didactic poetry, says there are two sorts of episodes which may be
introduced into it, and which he terms episodes of narrative and of style,
(_De Recit et de Style_,) meaning by the former the recital of the
adventures of individuals, and by the latter, general reflections
suggested by the subject(436). Without some embellishment of this
description, most philosophic poems will correspond to Quintilian’s
account of the poem of Aratus on astronomy, “Nulla varietas, nullus
affectus, nulla persona, nulla cujusquam, est oratio(437).” From what has
already been said concerning the extreme interest excited by the
introduction of sentient beings, with all their perils around, and all
their passions within them, it follows, that where the subject admits,
episodes of the first class will best serve the purposes of poetry, and if
the poet choose such dry and abstruse topics as cosmogony, or the
generation of the world, he ought to follow the example of Silenus(438),
by embellishing his subject with tales of Hylas, and Philomela, and
Scylla, and the gardens of the Hesperides—the themes which induce us to
listen to the lay of the poet—
“Cogere donec oves stabulis, numerumque referre,
Jussit, et invito processit Vesper Olympo.”
It is, however, with the second class of episodes—with declamations
against luxury and vice—reflections on the beauty of virtue—and the
delights of rural retirement, that Lucretius hath chiefly gemmed his
verses.
The poem of Lucretius contains a full exposition of the theological,
physical, and moral system of Epicurus. It has been remarked by an able
writer, “that all the religious systems of the ancient Pagan world were
naturally perishable, from the quantity of false opinions, and vicious
habits, and ceremonies that were attached to them.” He observes even of
the barbarous Anglo Saxons, that, “as the nation advanced in its active
intellect, it began to be dissatisfied with its mythology. Many
indications exist of this spreading alienation, which prepared the
northern mind for the reception of the nobler truths of
Christianity(439).” A secret incredulity of this sort seems to have been
long nourished in Greece, and appears to have been imported into Rome with
its philosophy and literature. The more pure and simple religion of early
Rome was quickly corrupted, and the multitude of ideal and heterogeneous
beings which superstition introduced into the Roman worship led to its
total rejection(440). This infidelity is very obvious in the writings of
Ennius, who translated Euhemerus’ work on the Deification of Human
Spirits, while Plautus dramatized the vices of the father of the gods and
tutelary deity of Rome. The doctrine of materialism was introduced at Rome
during the age of Scipio and Lælius(441); and perhaps no stronger proof of
its rapid progress and prevalence can be given, than that Cæsar, though a
priest, and ultimately Pontifex Maximus, boldly proclaimed in the senate,
that death is the end of all things, and that beyond it there is neither
hope nor joy. This state of the public mind was calculated to give a
fashion to the system of Epicurus(442). According to this distinguished
philosopher, the chief good of man is pleasure, of which the elements
consist, in having a body free from pain, and a mind tranquil and exempt
from perturbation. Of this tranquility there are, according to Epicurus,
as expounded by Lucretius, two chief enemies, superstition, or slavish
fear of the gods, and the dread of death(443). In order to oppose these
two foes to happiness, he endeavours, in the first place, to shew that the
world was formed by a fortuitous concourse of atoms, and that the gods,
who, according to the popular theology, were constantly interposing, take
no concern whatever in human affairs. We do injustice to Epicurus when we
estimate his tenets by the refined and exalted ideas of a philosophy
purified by faith, without considering the superstitious and polluted
notions prevalent in his time. “The idea of Epicurus,” (as is observed by
Dr Drake,) “that it is the nature of gods to enjoy an immortality in the
bosom of perpetual peace, infinitely remote from all relation to this
globe, free from care, from sorrow, and from pain, supremely happy in
themselves, and neither rejoicing in the pleasures, nor concerned for the
evils of humanity—though perfectly void of any rational foundation, yet
possesses much moral charm when compared with the popular religions of
Greece and Rome. The felicity of their deities consisted in the vilest
debauchery; nor was there a crime, however deep its dye, that had not been
committed and gloried in by some one of their numerous objects of
worship(444).” Never, also, could the doctrine, that the gods take no
concern in human affairs, appear more plausible than in the age of
Lucretius, when the destiny of man seemed to be the sport of the caprice
of such a monster as Sylla.
With respect to the other great leading tenet of Lucretius and his
master—the mortality of the soul, still greater injustice is done to the
philosopher and poet. It is affirmed, and justly, by a great Apostle, that
life and immortality have been brought to light by the gospel; and yet an
author who lived before this dawn is reviled because he asserts, that the
natural arguments for the immortality of the soul, afforded by the
analogies of nature, or principle of moral retribution, are weak and
inconclusive! In fact, however, it is not by the truth of the system or
general philosophical views in a poem, (for which no one consults it,)
that its value is to be estimated; since a poetical work may be highly
moral on account of its details, even when its systematic scope is
erroneous or apparently dangerous. Notwithstanding passages which seem to
echo Spinosism, and almost to justify crime(445), the _Essay on Man_ is
rightly considered as the most moral production of our most moral poet. In
like manner, where shall we find exhortations more eloquent than those of
Lucretius, against ambition and cruelty, and luxury and lust,—against all
the dishonest pleasures of the body, and all the turbulent passions of the
mind.
In versifying the philosophical system of Epicurus, Lucretius appears to
have taken Empedocles as his model. All the old Grecian bards of whom we
have any account prior to Homer, as Orpheus, Linus, and Musæus, are said
to have written poems on the driest and most difficult philosophical
questions, particularly the generation of the world. The ancients
evidently considered philosophical poetry as of the highest kind, and its
themes are invariably placed in the mouths of their divinest
songsters(446). Whether Lucretius may have been indebted to any such
ancient poems, still extant in his age, or to the subsequent productions
of Palæphatus the Athenian, Antiochus, or Eratosthenes, who, as Suidas
informs us, wrote poems on the structure of the world, it is impossible
now to determine; but he seems to have considerably availed himself of the
work of Empedocles. The poem of that sumptuous, accomplished, and arrogant
philosopher, entitled Περι φυσεως, and inscribed to his pupil Pausanias,
was chiefly illustrative of the Pythagorean philosophy, in which he had
been initiated. Aristotle speaks on the subject of the merits of
Empedocles in a manner which does not seem to be perfectly
consistent(447); but we know that his poem was sufficiently celebrated to
be publicly recited at the Olympic games, along with the works of Homer.
Only a few fragments of his writings remain; from which, perhaps, it would
be as unfair to judge him, as to estimate Lucretius by extracts from the
physical portions of his poem. Those who have collected the detached
fragments of his production(448), think that it had been divided into
three books; the first treating of the elements and universe,—the second
of animals and man,—the third of the soul, as also of the nature and
worship of the gods. His philosophical system was different from that of
Lucretius; but he had discussed almost all the subjects on which the Roman
bard afterwards expatiated. In particular, Lucretius appears to have
derived from his predecessor his notion of the original generation of man
from the teeming earth,—the production, at the beginning of the world, of
a variety of defective monsters, which were not allowed to multiply their
kinds,—the distribution of animals according to the prevalence of one or
other of the four elements over the rest in their composition,—the
vicissitudes of matter between life and inanimate substance,—and the
leading doctrine, “mortem nihil ad nos pertinere,” because absolute
insensibility is the consequence of dissolution(449).
If Lucretius has in any degree benefited by the works of Empedocles, he
has in return been most lavish and eloquent in his commendations. One of
the most delightful features in the character of the Latin poet is, the
glow of admiration with which he writes of his illustrious predecessors.
His eulogy of the Sicilian philosopher, which he has so happily combined
with that of the country which gave him birth, affords a beautiful example
of his manner of infusing into everything a poetic sweetness, _Musæo
contingens cuncta lepore_,—
“Quorum Agragantinus cum primis Empedocles est:
Insula quem Triquetris terrarum gessit in oris:
Quam fluitans circum magnis anfractibus, æquor
Ionium glaucis aspergit virus ab undis,
Angustoque fretu rapidum, mare dividit undis
Æoliæ terrarum oras a finibus ejus:
Hîc est vasta Charybdis, et hîc Ætnæa minantur
Murmura, flammarum rursum se conligere iras,
Faucibus eruptos iterum ut vis evomat igneis,
Ad cœlumque ferat flammäi fulgura rursum.
Quæ, quum magna modis multis miranda videtur
Gentibus humanis regio, visundaque fertur,
Rebus opima bonis, multa munita virûm vi;
Nil tamen hoc habuisse viro præclarius in se,
Nec sanctum magis, et mirum, carumque, videtur.
Carmina quin etiam divini pectoris ejus
Vociferantur, et exponunt præclara reperta;
Ut vix humana videatur stirpe creatus.”—Lib. I. 717.
It was formerly mentioned, that Ennius had translated into Latin verse the
Greek poem of Epicharmus, which, from the fragments preserved, appears to
have contained many speculations with regard to the productive elements of
which the world is composed, as also concerning the preservative powers of
nature. To the works of Ennius our poet seems to have been indebted,
partly as a model for enriching the still scanty Latin language with new
terms, and partly as a treasury or storehouse of words already provided.
Him, too, he celebrates with the most ardent and unfeigned enthusiasm:—
“Ennius ut noster cecinit, qui primus amæno
Detulit ex Helicone perenni fronde coronam,
Per genteis Italas hominum quæ clara clueret.
Et si præterea tamen esse Acherusia templa
Ennius æternis exponit versibus edens;
Quo neque permanent animæ, neque corpora nostra;
Sed quædam simulacra modis pallentia miris;
Unde, sibi exortam, semper florentis Homeri
Commemorat speciem, lacrumas et fundere salsas
Cœpisse, et RERUM NATURAM expandere dictis.”—I. 122.
These writers, Empedocles and Ennius, were probably Lucretius’ chief
guides; and though the most original of the Latin poets, many of his
finest passages may be traced to the Greeks. The beautiful lamentation,—
“Nam jam non domus accipiet te læta, neque uxor
Optuma, nec dulceis occurrent oscula nati
Præripere, et tacitâ pectus dulcedine tangunt,” ——
is said to be translated from a dirge chaunted at Athenian funerals; and
the passage where he represents the feigned tortures of hell as but the
workings of a guilty and unquiet spirit, is versified from an oration of
Æschines against Timarchus.
In the first and second books, Lucretius chiefly expounds the cosmogony,
or physical part of his system—a system which had been originally founded
by Leucippus, a philosopher of the Eleatic sect, and, from his time, had
been successively improved by Democritus and Epicurus. He establishes in
these books his two great principles,—that nothing can be made from
nothing, and that nothing can ever be annihilated or return to nothing;
and, that there is in the universe a void or space, in which atoms
interact. These atoms he believes to be the original component parts of
all matter, as well as of animal life; and the arrangement of such
corpuscles occasions, according to him, the whole difference in
substances.
It cannot be denied, that in these two books particularly, (but the
observation is in some degree applicable to the whole poem,) there are
many barren tracts—many physiological, meteorological, and geological
details—which are at once too incorrect for the philosophical, and too dry
and abstract for the poetical reader. It is wonderful, however, how
Lucretius contrives, by the beauty of his images, to give a picturesque
colouring and illustration to the most unpromising topics. Near the
beginning of his poem, for example, in attempting to prove a very abstract
proposition, he says,—
“Præterea, quur vere rosam, frumenta calore,
Viteis auctumno fondi suadente videmus.”
Thus, by the introduction of the rose and vines, bestowing a fragrance and
freshness, and covering, as it were, with verdure, the thorns and briars
of abstract discussion. In like manner, when contending that nothing
utterly perishes, but merely assumes another form, what a lovely rural
landscape does he present to the imagination!
—— “Pereunt imbres, ubi eos pater Æther
In gremium matris Terräi præcipitavit:
At nitidæ surgunt fruges, ramique virescunt
Arboribus; crescunt ipsæ, fœtuque gravantur.
Hinc alitur porro nostrum genus atque ferarum;
Hinc lætas urbeis puerûm florere videmus,
Frondiferasque novis avibus canere undique sylvas;
Hinc, fessæ pecudes, pingues per pabula læta,
Corpora deponunt, et candens lacteus humor
Uberibus manat distentis; hinc nova proles
Artubus infirmis teneras lasciva per herbas
Ludit, lacte mero menteis percussa novellas.”
“Whoever,” says Warton, “imagines, with Tully, that Lucretius had not a
great genius(450), is desired to cast his eye on two pictures he has given
us at the beginning of his poem,—the first, of Venus with her lover Mars,
beautiful to the last degree, and more glowing than any picture painted by
Titian; the second, of that terrible and gigantic figure the Demon of
Superstition, worthy the energetic pencil of Michael Angelo. I am sure
there is no piece by the hand of Guido, or the Carracci, that exceeds the
following group of allegorical personages:
“It Ver, et Venus; et, veris prænuncius, ante
Pennatus graditur Zephyrus, vestigia propter,
Flora quibus Mater, præspargens ante viäi,
Cuncta coloribus egregiis et odoribus opplet.”
In spite, however, of the powers of Lucretius, it was impossible, from the
very nature of his subject, but that some portions would prove altogether
unsusceptible of poetical embellishment. Yet it may be doubted, whether
these intractable passages, by the charm of contrast, do not add, like
deserts to Oases in their bosom, an additional deliciousness in proportion
to their own sterility. The lovely group above-mentioned by Warton, are
clothed with additional beauty and enchantment, from starting, as it were,
like Armida and her Nymphs, from the mossy rind of a rugged tree. The
philosophical analysis, too, employed by Lucretius, impresses the mind
with the conviction, that the poet is a profound thinker, and adds great
force to his moral reflections. Above all, his fearlessness, if I may say
so, produces this powerful effect. Dryden, in a well-known passage, where
he has most happily characterized the general manner of Lucretius,
observes, “If I am not mistaken, the distinguishing character of
Lucretius—I mean, of his soul and genius—is a certain kind of noble pride,
and positive assertion of his own opinions. He is everywhere confident of
his own reason, and assuming an absolute command, not only over his vulgar
readers, but even his patron, Memmius.... This is that particular
dictatorship which is exercised by Lucretius; who, though often in the
wrong, yet seems to deal _bona fide_ with his reader, and tells him
nothing but what he thinks.... He seems to disdain all manner of replies;
and is so confident of his cause, that he is before-hand with his
antagonists, urging for them whatever he imagined they could say, and
leaving them, as he supposes, without an objection for the future. All
this, too, with so much scorn and indignation, as if he were assured of
the triumph, and need only enter into the lists.” Hence while, in other
writers, the eulogy of virtue seems in some sort to partake of the nature
of a sermon—to be a conventional language, and words of course—we listen
to Lucretius as to one who will fearlessly speak out; who had shut his
ears to the murmurs of Acheron: and who, if he eulogizes Virtue, extols
her because her charms are real. How exquisite, for example, and, at the
same time, how powerful and convincing, his delineation of the utter
worthlessness of vanity and pomp, contrasted with the pure and perfect
delights of simple nature!
“Si non aurea sunt juvenum simulacra per ædes,
Lampadas igniferas manibus retinentia dextris,
Lumina nocturnis epulis ut suppeditentur,
Nec domus argento fulget auroque renidet,
Nec citharæ reboant laqueata aurataque tecta;
Quum tamen inter se, prostrati in gramine molli,
Propter aquæ rivum, sub ramis arboris altæ,
Non magnis opibus jucunde corpora curant:
Præsertim, quum tempestas arridet, et anni
Tempora conspargunt viridantes floribus herbas:
Nec calidæ citius decedunt corpore febres,
Textilibus si in picturis, ostroque rubenti,
Jaceris, quam si plebeiâ in veste cubandum est.”—II. 24.
The word _Præsertim_, in this beautiful passage, affords an illustration
of what has been remarked above, that the kind of philosophical analysis
employed by Lucretius gives great force to his moral reflections. He
seems, as it were, to be weighing his words; and, which is the only solid
foundation of just confidence, to be cautious of asserting anything which
experience would not fully confirm. One thing very remarkable in this
great poet is, the admirable clearness and closeness of his reasoning. He
repeatedly values himself not a little on the circumstance, that, with an
intractable subject, and a language not yet accommodated to philosophical
discussions, and scanty in terms of physical as well as metaphysical
science, he was able to give so much clearness to his argument(451); which
object it is generally admitted he has accomplished, with little or no
sacrifice of pure Latinity(452). As a proof at once of the perspicuity and
closeness of his reasoning, and the fertility of his mind in inventing
arguments, there might be given his long discussion, in the third book, on
the materiality of the human soul, and its incapability of surviving the
ruin of the corporeal frame. Never were the arguments for materialism
marshalled with such skill—never were the diseases of the mind, and the
decay of memory and understanding, so pathetically urged, so eloquently
expressed. The following quotation contains a specimen of the lucid and
logical reasoning of this philosophic poet; and the two first verses,
perhaps, after all that has been written, comprehend the whole that is
metaphysically or physiologically known upon the subject:
“Præterea, gigni pariter cum corpore, et unà
Crescere sentimus, pariterque senescere, mentem.
Nam, velut infirmo pueri, teneroque, vagantur
Corpore, sic animi sequitur sententia tenuis;
Inde, ubi robustis adolevit viribus ætas,
Consilium quoque majus, et auctior est animî vis.
Post, ubi jam validis quassatum est viribus ævi
Corpus, et obtusis ceciderunt viribus artus,
Claudicat ingenium, delirat linguaque mensque;
Omnia deficiunt, atque uno tempore desunt:
Ergo, dissolvi quoque convenit omnem animäi
Naturam, ceu fumus in altas aëris auras;
Quandoquidem gigni pariter, pariterque videmus
Crescere; et, ut docui, simul, ævo fessa, fatisci.”—III. 446.
Lucretius having, by many arguments, endeavoured to establish the
mortality of the soul, proceeds to exhort against a dread of death. The
fear of that “last tremendous blow,” appears to have harassed, and
sometimes overwhelmed, the minds of the Romans(453). To them, life
presented a scene of high duties and honourable labours; and they
contemplated, in a long futurity, the distant completion of their serious
and lofty aims. They were not yet habituated to regard life as a banquet
or recreation, from which they were cheerfully to rise, in due time, sated
with the feast prepared for them; nor had they been accustomed to
associate death with those softening ideas of indolence and slumber, with
which it was the design of Lucretius to connect it. He accordingly
represents it as a privation of all sense,—as undisturbed by tumult or
terror, by grief or pain,—as a tranquil sleep, and an everlasting repose.
How sublime is the following passage, in which, to illustrate his
argument, that the long night of the grave can be no more painful than the
eternity before our birth, he introduces the war with Carthage; and what a
picture does it convey of the energy and might of the combatants!
“Nil igitur Mors est, ad nos neque pertinet hilum,
Quandoquidem natura animi mortalis habetur.
Et, velut ante acto nil tempore sensimus ægrî,
Ad confligundum venientibus undique Pœnis;
Omnia quum, belli trepido concussa tumultu,
Horrida contremuere sub altis ætheris auris:
In dubioque fuere, utrorum ad regna cadundum
Omnibus humanis esset, terràque, màrique.
Sic, ubi non erimus, quum corporis atque animäi
Discidium fuerit, quibus e sumus uniter apti;
Scilicet haud nobis quidquam, qui non erimus tum,
Accidere omnino poterit, sensumque movere:
Non si terra mari miscebitur, et mare cœlo.”—III, 842.
From this admirable passage till the close of the third book there is an
union of philosophy, of majesty, and pathos, which hardly ever has been
equalled. The incapacity of the highest power and wisdom, as exhibited in
so many instances, to exempt from the common lot of man, the farewell
which we must bid to the sweetest domestic enjoyments, and the magnificent
_prosopopœia_ of Nature to her children, rebuking their regrets, and the
injustice of their complaints, are altogether exceedingly solemn, and
affecting, and sublime.
The two leading tenets of Epicurus concerning the formation of the world
and the mortality of the soul, are established by Lucretius in the first
three books. A great proportion of the fourth book may be considered as
episodical. Having explained the nature of primordial atoms, and of the
soul, which is formed from the finest of them, he announces, that there
are certain images (_rerum simulacra_,) or effluvia, which are constantly
thrown off from the surface of whatever exists. On this hypothesis he
accounts for all our external senses; and he applies it also to the theory
of dreams, in which whatever images have amused the senses during day most
readily recur. Mankind being prone to love, of all the phantoms which rush
on our imagination during night, none return so frequently as the forms of
the fair. This leads Lucretius to enlarge on the mischievous effects of
illicit love; and nothing can be finer than the various moral
considerations which he enforces, to warn us against the snares of guilty
passion. It must, however, be confessed, that his description of what he
seems to consider as the physical evils and imperfect fruition of sensual
love, forms the most glowing picture ever presented of its delights. But
he has atoned for his violation of decorum, by a few beautiful lines on
connubial happiness at the conclusion of the book:
“Nam facit ipsa suis interdum femina factis,
Morigerisque modis et mundo corpore culta,
Ut facile assuescat secum vir degere vitam.
Quod super est, consuetudo concinnat amorem;
Nam, leviter quamvis, quod crebro tunditur ictu,
Vincitur id longo spatio tamen, atque labascit:
Nonne vides, etiam guttas, in saxa cadenteis,
Humoris longo in spacio pertundere saxa?”—IV. 1273.
The principal subject of the fifth book—a composition unrivalled in energy
and richness of language, in full and genuine sublimity—is the origin and
laws of the visible world, with those of its inhabitants. The poet
presents us with a grand picture of Chaos, and the most magnificent
account of the creation that ever flowed from human pen. In his
representation of primeval life and manners, he exhibits the discomfort of
this early stage of society by a single passage of most wild and powerful
imagery,—in which he describes a savage, in the early ages of the world,
when men were yet contending with beasts for possession of the earth,
flying through the woods, with loud shrieks, in a stormy night, from the
pursuit of some ravenous animal, which had invaded the cavern where he
sought a temporary shelter and repose: