must be of the weighty grounds there are for opposing my belief, it 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 homaeopathic 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.


And it was this supposed unity of authorship which gave these poems their

powerful influence over the minds of the men of old. Heeren, who is evidently

little disposed in favour of modern theories, finely observes:—