#2.29 
 Jf/f 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 GEORGE, EARL OF MACCLESFIELD, 
 
 Viscount Parker of Ewelme, and Baron Parker of Macclesfield, 
 
 My Lord, 
 
 The greatest degree of purity and splendour 
 united, that Longinus has for some ages appeared 
 in, ivas under the patronage of the late Lord Mac- 
 clesfield. A writer of so much spirit and judg- 
 ment, had a just claim to the protection of so ele- 
 vated a genius, and so judicious an enconr r iger of 
 polite learning. Longinus is note going to appear 
 in an English dress, and begs the support of your 
 Lordship's name. He has undergone no farther 
 alteration, than what was absolutely necessary to 
 make him English. His sense is faithfully repre- 
 sented; but whether this translation has any of the 
 original spirit, is a decision peculiar only to those 
 who can relish unaffected grandeur and natural 
 Sublimity, with 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. 1 went 
 through this ivork, animated with a view of pleas- 
 
 665536
 
 IV DEDICATION. 
 
 ing every body ; and publish it in some fear of 
 pleasing none. Yet I lay hold with "pleasure on 
 this opportunity of paying my respects to your 
 Lordship, and giving this public proof, that 
 I am, 
 
 My Lord, 
 Your Lordship's most obedient 
 
 and most humble Servant, 
 
 WILLIAM SMITH. 

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 It will, without doubt, be expected, that the Reader should 
 be made privy to the reasons upon which this Work was under- 
 taken, and is now made public. 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 
 the 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 the six- 
 teenth century. The first Latin version by Gabriel de Petra 
 was printed at Geneva in 1G12. But the first good translation 
 of it into any modem 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 1 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, lC)5'2 : 
 the other without a name, but printed at Oxford in 1698, aid 
 said in the title-page to have been compared with the French 
 of Boileau. I saw nothing in either of these which did not 
 yield the greatest encouragement to a new attempt. 
 
 No less than nine years have intervened since the finishing
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 of this translation, in which space it has 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 
 bis 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. 
 
 I 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 
 good 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 Bishop of Rochester, 
 Fan 177
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Some account of the Life, Writings, and Character 
 
 of Longinus 9 
 
 Sect. 1. — That Cecilius's treatise on the Sublime 
 
 is imperfect, and why 44 
 
 2. — Whether the Sublime may be learned .... 48 
 
 3. — Of Bombast 51 
 
 Of Puerilities 55 
 
 Of the Parenlhyrse, or ill-timed emotion 56 
 
 4.— Of the Frigid .37 
 
 5. — Whence these imperfections take their 
 
 rise 6 1 
 
 6. — That a knowledge of the true Sublime is 
 
 attainable 62 
 
 7. — How the Sublime may be known 63 
 
 8. — That there are five 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 
 
 12. — That the definition which the writers of 
 rhetoric give of Amplification is im- 
 proper 106 
 
 13. — Of Plato's Sublimity 109 
 
 Of Imitation , . . . , HI 
 
 14. — That the best authors ought to be our 
 
 ■&■ 
 
 models in writing . 1 1 4 
 
 ■& 
 
 15. — Of Images. 1 15 
 
 •» 
 
 o 
 
 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
 
 VIII CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Sect. 22. — Of Hyperbatons 144 
 
 23. — Of Change of Number 150 
 
 24. — That Singulars sometimes cause Sub- 
 limity 154 
 
 25. — Of Change of Tense 155 
 
 26. — 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 166 
 
 30. — Of Choice of Terms 167 
 
 :) i ,_Of Vulgar Terms 169 
 
 32.— Of Multitude of Metaphors 172 
 
 J.J. — 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 
 Hypcrides are compared, and the pre- 
 ference given to the former 184 
 
 35. — That Plato is in all respects superior to 
 Lysias ; and in general, that whatever 
 is great and uncommon soonest raises 
 
 admiration 189 
 
 36. — Sublime writers considered in a parallel 
 
 view 192 
 
 37. — Of Similes and Comparisons ........ 194 
 
 38.— Of Hyperboles 195 
 
 ">;). — Of Composition or Structure of Words.. 201 
 40. — Of apt Connexion of the constituent parts 
 
 of discourse 206 
 
 41. — That broken and precipitate measures de- 
 li, ise 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 .... 211 
 44. — The scarcity of sublime writers accounted 
 
 for 2 1 7
 
 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 victories 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 Cresar 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- 
 ings, by inspecting their scenes of study 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 impcr-
 
 OF LONGINUS. 11 
 
 feet, yet open into two principal 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 
 
 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 
 
 ouiaqs. was, cannot certainly be disco- 
 
 J. Jonsius. i o r t • o 
 
 Dr.Pearce. vcred - Some fanc ^ mm a s ?" 
 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 
 
 * Sec Sec;, 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 in travelling 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 reputation 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, nuintum.
 
 14 THE LITE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 with 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 faith 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 established, and his sentence 
 stamped its intrinsic value 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-
 
 1() THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 mended, was received or rejected by the 
 public, only as it met with the 
 Eunapius. approbation of Longinus, or was 
 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 written ; 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 ! 
 
 The mind of our Author was not so con-
 
 OF LONGINUS. 17 
 
 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 Longinus 
 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. 
 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 Palmyra, 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 TIIK LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 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 quickly 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 Galliertus, 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. 
 
 7/ • He marched against her with 
 
 Vopiscus. ° 
 
 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 the 
 victory inclined a second time to Aurelian ; 
 and the unfortunate 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 HER 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. 
 
 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 dignity ? 
 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 marching 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 allurements, 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/' 
 
 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 
 bz: banans. 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 Sublime," 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 author. 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. Whenever he has Homer 
 ia 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. 
 
 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, whilst 
 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 LONGINUS. 99 
 
 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 qualities 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 suffer him to pass unreproved.-f 
 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 passage^ 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- 
 
 Prefixed to Hudson's Longinus.
 
 33 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 blished." Fabricius, I own, has been so offi- 
 ciously kind as to attribute these words to 
 Christian forgery;* but for what reasons I 
 cannot conjecture. If for any of real weight 
 and importance, 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 entertain 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 tremble, 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 honour ; 
 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 writings be examined and judged by the 
 
 * Biblioiheca Grzeca, I. 4. c. 3rl.
 
 OF 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, with 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 langmagre without wide 
 
 o o 
 
 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 words, 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. 
 
 But further, there appears not in him the 
 least show or affectation of learning, though
 
 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 museum? Large reading, without a clue 
 balance of judgment, is like a voracious ap- 
 petite with a bad digestion ; it breaks out 
 according to the natural complexion of differ- 
 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 ; his 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 ; they 
 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! 
 
 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- 
 ^ derstandins; 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. 37 
 
 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. 
 
 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 AND 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 must 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 perfeo"' 
 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. 

 
 
 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 ought 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 
 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
 
 42 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 relish 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. 
 
 
 
 i) 2
 
 LONGINUS on the SUBLIME, 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 You remember, my dear ^erentianus, 
 that when we read over together 2 Cecilius'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 every writer) 
 
 1 Who this Terentianus, 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 with sincerity more than 
 complaisauce, since Longinus must have disdained to flatter, 
 like a modern dedicator. 
 
 2 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 wholly ignorant of 
 the matter, has omitted, as altogether unne- . 
 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 8 those who write for the world, or 
 speak in public. 
 
 3 " Those who write for the world, or speak in public." ] I 
 take all this to be implied in the original word ttuXi-ikuiv.
 
 46 LOXGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 But I request you, my dear friend, to give 
 me your opinion on whatever I advance, with 
 that exactness, which is due to truth, and 
 that sincerity which is natural to yourself. 
 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 SUBLIME. 47 
 
 be discerned from one or two passages, nor 
 scarcely sometimes from the whole texture of 
 a discourse ; but 4 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. 
 
 4 " 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 
 ciacf>op£i and evSeiKvvrai, but 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 Sublime. 1 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 
 
 1 In all the editions is added ?/ fiaOovQ, 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 with a si°ht of 
 the learned Dr. Tonstal's conjectural emendations on this 
 Author, and here for ftaOovs he readeth Tradovg. 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 : — " But we ought not to advance, 
 before we clear the point, whether or no there be any art in 
 the Sublime or the Pathetic. For some are entirely of opinion, 
 that they are guilty of a great mistake, who would reduce them 
 to the rides of art. These high attainments (say they) are 
 born within us, and are nut to be learned by precept: the only 
 art to reach them, is to have the power 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 — 
 2 though nature for the most part challenges 
 a sovereign and uncontrollable power in the 
 Pathetic and Sublime, yet she is not ultoge- 
 
 2 These observations of Longinus, 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, 
 
 Life, force, and beauty must to all impart, 
 
 At once the source, and end, and test of art. 
 
 Art from that fund each just supply provides, 
 
 Works without show, and without pomp presides : 
 
 In some fair body thus the secret soul 
 
 With spirits feeds, with vigour tills the whole ; 
 
 Each 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, 
 
 Though 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. 
 
 Essay on Ci iticism.
 
 50 L0NGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 4 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 helm to guide their course, 
 but cumbered with their own weight, and 
 i bold without discretion. Genius may some- 
 v 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- 
 quence, which depends not upon, nor can be 
 learned by, rule, yet even this could not be
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 51 
 
 known without that light which we receive 
 from art. If, therefore, as I said before, he 
 who condemns such works as this in which I 
 am now engaged, would attend to these re- 
 flections, I have very good reason to believe 
 he would no longer think any undertaking of 
 this nature superfluous or useless. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 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. 
 But now a generous song I have not sounded. 
 
 Streaming curls of fame, spewing against 
 heaven, and 2 making Boreas a piper, with 
 
 1 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 frOm some old tragic 
 poet, none of whose lines, except these here quoted, and some 
 expressions below, remain at present. 
 
 2 li Making Boreas a piper."'] Shakespeare has fallen into 
 the same kind of bombast : 
 
 the southern wind 
 
 Doth play the trumpet to his purposes. 
 
 First Part of Henry IV.
 
 52 L0NG1NUS 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- 
 ing, or those works which are founded in 
 truth. Upon this account some expressions 
 of 3 Gorgias the Leon tine are highly ridiculed, 
 
 3 Gorgias the Leontine, or of Leontium, was a Sicilian 
 rhetorician, mid father of the Sophists. He was in such uni- 
 versal esteem throughout Greece, that a statue was erected to 
 his honour in the temple of Apollo at Delphos, of solid gold, 
 though the 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. Pearcc has produced instances from Ovid, and even from 
 Cicero ; and observed further, that Gregory Nazianzen has
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 55 
 
 who styles Xerxes the Persian Jupiter, and 
 calls vultures living sepulchres. Some expres- 
 sions of 4 Callisthenes deserve the same treat- 
 ment, for they shine not like stars, but glare 
 like meteors. And 5 Clitarchus comes under 
 this censure still more, who blusters indeed, 
 and blows, as Sophocles expresses it, 
 
 Loud sounding blasts not sweetened by the stop. 
 
 6 Amphicrates, 7 Hegesias, and 8 Matris, 
 
 styled those wild beasts that devour men, running sepulchres* 
 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. 
 
 4 Callisthenes succeeded Aristotle in the tuition of Alexan- 
 der the Great, and wrote a history of the affairs of Greece. 
 
 5 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 Erymanthns, and 
 not of such a pitiful creature as a wasp. And for this reason, 
 says Demetrius, the description is cold and disagreeable. 
 
 6 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. 
 
 7 Hegesias was a Magnesian. Cicero, in his Orator, c. 
 226, says humorously of him, il He is faulty no less in his
 
 54 10NGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 may 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. 9 
 
 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: u 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 
 sufficient 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." 
 
 8 Who Matris was I cannot find, but commentators observe 
 from Athenajus, that he wrote in prose an Encomium upon 
 Hercules. 
 
 »Vid. Cic. I. 4. Rhetoricorum, p. 97. ed. Delph. vol. 1. 
 What is said there about the Svfflata constructio verborum, 
 agrees very exactly with Longuius's sense of the bombast.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 55 
 
 men are naturally biassed to aim at grandeur. l 
 Hence it is, that by shunning with the ut- 
 most diligence the censure of impotence and 
 phlegm, they are hurried into the contrary ' 
 extreme. They are mindful of the maxim, that 
 
 In great attempts 'tis glorious ev'n to fall. 
 
 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 opposite 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, 

 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 who, by an ill-managed zeal for a neat, cor- 
 rect, and, above all, a sweet style, are hurried 
 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 10 Theodo- 
 n us has named the P&renthyrse, 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. 
 
 10 Theodorus is thought to have been born at Gadara, and 
 to have taught at Rhodes. Tiberius Caesar, aceorduig to 
 Quinctilian, is reported to have heard him with application, 
 during his retirement in that island. — L,angboine.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 57 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 1 Timjeus abounds very much in the Fri- 
 gid, 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 thoughts 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 
 
 1 Timams was a Sicilian historian. Cicero has sketched a 
 short character of him in his Orator, /. 2. c. 14. which 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 eirmfiqv, because he was continually 
 chiding and finding fault. 
 
 E
 
 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 Hera- 
 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 nourishes ? 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 might with reason think 
 them more modest 2 than the 3 virgins in their 
 eyes/' Am phi crates might, perhaps, be al- 
 lowed to use the term of modest virgins for 
 the pupils 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 lawgiver 
 Lycurgus took to accustom the Spartan youth to a grave and 
 modest behaviour. He enjoined them, whenever they appeared 
 in public, " 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 Kopr/, here blamed by Longinus, would be a great 
 blemish to this fine 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 ev 
 toiq o(j)da\fioig 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." 
 
 3 The word Koprt, 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 ! * 
 
 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 4 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, could 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. 
 
 4 " The very day when — a veil."] All this is implied in the 
 word ctvaKaXvTr-ripiojv . 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 
 avaKaXv-nrripia, for then she immediately unveiled, and liberty 
 was given him to converse freely with her ever after. 
 
 See Potter'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, 5 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 over 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. 
 
 5 " 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? I appeal to the ladies for the propriety of this ob- 
 servation. 
 
 % Herod. Terpsichore, c. 18.
 
 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 
 easily blended with, the true Sublime. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 This 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 our 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 an 
 inward generosity scorn such acquisitions, aref 
 more admired than those who actually pos- 
 sess them. 
 
 In the same manner we must judge of what- 
 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. 2 That 
 
 1 It is remarked in the notes to Boileau's translation, that 
 the great Prince of Conde, upon hearing this passage, cried 
 out, Voila le Sublime ! voi/a sun veritable caractere! 
 
 2 " 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 
 what the Sublime is. But since this book of Cecilius is lost, 
 I believe it will not be amiss to venture here a definition 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 
 transport 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, where, to illustrate the preceding definition, he sub- 
 joins an example from Racine's Athalie, or Abner, of these 
 three particular qualifications of sublimity joined together. One 
 of the principal officers 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 tin frein a la fureur des flots, 
 
 Sait aussi des mechans arreter les complots, 
 
 Soumis avec respect a sa volonte sainte, 
 
 Je crains Dieu, cher Abner, etn'ai point d'autie crainte.
 
 66 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 cannot be easily worn out or effaced. In a 
 word, you may pronounce that sublime, beau- 
 > 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. 
 
 SECTION VIII. 
 
 There are, if I may so express it, five very 
 copious sources of the Sublime, if we presup- 
 pose an ability of speaking well, as a com- 
 mon foundation for these five sorts, and in- 
 deed without it, any thing besides will 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. 
 • II. 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. 
 T 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 must 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 1 some passions are vastly distant from 
 
 1 " Some passions are vastly distant," &c] 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.
 
 68 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 in 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- 
 luded into fatal errors by the Scribes and Pharisees, who had 
 long been guilty 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 j.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 
 I 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 found in the same compass. 
 
 1 beg leave to observe farther, that there is a continued strain.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 69 
 
 the contrary, 2 there are many things grand 
 and lofty without any passion ; as, among a 
 thousand instances, we may see, from what 
 3 the poet has said, with so much boldness, of 
 the Aloides i* 
 
 4 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. 
 
 But the boldness of what he afterwards 
 adds is yet greater : 
 
 J to 
 Nor would success their bold attempts have fail'd, Sic. 
 
 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. 
 
 2 The first book of Paradise Lost is a continued instance of 
 Sublimity without Passion. The descriptions of Satan and 
 the other fallen angels are very grand, but terrible. They do 
 not so much exalt as terrify the imagination. See Mr. Ad- 
 dison's observations, Spectator, No. 339- 
 
 3 " 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 title. 
 
 * Odyss. X. v. 314. 
 
 4 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.
 
 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. 
 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 we 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 reflected 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 1 the silence of Ajax 
 
 1 " 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 thinking, 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, when the loud billows roar. 
 
 But whirl'd away to shun his hateful sight, 
 
 Hid in the forest and the shades of night. Dry den. 
 
 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 St/BLIME. 
 
 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. 
 
 Br n. 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 comes 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- 
 When 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 hks countenance which his pencil was 
 able to display. By this gradation he had exhausted the pas- 
 sion, and had no art left for the distress of her father Agamem- 
 non, which required the strongest heightening of all. He 
 therefore covered up his head in his garment, and left the 
 spectator to imagine that excess of anguish which colours 
 were 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 mean, 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 
 of all posterity. Grand and sublime expres- 
 sions must flow from them and them alone, **■ 
 whose conceptions are stored and big with 
 greatness. And hence it is, that the greatest . 
 thoughts are always uttered by the greatest 
 souls. When Parmenio cried, 2 "I would 
 
 2 " I would accept these proposals," 8tc] 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 
 "of money ?" Aristophon replied in the negative. " Have I 
 then done, 1 ' cried Iphicrates, " what even you would have 
 scorned to do ?"
 
 74 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 3 the space between heaven and earth 
 marks out the vast reach and capacity of 
 Homer's ideas, when he says,* 
 
 4 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, but 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. 
 
 3 Longinu9 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, 16. 
 
 * Iliad, c. v. 443. 
 
 * See the note to this description of Discord, in Mr. Pope's 
 translation. Virgil has copied it verbatim, but applied it to 
 Fame : —
 
 LOXGINUS 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 5 Hesiod's description of melancholy, 
 
 Ingrediturque solo et caput inter nubila condit. 
 
 Soon grows the pigmy to gigantic size, 
 Her feet on earth, her forehead in the skies. 
 
 Shakespeare, without 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 coiners of the world. Kings, queens, and states, 
 Maids, matrons, nay the secrets of the grave, 
 This viperous slander enters. Cymbeline. 
 
 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 Teneriff or Atlas unremov'd : 
 His stature reach'd the sky, and on his crest 
 Sat horror plum'd. 
 
 5 The image of Hesiod, here blamed by Longinus, is bor- 
 rowed from low life, and has something in it exceedingly nasty. 
 It oflends the stomach, and of course cannot be approved by 
 
 F 2
 
 76 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 description 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 distill b'd their noise, into her womb, 
 
 And kennel there ; yet there still bark'd, and howl'd 
 
 Within, unseen. 
 
 Of Death he says, 
 
 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. 'J(>7.
 
 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 appear'd, 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 ! 
 
 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 only 
 produced by bright and lively objects, but sometimes by such 
 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- 
 sure, since 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 
 Apelles drew the portrait of Antigonus, who had lost an eye, 
 he judiciously took his face in profile, that he might hide the 
 blemish. It is the art of the painter to please, and not to^ 
 offend the sight. It is the poet's to make us sometimes 
 thoughtful and sedate, but never to raise our distaste by foul 
 and nauseous representations.
 
 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 higli 
 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, 6 the world itself would 
 want room for it !" 
 
 How grand also and pompous are those 
 descriptions of the combat of the gods! 7 
 
 * Iliad, e. v. 770. 
 
 6 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. 
 
 1 Milton's description of the fight of angels 15 well able to
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 79 
 
 Heav'n in 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- 
 ries under these sallies of his fancy. This may satisfy them, 
 but is by no means a sufficient 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 are 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 
 Of conflict! overhead the dismal hiss 
 Of fiery darts in flaming vollies flew, 
 And flying vaulted either host with fire. 
 So under fiery cope together rush'd 
 Both battles main, with ruinous assault 
 And inextinguishable rage : all heav'n 
 Resounded ; and had earth been then, all earth 
 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- 
 
 — ' * I " ■'■ » ■ I I ■ — ■■ -' ■■■ I ■ - ■■ ' ■- — -■ -■ . I . -■ — i ...... ■■,■,■.. I ...„ | , || ■ ■»■ ■ »■■■■■• 
 
 * Iliad. <p. ver. 3S8.
 
 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 ! 8 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. 
 
 He seems apprehensive, that the mind of his readers was 
 not stocked enough with 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. 6l. 
 
 8 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 illus- 
 trating them.— Dr. Pcarcc.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 81 
 
 understood, are downright blasphemy, and 
 extravagantly shocking. 9 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 fought 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 majesty, grandeur, and per- 
 fection; as in that description of Neptune, 
 
 9 Plutarch, in his treatise on reading the poets, is of the 
 same opinion with Longinus: "When 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 heal, 
 Thy gods had shonemore uniformly great/'
 
 82 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 which has been already applauded by several 
 writers : 
 
 10 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. \ 
 
 10 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 
 mouth 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 flying upon 
 the wings of the wind." 
 
 So again, Psalm lxxvii. 16 — 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 earth was moved 
 and shook withal. Thy way is in the sea, and thy paths iu 
 great waters, and thy footsteps are not known." 
 \. And in general, wherever there is any description of the 
 works of Omnipotence, 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. lxxvi. xcvi. xcvii. civ. cxiv. exxxix. 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. 85 
 
 His whirling wheels the glassy surface sweep ; 
 Th' enormous monsters rolling o'er the deep, 
 Gambol around him on the wat'ry way, 
 And heavy whales in awkward measures play ; 
 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. 
 
 11 So likewise the Jewish legislator, no ordi- 
 
 Copying such sublime images in the poetical parts 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 
 anoels. If Homer deserves such vast encomiums from the 
 critics, for describing Neptune with so much pomp and mag- 
 nificence, how can we sufficiently admire those Divine descrip- 
 tions which Milton gives of the Messiah ? 
 
 He on the wings of cherub rode sublime 
 On the crystalline sky, in sapphire thron'd, 
 
 Illustrious 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 went 
 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 ot 
 which it speaks, they are blind to its lustre, and will not dis- 
 cern its Sublimity, tyome pretend that Longinn? never saw
 
 84 LOXGIXUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 nary person, having conceived a just idea of 
 the power of God, has nobly expressed it 
 
 tills 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 rind the names of Huet and Le Clerc. 
 They 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 iherefore not grand. They have tried 
 it by a law of Horace misunderstood, and therefore condemn it. 
 
 Boiieau undertook its defence, and has gallantly performed 
 it. He shews 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 with instances to strengthen this 
 remark.) 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 allow the Sublimity of this passage in Moses, yet he ex- 
 tols the following in the 33d Psalm : " P'or 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^ 
 vation. " God said-r-What ?T-Let there be light," &c. That 
 interrogation between the narrative part and the words of the 
 Almighty himself, tallies with it an air of reverence and vene-
 
 L0NGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 85 
 
 In the beginning of his Law.* " And God 
 said, — What? — Let there be light, and there 
 was light. Let the earth be, and the earth 
 was." 
 
 I hope my 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 :f- 
 
 Accept a warrior's pray'r, 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. John xi. 43. " Lazarus, come forth." 
 St. Matt. viii. 3. " Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me 
 clean."—" 1 will ; be thou clean." And St. Mark iv. 39. 
 where Christ hushes the tumultuous sea into a calm, with 
 " Peace (or rather, 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. t Iliad, p. ver. 045.
 
 $6 L0NG1NUS 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 begs 
 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 
 his heroes are, or (as he says of Hector) 
 
 With such a furious rage his steps advance, 
 As when the god of battles shakes his lance, 
 Or baleful flames on some thick forest cast, 
 Swift 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 age. Many arguments may be brought to 
 
 
 ;: Iliad, o. vcr. 605.
 
 LONG IN US ON THE SUBLIME. 8? 
 
 prove that this poem was written after the 
 Iliad ; 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 ; 
 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. 
 12 So that, in the Odysse}', Homer may with 
 
 * Odyss. y. ver. 109- 
 
 12 Never did any criticism equal, much less exceed, this of 
 Longinus in sublimity. He gives his opinion, that 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 Iliad, except 
 in violence and impetuosity, may be resembled to " the setting 
 sun, whose grandeur continues the same, though its rays re- 
 tain not the same fervent heat." Let us here take a view of 
 Longinus, whilst he points out the beauties of the best writers-,
 
 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, 
 I 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 it 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, 
 In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
 On half the nations, and with fear of change 
 Perplexes monarchs ; darken'd so, yet shone 
 Above them all th' archangel. 
 
 That horrible grandeur in which Milton arrays his devils 
 throughout 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 
 
 heat of his beams. The style is not so grand 
 and majestic as that of the Iliad; the sublimity 
 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 
 glory. 
 
 G
 
 90 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 scribed in so terrible a manner in several parts 
 of the Odyssey ; of Ulysses' adventures with 
 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 
 13 Zoilus calls little squeaking pigs ; of Jupiter's 
 being nursed by 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 
 
 13 " 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 him 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. 91 
 
 this in the Odyssey. u 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 15 moral kind 
 
 14 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." Essay on the Odyssey. 
 
 15 The word moral does not fully give the idea of the ori- 
 ginal word >?£oe, 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 fire of their genius, abound 
 Chiefly in such passions as are strong and vehement; but in 
 their old age and decline, they betake themselves to such as 
 are mild, peaceable, and sedate. At first they endeavour to 
 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 fits and transports of the 
 former, in progress of time, subside and settle in the latter. So 
 
 g2 
 
 i 
 
 \
 
 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 writings. Now, as there are no sub- 
 jects which are not attended by some adherent 
 circumstances, an accurate and judicious 
 
 a storm is different 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 ttciSoc and >;Soe so frequently used, and so im- 
 portant in the Greek critics, are fully explained by Quincti- 
 lian, in 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, 
 And hears, and sees thee all the while 
 Softly speak, and sweetly smile. 
 
 'Twas this depriv'd my soul of rest, 
 And rais'd such tumults in my breast; 
 For while I 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 chilPd ; 
 My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd; 
 My feeble pulse forgot to play, 
 I fainted, sunk, and died away. 1 
 
 Philips. 
 
 1 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 Athenseus 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 the 
 French translation by Boileau : 
 
 — dans les doux transports ou s'egare mon ame : 
 
 And, 
 
 Je tombe dans des donees langueurs. 
 
 The word doux will in no wise express the rage and distraction 
 of Sappho's mind. It is always used in a contrary sense.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. Q5 
 
 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 beeu 
 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 donees 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 JEneid, 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 sweet 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 with some incidents of this passion. 
 He even breaks in upon the rules of Epic, by introducing the 
 episode of Olindo and Sophronia, in his <2d 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 2 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 refines 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. 
 
 9 Aristams, the Procounesian, is said to have wrote a poem,
 
 98 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 poem on the Arimaspians doubts not but 
 these lines 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 woods 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 ! 
 
 3 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 Aptyuao-Traa; or, of the affairs 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. 
 
 3 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. 624.
 
 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 impetuous 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 ! 
 
 And immediately after, 
 
 Let the great gods, 
 
 That keep this dreadful thund'ring o'er our heads, 
 
 Find out their 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 
 
 * Arali Phamomen. ver. C9(J.
 
 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 ! I 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. 
 I 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. 4 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 
 has succeeded so well in describing a wreck ; 
 and Demosthenes, where he relates * the con- 
 
 4 " Nay more, the clanger," &c. — ] I have given this sentence 
 such a turn as I thought would be most suitable to our language, 
 and have omitted the following words, which 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 ik Savaroio. By this means the danger is 
 discerned," &c. 
 
 The beauty Longinus here commends in Homer, of making 
 the words correspond with the sense, is oue 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. 
 
 * Orat. de Corona.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 103 
 
 fusions at Athens, upon arrival of ill news. 5 
 " 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 
 
 5 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 fire to 
 their shops. Others fled 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 herald repeated the question several 
 times. In vain : nobody rose up : nobody harangued ; 
 though all the commanders 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 XI. 
 
 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. 1 Now this may be done to 
 
 1 Lucan has put a very grand amplification in the mouth 
 of Cato : 
 
 ? 
 
 Estne dei sedes, nisi terra, et pontus, et aer, 
 
 Et ccelum, et virtus ? Superos quid quaerimus 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 
 empire."
 
 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 immediately 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, whether 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, 
 r r. appear bj r 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 progressively heightening a^
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 10? 
 
 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. What 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 that the 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 
 
 ii 2
 
 108 I.ONGINUS 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 lasting; thev break out at dif- 
 ferent times in different 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 well 
 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- 
 miliar topics ; for perorations, digressions, for 
 easy narrations or pompous amusements, for 
 history, for short accounts of the operations 
 of nature, and many other sorts.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 109 
 
 SECTION XIII. 
 
 1 To leave this digression. Though Plato's 
 style particularly excels in smoothness, and 
 an easy and peaceable flow of the words, } r et 
 neither does it want an elevation and gran- 
 deur: and of this you cannot be ignorant, 
 
 1 tl 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. 
 
 2 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 Mho 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 : — 
 
 11 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 impossibility." — 
 Q.Qth Sermon, Vol. I. folio. 
 
 * Plato, lib. 9. 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 
 and emulation of the greatest orators and * 
 poets that ever nourished. 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, 3 like the Pythian Priestess, when 
 she approaches the sacred tripod. There is, 
 if Fame speaks true, a chasm in the earth, 
 from whence exhale Divine evaporations, which 
 
 3 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 effect of their operations 
 on their imitators is honoured with the title of a Divine spirit. 
 — Dr. Pearce.
 
 11*2 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 sublime spirit of the ancients, there arise 
 some fine effluvia, like vapours from the sa- 
 cred vents, which work themselves insensibly 
 into the breasts of imitators, 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 : 4 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- 
 
 4 Stesichorus, a noble poet, inventor of the Lyric Chorus, 
 was 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 with 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 poetry, 
 5 had he not been ambitious of entering the 
 lists, like a youthful champion, and ardently 
 contending for the prize with Homer, who 
 had a Ions; time engrossed the admiration of 
 the world. The attack was perhaps too rash, 
 the opposition perhaps had too much the air 
 
 5 Plato, in his younger days, had an inclination to poetry, 
 and made some attempts in tragedy and epic ; but rinding 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 with 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 the 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 they 
 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. 
 
 l 
 
 SECTION XIV. 
 
 If ever therefore we are engaged in a work 
 which requires 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 opcribus et diebus, 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 ? t 
 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. 
 
 i Visions, which by some are called 
 Images, contribute very much, my dearest 
 youth, to the weight 5 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. 
 
 1 Pity thy offspring, mother, nor provoke 
 Those vengeful Furies to torment thy son. 
 
 1 Virgil refers to this passage in his fourth iEneid, ver. 470. 
 Aut Agamemnonius scenis agitatus Orestes, 
 Arrnatam facibus matrem et serpentibus atris 
 Cum fugit, ultricesque sedent in limine Dirae. 
 
 Or mad Orestes when his mother's ghost 
 
 Full 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 fright, 
 
 The Furies guard the door, and intercept his flight. 
 
 Drj/den. 
 
 ** There is not (says Mr. Addison, Spectator, No. 42 1.) 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. 
 
 ■i 
 
 The distraction of Orestes, after the murder of his mother, 
 is a fine representation in Euripides, because it is natural. The
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 117 
 
 What horrid sights! how glare their bloody eyes! 
 How twisting 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 : 
 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 
 As this which now I 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 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 In deadly wrath the hissing monsters rise, 
 
 Forward they spring, dart out, and leap around me* 
 
 And again : 
 
 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, the 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, the very blood curdles and runs cold, through the 
 strongest abhorrence and detestation of the crime. 
 
 * Euripid. Orest. ver. 9.55. 
 
 + Euripid. Iphigen. Taur. ver. 408.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 119 
 
 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 : 
 
 2 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. 
 
 2 This passage, in all probability, is taken from a tragedy of 
 Euripides, named Phaeton, which is entirely lost. Ovid had 
 
 •f Two fragments 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 eve to it in his Met. 1. ii. when he puts these lines 
 into the month of Phoebus, resigning the chariot of the Sun 
 to Phaeton : — 
 
 Zonarumque trium contentns fine, polumque 
 Effugit australem, junctamque aquilonibus arcton: 
 Hac sit iter: manifesta rota; vestigia cernes. 
 Utque ferant requos et ccelum 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'n or earth infest ; 
 
 Keep the mid-May, the middle way is best. Addison- 
 
 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 (Judges, v. 28 — ), where 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 
 tarry 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 ! — now here ! — here ! turn the chariot here ! 
 
 Who would not say, 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 3 Cassandra : 
 
 Ye martial Trojans, &c. 
 
 iEschylus 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. 
 3 The Cassandra of Euripides is now entirely lost. 
 
 I 
 
 -
 
 12 c 2 LONGTNIS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 * Tlie seven, a warlike leader each in chief, 
 Stood round ; and o'er the brazen shield tliey slew 
 A sullen bull ; then plunging deep their hands 
 Into tlie 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 
 horror on the mind : 
 
 Me spake; and to confirm his words, out flew 
 Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs 
 Of mighty cherubim : the sudden blaze 
 Fax round illumin'd hell ; highly they rag'd 
 Against the Highest, and tierce with grasped arms 
 Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war, 
 Hurling defiance tow'rd the vault of heav'n» 
 
 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 
 must 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 
 Ueign in all bosoms, that each heart being set 
 On blood*' courses, the rude scene may end, 
 And darkness be tin- burier of the death
 
 LONGINt/S 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 iEschylus the palace of 
 Lycurgus is surprisingly affected by the sud- 
 den appearance of Bacchus : 
 
 The frantic dome and roaring roofs convuls'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, 5 
 And echoes back the Bacchanalian cries. 
 
 3 Tollius is of opinion, that Longinus blames neither the 
 thought of Euripides nor iEschylus, but only the word 
 fiuK^tvti, which, he says, has not so much sweetness, nor raises 
 so nice an idea, as the word av^aK^vu. Dr. Pearce thinks 
 iEschylus 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 

 
 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 6 appari- 
 
 Milton shews a greater boldness of fiction than either Euri- 
 pides or iEschylus, 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 drops 
 
 Wept, at completing of the mortal sin. 
 
 6 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 Bancpjo 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 any one has described that ap- 
 parition more divinely than 7 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 v 
 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. Orest. 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 
 1 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-i. 
 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 
 slaves, after the defeat of Chreronea ; " It was 
 
 Demosth. Orat. contra Timo.cr. non procul a fine.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 127 
 
 not an orator/' said he, " that made this de- 
 cree, but the battle of Cha3ronea. iJ 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 be - 
 l ongs to the Sense, and takes its rise either 
 from an Elevation of Thought, a choice and 
 connexion of proper Incidents, Amplifica- 
 tion, Imitation, or Images.
 
 128 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 The Pathetic, which the Author, Sect. viii. 
 laid down for the second source of the Sub- 
 lime, is omitted here, because it was reserved 
 for a distinct treatise. — See Sect. xliv. with 
 the note. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 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 public 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, who 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 
 
 * Oral, dc Corona, p. 124. cd. Oxon.
 
 130 LONG IN US ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 soaring strain of the Sublime and the Pa- 
 thetic, strengthened by 1 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 2 Eupolis: 
 
 No ! by my labours in that glorious * field, 
 Their joy shall not produce my discontent! 
 
 1 The observations on this oath are judicious and solid. 
 But there is one infinitely more solemn and awful in Jeremiah 
 xxii. 5. 
 
 ie 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. iG. and Hebrews vi. 13. 
 
 2 Eupolis was an Athenian writer of comedy, of whom 
 nothing remains at present, but the renown of his name. — 
 Dr. Pcarce. 
 
 * Marathon.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 131 
 
 3 But the grandeur consists not in the bare 
 application 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 
 
 3 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 discovers, in a bare examination of this oath in Eu- 
 polis. — Dacicr,
 
 132 LONG IN US ON THE 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 
 by 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.'— From 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 Plataeae;" 
 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, JEschines, 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 much 
 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 under- 
 standing:, and sometimes breaks out into bit- 
 ter indignation ; and though perhaps he may 
 suppress his wrath, and stifle 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. Wherefore, 
 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? ^s not discourse enlivened, 
 
 1 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 ; I 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— g.— 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 perhaps are more remarkable. 
 
 Any reader will observe, that there is a poetical air in the
 
 136 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 strengthened, and thrown, more forcibly along 
 by this sort of Figure ? j(" Would you/' says 
 
 predictions of Balaam in the 23d chapter of Numbers, and 
 that there is particularly an uncommon grandeur in ver. 1Q. 
 
 " 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 j 
 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) knoweth of 
 
 these things, before whom I 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 3Rth 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 insufficiency.
 
 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 would accrue to you from 
 his death, when, as soon as his head is laid, 
 you yourselves will raise up another Philip?" 
 And again,-|* " Let us set sail for Macedonia. 
 But where shall we land ? 2 The very war will 
 discover to us the rotten and unguarded 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, lma. -f Ibid. 
 
 2 Here are two words in the original, which are omitted in 
 the translation ; ijpcro nc, 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 by 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, 
 1 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.] * * 
 
 # 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 * 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 # 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 SECTION XIX. 
 
 * * * * # [The beginning of this 
 
 Section is lost, but the sense is easily sup- 
 plied from what immediately follows.] An-
 
 LON'GINUS 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 periods^ 
 are poured along in such a manner, that they 
 seem to outstrip the very thought of the 
 speaker. * " Then (says Xenophon*) closing 
 
 1<( The want of a scrupulous connexion draws tilings into a 
 lesser compass, and adds the greater spirit and emotion. — Foi •/ 
 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. 610, 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." — Essay on the Odyssey, p. 2d, 1 13. 
 
 Voltaire has endeavoured to shew the hurry and confusion 
 of a battle, in the same manner, in the Henriade. Chant. 6. 
 
 Frangois, 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. 
 
 Dry den. 
 
 * Rerum Gra?c. p. 219- ed. Oxon. et in Oat. 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 ; 
 A palace in 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. 1 For 
 
 * Odyss. k. ver. 251. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 i( 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 Asj ndetons 
 
 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 
 parts of Scripture, particularly in the Song of 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.
 
 142 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIiME. 
 
 and fresh repetitions " in the gesture, in 
 
 the look, in the voice — when like a ruffian, 
 when like 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 : "When 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 stvle 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, §c— first in his gesture, then in his 
 countenance, and thirdly 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 difficulty. 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. 
 
 1 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 TI1E SUBLIME. 
 
 SECTION XXII. 
 
 Hy per batons also are to be ranked 
 among the serviceable Figures. An Hyper- y 
 baton 1 is a transposing of words or thoughts 
 
 1 Virgil is very happy in his application of this Figure. 
 
 Moriamur, et in media arma ruainus. 
 
 jEneid. I. ii. ver. 348. 
 And again, 
 
 Me, me, adsum qui feci, in me convertite ferrum. 
 
 Id. lib. ix.ver. 427. 
 
 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 Pcarcc. 
 
 There is a fine Hyperbaton in the 5th 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, tlow'r, 
 Glist'ring with dew : nor fragrance after show'rs : 
 Nor grateful ev'niug mild : nor silent night, 
 With this her solemn biid: nor walk by noon, 
 Or glitt'ring 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. 2 
 When men are actuated either by wrath, or 
 fear, or indignation, or jealousy, or any of 
 those numberless passions incident to the 
 mind, which cannot be reckoned up, they 
 fluctuate here, and there, and every where ; 
 are still upon forming new resolutions, and 
 breaking through measures before concerted, 
 without any apparent reason : still unfixed 
 and undetermined, their thoughts are in per- 
 petual hurry; till, tossed as it were by some 
 unstable blast, they sometimes return to their 
 first resolution: so that, (by this flux, and re- 
 flux of passion, they alter their thoughts,*' 
 their language, and their manner of expres- 
 sion, a thousand times. Hence it comes to 
 pass, that 3 an imitation of these transposi-^ 
 
 2 Longinus here, in explaining the nature of theHyperbaton, 
 and again in the close of the Section, has made use of an FIv- 
 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 cannot 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. 
 
 3 This fine remark may be illustrated by a celebrated passage 
 in Shakespeaie's Hamlet, where the poet's art has hit off the
 
 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- 
 viour of his mother makes such impression on the young prince, 
 that his mind is big with abhorrence of it, but expressions fail 
 him. He begins abruptly ; but as reflections crowd thick up- 
 on his mind, he runs off into commendations of his father. 
 Some time after his thoughts turn a^ain on that action of his 
 mother, which had raised his resentments, but he only touches 
 it, and flies off 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 ! 
 
 Must I remember ? — why, she would hang on him, 
 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 
 By what it fed on : yet within a month — 
 
 Let me not think — -Frailty, thy name is woman! — 
 
 .A little month — or ere those shoes were old, 
 
 With which she follow 'd my poor father's body, 
 
 Like Niobe, all tears — why she, ev'n she ■ 
 
 Oh Heav'n ! a beast that wants discourse of reason, 
 Would have mourn'd longer — married with mine uncle, 
 My father's brother ; but no more like my father, 
 Than 1 to Hercules ! Within a month ! 
 Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
 Had left the flushing of her galled eyes, 
 Si ic married ! Oh most wicked speed!
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 147 
 
 feet and consummate, when it seems to be 
 nature ; 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 
 affairs are come to their crisis; now is the 
 important moment, lonians, to secure your 
 liberty, or to undergo that cruelty and op- 
 pression which is the portion of slaves, nay, 
 fugitive slaves. Submit yourselves then to 
 toil and labour for the present. This toil 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," fa. 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. 1. (i.e. 11.
 
 148 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 toil must be undergone. " Your affairs (says 
 lie) 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. De most henes, indeed, attempts not 
 this so often as Thucydides, yet he is more 
 discreetly liberal of this kind of Figure than 
 any other writer. 4 He seems to invert the 
 
 
 
 4 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 agaui returns to his subject, when one would 
 imagine that he had entirely lost sight of it. For instance, in his 
 defence before King Agrippa, Acts, chap. xxvi. when, in order 
 t ) wipe off the aspersions thrown upon him by the Jews, that 
 " he was a turbulent and seditious person," he sets out with 
 clearing his character, proving the integrity of his morals, and 
 his inoffensive unblameable behaviour, as one who hoped, by 
 those means, to attain that happiness of another life, for which 
 the "twelve tribes served God continually in the temple ;" on 
 a sudden he drops the continuation of his defence, and cries out, 
 " Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that 
 ( Jod should raise the dead?" It might be reasonably expected, 
 that this would be the end of his argument; but by flying to
 
 I 
 
 L0NGINUS 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 through all 
 the intricate mazes of his discourse : frequent- 
 ly arresting his thoughts in the midst of their f 
 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 die resurrection, in ver. 23. 
 
 t^
 
 150 LONGJNUS ON THE SUBLIME, 
 
 SECTION XXIII. 
 
 Those Figures, which are called 1 Polyp- 
 totes, as also 2 Collections, 3 Changes, and 
 
 1 " Polyptotes."] Longinus gives no instance of this Figure : 
 but one may be produced from Cicero's oration for Crelius, 
 where he says, " We will contend with arguments, we will 
 refute accusations by evidences brighter than light itself : fact 
 shall encase with fact, cause with cause, reason with reason." 
 To which may be added that of Virgil, iEri. lib. x. ver. 36 1. 
 
 — Haeretpede pes, densusque viro vir. — 
 
 Dr. Pearce. 
 
 ^ 2 " Collections."] The orator makes use of this Figure, 
 when, instead of the w hole of a thing, he numbers up all its 
 particulars : of which we have an instance in Cicero's oration 
 for Marcellus : " 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 
 convene verborum ac sententiarum idem significantium.— 
 
 Dr. Pearce. 
 
 3 " Changes."] Quinctilian gives an instance of this Figure, 
 Instit. Orat.l. ix. c. 3, from Cicero's oration for Sex. Ros- 
 cius : u 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 who 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 5 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. 
 
 6 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 the chapter, but the 
 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. 
 
 5 Changes of Case and Gender fall not under the district of 
 the English tongue. On those of Time, Person, and Number, 
 Longinus enlarges in the sequel. 
 
 6 The beauty of this Figure will, I fear, be lost in the transla- 
 tion. But it must be observed, that the word croud, is of the 
 singular, and appear, of the plural number. Allowance must
 
 152 I.ONGIXUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 'But 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 produced, and since our fatal birth 
 Have mix'd our blood, and all 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. 
 
 AH 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. 
 
 * CEdip.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. 
 Yet 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. — r For to hang such trappings to 
 every passage is highly pedantic.) 
 
 * Plato in Menexeno, p. 245. ed. Par. 
 
 7 " For to hang such trappings," 8tc] I have given this 
 passage such a turn as, I hope, 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 (/cwcWae) 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. 1 " 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, 2 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 countrymen 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. 
 
 5 " 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 
 drachma?, 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- S 
 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'th' market-place, did sit alone 
 Whistling to th' air •, which but for vacancy, 
 Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, 
 
 And made a gap in nature. 
 
 # Herod. 1. 6. c. 21. 
 
 L2
 
 156 L0NGINUS 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. 
 
 
 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, Mn. 1. xi. ver. 637. 
 
 Orsilochus Romuli, quando ipsum horrebat adire, 
 Hastam intorsit equo, ferrumque sub aure reliquit. 
 Quo sonipes ictu furit arduus, 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. Dr. Pearce. 
 
 * Xenophon de Cyri fnstitut. I. 7-
 
 L0NGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 157 
 
 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 Aratus,*!* 
 
 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 will 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 
 
 * Iliad, o. ver. 698. + Arati Phaenom. ver. 287. 
 
 1 Virgil supplies another instance of the efficacy of this 
 figure, in the iEn. 1. viii. ver. 689- 
 
 Una omnes mere, ac totum spumare reductis 
 Convolsum remis rostrisque tridentibus aequor. 
 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. I. 2. c. 29.
 
 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,* 
 
 2 You could not see, so tierce Tydides rag'd, 
 
 Whether for Greece or Iliou 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, t. 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, I 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 sucl-^ 
 den Transition, to speak for himself. This fi- 
 gure produces a vehement and lively Pathetic. 
 
 1 Now Hector, with loud voice, renew'd their toils, 
 Bade them assault the ships and leave the spoils ; 
 But whom I rind at distance from the fleet, 
 He from this vengeful arm his death shall meet.* 
 
 That part of the narration, which he could 
 
 1 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, (l That most of the modem 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 thtis, 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 2 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 your ruin, go seek a 
 retreat amongst another people." 
 
 3 Demosthenes has made use of this Figure 
 
 5 u Hecataeus."] He means Ilecataeus the Milesian, the 
 first of the historians, according to Suidas, who wrote in 
 prose. — Langbaine. 
 
 3 " 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 volubility, 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, 4 and attacks 
 
 same manner with Homer and Hecatseus. I would therefore 
 translate it thus — u Demosthenes hath also made use of this 
 figure, not truly in a different manner, but with much more 
 passion and volubility." 
 
 * Orat. prima in Aristog. p. 486. ed. Paris. 
 
 4 " 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,* 
 
 5 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 (iu 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 shalt 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. S. ver. 68 1 . 
 
 5 Iu 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, JEn. iii. ver. 708. 
 
 Hie pelagi tot tempestatibus actus, 
 
 Heu ! genitorem, omnis cur* casusque levamen, 
 Amitto Anchiseu ; hie me, pater optime, 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. 163 
 
 What ! must the faithful servants of my lord 
 Forego their tasks for them to crown the board ? 
 I scorn their love, and I detest their sight ; 
 And may they share their last of feasts to-night ! 
 Why thus, ungen'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 retuin'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. Pcarcc
 
 164 L0NC1NUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 This may be established beyond dispute from 
 a passage of Plato, in the beginning of his Fu- 
 neral Oration : " 1 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- 
 
 / 
 
 1 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. 165 
 
 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 public 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 yf " The goddess 
 afflicted those Scythians, who had sacrilegi- 
 ously pillaged her temple with 2 the female 
 disease." 
 
 * Xenophon. Cyropaed. lib. 1. 
 t Herod. 1. I.e. 105. 
 ° The beauty of this Periphrasis, which Longinus 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 
 d ulness. 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. 
 
 1 " Circumlocution is indeed," &c.] Shakespeare, in 
 King Richard 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 
 finely, 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. 167 
 
 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 lano-uage 
 of compositions are generally best explained 
 by the light they throw upon one another, 
 
 * Plato de. Legibus, 1. 5. p. 741. ed. Par.
 
 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 ^ 
 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 v 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. 169 
 
 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 1 
 
 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 swallow affronts, 
 in compliance with the exigencies of his 
 affairs/' 
 
 2 Vulgar terms are sometimes much more 
 
 1 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 tcrm3, than the following, 
 in the Essay on Man — 
 
 An honest man's the noblest work of God. 
 
 2 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 of 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- 
 
 1 would have thee gone ; 
 
 And yet no further than a wanton's bird. 
 That lets it hop a little 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 linage 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. He has touched it 
 with equal delicacy and grace : 
 
 Thus o'er the dying lamp, th' unsteady flame 
 Hangs quiv'ring to a point ; leaps off 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 strong 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, that he will almost touch upon rocks, yet 
 never receive any damage. This remark, in that part of it 
 which regards the Terms, 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- 
 mainder of his days in a desert: 
 
 . What ! 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. 1. 6. c. 75. 
 
 M 2
 
 1.72 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 ship 3 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 crowd of metaphors. " l Those 
 
 * Herod.l. 7. c. 181. 
 
 1 Demosthenes, in this instance, bursts not out upon the 
 traitorous creatures of Philip, with such bitterness and severity ; 
 strikes them not dumb, with such a continuation of vehement 
 and cutting Metaphors ; as St. Jude some profligate wretches 
 in his Epistle, vcr. 12, 13: —
 
 LONG1NUS 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 life, 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 
 
 (t 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 and 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 Theophrastus, that 
 bold Metaphors ought to be introduced with 
 some small alleviations ; such as, if it may be 
 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 2 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 
 
 2 This remark shews the penetration of the judgment of 
 Longinus, and proves the propriety of the strong Metaphors 
 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 Metaphors, 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-) When 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. 
 0.5.) When against wicked men, " whose end is destruction, 
 whose God is their belly, and whose glory is their shame." 
 (Phil. iii. ID.) See a chain of strong 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 with 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 -j- de- 
 scribed the same thing, in so unparalleled, 
 so Divine a manner. " 3 The head of man he 
 
 * A7rof.1rrif.10r. 1. 1. c. 45. ed. Oxon. 
 
 *f- Phito in Timaeo passim. 
 
 3 The Allegory or chain of Metaphors that occurs in Psalm 
 lxxx. 8, is no way inferior to this of Plato. The royal author 
 speaks thus of the people of Israel under the Metaphor of a 
 vine : 
 
 " Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt : thou 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. Pcarce.
 
 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, 8tc. 
 
 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 afford as 
 fine instances of the beauty and energy of this figure as can any 
 where be 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 I 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. I was a father to the poor." 
 
 There is another beautiful use of this Figure in the latter 
 part of the Goth 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 Metaphors ; but in Scripture they are always sup- 
 ported by a ground-work of masculine and nervous strength, 
 without which they are apt to swell into ridiculous Bombast.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 1?7 
 
 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 through- 
 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 party, 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. 
 Hence it comes to pass, that man} r 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 
 
 * Plato, 1. 6. 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 chastised 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 divinity, 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 4 Lysias, to declare him much pre- 
 ferable to Plato; biassed to it by two pas- 
 sions equally indiscreet. For though he 
 loved Lysias as well as his own self, vet he 
 hated 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- 
 
 4 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 prope perfection, 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 possibility 
 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 w 
 towering genius are by no means pure and 
 correct, since whatever is neat and accurate 
 throughout, must be exceeding^ 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 guilty 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, which 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, 
 2 1 judge them not to be voluntary faults, so 
 much as accidental slips incurred through in- 
 advertence; such as, when the mind is intent 
 
 1 " In passing our judgment," &.c] So Horace, Ep. I. 
 ii. Ep. i. 26<2. 
 
 Discit enim citiiis meminitque libentius illud, 
 Quod quis deridet, quam quod probat et veneratur. 
 
 2 " 1 judge them,"&c] So Horace, Ars Poet. 351. 
 
 — Ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis 
 Offendor maculis, quas aut incuria fudit, 
 Aut humana parum cavit natura.
 
 132 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, 3 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. 
 
 4 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 
 
 3 " Though they cannot every where boast," &c] So Mr. 
 Pope, in the spirit of Longinus : 
 
 Great wits sometimes may 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 
 The heart, and all its end at once attains. 
 
 Essay on Criticism. 
 
 4 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.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 183 
 
 to be Apollonius or Theocritus rather than 
 Homer ? Is the poet 5 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 6 Bacchylides than Pin- 
 dar, or 7 Io the Chian, than the great So- 
 phocles? Bacchylides and Io have written 
 smoothly, delicately, and correctly ; they have 
 
 3 Eratosthenes the Cyrenean, scholar of Callimachus the 
 poet. Among other pieces of poetry, he wrote the Erigone. 
 He was predecessor to Apollonius, in Ptolemy's library at 
 Alexandria. — Dr. Pearce. 
 
 6 Bacchylides, a Greek poet, famous for lyric verse ; born 
 at Iulis, 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 from 
 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 Louginus. 
 
 Dr. Pearce. 
 
 7 Io the Chian, a dithyrambic poet, who, besides Odes, is 
 said to have composed forty fables. He is called by Aristo- 
 phanes, The Eastern Star, because he died whilst he was 
 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 
 along with them through the violence of their 
 motion, that very fire is many times unsea- 
 sonably quenched, and then they drop most 
 un fortunately down. But yet no one, I am 
 certain, who has the least discernment, will 
 scruple to prefer the single 8 CEdipus of So- 
 phocles, before all that Io ever composed. 
 
 SECTION XXXIV. 
 
 If the beauties of writers are to be esti- 
 mated bv 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 the superiority toothers, 
 
 8 The CEdipus 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.
 
 LOXGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 185 
 
 but in 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 1 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 em pira- 
 tical air of vehemence, like Demosthenes. 
 His thoughts are always just and proper, 
 tempered with 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 
 
 1 " The graces — of Lysias."] For the clearer understanding 
 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 yXafvpov Xoyov ; and of this kind were 
 the graces of Lysias, who, in the judgment of Dionysius of 
 Halicarnassus, excelled in the polish ed style; and for this reason 
 Cicero calls him venustissimum 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 LONGINUS ON 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. 2 Had 
 he ever attempted an oration for a Phryne 
 
 2 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- 
 nogenes were very much esteemed, though his defence of the 
 former owed its success to a very remarkable incident, men- 
 tioned by Plutarch. (Life of the ten orators, in Hyperides.) 
 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 
 unavailing, 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. Theu 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
 
 388 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 or an Athenogenes, he would in such attempts 
 have only served as a foil to Hyperides. 
 
 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, adding 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 glittering 
 blaze of his lightning. For it is much easier 
 
 *©""""*& 
 
 them cry out in ra<*e and fury, " Let us arm, let us away, lefe 
 Ub maich against Philip."
 
 LOXGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 18f) 
 
 to behold, with steadfast and undazzled eyes, 
 the flashing; lightning, 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? — Amongst others, let this reason 
 be accepted. Nature never designed man to 
 be a grovelling 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 excelling, 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. 1 Nor do we reckon any thing 
 
 1 We have a noble description of the volcano of JEtna in 
 Virgil. iEn. 1. iii. v. 571. which will illustrate this passage in 
 Longinus : 
 
 Horrihcis juxta tonut iEtna minis, 
 
 Interdumque atram prorumpit ad aethera nubcin.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 191 
 
 in nature more wonderful than the boiling 
 furnaces of iEtna, which cast up stones, 
 and sometimes whole rocks, from their labour- 
 ing abyss, and pour out whole rivers of liquid 
 and unmingled 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 
 amazing: 
 
 Turbine finnan tem piceo et caudente favilla. 
 Attollitque globos flammarum, et sidera lambit : 
 Interdum scopulos, avolsaque viscera monlis 
 Erigit eructans, liquefactaque saxa sub auras 
 Cum geniitu glomerat, fundoque exaestuat imo. 
 
 The coast where iEtna 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 smolher'd fire, involv'd 
 
 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, ^ever 
 tails of its use and advantage, we must add 
 another consideration. — Those other inferior 
 beauties shew their authors to be men; but 
 the Sublime makes near approaches to the 
 height of God. (jWhat is correct and fault- 
 less, comes off barely without censure; bu^ 
 the grand and the lofty command admiration, 
 AY hat 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, 
 
 J " Never 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 
 intimates, that the sublime is the more to be admired, be- 
 cause, far from being useless or amusing; merely, it is of creat 
 service to its authors, as well as to the public. — Dr. Pcarre.
 
 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\ T , awarded the 
 laurels to these great masters, which nourish 
 still green and unfading; on their brows, and 
 will nourish, 
 
 As long as streams in silver mazes rove, 
 
 Or Spring with annual green, renews the grove. 
 
 Teuton. 
 
 A certain writer objects here, that an ill- 
 wrought 2 Colossus cannot be set upon the 
 level with a little faultless statue; for in- 
 stance, 3 the little 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 
 
 2 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. 
 
 3 The Doryphorus, a small statue by Polycletus, a cele- 
 brated statuary. The proportions were so finely observed in 
 it, that Lysippus professed he had learned all his ait from the 
 study and imitation of it.
 
 194 L0NGINUS 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 \/ 
 should join hands, and mutually assist one 
 another. For, from such union and alliance, 
 perfection must certainly result. 
 
 These are the decisions J have thought 
 proper to make concerning the questions in 
 debate. I pretend not to say they are abso- 
 lutely right; let those who are willing, make 
 use of their own judgment. 
 
 SECTION XXXVII 
 
 To return. Similes and Comparisons 
 bear so near an affinity to Metaphors, as to 
 
 1 The manner in which Similes or Comparisons differ from 
 Metaphors, we cannot know Iron! Longinus, because <>f 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 
 lovely."
 
 196' LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 in the soles of your feet, and tread upon 
 them/'* One consideration, therefore, must 
 always be attended to, " How far the thought' 
 can properly be carried." ^For overshooting 
 the mark often spoils an Hyperbole; and 
 whatever is overstretched loses its tone, and 
 immediately relaxes; nay, 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 design of his Panegyric 1 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 Orat. de Haloneso, ad 
 fineni. 
 
 1 " 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. Louginus, 
 Sect. iii. has censured Timaeus, for a frigid parallel between 
 the expedition of Alexander and Isocrates; yet Gabriel de 
 Petra.au editor of Louginus, 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 saj^s. 
 
 2 Those Hyperboles in short are the best 
 
 a 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 vehe- 
 mence, which in coolness and sedateness would be insupport- 
 able. So Cassius speaks invidiously of Ca?sar, in order to 
 raise the indignation of Brutus : 
 
 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 ? 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 Cymbellne. 
 
 Hyperboles literally are impossibilities, and therefore can 
 only then be seasonable or productive of Sublimity, when the 
 circumstances may be stretched beyond their proper size, that 
 they may appear without fail important and grout.
 
 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 
 flow 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 
 water 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 :-f " In this place they defended them- 
 selves with the weapons that were 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. C<25.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SI BLIME. 199 
 
 it possible, you will say, for men to defend 
 themselves with 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 H' r *oerbole 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. 3 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 4 a Lacedemonian let- 
 
 3 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 incredible, 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 with applause. 
 
 4 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 
 trifling. 5 
 
 for its sententious and expressive conciseness, which has been 
 often quoted to illustrate this passage. It is very well worth 
 observation. The direction is longer than the letter : — 
 
 The Lacedemonians to Philip. 
 a Dionysius is at Corinth." 
 
 At the time when this was written, Dionysius, who for his 
 tyranny had been driven out of Sicily, taught school at Corinth 
 for bread. So that it was a hint to Philip not to proceed, as 
 he had bcuin, to imitate his conduct, lest he should be reduced 
 to the same necessitous condition. 
 
 5 Shakespeare has made Richard III. speak a merry Diasyrm 
 upon himself: — 
 
 I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty, 
 To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
 I, that am curtatt'd of this fair proportion, 
 Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
 Deform'd, unfinished, sent before my time, 
 Into this breathing world ; scarce half made up, 
 And that, so lamely and unfashionablv, 
 That dogs bark at me as I halt by them.
 
 LONGINUS ON - THE SUBLIME. 201 
 
 PART V. 
 
 SECTION XXXIX. 
 
 We have now, my friend, brought down 
 our inquiries to 1 the fifth and last source of 
 
 1 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 Halicarnassus 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 their 
 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, 8cc. 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. 203 
 
 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. 2 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, 
 av\og and KiOaprj ; 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 nfjfirte Compo sition; the effect of 3 that 
 harmony, which nature has implanted in the 
 ^ 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, by 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 
 
 5 Tanta oblectatio est in ipsa facilitate dicendi, ut nihil lio- 
 minum aut auribus ant mentibus jncimdius peicipi possit. Quis 
 enim cantns nioderata orationis pronunciatione dulcior inveniri 
 potest ? quod carmen artiticiosa 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;* Tovto to 
 
 tyVj<plO~U.OC TCV TOTS TV TToXst T&tpiCTTiXVTCC KIVOVVOV TtTCCp" 
 
 sxQeiv £7Totv}arEv, uo-Treg vs<pog. " 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 conducing to Sublimity. And 
 hence are they admitted into heroic verse, 
 universally allowed to be the most noble of 
 all. But for further satisfaction, only trans- 
 pose a word or two, just as you please; Tovto 
 
 TO ty1jpi(T{A0i 9 C0CT7TSP VS$0g, £7T0iy]<T£ TOV TOTS. KIVOVVOV 
 
 -z?u(>ex8etv' or take away a syllable, eiroirjo-e -w^- 
 txOeiv ug veQog, and you will quickly discern 
 how much Harmony conspires with Sublimity. 
 In u<r7reg vstpog, the first word moves along in a 
 stately measure of four times, and when one 
 syllable is taken away, as ug vs$og, the sub- 
 traction maims the Sublimity. So, on the 
 other side, if you lengthen it, ts-ccosxQuv Biroivicrev, 
 
 * Oral, de Coionn. p. 1 14, ed. Oxon,
 
 206 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 ua-fre^et ve<pog, the sense indeed is still preserved, 
 but the cadence is entirely 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, 1 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 notuY exactness of peculiar parts; 
 'Tis not a lip or cheek we beauty call, 
 But the joint force and full result of all. 
 
 "Essay on Criticism.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 207 
 
 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 2 Philistus, as also Ari- 
 stophanes, in some passages, and Euripides 
 in very many. Thus Hercules, after the 
 murder of his children, cries* 
 
 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 
 
 2 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. 
 
 * Euripid. Hercules furens, ver. 1250, ed. Barnes,
 
 208 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 period an exalted air. And if you transpose 
 them into any other order, } t ou will quickly 
 be convinced, that Euripides excels more in 
 fine composition than in fine sentiments. So 
 in his description of 3 Dirce dragged along 
 by the bull, — 
 
 3 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 Tauiisius, in the palace of 
 Farnese at Rome, of which Baptista cle Cavalleriis has given 
 us a print in 1. iii. p. 3. antiq. statuarum urbis Roma. 
 
 There is a much greater Imasre than this in the Paradise 
 Lost, 13. 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 all 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 slow pronunciation, shews the diffi- 
 culty of making advancements in such unfathomable points : 
 
 Others 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.
 
 L0NGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 209 
 
 Whene'er the madd'ning creature rag'd about 
 And vyhirl'd his bulk around in awkward circles, 
 The dame, the oak, the rock, were dragg'd along. 
 
 The thought 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 solid and sub- 
 stantial grandeur. 
 
 SECTION XLI. 
 
 Nothing so much debases Sublimity as *. 
 broken and precipitate measures, such as 
 1 Pyrrhics, Trochees, and Dichorees, that are 
 fit for nothing but dances. (Periods 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 
 songs, the notes divert the mind from the ~ 
 sense, and make us attentive only to the 
 
 1 A Pyrrhic is a foot of two short syllables ; a Trochee of 
 one long and one short ; and a Dichbree 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 XL11. 
 
 ~> Contraction of Style is another great di- 
 minution of Sublimity. w 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 are 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 ble-^ 
 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. 1. 7- c. 191. 
 
 1 " To seeth."] I have chosen this word rather than boil, 
 which is not a blemished term in our language : and besides, 
 seeth resembles more the Greek word feaaatic 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.
 
 21'2 LONG IN US ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 s 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 was there in all 
 Asia, which did not compliment the king 
 with 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 
 
 2 Theopompus was a Chian and a scholar of Isocrates. 
 His genius was too hot and impetuous, which was the occa- 
 sion of a remark of his master Isocrates, that " Ephorus always 
 wanted a spur, but Theopompus a curb."
 
 LOXGINUS ON 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 all 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/' He 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 besides, 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 with 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 summary 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 human 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. Atto^j'^oi'. 1. 2. p. 45. edit. Oxon.
 
 LOXGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 215 
 
 preserve the beauty of the animal entire and 
 unblemished. 3 ) 
 
 To pursue this topic further, by 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. 
 
 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 well practised in the arts of 
 eloquence and persuasion, that can discourse 
 with dexterity and strength, and embellish 
 
 3 Quae partes autem corporis, ad naturae necessitatem data;, 
 adspectum essent deformetn habiturae ac turpem, eas contexit 
 atque abdidit. Cicero cle Offic. p.6l, 6'2. Edit.Cockman.
 
 216 LONGIXUS OX THE SUBLIME. 
 
 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 
 throughout 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) x we were 
 
 1 " We were born in subjection," &.C.] The words in the 
 original iraidopadeie ftwXftae Sucaiag are differently interpreted 
 by persons of gieat learning and sagacity. Madame Dacier 
 has taken occasion to mention them in her notes upon Te- 
 rence. Her words are these : " In the last chapter of Longi-
 
 T.ONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 217 
 
 born iii subjection, in lawful subjection, it is 
 true, to arbitrary government. Hence, the 
 
 nus, TraicofxaOeiQ covXtiag cwaiag, signifies not, we are from our 
 infancy used to a lawful government, but to an easy govern- 
 ment, chargeable with neither tyranny nor violence." Dr. 
 Pearce is of a quite contrary opinion. u The word cikcuu (says 
 he) does not signify mild or easy, as some think, but just and 
 lawful vassalage, when kings and rulers are possessed of a full 
 power and authority over their subjects : and we find Isocrates 
 uses apx>j cikcuu (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 outlived the Roman liberty, but wit 
 and genius could not long survive it. What a high value 
 
 P
 
 218 LONGINUS OX THE SUBLIME. 
 
 i 
 
 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 liberty, 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 effectually 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 halt" 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. 322.
 
 I.ONGINUS 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 public 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 v 
 the war within us, and the sad effects of our 
 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 life itself, 
 as well as all that live, in the depths of misery. 
 For love of money is the disease which ren- u 
 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 
 
 p 2
 
 220 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 
 
 judge it impossible for the pursuers, or, to 
 speak more truly, the adorers and worship- 
 pers of immense riches, to preserve their souls 
 from the infection of those vices which are 
 firmly 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 quickly 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. When once such corruption in- 
 fects an age, it gradually spreads and becomes
 
 LONG IN US 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 the 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 l 
 yoke of government, rather than continue
 
 22 2 L () \ G I N U S ON T 11 E s U B Lt m J. . 
 
 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, an insensibility, to what- 
 ever is truly great has been the 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 
 acquisitions, which take their rise from noble 
 emulation, and end in real advantage and 
 substantial glory/' 
 
 Here perhaps it may be proper to drop 
 this subject, and pursue our business. 2 We 
 
 * " We come now to the Passions," &c] The learned 
 world ought certainly to be condoled with, on the gnat loss 
 they have sustained in Longinus's Treatise on the Passions. 
 The excellence of this on the Sublime, makes us regret the 
 more the loss of the other, and inspires us with deep resent- 
 ments of the irreparable depredations committed on learning 
 and the valuable productions of antiquity, by Goths, and 
 monks, and time. There, in all probability, we 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, 
 
 j.
 
 LONGINUS ON THE SUBLIME. 223 
 
 come now to the Passions, an 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 great share in the 
 Sublime. 
 
 or melt them into tears. There we should 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 wreck, and 
 gained a port, though not undamaged. Great indeed are the 
 commendations which thejudicious bestow upon it, but not in 
 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 — 
 < c 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 — 
 
 Aliquid jamdudum invadere magnum 
 
 Mens agitat mihi, nee placida contenta quiete est." 
 
 ■ 
 
 FINIS.
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS 
 
 MENTIONED BY LONGINUS. 
 
 /EsCHYLUS 
 
 Ammonias 
 
 Amphicrates 
 
 Anacreon 
 
 Apollonius 
 Aratus • 
 Archilochus 
 
 . 121, 123 
 
 • • • 112 
 
 • • 53, 59 
 
 • ♦ • 169 
 
 . 182,183 
 
 . 100, 157 
 
 102, 112, 183 
 
 Arimaspians, Author of the 
 
 Poem on the • 97 
 
 Aristophanes • • • 207 
 
 Aristotle ♦ • • • 174 
 
 Bacehylides 
 
 183 
 
 Cecilius 44, 45, 57, 67, 70, 
 
 169, 179 
 
 Callisthenes ♦ 
 
 • • • 53 
 
 Cicero • 
 
 • 107, 108 
 
 Clitarchus 
 
 • • • 53 
 
 Demosthenes, 50, 102, 107, 
 
 ]()8, 114,129,131,134,137, 
 
 141,148,160,172,184,185, 
 
 186, 188, 192, 205 
 
 Eratosthenes • • • 183 
 Eupolis • • • 130. 131 
 Euripides 119, 123, 207, 208 
 
 Gorgias the Leontine • 52 
 
 Hecatfeus • • • • 160 
 
 Hegesias 53 
 
 Herodotus, 6 J, 112, 147, 157, 
 
 165, 171.198, 211 
 
 Hesiod .... 75, 1 14 
 
 Homer, 60, 74, 75, 78, 81, 86, 
 
 87, 89, 98, 112, 113, 114, 
 
 140, 162, 181, 192, 218 
 
 Hyperides, 126, 184, 185, 186, 
 
 188 
 
 Io the Chian 
 Isoerates • 
 
 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 
 Theodorus 56 
 
 Theophrastus 74 
 
 Theopompus • • 169,212 
 Thucydides, 1 14,148,156, 198 
 Timoeus .... 57, 58 
 
 Xenophon, 58, 59, 60, 66, 1 39, 
 156, 165, 175,214 
 
 Zoilus 
 
 90 
 
 Printed by J. F. Dove, St. John's Square,
 
 PIIyEDO.
 
 *+■*■+•+■*-+ ■*++■*■+■*■*■**-■+*+ *•*■+*■+■ 
 
 HUGHES, PRINTER, MAIDEN-LANE, COVENT-GARDEN.
 
 PH^D O: 
 
 DIALOGUE 
 
 OV 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Cran^Iateo from t§e (tecfe of plato, 
 
 •*~*******-***^-* 
 
 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. 375, 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR JAMES BLACK, 
 
 YORK-STREET, COrEXT-GARDEX . 
 
 1813.

 
 THE SPEAKERS. 
 
 ECHECRATES. 
 PH^EDO. 
 
 Persons introduced in the Dialogue. 
 
 APOLLODORUS. 
 
 SOCRATES. 
 
 CEBES. 
 
 SIMMIAS. 
 
 CRITO. 
 
 Officer of the Eleven Magistrates.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 ** -!A -i'- ■!.'- i'- «V- <!- -it- -s/- «¥r *V- ^r^r^^-iE--^-^^- 
 
 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 
 publication. 
 
 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 dedication ; 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 illustrative 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 humility 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.
 
 Vlll 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 bv 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 flie senate, it was urged, that 
 they had suffered 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 resolution 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 Chads, 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 envy 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.
 
 Xll 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 the severity 
 of the satire,—" Not at all," said he : "I fancy myself at a feast, 
 where all my friends enjoy me."
 
 INTRODUCTION. Xlll 
 
 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 liim 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- 
 
 t 
 
 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 with 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. XV11 
 
 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 with a 
 refutation of the objections alleged against them, con- 
 stitute the subject of the following dialogue.
 
 The small figures in the text refer to their respective 
 numbers in the Notes at the end.
 
 PH^DO, 
 
 Sfc. Sfc. 
 
 1. Echecrates. Were you, Phaedo, 1 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. 2 
 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 
 
 b
 
 2 PH.EDO. 
 
 have hitherto been unable to acquire any 
 further information. 
 
 Phced. 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 ? 
 
 Phced. Entirely to accident; for, on the 
 day preceding that on which he was 
 arraigned, the stern of the vessel, which 
 the Athenians send annually to Delos, was 
 solemnly crowned for the voyage. 
 
 Echec. On what occasion was this cere- 
 mony instituted? 
 
 Phced. According to an Athenian tradition, 
 this is the same vessel in which Theseus 3 
 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 
 Apollodorus, with whom you are well ac- 
 quainted, distinguished himself above the 
 rest.
 
 6 PtLEDO. 
 
 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? 
 
 Pitted. Apollodorus, 1 Critobulus, and his 
 father Crito, Hermogenes, Epigenes,iEschines, 
 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 2 and Cleom- 
 brotus there? 
 
 Phced. No: they were supposed to have 
 been otherwise engaged at vEgina. 3 
 
 Echec. Are these all who attended him ? 
 
 Phced. I believe I have nearly mentioned 
 the whole party.
 
 PHiEDO. 7 
 
 3. Echec. Now then acquaint me with the 
 purport of his discourse. 
 
 Phcsd. 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 1 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 iEsop 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 PHjEDO. 
 
 many of my acquaintance, and by Evenus 1 
 very lately, with respect to your version of 
 iEsop'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, poua-Mv, 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 of music. , 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, whose 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.
 
 PH^EDO. 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 
 feet 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. 1 
 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-
 
 U 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 ?" 2 
 
 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 prohibit 
 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. 15 
 
 " 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 mv 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 with 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 shewn 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 he 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 with 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- 
 cendent 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
 
 PH^DO. 21 
 
 to die. 1 Surely, then, it would be grossly in- 
 consistent in those who have directed their 
 views to such an object, were 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, ronld they 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 PH7EDO. 
 
 " Does it produce a separation of, the soui 
 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 2 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
 
 PHiEDO. 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 1 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 PHtEDO. 
 
 " 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 
 under the soul's contemplation? Shall we 
 call justice a reality?" " Most certainly." 
 " Are goodness and beauty to be considered 
 as real essences?" " Undoubtedly." " Could
 
 PHMDO. 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
 
 26 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, 1 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 

 
 PHiEDO. 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.
 
 2S PHiEDO. 
 
 Then, pure and undenled, 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
 
 PHiEDO. 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 
 be 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. 
 
 1 ;3. " 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
 
 PHyEDO. 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 thev are 
 usually practised, will sufficiently discover 
 how vain 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 PILEDO. 
 
 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
 
 PH^DO. 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 PHiEDO. 
 
 skilled ia 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. 1 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 mMDO. 
 
 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, 1 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, 1 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
 
 PrLEDO. 37 
 
 of light and life. If we acknowledge this 
 doctrine as truth, is it not a necessary con- 
 sequence that the sonl 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 must 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 PH.EDO. 
 
 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 
 velocitv derived from what at first was slow? 
 Again; when any subject becomes deterio- 
 rated, is it not by falling oft' 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 PHJEDO. 
 
 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 
 living 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
 
 PH^DO. 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
 
 42 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 1 
 become a senseless fiction: or should every 
 thing be so blended in confusion as to defy 
 the possibility of separation, Anaxagoras's 2 
 doctrine must necessarily be realized, and all
 
 PH^DO. 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 PUJEDO. 
 
 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(t'.e. animus) primum mcmoriam, et cam infinitam, 
 reruru innumerabilium. Quara quidem Plato recordationem 
 esse vult superioris vitse. Nam in illo libro, qui inscribitur 
 Mcnon, pusionem quendam Socrates intcrrogat geometrioa de 
 dimcnsione quadrati. Ad ea sic respondct, ut puer: et tamcn 
 ita faciles interrogationes sunt, ut gradatim respoudens eodem 
 perveniat, quo si geometrica didicisset. Ex quo effici vult 
 Socrates ut discere nibil aliud sit nisi recordari." 
 
 Vid. Tisc. Disp. lib. i. cap. 24.
 
 PH^EDO. 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 1 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 lyre is accompanied by a knowledge of 
 its owner ; and this is the effect of recollec- 
 tion. Thus it happens, that, on seeing 
 Simmias, 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?
 
 PHJEDO. 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 with 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?" " Bv 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 PH^EDO. 
 
 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 PHMDO. 
 
 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 affinity 
 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
 
 PHiEDO. 53 
 
 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 compliment conveyed 
 by this expression, will scarcely escape the reader's observation.
 
 54 VHMDO. 
 
 received then in some pre-existent staler 1 ' 
 " 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
 
 PH.EDO. 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 would 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
 
 PHjEDO. 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
 
 PH.EDO. 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 PHJEDO. 
 
 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-
 
 PIIJEDO. 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, 
 'clivested 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. 65 
 
 endowed with authority, and that it is the 
 province of the 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 PH^DO. 
 
 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 
 uncorrupted 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
 
 G6 PH^DO. 
 
 longer a prey to the terrors and anxieties 
 which disquieted it on earth, 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, — 
 bevond those substances which 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 with 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 wanders 
 round the tombs and sepulchres.* There too 
 are seen the airy phantoms ? of those spirits 
 who were dismissed the body while 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 1 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 FHMDQ. 
 
 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 will 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 destinv, 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
 
 PH^DO. 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 PHLEDO. 
 
 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 ungo verned 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 own 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
 
 PHMDO. 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
 
 PHMDO. 13 
 
 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
 
 FUJEBO. 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 Pythagorica est, atque allegorica. Pytha- 
 gorica quidem, ubi dicit, cygni animam siipervivere: allegorice 
 vero intelligitur, cygnum in numcro solarium animalimn con- 
 tineri : et Socratem Solarem esse ; turn quia Phoebi oracuJo ap- 
 probates est, turn quia mentibus bominum raedebatur. Adde 
 vaticinium esse quadruplex, divinum, daemoniacum, bumanum, 
 naturale: idque ultimum in bestiis fieri quodam instinctu 
 naturae. Itellige etiam cygnos innocentes sine pbilosophia 
 homines : qui, quum mortem saepe minime timeant, significant, 
 philosopbos absolutos timere earn nullo modo debere. — Ficinus. 
 See also Tusc. i. 30.
 
 76 PHMDO. 
 
 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."
 
 mJEDO. 77 
 
 " Thus authorized," said Simmias, " 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 1 
 through the storms and tempests of this life; 
 unless some holy oracle 2 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 
 direct them?"' "What has been advanced/" 
 replied Simmias, " relative to the soul, will 
 apply with equal force to the strings and 
 harmony 1 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.
 
 PH/EDO. 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; and 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, tin 
 soul is really a harmony, it is evident that.
 
 80 PH.EDO. 
 
 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, Simmias, 
 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
 
 PH^DO. 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 Cebes,' " 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 denv its immortality? Since 
 you have ocular conviction, that when a 
 
 G
 
 82 PHJEDO. 
 
 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 death 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 sufficiently 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, 
 who 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 PH EDO. 
 
 that the sours 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 ichat 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
 
 PHiEDO. 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, Phsedo, 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 replied 
 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, 1 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 Iolaus." 2 I do apply to 
 you, said I: not indeed as Hercules would 
 summon Iolaus, but as Iolaus 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
 
 PHiEDO. 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 PHiEDO. 
 
 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
 
 mrnoo. 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, 1 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 PH^EDO. 
 
 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, 1 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, 
 " preserve my sentiments on this point
 
 PHiEDO. 95 
 
 unchanged; and should indeed 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 tji* whole, and is necessarily the first
 
 96 PHtEDO. 
 
 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
 
 PRJEDO. 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 soul 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 PHiEDO. 
 
 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
 
 PH7ED0. 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? 1 ' " 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 PH^EDO. 
 
 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- 
 monv, 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 PILEDO. 
 
 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 : * 
 
 *£,TT)dog e5f 7r\»/£jae, tcpadlijv qPliraire fivdo), 
 TtrXadi St) KpaSii) kui Kvvrspov ctWo ttot trXfjg. 
 
 Poor suffering heart! he cried, support the pain 
 Of wounded honour, and thy rage restrain. 
 
 Pope,
 
 PH.EDO. 103 
 
 " Do you imagine the poet wrote 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 1 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 PHiEDO. 
 
 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: 2 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, 3 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-
 
 PILEDO. 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, 
 enlivened 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^EDO. 
 
 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. 10? 
 
 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
 
 10S 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 two 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
 
 PH^DO. 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 which 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 principle, he would hav^ 
 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 actions, 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
 
 JU PHzEDO. 
 
 bones 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; 1 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, 2 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^EDO. 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 PHiEDO. 
 
 with it I rejected as false., But I will 
 explain this more particularly, as I fear the 
 present statement is not sufficiently intelli- 
 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 of beauty eternally existing in the Divine mind.
 
 120 PH^EDO. 
 
 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
 
 PH7EDO. 121 
 
 object, constituted the greatness of the 
 larger ; which is an evident absurdity. Should 
 you not fear some objections of this kind?" 
 Cebes, smiling, 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 two, 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 PIIiEDO. 
 
 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 vou 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 PHJEDO. 
 
 magnitude and smallness reside in the same 
 object? But you allow," continued Socrates, 
 " that the declaration which states Simmias 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 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 both 
 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 PH.EDO. 
 
 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
 
 FUMDO. 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 different 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 PH/EDO. 
 
 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. 129 
 
 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 number; 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
 
 ISO 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."
 
 PH/EDO. 131 
 
 " 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 unable 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 
 towards ivhich 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 1 have just enforced. Thus, if 
 you were to ask me what that element was
 
 PHiEDO. 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/EDO. 
 
 receive what is thus opposite to the properly 
 which it universally conveys" " 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, therefore, 
 is immortal?" " 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. J 35 
 
 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 PH^EDO. 
 
 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
 
 PH^DO. 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
 
 138 PH.EDO. 
 
 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
 
 PHiEDO. 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: 1 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
 
 HO 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
 
 PPLEDO. 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 with the imme- 
 diate subject of inquiry. They contain a fanciful description 
 of what is termed a pure earth, and an account of the 
 invisible regions, drawn possibly from some Egyptian 
 tradition,
 
 142 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, 
 1 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."
 
 PHiEDO. 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? 5 ' " 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 I 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 PUMDO. 
 
 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
 
 PHyEDO. 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
 
 U6 PH^EDO. 
 
 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
 
 PH^DO. 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, lie 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 PII/EDO. 
 
 sensual gratifications. 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, who 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 
 observetl 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 VHJEDO. 
 
 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
 
 PHvEDO. 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 1 to iEsculapius : neglect
 
 152 PHiEDO. 
 
 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/EDO, 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 Socralrs, 
 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 prohahly an inhabitant, 
 was a town in the province of Sicyonia, not far distant from 
 the isthmus of Corinth. 
 
 3. Androgeus, son of Minos II., king of Crete, having been 
 assassinated by ^Egeus, 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 effected 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 labyrinth. 
 
 Section 2 — Page G. 
 
 1. Xenophon 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 this remarkable inscription : The good are not 
 made such by learning. — Laert. 
 
 Hcrmogenes, Epigenes, and Ctesippus are classed by Laertius
 
 NOTES. 157 
 
 among the children of Crito. This statement, however, appears 
 very questionable. Xenophon (in Apol. Soc.) mentions the son 
 of a certain Hipponicus by the name of Hermogenes; and 
 Plato himself, in another dialogue, calls Epigenes the son of 
 Antipho, itl ($' 'Avrt<j)(vy 6 Ki)(j)Kjttvg ttroaij 'EvnytVac 
 iraTtjp ' Apol. 22. — Socrates, in the place referred 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 his 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 Ambraciotain Cleombrotum est: quern ait, cum
 
 158 NOTES. 
 
 nihil ei accidisset adversi, e muro se in mare abjecissc, lecto 
 Platonis libro. — Tusc. Quest, i. 34. 
 The Epigram is as follows : 
 
 E'tTrac 'H\tf x ai P £ K\£o/i/3()oroc w y</3paiawr»7£, 
 
 "H\ar d<f v\pt]X5 rcl\_£og slg uictjv, 
 "Aijtov ultv U(ov QavciTH xaxov, aWa YYkanovog 
 
 w Ej/ rt> 7Tfpl tyuyriS ypa/i/i' uvaXi^dixtvog. 
 
 3. The allusion to the absence of Aristippus 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 ^Egina :" 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 
 bad not returned from his Asiatic expedition. 
 
 Section 3 — Page 8. 
 1. Ot tv^BKa, Hie Eleven, were magistrates, whose office 
 very much resembled that of our sheriffs. 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. 
 Tpa^ifxareiiQ. 
 
 Section 4 — Page 10. 
 1. Evenus was an elegiac poet, of Paros. 
 
 * 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- 
 tum jam illis antiquis temporibus non studii modo,verum etiam 
 Venerationis habuisse, ut iidem musici, et vates, et sapientes 
 judicarentur? mittam alios: Orpheus et Linus, quorum utrum- 
 que diis genitum, alterum vcro, quod rudes quoque et agrestes
 
 J 60 NOTES. 
 
 animos admiratione mulceret, non feras modo, sed saxa etiam 
 slyvasquc duxisse, posteritatis memoriae traditum est. Et 
 Timagenes auctor est, omnium in Uteris studiorum antiquissi- 
 mam musicen extitisse : et testimonio sunt clarissimi poetae, 
 apud quos inter regalia convivia laudes heroum ac deorum 
 ad citharam canebantur. Iopas vero ille Virgilii, nonne canit, 
 
 Errant em lunam, solisque labores? 
 
 Quibus certe palam confirmat auctor eminentissimus, musicen 
 cum divinarum etiam rerum cognitione esse conjunctam. — 
 Quinctilian: Instit. Orat. i. 10. 
 
 The following passage is from Aristophanes' comedy of The 
 Knights. 
 
 AX. aXX'j at 'ya&y ovde fJLOvotK>}v tTrl^ajiiuij 
 
 ■jr\r)i> ypct/Li/.iaT(iJi' ) Kai ravra /utvrot cacci KaniHg. 
 
 inn. 188. 
 
 Which the Scholiast thus explains : 
 
 oii(le /,iovcriKt}y t7rha/.iat. On LiHcriKtjv ri\v Eyci/Xjor 
 iruicuav (j>t](rl. YpufAfiara os ret 7rpu)Ta foi^tta. At! 
 ct r«e li£p\ofxivHc cat ypu/nuurwv TrailtvtaBai^ ?j yap 
 irailua r«c utotthq iKTptTTU Xoytofiiq. 
 
 Vide Terent. Phorm. Prol. 18. and Heautont. Prol. 23.— See 
 also Cicero, Orat. iii. 44. 
 
 By dtjfuidtis [.luartKt} 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, commentatio 
 mortis est : — Secernere autem a corpore animum, nee 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 their 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, awicolrfroc. ; a circumstance to which 
 Aristophanes has alluded in the comedy of The Clouds. 
 
 tovq aKa'Covac^ 
 tovq w^ptwvrac, tovq avvirocriTovQ XtyetQy 
 ihv 6 KaKvcaifxwv 2wicpcm/c icai Xatp£</>wj'.— vt<j). 103. 
 
 VI
 
 162 NOTES. 
 
 Section 10— Page 23. 
 1. The poets alluded to are Parmenides, Empedocles, and 
 Epich annus ; the last mentioned of whom has these expres- 
 sions, N«e boa Kcti vove ctKusi rci ce ciWa irc'twa Kuxftu 
 Kai Tvc)\a. 
 
 Section 13 — Page 34. 
 
 1. Etov yap o/, quail' oi irtpi rag rfXfrac, vapBrjicotyopoi 
 /Liev TroWoi] ficiK^ot Si ra Travpot. 
 
 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. 
 
 YloWoi -oi vap9>)KO<{>6pot Travpot ci re fidic-^oi. 
 
 The vapdi]K0(j)6poi were those in the procession who carried 
 wands ; ftctK^ot, the priests or ministers of Bacchus. Clemens 
 of Alexandria cites this passage as parallel to the expressions of 
 our Saviour, woWol tlai KXtjrot, 6\iyoi 6t ttcXeKroi. (Matt. xx. 
 16. xxii. 14.) The obvious meaning of Socrates is, that the 
 pretenders only to science are numerous: in other words, 
 that there are many sophists, but few philosophers. For a par- 
 ticular account of the Eleusiuian ceremonies, the reader is 
 referred 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. 163 
 
 resting information on this subject in a work published some 
 years since, entitled, " The Enthusiasm of Methodists and 
 Papists, compared. 
 
 Section 14 — Paye 36*. 
 
 1. H^* H KUf-lUtC^OTrOlOQ ill]. 
 
 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: roictvra yap iwpu-e kcu avroi iv rr\ 
 
 'Apt-OCJHXVHQ KlO/UG)Ct'(£, 1u)KpUT)]V TIVU EJC£C TTfpKJiepOjUei'Oy, 
 
 fuo-Kovrd re uepoj3are~tV} teal aXKrjv 7ro\X)}v (fkvapiav 
 <p\vapovvTa . — Apol. 3. 
 
 The expression here particularized, is in the comedy of The. 
 Clouds* v. 225. 
 
 fifpo/Barw, kcii Trepifyporui rbv tfXiov. 
 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 16 — Page 36. 
 
 1. n«\«/oc fJLtv ovv K, -. X. 
 
 " But now to declare our sense freely concerning this 
 philosophy of the ancients, which seems to be so prodigiously 
 paradoxical, in respect to that pre-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 ingenerability 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 irrefragable likewise for post-existence and transmigration 
 of souls, as it is for their pre-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 tlie body, and no sub- 
 stance, according to the ordinary course of nature, coming out 
 of nothing, they 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 only of the consequent results, 
 and permitting nature to do all alone, without the least interpo- 
 sition of His at any lime, 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 into nothing, as the suhstance 
 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 v/u,oto/u.spu, parts infinite, 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 Auaxagorae scrutemur OMOIOMEPEIAN, 
 Quam Graii meinorant, nee nostra dicere lingua 
 Concedit nobis patrii sermonis egestas. 
 Sed tamen ipsam rem facile est exponere verbis, 
 Principium rerum quam (licit OMOIOMEPEIAN. 
 Ossa videlicet e pauxillis atque minutis 
 Ossibus; sic et de pauxillis atque minutis 
 Visceribus viscus gigni ; sauguenque creari 
 Sanguinis inter se multis coeuntibus guftis:
 
 NOTES. 167 
 
 Ex auriquc putat micis consistere posse 
 Aurum ; et de terris terram concrescere pan is: 
 Ignibus ex ignem ; humorem ex humoribus esse. 
 Caetera consimili fingit ratioiie, putatque. 
 
 Nee tamen esse ulla parte Idem in rebus inane 
 Concedit, neque corporibus finem esse secandis. 
 
 Section 18— 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 first introduction into Greece 
 is veiled in uncertainty ; but the practice was sanctioned by 
 the public allowance and encouragement of the laws: for it was 
 conceived that there could be no means more effectual to 
 excite their youth to noble enterprises, nor any greater security 
 to the commonwealth, than the influence of so generous a 
 passion. This, according to Athenajus, was frequently expe- 
 rienced by those who attempted to invade their liberties ; 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 the advancement of 
 their honour and independence, seem to have been unanimous 
 in establishing laws to support and reward it. Let us take a 
 view of some few of them,* 
 
 * The following statement is chiefly taken from the Archalogia 
 Graeca.
 
 16S NOTES. 
 
 '■' First, we shall find it to have been so generally practised, 
 and so highly esteemed in Crete, that such of their well-born 
 and beautiful 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 with 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 xXeiToi, 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, with 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 the ox to Jupiter, made an 
 entertainment for those 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 
 hirn the most ample redress. 
 
 " It is affirmed by Maximus 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, which 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 fust 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 the 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 the 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 
 accomplished in the world ; for the end of this love was, that the 
 young men might be improved in all virtuous and commendable 
 qualities, by conversing with men of probity and experience : 
 whence the lover and the beloved shared the honour and 
 disgrace of each other ; the lover especially was blamed, if 
 the boy offended, and suffered what punishment was due 
 to his fault. Plutarch lias a story of a Spartan fined by the 
 magistrates, because the youth whom he loved cried out 
 effeminately whilst he was fighting. The same attachment 
 continued when the boy was come to man's estate; he still 
 preserved his former intimacy with his 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 
 legislator 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 sufficient 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 icpcl (j)d\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 
 Clueronea; after which, king Philip, taking a view of the 
 slain, and coining to the place where these 300, who had
 
 172 NOTES. 
 
 fought his 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: 
 
 T H TTOTTOly >} pd TIQ t^l KCtl tlv 0.1(30.0 hofXOMTl 
 
 ^v^) ical EIAflAON, urcip fptveg ovk tvi irdfnrav. 
 
 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 : 
 
 Tbv ci fiBTy ei<TEv6t)tja fiitjv 'Hpa/cXqa'tyv, 
 EIAflAON. 
 
 The same distinction may be recognised in the following 
 passage from Lucretius, (lib. i. v. 121, Sec.:) 
 
 Esse Achcrusia templa 
 Ennius aeternis exponit versibus edens; 
 Quo neqne permanent animce, neque corpora nostra, 
 Sed quaedam simulacra modis pallentia miris. 
 
 And Virgil introduces Dido at the point of death, (^Eneid, iv. 
 654,) using a similar expression : 
 
 Et nunc magna mei sub terras ibit Imago.
 
 NOTES. 173 
 
 Section Si—Page 67. 
 1. " It is evident, that the same principle which led the an- 
 cients to hold the soul's immortality, or its future permanency 
 after death, must needs determine them likewise to maintain 
 its -rrpo'virapfyg, or pre-existence, and consequently its /.ursv- 
 tTUfiaTojaig, 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." 
 
 Cutbvorth'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 down further into irrational creatures : the angry 
 and malicious into serpents, the ravenous into wolves, &c. 
 
 * De animl inundi et aatura.
 
 174 NOTES. 
 
 It was probably on tbis ground that Pythagoras enjoined an 
 abstinence from flesh: for, in conformity to the doctrine of 
 transmigration, all 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 variety of instances ; 
 and by some drawn immediately from himself. He affirmed, 
 that he had formerly been JSthalides, the son of Mercury : after- 
 wards he came to be Euphorbus, and was slain by Menelaus 
 in the Trojan war. Then he was Herraotinus, 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 lyre, and was frequently heard to repeat them 
 as his own ^-rriKr^iov. 
 
 The melody of the numbers will justify the recalling them 
 to the reader's recollection. 
 
 \'lj.iari ol htvovTO KOfiai^ XapiTEvaiv 6/uolai, 
 TWo^juoi •&', o? °%QV(Tu> te KCtt dpyiipu> t<T(j>riK(t)vro. 
 Oiov %e Tpttytt tpvoq dvrjp IpiQifXlq i\airjQ 
 Xoipw tv ot07ro\w, off a\ic civafitfipv^EV vcup 
 KoXoj', TTjXldctOV, TO Si TE Trvoiai Soviovtrc 
 YiavToiwv civifxtoV) Kai te fipvEi avde'i \evkg> ' 
 'EA0w»' c' s£airlvT]Q dvEfxoq^ ovv XalXani 7roXXrj 
 Bo0p« t it,izpEib£ Kai it,ETcivv(T<T E7ri yaif} ' 
 Tojov YlcivQa v'iov ivfifiEKitjv Ei/^>op/3ov 
 
 , A.TpElll)r MfVi'/XaOCj 17TLI KTCIVE) TEV^S tavXct. 
 
 II. xvii. 51, Sec.
 
 NOTES. 175 
 
 The shining circles of his golden hair, 
 Which ev'n the 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 : 
 Thus young, thus beautiful, Euphorbus lay, 
 While the fierce Spartan tore his arms away. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 " Porphyry and Iamblichus 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 
 transmigrated to him from this hero. However it was, this 
 conceit of Pythagoras is famous in antiquity, and has given 
 occasion to a dialogue in Lucian, entitled The Cock, which is, 
 I think, the finest piece of that author." — Ibid. 
 
 Section 35 — Page 77. 
 
 1. wanep ini <r^£&'ac. 
 
 Cicero c^opts the same illustration. Itaque dubitans, cir-
 
 176 NOTES. 
 
 cumspcctans, haesitans, multa adversa revertens, tanquam ratis 
 in mari immenso, nostra vehitur oratio. — Tusc. Disp. i. 30. 
 
 2. The expressions which follow, in the original, are remark- 
 able : ft l*-1] TIQ EvvaiTO U(T(pa\i^£pOV KClt UKlvlvVOTfOOV) 4717 
 
 fitfiaio-tpu d^/xarog rj AOIDY 0EIOY rn'oe ^ia7ropiv8>ji'at. 
 The words Xoya ddov Ttvde. were possibly used as indicative 
 of the 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 animi certa non esse in parte locatum ; 
 Verum habitum quondam vitalem corporis esse, 
 Harmoniam Graii quam dicunt; quod faciat nos 
 Vivcre cum sensu, nulla cum in parte siet Mens : 
 Ut bona sa?pe valetudo cum dicitur esse 
 Corporis, ct non est tamen haec pars ulla valentis ; 
 Sic animi sensum non certa parte reponunt. 
 
 Lib. iii. v. 98, &c.
 
 NOTES. 177 
 
 Section 38— Page 88. 
 
 1. When Croesus was besieged by Cyrus, at Sardis, he sent for 
 assistance to the Lacedemonians, who were then at war with 
 the Argians for the country of Thyrea, which the Spartans had 
 unjustly seized. The Argians advanced to recover their ter- 
 ritory, but the contending powers came to an agreement that 
 three hundred men, chosen from each side, should dispute the 
 possession, and the country be adjudged to the victorious 
 party. The combat was so severe, that, of the 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 off 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. Iolaus 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. 
 
 Pliii. 2. i. 95. 
 
 Section 40 — Page 93. 
 
 1. TO KtVTpOV iyKClTuXlTTUjy oly^trofiat. 
 
 Spicula caeca relinquunt 
 AffixaJ veuis, animasque in vulnere ponuiit. 
 
 Georg. lib. iv. v. 237. 
 
 Section 43— Page 102. 
 I. ^.rrjdoc Ce tt\)]'£ciq k t. X. 
 
 The author of the English Odyssey has left an illustrious 
 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 heart of 
 David smote him when he numbered the people. 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 U—Page 103. 
 ]. 'Apf.wvitte 0>//3aiKijc. Dacier considers this to be an
 
 NOTES. 179 
 
 allusion to the story of Ampliion, who is said to have raised 
 the walls of Thebes by the harmonious sound of his 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 Venus, who was 
 married to Cadmus, the Theban 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 'yaflfj fit) fxtya \tys. k. t. X. 
 
 T fl HLoXvdtpaici] (l>t\oKiprofit /.uyiroTE 7rd/u7rav 
 "EiKiav dtypacigg /ntya tlirfiv^ dWci Qeoitri 
 Mvdov tirirpixpai ' tireir) no\v (jtiprepoi elai. 
 
 Odyss. lib. xxii. v. 2S7. 
 
 3. *0/uiiptKuJC) iyyvg 'iovrtg. 
 
 Vid. II. c, 496, & t. 611. 
 
 Section 47 — Page 1 15. 
 1. A reverence for the institutions of his country, and a
 
 180 NOTES. 
 
 strong feeling of courage, enabled Socrates to resist the en- 
 treaties of his best friends, and submit to the rigours of his 
 sentence. This was the true cause of his continuance in the 
 prison ; and the construction 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 miserable, without 
 any recompence or balance of that 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 ; either 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 whole 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. ^Emilius, 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 slight 
 occasions men are racked and tortured by the tormenters 
 there. Indeed, the history of mankind is little else than the 
 history of dreadful passages. 
 
 " Now, among all those millions who have suffered eminently, 
 can it be imagined that there have not been multitudes whose 
 griefs and pangs have far 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 the 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- 
 reasonahle being; or there never has been any man whose 
 sufferings 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 sufferers 
 mentioned above, if there be no 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 below rational : a thought which God forbid 
 any should dare to admit of Him." 
 
 Woollaston, Religion of Nature delineated, sect. ix. 
 
 Section 66 — Page 151. 
 1. ru 'Affk'A»77nw 6<j>ei\o/iitv dXeicrpvova, k. r. X. A variety 
 of reasons have 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 /Esculapius,) 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 ^Esculapius, from those who had subdued the ravages 
 of disease ; and Socrates, by an allusion to this custom, 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 share 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, aud Greece sunk from its ascendancy in the 
 scale of nations. 
 
 . c 
 
 
 !:> 
 
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