ON THE SUBLIME
CHAPTERS 7- 9
LONGINUS
c. 213-273
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ON THE SUBLIME - PART TWO
Chapters VII - IX
VII
YOU must know, my dear friend, that it is
with the sublime as in the common life of
man. In life nothing can be considered great
which it is held great to despise. For instance,
riches, honours, distinctions, sovereignties,
and all other things which possess in abundance
the external trappings of the stage, will
not seem, to a man of sense, to be supreme
blessings, since the very contempt of them
is reckoned good in no small degree, and
in any case those who could have them, but
are high-souled enough to disdain them, are
more admired than those who have them. So
also in the case of sublimity in poems and
prose writings, we must consider whether
some supposed examples have not simply the
appearance of elevation with many idle accretions,
so that when analysed they are found to be
mere vanity--objects which a noble nature
will rather despise than admire. 2. For,
as if instinctively, our soul is uplifted
by the true sublime; it takes a proud flight,
and is filled with joy and vaunting, as though
it had itself produced what it has heard.
3. When, therefore, a thing is heard repeatedly
by a man of intelligence, who is well versed
in literature, and its effect is not to dispose
the soul to high thoughts, and it does not
leave in the mind more food for reflexion
than the words seem to convey, but falls,
if examined carefully through and through,
into disesteem, it cannot rank as true sublimity
because it does not survive a first hearing.
For that is really great which bears a repeated
examination, and which it is difficult or
rather impossible to withstand, and the memory
of which is strong and hard to efface. 4.
In general, consider those examples of sublimity,
to be fine and genuine which please all and
always. For when men of different pursuits,
lives, ambitions, ages, languages, hold identical
views on one and the same subject, then that
verdict which results, so to speak, from
a concert of discordant elements makes our
faith in the object of admiration strong
and unassailable.
VIII
There are, it may be said, five principal
sources of elevated language. Beneath these
five varieties there lies, as though it were
a common foundation, the gift of discourse,
which is indispensable. First and most important
is the power of forming great conceptions,
as we have elsewhere explained in our remarks
on Xenophon. Secondly, there is vehement
and inspired passion. These two components
of the sublime are for the most part innate.
Those which remain are partly the product
of art. The due formation of figures deals
with two sorts of figures, first those of
thought and secondly those of expression.
Next there is noble diction, which in turn
comprises choice of words, and use of metaphors,
and elaboration of language. The fifth cause
of elevation--one which is the fitting conclusion
of all that have preceded it--is dignified
and elevated composition. Come now, let us
consider what is involved in each of these
varieties, with this one remark by way of
preface, that Caecilius has omitted some
of the five divisions, for example, that
of passion. 2. Surely he is quite mistaken
if he does so on the ground that these two,
sublimity and passion, are a unity, and if
it seems to him that they are by nature one
and inseparable. For some passions are found
which are far removed from sublimity and
are of a low order, such as pity, grief and
fear; and on the other hand there are many
examples of the sublime which are independent
of passion, such as the daring words of Homer
with regard to the Aloadae, to take one out
of numberless instances,
Yea, Ossa in fury they strove to upheave
on Olympus on high,
With forest-clad Pelion above, that thence
they might step to the sky.
(Odyssey XI. 315-16, at Perseus.) And so
of the words which follow with still greater
force:--
Ay, and the deed had they done.
(Odyssey XI. 317.)
3. Among the orators, too, eulogies and ceremonial
and occasional addresses contain on every
side examples of dignity and elevation, but
are for the most part void of passion. This
is the reason why passionate speakers are
the worst eulogists, and why, on the other
hand, those who are apt in encomium are the
least passionate. 4. If, on the other hand,
Caecilius thought that passion never contributes
at all to sublimity, and if it was for this
reason that he did not deem it worthy of
mention, he is altogether deluded. I would
affirm with confidence that there is no tone
so lofty as that of genuine passion, in its
right place, when it bursts out in a wild
gust of mad enthusiasm and as it were fills
the speaker's words with frenzy.
IX
Now the first of the conditions mentioned,
namely elevation of mind, holds the foremost
rank among them all. We must, therefore,
in this case also, although we have to do
rather with an endowment than with an acquirement,
nurture our souls (as far as that is possible)
to thoughts sublime, and make them always
pregnant, so to say, with noble inspiration.
2. In what way, you may ask, is this to be
done? Elsewhere I have written as follows:
'Sublimity is the echo of a great soul.'
Hence also a bare idea, by itself and without
a spoken word, sometimes excites admiration
just because of the greatness of soul implied.
Thus the silence of Ajax in the Underworld
is great and more sublime than words (Odyssey
XI. 543 ff., at Perseus) 3. First, then,
it is absolutely necessary to indicate the
source of this elevation, namely, that the
truly eloquent must be free from low and
ignoble thoughts. For it is not possible
that men with mean and servile ideas and
aims prevailing throughout their lives should
produce anything that is admirable and worthy
of immortality. Great accents we expect to
fall from the lips of those whose thoughts
are deep and grave. 4. Thus it is that stately
speech comes naturally to the proudest spirits.
[You will remember the answer of] Alexander
to Parmenio when he said 'For my part I had
been well content [quotation from Arrian].'.........
...... the distance from earth to heaven;
and this might well be considered the measure
of Homer no less than of Strife. 5. How unlike
to this the expression which is used of Sorrow
by Hesiod, if indeed the Shield is to be
attributed to Hesiod:
Rheum from her nostrils was trickling.
(Shield of Heracles 267, at Perseus)
The image he has suggested is not terrible
but rather loathsome. Contrast the way in
which Homer magnifies the higher powers:
And far as a man with his eyes through the
sea-line haze may discern,
On a cliff as he sitteth and gazeth away
o'er the wine-dark deep,
So far at a bound do the loud-neighing steeds
of the Deathless leap.
(Iliad 5. 770, at Perseus). He makes the
vastness of the world the measure of their
leap. The sublimity is so overpowering as
naturally to prompt the exclamation that
if the divine steeds were to leap thus twice
in succession they would pass beyond the
confines of the world. 6. How transcendent
also are the images in the Battle of the
Gods:--
Far round wide heaven and Olympus echoed
his clarion of thunder;
(Iliad 21. 388, at Perseus).
And Hades, king of the realm of shadows,
quaked thereunder.
And he sprang from his throne, and he cried
aloud in the dread of his heart
Lest o'er him earth-shaker Poseidon should
cleave the ground apart,
And revealed to Immortals and mortals should
stand those awful abodes,
Those mansions ghastly and grim, abhorred
of the very Gods.
(Iliad 20. 61-65, at Perseus). You see, my
friend, how the earth is torn from its foundations,
Tartarus itself is laid bare, the whole world
is upturned and parted asunder, and all things
together--heaven and hell, things mortal
and things immortal-- share in the conflict
and the perils of that battle!
7. But although these things are awe-inspiring,
yet from another point of view, if they be
not taken allegorically, they are altogether
impious, and violate our sense of what is
fitting. Homer seems to me, in his legends
of wounds suffered by the gods, and of their
feuds, reprisals, tears, bonds, and all their
manifold passions, to have made, as far as
lay within his power, gods of the men concerned
in the Siege of Troy, and men of the gods.
But whereas we mortals have death as the
destined haven of our ills if our lot is
miserable, he portrays the gods as immortal
not only in nature but also in misfortune.
8. Much superior to the passages respecting
the Battle of the Gods are those which represent
the divine nature as it really is--pure and
great and undefiled; for example, what is
said of Poseidon in a passage fully treated
by many before ourselves:--
Her far-stretching ridges, her forest-trees,
quaked in dismay,
And her peaks, and the Trojans' town, and
the ships of Achaia's array,
Beneath his immortal feet, as onward Poseidon
strode.
Then over the surges he drave: leapt sporting
before the God
Sea-beasts that uprose all round from the
depths, for their king they knew,
And for rapture the sea was disparted, and
onward the car-steeds flew.
(Iliad 13. 18, at Perseus).
9. Similarly, the legislator of the Jews,
no ordinary man, having formed and expressed
a worthy conception of the might of the Godhead,
writes at the very beginning of his Laws,
'God said'--what? 'Let there be light, and
there was light; let there be land, and there
was land'. 10. Perhaps I shall not seem tedious,
friend, if I bring forward one passage more
from Homer--this time with regard to the
concerns of men--in order to show that he
is wont himself to enter into the sublime
actions of his heroes. In his poem the battle
of the Greeks is suddenly veiled by mist
and baffling night. Then Ajax, at his wits'
end, cries:
Zeus, Father, yet save thou Achaia's sons
from beneath the gloom,
And make clear day, and vouchsafe unto us
with our eyes to see!
So it be but in light, destroy us!
(Iliad 17. 645, at Perseus). That is the
true attitude of an Ajax. He does not pray
for life, for such a petition would have
ill beseemed a hero. But since in the hopeless
darkness he can turn his valour to no noble
end, he chafes at his slackness in the fray
and craves the boon of immediate light, resolved
to find a death worthy of his bravery, even
though Zeus should fight in the ranks against
him. 11. In truth, Homer in these cases shares
the full inspiration of the combat, and it
is neither more nor less than true of the
poet himself that
Mad rageth he as Arês the shaker of spears,
or as mad flames leap
Wild-wasting from hill unto hill in the folds
of a forest deep,
And the foam-froth fringeth his lips.
(Perseus, Iliad 15. 605-607). He shows, however,
in the Odyssey (and this further observation
deserves attention on many grounds) that,
when a great genius is declining, the special
token of old age is the love of marvellous
tales.
12. It is clear from many indications that
the Odyssey was his second subject. A special
proof is the fact that he introduces in that
poem remnants of the adventures before Ilium
as episodes, so to say, of the Trojan War.
And indeed, he there renders a tribute of
mourning and lamentation to his heroes as
though he were carrying out a long-cherished
purpose. In fact, the Odyssey is simply an
epilogue to the Iliad:--
There lieth Ajax the warrior wight, Achilles
is there,
There is Patroclus, whose words had weight
as a God he were;
There lieth mine own dear son.
(Odyssey 3. 109-111, at Perseus)
13. It is for the same reason, I suppose,
that he has made the whole structure of the
Iliad, which was written at the height of
his inspiration, full of action and conflict,
while the Odyssey for the most part consists
of narrative, as is characteristic of old
age. Accordingly, in the Odyssey Homer may
be likened to a sinking sun, whose grandeur
remains without its intensity. He does not
in the Odyssey maintain so high a pitch as
in those poems of Ilium. His sublimities
are not evenly sustained and free from the
liability to sink; there is not the same
profusion of accumulated passions, nor the
supple and oratorical style, packed with
images drawn from real life. You seem to
see henceforth the ebb and flow of greatness,
and a fancy roving in the fabulous and incredible,
as though the ocean were withdrawing into
itself and was being laid bare within its
own confines. 14. In saying this I have not
forgotten the tempests in the Odyssey and
the story of the Cyclops and the like. If
I speak of old age, it is nevertheless the
old age of Homer. The fabulous element, however,
prevails throughout this poem over the real.
The object of this digression has been, as
I said, to show how easily great natures
in their decline are sometimes diverted into
absurdity, as in the incident of the wine-skin
and of the men who were fed like swine by
Circe (whining porkers, as Zoilus called
them), and of Zeus like a nestling nurtured
by the doves, and of the hero who was without
food for ten days upon the wreck, and of
the incredible tale of the slaying of the
suitors (Perseus, Odyssey 9. 182; 10.17;
10.237; 12.62; 12.447; 22.79.) For what else
can we term these things than veritable dreams
of Zeus? 15. These observations with regard
to the Odyssey should be made for another
reason-- in order that you may know that
the genius of great poets and prose-writers,
as their passion declines, finds its final
expression in the delineation of character.
For such are the details which Homer gives,
with an eye to characterisation, of life
in the home of Odysseus; they form as it
were a comedy of manners.
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