have thought proper to
condemn me, I have judged it right and
honourable to sit here and await the punish-
ment they have decreed. For I swear,
these bones and nerves should long since
have transferred me to Maegaris or Bceotia,
if I had not considered it 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
above-mentioned circumstances as the effi-
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
my power, the assertion would be strictly
correct; but to cite these as the primary
motives of action, is to adopt a very thought-
less and unfounded declaration. For it would
have the effect of destroying all distinction
between the cause and that which occasions
the cause's existence;^ which, indeed, is
often 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
be stationary : others again suppose it to
be a vast trough, borne up by the pressure
of the air beneath it. But they totally over-
look that Power which has arranged all
things in the order best adapted to their
nature, and regard Him as destitute of any
divine authority. They fancy they have dis-
covered some mightier and more immortal
Atlas, and discard every idea of the inter-
ference of utility and virtue. I would gladly
have become the disciple of any person
qualified to instruct me in the nature of such
a cause. Shall I then explain the method I
had recourse to, after I was disappointed in the
expectations I had formed of Anaxagoras, and
found myself unable to proceed by my own
unassisted exertions ?" " I am most anxiously
desirous," answered Cebes, " to hear it."
48. " After I had long fatigued myself
with these considerations, I 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, or through some other medium. I
felt apprehensive, therefore, lest my under-
standing should be darkened, if I attempted
to penetrate into the arcana of nature by the
mere agency of any of the senses. Hence I
judged it necessary to apply to reason, as to
the power capable of reflecting truth. Perhaps
this comparison is not entirely applicable;
for I am far from asserting that he who
beholds objects in the mirror of reason, dis-
cerns them more perfectly by similitudes,
than he who regards them in their external
operations. Such, however, was the course
I pursued ; and adopting that reason which
I believed the strongest, I regarded it 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.
with it I rejected as false.. But I will
explain this more particularly, as I fear the
present statement is not sufficiently inteUi-
gible." " Not entirely so ;" said Cebes.
49. " And yet," continued Socrates, " I
advance nothing new ; but merely urge what
has been already insisted on. I 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. Should you
assent to these principles, I entertain the
hope of being thus enabled both to elucidate
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
really beautiful besides beauty itself, it can
PILEDO. 119
only have acquired this property by par-
taking of the original essence : and the same
may be affirmed of all other qualities. Do
you agree to this?" " 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 I have perhaps
unskilfully adopted,) that whatever is beau-
tiful must have derived its beauty, by some
process or other, from the abstract quality.
I am ignorant, indeed, of the mode by which
the communication is effected ; but simply
state, that all things 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.
to me an answer, of all others, the least liable
to error, and the most satisfactory which I
can either offer to myself or submit to the
consideration of others. Are you of the same
opinion, Cebes?" "Entirely." " In like man-
ner, whatever is large owes its origin to mag-
nitude, and whatever is little proceeds from
littleness." " True." " You would not, then,"
continued Socrates, " regard that as an accu-
rate expression, which states one man's height
to exceed another's by the head^ and that
the shorter person is surpassed by it : on the
contrary, you would allege, that whatever
is great acquires its greatness by magnitude ;
and that whatever is small becomes so by
smallness. For I imagine you would fear
being involved in contradiction, were you to
assert that the same person is both large
and small by the head : first, because such a
declaration would imply that magnitude and
diminution proceeded from the same source ;
and next, that the head, which is a small
PHtEDO. 121
object, constituted the greatness of the
larger ; which is an evident absurdity. Should
you not fear some objections of this kind?"
Cebes, smihng, answered, " that he should
necessarily feel some such apprehensions."
" For the same reason, then," said Socrates,
" would you not refuse to affirm, that ten
surpasses eight by tivo, 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.
Again; when one and one are added to
each other, would you not avoid saying that
addition has produced two ; or when unity
is divided, that two have resulted from
division? Would you not rather forcibly
urge, that you have no conception how any
quality can be created otherwise than by
participating in that essence from which it
is derived ; and that, consequently, the only
rational cause for the existence of two is a
participation of the dual in the same manner
122 niMDO.
as one proceeds from unity ? Therefore, these
additions and divisions, and all similar opera-
tions, you may leave to be adopted by those
who are endowed with a superior degree of
acuteness ; and from a scrupulous distrust of
your capacity, rest all your replies on this
least fallible basis. Should any one attack
such principle, suffer him to remain un-
answered till you have examined whether all
the consequences are consistent with each
other ; and when you are called on to assign
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 you are really desirous to arrive at
truth, you must carefully guard against that
confusion which is so frequent with con-
troversialists in their disputations about
principles. These men are, perhaps, not very
anxious to discover truth; for they can
remain in perfect unity with themselves, after
PHiEDO. 123
they have thrown all things else into dis-
order. But I flatter myself that you, who
are zealously devoted to philosophy, will
pursue the line of conduct which I have
prescribed." Here Simmias and Cebes both
expressed their entire acquiescence in the
propriety of his observations.
Echecrates. By heaven, Phaedo, they were
fully justified ; for Socrates' statement seems
sufficiently clear for the comprehension even
of the most uncultivated understanding.
Phcedo. Such, Echecrates, were the opi-
nions of his audience.
Echec. But what are the remaining argu-
ments which he employed upon this subject?
50. Phced. After they 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.
magnitude and smallness reside in the same
object? But you allow," continued Socrates,
*' that the declaration which states Siramias
to be greater than Socrates, is not correct,
according to the literal import of the words ?
for it 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,
because Socrates is Socrates, but because
Socrates has littleness in comparison with his
enlarged dimensions. Nor, again, is he ex-
ceeded in stature by Phaedo, as being Phaedo,
but because Phaedo has greatness when
viewed in opposition to Simmias, who is little."
" True ;" said Cebes. " Thus," proceeded
Socrates, " Simmias having the proportions
of the middle size, acquires the appellation
both of great and small : being greater than
Socrates, by partaking of magnitude, and
less than Phaedo, by participating in little-
ness." Then he added, smiling, *' I appear
PHiEDO. 125
to have dwelt on this topic like a diffuse
writer; but I am desirous that you should
entertain the same sentiments with me on
these points. For I am of opinion, not only
that greatness can never be at once botli
great and little, but that the magnitude
which is in us refuses all connexion with
littleness; for it either recedes as the con-
trary approaches, or on its arrival perishes
entirely; being unwilling, by a participation
of littleness, to change its essence. Thus,
for example, I who have received littleness,
while I continue such as I am, must neces-
sarily be little ; for that which is large never
attempts to become small ; nor, on the other
hand, does littleness ever encroach on mag-
nitude. In short, no contrary, while it pre-
serves its nature, will ever be found blended
with its opposite; but on the accession of
one, the other either disappears or becomes
totally absorbed." " I perfectly agree with
you;" said Cebes.
126 PHiEDO.
51. But one of the party, I forget exactly
which, hearing this last declaration, eagerly
exclaimed, " Did you not, Socrates, in the
early part of your discourse, lay down a
principle directly the reverse of the present,
and assert that magnitude proceeded from
littleness, and that littleness flowed from mag-
nitude by the reciprocal production of con-
trary qualities ? Now, however, you appear
to affirm that such process is impossible."
When Socrates heard these remarks, he
turned towards the speaker, and said, " You
have very properly recalled the statement to
our recollection, though without sufficiently
distinguishing between the present and the
former declaration. It was then asserted,
that every contrary owes its existence to its
opposite: we now contend, that a contrary
is never contrary to itself, either in us or in
any of the operations of nature. We there
spoke of those qualities which were sus-
ceptible of contrariety, and assigned to each
PH^DO. 127
its particular name: here we speak of the
abstract contraries, which give a denomina-
tion to their subjects; and I never affirmed
that such underwent any alternate genera-
tion." Then, turning toward Cebes, he in-
quired if the foregoing observations had at
all disturbed him? " Not in the least,"
answered Cebes ; " and indeed there are now
few considerations capable of giving me much
uneasiness." " We subscribe, then," said
Socrates, " to this simple proposition, — that
a contrary can never be contrary to itself."
" 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 ?" *' Assuredly not." " Is heat,
therefore, something diflferent from fire, and
cold something distinct from snow?" " Un-
questionably." " I think, then, you will like-
wise admit that snow, after its exposure to
128 PHyEDO.
the influence of heat, cannot possibly retain
its original nature, and become snow and
warmth at one and the same time ; but that,
on the approach of the latter, it must either
withdraw or entirely cease to be. In the
same manner, fire either recedes or becomes
totally extinguished, as the cold advances
towards it; its existence, as fire, being in-
capable of any association with cold." " Un-
doubtedly." " There are also some con-
traries which do not confine a particular
denomination to the species, but extend it to
other qualities, which invariably preserve the
likeness of the species as long as they have
any being. This will, perhaps, appear more
intelligible by the following consideration:
Must not an odd quantity always retain the
same name which it bears at present?"
" Surely." " Is, 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. M
the circumstance of its having something in-
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 also by that of an odd rmmher; though
the number three and oddness are in them-
selves distinct and separate ? Yet such is the
nature of the number three, five, and every
other arithmetical inequality, that, although
they are not the same with oddness itself,
yet each of 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. Do you admit
this statement?" " Completely;" answered
Cebes. " Attend, then, to the object of my
demonstration: I infer, that not only those
contraries, which disallow a mutual reception
of each other, but that all things else, which,
though not opposite among themselves, have
still their respective contraries, are incapable
K
130 PHiEDO.
of receiving whatever is contrary to their
inherent qualities ; and that on its approach
they retire, or become totally annihilated.
Will not the number three necessarily lose its
nature before it can possibly become even ?"
" Assuredly." " Yet two are not contrary to
three." " Granted." " Hence it appears
that the rejection of contraries is not exclu-
sively confined to the contrary species, but
that certain other qualities equally withdraw
from the approach of that which is essentially
different 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, but to
reject every association with its contrary?
You are aware that whatever presents the
idea of the ternary number, must of necessity
be not only three, but odd." " Certainly."
*' We assert, therefore, that whatever is con-
trary to its constituent essence can never
approximate towards it." " Never." ' " But
was not oddness its constituent essence?"
*' It was." " And is not evenness the oppo-
site of oddness?" " It is." " Evenness, then,
cannot possibly be resident in three?" " Im-
possible." " 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 even-
ness, is nevertheless imable to receive that
property; for it carries with it something
which contradicts the idea of evenness, in
the same manner as the number two has
something repugnant to the notion of uneven-
ness, and fire to the acceptation of cold.
Reflect, therefore, whether you are satisfied
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
a property or character opposite to that
ivhich is thus conveyed. Consider this still
further ; for it may not be uninteresting fre-
quently to repeat it. The number five will
never become even, any more than ten, which
is its double, will ever become odd : neither
can the half, 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
which has already been explained, there is
another, equally infallible, resulting from the
observations I have just enforced. Thus, if
• ^you were to ask me what that element was
PH^DO. 133
which renders the body hot, I should not
give you the cautious and insufficient reply,
that it is heat: but, acquiring from the
late disquisition a more accurate mode of
answering, I would inform you it is fire.
Neither, were you to inquire what it is which
occasions the body's sickness, should I tell
you it is the disease, but the fever: in the
same manner I would affirm, that it is unity
which renders a number uneven ; and so of
the rest. Do I make myself sufficiently
understood?" "Perfectly so;" said Cebes.
" Tell me, then, what it is which gives life to
the body?" " The Soul." " Is this univer-
sally the same?" " Why should it be other-
wise?" *' The soul, then, invariably carries
life wherever it enters ?" "Assuredly." "Is
there any thing directly contrary to life?"
" 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.
receive what is thus opposite to the property
which it universally conveysT " Most cer-
tainly not;" said Cebes.
55. *' How do we denominate that quality
which refuses to admit the idea of evenness?"
" The odd number." " And by what name
do we distinguish those which reject any
association with justice and with melody?"
" The one is termed injustice, and the other
dissonance." " By what term is that ex-
pressed, which is inaccessible to death?"
" Immortality." " But the soul is inacces-
sible to death ?" " It is." " The soul, therefoi^ey
is immortal r " Assuredly." " May we then
consider the demonstration as sufficiently
established?" " Sufficiently;" said 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 impe-
rishable, would not snow, after its exposure
PH.EDO. 135
to the action of the fire, remain perfectly
congealed ? for being thus of a nature not sub-
ject to dissolution, it would not be affected
by the heat's severest influence." " True ;"
said Cebes. " In the same manner, 1 con-
ceive, that if whatever is free from cold were
also inextinguishable, fire would preserve its
original force, undiminished by the cold's
utmost intenseness." " Certainly." " The
same conclusion is applicable to immortality:
if, therefore, that which is immortal is also
incorruptible, it is impossible that the
soul should perish on the approach of
death; for it is 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 be changed to coldness. But, perhaps,
it may be urged, that there is something in
the nature of oddness which will always
prevent its becoming even by the accession
of evenness ; but that on the extinction of
136 PHiEDO.
the odd number, the even may succeed to its
place. To this objection we cannot oppose
that the odd does not vanish, since it is not
imperishable. Had we proved it to be of
an incorruptible nature, we might safely con-
tend, that as the even approached the odd
disappeared. And the same might have been
asserted with respect to fire, heat, and other
subjects. Now, therefore, if we grant that
whatever is immortal is also incorruptible, it
must inevitably follow that the soul is both
immortal and entirely exempted from decay:
if we cannot agree to this conclusion, it will
be necessary to have recourse to some addi-
tional powers of reasoning. For these, how-
ever, there is surely no occasion; since it
would be folly to imagine that any thing
should escape destruction, if an immortal
and eternal being can be subject to its
ravages.
56. " The imperishable nature of the Deity,
of life itself, and of every other immortal
PHiEDO. 137
essence, has been fully established by the
universal concurrence of mankind : and
surely the gods will confirm these senti-
ments. Since, therefore, whatever is immortal
is also incorruptible, can an immortal soul
be destined to see corruption?" " Impos-
sible." " Thus, when the hand of death is
laid on man, his mortal part dissolves; but
that which is immortal withdraws uninjured,
victorious over the grave. Hence, then,
Cebes, we may rationally conclude that the
soul is a deathless and incorruptible being;
and that our souls will 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 know of no other oppor-
tunity to which the discussion of so interesting ,
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 my assent to
their deductions ; yet, from the great import-
ance of the subject, and perhaps from the
imperfection of human nature, some slight
distrusts still cling to my mind." " You
express yourself," answered Socrates, " with
great propriety; for although we have
admitted the preceding observations, they
require to be attentively reviewed ; and when
you have fully pondered on their separate
force, I trust you will 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
care ; not only in the time of this mortal life,
but throughout all eternity: and dreadful
PH^DO. 139
will be the danger incurred by him who shall
neglect its 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 is evident,
it can have no refuge from future misery but
by becoming just and virtuous. The soul
takes nothing with it to the lower regions
but its discipline and culture, which, we are
told, operates either to its prejudice or hap-
piness, immediately on its departure from
human life. It is also said,i that the daemon
who attended the individual while living,
conducts him, after death, to that destined
place where all must assemble to receive
their sentence ; from whence they are ushered
to the world below, under the guidance of a
leader whose peculiar office it is to conduct
them. Here, meeting the reward they merit,
and having waited the allotted season, they
140 PHiEDO.
are again brought back to life by a new
conductor, after many revolutions of ages.
The wise and temperate soul voluntarily
follows its leader, and recognises the passing
events; but that which is devoted to the
pleasures of the body, after much struggling
in this visible world, is at length, with vio-
lence and difficulty, forced away by the
daemon who is given in charge over it. On
arriving at the appointed place, where the
others also are assembled, if it shall appear
stained with murder, or any of those foul
actions which guilty and abandoned souls
dare perpetrate, all loathe and utterly avoid
it: thus, destitute of any guide or compa-
panion, it wanders in a dreary solitude, till,
on the completion of the destined time, it
is carried by Necessity to its allotted habita-
tion. But they whose conduct has been pure
and temperate, will mingle in the company
PH.EDO. 141
of gods, and dwell for ever in the happy
mansions to which their virtues may be
respectively entitled."*
63. *' Thus, Simmias, we have the most
powerful incitements to make wisdom and
virtue the great objects of our pursuit
through life: for bright is the reward an-
nexed to them, and brilliant is the hope
which they inspire. That all I 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 seems
fully manifest, there can be no impropriety
in asserting that its condition hereafter
will in some measure resemble what has
been above described. This idea should
* 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 regions, drawn possibly from some Egyptian
tradition.
U2 PH^DO.
operate as a charm to sooth our spirits ; and
I 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, — who has enriched
his soul with its own intrinsic treasures, not
by the aid of any foreign decorations, and
has adorned it with the virtues of prudence,
justice, 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
and Cebes, and the rest, will all go hence at
the appointed season. My hour is already
come! and, as a tragedian would exclaim,
' Fate summons me away !'
" It is now high time to repair to the bath ;
for it will be better that I should take the
poison after ablution, than that by any useless
procrastination, I should render it necessary
to have my corpse washed by the women."
PH^DO. 143
64. When he had thus expressed himself,
Crito exclaimed, " O Socrates, be it then so!
but have you nothing to give us in charge
respecting your children; and is there no
dying injunction you can leave, to afford
us the gratification of executing your last
wishes?" " I have nothing," answered
Socrates, " to state in addition to what I
have already urged : ' To yourselves be true !'
and though you make no professions as to
your future lives, 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 be
insufficient to secure a rectitude of conduct."
" Our sincerest efforts," said Crito, " shall be
devoted to the objects of your recommenda-
tion; but what directions will you give us
respecting your funeral?" " Bury me how
you please," replied Socrates, " provided you
144 PH^DO.
can find me, and I do not escape from your
pursuit." Then, gently smiling, and turning
towards us, " I cannot, my friends," said he,
" persuade Crito that I am the individual
Socrates who is now conversing with you, and
arranging the order of his different arguments ;
but he imagines I am the person whom he
will presently see dead, and therefore ques-
tions me relative to my interment. Thus all
which for our joint consolation I 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 in-
fluence on his opinions. Be you, then, my
pledges to Crito, for the reverse of what he
pledged himself to the judges : He engaged
that I would continue here; but you must
assure him that after death I shall certainly
not remain, but take my eternal departure : so
that when he beholds my body burning on
PHiEDO. 145
the pile, 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! — Socrates is carried
forth ! — Socrates is interred ! '
" Impropriety of expression is not only
wrong in itself, but injurious to the soul.
Assume, then, a brighter hope, and say my
body is to be interred, which you may dispose
of in any way you judge proper, and in the
manner most conformable to the institutions
of the law."
65. Having made these observations, he
withdrew into 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 the impend
ing calamity, representing ourselves in the
L
146 PHMDO.
melancholy situation of children bereft of their
parent. After he left the bath, his three sons
(two of whom were infants, but the third
advancing to manhood,) and the women of
his household came to see him. With these
he conversed some time in the presence of
Crito ; and having given them his last com-
mands, he desired them to withdraw, and
then came back to us. And now the hour of
sun-set began to draw near, for he spent a
considerable time in the inner apartment. On
his return he seated himself on the bed,
and spoke but little. 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
which I experience from others, when, in
obedience to the order of the magistrates, I
enjoin them to drink the poison : you I 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. But now (for you fully know
the motive for my coming) farewell! and
endeavour to support with firmness the evil
which cannot be avoided." Then, bursting
into tears, he turned aside, and withdrew.
" Farewell !" cried Socrates, looking towards
him, " I will do as you recommend me !" and,
turning round to us, *' How courteous," said
he, " are the manners of this person ! He fre-
quently visited me in confinement, and some-
times entered into conversation, and now with
what generosity he laments my fate ! Let us
then, Crito, obey the summons ; and if the
poison is sufficiently bruised, let it be brought
hither ; otherwise he may prepare it." " But,"
said Crito, " the sun still shines upon the
mountains, and is not yet set : I 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.
sensual gTatitications. 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
contrary persuasion. For I cannot regard it
as any advantage, to postpone the draught
for a few minutes, and thus render myself
ridiculous in my own eyes, by an extravagant
fondness for life, and an over anxiety to
preserve its dregs. Go, therefore, my friend,
and refuse not to comply with my desires."
66. Crito then gave the signal to the slave
that was in waiting, wlio instantly withdrew :
after some time he returned, and brought
with him the person whose office it was to
administer the poison, and which he held
ready prepared in a cup. As soon as Socrates
observed him, " Instruct me, my good friend,"
said he, (" for you are well versed in trans-
'#
PH^DO. 149
actions of this nature,) what is to be done."
" You have only to drink the poison," an-
swered the man, " and continue walking till
you feel a weight in your legs; and then it
will 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. " We never," said the
executioner, " mix a greater quantity than is
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 may be auspicious, which I
sincerely and most fervently implore !" Having
said this, he drank it off with a cheerful and
unshaken composure. Hitherto many of us
liad been enabled to refrain from weeping;
150 PHiEDO.
but when we beheld him drain the fatal
liquor, we could suppress our tears no longer.
Mine, in spite of every effort to subdue them,
fell copiously from me; I therefore covered
my face with my robe, and indulged my
grief in full transport : for it was not so much
the fate of Socrates that I deplored, as the
loss of so valuable a friend. Crito, who could
not restrain the emotions of his grief, 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. " Reflect," cried
he, " my friends, on what you are now
doing: it was principally with a view to
guard against any weakness of this kind that
I ordered the women to withdraw; for I
have heard it remarked, that death should
be accompanied by expressions of grati-
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 who
administered the poison. Soon afterwards,
the executioner examined his feet, and, bind-
ing them up with considerable violence,
inquired of Socrates if he could feel the
pressure. He answered, " No." Presently, a
similar bandage was applied to his legs,
when the jailer, returning to us, shewed
that he was already become cold and torpid.
Socrates also felt his extremities, and told us,
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 : " O,
Crito, I owe a cock ^ to iEsculapius : neglect
152 PH.EDO.
not to acquit me of my vow." " Your desire
shall 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 to uncover
him, 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 friend ;
of one whom we regarded as the best, the
wisest, and most virtuous of mankind.
NOTES.
NOTES.
Section 1 — Page 1.
1. -T H^DO, from whom the present treatise receives its
title, was descended from a noble family in Elis. It happened
that, when very young, he was seized by pirates, and sold to
a house of common, dishonest resort. In this situation, being
compelled to sit at the door, he attracted the notice of
Socrates, 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 NOTES.
2, There were several persons of the name of Echecrates,
and there is some difficulty in identifying the individual here
mentioned. Phlius, of which he was probably an inhabitant,
was a town in the province of Sicyonia, not far distant from
the isthmus of Corinth.
3. Androgens, son of Minos II., king of Crete, having been
assassinated by JE^eus, 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
Minotaur. Theseus delivered his country from this sanguinary
tribute by destroying the monster, and afterwards efifected his
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 — Pa(/e 6.
1. Xenophou also mentions the extravagant attachment
shewn by Apollodorus to Socrates. Apol. 28.
Crito was an Athenian, and a scholar of Socrates, to
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.
Her mogenes, Epigcnes, and Ctesippus are classed by Laertius
NOTES. 157
among the children of Crito. This statement, liovvever, appears
very questionable. Xenophon (iu Apol. Soc.) mentions the son
of a- certain Hipponicus by the name of Herraogenes; and
Plato himself, in another dialogue, calls Epigenes the son of
Antipho, in ^' 'Av7t(j)(vy 6 K.i](j)i(Tttvg irom^ 'ETrtytVse
Trarj/p * Apol. 22. — Socrates, in the place refeired to, is repre-
sented as replying to the charge of having corrupted the morals
of the Athenian youth : this accusation he refutes by an appeal
to the immediate friends and relations of those who were
.supposed to be the victims of his seduction. Amongst others
Mho were present, he enumerates Antipho, the father of
Epigenes.
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 which it is pre-
fixed.
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 sect of Cyrenian philoso-
phers. The particulars of Iiis life and doctrine are detailed by
all who have written on the subject of philosophy.
Cleombrotus was a native of Ambracia, a city of Epirus, near
the Acheron. He is the subject of the famous epigram of
Callimachus, alluded to by Cicero: — Callimachi quidem epi-
gramma in Ambraciotam Cleombrotum est: quern ait, cum
158 NOTES.
nihil ei accidisset adversi, e muio se in mare abjecisse, lecto
Platonis libro. — Tusc. Quest, i. 34.
The Epigram is as follows :
EtTrac 'H\t£ x«<p£ KXeofifipoTog w ^fi(ipaKi(OTt]£f
», "H\ar a(j»' v\pT]X5 Tei\^£og tig uictjv,
"A^iov «^£v iSdjy davdm kukov, aWa IlXdnovos
"Ev TO TTfpt 4'^X^^ yp«i"j"' dvaXe^dfisvog.
3. The allusion to the absence of Arislippus and Cleombrotus
is cited by a writer on elocution as an example of the most
pointed and delicate censure. Plato naturally felt indignant
at the thoughtless gaiety with which they were revelling in
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.
What made their negligence still 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 an inquiry respecting
the persons who assisted at the death of Socrates. Phaedo
gives a list of each individual who was present ; and on being
questioned if Cleombrotus and Aristippus were of the number,
replies expressly in the negative. " They," says he, " were
absent at ^gina :" thus emphatically proclaiming, by a single
expression, their sensuality, sloth, and ingratitude. The bare
fact is left to speak itself, without any comment from the
speaker.
NOTES. 159
In the preceding catalogue, the most striking omission is
that of the name of Xenophon. Athenaeus appears to ascribe
it 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 — Page 8.
1. 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
from the body of the people, each of the ten tribes having the
privilege of appointing one: to these was added the Register,
TpafjLixanvQ.
Section 4 — Page 10,
1. Evenus was an elegiac poet, of Pares.
* The term music was not, in its original acceptation, con-
fined to the particular science which at present bears its name :
it was anciently used to express every art which can adorn or
embellish civilized society.
Nam quis ignorat musicen (ut de hac primum loquar) tan>
turn jam illis 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 musicen extitisse : et testimonio sunt clarissimi poetae,
apud qiios inter regalia convivia laudes heroum ac deorum
ad eitharam canebantur. lopas vero ille Virgilii, 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\ ovda fJL0V(nKy)v i7rt<^ajLiaiy
irXijv ypa/niiarwr, Kai Tavru fxivroi kuku KaKWf.
inn. 188.
AVhich the Scholiast thus explains :
ovce /novcnKt)y ini'^a/Liai. On liisfTtKijv Ttfv ^yKvXiov
TTUi^dau (ptjai. Tpdfifiara ct rd Trpwra <rot)^£7a. Aa
C£ T»Q liBp-^ofxivnQ cut •ypa/xjuaTOJv TrailevtaQai^ ij yap
TTaiBtia Tue aTOTThg iKvptTra Xoyiafxig.
Vide Terent. Phorm. Prol. 18. and Heautont. Pro!. 23.— See
also Cicero, Orat. iii. 44.
By ^t]fx(oor]g /nuariKt} is probably meant that particular descrip-
tion of verse which, from the ease and simplicity of its con-
struction, was calculated to attract the attention of the least
informed of the populace.
NOTES. 161
Section 5 — Page 13.
1. Philolaus was a native of Crotona, and a follower of the
Pythagorean philosophy. Plato is 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 — Page 21.
1. Tota enim philosophorum vita, ut ait idem, comnientatio
mortis est: — Secernere autem a corpore animuni,ncc quidquam
aliud est, quam emori discere. — Tusc. i. 30, 31.
2. Sandals, or slippers, were classed by the Athenians amongst
the elegancies of dress, and tlieir shape and adaptation to the
foot studied with particular attention. Athenaeus mentions
those worn by Alcibiades ; and another author has noticed the
variations of size and figure to 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
Aristophanes has alluded in the comedy of 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 ; the last mentioned of whom has these expres-
sions, N5c vpd Kai. vovg acwjt rti Se aWa ircivra KiiX^a
KCtt TV(p\d.
Section 13 — Page 34.
1. EtVi yap c>], fami' oi irepi tccq TsKirag^ vapdt]KO(j)6pot
/.tey TToWotj jSciKy^oi 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. Some of the commen-
tators have disposed the words into metrical regularity, but the
verse is not in the collection published by Gesner.
IloWo/ -OL vapdrjKofopoi irui/poi ci re fidicyoi.
The vapBi]KO(f)6pot were those in the procession who carried
wands ; /3ck-)^ot, the priests or ministers of Bacchus. Clemens
of Alexandria cites this passage as parallel to the expressions of
our Saviour, ttoWoI tlm KXtjroi, oXlyoi dt ticXtKToi. (Matt. xx.
16. xxii. 14.) The obvious meaning of Socrates is, that the
pretenders only to science arc numerous: in other words,
that there are many sophists, but few philosophers. For a par-
ticular account of the Eleusinian ceremonies, the reader is
refened to the 2nd book of The Divine Legation, 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. 16S
resting information on this subject in a work published some
years since, entitled, " The Enthusiasm of Methodists and
Papists, compared.
Section 14 — Par/e 36. ,
1. »^ el (CW^tW^OTTOtOe til].
These words are supposed to refer to a satirical passage in
Eupolis, but the speaker probably intended them to apply
equally to Aristophanes, whose attack he has expressly no-
ticed in another place: rotavra yap iwpuTe Kcd civtoi h rfj
\\pi-o(j)dv&g Kio/uu^i^, luiKpdrrjv rivd iicei TrtpK^ipofxevov^
fua-Korrd re itepofiaTslv^ Kui aXXtjv TroWyji' (fKvaplav
fXvapovvra . — Apol. 3.
The expression here particularized, is in the comedy of The
Clouds* V. 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.
" But now to declare our sense freely concerning this
pliilosophy of the ancients, which seems to 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 con-
clusive 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 so. For
that in the consumption of bodies by fire, or age, or the like,
there is the destruction of any real substance into nothing, is
now generally exploded as an idiotical conceit; and certainly
it cannot be a jot less idiotical to suppose that the rational soul
in death is utterly extinguished. Moreover, we add, also, that
this ratiocination of the ancients would be altogether as firm
and irretiagable likewise for post-existence and transmigration
of souls, as it is for their pro-existence and future immortality,
did 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 sub-
stance, according to the ordinary course of nature, coming out
of nothing, tliey must of necessity either pre-exist in the
universe before generations, and transmigrate into their re-
spective bodies, or else come from God immediately, who is
the foundation of all, and who at first created all that substance
that now is in the world, besides himself. Now the latter of
these was a thing which those ancient philosophers would by
no means admit of; they judging it altogether incongruous to
bring 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 all at first that ever he could, or would do, and put
forth all his creative vigour at once, in a moment ; ever after-
wards remaining a spectator oidy of the consequent results,
and permitting nature to do all alone, without the least interpo-
sition of His at any time, just as if there were no God at all iu
the world. For this may be, and indeed often hath been, the
effect of such an hypothesis as this, to make men think that
there is no other God in the world but blind and dark Nature.
God might also, for other good and wise ends, unknown to us,
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 many thousand years
before, w ill do." — Cudworth's Intellectual System, b. i. sect. 34.
Section 17 — Page 42.
1. Endjmion is described in ancient mythology as having
successfully petitioned Jupiter to grant him perpetual youth,
with the power of prolonging his sleep to any extent he chose.
2. Anaxagoras was a native of Glazomenae, son of Hegisibu-
lus, and born in the first year of the 70th Olympiad. Eminent
for his noble birth and wealthy fortunes, but more for his mag-
nanimous contempt of them. — Cic. Tusc. Quest, v. 39.
He held that the material principle of all things is one and
many o/ioto/ifpo, parts inflnite, similar and contrary, continuous
to the touch, sustaining themselves, not contained by any
other.
His opinions are thus expressed by Lucretius, (lib. i.
V. 830, &c.:)
Nunc et Anaxagoras scmtemur OMOIOMEPEIAN,
Quam Graii memorant, nee nostra dicere lingua
Concedit nobis patrii sermonis egestas,
Sed tamen ipsam rem facile est exponere verbis,
Prineipium rerum quam dicit OMOIOMEPEIAN.
Ossa videlicet e pauxillis afque miiiutis
Ossibus; sic et de pauxillis atquc niinutis
Visceribus viscus gigni ; sanguenque creari
Sansruiuis inter se multis ooeuntibus sruttis:
NOTES. 167.
Ex aurique putat niicis cousistere posse
Aurum ; et de terris terram concrescere parvis :
Ignibus ex ignein ; humorem ex humoribus esse.
Castera consimili fingit ratione, putatque.
Nee tamen esse ulla parte Idem in rebus inane
Concedit, neque corporibus finem esse secandis.
Section IS— Page 46.
1. 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. Its tirst introduction into Greece
is 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 who attempted to invade their libei ties ; and
it at length became a received maxim in the politics of tyrants,
to use their utmost efforts to extirpate it from their dominions ;
while all those states which consulted tiie advancement of
their honour and independence, seem to have been unanimous
in establishing laws to support and reward it. Let us take a
fiew of some few of them,*
* The following statement is chiefly taken from the Archa-logia
Graeca.
168 NOTES.
" First, we shall find it to have been so frenerally practised,
and so highly esteemed in Crete, that sucli of their well-born
and I)cautiful youths as never had any lovers, incurred the
public censure, as persons some way or other faulty in their
morals. But those who had the fortune to attract admiration,
were honoured wit!) the first seats at public exercises, and
wore, for a distinguishing badge of honour, a robe richly
adorned : this 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 by force :
for having placed their affections on an individual, they gave
notice of it to his relations, and informed them of the day they
designed to take him. If the lover was unworthy, his claims
were resisted; but if his virtues were unimpeachable, the
friends of the boy made only a slight opposition, sufficient to
satisfy the law, and pursued him to his lodgings, but then gave
their consent. After this the lover carried the boy wherever
he pleased, attended by those who assisted at the ceremony of
his adoption. 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 to his home. At his de-
parture, it was enacted by the law, that the boy should receive a
suit of armour, an ox, and a cup, to which the lover added, out
of his own bounty, several other presents of value. The boy
being returned home, sacrificed tlie ox to Jupiter, made an
entertainment for tiiose who accompanied him in his /light, and
NOTES. 169
gave an account of the usage he received from his lover : for in
the event of his having been rudely treated, the law allowed
' him the most ample redress,
" It is affirmed by Maxiraus the Tyrian, that during all 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 sufficient to vindicate it from all such
false imputations. This is, indeed, put beyond dispute by
Strabo, who has asserted that it was not so much the external
beauty of the boy, as his virtuous disposition, his modesty and
courage, whicli served to recommend him.
" From the Cretans we pass to the Lacedemonians, several
of whose constitutions were derived from Crete. Their love of
boys was known through all Greece, and universally admired
for the conduct and consequences resulting from it. There
was here no interchange of presents between the parties, no
arts used to insinuate themselves into each other's affections ;
their love was generous, and worthy the Spartan education.
It was first conceived from a mutual esteem of each other's
virtue; and the same motive which inspired the flame was
alone sufficient to nourish and preserve it. It was not tainted
with so much as a suspicion of immodesty. Agesilaus is 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 fairer part of the creation
towards their own sex ; and was so much esteemed by them,
that the most virtuous matrons would publicly own their
passion for a modest and beautiful virgin ; which is a further
confirmation of the innocency of this custom. Maximus the
Tyrian assures us, that tlie Spartans loved their boys no
otherwise than a 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 be improved in all virtuous and commendable
qualities, by conversing v-ith men of probity and experience :
whence the lover and the beloved shared the honour and
disgrace of ea(;h other ; the lover especially was blamed, if
the boy offended, and suftercd what i)unishment was due
to iiis fault. Plutarch has a slory of a Spartan fined by the
magistrates, because the youUi whom he loved cried out
effeminately A\liil.st he was fighting. The same attachment
continued when the boy was come to man's estate ; he still
preserved his former intimacy with liis lover, imparted to him
all his designs, and was directed by his councils, as appears
from another of Plutarch's relations concerning Cleomenes, who,.
NOTES. 171
before his advancement to the kingdom, was beloved by
Xenares, with whom he ever after maintained a most intimate
friendship, till he was engaged in a design to new model the
commonwealth: Xenares not approving this project, departed
from him, but still 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 to forbear. That celebrated
le^slator is himself said to have loved Pisistratus ; and the
most eminent men in the Athenian state were influenced by
a similar feeling; the perfect purity of which is evident from
the severe laws enacted against the indulgence of a passion
of an opposite character."
There are many other examples of this nature ; but it will
be suiBcieut to mention only the Thebans, whose lawgiver,
Plutarch tells us, encouraged this affection to temper the
manners of their youth ; nor were they disappointed in their
expectation ; a pregnant evidence of which (to omit others)
may be observed in the conduct of the lepci ^>o\ay^, the sacred
band: it was a party of 300 chosen men, composed of lovers
and their beloved, and therefore called sacred; it gained many
important victories, was the first that ever overcame the
Spartans, whose courage till then seemed irresistible, upon
equal terms, and was never vanquished till 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 these
men either did or suffered any thing base /"
Section 30 — Page 67.
1. These shadowy forms are alluded to by Homer as con-
fined to the realms of Tartarus:
'n TTOTTOt, 7/ pd TIQ i?t KCll llv ai^UO ^OfiOlUl
^v^^rj Kal EIAflAON, uTcip (ppiviQ ovK ivi irdfiTrav,
II. xxiii. 103.
And in the Odyssey, (lib. xi. v, 600,) the shade of Hercules
is 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 recognised in the following
passage from Lucretius, (lib. i. v. 121, &c.:)
Esse Aeherusia templa
Ennius aeternis exponit versibus cdens ;
Quo neqne permanent animm, neque corpora nostra,
Sed quaedam simulacra modis pallentia miris.
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. 173
Section ^\—Page 67. '
1. " It is evident, that the same principle which led the an-
«ients to hold the soul's immortality, or its future permanency
after death, must needs determine tliem likewise to maintain
its 7rpoi/7rap|«g, or pre-existence, and consequently its furtv-
(TU)fictT<o(Ttg, or transmigration. For that which did pre-exist
before the generation of any animal, and was then somewhere
else, must needs transmigrate into the body of that animal
where now it is. But as for that other transmigration, of
human souls into the bodies of brutes, though it cannot be
denied but that many of these ancients admitted it also, yet
Timaeus,* Locrus, and divers others of the Pythagoreans,
rejected it any otherwise than as it might be taken for an
allegorical description of that beastly transformation that is
made of men's souls by vice."
Cuchvorth's Intellectual System, book i. chap. i. sect. 34.
Pythagoras, acknowledging the immortality of the soul, as-
serted 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
in this state of expiation lead an impious or irregular life, are
condemned to receive an additional and severer punishment,
by being sent (5 own further into irrational creatures : the angry
and malicious into serpents, the ravenous into wolves, &c.
* De anim^ mundi et aatura.
174 NOTES.
It was probably on this ground that Pythagoras enjoined an
abstinence from flesh: for, in conformity to the doctrine of
transmigration, ail animal creatures were considered to be of
the same nature with mankind, and in a manner allied to them.
The philosopher supported his tenets by a v 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 slain by Menelaus
in the Trojan war. Then he was Hermotinus, next Pyrrhus, a
fisherman of Delos ; and, lastly, Pythagoras. 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 them
as his own ''^■mKrj^iov.
The melody of the numbers will justify the recalling them
to the reader's recollection.
AHfiUTi ol dtvuy-o K6f.iatj \apirE<Tffiv o/nolai,
JlXoy^luoc S^', 01 'ypva^ te Kcti dpyvpu) t(T(j)riK(iJVTO.
Oioy de Tpt(j)H fpvoQ ch'tjp IpidrjXig iXairjg
Xoipw ly otOTToXw, 00' uXic civa(ii(ipv-^iv vZiop
KaXov, TtjXeddoy, to £i te TTvoial hoviovai
TlavToiwv ch'ijxwv^ Kui te ftpvei avQu Xevku '
'ErA0tJi/ h" it,a7riyt]Q dvEfxoq^ <tvv XaiXani TroXXij
Bo6f»8 T i^tVpf;l/f Kat it,ETa.vv(r(T iirl yaitf '
Totov Ylciydn v'loy iv/x/uEXhjy YjV(l>opl2oy
'Arpeihr^Q Mtvt'Aaocj fVtt Kraye^ tev'^^s tavXa.
II. xvii. 51, &c.
NOTES. 175
The shilling circles of his golden hair.
Which ev'n tlie Graces might be pleas'd to wear,
Instarr'd with gems and gold, bestrew the shore
With dust dishonour'd, and deform'd with gore.
As the young olive, in 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 ;
When lo ! a whirlwind from high heav'n invades
The tender plant, and withers all its shades ;
It lies uprooted from its genial bed,
A lovely ruin now defaced and dead :
Tims young, thus beautiful, Euphorbus laj',
While 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
harp, and used to repeat as his own Epicedion. Perhaps it was
his fondness of them which put it into his head to say, that his soul
transmiyrated to him from this hero. However it was, this
conceit of Pythagoras is famous in antiquity, and has given
occasion to a dialogue in Luciaii, entitled The Cock, which is,
I think, the finest piece of that author." — Ibid.
Section 35 — Page 77.
1. wffTTtp tTTt ary^e^ia^.
Cicero ujopts the same illustration. Itaque dubitans, cir-
176 NOTES.
cumspectans, haesitans, multa adversa revertens, tanquam ratis
in raari immenso, nostra vehitur oratio. — Tusc. Disp. i. 30.
2. The expressions which follow, in the original, are remark-
able : ft ^'/ Tiq hiivaiTO a(T(j>a\i'^£pov Kcii ciKivEvrorFpoy, tiri
(iifiaioripn o-ytJ/^ctTOQ rj AOFOY 0EIOT rn^og ^laTropevBrjvai.
The words Xoys Bdov tivoq were possibly used as indicative
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 36— Page 78.
1. That the soul was a harmony produced by a just propor-
tion of the elements, appears at one time to have been a very
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 ;
Vcruni habitum quendam vilalem corporis esse,
Harmoniam Graii quam dicunt; quod faciat nos
Vivere cum sensu, nulla cum in parte siet Mens ;
lit bona saepe valetudo cum dicitur esse
Corporis, ct non est tamcn luec pars ulla valentis ;
Sic aniuii sensum non certa parte reponunt.
Lib. iii. v, 98, &c.
NOTES. 177
Section 38— Paye 88.
1. 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. Tlie Argians advanced to recover their ter-
ritory, but the contending powers came to an agreement that
three hundred men, chosen from each side, shoxild dispute the
possession, and the country be adjudged to the victorious
party. The combat was so severe, tliat, of tlie 600, three men
only were left alive. Two of these were Argians, who con-
ceiving themselves conquerors, ran with the news to Argos.
But the only survivor, on the part of the Lacedemonians, col-
lecting the spoil and carrying it to the Spartan camp, con-
tinued in the field. The next day, both armies met in the
same place, and each claimed the victory : the Argians
alleging that they had more survivors, and the Lacedemonians
that they had maintained possession of the field. Hostilities
were thus renewed ; and at length the Spartans obtained a
decisive triumph. In consequence of this calamity, the Argians
cut ofiF all the hair which they had formerly been obliged to
wear at considerable length, and solemnly vowed they would
never suffer it to grow, nor permit their women to array them-
selves in ornaments of gold, till they should recover the lost
Thyrea. — Herod, lib. i. — See also Job, cap. i. v. 20.
2. lolaus was the son of Iphiclus, king of Thessaly: he
assisted Hercules (who was produced by Alcmena at the same
birth with his father) to destroy the Lernaean hydra.
N
178 NOTES.
Section 39 — Page 91.
1. Euripus is a narrow strait separating the island Euboea
from the shores of Boeotia. Its flux and reflux became a
subject of attentive investigation among the ancients, and the
death of Aristotle has been ascribed to his vexation at being
unable to explain the cause of this phenomenon.
Plm. 2. i. 95.
Section AO—Pacje 93.
1. TO Kivrpov iyKCiTuXiTTujy ol^^^rffrofxai.
Spicula caeca relinquunt
Affixae veuis, auimasque in vulnere ponunt.
Georg. lib. iv. v. 237.
Section 43— Page 102.
1. '^-I'ldoQ C£ Tr\}']t.aQ K. T. \.
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
David smote him when he numbered the peaple. There is this
difference: in Homer, by heart is understood the corporeal
substance ; in the scriptures, the spiritual ; but both make a
manifest distinction between the soul and body.
Section 44— Page 103.
1, 'Ap/noi'iuQ QtiftaiKijc. Dacier considers this to be an
NOTES. 179
allusion to tlie story of Ampliion, who is said to have raised
the walls of Thebes by the liarmonious sound of liis lyre:
in other words, to have wrought so powerfully on the affections
of a barbarous people, as to induce them to submit to the insti-
tutions of a civilized community. Thus Simmias ascribes the
creation of mankind to the effect of harmony: others have
imagined, from the resemblance of the name, that the expres-
sion 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 soul, seemed to imply that the
origin of mankind was earthly, and their life confined to the
present transitory existence. Socrates thus meets the objec-
tions both of Simmias and Cebes, by a reference to traditions
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^ aXAa Qeoiai
M.vdov iTTirpixl/ai ' tneir) iroXi/ (j)ipT£poi elcri.
Odyss. lib. xxii. v. 287.
3. *OiU7ipiKU)c^ tyyi/Q "iovtcq.
Vid. II. c, 496, & i. Gil.
Section 47 — Page 1 15.
1. A reverence for the institutions of his country, and a
180 NOTES.
strong feelint^ of courage, enabled Socrates to resist the en-
treaties of his best friends, and submit to the rigours of liis
sentence. This was the true cause of his continuance in the
prison ; and the consh-uction of the human body enabled him to
converse in the attitude he describes.
Section 57 — Page 139.
1. " We may conclude the souls of men to be immortal,
from the nature of God. For if He is (which sure nobody
doubts) a perfect being, He, as such, can do nothing in-
consistent with perfect or right reason.
" To produce a being into a state of clear happiness, in any
degree, can be no injury to it ; 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, if that being hath it in its own power to
avoid the misery, or so 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
which wrong can be done, in the production of any being, is,
when it is necessarily and irremediably to be iniserable, without
any recompence or balance of tliat misery : and this indeed is
a case so grievous, so utterly irreconcilable to all reason, that
the heart of a reasoning and considering man can scarce bear
the thought of it.
" Now, then, he who says the soul of man is mortal, must
NOTES. 181
say one of these two things ; eitlier that God is an unreason-
able, unjust, cruel being, or that no man, in respect of this
life, 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. Then, to say
the latter, is to contradict the 7vhole story of mankind, and even
one^s own senses.
" Consider well the dreadful effects of all those barbarous
desolations which we read of: what slavery is, and how
many have been brought into that lamentable state : how
many have brought incurable diseases into the world with them:
how many more such bodily infirmities as have rendered their
whole lives uneasy: how many are born to no other inheritance
but invincible poverty and trouble? Instances are endless:
but for a little taste of the condition of mankind, reflect upon
that story related by Strabo, (from Polybius,) and Plutarch,
where, even by order of the Roman senate, P. ^milius, one
of the best of them too, at one prefixt hour sacked and de-
stroyed seventy cities, unawares, and drove fifteen 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 of the unfortunate labourers
there, 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
among the Persians ! But, instead of enumerating here
the 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, and upon what slicjht
occasions men are racked and tortured by the tormenters
there. Indeed, tlie history of mankind is little else than the
history of dreadful passages.
" Now, among all those millions wljo have suffered eminently,
can it be imagined that there have not been multitudes whose
griefs and pangs \\^\cfar outweighed all their enjoyments; and
yet who have not been able, either by their innocence or
any power in them, to escape that bitter draught which they
have drunk? And then, how can we acquit i\\G justice and
reasonableness of that Being upon whom these poor creatures
depend, and who leaves them such great losers by their
existence, if there be no future state, where the proper amends
may be made ? So that the argument is brought to this
undeniable issue : if the soul of man is not immortal, either
there is no God upon whom we depend, or He is an un-
reasonable being; or there never has been a)iy man whose
sufl'erings in this world have exceeded his enjoyments, without
his being the cause of it himself. But surely no one of these
things can be said. Ergo,
" That which aggravates the hard case of the poor suflFerers
mentioned above, if 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. 183
a transposition of rewards and punishments, ending in itself,
without any respect to something which is to follow here-
after, can never consist with the nature of a governor who is
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 60— Page 151.
1. rw 'Aff)cX»/7r«w ofsiXofiev dXtKTpvoya, k. r. X. A variety
of reasons Lave been assigned for this dying injunction of
Socrates. The philosopher has been supposed, by some, to
have made a vow to this effect, 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
Socrates to be the most enlightened of the sons of men. The
expression is probably figurative : a cock was the usual offer-
ing to -^sculapius, from those who liad subdued the ravages
of disease ; and Socrates, by an allusion to this ciLstom, might,
perhaps, have designed to indicate that the soul, being released
by the great physician, death, from all the disorders which
afflict mortality, would thus be restored to its original health
and beauty.
The death of Socrates took place in the first year of the 95th
Olympiad, and the 70th of his age. Some time after his exe-
cution, 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
own folly and cruelty by exacting retribution on his principal
accusers. Melitus was condemned to die, and the others driven
into exile. According to Plutarch, all who had any shai'e in
instigating the charges against him, became objects of the
deepest execration : they were cut off from all intercourse with
the rest of the citizens ; none would give them fire, answer any
questions, or practise any interchange of the rites of hospitality.
A statue of brass was afterwards decreed to the Philosopher,
and executed by the celebrated Lysippus: it was erected in
one of the most conspicuous places 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 affairs
gradually declined, and Greece sunk from its ascendancy in the
scale of nations.
.GC^
&0
HUGHES, PRINTER, MAIDEN-LANE, COVENT-GARDEN.
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