Towards a Science of the Sublime: Longinus's Literary Endeavor and the Absolute Experience
In the first century B.C.E., when Pseudo-Longinus wrote the influential treatise of the great writing, On the Sublime (Greek: Περὶ Ὕψους),[1] he assumed a very specific reader, namely, Postumius Terentianus, one of his students. The nature of this text is epistolary as well as pedagogical, especially under the influence of the enlightened reading by Edmund Burke and Immanuel Kant, and makes one recognize this work as having an esoteric purpose. The work has a clear motivation to catalogize several constituents of the sublime affected by feature of excellent writing, but it is not simply a guide of style and rhetoric because the sublime can also occur in the non-linguistic occasion. Although Longinus enumerates the exemplary texts that might cause the sublimity, the term “sublime,” or a more literal translation “height,” evokes unsuitable impressions in predicating “language” in the first place. At the same time, the sublime does convey Longinus’s superlative appraisal for the Greek literary giants for their great use of the language, while raising a question of whether a language can accomplish such a natural grandiose. Accordingly, this paper argues that Longinus’s seemingly idiomatic phrase “language of sublime” identifies more a universal expression of the absolute experience than a private best selection of the ancient texts.
The other figure in need of contextualizing this text is his academic opponent, Caecilius of Caleacte. Longinus’s entire argument reviews Caecilius’s “small treatise (τὸ συγγραμμάτιον)”[2] about the sublime, which supposedly Longinus and Terentianus discussed together before (Peri Hupsous 1.1). Although the manuscript is too fragmentary to find Longinus’s main disagreement with Caecilius, the following three points are remarkable. First, while Longinus praises Caecilius’s contribution in this field of study, his treatise omits suggesting the importance of emotion for achieving the sublime (8.1). Unfortunately, however, the portion in which Longinus discusses the emotion is missing perhaps soon after 44.12. Second, the proper quantity of metaphor, which Caecilius argues should be modest in number (32.1). Longinus asserts, in response, that many metaphors can turn into similes for easier understanding (32.3), but still emphasizes the strength of metaphors (32.6). The third, and perhaps foremost, point concerns the evaluation of Plato’s writing. Caecilius prefers Lysias to Plato, so Longinus argument intensifies in defense of Plato’s tenet, saying, “But the truth, we find, is different, very different indeed” (32.8). These three disagreements usefully organize Longinus’s contention, while he does not answer to Caecilius’s concern directly. Nevertheless, Longinus’s dissatisfaction with Caecilius’s work may hint his sheer expansion in defining the sublime because the sublime for him is a system of nature rather than just a problem of rhetoric.
Therefore, this paper follows the aforementioned issues that Longinus has set in response to Caecilius, but for the clear overview, the points will be reframed into whether the sublime for Longinus (1) is linguistic or paralinguistic, (2) does harm or good, and (3) is caused by nature or humans. The easy answer will be “neither of them,” but these three dimensions have been crucial in Longinus’s discussion to a large extent. First, one can see that Longinus’s emphasis on emotion as a constituent of sublime language seems to represent a paralinguistic aspect, whereas the other constituents relate to the literary art directly. Second, Longinus discusses a degree of reliability on effective literary technique. This brings up another question of whether aiming at producing the sublime does harm or good. Third, relating to his evaluation of Platonic opera, Longinus questions the interrelation between nature and art in pursuit of the sublime. Not only does one see several quotations from Plato, but one also admits the great influence of Plato throughout the Longinian text. All in all, Longinus’s interest is in seeking a system (ἡ μέθοδος, cf. 2.2) that contributes to the sublime.
I.
The first dimension of whether the sublime is either linguistic or paralinguistic becomes critical when one understands Longinus is discussing all fields of writers, orators, and reciters as sources of sublimity. From the side of the audience, a writer’s intent only appears as what he or she writes, while orators and reciters are present in front of the receivers of language. Letters and voices are both vehicles of the sublime, but important is that the feeling of the sublime occurs ephemerally during the appreciation of language rather than during an author’s creating his or her literary work. Longinus refers to the sublime emerging on multiple levels such as the text, reading the text, and performing according to the text. The locus of sublimity is therefore either immanent in the language conveyed (linguistic) or extraneous from what language itself conveys (paralinguistic). A rhetorical task concerns both aspects so that the appreciation of language can be maximized.
As mentioned earlier, there is a peculiarity in discussing the sublime in the limited context of literary works. Even further, Longinus argues that the sublime is an essential force for almost all literary works with few exceptions—comparing it to “a soul taken out of a body (ψυχὴν ἐξαιρήσεις σώματος)” (10.2). One of his main critiques against Caecilius was his underestimation of the emotion (πάθος) (8.1). While emotion is not a necessary condition for the act of writing, or as Longinus states “many sublime passages are quite without emotion” (8.2), he lists “the inspiration of vehement emotion (τὸ σφοδρὸν καὶ ἐνθουσιαστικὸν πάθος)” in the second grand constituent of the sublime (8.1). For Longinus, emotion still plays a great role in “[inspiring] the words […] with a fine frenzy and [filling] them with divine spirit (ὑπὸ … πνεύματος ἐνθουσιαστικῶς)” (8.4).
The sublime as defined by Longinus is a category of literary effect, and achievement of it has “poets and prose writers” honored in “their preeminence” and “immortal fame” (1.3). He defines the determinant of the writer’s greatest honor in this category, which he clearly distinguishes from “persuasiveness” or “convincingness” (1.4). His description of the sublime itself is metaphoric, but the sublime is something “elevating” the audience “with a sense of proud exaltation,” and remarkably, is something “filling [the audience] with joy and pride, as if [they] had [themselves] produced the very thing [they] heard” (7.2). Clearly, the sublime is a different measure from that of a statement’s clarity, which usually refers to reason (λόγος). Longinus regards language as more than a means of informational exchange.
The judgment in this alternative critical measure requires a special sensitivity, in his terminology, “the ultimate fruit of ripe experience” (6.1). Longinus’s analogy continues to describe this matured view that it is similar to finding the good in the everyday life (7.1). Here, Longinus implies the necessity of a certain skill to appreciate the sublime itself. The sublime is “rather a gift than an acquired quality (δωρητὸν […] μᾶλλον ἢ κτητόν),” but Longinus insists on the possibility for writers to cultivate themselves to feel “sympathy with what is noble” and “impregnate them […] with lofty thoughts” (9.1-2). Then Longinus perhaps most famously formulates that, “Sublimity is the echo of a noble mind (ὕψος μεγαλοφροσύνης ἀπήχημα)” (9.2). The term “echo (ἀπήχημα, lit. the thing having heard after)” encapsulates a great contemplation, yet merely shapes a form of a word. In sum, the sublime according to Longinus is something granted for a prodigy with a great mental capability, carefully contrasted to the acquired skills of rhetoric.
Relocating language as the main field in which the sublime occurs, Longinus refuses the mechanization and quantifiability of techniques that evoke the sublime, which many rhetoricians had proposed. Particularly, he criticizes the superfluous use of rhetorical devices (12.1), but he believes that the rhetorical system should serve as an “organic whole” (10.1). This synthetic view of the role of rhetoric is essentially affirming the consequent; that is, Longinus’s stance on rhetoric remains unclear. But what he means here is that the sublime is a mere accumulation of technicalities. The obvious opposition to placing the sublime as a purely rhetorical product appears in the comparison between Demosthenes and Cicero, each of whom represents the genius of Greece and Rome respectively.
So I [= Longinus] feel, my dear Terentianus, if indeed we Greeks may be allowed an opinion—that Cicero differs from Demosthenes in his grand effects. Demosthenes’ strength is usually in rugged sublimity, Cicero’s in diffusion. … You Romans, of course, can form a better judgment on this question, but clearly the opportunity for Demosthenes’ sublimity and nervous force comes in his intensity and violent emotion, and in passages where it is necessary to amaze the audience; whereas diffuseness is in place when you need to overwhelm them with a flood of rhetoric. (12.4-5)
Through this contrast between Greek and Roman identities, Longinus’s standpoint is made clear. Demosthenes’s “intensity and violent emotion” would “amaze” the listener, but Cicero’s “diffusion” would “overwhelm” the audience. This paradoxical effect indicates that the inappropriate overuse of rhetorical devices may destroy the intent of a great work. Meanwhile, each rhetorical technique should be purposeful, and in many cases, a simple expression can convey enough grandeur to evoke the sublime.
In contrast to the rhetorical amplification, Longinus rather advises that one should imitate of the classical authors. Remarkably, Longinus’s focus is the authentic content of these texts. In his expression, the writings of the classical authors “carry away by inspiring another,” and “thereby, [he or she who inspired] becomes impregnated with the divine power,” so that the admirers of the classics can feel as if they were the prodigy of the old-time virtuosi (13.2). Almost needless to say, there are different levels of imitations, but the originality of the expression seems to be an aspect separated from sublime style. This particular traditionalist view of Longinus would suggest some rigidity in demarcating the sublime and the pseudo-sublime. For example, Longinus is especially cautious about the illusional effect of the sublime, when he writes:
For writers often behave as if they were drunk and give way to outbursts of emotion which the subject no longer warrants, but which are private to themselves and consequently tedious, so that to an audience which feels none of it their behavior looks unseemly. And naturally so, for while they are in ecstasy, the audience is not. (3.5)
What Longinus remonstrates here is that the sublime is something different from the writers’ self-satisfaction but instead something to please the audience. The great style is what the audience determines, and thus, the familiarity with the classical authors could be a common ground of appreciating the sublime. Longinus is most critical about the excessively unrestricted understanding of the style of sublime.
Related to this authenticity, the sublime should contain some form of truth. Longinus demonstrates by stating that “visualization (φαντασία)” is also a component of the sublime, as it contains the root of the verb “φαίνω (to appear to be),” and that this visualization will be most effective when it reflects “one of reality and truth (τὸ ἔμπρακτον καὶ ἐνάληθης)” (15.8). In Longinus’s extended definition, this visualization “introduce[s] a great deal of excitement and emotion into one’s speeches, but when combined with factual arguments it not only convinces the audience, it positively masters them” (15.9). The strong visualization transitions the listeners’ mind “from the reasoning to the enthralling effect of the imagination, and the reality is concealed in a halo of brilliance (ᾧ περιλαμπόμενον)” (15.11). The development from reasoning to enthralling well represents emotion’s superiority to reason in inducing the sublime.
It is clear that the sublime is still pertinent to the use of language, but strongly differentiated from the supremacy of logical deliverance of arguments. The sublime is thus a different measure from clarity, and it is perceived through a high sense of literacy, expressed in a passionate attitude, and reflected a writer’s sincerity in conveyance of language. The “height” of style depends on how high language elevates the audience’s mind which is largely related to emotional attributes, so the components of the sublime deeply entangle with the speakers’ credentials in intellectual, moral, and technical excellences, holistically incorporated in the noble mind (ἡ μεγαλοφροσύνη).
II.
The second dimension, although it covers a relatively minor part in Longinus’s text, is whether the sublime as a literary effect does harm or good. The ambition to attain the sublime in literature could be dangerous so that one should bear the risk in mind. As Longinus describes the sublime’s quid pro quo relation to logical soundness, there might be a possible negative effect of the sublime. At best, this dimension embodies the essential critique of the Longinian sublime, which, in a greater part, may support his opponent, Caecilius. The negative side of the Longinian understanding of the sublime reveal that it can be uncontrollable, erroneous, and delusive.
Firstly, the Longinian sublime has an irresistible impact so that it might make the details trivial. His occasional metaphor of “a well-timed flash … like a bolt of lightning” makes one imagine its dominant potential (1.4). Because it is almost impossible to defy its force which can be analogous to the gravity, the sublime style may “make our faith in the admired passage strong and indisputable” (7.4). In addition, the author of sublime language is also apt to be intoxicated by its pompous nature, even though Longinus repeatedly warns not to confuse the sublime with “tumidity (τὸ οἰδεῖν)” (3.3). Such an uncontrollable nature may make the sublime difficult to anticipate its possible backlashes.
Secondly, as Longinus himself mentions, the author of the sublime always weighs up its options between the grandeur and some logical inaccuracies. Interestingly, Longinus is very mindful that the sublime style is the “least immaculate (ἥκιστα καθαραί)” (33.2). Nevertheless, he dares ask, “Which is the better in poetry and in prose, grandeur flawed in some respects, or moderate achievement accompanied by perfect soundness and impeccability?” (33.1). This question seems peculiar because Longinus here potentially admits that there can be two different priorities in the use of language. If this premise is valid, then there must be a circumstance in which the grandiose is “prioritized” relative to the accuracy, and vice versa. Such situations are not just hard to imagine, but even frail with his precedent formulation, “the organic whole” (10.1).
Finally, profoundly associated with the other two points, the sublime essentially paralyses a critical impetus. In sacrificing logical accuracy, the prioritization of the sublime style leads to sophistry against which philosophy would be eager to challenge. By stating this, the aim of literature strongly opposes philosophy, or the notion of sublime itself can defy something philosophical. However, Longinus asks if it can also be contradictory to the nobility of mind in the first place. Thereby, one may discover what he implies by “in great natures their very greatness spells danger (τὰ … μεγάλα ἐπισφαλῆ δι’ αὐτὸ γίνεσθαι τὸ μέγεθος)” (33.3), though, as will be discussed later, philosophy might also cause the sublime.
In most part, Longinus puts his trust in the sublime as long as it is for the good cause, while he overlooks some repercussions to which the sublime could lead. Particularly, its overpowering can be sometimes poisonous, in the case that the sublime deprives the audience of its ability to think. Indeed, words control thought, but once thought detaches from language and turns into an echo, the thought does not require any assistance of language. The audience receives the thought and words simultaneously. The effect of the sublime is impactful enough for the listeners to forget what the speaker actually said and to reconstruct what he or she would think.
III.
The third dimension of the sublime is whether it is being either naturally-caused or human-caused, and this deeply pertains to its teachability. One of the prominent purposes of Longinus’s book is that it is intended to be educating his student. On the other hand, one usually associates sublime language as the words of a genius which is naturally or divinely produced. As already discussed, the sublime cannot be something controllable with the rhetorical technique. However, it does not mean that the producer of sublime language has no mastery of such technique. Longinus has no intention to master the mass production of the effect of the sublime or the spiritual art of summoning up the sublime. Nonetheless, his treatise purely contrives to gain a universal knowledge of the sublime, benefitting the skill of writing as a result.
Longinus repeatedly insists that the genius of writing is derived from nature, but at the same time, he asserts that the gifted authors are “men of high spirit (οἱ φρονηματίαι)” (9.4). Although the nature (or often anthropomorphized “Nature” [ἡ φύσις]) is a primary source of great style, the nature cannot be a subject of the sublime. Longinus concisely explains that “Nature causes a good fortune, Art a good judgment (ἡ μὲν φύσις τὴν τῆς εὐτυχίας τάξιν ἐπέχει, ἡ τέχνη δὲ τὴν τῆς εὐβουλίας),” while the effect coming from natural attributes “can only be learned from art (τῆς τέχνης ἐκμαθεῖν δεῖ)” (2.3). Regardless of the countless choices of the ingenuity of sources, he persists to limit his field of study to literary arts for its wide applicability. Still he argues that some “cooperation” between Nature and Art is necessary for the experience of perfection.
… ὅτι ἐπὶ μὲν τέχνης θαυμάζεται τὸ ἀκριβέστατον, ἐπὶ δὲ τῶν φυσικῶν ἔργων τὸ μέγεθος, φύσει δὲ λογικὸν ὁ ἄνθρωπος· κἀπὶ μέν ἀνδριάντων ζητεῖται τὸ ὅμοιον ἄνθρώπῳ, ἐπὶ δὲ τοῦ λόγου τὸ ὑπεραῖρον, ὡς ἔφην, τὰ ἀνθρώπινα. προσήκει δ’ ὅμως (…), ἐμειδὴ τὸ μὲν ἀδιάπτωτον ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ τέχνης ἐστὶ κατόρθωμα, τὸ δ’ ἐν ὑπεροχῇ πλὴν οὐχ ὁμότονον μεγαλοφυΐας, βοήθημα τῇ φύσει πάντη πορίζεσθαι τὴν τέχνην· ἡ γὰρ ἀλληλουχία τούτων ἴσως γένοιτ’ ἂν τὸ τέλειον.
For one thing, we admire accuracy in art, grandeur in nature; and it is Nature that has given the power of using words. Also, we expect a statue to resemble a man, but in literature, as I said before, we look for something greater than human. However (…), since impeccable correctness is, generally speaking, due to art, and the height of excellence, even if erratic, to genius, it is proper that art should always assist Nature. Their cooperation may well result in perfection. (36.3-4, tr. Fyfe and Russell)
The passage above simply addresses the interrelation of nature and art by explaining that it is capable of inspiring literary genius. This description depicts a systematic moderation in which art prevents human errors on the one hand, and nature brings about a limitlessly grand idea on the other hand. Furthermore, it suggests Longinus’s insight of literature’s role in this system. Literature and literary arts are pursuits of “something greater than human,” compared to other kinds of arts, and they are attempts of outreaching “the height of excellence,” or supposedly, “sublime.”
The placement of art in this system of nature shows a significant similarity to Plato’s philosophical stance in his Symposium.[3] Symposium explores the nature of Eros (Love), based on a competition of praising Eros among several characters. Socrates shares his view on Eros citing a conversation with Diotima, a mantic woman, who asserts that Eros is “a great spirit […] between god and human” (Symposium 202e). The function of a spirit, according to her, is a communication between the two so that it “fill[s] the gap between them and enable[s] the universe to form an interconnected whole” (202e). Eros, a spirit, is “neither mortal and immortal” and “between wisdom and ignorance” (203e), but rather “a lover of wisdom” (204b). Plato goes on to argue further that a lover of wisdom pursues wisdom, for it lacks wisdom, whereas a completely ignorant person will even not pursue wisdom (204a). This account etymologically evokes a basic definition of philosophy, “the love of wisdom,” but it is also possible to analogize the function of literature. Given that the literature is an intermediate being between Nature and Art, the literary art would be the act of loving the height of excellence, or the sublime.
In supporting this similarity, recall that Longinus and Caecilius disagree in their evaluation of Plato. Longinus thinks of Plato’s philosophical prose as majestic as he admits that Plato’s Republic is also a showcase of the sublime (Peri Hupsous 13.1). Compared to the writing of passionate orators, Longinus states that Plato’s writing is less emotional but is in “majestic and stately dignity” (12.3). Such appreciation of Platonic texts may contradict the emotional and passionate nature of sublime according to Longinus’s explanation, but there would be another tactical reason of praising Plato to as well as Homer. In Longinus’s observation, Caecilius prefers Lysias because of immaculacy and impeccability, while he does not care for Plato’s work because it is “full of mistakes” (32.8). However, Longinus’s follow-up justifications of his stance could be considered bold.
Perfect precision runs the risk of triviality, whereas in great writing as in great wealth there must needs by something overlooked. Perhaps it is inevitable that humble, mediocre natures, because they never run any risks and never aid at the heights, should remain to a large extent safe from error, while in great natures their very greatness spells danger. (33.2)
Plato’s sublime therefore comes from the text’s insecurities in making an audacious argument, or by referring to the argument of literature’s mediating art and nature (36.3). According to him, Plato’s work can be sublime because he refuses to persist in the measure of impeccability, the thing that Art can achieve. At the same time, Plato is not afraid of declaring that he is seeking truth, or in an example from Symposium, he believes in the existence of “what beauty really is” (Symp. 211c). The essence of the sublime might be located in this bare, honest, and sincere mind.
In the system of Longinian nature, teaching rhetorical tools constitutes just a part of the whole instruction of the sublime. Besides, learning about literature does not just contributes to educating a noble mind entitled to improvise the sublime, but also, as he insists, is the only way (cf. Peri Hupsous 2.3). Despite the limits of human ability, familiarizing oneself with literature elevates the human mind toward the mind of more than human. The imagination that literature provides would suffice partially, but what elevates human mind is the bravery to step-up the ladder. In Longinus’s sense, language plays a central role in broadening the mental horizon because of its neutrality between Nature and Art.
As three critical dimensions on Longinus’s text are presented, his strategy of argumentation becomes partly accessible. In the conversation with Terentianus, one of his constant commitments has been to identify his standpoint against Caecilius. Longinus’s accusatory comments against him appears from the beginning throughout. As remarked by Longinus, Caecilius’s work “fail to address the main point,” although he rather “[endeavors] by a thousand instances to demonstrate the nature of sublime, as though we know nothing about it” (1.1). His statement ought to meet the requirement of responding properly to Caecilius. In observing the progress that Longinus has made as much as apparent in his account, his analysis is particularly successful in describing the sublime in terms of a universal system.
At its outset, discussing the sublime confronts a fundamental impasse in conceptualization because the sublimity does not allow any direct attempts of verbalization. Although language may trigger the sublime, the sublime is not language itself. No description will surpass Longinus’s preciseness, when he notes,
If, then, a man of sense, well-versed in a literature, after hearing a passage several times finds that it does not affect him a sense of sublimity, and does not leave behind in his mind more food for thought than the words at first suggest, but rather that on consideration it sinks into the bathetic, then it cannot really be the true sublime, if its effect does not outlast the moment of utterance. (7.3)
The sublime is inevitably a subjective concept and has many confusing synonyms to be reflected. Thus, the study of the sublime has to be conscious about both a subject and an object of the experience, but one barely finds an objective criterion for observing it. In accordance, Longinus endeavors to depict the sublime in a systematic manner. However, in order to demonstrate such an ephemeral nature, there could be a question of how to secure the legitimacy of its account. As long as he mentions that there is “the true sublime,” Longinus might have to represent his option with a sense of authority.
The 44th section—the last section of the existing text—reveals that his defense of the authority in describing the sublime is heavily dependent on his view of sociopolitical freedom (ἡ ἐλευθερία), as “the fairest and most fertile source of eloquence” (44.3), although some may find this as a great logical leap. At this time, freedom specifically refers to a liberation from the slavery. Particularly, Longinus thinks of the freedom of expression, which the social power-dynamics largely defines, as one of the common natures that enables the prolificity. This advocacy of freedom may add some colors to what he suggests by “a noble mind (ἡ μεγαλοφροσύνη).” A greatness of mind essentially entails the social charter of liberty as a necessary condition, in addition to its interrelation to the great nature (μεγαλοφυΐα). Therefore, the “true sublime” primarily designates the unconstrained state of language, and thus, of thought.
Hence Longinus’s sense of legitimacy in illustrating the sublime originates in the complete freedom of behaving assertively of the personal experience, or ultimately, the absolute experience that nobody could know. According to this value, what the individual truly experiences should be appreciated in his or her own expression, without using any borrowed terms from others. Systematizing the sublime located in writing experiences symbolically expresses such significance. The dimension in which one experiences the sublime can be therefore universal in a different sense that logic and philosophy are universal. Longinus’s chief aim of this book, or a purpose of literary arts in a larger scope, is at highlighting this particular dimension and at discovering the potential of language that liberates the human mind.
Longinus’s question of whether language can express the notion of the sublime is, in turn, inquiring whether a human being can conceptualize the absolute. Every time one encounters new literature, one might utter it is “the best literature ever” often without a satisfactory reasoning, but such a superlative expression on the logical level is not possible until one sees the end of time. However, as Longinus observes in his On the Sublime, a sublime experience can occur repeatedly in a lifetime. The sublime is one of the astonishing, extraordinary, and indescribable events; while it is never relativized, it does not allow any common expression. Besides, the sublime is so instantaneous that it ceases to exist during one’s discovering an appropriate word to explain it. For these reasons, explaining about the sublime distinguishes itself from just praising any form of beauty by decorating with many adjectives.
The difficulty in demonstrating the sublime would be, at times, proving the verity of the experience. Including Longinus’s, the attempts of explaining the sublime appear as an enumeration of examples that one has experienced before. In doing so, however, the experience easily evades from being caught in a net of vocabulary. Although it is beyond any descriptions, Longinus still defends the capability of language as one of the central means that triggers the sublime. In part, this is seemingly an impossible project, but never in vain insofar as he assumes it is a universal phenomenon. Amongst the relative and quantifiable values that are prevalent in the entire experiential world, the sublime is one of the few exceptions that cannot be trivial. As a lecturer of the rhetorical art, Longinus’s confidence in linguistic capacity itself seems absolute because one can experience the sublime in language. In terms of the realm of his broad and bold argument, Longinus’s claim is merely confined in a private experience or a belief, yet it opens its way to discuss absoluteness in a common language.
NOTES
[1]. (Ps.-) Longinus, On the Sublime (Peri Hupsous), trans. W. H. Fyfe, rev. Donald Russell. Loeb Classical Library. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1995). All quotations in this paper rely on both the critical text and the translation of this edition throughout. Further reference will be shown in section and paragraph numbers in parentheses, which this edition determines.
[2]. Watch carefully this diminutive nuance.
[3]. Plato, The Symposium, trans. Christopher Gill (London: Penguin Classics, 1999). Further reference will be shown in the pagination of the traditional Stephanus edition. Quoted translation is Gill’s throughout.
