“Do you think,” said Nekayah, “that the monastic rule is a more holy and less imperfect state than any other? May not he equally hope for future happiness who converses openly with mankind, who succours the distressed by his charity, instructs the ignorant by his learning, and contributes by his industry to the general system of life; even though he should omit some of the mortifications which are practised in the cloister, and allow himself such harmless delights as his condition may place within his reach?”
“This,” said Imlac, “is a question which has long divided the wise, and perplexed the good. I am afraid to decide on either part. He that lives well in the world is better than he that lives well in a monastery. But, perhaps, every one is not able to stem the temptations of public life; and if he cannot conquer, he may properly retreat. Some have little power to do good, and have likewise little strength to resist evil. Many are weary of their conflicts with adversity, and are willing to eject those passions which have long busied them in vain. And many are dismissed by age and diseases from the more laborious duties of society. In monasteries, the weak and timorous may be happily sheltered, the weary may repose, and the penitent may meditate. Those retreats of prayer and contemplation have something so congenial to the mind of man, that, perhaps, there is scarcely one that does not purpose to close his life in pious abstraction, with a few associates serious as himself.”
“Such,” said Pekuah, “has often been my wish, and I have heard the princess declare, that she could not willingly die in a crowd.”
“The liberty of using harmless pleasures,” proceeded Imlac, “will not be disputed; but it is still to be examined what pleasures are harmless. The evil of any pleasure that Nekayah can image, is not in the act itself, but in its consequences. Pleasure, in itself harmless, may become mischievous, by endearing to us a state which we know to be transient and probatory, and withdrawing our thoughts from that of which every hour brings us nearer to the beginning, and of which no length of time will bring us to the end. Mortification is not virtuous in itself, nor has any other use, but that it disengages us from the allurements of sense. In the state of future perfection, to which we all aspire, there will be pleasure without danger, and security without restraint.”
The princess was silent; and Rasselas, turning to the astronomer, asked him, whether he could not delay her retreat, by showing her something which she had not seen before.
“Your curiosity,” said the sage, “has been so general, and your pursuit of knowledge so vigorous, that novelties are not now very easily to be found; but what you can no longer procure from the living may be given by the dead. Among the wonders of this country are the Catacombs, or the ancient repositories in which the bodies of the earliest generations were lodged, and where, by the virtue of the gums which embalmed them, they yet remain without corruption.”
“I know not,” said Rasselas, “what pleasure the sight of the Catacombs can afford; but, since nothing else offered, I am resolved to view them, and shall place this with many other things, which I have done because I would do something.”
They hired a guard of horsemen, and the next day visited the Catacombs. When they were about to descend into the sepulchral caves, “Pekuah,” said the princess, “we are now again invading the habitations of the dead; I know that you will stay behind; let me find you safe when I return.” “No; I will not be left,” answered Pekuah, “I will go down between you and the prince.”
They then all descended, and roved with wonder through the labyrinth of subterraneous passages, where the bodies were laid in rows on either side.
CHAPTER XLVIII
IMLAC DISCOURSES ON THE NATURE OF THE SOUL
“What reason,” said the prince, “can be given, why the Egyptians should thus expensively preserve those carcasses, which some nations consume with fire, others lay to mingle with the earth, and all agree to remove from their sight as soon as decent rites can be performed?”
“The original of ancient customs,” said Imlac, “is commonly unknown, for the practice often continues when the cause has ceased; and concerning superstitious ceremonies it is vain to conjecture, for what reason did not dictate reason cannot explain. I have long believed that the practice of embalming arose only from tenderness to the remains of relations or friends, and to this opinion I am more inclined, because it seems impossible that this care should have been general: had all the dead been embalmed, their repositories must in time have been more spacious than the dwellings of the living. I suppose only the rich or honourable were secured from corruption, and the rest left to the course of nature.
“But it is commonly supposed, that the Egyptians believed the soul to live as long as the body continued undissolved, and therefore tried this method of eluding death.”
“Could the wise Egyptians,” said Nekayah, “think so grossly of the soul? If the soul could once survive its separation, what could it afterwards receive or suffer from the body?”
“The Egyptians would doubtless think erroneously,” said the astronomer, “in the darkness of heathenism, and the first dawn of philosophy. The nature of the soul is still disputed, amidst all our opportunities of clearer knowledge: some yet say that it may be material, who, nevertheless, believe it to be immortal.”
“Some,” answered Imlac, “have indeed said that the soul is material, but I can scarcely believe that any man has thought it, who knew how to think; for all the conclusions of reason enforce the immateriality of mind, and all the notices of sense and investigations of science concur to prove the unconsciousness of matter.
“It was never supposed that cogitation is inherent in matter, or that every particle is a thinking being. Yet, if any part of matter be devoid of thought, what part can we suppose to think? Matter can differ from matter only in form, density, bulk, motion, and direction of motion: to which of these, however varied or combined, can consciousness be annexed? To be round or square, to be solid or fluid, to be great or little, to be moved slowly or swiftly one way or another, are modes of material existence, all equally alien from the nature of cogitation. If matter be once without thought, it can only be made to think by some new modification; but all the modifications which it can admit are equally unconnected with cogitative powers.”
“But the materialists,” said the astronomer, “urge that matter may have qualities with which we are unacquainted.”
“He who will determine,” returned Imlac, “against that which he knows, because there may be something which he knows not, — he that can set hypothetical possibility against acknowledged certainty, — is not to be admitted among reasonable beings. All that we know of matter is, that matter is inert, senseless, and lifeless; and if this conviction cannot be opposed but by referring us to something that we know not, we have all the evidence that human intellect can admit. If that which is known may be overruled by that which is unknown, no being, not omniscient, can arrive at certainty.”
“Yet let us not,” said the astronomer, “too arrogantly limit the Creator’s power.”
“It is no limitation of omnipotence,” replied the poet, “to suppose that one thing is not consistent with another, that the same proposition cannot be at once true and false, that the same number cannot be even and odd, that cogitation cannot be conferred on that which is created incapable of cogitation.”
“I know not,” said Nekayah, “any great use of this question. Does that immateriality, which in my opinion you have sufficiently proved, necessarily include eternal duration?”
“Of immateriality,” said Imlac, “our ideas are negative, and therefore obscure. Immateriality seems to imply a natural power of perpetual duration as a consequence of exemption from all causes of decay; whatever perishes is destroyed by the solution of its contexture, and separation of its parts; nor can we conceive how that which has no parts, and therefore admits no solution, can be naturally corrupted or impaired.”
“I know not,” said Rasselas, “how to conceive anything without extension; what is extend
ed must have parts, and you allow that whatever has parts may be destroyed.”
“Consider your own conceptions,” replied Imlac, “and the difficulty will be less. You will find substance without extension. An ideal form is no less real than material bulk; yet an ideal form has no extension. It is no less certain, when you think on a pyramid, that your mind possesses the idea of a pyramid, than that the pyramid itself is standing. What space does the idea of a pyramid occupy more than the idea of a grain of corn? or how can either idea suffer laceration? As is the effect, such is the cause: as thought, such is the power that thinks; a power impassive and indiscerptible.”
“But the Being,” said Nekayah, “whom I fear to name, the Being which made the soul, can destroy it.”
“He surely can destroy it,” answered Imlac, “since, however unperishable, it receives from a superior nature its power of duration. That it will not perish by any inherent cause of decay, or principle of corruption, may be shown by philosophy; but philosophy can tell no more. That it will not be annihilated by Him that made it, we must humbly learn from higher authority.” The whole assembly stood a while silent and collected. “Let us return,” said Rasselas, “from this scene of mortality. How gloomy would be these mansions of the dead to him who did not know that he should never die, that what now acts shall continue its agency, and what now thinks shall think on for ever. Those that lie here stretched before us, the wise and the powerful of ancient times, warn us to remember the shortness of our present state: they were, perhaps, snatched away while they were busy like us in the choice of life.”
“To me,” said the princess, “the choice of life is become less important; I hope hereafter to think only on the choice of eternity.”
They then hastened out of the caverns, and under the protection of their guard returned to Cairo.
CHAPTER XLIX
THE CONCLUSION, IN WHICH NOTHING IS CONCLUDED
It was now the time of the inundation of the Nile: a few days after their visit to the Catacombs, the river began to rise.
They were confined to their house. The whole region being under water gave them no invitation to any excursions, and being well supplied with material for talk, they diverted themselves with comparisons of the different forms of life which they had observed, and with various schemes of happiness which each of them had formed.
Pekuah was never so much charmed with any place as the convent of St. Anthony, where the Arab restored her to the princess, and wished only to fill it with pious maidens, and to be made prioress of the order; she was weary of expectation and disgust, and would gladly be fixed in some unvariable state.
The princess thought, that of all sublunary things knowledge was the best: she desired first to learn all sciences, and then proposed to found a college of learned women, in which she would preside, that, by conversing with the old, and educating the young, she might divide her time between the acquisition and communication of wisdom, and raise up for the next age models of prudence, and patterns of piety.
The prince desired a little kingdom, in which he might administer justice in his own person, and see all the parts of government with his own eyes; but he could never fix the limits of his dominion, and was always adding to the number of his subjects.
Imlac and the astronomer were contented to be driven along the stream of life, without directing their course to any particular port.
Of these wishes that they had formed they well knew that none could be obtained. They deliberated awhile what was to be done, and resolved, when the inundation should cease, to return to Abyssinia.
The Dictionary
On 31 October 1728, aged 19, Johnson entered Pembroke College, Oxford, after inheriting money from the death of his mother’s cousin. The inheritance did not cover all of his expenses at Pembroke, but Andrew Corbet, a friend and fellow student at Pembroke, offered to make up the deficit. After thirteen months, a shortage of funds forced him to leave Oxford without a degree and he returned to Lichfield.
INTRODUCTION TO ‘A DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE’
In 1746, a group of publishers approached Johnson about creating an authoritative dictionary of the English language and a contract with William Strahan and associates, worth 1,500 guineas, was signed on the morning of 18 June 1746. Johnson claimed that he could finish the project in three years. In comparison, the French equivalent, Académie Française, had forty scholars spending forty years to complete its dictionary, prompting Johnson to claim, “This is the proportion. Let me see; forty times forty is sixteen hundred. As three to sixteen hundred, so is the proportion of an Englishman to a Frenchman”. Although he did not succeed in completing the work in three years, he did manage to complete the dictionary in nine, justifying his boast.
Johnson’s dictionary was not the first of its kind, nor was it unique. It was, however, the most commonly used and imitated for the 150 years between its first publication and the completion of the Oxford English Dictionary in 1928. Other dictionaries, such as Nathan Bailey’s Dictionarium Britannicum, included more words and in the 150 years preceding Johnson’s Dictionary about twenty other general-purpose monolingual dictionaries had been produced. However, there was open dissatisfaction with the dictionaries of the period and many inconsistencies with spellings and definitions.
Johnson’s Dictionary was prepared at 17 Gough Square, London, an eclectic household, between the years of 1746 and 1755. By 1747 Johnson had written his Plan of a Dictionary of the English Language, which spelled out his intentions and proposed methodology for preparing his document. He clearly saw benefit in drawing from previous efforts, and saw the process as a parallel to legal precedent.
A Dictionary of the English Language was somewhat large and very expensive. Its pages were 18 inches tall and nearly 20 inches wide. The paper was of the finest quality available, the cost of which ran to nearly £1,600; more than Johnson had been paid to write the book. Johnson himself pronounced the book “Vasta mole superbus” (Proud in its great bulk). The original edition was published in two folio volumes, divided between letters A–K and L–Z. But that format soon proved unwieldy to use and unprofitable to sell. Subsequent printings ran to four volumes and even these formed a stack 10 inches and weighed almost 10kg. No bookseller could possibly hope to print this book without help; except for a few special editions of the Bible, no book of this heft and size had even been set to type before.
This first edition of the Dictionary contained a 42,773-word list, to which only a few more were added in subsequent editions. One of Johnson’s important innovations was to illustrate the meanings of his words by literary quotations, of which there are around 114,000 examples, with quotations from authors such as Shakespeare, Spenser, Swift, Milton and Dryden. Furthermore, Johnson, unlike Bailey before him, added notes on a word’s usage, rather than being merely descriptive. Johnson’s work demonstrated a meticulousness and professionalism, which, unlike the proto-dictionaries that had come before, took painstaking care in the completeness of its definitions that was most likely what led to this Dictionary becoming the firm favourite of posterity.
Published on 15 April 1755, Johnson’s Dictionary is among the most influential books in the history of the English language. Immediately after publication The Dictionary was enthusiastically reviewed in important periodicals such as the London Magazine and the Gentleman’s Magazine, where it received an eight-page notice. Reviews were overall generous in tone and complimentary on Johnson’s herculean achievement.
A selection of the original entries for the 1755 Dictionary are provided in this section of the eBook, with numerous definitions of words for every letter of the alphabet, allowing readers to appreciate the true flavour of Johnson’s original text.
The first edition of the Dictionary
Samuel Johnson by Joshua Reynolds, 1756 — portraying the author soon after publishing his Dictionary for the first time
The Preface of the Dictionary
PREFACE TO A DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH
LANGUAGE
It is the fate of those who toil at the lower employments of life, to be rather driven by the fear of evil, than attracted by the prospect of good; to be exposed to censure, without hope of praise; to be disgraced by miscarriage, or punished for neglect, where success would have been without applause, and diligence without reward.
Among these unhappy mortals is the writer of dictionaries; whom mankind have considered, not as the pupil, but the slave of science, the pionier of literature, doomed only to remove rubbish and clear obstructions from the paths through which Learning and Genius press forward to conquest and glory, without bestowing a smile on the humble drudge that facilitates their progress. Every other authour may aspire to praise; the lexicographer can only hope to escape reproach, and even this negative recompense has been yet granted to very few.
I have, notwithstanding this discouragement, attempted a dictionary of the English language, which, while it was employed in the cultivation of every species of literature, has itself been hitherto neglected; suffered to spread, under the direction of chance, into wild exuberance; resigned to the tyranny of time and fashion; and exposed to the corruptions of ignorance, and caprices of innovation.
When I took the first survey of my undertaking, I found our speech copious without order, and energetick without rules: wherever I turned my view, there was perplexity to be disentangled, and confusion to be regulated; choice was to be made out of boundless variety, without any established principle of selection; adulterations were to be detected, without a settled test of purity; and modes of expression to be rejected or received, without the suffrages of any writers of classical reputation or acknowledged authority.
Complete Works of Samuel Johnson Page 382
