Right in the introduction, there’s this: “In any systematic treatise two things are essential: first, there must be some definition of the subject; second, in order of treatment but of greater importance, there must be some indication of the methods by which we may ourselves reach the desired goal.”
This whole piece was a response to Caecilus who “assuming us to be ignorant, sets out to establish the nature of the sublime by means of innumerable examples; but he leaves out of account, apparently considering it unnecessary, the means by which we may be enabled to raise our faculties to the proper pitch of grandeur.” I especially love that last phrase: the means by which we may be enabled to raise our faculties to the proper pitch of grandeur. It’s a great point. So often we are given lots of examples about the nature of things but are given nothing to actually work with in doing anything about it.
I do like this too: “However, we ought perhaps rather to praise him for the conception itself and the industry he has shown in carrying it out than to find fault with him for his deficiencies.” Well, that’s kind. Many times ideas are conceived but it takes someone else to fully realize their potential. That’s a case of what’s happening here. I feel like so many of my own conceptions are failing in execution because of my own shortcomings as a limited bag of flesh and bones.
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A couple little bits in Chapter 1 I’d like to note:
“…we should consider whether my views contain anything of value to men in public life.” I wonder about the same with my own thoughts all the time.
“…when asked what when have in common with the gods, replied, ‘Benevolence and truth.’” I wish this were still the case. If it ever was…
The person Longinus is writing to is Terentianus. I love how books back in Greek times were always written with such a very specific audience in mind. Sometimes a single person! I’ve thought about this in my own work… I think by going too general I make my own thoughts expressed in too generalized fashion. I suppose this method is where the idea of writing something as if you’re writing a really long letter to a friend is, in fact, why “men of letters” see their works last so long. Being so specific ironically makes these works more valuable than if they’re written for a general audience. Definitely something to think about.
“For the effect of elevated language is not to persuade the hearers, but to amaze them; and at all times, and in every way, what transports us with wonder is more telling than what merely persuades or gratifies us.” This is a beautiful thought.
“The extent to which we can be persuaded is usually under our own control, but these sublime passages exert an irresistible force and mastery, and get the upper hand with every hearer.”
How does one exert such a force? That’s what I want to know.
“Inventive skill and the proper order and disposition of material are not manifested in a good touch here and there, but reveal themselves by slow degrees as they run through the whole texture of the composition; on the other hand, a well-timed stroke of sublimity scatters everything before it like a thunderbolt, and in a flash reveals the full power of the speaker.”
Phew, that’s a long one. Gonna need to break that one down later.
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Chapter 7 of Longinus’ “On the Sublime” is called “The True Sublime”
“… as in everyday life nothing is great which it is a mark of greatness to despise, so is it with the sublime. Thus riches, honours, reputation, sovereignty, and all the other things which possess in marked degree the external trappings of a showy splendour, would not seem to a sensible man to be great blessings, since contempt for them is itself regarded as a considerable virtue; and indeed people admire those who possess them less than those who could have them but are high-minded enough to despise them.”
This isn’t a sort of social commentary I expected to read in ‘On the Sublime’ and it’s interesting how he applies this idea to his description of what he believes to be the true sublime:
“For by some innate power the true sublime uplifts our souls; we are filled with a proud exaltation and a sense of vaunting joy, just as though we had ourselves produced what we had heard.”
Essentially, the sublime makes us feel like through the work we become greater, that’s how I’m reading this.
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In Chapter 8, Longinus lays out the Five Sources of the Sublime. Thanks to ChatGPT at the time helping me organize these thusly (Chat’s comments are in italics):
- Greatness of Thought – Sublimity requires noble ideas—a mind capable of conceiving vastness, elevation, or deep moral/spiritual force… Small thoughts never lift people high. The grandeur must begin in the soul of the speaker.
- Pathos (Strong, Inspired Emotion) – Longinus calls for genuine feeling—not forced sentiment or manipulation, but emotion that overflows naturally from truth. Passion isn’t enough—it must be fitting, proportioned, and carried by sincerity.
- Proper Construction of Figures (Schemes and Tropes) – Figures of speech and thought—rhetorical devices—are your toolbox. But they only spark sublimity when they’re organic, arising naturally from intense feeling or insight. But, watch out: Too much ornament becomes gaudy. Sublime figures reveal, they don’t distract.
- Noble Diction (Choice of Words) – The right words in the right place, with tone, rhythm, and connotation all working in unison. Words must be elevated but not inflated. Longinus loves unusual, poetic, or archaic language when it suits the moment.
- Dignified and Elevated Composition (Arrangement and Rhythm) – It’s not just what you say, but how it flows. The rhythm, cadence, sentence structure—these are your architecture. A single line might be sublime, but true sublimity often shows up in [what you build around it.]
Chat’s final thought: Sublimity, for Longinus, is a kind of alchemy. It’s not just style or feeling or thought—it’s all five of these channels converging at once, sparked by something near-divine in the creator. You don’t just construct the sublime—you become capable of it.
Chat then suggested a quick template for spotting each of these five sources in real-world writing or your own drafts. It seems worth keeping here in this space, too. The questions asked here are particularly good.
1. Greatness of Thought
Questions to Ask:
- Is this concept big enough to shake the sky?
- Is the idea morally, spiritually, or existentially vast?
- Does it stretch the imagination or confront the infinite?
- Could it only come from someone unafraid of thinking on a grand scale?
Modern sightings:
- A single tweet that reframes reality in 280 characters.
- A line in a poem that slices through cultural noise like a comet.
- The core argument of a brilliant essay that demands a better world.
Check-in: “Does this idea make me sit back and go damn?”
2. Inspired Emotion (Pathos)
Questions to Ask:
- Am I gripped by more than reason?
- Does the feeling feel unfiltered, raw, but not manipulative?
- Is the emotional power proportionate to the thought it carries?
- Would it move someone across time, space, or belief?
Modern sightings:
- A speech that makes your chest ache or your eyes sting.
- A song lyric that hits you exactly where you’ve been broken.
- A blog post that doesn’t pander—but bleeds beautifully.
Check-in: “Do I feel something rising in my gut, not just ticking in my brain?”
3. Rhetorical Figures Used Powerfully
Questions to Ask:
- Are the words dancing or just dressing up?
- Do metaphors, allusions, or rhythms amplify the core idea naturally?
- Are the figures earned by emotion, not slapped on like glitter?
- Is there elegance in how complexity is revealed, not concealed?
Modern sightings:
- A viral TikTok monologue using repetition and irony with bite.
- A YouTuber’s rant with perfect parallel structure and tonal momentum.
- A novel where a single metaphor carries an entire theme across chapters.
Check-in: “Does the language carry the heat of the feeling, or just try to be clever?”
4. Noble Diction
Questions to Ask:
- Are these the only words that could have been used?
- Are the words rare or elevated—but never pretentious?
- Is the vocabulary chosen with precision and poetic force?
- Is there a sense that the writer tasted each word before choosing it?
Modern sightings:
- A line in a memoir where the choice of one verb makes the moment immortal.
- A tweet that uses one perfectly placed archaic word for humor and punch.
- A protest sign that’s as elegant as it is brutal.
Check-in: “Do these words ring like bells when I read them aloud?”
5. Elevated Composition
Questions to Ask:
- Does the whole thing build like a storm?
- Does the structure carry momentum toward an emotional or intellectual climax?
- Is the pacing intentional—breath, pause, explosion?
- Does it feel like the piece couldn’t have landed any other way?
Modern sightings:
- A well-edited video essay with mounting music and layered ideas.
- A podcast episode with a final line that chills you.
- A paragraph that starts in curiosity and ends in awe.
Check-in: “Do I feel breathless by the end—not from surprise, but because something real happened?”
A few bonus questions Chat suggested on finding the sublime in the wild.
- Have I seen a person do something that stunned me into silence? [In a good way I think Chat means here.]
- Have I felt overwhelmed by nature, art, or gesture in a way I couldn’t describe right away?
- Have I read or heard something that rearranged the furniture of my soul, even slightly?
Chat suggests: “Write those moments down. Don’t dissect them—just acknowledge them. They’re proof the Sublime still walks among us.”
I save these mostly because these are really good questions to ask as we’re sitting with works that stick with us. And since I’m in the business of asking better questions, these may seem a bit surface-level, but they are good touchpoints to spark a further chain of questioning.
