The Iliad of Homer


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still seems to me that the Homeric question is one that is reserved for a  
higher criticism than it has often obtained. We are not by nature intended  
to know all things; still less, to compass the powers by which the  
greatest blessings of life have been placed at our disposal. Were faith no  
virtue, then we might indeed wonder why God willed our ignorance on any  
matter. But we are too well taught the contrary lesson; and it seems as  
though our faith should be especially tried touching the men and the  
events which have wrought most influence upon the condition of humanity.  
And there is a kind of sacredness attached to the memory of the great and  
the good, which seems to bid us repulse the scepticism which would  
allegorize their existence into a pleasing apologue, and measure the  
giants of intellect by an homeopathic dynameter.  
Long and habitual reading of Homer appears to familiarize our thoughts  
even to his incongruities; or rather, if we read in a right spirit and  
with a heartfelt appreciation, we are too much dazzled, too deeply wrapped  
in admiration of the whole, to dwell upon the minute spots which mere  
analysis can discover. In reading an heroic poem we must transform  
ourselves into heroes of the time being, we in imagination must fight over  
the same battles, woo the same loves, burn with the same sense of injury,  
as an Achilles or a Hector. And if we can but attain this degree of  
enthusiasm (and less enthusiasm will scarcely suffice for the reading of  
Homer), we shall feel that the poems of Homer are not only the work of one  
writer, but of the greatest writer that ever touched the hearts of men by  
the power of song.  
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Quick Jump
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