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<title>The Spectator 166</title>
<header>
  <number>no. 166</number>
  <date>1711-09-10</date>
  <author>Joseph Addison</author>
  <quotation>-------Quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignis,</quotation>
  <quotation>Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas.---Ovid.</quotation>
  <translation>Ovid, Met. xv. 871.</translation>
  <translation>-------Which nor dreads the rage</translation>
  <translation>Of tempests, fire, or war, or wasting age. ---Welsted</translation>
  </header>
<text>
<paragraph>ARISTOTLE tells us that the World is a Copy or
Transcript of those Ideas which are ill the Mind of the first
Being, and that those Ideas, which are in the Mind of Man, are a
Transcript of the World: To this we may add, that Words are the
Transcript of those Ideas which are in the Mind of Man, and that
Writing or Printing are the Transcript of Words.</paragraph>
<paragraph>As the Supreme Being has expressed, and as it were printed his Ideas in the
Creation, Men express their Ideas in Books, which by this great
Invention of these latter Ages may last as long as the Sun and
Moon, and perish only in the general Wreck of Nature. Thus <italic>Cowley</italic>
in his Poem on the Resurrection, mentioning the Destruction of the
Universe, has those admirable Lines.</paragraph>
<quotation><italic>Now all the wide extended Sky,</italic></quotation>
<quotation><italic>And all the harmonious Worlds on high,</italic></quotation>
<quotation><italic>And</italic> Virgil's <italic>sacred Work shall die.</italic></quotation>
<paragraph>There is no other Method of fixing those Thoughts which
arise and disappear in the Mind of Man, and transmitting them to
the last Periods of Time; no other Method of giving a Permanency to
our Ideas, and preserving the Knowledge of any particular Person,
when his Body is mixed with the common Mass of Matter, and his Soul
retired into the World of Spirits. Books are the Legacies that a
great Genius leaves to Mankind, which are delivered down from
Generation to Generation, as Presents to the Posterity of those who
are yet unborn.</paragraph>
<paragraph>All other Arts of perpetuating our Ideas continue
but a short Time: Statues can last but a few Thousands of Years,
Edifices, fewer, and Colours still fewer than Edifices. <italic>Michael
Angelo, Fontana,</italic> and <italic>Raphael,</italic> will hereafter be what <italic>Phidias,
Vitruvius,</italic> and <italic>Apelles</italic> are at present; the Names of great
Statuaries, Architects and Painters, whose Works are lost. The
several Arts are expressed in mouldring Materials: Nature sinks
under them, and is not able to support the Ideas which are imprest
upon it.</paragraph>
<paragraph>The Circumstance which gives Authors an Advantage above
all these great Masters, is this, that they can multiply their
Originals; or rather can make Copies of their Works, to what Number
they please, which shall be as valuable as the Originals
themselves. This gives a great Author something like a Prospect of
Eternity, but at the same time deprives him of those other
Advantages which Artists meet with. The Artist finds greater
Returns in Profit, as the Author in Fame. What an Inestimable Price
would a <italic>Virgil</italic> or a <italic>Homer,</italic> a <italic>Cicero</italic> or an <italic>Aristotle</italic> bear, were
their Works like a Statue, a Building, or a Picture, to be confined
only in one Place and made the Property of a single Person?</paragraph>
<paragraph>If Writings are thus durable, and may pass from Age to Age throughout
the whole Course of Time, how careful should an Author be of
committing any thing to Print that may corrupt Posterity, and
poison the Minds of Men with Vice and Error? Writers of great
Talents, who employ their Parts in propagating Immorality, and
seasoning vicious Sentiments with Wit and Humour, are to be looked
upon as the Pests of Society, and the Enemies of Mankind: They
leave Books behind them (as it is said of those who die in
Distempers which breed an Ill-will towards their own Species) to
scatter Infection and destroy their Posterity. They act the
Counterparts of a <italic>Confucius</italic> or a <italic>Socrates;</italic> and seem to have been
sent into the World to deprave human Nature, and sink it into the
Condition of Brutality.</paragraph>
<paragraph>I have seen some Roman-Catholick Authors,
who tell us that vicious Writers continue in Purgatory so long as
the Influence of their Writings continues upon Posterity: For
Purgatory, say they, is nothing else but a cleansing us of our
Sins, which cannot be said to be done away, so long as they con-
tinue to operate and corrupt Mankind. The vicious Author, say they,
sins after Death, and so long as he continues to sin, so long must
he expect to be punished. Tho' the Roman Catholick Notion of
Purgatory be indeed very ridiculous, one cannot but think that if
the Soul after Death has any Knowledge of what passes in this
World, that of an immoral Writer would receive much more Regret
from the Sense of corrupting, than Satisfaction from the Thought of
pleasing his surviving Admirers.</paragraph>
<paragraph>To take off from the Severity of
this Speculation, I shall conclude this Paper with a Story of an
Atheistical Author, who at a time when he lay dangerously sick, and
desired the Assistance of a neighbouring Curate, confessed to him
with great Contrition, that nothing sat more heavy at his Heart
than the .Sense of his having seduced the Age by his Writings, and
that their evil Influence was likely to continue even after his
Death. The Curate upon further Examination finding the Penitent in
the utmost Agonies of Despair, and being himself a Man of Learning,
told him, that he hoped his Case was not so desperate as he
apprehended, since he found that he was so very sensible of his
Fault, and so sincerely repented of it. The Penitent still urged
the evil Tendency of his Book to subvert all Religion, and the
little Ground of Hope there could be for one whose Writings would
continue to do Mischief when his Body was laid in Ashes. The
Curate, finding no other Way to comfort him, told him, that he did
well in being afflicted for the evil Design with which he published
his Book; but that he ought to be very thankful that there was no
danger of its doing any Hurt: That his Cause was so very bad, and
his Arguments so weak, that he did not apprehend any ill Effects of
it: In short, that he might rest satisfied his Book could do no
more Mischief after his Death, than it had done whilst he was
living. To which he added, for his farther Satisfaction, that he
did not believe any besides his particular Friends and Acquaintance
had ever been at the pains of reading it, or that any Body after
his Death would ever enquire after it. The dying Man had still so
much the Frailty of an Author in him, as to be cut to the Heart
with these Consolations; and without answering the good Man, asked
his Friends about him (with a Peevishness that is natural to a sick
Person) where they had picked up such a Blockhead? And whether they
thought him a proper Person to attend one in his Condition? The
Curate finding that the Author did not expect to be dealt with as a
real and sincere Penitent, but as a Penitent of Importance, after a
short Admonition withdrew; not questioning but he should be again
sent for if the Sickness grew desperate. The Author however
recovered, and has since written two or three other Tracts with the
same Spirit, and very luckily for his poor Soul with the same
Success.</paragraph>
<paragraph>C.</paragraph>
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