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ESSAYS
and
MISCELLANIES
The Complete Works Volume 3
By Plutarch
CONTENTS
THAT A PHILOSOPHER OUGHT CHIEFLY TO CONVERSE WITH GREAT MEN.
SENTIMENTS CONCERNING NATURE WITH WHICH PHILOSOPHERS WERE DELIGHTED
CHAPTER II. WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A PRINCIPLE AND AN ELEMENT?
CHAPTER III. WHAT ARE PRINCIPLES?
CHAPTER IV. HOW WAS THIS WORLD COMPOSED IN THAT ORDER AND AFTER THAT MANNER IT IS?
CHAPTER V. WHETHER THE UNIVERSE IS ONE SINGLE THING.
CHAPTER VI. WHENCE DID MEN OBTAIN THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE AND ESSENCE OF A DEITY?
CHAPTER VIII. OF THOSE THAT ARE CALLED GENIUSES AND HEROES
CHAPTER XIII. OF THOSE THINGS THAT ARE LEAST IN NATURE.
CHAPTER XVI. OF THE DIVISION OF BODIES.
CHAPTER XVII. HOW BODIES ARE MIXED AND CONTEMPERATED ONE WITH ANOTHER.
CHAPTER XXII. OF THE SUBSTANCE AND NATURE OF TIME.
CHAPTER XXIV. OF GENERATION AND CORRUPTION.
CHAPTER XXVI. OF THE NATURE OF NECESSITY.
CHAPTER XXVII. OF DESTINY OR FATE.
CHAPTER XXVIII. OF THE NATURE OF FATE.
CHAPTER II. OF THE FIGURE OF THE WORLD.
CHAPTER III. WHETHER THE WORLD BE AN ANIMAL.
CHAPTER IV. WHETHER THE WORLD IS ETERNAL AND INCORRUPTIBLE.
CHAPTER V. WHENCE DOES THE WORLD RECEIVE ITS NUTRIMENT?
CHAPTER VI. FROM WHAT ELEMENT GOD DID BEGIN TO RAISE THE FABRIC OF THE WORLD.
CHAPTER VII. IN WHAT FORM AND ORDER THE WORLD WAS COMPOSED.
CHAPTER VIII. WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF THE WORLD'S INCLINATION.
CHAPTER IX. OF THAT THING WHICH IS BEYOND THE WORLD, AND WHETHER IT BE A VACUUM OR NOT.
CHAPTER X. WHAT PARTS OF THE WORLD ARE ON THE RIGHT HAND, AND WHAT ON THE LEFT.
CHAPTER XI. OF HEAVEN, WHAT IS ITS NATURE AND ESSENCE.
CHAPTER XII. INTO HOW MANY CIRCLES IS THE HEAVEN DISTINGUISHED; OR, OF THE DIVISION OF HEAVEN.
CHAPTER XIII. WHAT IS THE ESSENCE OF THE STARS, AND HOW THEY ARE COMPOSED.
CHAPTER XIV. OF WHAT FIGURE THE STARS ARE.
CHAPTER XV. OF THE ORDER AND PLACE OF THE STARS.
CHAPTER XVI. OF THE MOTION AND CIRCULATION OF THE STARS.
CHAPTER XVII. WHENCE DO THE STARS RECEIVE THEIR LIGHT?
CHAPTER XVIII. WHAT ARE THOSE STARS WHICH ARE CALLED THE DIOSCURI, THE TWINS, OR CASTOR AND POLLUX?
CHAPTER XIX. HOW STARS PROGNOSTICATE, AND WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF WINTER AND SUMMER.
CHAPTER XX. OF THE ESSENCE OF THE SUN.
CHAPTER XXI. OF THE MAGNITUDE OF THE SUN.
CHAPTER XXII. WHAT IS THE FIGURE OR SHAPE OF THE SUN.
CHAPTER XXIII. OF THE TURNING AND RETURNING OF THE STARS, OR THE SUMMER AND WINTER SOLSTICE.
CHAPTER XXIV. OF THE ECLIPSE OF THE SUN.
CHAPTER XXV. OF THE ESSENCE OF THE MOON.
CHAPTER XXVI. OF THE SIZE OF THE MOON.
CHAPTER XXVII. OF THE FIGURE OF THE MOON.
CHAPTER XXVIII. FROM WHENCE IS IT THAT THE MOON RECEIVES HER LIGHT?
CHAPTER XXIX. OF THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON.
CHAPTER XXXI. HOW FAR THE MOON IS REMOVED FROM THE SUN.
CHAPTER XXXII. OF THE YEAR, AND HOW MANY CIRCULATIONS MAKE UP THE GREAT YEAR OF EVERY PLANET.
CHAPTER I. OF THE GALAXY, OR THE MILKY WAY.
CHAPTER II. OF COMETS AND SHOOTING FIRES, AND THOSE WHICH RESEMBLE BEAMS.
CHAPTER IV. OF CLOUDS, RAIN, SNOW, AND HAIL.
CHAPTER VI. OF METEORS WHICH RESEMBLE RODS, OR OF RODS.
CHAPTER VIII. OF WINTER AND SUMMER.
CHAPTER IX. OF THE EARTH, WHAT IS ITS NATURE AND MAGNITUDE.
CHAPTER X. OF THE FIGURE OF THE EARTH.
CHAPTER XI. OF THE SITE AND POSITION OF THE EARTH.
CHAPTER XII. OF THE INCLINATION OF THE EARTH.
CHAPTER XIII. OF THE MOTION OF THE EARTH.
CHAPTER XIV. INTO HOW MANY ZONES IS THE EARTH DIVIDED?
CHAPTER XVI. OF THE SEA, AND HOW IT IS COMPOSED, AND HOW IT BECOMES TO THE TASTE BITTER.
CHAPTER XVII. OF TIDES, OR OF THE EBBING AND FLOWING OF THE SEA.
CHAPTER XVIII. OF THE AUREA, OR A CIRCLE ABOUT A STAR.
CHAPTER I. OF THE OVERFLOWING OF THE NILE.
CHAPTER III. WHETHER THE SOUL BE A BODY, AND WHAT IS THE NATURE AND ESSENCE OF IT.
CHAPTER IV. OF THE PARTS OF THE SOUL.
CHAPTER V. WHAT IS THE PRINCIPAL PART OF THE SOUL, AND IN WHAT PART OF THE BODY IT RESIDES.
CHAPTER VI. OF THE MOTION OF THE SOUL.
CHAPTER VII. OF THE SOUL'S IMMORTALITY.
CHAPTER VIII. OF THE SENSES, AND OF THOSE THINGS WHICH ARE OBJECTS OF THE SENSES,
CHAPTER IX. WHETHER WHAT APPEARS TO OUR SENSES AND IMAGINATIONS BE TRUE OR NOT.
CHAPTER X. HOW MANY SENSES ARE THERE?
CHAPTER XIII. OF OUR SIGHT, AND BY WHAT MEANS WE SEE.
CHAPTER XIV. OF THOSE IMAGES WHICH ARE PRESENTED TO OUR EYES IN MIRRORS.
CHAPTER XV. WHETHER DARKNESS CAN BE VISIBLE TO US.
CHAPTER XX. WHETHER THE VOICE IS INCORPOREAL. WHAT IS IT THAT THE GIVES ECHO?
CHAPTER XXII. OF RESPIRATION OR BREATHING.
CHAPTER II. WHENCE DREAMS DO ARISE.
CHAPTER III. OF THE NATURE OF GENERATIVE SEED.
CHAPTER IV. WHETHER THE SPERM BE A BODY.
CHAPTER V. WHETHER WOMEN DO GIVE A SPERMATIC EMISSION AS MEN DO.
CHAPTER VI. HOW IT IS THAT CONCEPTIONS ARE MADE.
CHAPTER VII. AFTER WHAT MANNER MALES AND FEMALES ARE GENERATED.
CHAPTER VIII. BY WHAT MEANS IT IS THAT MONSTROUS BIRTHS ARE EFFECTED.
CHAPTER X. WHENCE IT IS THAT ONE BIRTH GIVES TWO OR THREE CHILDREN.
CHAPTER XI. WHENCE IT IS THAT CHILDREN REPRESENT THEIR PARENTS AND PROGENITORS.
CHAPTER XIII. WHENCE ARISETH BARRENNESS IN WOMEN, AND IMPOTENCY IN MEN?
CHAPTER XIV. HOW IT ARISES THAT MULES ARE BARREN.
CHAPTER XV. WHETHER THE INFANT IN THE MOTHER'S WOMB BE AN ANIMAL.
CHAPTER XVI. HOW EMBRYOS ARE NOURISHED, OR HOW THE INFANT IN THE BELLY RECEIVES ITS ALIMENT.
CHAPTER XVII. WHAT PART OF THE BODY IS FIRST FORMED IN THE WOMB.
CHAPTER XVIII. WHENCE IS IT THAT INFANTS BORN IN THE SEVENTH MONTH ARE BORN ALIVE.
CHAPTER XXI. WHAT TIME IS REQUIRED TO SHAPE THE PARTS OF ANIMALS IN THE WOMB.
CHAPTER XXII. OF WHAT ELEMENTS EACH OF THE MEMBERS OF US MEN IS COMPOSED.
CHAPTER XXIII. WHAT ARE THE CAUSES OF SLEEP AND DEATH?
CHAPTER XXIV. WHEN AND FROM WHENCE THE PERFECTION OF A MAN COMMENCES.
CHAPTER XXV. WHETHER SLEEP OR DEATH APPERTAINS TO THE SOUL OR BODY.
CHAPTER XXVI. HOW PLANTS INCREASE.
CHAPTER XXVII. OF NUTRITION AND GROWTH.
CHAPTER XXVIII. WHENCE IT IS THAT IN ANIMALS THERE ARE APPETITES AND PLEASURES.
CHAPTER XXX. OF HEALTH, SICKNESS, AND OLD AGE.
ABSTRACT OF A DISCOURSE SHOWING THAT THE STOICS SPEAK GREATER IMPROBABILITIES THAN THE POETS.
COMMON CONCEPTIONS AGAINST THE STOICS.
AGAINST COLOTES, THE DISCIPLE AND FAVORITE OF EPICURUS.
THE BANQUET OF THE SEVEN WISE MEN.
ABSTRACT OF A COMPARISON BETWEEN ARISTOPHANE AND MENANDER
CONTENTS
THAT A PHILOSOPHER OUGHT CHIEFLY TO CONVERSE WITH GREAT MEN.
SENTIMENTS CONCERNING NATURE WITH WHICH PHILOSOPHERS WERE DELIGHTED
CHAPTER II. WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A PRINCIPLE AND AN ELEMENT?
CHAPTER III. WHAT ARE PRINCIPLES?
CHAPTER IV. HOW WAS THIS WORLD COMPOSED IN THAT ORDER AND AFTER THAT MANNER IT IS?
CHAPTER V. WHETHER THE UNIVERSE IS ONE SINGLE THING.
CHAPTER VI. WHENCE DID MEN OBTAIN THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE AND ESSENCE OF A DEITY?
CHAPTER VIII. OF THOSE THAT ARE CALLED GENIUSES AND HEROES
CHAPTER XIII. OF THOSE THINGS THAT ARE LEAST IN NATURE.
CHAPTER XVI. OF THE DIVISION OF BODIES.
CHAPTER XVII. HOW BODIES ARE MIXED AND CONTEMPERATED ONE WITH ANOTHER.
CHAPTER XXII. OF THE SUBSTANCE AND NATURE OF TIME.
CHAPTER XXIV. OF GENERATION AND CORRUPTION.
CHAPTER XXVI. OF THE NATURE OF NECESSITY.
CHAPTER XXVII. OF DESTINY OR FATE.
CHAPTER XXVIII. OF THE NATURE OF FATE.
CHAPTER II. OF THE FIGURE OF THE WORLD.
CHAPTER III. WHETHER THE WORLD BE AN ANIMAL.
CHAPTER IV. WHETHER THE WORLD IS ETERNAL AND INCORRUPTIBLE.
CHAPTER V. WHENCE DOES THE WORLD RECEIVE ITS NUTRIMENT?
CHAPTER VI. FROM WHAT ELEMENT GOD DID BEGIN TO RAISE THE FABRIC OF THE WORLD.
CHAPTER VII. IN WHAT FORM AND ORDER THE WORLD WAS COMPOSED.
CHAPTER VIII. WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF THE WORLD'S INCLINATION.
CHAPTER IX. OF THAT THING WHICH IS BEYOND THE WORLD, AND WHETHER IT BE A VACUUM OR NOT.
CHAPTER X. WHAT PARTS OF THE WORLD ARE ON THE RIGHT HAND, AND WHAT ON THE LEFT.
CHAPTER XI. OF HEAVEN, WHAT IS ITS NATURE AND ESSENCE.
CHAPTER XII. INTO HOW MANY CIRCLES IS THE HEAVEN DISTINGUISHED; OR, OF THE DIVISION OF HEAVEN.
CHAPTER XIII. WHAT IS THE ESSENCE OF THE STARS, AND HOW THEY ARE COMPOSED.
CHAPTER XIV. OF WHAT FIGURE THE STARS ARE.
CHAPTER XV. OF THE ORDER AND PLACE OF THE STARS.
CHAPTER XVI. OF THE MOTION AND CIRCULATION OF THE STARS.
CHAPTER XVII. WHENCE DO THE STARS RECEIVE THEIR LIGHT?
CHAPTER XVIII. WHAT ARE THOSE STARS WHICH ARE CALLED THE DIOSCURI, THE TWINS, OR CASTOR AND POLLUX?
CHAPTER XIX. HOW STARS PROGNOSTICATE, AND WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF WINTER AND SUMMER.
CHAPTER XX. OF THE ESSENCE OF THE SUN.
CHAPTER XXI. OF THE MAGNITUDE OF THE SUN.
CHAPTER XXII. WHAT IS THE FIGURE OR SHAPE OF THE SUN.
CHAPTER XXIII. OF THE TURNING AND RETURNING OF THE STARS, OR THE SUMMER AND WINTER SOLSTICE.
CHAPTER XXIV. OF THE ECLIPSE OF THE SUN.
CHAPTER XXV. OF THE ESSENCE OF THE MOON.
CHAPTER XXVI. OF THE SIZE OF THE MOON.
CHAPTER XXVII. OF THE FIGURE OF THE MOON.
CHAPTER XXVIII. FROM WHENCE IS IT THAT THE MOON RECEIVES HER LIGHT?
CHAPTER XXIX. OF THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON.
CHAPTER XXXI. HOW FAR THE MOON IS REMOVED FROM THE SUN.
CHAPTER XXXII. OF THE YEAR, AND HOW MANY CIRCULATIONS MAKE UP THE GREAT YEAR OF EVERY PLANET.
CHAPTER I. OF THE GALAXY, OR THE MILKY WAY.
CHAPTER II. OF COMETS AND SHOOTING FIRES, AND THOSE WHICH RESEMBLE BEAMS.
CHAPTER IV. OF CLOUDS, RAIN, SNOW, AND HAIL.
CHAPTER VI. OF METEORS WHICH RESEMBLE RODS, OR OF RODS.
CHAPTER VIII. OF WINTER AND SUMMER.
CHAPTER IX. OF THE EARTH, WHAT IS ITS NATURE AND MAGNITUDE.
CHAPTER X. OF THE FIGURE OF THE EARTH.
CHAPTER XI. OF THE SITE AND POSITION OF THE EARTH.
CHAPTER XII. OF THE INCLINATION OF THE EARTH.
CHAPTER XIII. OF THE MOTION OF THE EARTH.
CHAPTER XIV. INTO HOW MANY ZONES IS THE EARTH DIVIDED?
CHAPTER XVI. OF THE SEA, AND HOW IT IS COMPOSED, AND HOW IT BECOMES TO THE TASTE BITTER.
CHAPTER XVII. OF TIDES, OR OF THE EBBING AND FLOWING OF THE SEA.
CHAPTER XVIII. OF THE AUREA, OR A CIRCLE ABOUT A STAR.
CHAPTER I. OF THE OVERFLOWING OF THE NILE.
CHAPTER III. WHETHER THE SOUL BE A BODY, AND WHAT IS THE NATURE AND ESSENCE OF IT.
CHAPTER IV. OF THE PARTS OF THE SOUL.
CHAPTER V. WHAT IS THE PRINCIPAL PART OF THE SOUL, AND IN WHAT PART OF THE BODY IT RESIDES.
CHAPTER VI. OF THE MOTION OF THE SOUL.
CHAPTER VII. OF THE SOUL'S IMMORTALITY.
CHAPTER VIII. OF THE SENSES, AND OF THOSE THINGS WHICH ARE OBJECTS OF THE SENSES,
CHAPTER IX. WHETHER WHAT APPEARS TO OUR SENSES AND IMAGINATIONS BE TRUE OR NOT.
CHAPTER X. HOW MANY SENSES ARE THERE?
CHAPTER XIII. OF OUR SIGHT, AND BY WHAT MEANS WE SEE.
CHAPTER XIV. OF THOSE IMAGES WHICH ARE PRESENTED TO OUR EYES IN MIRRORS.
CHAPTER XV. WHETHER DARKNESS CAN BE VISIBLE TO US.
CHAPTER XX. WHETHER THE VOICE IS INCORPOREAL. WHAT IS IT THAT THE GIVES ECHO?
CHAPTER XXII. OF RESPIRATION OR BREATHING.
CHAPTER II. WHENCE DREAMS DO ARISE.
CHAPTER III. OF THE NATURE OF GENERATIVE SEED.
CHAPTER IV. WHETHER THE SPERM BE A BODY.
CHAPTER V. WHETHER WOMEN DO GIVE A SPERMATIC EMISSION AS MEN DO.
CHAPTER VI. HOW IT IS THAT CONCEPTIONS ARE MADE.
CHAPTER VII. AFTER WHAT MANNER MALES AND FEMALES ARE GENERATED.
CHAPTER VIII. BY WHAT MEANS IT IS THAT MONSTROUS BIRTHS ARE EFFECTED.
CHAPTER X. WHENCE IT IS THAT ONE BIRTH GIVES TWO OR THREE CHILDREN.
CHAPTER XI. WHENCE IT IS THAT CHILDREN REPRESENT THEIR PARENTS AND PROGENITORS.
CHAPTER XIII. WHENCE ARISETH BARRENNESS IN WOMEN, AND IMPOTENCY IN MEN?
CHAPTER XIV. HOW IT ARISES THAT MULES ARE BARREN.
CHAPTER XV. WHETHER THE INFANT IN THE MOTHER'S WOMB BE AN ANIMAL.
CHAPTER XVI. HOW EMBRYOS ARE NOURISHED, OR HOW THE INFANT IN THE BELLY RECEIVES ITS ALIMENT.
CHAPTER XVII. WHAT PART OF THE BODY IS FIRST FORMED IN THE WOMB.
CHAPTER XVIII. WHENCE IS IT THAT INFANTS BORN IN THE SEVENTH MONTH ARE BORN ALIVE.
CHAPTER XXI. WHAT TIME IS REQUIRED TO SHAPE THE PARTS OF ANIMALS IN THE WOMB.
CHAPTER XXII. OF WHAT ELEMENTS EACH OF THE MEMBERS OF US MEN IS COMPOSED.
CHAPTER XXIII. WHAT ARE THE CAUSES OF SLEEP AND DEATH?
CHAPTER XXIV. WHEN AND FROM WHENCE THE PERFECTION OF A MAN COMMENCES.
CHAPTER XXV. WHETHER SLEEP OR DEATH APPERTAINS TO THE SOUL OR BODY.
CHAPTER XXVI. HOW PLANTS INCREASE.
CHAPTER XXVII. OF NUTRITION AND GROWTH.
CHAPTER XXVIII. WHENCE IT IS THAT IN ANIMALS THERE ARE APPETITES AND PLEASURES.
CHAPTER XXX. OF HEALTH, SICKNESS, AND OLD AGE.
ABSTRACT OF A DISCOURSE SHOWING THAT THE STOICS SPEAK GREATER IMPROBABILITIES THAN THE POETS.
COMMON CONCEPTIONS AGAINST THE STOICS.
AGAINST COLOTES, THE DISCIPLE AND FAVORITE OF EPICURUS.
THE BANQUET OF THE SEVEN WISE MEN.
ABSTRACT OF A COMPARISON BETWEEN ARISTOPHANE AND MENANDER
PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS
Philosophy Essays
That It Is Not Possible To Live Pleasurably According To The Doctrine Of Epicurus That A Philosopher Ought Chiefly To Converse With Great Men Sentiments Concerning Nature, With Which Philosophers Were Delighted Abstract Of A Discourse Showing That The Stoics Speak Greater Improbabilities Than The Poets Symposiacs Common Conceptions Against The Stoics Contradictions Of The Stoics The Eating Of Flesh Concerning Fate Against Colotes, The Disciple And Favorite Of Epicurus Platonic Questions
That It Is Not Possible To Live Pleasurably According To The Doctrine Of Epicurus That A Philosopher Ought Chiefly To Converse With Great Men Sentiments Concerning Nature, With Which Philosophers Were Delighted Abstract Of A Discourse Showing That The Stoics Speak Greater Improbabilities Than The Poets Symposiacs Common Conceptions Against The Stoics Contradictions Of The Stoics The Eating Of Flesh Concerning Fate Against Colotes, The Disciple And Favorite Of Epicurus Platonic Questions
LITERARY ESSAYS
Literary Essays
The Life And Poetry Of Homer The Banquet Of The Seven Wise Men How A Young Man Ought To Hear Poems Abstract Of A Comparison Between Aristophanes And Menander The Malice Of Herodotus
The Life and Poetry of Homer The Banquet of the Seven Wise Men How a Young Man Should Listen to Poems Summary of a Comparison Between Aristophanes and Menander The Malice of Herodotus
PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS
THAT IT IS NOT POSSIBLE TO LIVE PLEASURABLY ACCORDING TO THE DOCTRINE OF EPICURUS. PLUTARCH, ZEUXIPPUS, THEON, ARISTODEMUS.
THAT IT IS NOT POSSIBLE TO LIVE PLEASURABLY ACCORDING TO THE DOCTRINE OF EPICURUS. PLUTARCH, ZEUXIPPUS, THEON, ARISTODEMUS.
Epicurus's great confidant and familiar, Colotes, set forth a book with this title to it, that according to the tenets of the other philosophers it is impossible to live. Now what occurred to me then to say against him, in the defence of those philosophers, hath been already put into writing by me. But since upon breaking up of our lecture several things have happened to be spoken afterwards in the walks in further opposition to his party, I thought it not amiss to recollect them also, if for no other reason, yet for this one, that those who will needs be contradicting other men may see that they ought not to run cursorily over the discourses and writings of those they would disprove, nor by tearing out one word here and another there, or by falling foul upon particular passages without the books, to impose upon the ignorant and unlearned.
Epicurus's close friend and associate, Colotes, published a book with the title claiming that according to the beliefs of other philosophers, it’s impossible to live. I’ve already written down my responses to him in defense of those philosophers. However, since after our lecture several things were discussed in our walks that further opposed his views, I thought it would be helpful to gather those thoughts as well. This is important so that those who insist on contradicting others realize they shouldn’t skim through the discussions and writings of those they want to argue against, nor should they mislead the uninformed by selectively quoting or misinterpreting specific passages without referencing the entire text.
Now as we were leaving the school to take a walk (as our manner is) in the gymnasium, Zeuxippus began to us: In my opinion, said he, the debate was managed on our side with more softness and less freedom than was fitting. I am sure, Heraclides went away disgusted with us, for handling Epicurus and Aletrodorus more roughly than they deserved. Yet you may remember, replied Theon, how you told them that Colotes himself, compared with the rhetoric of those two gentlemen, would appear the complaisantest man alive; for when they have raked together the lewdest terms of ignominy the tongue of man ever used, as buffooneries, trollings, arrogancies, whorings, assassinations, whining counterfeits, black-guards, and blockheads, they faintly throw them in the faces of Aristotle, Socrates, Pythagoras, Protagoras, Theophrastus, Heraclides, Hipparchus, and which not, even of the best and most celebrated authorities. So that, should they pass for very knowing men upon all other accounts, yet their very calumnies and reviling language would bespeak them at the greatest distance from philosophy imaginable. For emulation can never enter that godlike consort, nor such fretfulness as wants resolution to conceal its own resentments. Aristodemus then subjoined: Heraclides, you know, is a great philologist; and that may be the reason why he made Epicurus those amends for the poetic din (so, that party style poetry) and for the fooleries of Homer; or else, it may be, it was because Metrodorus had libelled that poet in so many books. But let us let these gentlemen pass at present, Zeuxippus, and rather return to what was charged upon the philosophers in the beginning of our discourse, that it is impossible to live according to their tenets. And I see not why we two may not despatch this affair betwixt us, with the good assistance of Theon; for I find this gentleman (meaning me) is already tired. Then Theon said to him,
Now as we were leaving the school to take a walk (as we usually do) in the gymnasium, Zeuxippus started to speak: "In my opinion," he said, "the debate was handled on our side with too much softness and not enough freedom. I'm sure Heraclides left feeling disgusted with us for treating Epicurus and Aletrodorus more harshly than they deserved." "But you remember," replied Theon, "how you told them that Colotes, compared to the rhetoric of those two, would seem like the easiest-going person alive; because when they throw together the nastiest insults imaginable—stuff like buffoonery, mockery, arrogance, whoring, murder, whining pretenders, scoundrels, and fools—they weakly hurl those insults at Aristotle, Socrates, Pythagoras, Protagoras, Theophrastus, Heraclides, Hipparchus, and all the great and respected figures. So, even if they seem knowledgeable on other topics, their hateful words show that they're the farthest from philosophy possible. After all, rivalry can never be part of that godlike company, nor can bitterness that lacks the resolve to hide its resentments." Aristodemus then added, "You know Heraclides is a great scholar; maybe that's why he made amends to Epicurus for the poetic nonsense (as that group refers to poetry) and the foolishness of Homer; or maybe it was because Metrodorus had criticized that poet in so many works. But let’s set those gentlemen aside for now, Zeuxippus, and instead return to what was said about philosophers at the beginning of our discussion—that it's impossible to live according to their principles. I don't see why we can't settle this issue between us, with Theon’s help; because I find this gentleman (referring to me) is already getting tired." Then Theon said to him,
Our fellows have that garland from us won;
Our friends have earned that garland from us;
therefore, if you please,
so, if you would,
Let's fix another goal, and at that run.
("Odyssey," xxii, 6)
Let's set another goal and then go for it.
("Odyssey," xxii, 6)We will even prosecute them at the suit of the philosophers, in the following form: We'll prove, if we can, that it is impossible to live a pleasurable life according to their tenets. Bless me! said I to him, smiling, you seem to me to level your foot at the very bellies of the men, and to design to enter the list with them for their lives, whilst you go about to rob them thus of their pleasure, and they cry out to you,
We will even take legal action against them at the request of the philosophers, in this way: We’ll demonstrate, if possible, that it’s impossible to live a pleasurable life according to their beliefs. Goodness! I said to him, smiling, it seems like you’re aiming your foot right at the stomachs of these men, trying to challenge them for their lives, while you’re going about stealing their pleasure, and they are shouting at you,
"Forbear, we're no good boxers, sir;
"Hold on, we're not good boxers, sir;
no, nor good pleaders, nor good senators, nor good magistrates either;
no, nor good lawyers, nor good senators, nor good judges either;
"Our proper talent is to eat and drink."
("Odyssey," viii, 246, 248)
"Our true skill is to eat and drink."
("Odyssey," viii, 246, 248)and to excite such tender and delicate motions in our bodies as may chafe our imaginations to some jolly delight or gayety." And therefore you seem to me not so much to take off (as I may say) the pleasurable part, as to deprive the men of their very lives, while you will not leave them to live pleasurably. Nay then, said Theon, if you approve so highly of this subject, why do you not set in hand to it? By all means, said I, I am for this, and shall not only hear but answer you too, if you shall insist. But I must leave it to you to take the lead.
and to stir such gentle and subtle feelings in our bodies that might spark our imaginations to a bit of joy or happiness." So it seems to me that you’re not just removing the enjoyable part, but actually taking away the essence of life for these men, since you won’t let them live happily. "Well then," said Theon, "if you think so highly of this topic, why don’t you take action on it?" "Absolutely," I replied, "I’m all for this and will not only listen but also respond, if you insist. But I’ll leave it up to you to take the lead."
Then, after Theon had spoken something to excuse himself, Aristodemus said: When we had so short and fair a cut to our design, how have you blocked up the way before us, by preventing us from joining issue with the faction at the very first upon the single point of propriety! For you must grant, it can be no easy matter to drive men already possessed that pleasure is their utmost good yet to believe a life of pleasure impossible to be attained. But now the truth is, that when they failed of living becomingly they failed also of living pleasurably; for to live pleasurably without living becomingly is even by themselves allowed inconsistent.
Then, after Theon said something to excuse himself, Aristodemus responded: Since we had such a straightforward and clear path for our goal, how have you blocked our way by stopping us from tackling the issue with the group right from the start on the key point of propriety? You have to admit, it's not easy to convince people who already believe that pleasure is their ultimate good yet also think that a life of pleasure is impossible to achieve. But the reality is, when they fail to live properly, they also fail to live enjoyably; because living enjoyably without living properly is, even by their own standards, considered inconsistent.
Theon then said: We may probably resume the consideration of that in the process of our discourse; in the interim we will make use of their concessions. Now they suppose their last good to lie about the belly and such other conveyances of the body as let in pleasure and not pain; and are of opinion, that all the brave and ingenious inventions that ever have been were contrived at first for the pleasure of the belly, or the good hope of compassing such pleasure,—as the sage Metrodorus informs us. By which, my good friend, it is very plain, they found their pleasure in a poor, rotten, and unsure thing, and one that is equally perforated for pains, by the very passages they receive their pleasures by; or rather indeed, that admits pleasure but by a few, but pain by all its parts. For the whole of pleasure is in a manner in the joints, nerves, feet, and hands; and these are oft the seats of very grievous and lamentable distempers, as gouts, corroding rheums, gangrenes, and putrid ulcers. And if you apply to yourself the exquisitest of perfumes or gusts, you will find but some one small part of your body is finely and delicately touched, while the rest are many times filled with anguish and complaints. Besides, there is no part of us proof against fire, sword, teeth, or scourges, or insensible of dolors and aches; yea, heats, colds, and fevers sink into all our parts alike. But pleasures, like gales of soft wind, move simpering, one towards one extreme of the body and another towards another, and then go off in a vapor. Nor are they of any long durance, but, as so many glancing meteors, they are no sooner kindled in the body than they are quenched by it. As to pain, Aeschylus's Philoctetes affords us a sufficient testimony:—
Theon then said: We might pick up on that later in our conversation; for now, let's make use of what they’ve conceded. They believe their ultimate good is centered around the stomach and other parts of the body that bring pleasure and not pain. They think all the great and clever inventions ever created were initially designed for the pleasure of the stomach or the hope of getting such pleasure—as the wise Metrodorus tells us. This shows, my good friend, that they find their pleasure in something poor, rotten, and unreliable, which also lets in pain through the same pathways that provide pleasure; or rather, it allows for pleasure only in limited ways but pain everywhere. The essence of pleasure is mostly in the joints, nerves, feet, and hands, which are often the sites of very serious and distressing ailments like gout, corrosive rheum, gangrene, and festering sores. And if you put the finest perfumes or flavors on yourself, you’ll notice that only a tiny part of your body is gently and exquisitely affected, while the rest is often filled with anguish and discomfort. Also, there's no part of us that’s immune to fire, sword, teeth, or whips, and we all feel aches and pains. Even the heat, cold, and fevers permeate every part of us. But pleasures, like gentle breezes, tickle one part of the body while ignoring another, and then dissipate into thin air. They don’t last long; like shooting stars, they ignite in the body and are quickly extinguished. As for pain, Aeschylus's Philoctetes provides ample proof:—
The cruel viper ne'er will quit my foot;
Her dire envenomed teeth have there ta'en root.
The cruel viper will never leave my foot;
Her deadly, poisoned fangs have taken hold there.For pain will not troll off as pleasure doth, nor imitate it in its pleasing and tickling touches. But as the clover twists its perplexed and winding roots into the earth, and through its coarseness abides there a long time; so pain disperses and entangles its hooks and roots in the body, and continues there, not for a day or a night, but for several seasons of years, if not for some revolutions of Olympiads, nor scarce ever departs unless struck out by other pains, as by stronger nails. For who ever drank so long as those that are in a fever are a-dry? Or who was ever so long eating as those that are besieged suffer hunger? Or where are there any that are so long solaced with the conversation of friends as tyrants are racking and tormenting? Now all this is owing to the baseness of the body and its natural incapacity for a pleasurable life; for it bears pains better than it doth pleasures, and with respect to those is firm and hardy, but with respect to these is feeble and soon palled. To which add, that if we are minded to discourse on a life of pleasure, these men won't give us leave to go on, but will presently confess themselves that the pleasures of the body are but short, or rather indeed but of a moment's continuance; if they do not design to banter us or else speak out of vanity, when Metrodorus tells us, We many times spit at the pleasures of the body, and Epicurus saith, A wise man, when he is sick, many times laughs in the very extremity of his distemper.
For pain doesn't just fade away like pleasure does, nor does it mimic its delightful and teasing sensations. Just as clover twists its complicated and winding roots deep into the soil, enduring with its roughness for a long time, pain spreads and embeds its hooks and roots into the body, sticking around not just for a day or night, but for several seasons or even a lifetime, hardly ever leaving unless replaced by other pains, like stronger tools. Who else drinks as long as those suffering from a fever are thirsty? Or who eats as long as those under siege feel hunger? Or where do you find anyone who enjoys the company of friends as much as tyrants suffer from torment? All of this stems from the body's inherent weakness and its inability to sustain a pleasurable existence; it tolerates pain better than pleasure, being resilient in the face of pain but weak and quickly exhausted when it comes to pleasure. Additionally, if we intend to talk about a life of pleasure, these individuals won’t let us continue but will swiftly admit that the pleasures of the body are fleeting, or even just momentary; unless they intend to mock us or speak from pride, as Metrodorus suggests, "We often dismissing the pleasures of the body," and Epicurus states, "A wise man, when sick, often laughs even in the depths of his suffering."
For Ithaca is no fit place
For mettled steeds to run a race.
("Odyssey," iv. 605.)
For Ithaca isn’t a suitable place
For spirited horses to race.
("Odyssey," iv. 605.)Neither can the joys of our poor bodies be smooth and equal; but on the contrary they must be coarse and harsh, and immixed with much that is displeasing and inflamed.
Neither can the pleasures of our flawed bodies be smooth and consistent; instead, they must be rough and harsh, mixed with a lot that is unpleasant and intense.
Zeuxippus then said: And do you not think then they take the right course to begin at the body, where they observe pleasure to have its first rise, and thence to pass to the mind as the more stable and sure part, there to complete and crown the whole?
Zeuxippus then said: And don’t you think they are right to start with the body, where they see pleasure first appear, and then move on to the mind, which is the more stable and certain part, to complete and perfect the whole?
They do, by Jove, I said; and if, after removing thither they have indeed found something more consummate than before, a course too as well agreeing with nature as becoming men adorned with both contemplative and civil knowledge. But if after all this you still hear them cry out, and protest that the mind of man can receive no satisfaction or tranquillity from anything under Heaven but the pleasures of the body either in possession or expectance, and that these are its proper and only good, can you forbear thinking they make use of the soul but as a funnel for the body, while they mellow their pleasure by shifting it from one vessel to another, as they rack wine out of an old and leaky vessel into a new one and there let it grow old, and then imagine they have performed some extraordinary and very fine thing? True indeed, a fresh pipe may both keep and recover wine that hath thus been drawn off; but the mind, receiving but the remembrance only of past pleasure, like a kind of scent, retains that and no more. For as soon as it hath given one hiss in the body, it immediately expires, and that little of it that stays behind in the memory is but flat and like a queasy fume: as if a man should lay up and treasure in his fancy what he either ate or drank yesterday, that he may have recourse to that when he wants fresh fare. See now how much more temperate the Cyrenaics are, who, though they have drunk out of the same bottle with Epicurus, yet will not allow men so much as to practise their amours by candlelight, but only under the covert of the dark, for fear seeing should fasten too quick an impression of the images of such actions upon the fancy and thereby too frequently inflame the desire. But these gentlemen account it the highest accomplishment of a philosopher to have a clear and retentive memory of all the various figures, passions, and touches of past pleasure. We will not now say, they present us with nothing worthy the name of philosophy, while they leave the refuse of pleasure in their wise man's mind, as if it could be a lodging for bodies; but that it is impossible such things as these should make a man live pleasurably, I think is abundantly manifest from hence.
They do, by Jove, I said; and if, after moving there, they have actually found something better than before—a path that aligns with nature and suits people equipped with both intellectual and social knowledge. But if after all this you still hear them shout and insist that the human mind can find no satisfaction or peace from anything under Heaven except for bodily pleasures, either in what they possess or what they expect, and that these are its true and only good, can you help but think they use the soul merely as a funnel for the body, while they smooth out their pleasure by transferring it from one vessel to another, like racking wine from an old, leaky container into a new one and then letting it age there, convincing themselves they have done something remarkable? It's true that a fresh pipe can preserve and revive wine that's been drawn off; however, the mind, only holding onto the memory of past pleasure, is like a fleeting scent—it keeps that and nothing more. As soon as it gives a single hiss in the body, it quickly fades away, and what's left in memory is bland and resembles a nauseating fume: as if someone keeps and cherishes in their mind what they ate or drank yesterday, hoping to revisit that when they want something fresh. Look at how much more moderate the Cyrenaics are, who, although they have shared the same bottle with Epicurus, won't even allow people to indulge in their affairs by candlelight but only in the dark, fearing that seeing too much would too quickly imprint the images of such actions in the mind and thereby inflame desire too often. But these gentlemen consider it the highest achievement of a philosopher to have a clear and powerful memory of all the various forms, passions, and nuances of past pleasure. We're not going to say they offer us anything deserving of the label of philosophy while they leave behind the dregs of pleasure in their wise man's mind, as if it could serve as a home for bodies; yet I think it is abundantly clear that such things cannot lead a person to live pleasantly.
For it will not perhaps seem strange if I assert, that the memory of pleasure past brings no pleasure with it if it appeared but little in the very enjoyment, or to men of such abstinence as to account it for their benefit to retire from its first approaches; when even the most amazed and sensual admirers of corporeal delights remain no longer in their gaudy and pleasant humor than their pleasure lasts them. What remains is but an empty shadow and dream of that pleasure that hath now taken wing and is fled from them, and that serves but for fuel to foment their untamed desires. Like as in those that dream they are a-dry or in love, their unaccomplished pleasures and enjoyments do but excite the inclination to a greater keenness. Nor indeed can the remembrance of past enjoyments afford them any real contentment at all, but must serve only, with the help of a quick desire, to raise up very much of outrage and stinging pain out of the remains of a feeble and befooling pleasure. Neither doth it befit men of continence and sobriety to exercise their thoughts about such poor things, or to do what one twitted Carneades with, to reckon, as out of a diurnal, how oft they have lain with Hedia or Leontion, or where they last drank Thasian wine, or at what twentieth-day feast they had a costly supper. For such transport and captivatedness of the mind to its own remembrances as this is would show a detestable and bestial restlessness and raving towards the present and hoped-for acts of pleasure. And therefore I cannot but look upon the sense of these inconveniences as the true cause of their retiring at last to a freedom from pain and a firm state of body; as if living pleasurably could lie in bare imagining this either past or future to some persons. True indeed it is, "that a sound state of body and a good assurance of its continuing must needs afford a most transcending and solid satisfaction to all men capable of reasoning."
It might not seem strange if I say that remembering past pleasures doesn’t bring any happiness if those pleasures were brief in the moment, or for people who are so disciplined that they find it better to avoid them altogether; even the most amazed and sensual lovers of physical delights only stay in their vibrant and happy mood for as long as the pleasure lasts. What’s left is merely an empty shadow and dream of a pleasure that has now flown away, serving only to fuel their unquenched desires. Just like those who dream they are dry or in love, their unfulfilled pleasures only increase their desire for more. In fact, the memory of past pleasures offers them no real satisfaction; it only stirs up much frustration and painful longing from the remnants of a weak and misleading pleasure. It isn’t suitable for self-disciplined and sober people to dwell on such trivial matters, or to do what Carneades mocked, by counting, like one might in a diary, how often they’ve been with Hedia or Leontion, where they last drank Thasian wine, or at which feast they enjoyed an expensive dinner. Such obsession and fixation on one’s own memories indicate a disgusting and animalistic restlessness and yearning for present and future pleasures. Therefore, I can’t help but see these inconveniences as the true reason for finally seeking relief from pain and achieving a stable state of body; as if truly living pleasurably could reside in merely imagining these things, whether past or future, for some people. It is indeed true that a healthy body and a good assurance of its continuity must provide the most profound and solid satisfaction to all rational individuals.
But yet look first what work they make, while they course this same thing—whether it be pleasure, exemption from pain, or good health—up and down, first from the body to the mind, and then back again from the mind to the body, being compelled to return it to its first origin, lest it should run out and so give them the slip. Thus they place the pleasure of the body (as Epicurus says) upon the complacent joy in the mind, and yet conclude again with the good hopes that complacent joy hath in bodily pleasure. Indeed what wonder is it if, when the foundation shakes, the superstructure totter? Or that there should be no sure hope nor unshaken joy in a matter that suffers so great concussion and changes as continually attend a body exposed to so many violences and strokes from without, and having within it the origins of such evils as human reason cannot avert? For if it could, no understanding man would ever fall under stranguries, gripes, consumptions, or dropsies; with some of which Epicurus himself did conflict and Polyaenus with others, while others of them were the deaths of Neocles and Agathobulus. And this we mention not to disparage them, knowing very well that Pherecydes and Heraclitus, both very excellent persons, labored under very uncouth and calamitous distempers. We only beg of them, if they will own their own diseases and not by noisy rants and popular harangues incur the imputation of false bravery, either not to take the health of the whole body for the ground of their content, or else not to say that men under the extremities of dolors and diseases can yet rally and be pleasant. For a sound and hale constitution of body is indeed a thing that often happens, but a firm and steadfast assurance of its continuance can never befall an intelligent mind. But as at sea (according to Aeschylus)
But first, take a look at the mess they create while chasing this same thing—whether it's pleasure, avoiding pain, or good health—going back and forth, first from the body to the mind, and then back from the mind to the body, forced to trace it back to its starting point, or else it might slip away. So, they connect the pleasure of the body (as Epicurus says) to the satisfying joy in the mind, yet they end up back at the good feelings that joy has in bodily pleasure. Is it any surprise that when the foundation shakes, the structure wobbles? Or that there's no reliable hope or unshakeable joy in something that experiences such great turmoil and changes, constantly facing blows from the outside and harboring within it the seeds of problems that human reason can't prevent? Because if it could, no sensible person would ever suffer from cramps, pains, wasting illnesses, or dropsy; Epicurus himself struggled with some of these, as did Polyaenus with others, while others led to the deaths of Neocles and Agathobulus. We mention this not to belittle them, knowing full well that Pherecydes and Heraclitus, both remarkable figures, dealt with very strange and unfortunate illnesses. We only ask that if they acknowledge their own ailments, they don’t falsely portray bravery through loud speeches and popular rhetoric. Either they shouldn't consider the overall health of the body as the basis of their happiness, or they shouldn’t claim that people enduring extreme pain and sickness can still be cheerful. A strong and healthy body does happen often, but a solid and unwavering assurance of its persistence can never truly belong to an intelligent mind. Just as at sea (according to Aeschylus).
Night to the ablest pilot trouble brings,
(Aechylus, "Suppliants," 770.)
Night brings trouble to the most skilled pilot,
(Aechylus, "Suppliants," 770.)and so will a calm too, for no man knows what will be,—so likewise is it impossible for a soul that dwells in a healthful body, and that places her good in the hopes she hath of that body, to perfect her voyage here without frights or waves. For man's mind hath not, like the sea, its tempests and storms only from without it, but it also raises up from within far more and greater disturbances. And a man may with more reason look for constant fair weather in the midst of winter than for perpetual exemption from afflictions in his body. For what else hath given the poets occasion to term us ephemeral creatures, uncertain and unfixed, and to liken our lives to leaves that both spring and fall in the lapse of a summer, but the unhappy, calamitous, and sickly condition of the body, whose very utmost good we are warned to dread and prevent? For an exquisite habit, Hippocrates saith, is slippery and hazardous. And
and so will a calm too, because no one knows what will happen next,—similarly, it’s impossible for a soul that lives in a healthy body, and who relies on the hopes she has for that body, to complete her journey here without fears or struggles. A person's mind isn't like the sea, where tempests and storms come only from the outside; it also stirs up far greater turmoil from within. A person might have more reason to expect constant nice weather in the middle of winter than to think they can avoid suffering in their body forever. What else has led poets to call us fleeting beings, uncertain and unstable, and to compare our lives to leaves that both grow and fall during a summer, except for the unfortunate, calamitous, and sickly state of the body, whose highest good we are advised to fear and avoid? For an exquisite condition, as Hippocrates says, is slippery and risky. And
He that but now looked jolly, plump, and stout,
Like a star shot by Jove, is now gone out;
He who just moments ago looked cheerful, healthy, and sturdy,
Like a star falling from Jupiter, has now disappeared;as it is in Euripides. And it is a vulgar persuasion, that very handsome persons, when looked upon, oft suffer damage by envy and an evil eye; for a body at its utmost vigor will through delicacy very soon admit of changes.
as it is in Euripides. And it’s a common belief that very attractive people, when admired, often experience harm from envy and bad vibes; because a body at its peak can quickly be affected by delicacy.
But now that these men are miserably unprovided for an undisturbed life, you may discern even from what they themselves advance against others. For they say that those who commit wickedness and incur the displeasure of the laws live in constant misery and fear, for, though they may perhaps attain to privacy, yet it is impossible they should ever be well assured of that privacy; whence the ever impending fear of the future will not permit them to have either complacency or assurance in their present circumstances. But they consider not how they speak all this against themselves. For a sound and healthy state of body they may indeed oftentimes possess, but that they should ever be well assured of its continuance is impossible; and they must of necessity be in constant disquiet and pain for the body with respect to futurity, never being able to reach that firm and steadfast assurance which they expect. But to do no wickedness will contribute nothing to our assurance; for it is not suffering unjustly but suffering in itself that is dismaying. Nor can it be a matter of trouble to be engaged in villanies one's self, and not afflictive to suffer by the villanies of others. Neither can it be said that the tyranny of Lachares was less, if it was not more, calamitous to the Athenians, and that of Dionysius to the Syracusans, than they were to the tyrants themselves; for it was disturbing that made them be disturbed; and their first oppressing and pestering of others gave them occasion to expect to suffer ill themselves. Why should a man recount the outrages of rabbles, the barbarities of thieves, or the villanies of inheritors, or yet the contagions of airs and the concursions of seas, by which Epicurus (as himself writeth) was in his voyage to Lampsacus within very little of drowning? The very composition of the body—it containing in it the matter of all diseases, and (to use a pleasantry of the vulgar) cutting thongs for the beast out of its own hide, I mean pains out of the body—is sufficient to make life perilous and uneasy, and that to the good as well as to the bad, if they have learned to set their complacence and assurance in the body and the hopes they have of it, and in nothing else; as Epicurus hath written, as well in many other of his discourses as in that of Man's End.
But now that these guys are poorly equipped for a calm life, you can see even from what they say against others. They claim that people who do wrong and face the laws' disapproval live in constant misery and fear. Even if they might find some privacy, they can never be truly secure in that privacy; hence, the constant fear of the future prevents them from feeling content or assured in their current situation. Yet they don’t realize how much they’re talking against themselves. They might often have a strong and healthy body, but it's impossible for them to be sure it will last; they have to live in constant discomfort and pain concerning their body’s future, never achieving the solid assurance they hope for. But not doing evil doesn’t guarantee us assurance; it’s not being treated unfairly but suffering itself that is unsettling. It’s not distressing to engage in wrongdoing personally and not painful to suffer from the wrongdoings of others. Furthermore, you can’t say that the tyranny of Lachares was any less, or even more, disastrous to the Athenians, or that of Dionysius to the Syracusans, than it was for the tyrants themselves; it was their own disturbances that led to their distress, and their initial oppression of others made them expect to suffer badly themselves. Why should someone list the outrages of mobs, the cruelties of thieves, the dishonesties of heirs, or the dangers of polluted air and turbulent seas, by which Epicurus himself, as he wrote, was almost drowned during his trip to Lampsacus? The very nature of the body—which holds the potential for all diseases, like a saying from the common folk about using a beast's skin to make ropes, meaning that pain emerges from the body—is enough to make life risky and uncomfortable, affecting both the good and the bad, if they’ve learned to place their comfort and assurance in their body and their hopes for it, rather than in anything else; just as Epicurus discussed in many of his writings, including in the one about the End of Man.
They therefore assign not only a treacherous and unsure ground of their pleasurable living, but also one in all respects despicable and little, if the escaping of evils be the matter of their complacence and last good. But now they tell us, nothing else can be so much as imagined, and nature hath no other place to bestow her good in but only that out of which her evil hath been driven; as Metrodorus speaks in his book against the Sophists. So that this single thing, to escape evil, he says, is the supreme good; for there is no room to lodge this good in where no more of what is painful and afflicting goes out. Like unto this is that of Epicurus, where he saith: The very essence of good arises from the escaping of bad, and a man's recollecting, considering, and rejoicing within himself that this hath befallen him. For what occasions transcending joy (he saith) is some great impending evil escaped; and in this lies the very nature and essence of good, if a man consider it aright, and contain himself when he hath done, and not ramble and prate idly about it. Oh, the rare satisfaction and felicity these men enjoy, that can thus rejoice for having undergone no evil and endured neither sorrow nor pain! Have they not reason, think you, to value themselves for such things as these, and to speak as they are wont when they style themselves immortals and equals to gods?—and when, through the excessiveness and transcendency of the blessed things they enjoy, they rave even to the degree of whooping and hollowing for very satisfaction that, to the shame of all mortals, they have been the only men that could find out this celestial and divine good that lies in an exemption from all evil? So that their beatitude differs little from that of swine and sheep, while they place it in a mere tolerable and contented state, either of the body, or of the mind upon the body's account. For even the more prudent and more ingenious sort of brutes do not esteem escaping of evil their last end; but when they have taken their repast, they are disposed next by fullness to singing, and they divert themselves with swimming and flying; and their gayety and sprightliness prompt them to entertain themselves with attempting to counterfeit all sorts of voices and notes; and then they make their caresses to one another, by skipping and dancing one towards another; nature inciting them, after they have escaped evil, to look after some good, or rather to shake off what they find uneasy and disagreeing, as an impediment to their pursuit of something better and more congenial.
They therefore assign not only a treacherous and uncertain foundation for their enjoyable life but also one that is, in every way, contemptible and trivial, if avoiding misfortunes is the source of their satisfaction and ultimate good. But now they claim that nothing else can be imagined, and nature has no other place to offer her goodness than the one from which her evils have been removed; as Metrodorus states in his book against the Sophists. So, this single goal of escaping evil, he argues, is the highest good; because there is no place to receive this good if more pain and suffering are still present. This aligns with what Epicurus says: the true essence of good comes from avoiding bad, and a person taking time to remember, reflect, and delight in having been spared from it. He asserts that the source of profound joy is escaping a significant threat, and in this lies the true nature and essence of good, if one thinks about it carefully and refrains from babbling about it afterwards. Oh, the rare satisfaction and happiness enjoyed by those who can celebrate not having experienced any evil or endured any sorrow or pain! Don’t they have good reason to take pride in such matters and speak as they do when they call themselves immortal and god-like?—and when, fueled by the overwhelming joy of the blessings they enjoy, they even go so far as to cheer and shout in sheer satisfaction that, shamefully for all mortals, they have been the only ones to discover this heavenly and divine good found in freedom from all evil? Their happiness is hardly different from that of pigs and sheep, as they locate it in a merely tolerable and content state, either physically or mentally based on physical needs. Even the more intelligent and clever animals do not consider avoiding evil their ultimate goal; instead, after they have eaten, they are inclined to sing and entertain themselves with swimming and flying; their joy and energy inspire them to mimic all kinds of sounds and tunes; and then they greet one another by skipping and dancing towards each other; nature urging them, after they have escaped evil, to seek some good, or rather to shake off what they find uncomfortable and unpleasant, as an obstacle in their quest for something better and more agreeable.
For what we cannot be without deserves not the name of good; but that which claims our desire and preference must be something beyond a bare escape from evil. And so, by Jove, must that be too that is either agreeing or congenial to us, according to Plato, who will not allow us to give the name of pleasures to the bare departures of sorrows and pains, but would have us look upon them rather as obscure draughts and mixtures of agreeing and disagreeing, as of black and white, while the extremes would advance themselves to a middle temperament. But oftentimes unskilfulness and ignorance of the true nature of extreme occasions some to mistake the middle temperament for the extreme and outmost part. Thus do Epicurus and Metrodorus, while they make avoiding of evil to be the very essence and consummation of good, and so receive but as it were the satisfaction of slaves or of rogues newly discharged the jail, who are well enough contented if they may but wash and supple their sores and the stripes they received by whipping, but never in their lives had one taste or sight of a generous, clean, unmixed and unulcerated joy. For it follows not that, if it be vexatious to have one's body itch or one's eyes to run, it must be therefore a blessing to scratch one's self, and to wipe one's eye with a rag; nor that, if it be bad to be dejected or dismayed at divine matters or to be discomposed with the relations of hell, therefore the bare avoiding of all this must be some happy and amiable thing. The truth is, these men's opinion, though it pretends so far to outgo that of the vulgar, allows their joy but a straight and narrow compass to toss and tumble in, while it extends it but to an exemption from the fear of hell, and so makes that the top of acquired wisdom which is doubtless natural to the brutes. For if freedom from bodily pain be still the same, whether it come by endeavor or by nature, neither then is an undisturbed state of mind the greater for being attained to by industry than if it came by nature. Though a man may with good reason maintain that to be the more confirmed habit of the mind which naturally admits of no disorder, than that which by application and judgment eschews it.
What we can't live without doesn't truly deserve the title of good; instead, what we desire and prefer must be more than just escaping from evil. As Plato suggests, things that align with us cannot simply be called pleasures if they only represent a departure from sorrows and pains. He argues we should see them as a blend of what agrees and disagrees with us, like black and white, while the extremes aim for a middle ground. However, lack of skill and knowledge about the true nature of extremes can lead some to confuse the middle ground with the extremes themselves. Epicurus and Metrodorus claim that avoiding evil is the essence of good, which limits their joy to that of slaves or criminals recently freed from prison, who are content if they can just soothe their wounds and the marks left by punishment, but who have never truly experienced pure, untainted joy. Just because it’s irritating to have an itchy body or watery eyes doesn’t mean that merely scratching and wiping is a blessing; nor does the discomfort of feeling down about divine matters or being disturbed by tales of hell mean that simply avoiding these feelings is a happy and desirable state. The reality is, while these thinkers attempt to elevate their view above the ordinary, they confine their joy to a narrow range—just enough to be free from the fear of hell—which is a state of being that could easily apply to animals as well. Freedom from physical pain is the same whether achieved through effort or is a natural state; likewise, a tranquil mind is not necessarily better because it is reached through hard work rather than by nature. Though one could argue that a stable mind, which naturally avoids disorder, is a more solid state than one that achieves peace through diligence and judgment.
But let us suppose them both equal; they will yet appear not one jot superior to the beasts for being unconcerned at the stories of hell and the legends of the gods, and for not expecting endless sorrows and everlasting torments hereafter. For it is Epicurus himself that tells us that, had our surmises about heavenly phenomena and our foolish apprehensions of death and the pains that ensue it given us no disquiet, we had not then needed to contemplate nature for our relief. For neither have the brutes any weak surmises of the gods or fond opinion about things after death to disorder themselves with; nor have they as much as imagination or notion that there is anything in these to be dreaded. I confess, had they left us the benign providence of God as a presumption, wise men might then seem, by reason of their good hopes from thence, to have something towards a pleasurable life that beasts have not. But now, since they have made it the scope of all their discourses of God that they may not fear him, but may be eased of all concern about him, I much question whether those that never thought at all of him have not this in a more confirmed degree than they that have learned to think he can do no harm. For if they were never freed from superstition, they never fell into it; and if they never laid aside a disturbing conceit of God, they never took one up. The like may be said as to hell and the future state. For though neither the Epicurean nor the brute can hope for any good thence; yet such as have no forethought of death at all cannot but be less amused and scared with what comes after it than they that betake themselves to the principle that death is nothing to us. But something to them it must be, at least so far as they concern themselves to reason about it and contemplate it; but the beasts are wholly exempted from thinking of what appertains not to them; and if they fly from blows, wounds, and slaughters, they fear no more in death than is dismaying to the Epicurean himself.
But let's assume they are both equal; they still won’t seem any better than animals for being indifferent to stories about hell and myths about the gods, and for not anticipating endless suffering and eternal torment in the future. Epicurus himself pointed out that if our speculations about heavenly phenomena and our silly fears of death and its associated pains didn’t cause us distress, we wouldn’t need to study nature to find relief. Animals have no confusion about the gods or comforting beliefs about what happens after death to upset them; they don’t even have the imagination or idea that there’s anything to be feared in these matters. I admit, if they had left us the comforting idea of a benevolent God, wise people might have seemed to have something towards a pleasurable life that animals do not. But now, since they’ve framed all their discussions about God in a way that encourages people not to fear him, and instead alleviates their concerns about him, I seriously doubt that those who have never thought of him have less certainty about this than those who have come to believe he can do no harm. If they were never freed from superstition, they never fell into it; and if they never abandoned a troubling belief about God, they never adopted one. The same applies to hell and the afterlife. While neither the Epicurean nor the animal can expect any good from it, those who have no thoughts about death at all are likely to be less bothered and frightened by what comes after than those who hold the belief that death is irrelevant to us. But it must mean something to them, at least to the extent that they engage in reasoning and contemplation about it; animals are completely free from concerning themselves with what doesn’t pertain to them. And while they may flee from blows, wounds, and death, their fear of death is no greater than that of the Epicurean himself.
Such then are the things they boast to have attained by their philosophy. Let us now see what those are they deprive themselves of and chase away from them. For those diffusions of the mind that arise from the body, and the pleasing condition of the body, if they be but moderate, appear to have nothing in them that is either great or considerable; but if they be excessive, besides their being vain and uncertain, they are also importune and petulant; nor should a man term them either mental satisfactions or gayeties, but rather corporeal gratifications, they being at best but the simperings and effeminacies of the mind. But now such as justly deserve the names of complacencies and joys are wholly refined from their contraries, and are immixed with neither vexation, remorse, nor repentance; and their good is congenial to the mind and truly mental and genuine, and not superinduced. Nor is it devoid of reason, but most rational, as springing either from that in the mind that is contemplative and inquiring, or else from that part of it that is active and heroic. How many and how great satisfactions either of these affords us, no one can ever relate. But to hint briefly at some of them. We have the historians before us, which, though they find us many and delightful exercises, still leave our desire after truth insatiate and uncloyed with pleasure, through which even lies are not without their grace. Yea, tales and poetic fictions, while they cannot gain upon our belief, have something in them that is charming to us.
Here are the things they claim to have achieved through their philosophy. Let’s now examine what they deny themselves and push away. The thoughts that come from the body and the enjoyable state of the body, if kept moderate, seem to lack anything significant or worthwhile; however, if they become excessive, they not only become trivial and uncertain, but also annoying and petulant. A person shouldn't refer to them as mental satisfactions or pleasures, but rather as physical gratifications, as they are ultimately just the trivialities and weaknesses of the mind. In contrast, the true pleasures and joys deserve their names because they are entirely free from their opposites, being untainted by annoyance, guilt, or regret; their goodness is aligned with the mind and is genuinely mental, not something added on. Moreover, they are rooted in reason, being quite rational, stemming either from that part of the mind that is reflective and inquisitive or from that part that is active and courageous. The countless and significant satisfactions that either of these provide are beyond anyone's ability to fully express. However, to briefly mention some, we have the historians before us, who, despite providing us with many delightful experiences, still leave our desire for truth unfulfilled and eager for more, which even makes falsehoods appealing. Yes, stories and poetic fictions, while they can't fully capture our belief, still have an enchanting quality.
For do but think with yourself, with what a sting we read Plato's "Atlantic" and the conclusion of the "Iliad," and how we hanker and gape after the rest of the tale, as when some beautiful temple or theatre is shut up. But now the informing of ourselves with the truth herself is a thing so delectable and lovely as if our very life and being were for the sake of knowing. And the darkest and grimmest things in death are its oblivion, ignorance, and obscurity. Whence, by Jove, it is that almost all mankind encounter with those that would destroy the sense of the departed, as placing the very whole of their life, being, and satisfaction solely in the sensible and knowing part of the mind. For even the things that grieve and afflict us yet afford us a sort of pleasure in the hearing. And it is often seen that those that are disordered by what is told them, even to the degree of weeping, notwithstanding require the telling of it. So he in the tragedy who is told,
For just think about it: how painful it is to read Plato's "Atlantis" or the ending of the "Iliad," and how we yearn to know the rest of the story, just like when a beautiful temple or theater is closed off. But understanding the truth itself is something so delightful and wonderful that it feels like our entire existence is devoted to knowing. The darkest and bleakest aspects of death are its forgetfulness, ignorance, and uncertainty. That's why, by Jove, almost everyone encounters those who would erase the memory of the deceased, placing the entirety of their life, being, and satisfaction solely in their awareness and understanding. Even the things that sadden and trouble us still bring a certain pleasure in hearing about them. It’s often the case that those who are disturbed by what they hear, even to the point of tears, still want to hear it. So he in the tragedy who is told,
Alas I now the very worst must tell,
Unfortunately, I now must share the very worst,
replies,
responses,
I dread to hear it too, but I must hear.
(Sophocles, "Pedipus Tyrannus," 1169, 1170.)
I hate to hear it as well, but I have to listen.
(Sophocles, "Pedipus Tyrannus," 1169, 1170.)But this may seem perhaps a sort of intemperateness of delight in knowing everything, and as it were a stream violently bearing down the reasoning faculty. But now, when a story that hath in it nothing that is troubling and afflictive treats of great and heroic enterprises with a potency and grace of style such as we find in Herodotus's Grecian and in Xenophon's Persian history, or in what,
But this might come off as an excessive eagerness to know everything, almost like a forceful rush overwhelming our ability to think. However, when a story that involves no distressing or painful elements covers grand and heroic adventures with the strength and elegance of style found in Herodotus's Greek histories or Xenophon's Persian accounts, or in what,
Inspired by heavenly gods, sage Homer sung,
Inspired by divine beings, the wise Homer sang,
or in the Travels of Euxodus, the Foundations and Republics of Aristotle, and the Lives of Famous Men compiled by Aristoxenus; these will not only bring us exceeding much and great contentment, but such also as is clean and secure from repentance. And who could take greater satisfaction either in eating when a-hungry or drinking when a-dry amongst the Phaeacians, than in going over Ulysses's relation of his own voyage and rambles? And what man could be better pleased with the embraces of the most exquisite beauty, than with sitting up all night to read over what Xenophon hath written of Panthea, or Aristobulus of Timoclea, or Theopompus of Thebe?
or in the Travels of Euxodus, the Foundations and Republics of Aristotle, and the Lives of Famous Men compiled by Aristoxenus; these will not only give us immense joy, but it will also be pure and free from regret. And who could find more satisfaction, whether eating when hungry or drinking when thirsty among the Phaeacians, than in reading Ulysses’s account of his own adventures? And what person could be more pleased with the embraces of the most extraordinary beauty than staying up all night to read what Xenophon wrote about Panthea, or Aristobulus about Timoclea, or Theopompus about Thebe?
But now these appertain all solely to the mind. But they chase away from them the delights that accrue from the mathematics also. Though the satisfactions we receive from history have in them something simple and equal; but those that come from geometry, astronomy, and music inveigle and allure us with a sort of nimbleness and variety, and want nothing that is tempting and engaging; their figures attracting us as so many charms, whereof whoever hath once tasted, if he be but competently skilled, will run about chanting that in Sophocles,
But now these things are all about the mind. However, they push away the joys that come from mathematics as well. The pleasures we get from history have a certain simplicity and balance, but those from geometry, astronomy, and music draw us in with their liveliness and variety, lacking nothing that is attractive and engaging. Their shapes pull us in like charms, and anyone who has experienced them—if they are at least somewhat skilled—will run around singing what’s in Sophocles,
I'm mad; the Muses with new rage inspire me.
I'll mount the hill; my lyre, my numbers fire me.
(From the "Thamyras" of Sophocles, Frag. 225)
I'm furious; the Muses fill me with new passion.
I'll climb the hill; my lyre, my verses ignite me.
(From the "Thamyras" of Sophocles, Frag. 225)Nor doth Thamyras break out into poetic raptures upon any other score; nor, by Jove, Euxodus, Aristarchus, or Archimedes. And when the lovers of the art of painting are so enamoured with the charmingness of their own performances, that Nicias, as he was drawing the Evocation of Ghosts in Homer, often asked his servants whether he had dined or no, and when King Ptolemy had sent him threescore talents for his piece, after it was finished, he neither would accept the money nor part with his work; what and how great satisfactions may we then suppose to have been reaped from geometry and astronomy by Euclid when he wrote his Dioptrics, by Philippus when he had perfected his demonstration of the figure of the moon, by Archimedes when with the help of a certain angle he had found the sun's diameter to make the same part of the largest circle that that angle made of four right angles, and by Apollonius and Aristarchus who were the inventors of some other things of the like nature? The bare contemplating and comprehending of all these now engender in the learners both unspeakable delights and a marvellous height of spirit. And it doth in no wise beseem me, by comparing with these the fulsome debauchees of victualling-houses and stews, to contaminate Helicon and the Muses,—
Nor does Thamyras get lost in poetic ecstasy for any other reason; nor, by Jove, Euxodus, Aristarchus, or Archimedes. And when art lovers are so captivated by their own creations that Nicias, while painting the Evocation of Ghosts in Homer, often asked his servants whether he had eaten dinner or not, and when King Ptolemy sent him sixty talents for his finished piece, he refused to accept the money or part with his work; what immense satisfaction might we then assume Euclid experienced when he wrote his Dioptrics, Philippus when he perfected his demonstration of the moon's shape, Archimedes when, using a specific angle, he calculated the sun's diameter to be the same proportion of the largest circle that the angle made of four right angles, and Apollonius and Aristarchus who invented other similar concepts? Just the mere contemplation and understanding of all these things now brings learners both indescribable joy and a remarkable elevation of spirit. And it certainly does not suit me, by drawing comparisons with these, to taint Helicon and the Muses with the distasteful indulgences of taverns and brothels,—
Where swain his flock ne'er fed,
Nor tree by hatchet bled.
(Euripides, "Hippolytus," 75.)
Where the shepherd never pastured his flock,
Nor did the tree bleed from an axe.
(Euripides, "Hippolytus," 75.)But these are the verdant and untrampled pastures of ingenious bees; but those are more like the mange of lecherous boars and he-goats. And though a voluptuous temper of mind be naturally erratic and precipitate, yet never any yet sacrificed an ox for joy that he had gained his will of his mistress; nor did any ever wish to die immediately, might he but once satiate himself with the costly dishes and comfits at the table of his prince. But now Eudoxus wished he might stand by the sun, and inform himself of the figure, magnitude, and beauty of that luminary, though he were, like Phaethon, consumed by it. And Pythagoras offered an ox in sacrifice for having completed the lines of a certain geometric diagram; as Apollodotus tells us,
But these are the lush and untouched fields of clever bees; while those resemble the mangy hide of greedy boars and male goats. And even though a passionate mindset can be naturally unpredictable and impulsive, no one has ever sacrificed an ox out of sheer joy for winning over their lover; nor has anyone ever wished to die immediately, if only they could indulge once in the exquisite dishes and treats at their prince's table. But now Eudoxus wanted to stand beside the sun and learn about its shape, size, and beauty, even if it meant he would be burned up like Phaethon. And Pythagoras offered an ox as a sacrifice for finishing the lines of a certain geometric diagram; as Apollodotus tells us,
When the famed lines Pythagoras devised,
For which a splendid ox he sacrificed.
When the famous lines Pythagoras created,
For which he sacrificed a magnificent ox. Whether it was that by which he showed that the line that regards the right angle in a triangle is equivalent to the two lines that contain that angle, or the problem about the area of the parabolic section of a cone. And Archimedes's servants were forced to hale him away from his draughts, to be anointed in the bath; but he notwithstanding drew the lines upon his belly with his strigil. And when, as he was washing (as the story goes of him), he thought of a manner of computing the proportion of gold in King Hiero's crown by seeing the water flowing over the bathing-stool, he leaped up as one possessed or inspired, crying, "I have found it;" which after he had several times repeated, he went his way. But we never yet heard of a glutton that exclaimed with such vehemence, "I have eaten," or of an amorous gallant that ever cried, "I have kissed," among the many millions of dissolute debauchees that both this and preceding ages have produced. Yea, we abominate those that make mention of their great suppers with too luscious a gust, as men overmuch taken with mean and abject delights. But we find ourselves in one and the same ecstasy with Eudoxus, Archimedes, and Hipparchus; and we readily give assent to Plato when he saith of the mathematics, that while ignorance and unskilledness make men despise them, they still thrive notwithstanding by reason of their charmingness, in despite of contempt.
Whether it was how he demonstrated that the line representing the right angle in a triangle is equal to the two lines that form that angle, or the problem concerning the area of a parabolic section of a cone. Archimedes's servants had to drag him away from his games to be anointed in the bath; yet he still drew the lines on his belly with his strigil. And when, as the story goes, he was washing, he came up with a way to calculate the proportion of gold in King Hiero's crown by observing the water overflowing the bathing-stool. He jumped up as if possessed or inspired, shouting, "I’ve found it," which he repeated several times before leaving. But we’ve never heard of a glutton who shouted with such passion, "I’ve eaten," or an infatuated lover who ever cried, "I’ve kissed," among the countless dissolute debauchers of both this and previous ages. Indeed, we look down on those who boast about their extravagant dinners with too much pleasure, as people overly enamored with petty and base joys. Yet we find ourselves equally ecstatic with Eudoxus, Archimedes, and Hipparchus; and we readily agree with Plato when he says that while ignorance and unskillfulness make people scorn mathematics, they still flourish due to their charm, despite being dismissed.
These then so great and so many pleasures, that run like perpetual springs and rills, these men decline and avoid; nor will they permit those that put in among them so much as to take a taste of them, but bid them hoist up the little sails of their paltry cock-boats and fly from them. Nay, they all, both he and she philosophers, beg and entreat Pythocles, for dear Epicurus's sake, not to affect or make such account of the sciences called liberal. And when they cry up and defend one Apelles, they write of him that he kept himself clean by refraining himself all along from the mathematics. But as to history—to pass over their aversedness to other kinds of compositions—I shall only present you with the words of Metrodorus, who in his treatise of the Poets writes thus: Wherefore let it never disturb you, if you know not either what side Hector was of, or the first verses in Homer's Poem, or again what is in its middle. But that the pleasures of the body spend themselves like the winds called Etesian or Anniversary, and utterly determine when once age is past its vigor, Epicurus himself was not insensible; and therefore he makes it a problematic question, whether a sage philosopher, when he is an old man and disabled for enjoyment, may not still be recreated with having handsome girls to feel and grope him, being not, it seems, of the mind of old Sophocles, who thanked God he had at length escaped from this kind of pleasure, as from an untamed and furious master. But, in my opinion, it would be more advisable for these sensual lechers, when they see that age will dry up so many of their pleasures, and that, as Euripides saith,
These great and numerous pleasures, which flow like endless springs and streams, are what these people reject and avoid; they won’t even let anyone among them try to experience them but instead urge them to set sail on their little boats and get away from them. In fact, both the male and female philosophers constantly ask Pythocles, for the sake of dear Epicurus, not to care about or place importance on the so-called liberal arts. When they praise and defend one Apelles, they insist that he stayed pure by completely avoiding mathematics. As for history—setting aside their dislike for other forms of writing—I’ll just share the words of Metrodorus, who, in his essay on poets, states: So let it never bother you if you don’t know which side Hector was on, or the opening lines of Homer’s poem, or what’s in the middle. But Epicurus was aware that the pleasures of the body fade away like the yearly Etesian winds and completely diminish once age surpasses its prime; this is why he questions whether a wise philosopher, when old and unable to enjoy, might still find delight in the company of beautiful girls touching and exploring him, not sharing the sentiment of old Sophocles, who thanked the gods he had finally escaped such pleasures, as if from a wild and uncontrollable master. In my view, it would be wiser for these indulgent men, when they realize that age will diminish so many of their pleasures, and that, as Euripides says,
Dame Venus is to ancient men a foe,
(Euripides, "Aeolus," Frag. 23.)
Dame Venus is a foe to ancient men,
(Euripides, "Aeolus," Frag. 23.)in the first place to collect and lay up in store, as against a siege, these other pleasures, as a sort of provision that will not impair and decay; that then, after they have celebrated the venereal festivals of life, they may spend a cleanly after-feast in reading over the historians and poets, or else in problems of music and geometry. For it would never have come into their minds so much as to think of these purblind and toothless gropings and spurtings of lechery, had they but learned, if nothing more, to write comments upon Homer or Euripides, as Aristotle, Heraclides, and Dicaerchus did. But I verily persuade myself that their neglecting to take care for such provisions as these, and finding all the other things they employed themselves in (as they use to say of virtue) but insipid and dry, and being wholly set upon pleasure, and the body no longer supplying them with it, give them occasion to stoop to do things both mean and shameful in themselves and unbecoming their age; as well when they refresh their memories with their former pleasures and serve themselves of old ones (as it were) long since dead and laid up in pickle for the purpose, when they cannot have fresh ones, as when again they offer violence to nature by suscitating and inflaming in their decayed bodies, as in cold embers, other new ones equally senseless, they having not, it seems, their minds stored with any congenial pleasure that is worth the rejoicing at.
First, to gather and store up pleasures as a safeguard against tough times, so that after celebrating life's intimate moments, they can enjoy a satisfying after-party by reading historians and poets or exploring music and geometry. They wouldn’t even think about the shallow, desperate pursuits of lust if they had learned, at the very least, to write commentaries on Homer or Euripides, like Aristotle, Heraclides, and Dicaerchus did. However, I genuinely believe that their failure to prepare for such enriching experiences, coupled with finding everything else they engaged in (as they say about virtue) bland and uninspiring, and their strong focus on pleasure—once their bodies no longer provided it—leads them to resort to actions that are both degrading and inappropriate for their age. This happens both when they refresh their memories with past pleasures, using up old experiences like preserved goods when fresh ones are unavailable, and when they try to ignite and stimulate new desires in their worn-out bodies, like cold embers, without having their minds filled with any worthwhile joys to celebrate.
As to the other delights of the mind, we have already treated of them, as they occurred to us. But their aversedness and dislike to music, that affords us so great delights and such charming satisfactions, a man could not forget if he would, by reason of the inconsistency of what Epicurus saith, when he pronounceth in his book called his Doubts that his wise man ought to be a lover of public spectacles and to delight above any other man in the music and shows of the Bacchanals; and yet he will not admit of music problems or of the critical inquiries of philologists, no, not so much as at a compotation. Yea, he advises such princes as are lovers of the Muses rather to entertain themselves at their feasts either with some narration of military adventures or with the importune scurrilities of drolls and buffoons, than to engage in disputes about music or in questions of poetry. For this very thing he had the face to write in his treatise of Monarchy, as if he were writing to Sardanapalus, or to Nanarus ruler of Babylon. For neither would a Hiero nor an Attalus nor an Archelaus be persuaded to make a Euripides, a Simonides, a Melanippides, a Crates, or a Diodotus rise up from their tables, and to place such scaramuchios in their rooms as a Cardax, an Agrias, or a Callias, or fellows like Thrasonides and Thrasyleon, to make people disorder the house with hollowing and clapping. Had the great Ptolemy, who was the first that formed a consort of musicians, but met with these excellent and royal admonitions, would he not, think you, have thus addressed himself to the Samians:—
As for other mental pleasures, we've already discussed them as they came to mind. But the fact that some people dislike music, which brings us such joy and satisfaction, is hard to ignore, especially given the contradiction in what Epicurus says in his book called his Doubts. He claims that a wise person should enjoy public events and revel in the music and shows of the Bacchanals, yet he dismisses music-related discussions and the analytical inquiries of scholars, not even during a gathering. In fact, he advises princes who appreciate the arts to focus their feasts on tales of military exploits or the amusing antics of jesters and clowns instead of debating music or poetry questions. He even had the audacity to write this in his treatise on Monarchy, as if addressing Sardanapalus or Nanarus, the ruler of Babylon. After all, neither Hiero, Attalus, nor Archelaus would be convinced to have a Euripides, a Simonides, a Melanippides, a Crates, or a Diodotus leave their tables, just to entertain guests with tricksters like Cardax, Agrias, or Callias, or characters like Thrasonides and Thrasyleon, creating chaos in their homes with shouting and clapping. If the great Ptolemy, who was the first to form a group of musicians, had encountered these wise and royal recommendations, would he not, think you, have addressed the Samians like this:—
O Muse, whence art thou thus maligned?
O Muse, why are you being treated this way?
For certainly it can never belong to any Athenian to be in such enmity and hostility with the Muses. But
For sure, no Athenian can truly feel such hatred and hostility towards the Muses. But
No animal accurst by Jove
Music's sweet charms can ever love.
(Pindar, "Pythian," i. 25.)
No animal cursed by Jove
Can ever love the sweet charms of music.
(Pindar, "Pythian," i. 25.)What sayest thou now, Epicurus? Wilt thou get thee up betimes in the morning, and go to the theatre to hear the harpers and flutists play? But if a Theophrastus discourse at the table of Concords, or an Aristoxenus of Varieties, or if an Aristophanes play the critic upon Homer, wilt thou presently, for very dislike and abhorrence, clap both thy hands upon thy ears? And do they not hereby make the Scythian king Ateas more musical than this comes to, who, when he heard that admirable flutist Ismenias, detained then by him as a prisoner of war, playing upon the flute at a compotation, swore he had rather hear his own horse neigh? And do they not also profess themselves to stand at an implacable and irreconcilable defiance with whatever is generous and becoming? And indeed what do they ever embrace or affect that is either genteel or regardable, when it hath nothing of pleasure to accompany it? And would it not far less affect a pleasurable way of living, to abhor perfumes and odors, like beetles and vultures, than to shun and abhor the conversation of learned, critics and musicians? For what flute or harp ready tuned for a lesson, or
What do you say now, Epicurus? Are you going to get up early in the morning and head to the theater to hear the harpists and flutists play? But if a Theophrastus talks about Concords at the table, or an Aristoxenus discusses Varieties, or if an Aristophanes critiques Homer, will you immediately cover your ears in disgust? And aren't they making the Scythian king Ateas seem more musical than this suggests, who, when he heard the fantastic flutist Ismenias playing at a feast while being detained as a prisoner of war, claimed he would rather listen to his own horse neigh? Don't they also declare that they are in a constant and irreconcilable conflict with anything that is generous and noble? And honestly, what do they ever embrace or appreciate that is either refined or respectable if it doesn’t come with pleasure? And wouldn’t it be much less impactful to despise fragrances and scents, like beetles and vultures, than to avoid and detest the company of knowledgeable critics and musicians? Because what flute or harp, ready for a lesson, or
What sweetest concerts e'er with artful noise,
Warbled by softest tongue and best tuned voice,
What sweet concerts ever with clever sound,
Sung by the softest tongue and best-tuned voice,ever gave Epicurus and Metrodorus such content as the disputes and precepts about concerts gave Aristotle, Theophrastus, Hieronymus, and Dicaerchus? And also the problems about flutes, rhythms, and harmonies; as, for instance, why the longer of two flutes of the same longitude should speak flatter?—why, if you raise the pipe, will all its notes be sharp; and flat again, if you depress it?—and why, when clapped to another, will it sound flatter; and sharper again, when taken from it?—why also, if you scatter chaff or dust about the orchestra of a theatre, will the sound be deadened?—and why, when one would have set up a bronze Alexander for a frontispiece to a stage at Pella, did the architect advise to the contrary, because it would spoil the actors' voices? and why, of the several kinds of music, will the chromatic diffuse and the harmonic compose the mind? But now the several humors of poets, their differing turns and forms of style, and the solutions of their difficult places, have conjoined with a sort of dignity and politeness somewhat also that is extremely agreeable and charming; insomuch that to me they seem to do what was once said by Xenophon, to make a man even forget the joys of love, so powerful and overcoming is the pleasure they bring us.
Ever gave Epicurus and Metrodorus such pleasure as the debates and teachings about music provided to Aristotle, Theophrastus, Hieronymus, and Dicaerchus? And what about the questions regarding flutes, rhythms, and harmonies; for example, why should a longer flute of the same length sound flatter?—Why does raising the pipe make all its notes sharp, and lowering it make them flat?—And why does it sound flatter when played alongside another flute, and sharper when taken away?—Why, if you spread chaff or dust around the orchestra in a theater, does the sound get muffled?—And why did the architect advise against setting up a bronze statue of Alexander as a backdrop for a stage at Pella because it would ruin the actors' voices? Additionally, among the various types of music, why does the chromatic music make people feel expansive while the harmonic music calms the mind? But now, the different moods of poets, their unique styles and forms, and their resolutions of challenging lines come together with a kind of elegance and charm that is incredibly appealing; it seems to me they can make a person forget even the joys of love, so strong and overwhelming is the pleasure they provide.
In this investigation these gentlemen have not the least share, nor do they so much as pretend or desire to have any. But while they are sinking and depressing their contemplative part into the body, and dragging it down by their sensual and intemperate appetites, as by so many weights of lead, they make themselves appear little better than hostlers or graziers that still ply their cattle with hay, straw, or grass, looking upon such provender as the properest and meetest food for them. And is it not even thus they would swill the mind with the pleasures of the body, as hogherds do their swine, while they will not allow it can be gay any longer than it is hoping, experiencing, or remembering something that refers to the body; but will not have it either to receive or seek for any congenial joy or satisfaction from within itself? Though what can be more absurd and unreasonable than—when there are two things that go to make up the man, a body and a soul, and the soul besides hath the perogative of governing—that the body should have its peculiar, natural, and proper good, and the soul none at all, but must sit gazing at the body and simper at its passions, as if she were pleased and affected with them, though indeed she be all the while wholly untouched and unconcerned, as having nothing of her own to choose, desire, or take delight in? For they should either pull off the vizor quite, and say plainly that man is all body (as some of them do, that take away all mental being), or, if they will allow us to have two distinct natures, they should then leave to each its proper good and evil, agreeable and disagreeable; as we find it to be with our senses, each of which is peculiarly adapted to its own sensible, though they all very strangely intercommune one with another. Now the intellect is the proper sense of the mind; and therefore that it should have no congenial speculation, movement, or affection of its own, the attaining to which should be matter of complacency to it, is the most irrational thing in the world, if I have not, by Jove, unwittingly done the men wrong, and been myself imposed upon by some that may perhaps have calumniated them.
In this investigation, these gentlemen have no involvement, nor do they even pretend or wish to have any. But while they are dragging their contemplative side down into the physical realm and pulling it down with their indulgent and excessive desires, like weights of lead, they make themselves seem not much better than caretakers or farmers who just feed their animals with hay, straw, or grass, viewing such feed as the best and most suitable for them. Isn’t this just how they would drown the mind in bodily pleasures, like swineherds do with their pigs, refusing to believe it can feel any joy except when it’s hoping for, experiencing, or reminiscing about something related to the body, while denying it any chance to find or seek joy or satisfaction from within? What could be more absurd than the idea that when a person consists of two parts—a body and a soul—the soul, which has the right to govern, should have no unique, natural, or proper good, while the body does, leaving the soul to just look at the body and smile at its desires as if she is pleased with them, when in reality she remains completely untouched and indifferent, having nothing of her own to choose, desire, or enjoy? They should either remove the mask entirely and declare that a person is just a body (as some do, denying all mental existence), or if they acknowledge that we have two distinct natures, they should assign each its own proper good and bad, pleasant and unpleasant; as we see with our senses, each suited to its specific sensation, though they all strangely interact with one another. The intellect is the mind's proper sense; therefore, it’s utterly unreasonable that it should have no corresponding thought, movement, or feeling of its own, which should make it feel good, unless I have inadvertently misrepresented these men and been misled by those who may have slandered them.
Then I said to him: If we may be your judges, you have not; yea, we must acquit you of having offered them the least indignity; and therefore pray despatch the rest of your discourse with assurance. How! said I, and shall not Aristodemus then succeed me, if you are tired out yourself? Aristodemus said: With all my heart, when you are as much tired as he is; but since you are yet in your vigor, pray make use of yourself, my noble friend, and don't think to pretend weariness. Theon then replied: What is yet behind, I must confess, is very easy; it being but to go over the several pleasures contained in that part of life that consists in action. Now themselves somewhere say that there is far more satisfaction in doing than in receiving good; and good may be done many times, it is true, by words, but the most and greatest part of good consists in action, as the very name of beneficence tells us and they themselves also attest. For you may remember, continued he, we heard this gentleman tell us but now what words Epicurus uttered, and what letters he sent to his friends, applauding and magnifying Metrodorus,—how bravely and like a spark he quitted the city and went down to the port to relieve Mithrus the Syrian,—and this, though Metrodorus did not then do anything at all. What and how great then may we presume the pleasures of Plato to have been, when Dion by the measures he gave him deposed the tyrant Dionysius and set Sicily at liberty? And what the pleasures of Aristotle, when he rebuilt his native city Stagira, then levelled with the ground, and brought back its exiled inhabitants? And what the pleasures of Theophrastus and of Phidias, when they cut off the tyrants of their respective countries? For what need a man recount to you, who so well know it, how many particular persons they relieved, not by sending them a little wheat or a measure of meal (as Epicurus did to some of his friends), but by procuring restoration to the banished, liberty to the imprisoned, and restitution of wives and children to those that had been bereft of them? But a man could not, if he were willing, pass by the sottish stupidity of the man who, though he tramples under foot and vilifies the great and generous actions of Themistocles and Miltiades, yet writes these very words to his friends about himself: "You have given a very gallant and noble testimony of your care of me in the provision of corn you have made for me, and have declared your affection to me by signs that mount to the very skies." So that, should a man but take that poor parcel of corn out of the great philosopher's epistle, it might seem to be the recital of some letter of thanks for the delivery or preservation of all Greece or of the commons of Athens.
Then I said to him: If we can be your judges, you haven't; in fact, we must clear you of having shown them the slightest disrespect; so please, continue your discussion with confidence. What? I said, will Aristodemus take my place if you’re worn out? Aristodemus replied: Absolutely, but only if you are as tired as he is; since you still have your strength, my noble friend, please use it and don’t pretend to be weary. Theon then answered: What’s left, I must admit, is quite simple; it’s just about going over the various pleasures found in the part of life that involves taking action. They say somewhere that there’s much more satisfaction in doing than in receiving good; and while good can often be done through words, the majority and greatest part of good lies in action, as the very term “beneficence” implies and they themselves also confirm. You might recall, he continued, we just heard this gentleman tell us what words Epicurus spoke and what letters he sent to his friends, praising and honoring Metrodorus—how bravely and energetically he left the city and went down to the port to help Mithrus the Syrian—even though Metrodorus didn’t actually do anything at that time. So, how great might we imagine Plato’s pleasures were when Dion, on his advice, overthrew the tyrant Dionysius and liberated Sicily? And what about Aristotle’s pleasures when he rebuilt his hometown Stagira, which had been leveled to the ground, and brought back its exiled citizens? And what were the pleasures of Theophrastus and Phidias when they eliminated the tyrants of their respective lands? Why would anyone need to remind you, who knows it so well, of how many people they helped—not by sending a little wheat or a measure of meal (as Epicurus did for some of his friends), but by restoring the exiled, freeing the imprisoned, and returning wives and children to those who had lost them? Yet, it’s impossible to overlook the sheer foolishness of the man who, while he belittles and disrespects the great and noble actions of Themistocles and Miltiades, writes these very words to his friends about himself: "You have provided a very brave and generous testimony of your care for me in the supply of grain you arranged for me, and have shown your affection for me with signs that reach to the skies." So, if someone were to take that meager amount of grain from the great philosopher's letter, it might seem like a thank you note for saving or preserving all of Greece or the common people of Athens.
We will now forbear to mention that Nature requires very large and chargeable provisions to be made for accomplishing the pleasures of the body; nor can the height of delicacy be had in black bread and lentil pottage. But voluptuous and sensual appetites expect costly dishes, Thasian wines, perfumed unguents, and varieties of pastry works,
We won’t mention that Nature demands that we make extensive and expensive preparations to enjoy bodily pleasures; you can’t have the finest delicacies with just black bread and lentil stew. But indulgent and sensual cravings expect fancy dishes, Thasian wines, scented oils, and a variety of pastries,
And cakes by female hands wrought artfully,
Well steep'd in th' liquor of the gold-wing'd bee;
And cakes made by skilled hands,
Well soaked in the nectar of the golden-winged bee;and besides all this, handsome young lassies too, such as Leontion, Boidion, Hedia, and Nicedion, that were wont to roam about in Epicurus's philosophic garden. But now such joys as suit the mind must undoubtedly be grounded upon a grandeur of actions and a splendor of worthy deeds, if men would not seem little, ungenerous, and puerile, but on the contrary, bulky, firm, and brave. But for a man to be elated by happiness, as Epicurus is, like sailors upon the festivals of Venus, and to vaunt himself that, when he was sick of an ascites, he notwithstanding called his friends together to certain collations and grudged not his dropsy the addition of good liquor, and that, when he called to remembrance the last words of Neocles, he was melted with a peculiar sort of joy intermixed with tears,—no man in his right senses would call these true joys or satisfactions. Nay, I will be bold to say that, if such a thing as that they call a sardonic or grinning laughter can happen to the mind, it is to be found in these artificial and crying laughters. But if any will needs have them still called by the name of joys and satisfactions, let him but yet think how far they are exceeded by the pleasures that here ensue:—
and besides all this, there were also attractive young women like Leontion, Boidion, Hedia, and Nicedion, who used to wander around in Epicurus's philosophical garden. But now, the joys that truly benefit the mind must surely be based on significant actions and the brilliance of noble deeds, so that people don't appear small, selfish, and childish, but rather large, strong, and courageous. However, for a man to feel happy, like Epicurus does, similar to sailors during Venus’s festivals, and to brag that even when he suffered from dropsy, he still gathered his friends for meals and didn’t hesitate to add good wine to his illness, or to recall the last words of Neocles and feel a unique joy mixed with tears—no one in their right mind would consider these true joys or satisfactions. In fact, I would boldly argue that if something like sardonic or mocking laughter can occur in the mind, it is found in these artificial and tearful laughs. But if anyone insists on calling them joys and satisfactions, they should just consider how much greater the pleasures that follow are:—
Our counsels have proud Sparta's glory clipt;
and Stranger, this is his country Rome's great star;
Our advisors have diminished Sparta's glory; and Stranger, this is the great star of our country, Rome;
and again this,
and again this,
I know not which to guess thee, man or god.
I don't know whether to think of you as a man or a god.
Now when I set before my eyes the brave achievements of Thrasybulus and Pelopidas, of Aristides engaged at Platea and Miltiades at Marathon, I am here constrained with Herodotus to declare it my opinion, that in an active state of life the pleasure far exceeds the glory. And Epaminondas herein bears me witness also, when he saith (as is reported of him), that the greatest satisfaction he ever received in his life was that his father and mother had lived to see the trophy set up at Leuctra when himself was general. Let us then compare with Epaminondas's Epicurus's mother, rejoicing that she had lived to see her son cooping himself up in a little garden, and getting children in common with Polyaenus upon the strumpet of Cyzicus. As for Metrodorus's mother and sister, how extravagantly rejoiced they were at his nuptials appears by the letters he wrote to his brother in answer to his; that is, out of his own books. Nay, they tell us bellowing that they have not only lived a life of pleasure, but also exult and sing hymns in the praise of their own living. Though, when our servants celebrate the festivals of Saturn or go in procession at the time of the rural bacchanals, you would scarcely brook the hollowing and din they make, if the intemperateness of their joy and their insensibleness of decorum should make them act and speak such things as these:—
Now when I think about the brave achievements of Thrasybulus and Pelopidas, of Aristides at Plataea and Miltiades at Marathon, I have to agree with Herodotus that in an active life, pleasure outweighs glory. Epaminondas would also support me here when he reportedly said that the greatest happiness he ever felt was seeing his father and mother witness the trophy at Leuctra while he was general. In contrast, let’s compare Epaminondas with Epicurus’s mother, who took joy in her son spending his time in a tiny garden, having children with Polyaenus on the mistress of Cyzicus. As for Metrodorus’s mother and sister, their overwhelming joy at his wedding is clear from the letters he sent to his brother in response, which come straight from his own writings. In fact, they boast that they not only lived a life of pleasure but also celebrate and sing praises of their own lifestyle. However, if our servants were to celebrate the festivals of Saturn or participate in the rustic bacchanals, you would hardly tolerate the shouting and noise they create if their uncontrolled joy and lack of decorum led them to behave and speak in such ways:—
Lean down, boy! why dost sit I let's tope like mad!
Here's belly-timber store; ne'er spare it, lad.
Straight these huzza like wild. One fills up drink;
Another plaits a wreath, and crowns the brink
O' th' teeming bowl. Then to the verdant bays
All chant rude carols in Apollo's praise;
While one the door with drunken fury smites,
Till he from bed his loving consort frights.
Lean down, boy! Why are you sitting? Let's drink like crazy!
There's plenty of food here; don’t hold back, kid.
Everyone's cheering like wild. One is filling up a drink;
Another is braiding a wreath and placing it on the edge
Of the overflowing bowl. Then, in the green fields,
Everyone sings rough songs to praise Apollo;
While one bangs on the door in drunken rage,
Until he scares his beloved partner from bed.And are not Metrodorus's words something like to these when he writes to his brother thus: It is none of our business to preserve the Greeks, or to get them to bestow garlands upon us for our wit, but to eat well and drink good wine, Timocrates, so as not to offend but pleasure our stomachs. And he saith again, in some other place in the same epistles: How gay and how assured was I, when I had once learned of Epicurus the true way of gratifying my stomach; for, believe me, philosopher Timocrates, our prime good lies at the stomach.
And aren’t Metrodorus’s words something like this when he writes to his brother: It’s not our job to save the Greeks or to get them to praise us for our intelligence, but to enjoy good food and drink nice wine, Timocrates, so we can satisfy and not upset our stomachs. And he says again, in another part of the same letters: How cheerful and confident I felt once I learned from Epicurus the right way to satisfy my stomach; because, believe me, philosopher Timocrates, our greatest good is found in our stomach.
In brief, these men draw out the dimensions of their pleasures like a circle, about the stomach as a centre. And the truth is, it is impossible for those men ever to participate of generous and princely joy, such as enkindles a height of spirit in us and sends forth to all mankind an unmade hilarity and calm serenity, that have taken up a sort of life that is confined, unsocial, inhuman, and uninspired towards the esteem of the world and the love of mankind. For the soul of man is not an abject, little, and ungenerous thing, nor doth it extend its desires (as polyps do their claws) unto eatables only,—yea, these are in an instant of time taken off by the least plenitude, but when its efforts towards what is brave and generous and the honors and caresses that accrue therefrom are now in their consummate vigor this life's duration cannot limit them, but the desire of glory and the love of mankind grasp at whole eternity, and wrestle with such actions and charms as bring with them an ineffable pleasure, and such as good men, though never so fain, cannot decline, they meeting and accosting them on all sides and surrounding them about, while their being beneficial to many occasions joy to themselves.
In short, these men measure their pleasures like a circle, with their stomach as the center. The reality is, these men can never experience the generous and noble joy that lifts our spirits and spreads unrestrained happiness and calm to everyone. Their lives are limited, unsociable, inhuman, and lack the inspiration needed to embrace the world and love humanity. The human soul is not a small, mean, and petty thing; it doesn’t just reach out for food like polyps extending their tentacles. Those pleasures are fleeting and easily satisfied. However, when one's efforts are directed towards bravery, generosity, and the honors and affection that come from them, they cannot be confined by the length of life. The desire for glory and love for humanity stretch toward eternity, engaging in actions and charms that bring indescribable joy—an experience that good people, no matter how eager, cannot resist, as these joys come from contributing to the happiness of many.
As he passes through the throngs in the city,
All gaze upon him as some deity.
("Odyssey," viii. 173.)
As he walks through the crowds in the city,
Everyone looks at him like he's some god.
("Odyssey," viii. 173.)For he that can so affect and move other men as to fill them with joy and rapture, and to make them long to touch him and salute him, cannot but appear even to a blind man to possess and enjoy very extraordinary satisfactions in himself. And hence it comes that such men are both indefatigable and undaunted in serving the public, and we still hear some such words from them
For someone who can so impact and inspire others to feel joy and excitement, making them want to reach out and greet him, must certainly seem to have exceptional happiness within himself, even to someone who can’t see. This is why such people are tireless and fearless in serving the community, and we still hear such sentiments from them.
Thy father got thee for the common good;
Your father got you for the common good;
and
and
Let's not give off to benefit mankind.
Let's not give off to benefit humanity.
But what need I instance in those that are consummately good? For if to one of the middling rank of bad men, when he is just a-dying, he that hath the power over him (whether his god or prince) should but allow one hour more, upon condition that, after he hath spent that either in some generous action or in sensual enjoyment, he should then presently die, who would in this time choose rather to accompany with Lais or drink Ariusion wine, than to despatch Archias and restore the Athenians to their liberties? For my part I believe none would. For I see that even common sword-players, if they are not utter brutes and savages, but Greek born, when they are to enter the list, though there be many and very costly dishes set before them, yet take more content in employing their time in commanding their poor wives to some of their friends, yea, and in conferring freedom on their slaves, than in gratifying their stomachs. But should the pleasures of the body be allowed to have some extraordinary matter in them, this would yet be common to men of action and business.
But why should I point out examples of those who are truly good? Because if a moderately bad person, right before dying, were given the chance by whoever has power over him (whether it's God or the king) to have just one more hour—on the condition that he spends it either doing something noble or indulging in pleasure—who would actually choose to spend that time with Lais or drinking Ariusion wine rather than taking out Archias and restoring freedom to the Athenians? Personally, I believe no one would. I see that even ordinary fighters, if they aren't complete brutes and are of Greek descent, when facing a contest, despite having many expensive dishes in front of them, would find more satisfaction in using their time to command their struggling wives to friends or granting freedom to their slaves rather than just satisfying their appetites. However, if bodily pleasures were to be incredibly significant, this would still be true for active and driven individuals.
For they can eat good meat, and red wine drink,
(See "Iliad," v. 341.)
For they can eat good meat and drink red wine,
(See "Iliad," v. 341.)aye, and entertain themselves with their friends, and perhaps with a greater relish too, after their engagements and hard services,—as did Alexander and Agesilaus, and (by Jove) Phocion and Epaminondas too,—than these gentlemen who anoint themselves by the fireside, and are gingerly rocked about the streets in sedans. Yea, those make but small account of such pleasures as these, as being comprised in those greater ones. For why should a man mention Epaminondas's denying to sup with one, when he saw the preparations made were above the man's estate, but frankly saying to his friend, "I thought you had intended a sacrifice and not a debauch," when Alexander himself refused Queen Ada's cooks, telling her he had better ones of his own, to wit, travelling by night for his dinner, and a light dinner for his supper, and when Philoxenus writing to him about some handsome boys, and desiring to know of him whether he would have him buy them for him, was within a small matter of being discharged his office for it? And yet who might better have them than he? But as Hippocrates saith that of two pains the lesser is forgot in the greater, so the pleasures that accrue from action and the love of glory, while they cheer and refresh the mind, do by their transcendency and grandeur obliterate and extinguish the inferior satisfactions of the body.
Yeah, they enjoy themselves with their friends, and maybe with even more enthusiasm after their duties and hard work—just like Alexander and Agesilaus, and (seriously) Phocion and Epaminondas too—compared to those gentlemen who pamper themselves by the fireside and are gently carried around the streets in sedans. Those people think very little of pleasures like these, seeing them as part of bigger joys. Why would anyone bring up Epaminondas refusing to dine with someone when he noticed that the preparations were beyond the man’s means? He honestly told his friend, "I thought you were planning a sacrifice, not a party." Meanwhile, Alexander himself turned down Queen Ada's cooks, saying he had better ones of his own, like having a light dinner and traveling at night for his meals. And when Philoxenus wrote to him about some attractive boys, asking if he wanted him to buy them, he was almost dismissed from his position for it. But who could want them more than he? Yet, as Hippocrates says, of two pains, the lesser is forgotten in the greater. So, the pleasures that come from action and the desire for glory, while they uplift and energize the mind, overshadow and diminish the lesser satisfactions of the body.
If, then, the remembering of former good things (as they affirm) be that which most contributes to a pleasurable living, not one of us will then credit Epicurus when he, tells us that, while he was dying away in the midst of the strongest agonies and distempers, he yet bore himself up with the memory of the pleasures he formerly enjoyed. For a man may better see the resemblance of his own face in a troubled deep or a storm, than a smooth and smiling remembrance of past pleasure in a body tortured with such lancing and rending pains. But now the memories of past actions no man can put from him that would. For did Alexander, think you, (or indeed could he possibly) forget the fight at Arbela? Or Pelopidas the tyrant Leontiadas? Or Themistocles the engagement at Salamis? For the Athenians to this very day keep an annual festival for the battle at Marathon, and the Thebans for that at Leuctra; and so, by Jove, do we ourselves (as you very well know) for that which Daiphantus gained at Hyampolis, and all Phocis is filled with sacrifices and public honors. Nor is there any of us that is better satisfied with what himself hath either eaten or drunk than he is with what they have achieved. It is very easy then to imagine what great content, satisfaction, and joy accompanied the authors of these actions in their lifetime, when the very memory of them hath not yet after five hundred years and more lost its rejoicing power. The truth is, Epicurus himself allows there are some pleasures derived from fame. And indeed why should he not, when he himself had such a furious lechery and wriggling after glory as made him not only to disown his masters and scuffle about syllables and accents with his fellow-pedant Democritus (whose principles he stole verbatim), and to tell his disciples there never was a wise man in the world besides himself, but also to put it in writing how Colotes performed adoration to him, as he was one day philosophizing, by touching his knees, and that his own brother Neocles was used from a child to say, "There neither is, nor ever was in the world, a wiser man than Epicurus," and that his mother had just so many atoms within her as, when coming together, must have produced a complete wise man? May not a man then—as Callicratidas once said of the Athenian admiral Conon, that he whored the sea as well say of Epicurus that he basely and covertly forces and ravishes Fame, by not enjoying her publicly but ruffling and debauching her in a corner? For as men's bodies are oft necessitated by famine, for want of other food, to prey against nature upon themselves, a like mischief to this does vainglory create in men's minds, forcing them, when they hunger after praise and cannot obtain it from other men, at last to commend themselves.
If remembering past good times (as they say) is what makes life enjoyable, then none of us will believe Epicurus when he claims that even while he was dying in intense agony, he found comfort in memories of his past pleasures. A person can better see their reflection in a turbulent sea than in a tranquil, happy memory when their body is wracked with pain. But no one can forget their past actions if they truly want to. Did Alexander forget the battle at Arbela? Or Pelopidas the tyrant Leontiadas? Or Themistocles the fight at Salamis? Even today, the Athenians celebrate the battle at Marathon every year, and the Thebans honor the battle at Leuctra. And yes, we ourselves celebrate what Daiphantus won at Hyampolis, with all of Phocis filled with sacrifices and public honors. None of us feels more satisfied with what we’ve eaten or drunk than with what we’ve accomplished. It’s easy to imagine the immense contentment, satisfaction, and joy felt by the creators of these actions during their lives, especially since the memory of them still holds power for rejoicing after more than five hundred years. The truth is, Epicurus himself acknowledges that some pleasures come from fame. And really, why wouldn’t he, when he had such an intense craving for glory that he not only rejected his teachers and argued about words and accents with his fellow thinker Democritus (whose ideas he copied directly), but also claimed to his students that there had never been a wiser man than himself? He even wrote about how Colotes showed him respect by touching his knees while he was philosophizing, and that his brother Neocles grew up saying, "There has never been, nor will there ever be, a wiser man than Epicurus," and that his mother had just the right number of atoms to create a complete wise man? Can’t we say, as Callicratidas once remarked about Athenian Admiral Conon that he exploited the sea, that Epicurus inappropriately and secretly corrupts Fame, not enjoying her openly but rather indulging in her on the sly? Just as people sometimes have to resort to cannibalism when starving and can’t find other food, vanity creates a similar problem in people's minds, compelling them, when they yearn for praise and can't get it from others, to end up praising themselves.
And do not they then that stand so well affected towards applause and fame themselves own they cast away very extraordinary pleasures, when they decline, magistrature, public offices, and the favor and confidences of princes, from whom Democritus once said the grandest blessings of human life are derived? For he will never induce any mortal to believe, that he that could so highly value and please himself with the attestation of his brother Neocles and the adoration of his friend Colotes would not, were he clapped by all the Greeks at the Olympiads, go quite out of his wits and even hollow for joy, or rather indeed be elated in the manner spoken of by Sophocles,
And don’t those who are so eager for applause and fame realize that they give up very extraordinary pleasures when they turn down positions of power, public office, and the support and trust of influential people, from whom Democritus once claimed the greatest blessings of human life come? For no one will ever make another person believe that someone who could so highly value and take pleasure in the praise of his brother Neocles and the admiration of his friend Colotes would not, if he were celebrated by all the Greeks at the Olympics, lose his mind with joy or, in fact, be overjoyed in the way Sophocles described.
Puffed like the down of a gray-headed thistle.
Puffed up like the seeds of a dandelion.
If it be a pleasing thing then to be of a good fame, it is on the contrary afflictive to be of an ill one; and it is most certain that nothing in the world can be more infamous than want of friendship, idleness, atheism, debauchery, and negligence. Now these are looked upon by all men except themselves as inseparable companions of their party. But unjustly, some one may say. Be it so then; for we consider not now the truth of the charge, but what fame and reputation they are of in the world. And we shall forbear at present to mention the many books that have been written to defame them, and the blackening decrees made against them by several republics; for that would look like bitterness. But if the answers of oracles, the providence of the gods, and the tenderness and affection of parents to their issue,—if civil policy, military order, and the office of magistracy be things to be looked upon as deservedly esteemed and celebrated, it must of necessity then be allowed also, that they that tell us it is none of their business to preserve the Greeks, but they must eat and drink so as not to offend but pleasure their stomachs, are base and ignominious persons, and that their being reputed such must needs extremely humble them and make their lives untoward to them, if they take honor and a good name for any part of their satisfaction.
If it’s a good thing to have a good reputation, then having a bad one is definitely a burden; and it's clear that nothing in the world is more shameful than lacking friendship, being idle, being an atheist, living a debauched life, and being negligent. People generally see these traits, except for those who possess them, as inseparable parts of their character. Some might argue that's unfair. Okay, but we're not focusing on the truth of the accusation right now; we're looking at how these traits are viewed in the world. Let's skip mentioning the numerous books written to tarnish their names and the harsh laws that various societies have enacted against them; that would just come off as bitter. However, if we value the responses from oracles, the guidance of the gods, and the love and care of parents for their children—if we also see civil policy, military order, and the role of magistrates as worthy of admiration, then it follows that those who claim it's not their duty to protect the Greeks but only to eat and drink in a way that pleases their own appetites are indeed base and disgraceful individuals. Being seen this way must surely humble them and make their lives difficult if they consider honor and a good name to be important for their happiness.
When Theon had thus spoken, we thought good to break up our walk to rest us awhile (as we were wont to do) upon the benches. Nor did we continue any long space in our silence at what was spoken; for Zeuxippus, taking his hint from what had been said, spake to us: Who will make up that of the discourse which is yet behind? For it hath not yet received its due conclusion; and this gentleman, by mentioning divination and providence, did in my opinion suggest as much to us; for these people boast that these very things contribute in no way to the providing of their lives with pleasure, serenity, and assurance; so that there must be something said to these too. Aristodemus subjoined then and said: As to pleasure, I think there hath been enough said already to evince that, supposing their doctrine to be successful and to attain its own design, it yet doth but ease us of fear and a certain superstitious persuasion but helps us not to any comfort or joy from the gods at all; nay, while it brings us to such a state as to be neither disquieted nor pleased with them, it doth but render us in the same manner affected towards them as we are towards the Scythians or Hyrcanians, from whom we look for neither good nor harm. But if something more must be added to what hath been already spoken, I think I may very well take it from themselves. And in the first place, they quarrel extremely with those that would take away all sorrowing, weeping, and sighing for the death of friends, and tell them that such unconcernedness as arrives to an insensibility proceeds from some other worse cause, to wit, inhumanity, excessive vainglory, or prodigious fierceness, and that therefore it would be better to be a little concerned and affected, yea, and to liquor one's eyes and be melted, with other pretty things of the like kind, which they use artificially to affect and counterfeit, that they may be thought tender and loving-hearted people. For just in this manner Epicurus expressed himself upon the occasion of the death of Hegesianax, when he wrote to Dositheus the father and to Pyrson the brother of the deceased person; for I fortuned very lately to run over his epistles. And I say, in imitation of them, that atheism is no less an evil than inhumanity and vainglory, and into this they would lead us who take away with God's anger the comfort we might derive from him. For it would be much better for us to have something of the unsuiting passion of dauntedness and fear conjoined and intermixed with our sentiments of a deity, than while we fly from it, to leave ourselves neither hope, content, nor assurance in the enjoyment of our good things nor any recourse to God in our adversity and misfortunes.
When Theon said this, we decided to take a break from our walk and rest for a while, as we often did on the benches. We didn't stay silent for long about what was just said because Zeuxippus, picking up on the conversation, asked us: Who will wrap up the rest of the discussion? It hasn’t reached its final point yet; this guy, by mentioning divination and providence, seemed to imply something important to us. These people claim that these ideas don’t actually help make their lives more enjoyable, peaceful, or secure, so we should definitely say something about that too. Aristodemus then added: Regarding pleasure, I believe we’ve talked enough to show that, even if their beliefs are right and achieve their purpose, they merely relieve us of fear and some sort of superstition but don’t bring us any comfort or joy from the gods at all. In fact, it makes us indifferent to the gods, similar to how we feel about the Scythians or Hyrcanians, from whom we expect neither good nor harm. But if we need to add more to what’s been said, I think I can draw from their own arguments. First off, they seriously criticize anyone who tries to eliminate all sorrow, weeping, and sighing over the death of friends, arguing that such indifference comes from something worse like inhumanity, excessive pride, or extreme cruelty. Thus, they suggest it’s better to feel a bit of sadness and let our eyes well up with tears, along with other emotional displays they artificially use to seem tender-hearted. Epicurus expressed similar sentiments when Hegesianax passed away, writing to Dositheus, the father, and Pyrson, the brother of the deceased; I happened to read his letters not long ago. I would say, following their lead, that atheism is just as bad as inhumanity and pride, and this is the path they’d lead us down who remove the comfort we might find in God’s presence. It would be far better for us to experience some appropriate fear and anxiety mixed with our feelings about a deity than to reject it and end up with neither hope, contentment, nor assurance in enjoying our good fortunes nor any avenue to God in our struggles and misfortunes.
We ought, it is true, to remove superstition from the persuasion we have of the gods, as we would the gum from our eyes; but if that be impossible, we must not root out and extinguish with it the belief which the most have of the gods; nor is that a dismaying and sour one either, as these gentlemen feign, while they libel and abuse the blessed Providence, representing her as a witch or as some fell and tragic fury. Yea, I must tell you, there are some in the world that fear God in an excess, for whom yet it would not be better not so to fear him. For, while they dread him as a governor that is gentle to the good and severe to the bad, and are by this one fear, which makes them not to need many others, freed from doing ill and brought to keep their wickedness with them in quiet and (as it were) in an enfeebled languor, they come hereby to have less disquiet than those that indulge the practice of it and are rash and daring in it, and then presently after fear and repent of it. Now that disposition of mind which the greater and ignorant part of mankind, that are not utterly bad, are of towards God, hath, it is very true, conjoined with the regard and honor they pay him, a kind of anguish and astonished dread, which is also called superstition; but ten thousand times more and greater is the good hope, the true joy, that attend it, which both implore and receive the whole benefit of prosperity and good success from the gods only. And this is manifest by the greatest tokens that can be; for neither do the discourses of those that wait at the temples, nor the good times of our solemn festivals, nor any other actions or sights more recreate and delight us than what we see and do about the gods ourselves, while we assist at the public ceremonies, and join in the sacred balls, and attend at the sacrifices and initiations. For the mind is not then sorrowful depressed, and heavy, as if she were approaching certain tyrants or cruel torturers; but on the contrary, where she is most apprehensive and fullest persuaded the divinity is present, there she most of all throws off sorrows, tears, and pensiveness, and lets herself loose to what is pleasing and agreeable, to the very degree of tipsiness, frolic, and laughter. In amorous concerns, as the poet said once,
We should, it’s true, get rid of superstition in our beliefs about the gods, just like we would remove gum from our eyes; but if that’s not possible, we shouldn't eliminate or suppress the belief that most people have in the gods. It’s not a gloomy or harsh belief, as some people claim while they slander and insult the divine Providence, portraying it as a witch or a cruel and tragic force. Yes, I must tell you that there are people who fear God excessively, and for them, it might actually be better not to fear him like that. They see him as a ruler who is kind to the good and harsh to the bad, and this single fear keeps them from doing wrong and allows them to keep their wickedness in check, as if in a weakened state. Because of this, they experience less anxiety than those who indulge in wrongdoing and are reckless about it, only to feel fear and regret afterward. The mindset of the majority of people, who are not completely bad, towards God often includes a certain anguish and astonished dread, which can also be described as superstition. However, the good hope and true joy that accompany it far exceed it; these feelings both seek and receive all the benefits of prosperity and success from the gods alone. This is evident in the strongest ways possible; the conversations of those who serve in the temples, the joyful moments of our festivals, and any other actions or experiences related to the gods bring us more happiness and pleasure than anything else. When we participate in public ceremonies, join in sacred dances, and attend sacrifices and initiations, our minds aren’t heavy or downcast, as if we were facing tyrants or cruel torturers. On the contrary, when we are most convinced of the divine presence, we shed our sorrows, tears, and worries, and we embrace what is joyful and pleasant, reaching a state of joyfulness, playfulness, and laughter. Regarding matters of love, as the poet once expressed,
When old man and old wife think of love's fires,
Their frozen breasts will swell with new desires;
When the elderly couple thinks of love’s passions,
Their cold hearts will awaken to fresh desires;but now in the public processions and sacrifices not only the old man and the old wife, nor yet the poor and mean man only, but also
but now in the public processions and sacrifices not only the old man and the old wife, nor yet the poor and mean man only, but also
The dusty thick-legged drab that turns the mill,
The dusty, thick-legged, dull color that runs the mill,
and household-slaves and day-laborers, are strangely elevated and transported with mirth and joviality. Rich men as well as princes are used at certain times to make public entertainments and to keep open houses; but the feasts they make at the solemnities and sacrifices, when they now apprehend their minds to approach nearest the divinity, have conjoined with the honor and veneration they pay him a much more transcending pleasure and satisfaction. Of this, he that hath renounced God's providence hath not the least share; for what recreates and cheers us at the festivals is not the store of good wine and roast meat, but the good hope and persuasion that God is there present and propitious to us, and kindly accepts of what we do. From some of our festivals we exclude the flute and garland; but if God be not present at the sacrifice, as the solemnity of the banquet, the rest is but unhallowed, unfeast-like, and uninspired. Indeed the whole is but ungrateful and irksome to such a man; for he asks for nothing at all, but only acts his prayers and adorations for fear of the public, and utters expressions contradictory to his philosophy. And when he sacrifices, he stands by and looks upon the priest as he kills the offering but as he doth upon a butcher; and when he hath done, he goes his way, saying with Menander,
and household slaves and day laborers are surprisingly uplifted and filled with joy and cheer. Wealthy individuals and princes often host public events and keep their doors open at certain times; however, the feasts they hold during religious occasions and sacrifices, when they feel they are closest to the divine, bring them a much greater sense of pleasure and satisfaction than mere entertainment and hospitality. Those who have turned away from God's guidance miss out entirely; the joy we feel at celebrations comes not from an abundance of fine wine and roast meats, but from the hope and belief that God is present and favorably accepting our offerings. In some of our celebrations, we skip the flute and garlands; yet if God is absent from the sacrifice, just like from the banquet, everything else feels disrespectful, uncelebratory, and uninspired. In fact, the entire experience is unsatisfying and burdensome for such a person; they seek nothing and merely perform their prayers and displays of reverence out of fear of societal judgment, expressing ideas that contradict their beliefs. When they partake in a sacrifice, they watch the priest as he slaughters the offering with the same detachment as one would watch a butcher; once it's done, they walk away, echoing the sentiments of Menander.
To bribe the gods I sacrificed my best,
But they ne'er minded me nor my request.
To appease the gods, I offered my best,
But they never paid attention to me or my request.For so Epicurus would have us arrange ourselves, and neither to envy nor to incur the hatred of the common herd by doing ourselves with disgust what others do with delight. For, as Evenus saith,
For Epicurus, we should organize ourselves in a way that avoids envying others or making ourselves the targets of the masses' hatred by doing things that we find repulsive while others enjoy them. As Evenus says,
No man can love what he is made to do.
No one can truly love what they are forced to do.
For which very reason they think the superstitious are not pleased in their minds but in fear while they attend at the sacrifices and mysteries; though they themselves are in no better condition, if they do the same things our of fear, and partake not either of as great good hope as the others do, but are only fearful and uneasy lest they should come to be discovered as cheating and abusing the public, upon whose account it is that they compose the books they write about the gods and the divine nature,
For this very reason, they believe that the superstitious aren’t genuinely satisfied but are instead motivated by fear while participating in sacrifices and rituals. However, they find themselves in no better situation if they do the same things out of fear, lacking the strong sense of hope that others have. They are merely anxious and uneasy about being exposed for cheating and misleading the public, which is why they write books about the gods and divine nature.
Involved, with nothing truly said.
But all around enveloped;
Involved, with nothing actually spoken.
But completely surrounded;hiding out of fear the real opinions they contain.
hiding out of fear of the real opinions they hold.
And now, after the two former ranks of ill and common men, we will in the third place consider the best sort and most beloved of the gods, and what great satisfactions they receive from their clean and generous sentiments of the deity, to wit, that he is the prince of all good things and the parent of all things brave, and can no more do an unworthy thing than he can be made to suffer it. For he is good, and he that is good can upon no account fall into envy, fear, anger, or hatred; neither is it proper to a hot thing to cool, but to heat; nor to a good thing to do harm. Now anger is by nature at the farthest distance imaginable from complacency, and spleenishness from placidness, and animosity and turbulence from humanity and kindness. For the latter of these proceed from generosity and fortitude, but the former from impotency and baseness. The deity is not therefore constrained by either anger or kindnesses; but that is because it is natural to it to be kind and aiding, and unnatural to be angry and hurtful. But the great Jove, whose mansion is in heaven, is the first that descends downwards and orders all things and takes the care of them. But of the other gods one is surnamed the Distributor, and another the Mild, and a third the Averter of Evil. And according to Pindar,
And now, after discussing the two previous groups of bad and ordinary people, let's turn our attention to the best type, those most favored by the gods, and the immense joy they derive from their pure and noble feelings towards the divine. This divine being is the source of all goodness and the creator of all things brave, and just as he cannot commit an unworthy act, he cannot be subjected to one either. For he is good, and a good being cannot fall into envy, fear, anger, or hatred. Just as it's not natural for something hot to cool down, it's also not natural for something good to cause harm. Anger is fundamentally opposed to contentment, and bitterness is far removed from calmness, while hostility and chaos are opposite to humanity and kindness. The latter comes from generosity and courage, while the former arises from weakness and malice. Thus, the divine is not driven by anger or acts of kindness; rather, it is in its nature to be kind and supportive, while it is unnatural for it to be angry or harmful. Yet, the great Jupiter, who resides in heaven, is the first to come down and organize all things and take care of them. Among the other gods, one is known as the Distributor, another as the Mild, and a third as the Averter of Evil. And according to Pindar,
Phoebus was by mighty Jove designed
Of all the gods to be to man most kind.
Phoebus was chosen by mighty Jove
To be the kindest of all the gods to man.And Diogenes saith, that all things are the gods', and friends have all things common, and good men are the gods' friends; and therefore it is impossible either that a man beloved of the gods should not be happy, or that a wise and a just man should not be beloved of the gods. Can you think then that they that take away Providence need any other chastisement, or that they have not a sufficient one already, when they root out of themselves such vast satisfaction and joy as we that stand thus affected towards the deity have? Metrodorus, Polyaenus, and Aristobulus were the confidence and rejoicing of Epicurus; the better part of whom he all his lifetime either attended upon in their sicknesses or lamented at their deaths. As did Lycurgus, when he was saluted by the Delphic prophetess,
And Diogenes says that everything belongs to the gods, and friends share everything, and good people are friends of the gods; therefore, it's impossible for someone loved by the gods to be unhappy, or for a wise and just person not to be loved by the gods. Can you really think that those who deny Providence need any other punishment, or that they aren't already suffering enough when they strip away from themselves the immense satisfaction and joy that we who have this connection with the divine experience? Metrodorus, Polyaenus, and Aristobulus were the source of confidence and joy for Epicurus; throughout his life, he cared for them in their illnesses or mourned their deaths. Just like Lycurgus, when he was greeted by the Delphic oracle,
Dear friend to heavenly Jove and all the gods.
Dear friend to heavenly Zeus and all the gods.
And did Socrates when he believed that a certain divinity was used out of kindness to discourse him, and Pindar when he heard Pan sing one of the sonnets he had composed, but a little rejoice, think you? Or Phormio, when he thought he had treated Castor and Pollux at his house? Or Sophocles, when he entertained Aesculapius, as both he himself believed, and others too, that thought the same with him by reason of the apparition that then happened? What opinion Hermogenes had of the gods is well worth the recounting in his very own words. "For these gods," saith he, "who know all things and can do all things, are so friendly and loving to me that, because they take care of me, I never escape them either by night or by day, wherever I go or whatever I am about. And because they know beforehand what issue everything will have, they signify it to me by sending angels, voices, dreams, and presages."
And did Socrates, when he thought a certain spirit was kindly talking to him, or Pindar, when he heard Pan sing one of the poems he wrote, feel a little joy, do you think? Or Phormio, when he believed he had hosted Castor and Pollux at his place? Or Sophocles, when he welcomed Aesculapius, as he himself believed, and others did too, because of the appearance that happened at that time? What Hermogenes thought about the gods is worth sharing in his own words. "For these gods," he said, "who know everything and can do anything, are so friendly and caring towards me that, because they watch over me, I never escape them, whether it’s day or night, wherever I go or whatever I do. And since they already know how everything will turn out, they let me know by sending angels, voices, dreams, and omens."
Very amiable things must those be that come to us from the gods; but when these very things come by the gods too, this is what occasions vast satisfaction and unspeakable assurance, a sublimity of mind and a joy that, like a smiling brightness, doth as it were gild over our good things with a glory. But now those that are persuaded otherwise obstruct the very sweetest part of their prosperity, and leave themselves nothing to turn to in their adversity; but when they are in distress, look only to this one refuge and port, dissolution and insensibility; just as if in a storm or tempest at sea, some one should, to hearten the rest, stand up and say to them: Gentlemen, the ship hath never a pilot in it, nor will Castor and Pollux come themselves to assuage the violence of the beating waves or to lay the swift careers of the winds; yet I can assure you there is nothing at all to be dreaded in all this, for the vessel will be immediately swallowed up by the sea, or else will very quickly fall off and be dashed in pieces against the rocks. For this is Epicurus's way of discourse to persons under grievous distempers and excessive pains. Dost thou hope for any good from the gods for thy piety? It is thy vanity; for the blessed and incorruptible Being is not constrained by either angers or kindnesses. Dost thou fancy something better after this life than what thou hast here? Thou dost but deceive thyself; for what is dissolved hath no sense, and that which hath no sense is nothing to us. Aye; but how comes it then, my good friend, that you bid me eat and be merry? Why, by Jove, because he that is in a great storm cannot be far off a shipwreck; and your extreme danger will soon land you upon Death's strand. Though yet a passenger at sea, when he is got off from a shattered ship, will still buoy himself up with some little hope that he may drive his body to some shore and get out by swimming; but now the poor soul, according to these men's philosophy,
Very nice things must be those that come to us from the gods; but when these things come through the gods as well, it brings immense satisfaction and a deep sense of assurance, a lift in our spirits and a joy that, like a bright smile, seems to cover our good fortune with a glow. But those who believe otherwise block the sweetest parts of their happiness and leave themselves with no support in difficult times; when they face hardship, they only see one escape: dissolution and numbness. It's like if, in a storm at sea, someone stands up to encourage the others and says: "Gentlemen, the ship has no pilot, and Castor and Pollux won't come to calm the crashing waves or ease the fierce winds; but I assure you, there’s nothing to fear because the ship will be swallowed by the sea or quickly smashed against the rocks." This is Epicurus's way of speaking to those who are suffering from great distress and pain. Do you hope for anything good from the gods because of your piety? That’s just your pride talking; for the blessed and incorruptible Being is not moved by anger or kindness. Do you think there’s something better after this life than what you have here? You’re only fooling yourself; for what is dissolved has no awareness, and what has no awareness means nothing to us. But then, my good friend, why do you tell me to eat and be merry? Because, honestly, those in a great storm are close to shipwreck; and your extreme danger will soon lead you to Death's shore. Yet even a passenger at sea, when he's escaped from a wrecked ship, might still cling to a little hope of reaching some shore and getting out by swimming; but now, according to these men's philosophy, the poor soul,
Is ne'er more seen without the hoary main.
("Odyssey," v. 410.)
Is never seen again without the gray sea.
("Odyssey," v. 410.)Yea, she presently evaporates, disperses, and perishes, even before the body itself; so that it seems her great and excessive rejoicing must be only for having learned this one sage and divine maxim, that all her misfortunes will at last determine in her own destruction, dissolution, and annihilation.
Yeah, she quickly fades away, scatters, and dies, even before her body does; so it seems her immense joy must be based only on learning this one wise and divine truth: that all her misfortunes will ultimately lead to her own destruction, disintegration, and oblivion.
But (said he, looking upon me) I should be impertinent, should I say anything upon this subject, when we have heard you but now discourse so fully against those that would persuade us that Epicurus's doctrine about the soul renders men more disposed and better pleased to die than Plato's doth. Zeuxippus therefore subjoined and said: And must our present debate be left then unfinished because of that? Or shall we be afraid to oppose that divine oracle to Epicurus? No, by no means, I said; and Empedocles tells us that
But (he said, looking at me) it would be rude for me to say anything on this topic after hearing you speak so thoroughly against those who argue that Epicurus's view on the soul makes people more willing and ready to die than Plato’s does. Zeuxippus then added: So should we leave our current discussion incomplete because of that? Or should we be hesitant to challenge that divine oracle with Epicurus's ideas? No, definitely not, I replied; and Empedocles tells us that
What's very good claims to be heard twice.
What's really good deserves to be heard twice.
Therefore we must apply ourselves again to Theon; for I think he was present at our former discourse; and besides, he is a young man, and needs not fear being charged by these young gentlemen with having a bad memory.
Therefore, we should focus on Theon again; I believe he was there during our previous conversation, and besides, he’s a young man and doesn’t have to worry about these young guys accusing him of having a bad memory.
Then Theon, like one constrained, said: Well then, if you will needs have me to go on with the discourse, I will not do as you did, Aristodemus. For you were shy of repeating what this gentleman spoke, but I shall not scruple to make use of what you have said; for I think indeed you did very well divide mankind into three ranks; the first of wicked and very bad men, the second of the vulgar and common sort, and the third of good and wise men. The wicked and bad sort then, while they dread any kind of divine vengeance and punishment at all, and are by this deterred from doing mischief, and thereby enjoy the greater quiet, will live both in more pleasure and in less disturbance for it. And Epicurus is of opinion that the only proper means to keep men from doing ill is the fear of punishments. So that we should cram them with more and more superstition still, and raise up against them terrors, chasms, frights, and surmises, both from heaven and earth, if their being amazed with such things as these will make them become the more tame and gentle. For it is more for their benefit to be restrained from criminal actions by the fear of what comes after death, than to commit them and then to live in perpetual danger and fear.
Then Theon, feeling pressed, said: Alright then, if you really want me to continue with the discussion, I won’t hold back like you did, Aristodemus. You hesitated to repeat what this man said, but I won’t hesitate to use your words; I actually think you did a great job dividing people into three groups: the first group being wicked and terrible individuals, the second being ordinary or common people, and the third being good and wise individuals. The wicked and bad people, while they fear any kind of divine punishment, are often deterred from causing harm because of that fear, which allows them to enjoy more peace in their lives. Epicurus believes that the only effective way to stop people from doing wrong is through the fear of punishment. So, we should overwhelm them with even more superstition, creating terrors, voids, frights, and fears from both heaven and earth, if these things will make them more tame and gentle. It’s actually better for them to be kept from committing crimes by the fear of what happens after death than to commit those crimes and then live in constant danger and fear.
As to the vulgar sort, besides their fear of what is in hell, the hope they have conceived of an eternity from the tales and fictions of the ancients, and their great desire of being, which is both the first and the strongest of all, exceed in pleasure and sweet content of mind that childish dread. And therefore, when they lose their children, wives, or friends, they would rather have them be somewhere and still remain, though in misery, than that they should be quite destroyed, dissolved, and reduced to nothing. And they are pleased when they hear it said of a dying person, that he goes away or departs, and such other words as intimate death to be the soul's remove and not destruction. And they sometimes speak thus:
As for ordinary people, besides their fear of what’s in hell, the hope they have imagined of an eternity from the stories and myths of old, along with their strong desire to exist, which is the most fundamental and powerful of all, brings them more pleasure and comfort than that childish fear. So, when they lose their children, spouses, or friends, they would rather think of them as being somewhere and still existing, even if they're suffering, than to believe they've been completely destroyed, vanished, and turned to nothing. They feel comforted when they hear someone say about a dying person that they are going away or leaving, and other phrases that suggest death is just the soul moving on rather than an end. And sometimes they express it this way:
But I'll even there think on my dearest friend;
("Iliad," xxii. 390.)
But I'll still think about my closest friend;
("Iliad," xxii. 390.)and thus:—
and so:—
What's your command to Hector? Let me know;
And to your dear old Priam shall I go?
(Euripides, "Hecuba," 422.)
What's your order for Hector? Tell me;
And should I go to your beloved old Priam?
(Euripides, "Hecuba," 422.)And (there arising hereupon an erroneous deviation) they are the better pleased when they bury with their departed friends such arms, implements, or clothes as were most familiar to them in their lifetime; as Minos did the Cretan flutes with Glaucus,
And (there being a mistaken turn here) they feel better when they bury with their loved ones the weapons, tools, or clothes that were most familiar to them during their lives; just like Minos buried the Cretan flutes with Glaucus,
Made of the shanks of a dead brindled fawn.
Made from the legs of a dead spotted fawn.
And if they do but imagine they either ask or desire anything of them, they are glad when they give it them. Thus Periander burnt his queen's attire with her, because he thought she had asked for it and complained she was a-cold. Nor doth an Aeacus, an Ascalaphus, or an Acheron much disorder them whom they have often gratified with balls, shows, and music of every sort. But now all men shrink from that face of death which carries with it insensibility, oblivion, and extinction of knowledge, as being dismal, grim, and dark. And they are discomposed when they hear it said of any one, he is perished, or he is gone or he is no more; and they show great uneasiness when they hear such words as these:—
And if they think they can ask or want anything from them, they feel happy when they get it. For example, Periander burned his queen's clothes with her in them because he believed she had asked for it and complained about being cold. Also, figures like Aeacus, Ascalaphus, or Acheron don’t really bother those they have often pleased with games, performances, and all kinds of music. But now everyone shrinks away from the face of death, which brings with it numbness, forgetfulness, and the end of consciousness, as it's seen as grim, foreboding, and dark. They become uneasy when they hear someone is lost, or gone, or no longer around; and they show significant discomfort when they hear phrases like these:—
Go to the wood-clad earth he must,
And there lie shrivelled into dust,
And ne'er more laugh or drink, or hear
The charming sounds of flute or lyre;
He must go to the wood-covered earth,
And there be reduced to dust,
And never laugh or drink again, or hear
The lovely sounds of flute or lyre;and these:—
and these:—
But from our lips the vital spirit fled
Returns no more to wake the silent dead.
("Iliad," ix. 408.)
But from our lips, the vital spirit left
It never returns to wake the silent dead.
("Iliad," ix. 408.)Wherefore they must needs cut the very throats of them that shall with Epicurus tell them, We men were born once for all, and we cannot be born twice, but our not being must last forever. For this will bring them to slight their present good as little, or rather indeed as nothing at all compared with everlastingness, and therefore to let it pass unenjoyed and to become wholly negligent of virtue and action, as men disheartened and brought to a contempt of themselves, as being but as it were of one day's continuance and uncertain, and born for no considerable purpose. For insensibility, dissolution, and the conceit that what hath no sense is nothing to us, do not at all abate the fear of death, but rather help to confirm it; for this very thing is it that nature most dreads,—
Wherefore they must cut the throats of anyone who, like Epicurus, tells them that we humans are only born once and cannot be reborn, but that our existence must last forever. This belief will lead them to undervalue their present good as insignificant, or rather as nothing at all, compared to eternity. As a result, they may let it go unappreciated and become completely neglectful of virtue and action, like people who are disheartened and have contempt for themselves, thinking they last only a day and are uncertain, born for no significant purpose. For indifference, decay, and the belief that what is meaningless does not matter to us do not reduce the fear of death; instead, they tend to reinforce it. This is precisely what nature fears the most—
But may you all return to mould and wet,
(Ibid. vii. 99.)
But may you all return to mold and wet,
(Ibid. vii. 99.)to wit, the dissolution of the soul into what is without knowledge or sense. Now, while Epicurus would have this to be a separation into atoms and void, he doth but further cut off all hope of immortality; to compass which (I can scarce refrain from saying) all men and women would be well contented to be worried by Cerberus, and to carry water into the tub full of holes, so they might but continue in being and not be exterminated. Though (as I said before) there are not very many that stand in fear of these things, they being but the tenets of old women and the fabulous stories of mothers and nurses,—and even they that do fear them yet believe that certain rites of initiation and purgation will relieve them, by which after they are cleansed they shall play and dance in hell forever, in company with those that have the privilege of a bright light, clear air, and the use of speech,—yet to be deprived of living disturbs all both young and old. We
to clarify, the breaking down of the soul into something devoid of knowledge or awareness. Now, while Epicurus suggests this involves a split into atoms and emptiness, he just takes away any hope of immortality; to achieve which (I can hardly help but say) all people would gladly endure whatever Cerberus has to offer and carry water into a tub full of holes, just so they could keep existing and not be wiped out. Although (as I mentioned before) not many people really fear these things, viewing them as just old wives' tales or the fanciful stories told by mothers and caregivers—and even those who do fear them believe that certain rituals of initiation and purification will save them, by which, once purified, they’ll get to play and dance in hell forever, alongside those who enjoy bright light, fresh air, and the ability to speak—yet the idea of being deprived of life troubles everyone, both young and old. We
Impatient love the light that shines on earth,
(Euripides, "Hippolytus," 193)
Impatient love craves the light that shines on earth,
(Euripides, "Hippolytus," 193)as Euripides saith. Nor are we easy or without regret when we hear this:—
as Euripides says. We are not comfortable or without regret when we hear this:—
Him speaking thus th' eternal brightness leaves,
Where night the wearied steeds of day receives.
Him speaking like this, the eternal brightness leaves,
Where night receives the tired horses of day.And therefore it is very plain that with the belief of immortality they take away the sweetest and greatest hopes the vulgar sort have. And what shall we then think they take away from the good and those that have led pious and just lives, who expect no ill after dying, but on the contrary most glorious and divine things? For, in the first place, athletes are not used to receive the garland before they have performed their exercises, but after they have contested and proved victorious; in like manner is it with those that are persuaded that good men have the prize of their conquests after this life is ended; it is marvellous to think to what a pitch of grandeur their virtue raises their spirits upon the contemplation of those hopes, among the which this is one, that they shall one day see those men that are now insolent by reason of their wealth and power, and that foolishly flout at their betters, undergo just punishment. In the next place, none of the lovers of truth and the contemplation of being have here their fill of them; they having but a watery and puddled reason to speculate with, as it were, through the fog and mist of the body; and yet they still look upwards like birds, as ready to take their flight to the spacious and bright region, and endeavor to make their souls expedite and light from things mortal, using philosophy as a study for death. Thus I account death a truly great and accomplished good thing; the soul being to live there a real life, which here lives not a waking life, but suffers things most resembling dreams. If then (as Epicurus saith) the remembrance of a dead friend be a thing every way complacent; we may easily from thence imagine how great a joy they deprive themselves of who think they do but embrace and pursue the phantoms and shades of their deceased familiars, that have in them neither knowledge nor sense, but who never expect to be with them again, or to see their dear father and dear mother and sweet wife, nor have any hopes of that familiarity and dear converse they have that think of the soul with Pythagoras, Plato, and Homer. Now what their sort of passion is like to was hinted at by Homer, when he threw into the midst of the soldiers, as they were engaged, the shade of Aeneas, as if he had been dead, and afterwards again presented his friends with him himself,
And so it's clear that with the belief in immortality, they take away the sweetest and greatest hopes that ordinary people have. What can we say they’re taking away from the good and those who have led righteous and just lives, who expect nothing bad after dying but, on the contrary, the most glorious and divine things? First, athletes don’t receive their garlands before they complete their events, but only after they compete and win; similarly, those who believe that good people earn their rewards after this life has ended experience a remarkable elevation of spirit when they contemplate those hopes. Among these hopes is the belief that they will one day witness those who are now arrogant because of their wealth and power, foolishly mocking their betters, facing just punishment. Furthermore, none of the truth seekers and contemplators find full satisfaction in this life; they have only a foggy and muddled reason to see with, as if peering through the mist of the body. Yet still, they look upwards like birds, ready to take flight to the spacious and bright realm, striving to free their souls from the burdens of mortality, using philosophy as preparation for death. Thus, I consider death a truly great and fulfilled good; the soul will experience a real life there, while here it lives an existence that feels more like dreaming than waking. If, as Epicurus says, the memory of a deceased friend brings pleasure; we can easily imagine the great joy that those who think they are merely chasing the phantoms and shadows of their departed loved ones, who have neither knowledge nor perception, deprive themselves of—those who never expect to see their dear father, dear mother, or beloved wife again, and who have no hope of that cherished companionship and familiar conversation enjoyed by those who think of the soul with Pythagoras, Plato, and Homer. Now, what their kind of longing resembles was hinted at by Homer, when he brought forth the shade of Aeneas in the midst of the soldiers as if he were dead, and later presented his friends with him in person.
Coming alive and well, as brisk as ever;
Coming alive and well, as lively as ever;
at which, he saith,
at which, he says,
They all were overjoyed.
("Iliad," v. 514 and 515)
They were all thrilled.
("Iliad," v. 514 and 515)And should not we then,—when reason shows us that a real converse with persons departed this life may be had, and that he that loves may both feel and be with the party that affects and loves him,—relinquish these men that cannot so much as cast off all those airy shades and outside barks for which they are all their time in lamentation and fresh afflictions?
And shouldn't we then—when reason tells us that we can genuinely connect with those who have passed away, and that someone who loves can feel and be with the person who cares for them—let go of these people who can't even shake off all the empty illusions and superficial appearances that cause them constant sorrow and new hardships?
Moreover, they that look upon death as the commencement of another and better life, if they enjoy good things, are the better pleased with them, as expecting much greater hereafter; but if they have not things here to their minds, they do not much grumble at it, but the hopes of those good and excellent things that are after death contain in them such ineffable pleasures and expectances, that they wipe off and wholly obliterate every defect and every offence from the mind, which, as on a road or rather indeed in a short deviation out of the road, bears whatever befalls it with great ease and indifference. But now, as to those to whom life ends in insensibility and dissolution,—death brings to them no removal of evils, though it is afflicting in both conditions, yet is it more so to those that live prosperously than to such as undergo adversity? For it cuts the latter but from an uncertain hope of doing better hereafter; but it deprives the former of a certain good, to wit, their pleasurable living. And as those medicinal potions that are not grateful to the palate but yet necessary give sick men ease, but rake and hurt the well; just so, in my opinion, doth the philosophy of Epicurus; it promises to those that live miserably no happiness in death, and to those that do well an utter extinction and dissolution of the mind, while it quite obstructs the comfort and solace of the grave and wise and those that abound with good things, by throwing them down from a happy living into a deprivation of both life and being. From hence then it is manifest, that the contemplation of the loss of good things will afflict us in as great a measure as either the firm hope or present enjoyment of them delights us.
Moreover, those who see death as the start of another and better life, if they enjoy good things, appreciate them even more, expecting much greater joys ahead; but if they don't have things they like in life, they hardly complain because the hope for those good and excellent things after death offers such indescribable pleasure and anticipation that it wipes away and completely eliminates every flaw and offense from the mind. Just like on a path, or rather a brief detour from it, they accept whatever happens to them with great ease and indifference. Now, for those whose lives end in numbness and decay, death does not relieve them of their troubles. While both situations are painful, isn't it more so for those who live well than for those who face hardship? Because it cuts off the latter from uncertain hopes of a better future, but it robs the former of certain good—specifically, their enjoyment of life. Just as medicinal potions that taste horrible but are necessary ease sick people but harm the healthy, so too, in my view, does the philosophy of Epicurus. It promises no happiness in death for those who suffer and offers complete extinction and dissolution of the mind for those who thrive, while it completely shuts off the comfort and solace of the grave for the wise and those who are blessed with good fortune, throwing them from a happy life into a loss of both life and existence. Thus, it’s clear that the contemplation of losing good things will weigh on us just as much as the strong hope or present enjoyment of them brings us joy.
Yea, themselves tell us, that the thought of future dissolution leaves them one most assured and complacent good, freedom from anxious surmises of incessant and endless evils, and that Epicurus's doctrine effects this by stopping the fear of death through the soul's dissolution. If then deliverance from the expectation of infinite evils be a matter of greatest complacence, how comes it not to be afflictive to be bereft of eternal good things and to miss of the highest and most consummate felicity? For not to be can be good for neither condition, but is on the contrary both against nature and ungrateful to all that have a being. But those being eased of the evils of life through the evils of death have, it is very true, the want of sense to comfort them, while they, as it were, make their escape from life. But, on the other hand, they that change from good things to nothing seem to me to have the most dismaying end of all, it putting a period to their happiness. For Nature doth not fear insensibility as the entrance upon some new thing, but because it is the privation of our present good things. For to declare that the destruction of all that we call ours toucheth us not is untrue for it toucheth us already by the very anticipation. And insensibility afflicts not those that are not, but those that are, when they think what damage they shall sustain by it in the loss of their being and in being suffered never to emerge from nothingness. Wherefore it is neither the dog Cerberus nor the river Cocytus that has made our fear of death boundless; but the threatened danger of not being, representing it as impossible for such as are once extinct to shift back again into being. For we cannot be born twice, and our not being must last forever; as Epicurus speaks. For if our end be in not being, and that be infinite and unalterable, then hath privation of good found out an eternal evil, to wit, a never ending insensibleness. Herodotus was much wiser, when he said that God, having given men a taste of the delights of life, seems to be envious, (Herodotus, vii. 46) and especially to those that conceit themselves happy, to whom pleasure is but a bait for sorrow, they being but permitted to taste of what they must be deprived of. For what solace or fruition or exultation would not the perpetual injected thought of the soul's being dispersed into infinity, as into a certain huge and vast ocean, extinguish and quell in those that found their amiable good and beatitude in pleasure? But if it be true (as Epicurus thinks it is) that most men die in very acute pain, then is the fear of death in all respects inconsolable; it bringing us through evils unto a deprivation of good.
Sure, here's the modernized version of the paragraph: Yes, they tell us that the idea of dying in the future gives them one certain and comforting benefit: freedom from anxious worries about constant and endless troubles. Epicurus's philosophy achieves this by eliminating the fear of death through the soul's end. So, if escaping the expectation of infinite troubles brings the greatest peace, why isn’t it distressing to be deprived of eternal good things and to miss out on the highest and fullest happiness? For not existing can't be good for either situation; instead, it goes against nature and is ungrateful to all beings. However, those who are relieved from the pains of life through the pains of death indeed lack the sense to comfort them while they, in a sense, escape from life. On the other hand, those who transition from good things to nothing appear to face the most terrifying end of all, as it puts an end to their happiness. Nature does not fear insensibility as a step into something new, but because it means the loss of our current good things. To say that the destruction of everything we hold dear doesn’t affect us is false because it already impacts us through anticipation. Insensibility does not trouble those who aren't, but those who are, when they contemplate the damage they will suffer by losing their existence and being trapped in nothingness forever. Thus, it isn’t the dog Cerberus or the river Cocytus that creates our endless fear of death, but the looming danger of not existing, which suggests it's impossible for the once deceased to return to existence. We can't be born twice, and our non-existence must endure forever, as Epicurus states. If our end is non-existence, and that is infinite and unchangeable, then the absence of good reveals an eternal evil: a never-ending insensibility. Herodotus was much wiser when he said that God, after allowing humans to experience the joys of life, seems envious, especially towards those who imagine themselves happy, as pleasure is merely bait for sorrow, allowing them only to taste what they will eventually be deprived of. What comfort or enjoyment could possibly endure with the constant thought that the soul is scattered into infinity, like into a vast ocean, extinguishing the joy found in pleasure? But if it's true (as Epicurus believes) that most people die in great pain, then the fear of death is completely unbearable; it leads us through suffering to a deprivation of good.
And yet they are never wearied with their brawling and dunning of all persons to take the escape of evil for a good, no longer to repute privation of good for an evil. But they still confess what we have asserted, that death hath in it nothing of either good hope or solace, but that all that is complacent and good is then wholly extinguished; at which time those men look for many amiable, great, and divine things, that conceive the minds of men to be unperishable and immortal, or at least to go about in certain long revolutions of times, being one while upon earth and another while in heaven, until they are at last dissolved with the universe and then, together with the sun and moon, sublimed into an intellective fire. So large a field and one of so great pleasures Epicurus wholly cuts off, when he destroys (as hath been said) the hopes and graces we should derive from the gods, and by that extinguishes both in our speculative capacity the desire of knowledge, and in our active the love of glory, and confines and abases our nature to a poor narrow thing, and that not cleanly neither, to wit, the content the mind receives by the body, as if it were capable of no higher good than the escape of evil.
And yet they are never tired of fighting and pressuring everyone to see the avoidance of evil as a good, no longer considering the lack of good as an evil. But they still acknowledge what we've stated: that death holds no good hope or comfort, and that all that is pleasant and good is completely extinguished at that time; during which, those people expect many charming, great, and divine things, believing that the minds of people are indestructible and immortal, or at least that they undergo long cycles of time, being on earth for a while and then in heaven, until they are finally dissolved with the universe and, along with the sun and moon, transformed into an intellectual fire. Epicurus completely eliminates such a vast and pleasurable realm when he dismisses (as mentioned) the hopes and blessings we would expect from the gods, extinguishing both in our ability to think the desire for knowledge and in our actions the love of glory, reducing and limiting our nature to a poor, narrow existence, and not even a clean one, namely, the satisfaction the mind derives from the body, as if it were capable of no higher good than merely escaping evil.
THAT A PHILOSOPHER OUGHT CHIEFLY TO CONVERSE WITH GREAT MEN.
The resolution which you have taken to enter into the friendship and familiarity of Sorcanus, that by the frequent opportunities of conversing with him you may cultivate and improve a soil which gives such early promises of a plentiful harvest, is an undertaking which will not only oblige his relations and friends, but rebound very much to the advantage of the public; and (notwithstanding the peevish censures of some morose or ignorant people) it is so far from being an argument of an aspiring vainglorious temper, that it shows you to be a lover of virtue and good manners, and a zealous promoter of the common interest of mankind.
The decision you’ve made to befriend and connect with Sorcanus, so you can frequently talk with him and nurture the promising potential he offers, is a move that will not only benefit his family and friends but will also greatly serve the public good. Despite the grumpy criticisms from some unhappy or uninformed people, it’s far from a sign of an arrogant or boastful attitude; instead, it shows that you value virtue, good manners, and are sincerely dedicated to the common good of all.
They themselves are rather to be accused of an indirect but more vehement sort of ambition, who would not upon any terms be found in the company or so much as be seen to give a civil salute to a person of quality. For how unreasonable would it be to enforce a well-disposed young gentleman, and one who needs the direction of a wise governor, to such complaints as these: "Would that I might become from a Pericles or a Cato to a cobbler like Simon or a grammarian like Dionysius, that I might like them talk with such a man as Socrates, and sit by him."
They should be the ones criticized for a different but much stronger kind of ambition, as they wouldn’t want to be seen in the company of or even greet a person of high status. How unreasonable would it be to force a good-natured young man, who could really use the guidance of a wise mentor, to complain with thoughts like, "I wish I could go from being a Pericles or a Cato to a cobbler like Simon or a grammarian like Dionysius, so I could talk with someone like Socrates and sit next to him."
So far, I am sure, was Aristo of Chios from being of their humor, that when he was censured for exposing and prostituting the dignity of philosophy by his freedom to all comers, he answered, that he could wish that Nature had given understanding to wild beasts, that they too might be capable of being his hearers. Shall we then deny that privilege to men of interest and power, which this good man would have communicated (if it had been possible) to the brute beasts? But these men have taken a false notion of philosophy, they make it much like the art of statuary, whose business it is to carve out a lifeless image in the most exact figure and proportion, and then to raise it upon its pedestal, where it is to continue forever. The true philosophy is of a quite different nature; it is a spring and principle of motion wherever it comes; it makes men active and industrious, it sets every wheel and faculty a-going, it stores our minds with axioms and rules by which to make a sound judgment, it determines the will to the choice of what is honorable and just; and it wings all our faculties to the swiftest prosecution of it. It is accompanied with an elevation and nobleness of mind, joined with a coolness and sweetness of behavior, and backed with a becoming assurance and inflexible resolution. And from this diffusiveness of the nature of good it follows, that the best and most accomplished men are inclined to converse with persons of the highest condition. Indeed a physician if he have any good nature and sense of honor, would be more ready to cure an eye which is to see and to watch for a great many thousands, than that of a private person; how much more then ought a philosopher to form and fashion, to rectify and cure the soul of such a one, who is (if I may so express it) to inform the body politic,—who is to think and understand for so many others, to be in so great measure the rule of reason, the standard of law, and model of behavior, by which all the rest will square and direct their actions? Suppose a man to have a talent at finding out springs and contriving of aqueducts (a piece of skill for which Hercules and other of the ancients are much celebrated in history), surely he could not so satisfactorily employ himself in sinking a well or deriving water to some private seat or contemptible cottage, as in supplying conduits to some fair and populous city, in relieving an army just perishing with thirst, or in refreshing and adorning with fountains and cool streams the beautiful gardens of some glorious monarch. There is a passage of Homer very pertinent to this purpose, in which he calls Minos [Greek text], which, as Plato interprets it, signifies THE DISCIPLE AND COMPANION OF JUPITER. For it were beneath his dignity indeed to teach private men, such as care only for a family or indulge their useless speculations; but kings are scholars worthy the tuition of a god, who, when they are well advised, just, good, and magnanimous, never fail to procure the peace and prosperity of all their subjects. The naturalists tell us that the eryngium hath such a property with it, that if one of the flock do but taste it, all the rest will stand stock still in the same place till the shepherd hath taken it out of its mouth. Such swiftness of action does it have, pervading and inserting itself in everything near it, as if it were fire. The effects of philosophy, however, are different according to the difference of inclinations in men. If indeed it lights on one who loves a dull and inactive sort of life, that makes himself the centre and the little conveniences of life the circumference of all his thoughts, such a one does contract the sphere of her activity, so that having only made easy and comfortable the life of a single person, it fails and dies with him; but when it finds a man of a ruling genius, one fitted for conversation and able to grapple with the difficulties of public business, if it once possess him with principles of honesty, honor, and religion, it takes a compendious method, by doing good to one, to oblige a great part of mankind. Such was the effect of the intercourse of Anaxagoras with Pericles, of Plato with Dion, and of Pythagoras with the principal statesmen of all Italy. Cato himself took a voyage, when he had the concern of an expedition lying upon him, to see and hear Athenodorus; and Scipio sent for Panaetius, when he was commissioned by the senate "to take a survey alike of the habits of men good and bad," ("Odyssey," xvii. 487.) as Posidonius says. Now what a pretty sort of return would it have been in Panaetius to send word back,—"If indeed you were in a private capacity, John a Nokes or John a Stiles, that had a mind to get into some obscure corner or cell, to state cases and resolve syllogisms, I should very gladly have accepted your invitation; but now, because you are the son of Paulus AEmilius who was twice consul, and grandson of that Scipio who was surnamed from his conquest of Hannibal and Africa, I cannot with honor hold any conversation with you!"
So far, I’m sure Aristo of Chios was far from being on their wavelength that when he was criticized for lowering the dignity of philosophy with his openness to everyone, he replied that he wished Nature had given understanding to wild animals so they could hear him too. Should we then deny that privilege to influential and powerful men, which this good man would have wished to extend (if it had been possible) to the beasts? But these men have misunderstood philosophy; they treat it like the art of sculpture, whose job is to carve a lifeless figure in the most precise shape and proportion, then put it on a pedestal where it remains forever. True philosophy is entirely different; it’s a source of energy and movement wherever it goes; it motivates people to be active and hardworking, it gets everyone moving, it fills our minds with principles and rules for sound judgment, it directs the will toward choices that are honorable and just; and it empowers all our abilities to pursue those choices with urgency. It comes with an uplifted and noble mind, combined with calmness and sweetness of behavior, backed by confidence and unwavering determination. Because of the expansive nature of what is good, the best and most accomplished individuals tend to engage with those of high status. Indeed, a doctor, if he has any kindness and sense of honor, would be more willing to treat an eye that will watch over thousands than that of an individual; how much more should a philosopher shape and correct the soul of someone who is (if I may put it this way) to influence the body politic—who is to think and understand for so many others, serving as a major source of reason, the standard of law, and a model of behavior that others will follow? Imagine someone skilled at discovering springs and designing aqueducts (a skill for which Hercules and other ancients are well praised), surely he wouldn’t find it as satisfying to dig a well or channel water to a private home or shabby cottage as he would to provide water systems for a beautiful, bustling city, relieve an army dying of thirst, or enhance the stunning gardens of a glorious king with fountains and cool streams. There is a relevant line from Homer where he calls Minos [Greek text], which, as Plato interprets, means THE DISCIPLE AND COMPANION OF JUPITER. It would indeed be beneath his dignity to teach ordinary people, those who care only for their families or indulge in trivial speculations; but kings are students worthy of divine instruction, who, when they are well-informed, just, good, and great-hearted, always manage to secure peace and prosperity for all their subjects. Naturalists tell us that the eryngium has such a property that when one of the flock eats it, the others will stand still in place until the shepherd takes it from its mouth. It possesses such swiftness that it fills and influences everything nearby, as if it were fire. The effects of philosophy, however, vary according to the inclinations of individuals. If it encounters someone who enjoys a slow and inactive lifestyle, who makes themselves the center of their world and their small pleasures the extent of their thoughts, such a person restricts its influence, so that having only made their own life more comfortable, it fades and dies with them; but when it meets someone with a leadership quality, someone suited for conversation and capable of handling the complexities of public matters, if it instills principles of honesty, honor, and faith in them, it effectively helps one individual while benefiting a large part of humanity. Such was the impact of Anaxagoras' interaction with Pericles, Plato's with Dion, and Pythagoras' with the foremost statesmen of all Italy. Cato himself traveled, though he had an expedition to manage, to see and speak with Athenodorus; and Scipio summoned Panaetius when he was commissioned by the Senate "to look into the habits of both good and bad men" ("Odyssey," xvii. 487), as Posidonius says. Now, what a ridiculous response it would have been for Panaetius to say, "If you were just a private citizen, John Doe or John Smith, looking to retreat to some obscure corner to debate cases and resolve arguments, I would happily accept your invitation; but now, because you are the son of Paulus Aemilius, who was consul twice, and the grandson of that Scipio known for conquering Hannibal and Africa, I cannot in good conscience engage in any conversation with you!"
The objections which they bring from the two kinds of discourse, one of which is mental, the other like the gift of Mercury expressed in words or interpretative of the former, are so frivolous, that they are best answered by laughter or silence; and we may quote the old saying, "I knew this before Theognis arose." However, thus much shall be added, that the end of them both is friendship,—in the first case with ourselves, in the second with another. For he that hath attained to virtue by the methods of philosophy hath his mind all in tune and good temper; he is not struck with those reproaches of conscience, which cause the acutest sense of pain and are the natural punishments of our follies; but he enjoys (the great prerogative of a good man) to be always easy and in amity with himself.
The objections they raise from the two types of discourse—one being mental and the other, like the gift of Mercury, expressed in words or interpreted from the former—are so trivial that they’re best met with laughter or silence. We can refer to the old saying, "I knew this before Theognis showed up." However, it’s worth mentioning that the goal of both is friendship: the first with ourselves and the second with others. A person who has achieved virtue through philosophy has a mind that's balanced and in a good place; they aren’t burdened by those guilty feelings that cause the sharpest pain and are the natural consequences of our mistakes. Instead, they enjoy the great privilege of a good person: being at ease and in harmony with themselves.
No factious lusts reason's just power control,
Nor kindle civil discord in his soul.
No selfish desires control reason's rightful power,
Nor spark civil conflict in his spirit.His passion does not stand in defiance to his reason, nor do his reasonings cross and thwart one the other, but he is always consistent with himself. But the very joys of wicked men are tumultuary and confused, like those who dwell in the borders of two great empires at variance, always insecure, and in perpetual alarms; whilst a good man enjoys an uninterrupted peace and serenity of mind, which excels the other not only in duration, but in sense of pleasure too. As for the other sort of converse, that which consists in expression of itself to others, Pindar says very well, that it was not mercenary in old time, nor indeed is it so now; but by the baseness and ambition of a few it is made use of to serve their poor secular interests. For if the poets represent Venus herself as much offended with those who make a trade and traffic of the passion of love, how much more reasonably may we suppose that Urania and Clio and Calliope have an indignation against those who set learning and philosophy to sale? Certainly the gifts and endowments of the Muses should be privileged from such mean considerations.
His passion doesn’t oppose his reason, nor do his thoughts clash and hinder each other; he is always consistent with himself. But the pleasures of wicked people are chaotic and confused, like those living on the borders of two rival empires, always feeling insecure and in constant alarm. In contrast, a good person enjoys a steady peace and calmness of mind, which surpasses the other not just in length but also in enjoyment. Regarding the other type of communication, the one that expresses itself to others, Pindar rightly points out that it wasn’t driven by profit in the past, nor is it today. However, due to the greed and ambition of a few, it has been exploited for their trivial secular interests. If poets portray Venus herself as displeased with those who commercialize the passion of love, how much more justly can we assume that Urania, Clio, and Calliope are outraged by those who sell learning and philosophy? Certainly, the gifts and talents of the Muses should be protected from such trivial pursuits.
If indeed some have made fame and reputation one of the ends of their studies, they used it only as an instrument to get friends; since we find by common observation that men only praise those whom they love. If they sought its own praise, they were as much mistaken as Ixion when he embraced a cloud instead of Juno; for there is nothing so fleeting, so changeable, and so inconstant as popular applause; it is but a pompous shadow, and hath no manner of solidity and duration in it. But a wise man, if he design to engage in business and matters of state, will so far aim at fame and popularity as that he may be better enabled to benefit others; for it is a difficult and very unpleasant task to do good to those who are disaffected to our persons. It is the good opinion men have of us which disposes men to give credit to our doctrine. As light is a greater good to those who see others by it than to those who only are seen, so is honor of a greater benefit to those who are sensible of it than to those whose glory is admired. But even one who withdraws himself from the noise of the world, who loves privacy and indulges his own thoughts, will show that respect to the good word of the people which Hippolytus did to Venus,—though he abstain from her mysteries, he will pay his devotions at a distance; (Euripides, "Hippolytus," 102.) but he will not be so cynical and sullen as not to hear with gladness the commendations of virtuous men like himself; he will neither engage himself in a restless pursuit of wealth, interest, or honor, nor will he on the other hand be so rustic and insensible as to refuse them in a moderate degree, when they fairly come in his way; in like manner he will not court and follow handsome and beautiful youth, but will rather choose such as are of a teachable disposition, of a gentle behavior, and lovers of learning. The charms and graces of youth will not make a philosopher shy of their conversation, when the endowments of their minds are answerable to the features of their bodies. The case is the same when greatness of place and fortune concur with a well disposed person; he will not therefore forbear loving and respecting such a one, nor be afraid of the name of a courtier, nor think it a curse that such attendance and dependence should be his fate.
If some people have made fame and reputation a goal of their studies, they only used it as a way to gain friends, since it’s clear that people only praise those they love. If they sought fame for its own sake, they were as mistaken as Ixion when he embraced a cloud instead of Juno; because there’s nothing as fleeting, changeable, and inconsistent as popular applause—it’s just a grand illusion and lacks any real substance or permanence. A wise person, if they intend to get involved in public affairs, aims for fame and popularity only to better help others; because it’s challenging and unpleasant to do good for those who dislike us. The positive opinions people hold about us influence them to accept our ideas. Just as light benefits those who use it to see others more than it helps those who are merely seen, honor is more valuable to those who appreciate it than to those whose achievements are admired. Even someone who steps back from the chaos of the world, who enjoys solitude and reflects on their own thoughts, will still show some regard for the admiration of the people, similar to how Hippolytus respected Venus—though he avoids her rituals, he expresses his devotion from a distance; but he won’t be so bitter or gloomy that he can’t appreciate the praises of good people like himself. He won't engage in a restless chase for wealth, power, or honor, but he also won’t be so unsophisticated as to reject them when they come his way in moderation; similarly, he won’t pursue attractive and beautiful youth, but will prefer individuals who are eager to learn, behave kindly, and appreciate education. The allure and charm of youth won’t make a philosopher shy away from their company when their intellectual qualities match their physical appeal. The same applies when a person of good character has high status and wealth; they won’t hesitate to love and respect such a person, won’t fear being called a courtier, nor see it as a curse to be influenced or dependent on such relationships.
They that try most Dame Venus to despise
Do sin as much as they who her most prize.
(From the "Veiled Hippolytus" of Euripides, Frag. 431.)
Those who try the hardest to disregard Dame Venus
sin just as much as those who value her the most.
(From the "Veiled Hippolytus" of Euripides, Frag. 431.)The application is easy to the matter in hand.
The application is straightforward for the task at hand.
A philosopher therefore, if he is of a retired humor, will not avoid such persons; while one who generously designs his studies for the public advantage will cheerfully embrace their advances of friendship, will not bore them to hear him, will lay aside his sophistic terms and distinctions, and will rejoice to discourse and pass his time with them when they are disposed.
A philosopher, if he has a reserved personality, won't shy away from such people; meanwhile, one who aims his studies for the benefit of the public will gladly accept their offers of friendship, won't bore them with long lectures, will ditch his complicated terminology and distinctions, and will be happy to chat and spend time with them when they feel like it.
I plough the wide Berecynthian fields,
Full six days' journey long,
(From the "Niobe" of Aechylus, Frag. 153.)
I plow the vast Berecynthian fields,
Six full days' journey long,
(From the "Niobe" of Aechylus, Frag. 153.)says one boastingly in the poet; the same man, if he were as much a lover of mankind as of husbandry, would much rather bestow his pains on such a farm, the fruits of which would serve a great number, than to be always dressing the olive-yard of some cynical malcontent, which, when all was done, would scarce yield oil enough to dress a salad or to supply his lamp in the long winter evenings. Epicurus himself, who places happiness in the profoundest quiet and sluggish inactivity, as the only secure harbor from the storms of this troublesome world, could not but confess that it is both more noble and delightful to do than to receive a kindness; (Almost the same words with those of our Saviour, It is more blessed to give than to receive. So that a man can scarcely be a true Epicurean without practising some of the maxims of Christianity.) for there is nothing which produces so humane and genuine a sort of pleasure as that of doing good. He who gave the names to the three Graces was intelligent, for they all mean delectation and joy, (Aglaia, Euphrosyne, and Thalia.) and these feelings surely are far greater and purer in the giver. This is so evidently true, that we all receive good turns blushing and with some confusion, but we are always gay and well pleased when we are conferring one.
says one boastingly in the poet; the same man, if he truly loved humanity as much as farming, would much rather invest his effort in a field that benefits many, rather than constantly tending to the olive garden of some cynical person, which, in the end, would hardly produce enough oil to dress a salad or light his lamp on long winter nights. Epicurus himself, who believed happiness comes from deep tranquility and lazy inactivity as the only safe refuge from life's storms, would have to agree that it is both nobler and more enjoyable to give kindness than to receive it; (Almost the same words as our Savior, "It is more blessed to give than to receive." Thus, one can hardly be a true Epicurean without embracing some of the teachings of Christianity.) because there is nothing that brings about such genuine and humane pleasure as doing good. The one who named the three Graces was wise, for they all signify delight and joy (Aglaia, Euphrosyne, and Thalia), and these feelings are certainly much greater and purer in the giver. This is so clearly true that we all accept good deeds with blushing and some embarrassment, while we always feel cheerful and satisfied when we are doing good for others.
If then it is so pleasant to do good to a few, how are their hearts dilated with joy who are benefactors to whole cities, provinces, and kingdoms? And such benefactors are they who instil good principles into those upon whom so many millions do depend. On the other hand, those who debauch the minds of great men—as sycophants, false informers, and flatterers worse than both, manifestly do—are the centre of all the curses of a nation, as men not only infuse deadly poison into the cistern of a private house, but into the public springs of which so many thousands are to drink. The people therefore laughed at the parasites of Callias, whom, as Eupolis says, neither with fire nor brass nor steel could prevent from supping with him; but as for the favorites of those execrable tyrants Apollodorus, Phalaris, and Dionysius, they racked them, they flayed them alive, they roasted them at slow fires, looked on them as the very pests of society and disgraces of human nature; for to debauch a simple person is indeed an ill thing, but to corrupt a prince is an infinite mischief. In like manner, he who instructs an ordinary man makes him to pass his life decently and with comfort; but he who instructs a prince, by correcting his errors and clearing his understanding, is a philosopher for the public, by rectifying the very mould and model by which whole nations are formed and regulated. It is the custom of all nations to pay a peculiar honor and deference to their priests; and the reason of it is, because they do not only pray for good things for themselves, their own families and friends, but for whole communities, for the whole state of mankind. Yet we are not so fond as to think that the priests make the gods to be givers of good things, or inspire a vein of beneficence into them; but they only make their supplications to a being which of itself is inclinable to answer their requests. But in this a good tutor hath the privilege above the priests,—he effectually renders a prince more disposed to actions of justice, of moderation, and mercy, and therefore hath a greater satisfaction of mind when he reflects upon it.
If it’s so enjoyable to do good for a few people, imagine how joyful those must feel who help entire cities, provinces, and kingdoms. These benefactors instill good values in those upon whom countless millions depend. On the flip side, those who corrupt the minds of powerful individuals—like sycophants, false informants, and flatterers—are the source of a nation’s curses. They not only poison the well of a private household but also taint the public resources that thousands consume. People ridiculed Callias's lackeys, whom, as Eupolis says, couldn’t be kept from dining with him, even by fire, metal, or weapons. However, the favorites of the despicable tyrants Apollodorus, Phalaris, and Dionysius faced horrific punishments; they were tortured, flayed alive, and slowly roasted, seen as society's pests and a disgrace to humanity. Corrupting a simple person is bad, but corrupting a prince is a far greater evil. Similarly, teaching an ordinary person allows them to live decently and comfortably, but instructing a prince helps correct their mistakes and improve their understanding, making the tutor a philosopher for the public by shaping the very foundation on which entire nations are built and governed. It’s customary in all societies to show special respect to their priests because they pray not only for themselves, their families, and friends but for entire communities and the well-being of humanity. However, we aren’t naive enough to believe that priests make the gods generous or inspire kindness in them; they merely pray to beings that are naturally inclined to answer their requests. But here, a good tutor has an advantage over priests—they actively help a prince become more inclined toward justice, moderation, and mercy, which brings them greater satisfaction when they reflect on their contribution.
For my own part, I cannot but think that an ordinary mechanic—for instance, a maker of musical instruments—would be much more attentive and pleased at his work, and if his harp would be touched by the famous Amphion, and in his hand to serve for the builder of Thebes, or if that Thales had bespoke it, who was so great a master by the force of his music he pacified a popular tumult amongst the Lacedaemonians. A good-natured shipwright would ply his work more heartily, if he were constructing the rudder for the admiral galley of Themistocles when he fought for the liberty of Greece, or of Pompey when he went on his expedition against the pirates: what ecstasy of delight then must a philosopher be in, when he reflects that his scholar is a man of authority, a prince or great potentate, that he is employed in so public a work, giving laws to him who is to give laws to a whole nation, who is to punish vice, and to reward the virtuous with riches and honor? The builder of the ARGO certainly would have been mightily pleased, if he had known what noble mariners were to row in his ship, and that at last she should be translated into heaven; and a carpenter would not be half so much pleased to make a chariot or plough, as to cut the tablets on which Solon's laws were to be engraved. In like manner the discourses and rules of philosophy, being once deeply stamped and imprinted on the minds of great personages, will stick so close, that the prince shall seem no other than justice incarnate and animated law. This was the design of Plato's voyage into Sicily,—he hoped that the lectures of his philosophy would serve for laws to Dionysius, and bring his affairs again into a good posture. But the soul of that unfortunate prince was like paper scribbled all over with the characters of vice; its piercing and corroding quality had stained quite through, and sunk into the very substance of his soul. Whereas, such persons must be taken when they are on the run, if they are to absorb useful discourses.
For my part, I can't help but think that an ordinary mechanic—like someone who makes musical instruments—would be much more focused and satisfied with his work if his harp were played by the famous Amphion, serving as a tool for the builder of Thebes, or if that Thales had ordered it, who was such a master that he calmed a riot among the Spartans with his music. A friendly shipwright would work with more enthusiasm if he were building the rudder for Themistocles' flagship when he fought for Greece's freedom, or for Pompey during his campaign against the pirates. Just imagine the joy a philosopher must feel when he realizes that his student is a person of authority, a prince or powerful leader, engaged in such an important task, creating laws for someone destined to legislate for an entire nation, punish wrongdoers, and reward the good with wealth and honor. The builder of the ARGO would surely have been thrilled to know what noble sailors would row his ship and that it would ultimately be transformed into a constellation. A carpenter would find far more joy in crafting the tablets meant for Solon's laws than in making a chariot or a plow. Similarly, when the teachings and principles of philosophy are deeply engraved in the minds of great individuals, they become so ingrained that the prince seems to embody justice and personified law. This was the purpose of Plato's trip to Sicily—he hoped that his philosophical teachings would become the laws for Dionysius and help restore order to his reign. However, that unfortunate prince's soul was like a piece of paper filled with the scribbles of vice; its corrosive nature had stained everything, sinking deep into his very being. Such people must be approached when they are in motion if they are to truly grasp valuable ideas.
SENTIMENTS CONCERNING NATURE WITH WHICH PHILOSOPHERS WERE DELIGHTED
BOOK I.
It being our determination to discourse of Natural Philosophy, we judge it necessary, in the first place and chiefly, to divide the body of philosophy into its proper members, so that we may know what is that which is called philosophy, and what part of it is physical, or the explanation of natural things. The Stoics affirm that wisdom is the knowledge of things human and divine; that philosophy is the pursuit of that art which is convenient to this knowledge; that virtue is the sole and sovereign art which is thus convenient; and this distributes itself into three general parts—natural, moral, and logical. By which just reason (they say) philosophy is tripartite; of which one natural, the other moral, the third logical. The natural when our inquiries are concerning the world and all things contained in it; the ethical is the employment of our minds in those things which concern the manners of man's life; the logical (which they also call dialectical) regulates our conversation with others in speaking. Aristotle, Theophrastus, and after them almost all the Peripatetics give the same division of philosophy. It is absolutely requisite that the complete person he contemplator of things which have a being, and the practiser of those thing which are decent; and this easily appears by the following instances. If the question be proposed, whether the sun, which is so conspicuous to us, be informed of a soul or inanimate, he that makes this disquisition is the thinking man; for he proceeds no farther than to consider the nature of that thing which is proposed. Likewise, if the question be propounded, whether the world be infinite, or whether beyond the system of this world there is any real being, all these things are the objects about which the understanding of man is conversant.
Since we aim to discuss Natural Philosophy, we find it necessary to start by breaking down philosophy into its key components. This will help us understand what philosophy is and which part deals with the physical world or explains natural phenomena. The Stoics maintain that wisdom is the understanding of both human and divine matters; that philosophy is the pursuit of the skills needed for this understanding; and that virtue is the sole, overarching skill that supports this pursuit. They categorize philosophy into three main areas: natural, moral, and logical. They argue that philosophy is divided into these three parts, in which one focuses on natural inquiries, the second on ethical issues relating to human conduct, and the third—also known as dialectical—governs our discussions with others. Aristotle, Theophrastus, and nearly all the Peripatetics agree with this classification of philosophy. It's essential for a well-rounded person to be a contemplator of existing things and a practitioner of appropriate behaviors; this is clear from several examples. For instance, if we ask whether the sun, which is so visible to us, has a soul or is inanimate, the person considering this is engaging in thought, as they only reflect on the nature of the subject at hand. Similarly, if the question arises as to whether the universe is infinite or if there is anything real outside of our known world, all these inquiries engage the human mind.
But if these be the questions,—what measures must be taken to compose the well-ordered life of man, what are the best methods to govern and educate children, or what are the exact rules whereby sovereigns may command and establish laws,—all these queries are proposed for the sole end of action, and the man skilled therein is the moral and practical man.
But if these are the questions—what actions should be taken to create a well-ordered life for people, what are the best ways to raise and educate children, or what are the exact rules through which rulers can govern and create laws—all these inquiries are aimed solely at action, and the person who understands them is the moral and practical individual.
CHAPTER I. WHAT IS NATURE?
Since we have undertaken to make a diligent search into Nature, I cannot but conclude it necessary to declare what Nature is. It is very absurd to attempt a discourse of the essence of natural things, and not to understand what is the power and sphere of Nature. If Aristotle be credited, Nature is the principle of motion and rest, in that thing in which it exists as a principle and not by accident. For all things that are conspicuous to our eyes, which are neither fortuitous nor necessary, nor have a divine original, nor acknowledge any such like cause, are called natural and enjoy their proper nature. Of this sort are earth, fire, water, air, plants, animals; to these may be added all things produced from them, such as showers, hail, thunders, hurricanes, and winds. All these confess they had a beginning, none of these were from eternity, but had something as the origin of them; and likewise animals and plants have a principle whence they are produced. But Nature, which in all these things hath the priority, is not only the principle of motion but of repose; whatsoever enjoys the principle of motion, the same has a possibility to find a dissolution. Therefore on this account it is that Nature is the principle of motion and rest.
Since we've decided to thoroughly explore Nature, I must say it's essential to define what Nature is. It doesn't make sense to discuss the essence of natural things without understanding the power and scope of Nature. According to Aristotle, Nature is the principle of motion and rest in whatever exists as a principle rather than by chance. Everything we can see that is neither random nor necessary, doesn't have a divine origin, and doesn't admit to any similar cause, is considered natural and has its own nature. This includes earth, fire, water, air, plants, and animals; we can also add all things that come from them, like rain, hail, thunder, hurricanes, and winds. All these things acknowledge they had a beginning; none of them existed eternally, but came from something that originated them. Similarly, animals and plants have a source from which they are produced. However, Nature, which takes precedence in all these things, is not just the principle of motion but also of rest; anything that possesses the principle of motion also has the potential for dissolution. This is why Nature is seen as the principle of both motion and rest.
CHAPTER II. WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A PRINCIPLE AND AN ELEMENT?
The followers of Aristotle and Plato conclude that elements are discriminated from principles. Thales the Milesian supposeth that a principle and the elements are one and the same thing, but it is evident that they vastly differ one from another. For the elements are things compounded; but we do pronounce that principles admit not of a composition, nor are the effects of any other being. Those which we call elements are earth, water, air, and fire. But we call those principles which have nothing prior to them out of which they are produced; for otherwise not these themselves, but rather those things whereof they are produced, would be the principles. Now there are some things which have a pre-existence to earth and water, from which they are begotten; to wit, matter, which is without form or shape; then form, which we call [Greek omitted] (actuality); and lastly, privation. Thales therefore is most in error, by affirming that water is both an element and a principle.
The followers of Aristotle and Plato agree that elements are different from principles. Thales the Milesian believes that a principle and the elements are the same thing, but it’s clear that they are very different. The elements are things that are made up of combinations; however, we say that principles cannot be made up of anything else, nor are they the result of something prior. The things we call elements are earth, water, air, and fire. On the other hand, we refer to principles as those that do not come from anything that produces them; otherwise, not these themselves, but rather the things they come from, would be the principles. There are some things that exist before earth and water, from which they are created; specifically, matter, which is formless; then form, which we refer to as [Greek omitted] (actuality); and finally, privation. Therefore, Thales is quite mistaken in claiming that water is both an element and a principle.
CHAPTER III. WHAT ARE PRINCIPLES?
Thales the Milesian doth affirm that water is the principle from whence all things in the universe spring. This person appears to be the first of philosophers; from him the Ionic sect took its denomination, for there are many families and successions amongst philosophers. After he had professed philosophy in Egypt, when he was very old, he returned to Miletus. He pronounced, that all things had their original from water, and into water all things are resolved. His first ground was, that whatsoever was the prolific seed of all animals was a principle, and that is moist; so that it is probable that all things receive their original from humidity. His second reason was, that all plants are nourished and fructified by that thing which is moist, of which being deprived they wither away. Thirdly, that that fire of which the sun and stars are made is nourished by watery exhalations,—yea, and the world itself; which moved Homer to sing that the generation of it was from water:—
Thales of Miletus claimed that water is the fundamental element from which everything in the universe comes. He seems to be the first philosopher; the Ionic school is named after him, as there are many lineages and schools among philosophers. After studying philosophy in Egypt, he returned to Miletus in his old age. He stated that everything originates from water, and that everything eventually dissolves back into water. His first argument was that whatever is the reproductive source of all animals is a fundamental element, and that is moist; thus, it is likely that all things originate from moisture. His second reason was that all plants are sustained and thrive by moisture, and when deprived of it, they wither. Thirdly, he pointed out that the fire that makes up the sun and stars is fed by watery vapors—and even the world itself. This inspired Homer to sing that its creation came from water:—
The ocean is
Of all things the kind genesis.
(Iliad, xiv. 246.)
The ocean is
The source of everything.
(Iliad, xiv. 246.)Anaximander, who himself was a Milesian, assigns the principle of all things to the Infinite, from whence all things flow, and into the same are corrupted; hence it is that infinite worlds are framed, and those dissolve again into that whence they have their origin. And thus he farther proceeds, For what other reason is there of an Infinite but this, that there may be nothing deficient as to the generation or subsistence of what is in Nature? There is his error, that he doth not acquaint us what this Infinite is, whether it be air, or water, or earth, or any other such like body. Besides he is mistaken, in that, giving us the material cause, he is silent as to the efficient cause of beings; for this thing which he makes his Infinite can be nothing but matter; but operation cannot come about in the sphere of matter, except an efficient cause be annexed.
Anaximander, who was from Miletus, identifies the source of everything as the Infinite, from which all things emerge and into which they return. This is why countless worlds are created, only to dissolve back into their origin. He continues by asking, what other reason could there be for the Infinite other than to ensure that nothing is lacking in the creation or existence of what is in Nature? His mistake is that he doesn’t explain what this Infinite actually is, whether it’s air, water, earth, or something similar. Additionally, he errs by providing the material cause but not addressing the efficient cause of things; the Infinite he describes can only be considered matter, but action cannot occur within the realm of matter without an efficient cause being involved.
Anaximenes his fellow-citizen pronounceth, that air is the principle of all beings; from it all receive their original, and into it all return. He affirms that our soul is nothing but air; it is that which constitutes and preserves; the whole world is invested with spirit and air. For spirit and air are synonymous. This person is in this deficient, in that he concludes that of pure air, which is a simple body and is made of one only form, all animals are composed. It is not possible to think that a single principle should be the matter of all things, from whence they receive their subsistence; besides this there must be an operating cause. Silver (for example) is not of itself sufficient to frame a drinking cup; an operator also is required, which is the silversmith. The like may be applied to vessels made of wood, brass, or any other material.
Anaximenes, his fellow citizen, claims that air is the fundamental principle of all beings; everything originates from it and ultimately returns to it. He asserts that our soul is simply air; it is what shapes and sustains us; the entire world is filled with spirit and air. In this context, spirit and air mean the same thing. However, he falls short by believing that all animals are made solely from pure air, which is a single substance with only one form. It’s hard to believe that a single principle could be the only material for everything from which they derive their existence; in addition to this, there must be a cause that acts. For instance, silver alone is not enough to create a drinking cup; a craftsman, like a silversmith, is also needed. The same applies to items made from wood, brass, or any other material.
Anaxagoras the Clazomenian asserted Homoeomeries (or parts similar or homogeneous) to be the original cause of all beings; it seemed to him impossible that anything could arise of nothing or be dissolved into nothing. Let us therefore instance in nourishment, which appears simple and uniform, such as bread which we owe to Ceres and water which we drink. Of this very nutriment, our hair, our veins, our arteries, nerves, bones, and all our other parts are nourished. These things thus being performed, it must be granted that the nourishment which is received by us contains all those things by which these of us are produced. In it there are those particles which are producers of blood, bones, nerves, and all other parts; these particles (he thought) reason discovers for us. For it is not necessary that we should reduce all things under the objects of sense; for bread and water are fitted to the senses, yet in them there are those particles latent which are discoverable only by reason. It being therefore plain that there are particles in the nourishment similar to what is produced by it, he terms these homogeneous parts, averring that they are the principles of beings. Matter is according to him these similar parts, and the efficient cause is a Mind, which orders all things that have an existence. Thus he begins his discourse: "All things were confused one among another; but Mind divided and brought them to order." In this he is to be commended, that he yokes together matter and an intellectual agent.
Anaxagoras from Clazomenae claimed that Homoeomeries (or parts that are similar or uniform) are the original cause of everything; he believed it was impossible for anything to come from nothing or to disappear into nothing. Let's consider nourishment, which seems simple and uniform, like the bread we get from Ceres and the water we drink. Our hair, veins, arteries, nerves, bones, and all other parts are nourished by this very food. Since this happens, we must agree that the nourishment we take in contains everything necessary to create these parts of us. It holds those particles that form blood, bones, nerves, and all other parts; these particles, he believed, can be understood through reason. It's not essential for us to confine everything to sensory objects; bread and water may be perceived through our senses, yet they contain latent particles that can only be discovered by reason. Therefore, it's clear that the nourishment contains particles similar to what it produces; he calls these homogeneous parts, claiming they are the principles of existence. According to him, matter consists of these similar parts, and the effective cause is a Mind that organizes everything that exists. Thus, he starts his discussion: "All things were mixed together; but Mind separated and organized them." He deserves praise for connecting matter with an intellectual force.
Archelaus the son of Apollodorus, the Athenian, pronounceth, that the principles of all things have their origin from an infinite air rarefied or condensed. Air rarefied is fire, condensed is water.
Archelaus, son of Apollodorus the Athenian, states that the principles of everything come from an infinite air that can be either rarefied or condensed. Rarefied air is fire, while condensed air is water.
These philosophers, the followers of Thales, succeeding one another, made up that sect which takes to itself the denomination of the Ionic.
These philosophers, the followers of Thales, succeeded one another and formed the group known as the Ionic sect.
Pythagoras the Samian, the son of Mnesarchus, from another origin deduces the principles of all things; it was he who first called philosophy by its name. He thought the first principles to be numbers, and those symmetries in them which he styles harmonies; and the composition of both he terms elements, called geometrical. Again, he places unity and the indefinite binary number amongst the principles. One of these principles ends in an efficient and forming cause, which is Mind, and that is God; the other to the passive and material part, and that is the visible world. Moreover, the nature of number (he saith) consists in the ten; for all people, whether Grecians or barbarians, reckon from one to ten, and thence return to one again. Farther he avers the virtue of ten consists in the quaternion; the reason whereof is this,—if any person start from one, and add numbers so as to take in the quaternary, he shall complete the number ten; if he passes the four, he shall go beyond the ten; for one, two, three, and four being added up together make ten. The nature of numbers, therefore, if we regard the units, abideth in the ten; but if we regard its power, in the four. Therefore the Pythagoreans say that their most sacred oath is by that god who delivered to them the quaternary.
Pythagoras from Samos, the son of Mnesarchus, derives the principles of everything from a different origin; he was the first to call philosophy by that name. He believed that the fundamental principles were numbers and the symmetries within them, which he referred to as harmonies. He called the combination of both elements, specifically geometrical ones. Additionally, he identified unity and the indefinite binary number as part of these principles. One of these principles leads to an active and creating cause, which is Mind, or God; the other relates to the passive and material aspect, which is the visible world. Moreover, he claimed that the essence of number is found in ten; for all people, whether Greeks or non-Greeks, count from one to ten and then return to one again. Further, he stated that the significance of ten lies in four; the reason being that if someone starts from one and adds numbers to include the four, they will reach ten. If they go beyond four, they will exceed ten, as one, two, three, and four combined equal ten. Therefore, if we consider the units, the essence of numbers resides in ten; but if we consider its power, it lies in four. Thus, the Pythagoreans say that their most sacred oath is by that god who revealed to them the concept of four.
By th' founder of the sacred number four,
Eternal Nature's font and source, they swore.
By the founder of the sacred number four,
Eternal Nature's source and origin, they swore.Of this number the soul of man is composed; for mind, knowledge, opinion, and sense are the four that complete the soul, from which all sciences, all arts, all rational faculties derive themselves. For what our mind perceives, it perceives after the manner of a thing that is one, the soul itself being a unity; as for instance, a multitude of persons are not the object of our sense nor are comprehended by us, for they are infinite; our understanding gives the general concept of A MAN, in which all individuals agree. The number of individuals is infinite; the generic or specific nature of all being is a unit, or to be apprehended as one only thing; from this one conception we give the genuine measures of all existence, and therefore we affirm that a certain class of beings are rational and discoursive. But when we come to give the nature of a horse, it is that animal which neighs; and this being common to all horses, it is manifest that the understanding, which hath such like conceptions, is in its nature unity. It follows that the number called the infinite binary must be science; in every demonstration or belief belonging to science, and in every syllogism, we draw that conclusion which is in dispute from those propositions which are by all granted, by which means another proposition is obtained from the premises. The comprehension of these we call knowledge; for which reason science is the binary number. But opinion is the ternary; for that rationally follows from comprehension. The objects of opinion are many things, and the ternary number denotes a multitude, as "Thrice happy Grecians"; for which reason Pythagoras admits the ternary. This sect of philosophers is called the Italic, by reason Pythagoras started his school in Italy; his hatred of the tyranny of Polycrates enforced him to abandon his native country Samos.
The soul of a person is made up of these four elements: mind, knowledge, opinion, and sense. These are what complete the soul, and all sciences, arts, and rational abilities come from them. What we perceive with our minds is seen as one thing, since the soul itself is a unity. For example, we don’t perceive a multitude of people as they are infinite; instead, our understanding gives us the general concept of A MAN, which all individuals share. While the number of individuals is infinite, the generic or specific nature of all beings is understood as a single entity. From this one concept, we derive the true measures of all existence, and so we claim that a certain class of beings are rational and capable of reasoning. When we describe a horse, we say it's the animal that neighs; since this characteristic applies to all horses, it shows that our understanding, which has such concepts, is fundamentally united. Consequently, the infinite binary number must represent science; in every demonstration or belief associated with science and in every syllogism, we reach conclusions that are debated based on premises that everyone agrees on, leading to the formation of another proposition. We call this understanding knowledge, which is why science represents the binary number. However, opinion corresponds to the ternary number because it logically follows from comprehension. The objects of opinion can be many, and the ternary number indicates a multitude, like in the phrase "Thrice happy Grecians"; for this reason, Pythagoras includes the ternary. This group of philosophers is known as the Italic school, because Pythagoras founded his school in Italy; his aversion to Polycrates' tyranny forced him to leave his homeland, Samos.
Heraclitus and Hippasus of Metapontum suppose that fire gives the origination to all beings, that they all flow from fire, and in fire they all conclude; for of fire when first quenched the world was constituted. The first part of the world, being most condensed and contracted within itself, made the earth; but part of that earth being loosened and made thin by fire, water was produced; afterwards this water being exhaled and rarefied into vapors became air; after all this the world itself, and all other corporeal beings, shall be dissolved by fire in the universal conflagration. By them therefore it appears that fire is what gives beginning to all things, and is that in which all things receive their period.
Heraclitus and Hippasus of Metapontum believe that fire is the source of all things, that everything comes from fire, and that everything eventually returns to fire; for when fire was first extinguished, the world was formed. The densest part of the world, being tightly packed, became the earth; but when part of that earth was heated and thinned out by fire, water was created; later, this water evaporated and turned into vapor, becoming air. Ultimately, the entire world and all physical beings will be destroyed by fire in a great conflagration. Thus, it seems that fire is what initiates everything and is also where everything comes to an end.
Epicurus the son of Neocles, the Athenian, his philosophical sentiments being the same with those of Democritus, affirms that the principles of all being are bodies which are only perceptible by reason; they admit not of a vacuity, nor of any original, but being of a self-existence are eternal and incorruptible; they are not liable to any diminution, they are indestructible, nor is it possible for them to receive any transformation of parts, or admit of any alterations; of these reason is only the discoverer; they are in a perpetual motion in vacuity, and by means of the empty space; for the vacuum itself is infinite, and the bodies that move in it are infinite. Those bodies acknowledge these three accidents, figure, magnitude, and gravity. Democritus acknowledged but two, magnitude and figure. Epicurus added the third, to wit, gravity; for he pronounced that it is necessary that bodies receive their motion from that impression which springs from gravity, otherwise they could not be moved. The figures of atoms cannot be incomprehensible, but they are not infinite. These figures are neither hooked nor trident-shaped nor ring-shaped, such figures as these being exposed to collision; but the atoms are impassible, impenetrable; they have indeed figures of their own, which are conceived only by reason. It is called an atom, by reason not of its smallness but of its indivisibility; in it no vacuity, no passible affection is to be found. And that there is an atom is perfectly clear; for there are elements which have a perpetual duration, and there are animals which admit of a vacuity, and there is a unity.
Epicurus, son of Neocles from Athens, shares similar philosophical views with Democritus. He believes that everything is made up of bodies that can only be understood through reason; there’s no empty space or original source, as these bodies exist on their own, are eternal, and cannot decay. They can’t be reduced in size, destroyed, or change their parts or form. Reason simply reveals their existence. These bodies are always in motion within empty space, which is infinite, as are the bodies moving within it. These bodies exhibit three qualities: shape, size, and weight. Democritus recognized only two—size and shape—while Epicurus introduced the third, which is weight, stating that objects must be influenced by gravity to move. The shapes of atoms can’t be completely unknown, but they aren’t infinite either. Atoms aren’t hooked, trident-shaped, or ring-shaped, as those shapes would collide; instead, atoms are solid and cannot be penetrated. They have their own shapes, which can only be understood through reason. It’s called an atom not because it’s tiny, but because it can’t be divided. There’s no empty space or changeable qualities within it. It’s clear that atoms exist; there are elements that last forever, and there are living beings capable of existing in hollow spaces, as well as a sense of unity.
Empedocles the Agrigentine, the son of Meton, affirms that there are four elements, fire, air, earth, and water, and two powers which bear the greatest command in nature, concord and discord, of which one is the union, the other the division of beings. Thus he sings,
Empedocles from Agrigentum, the son of Meton, states that there are four elements: fire, air, earth, and water, along with two forces that hold the most power in nature, harmony and strife, where one represents unity and the other represents division. So he expresses,
Hear first the four roots of all created things:—
Bright shining Jove, Juno that beareth life,
Pluto beneath the earth, and Nestis who
Doth with her tears water the human fount.
Hear first the four roots of all created things:—
Bright shining Jupiter, Juno who brings life,
Pluto below the earth, and Nestis who
Waters the human source with her tears.By Jupiter he understands fire and ether, by Juno that gives life he means the air, by Pluto the earth, by Nestis and the spring of all mortals (as it were) seed and water.
By Jupiter, he means fire and ether; by Juno, who gives life, he means the air; by Pluto, the earth; and by Nestis and the source of all mortals, he refers to seed and water.
Socrates the son of Sophroniscus, and Plato son of Ariston, both natives of Athens, entertain the same opinion concerning the universe; for they suppose three principles, God, matter, and the idea. God is the universal understanding; matter is that which is the first substratum, accommodated for the generation and corruption of beings; the idea is an incorporeal essence, existing in the cogitations and apprehensions of God; for God is the soul and mind of the world.
Socrates, the son of Sophroniscus, and Plato, the son of Ariston, both from Athens, share the same view about the universe; they believe in three principles: God, matter, and the idea. God is the universal understanding; matter is the fundamental substance that allows for the creation and destruction of beings; the idea is a non-physical essence that exists in the thoughts and perceptions of God, for God is the soul and mind of the world.
Aristotle the son of Nichomachus, the Stagirite, constitutes three principles; Entelecheia (which is the same with form), matter, and privation. He acknowledges four elements, and adds a certain fifth body, which is ethereal and not obnoxious to mutation.
Aristotle, the son of Nichomachus from Stagira, defines three principles: Entelecheia (which is the same as form), matter, and privation. He recognizes four elements and includes a fifth substance that is ethereal and not subject to change.
Zeno son of Mnaseas, the native of Citium, avers these to be principles, God and matter, the first of which is the efficient cause, the other the passible and receptive. Four more elements he likewise confesses.
Zeno, son of Mnaseas from Citium, claims that the principles are God and matter, the former being the active cause and the latter being the passive and receptive one. He also acknowledges four additional elements.
CHAPTER IV. HOW WAS THIS WORLD COMPOSED IN THAT ORDER AND AFTER THAT MANNER IT IS?
The world being broken and confused, after this manner it was reduced into figure and composure as now it is. The insectible bodies or atoms, by a wild and fortuitous motion, without any governing power, incessantly and swiftly were hurried one amongst another, many bodies being jumbled together; upon this account they have a diversity in the figures and magnitude. These therefore being so jumbled together, those bodies which were the greatest and heaviest sank into the lowest place; they that were of a lesser magnitude, being round, smooth, and slippery, these meeting with those heavier bodies were easily broken into pieces, and were carried into higher places. But when that force whereby these variously particles figured particles fought with and struck one another, and forced the lighter upwards, did cease, and there was no farther power left to drive them into superior regions, yet they were wholly hindered from descending downwards, and were compelled to reside in those places capable to receive them; and these were the heavenly spaces, unto which a multitude of these small bodies were hurled, and these being thus shivered fell into coherence and mutual embraces, and by this means the heaven was produced. Then a various and great multitude of atoms enjoying the same nature, as it is before asserted, being hurried aloft, did form the stars. The multitude of these exhaled bodies, having struck and broke the air in shivers, forced a passage through it; this being turned into wind invested the stars, as it moved, and whirled them about, by which means to this present time that circulary motion which these stars have in the heavens is maintained. Much after the same manner the earth was made; for by those little particles whose gravity made them to reside in the lower places the earth was formed. The heaven, fire, and air were constituted of those particles which were carried aloft. But a great deal of matter remaining in the earth, this being condensed by the driving of the winds and the air from the stars, every little part and form of it was compressed, which created the element of water; but this being fluidly disposed did run into those places which were hollow, and these places were those that were capable to receive and protect it; or the water, subsisting by itself, did make the lower places hollow. After this manner the principal parts of the world were constituted.
The world, being broken and chaotic, was shaped into the structure we see today. Atoms, moving wildly and randomly without any governing force, constantly crashed into each other, creating a mix of different shapes and sizes. Because of this, the heaviest and largest bodies sank to the bottom; smaller, round, smooth, and slippery ones collided with these heavier objects and were easily broken apart and pushed to higher places. However, when the force that caused these variously shaped particles to collide and push the lighter ones upward stopped, and there was no remaining power to drive them higher, they couldn't fall back down either. Instead, they were stuck in the spaces that could hold them, known as the heavens, where many small bodies were thrown, and those shattered particles combined and embraced each other, leading to the creation of the heavens. Then, a vast number of similar atoms were sent into the sky, forming the stars. These numerous airy bodies stirred up the air, breaking it into fragments and pushing through it. As this was transformed into wind, it surrounded the stars and spun them around, which is why the stars continue to move in circular patterns to this day. The Earth was formed in a similar way; those tiny particles that sank due to their weight helped create the land. The heavens, fire, and air were made from particles that were pushed upward. A lot of material remained on Earth, and as the winds and air from the stars compacted it down, every part became compressed, giving rise to water. This water then flowed into lower areas, which could hold and protect it, or it created hollows on its own in the lower areas. In this way, the main components of the world were established.
CHAPTER V. WHETHER THE UNIVERSE IS ONE SINGLE THING.
The Stoics pronounce that the world is one thing, and this they say is the universe and is corporeal.
But Empedocles's opinion is, that the world is one; yet by no means the system of this world must be styled the universe, but that it is a small part of it, and the remainder is inactive matter.
But Empedocles believes that the world is one; however, the system of this world should not be called the universe, as it is only a small part of it, with the rest being inactive matter.
What to Plato seems the truest he thus declares, that there is one world, and that world is the universe; and this he endeavors to evince by three arguments. First, that the world could not be complete and perfect, if it did not within itself include all beings. Secondly, nor could it give the true resemblance of its original and exemplar, if it were not the one only begotten thing. Thirdly, it could not be incorruptible, if there were any being out of its compass to whose power it might be obnoxious. But to Plato it may be thus returned. First, that the world is not complete and perfect, nor doth it contain all things within itself. And if man is a perfect being, yet he doth not encompass all things. Secondly, that there are many exemplars and originals of statues, houses, and pictures. Thirdly, how is the world perfect, if anything beyond it is possible to be moved about it? But the world is not incorruptible, nor can it be so conceived, because it had an original.
What Plato sees as the ultimate truth, he states, is that there is only one world, and that world is the universe; and he tries to prove this with three arguments. First, the world cannot be complete and perfect if it does not include all beings within itself. Second, it cannot truly reflect its original if it is not the one and only thing that is begotten. Third, it cannot be incorruptible if there is any being outside of it that could threaten it. But to Plato, one might respond: First, the world is neither complete nor perfect, and it does not contain all things within itself. Even if humans are perfect beings, they do not encompass everything. Second, there are many originals and examples for statues, houses, and paintings. Third, how can the world be perfect if there is anything beyond it that can move around it? But the world is not incorruptible, nor can it be conceived as such, because it had an origin.
To Metrodorus it seems absurd, that in a large field one only stalk should grow, and in an infinite space one only world exist; and that this universe is infinite is manifest by this, that there is an infinity of causes. Now if this world be finite and the causes producing it infinite, it follows that the worlds likewise be infinite; for where all causes concur, there the effects also must appear, let the causes be what they will, either atoms or elements.
To Metrodorus, it seems ridiculous that only one stalk would grow in a large field and that only one world would exist in an infinite space; and the fact that this universe is infinite is clear because there are endless causes. Now, if this world is finite and the causes that create it are infinite, it follows that there must also be infinite worlds; because where all causes come together, the effects must also appear, regardless of what the causes are, whether they are atoms or elements.
CHAPTER VI. WHENCE DID MEN OBTAIN THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXISTENCE AND ESSENCE OF A DEITY?
The Stoics thus define the essence of a god. It is a spirit intellectual and fiery, which acknowledges no shape, but is continually changed into what it pleases, and assimilates itself to all things. The knowledge of this deity they first received from the pulchritude of those things which so visibly appeared to us; for they concluded that nothing beauteous could casually or fortuitously be formed, but that it was framed from the art of a great understanding that produced the world. That the world is very resplendent is made perspicuous from the figure, the color, the magnitude of it, and likewise from the wonderful variety of those stars which adorn this world. The world is spherical; the orbicular hath the pre-eminence above all other figures, for being round itself it hath its parts like itself. (On this account, according to Plato, the understanding, which is the most sacred part of man, is in the head.) The color of it is most beauteous; for it is painted with blue; which, though little blacker than purple, yet hath such a shining quality, that by reason of the vehement efficacy of its color it cuts through such a space of air; whence it is that at so great a distance the heavens are to be contemplated. And in this very greatness of the world the beauty of it appears. View all things: that which contains the rest carries a beauty with it, as an animal or a tree. Also things which are visible to us accomplish the beauty of the world. The oblique circle called the Zodiac in heaven is with different images painted and distinguished:—
The Stoics define the essence of a god as an intellectual and fiery spirit that takes no fixed shape, constantly changing into whatever it desires and adapting to everything. They first recognized this deity through the beauty of things that are clearly visible to us, concluding that nothing beautiful could just happen by chance; instead, it must be crafted by a great intelligence that created the world. The beauty of the world is evident in its form, color, and size, as well as in the amazing variety of stars that decorate it. The world is spherical; the round shape is superior to all other forms because each part mirrors the whole. (For this reason, according to Plato, the intellect, which is the most sacred part of humanity, is located in the head.) Its color is incredibly beautiful; it’s painted blue, which, while slightly darker than purple, has such a bright quality that its intense color penetrates through a large area of air, allowing us to see the heavens from a great distance. The grandeur of the world highlights its beauty. Observe everything: that which contains all else possesses a beauty of its own, like an animal or a tree. Additionally, the visible things around us contribute to the world's beauty. The slanted circle known as the Zodiac in the sky is adorned with different images and distinctions:—
There's Cancer, Leo, Virgo, and the Claws;
Scorpio, Arcitenens, and Capricorn;
Amphora, Pisces, then the Ram, and Bull;
The lovely pair of Brothers next succeed.
(From Aratus.)
There's Cancer, Leo, Virgo, and the Claws;
Scorpio, Archer, and Capricorn;
Aquarius, Pisces, then the Ram and Bull;
The lovely pair of Brothers come next.
(From Aratus.)There are a thousand others that give us the suitable reflections of the beauty of the world. Thus Euripides:—
There are a thousand others that provide us with the right reflections of the beauty of the world. So says Euripides:—
The starry splendor of the skies,
The beautiful and varied work of that wise
Creator, Time.
The stunning beauty of the night sky,
The amazing and diverse creation of that wise
Creator, Time.From this the knowledge of a god is conveyed to man; that the sun, the moon, and the rest of the stars, being carried under the earth, rise again in their proper color, magnitude, place, and times. Therefore they who by tradition delivered to us the knowledge and veneration of the gods did it by these three manner of ways:—first, from Nature; secondly, from fables; thirdly, from the testimony supplied by the laws of commonwealths. Philosophers taught the natural way; poets, the fabulous; and the political way is to be had from the constitutions of each commonwealth. All sorts of this learning are distinguished into these seven parts. The first is from things that are conspicuous, and the observation of those bodies which are in places superior to us. To men the heavenly bodies that are so visible did give the knowledge of the deity; when they contemplated that they are the causes of so great an harmony, that they regulate day and night, winter and summer, by their rising and setting, and likewise considered those things which by their influences in the earth do receive a being and do likewise fructify. It was manifest to men that the Heaven was the father of those things, and the Earth the mother; that the Heaven was the father is clear, since from the heavens there is the pouring down of waters, which have their spermatic faculty; the Earth the mother, because she receives them and brings forth. Likewise men considering that the stars are running (Greek omitted) in a perpetual motion, that the sun and moon give us the stimulus to view and contemplate (Greek omitted), they call them all gods (Greek omitted).
From this, the knowledge of a god is conveyed to humans; the sun, the moon, and the rest of the stars, being carried under the earth, rise again in their proper color, size, place, and times. Those who passed down the knowledge and reverence of the gods did so in three ways: first, from Nature; second, from stories; and third, from the evidence provided by the laws of societies. Philosophers taught the natural way; poets, the mythical; and the political way comes from the constitutions of each society. All types of this knowledge are divided into seven parts. The first is based on obvious things and the observation of those celestial bodies that are above us. The visible heavenly bodies gave humans the understanding of the divine; as they realized that they are the causes of such great harmony, regulating day and night, winter and summer, by their rising and setting, and also considering how their influences on the earth give rise to life and fertility. It was clear to humans that the Heaven was the father of these things, and the Earth the mother; it is evident that Heaven is the father, since it rains down waters, which have their reproductive power; the Earth is the mother because she receives those waters and brings forth life. Likewise, humans, observing that the stars are in constant motion and that the sun and moon inspire us to see and reflect, referred to them all as gods.
In the second and third place, they thus distinguished the deities into those which are beneficial and those that are injurious to mankind. Those which are beneficial they call Jupiter, Juno, Mercury, Ceres; those who are mischievous the Dirae, Furies, and Mars. These, which threaten dangers and violence, men endeavor to appease and conciliate by sacred rites. The fourth and the fifth order of gods they assign to things and passions; to passions, Love, Venus, and Desire; the deities that preside over things, Hope, Justice, and Eunomia.
In the second and third categories, they categorized the gods into those that are helpful and those that are harmful to humanity. The helpful ones are called Jupiter, Juno, Mercury, and Ceres; the harmful ones include the Dirae, Furies, and Mars. People try to appease and calm these gods, who bring danger and violence, through sacred rituals. The fourth and fifth groups of gods are assigned to emotions and things; for emotions, there are Love, Venus, and Desire; for things, there are Hope, Justice, and Eunomia.
The sixth order of deities are the ones made by the poets; Hesiod, willing to find out a father for those gods that acknowledge an original, invented their progenitors,—
The sixth group of gods are those created by poets; Hesiod, wanting to discover a father for those gods that recognize an origin, made up their ancestors,—
Hyperion, Coeus, and Iapetus,
With Creius:
(Hesiod, "Theogony," 134.)
Hyperion, Coeus, and Iapetus,
With Creius:
(Hesiod, "Theogony," 134.) upon which account this is called the fabulous. The seventh rank of the deities added to the rest are those which, by their beneficence to mankind, were honored with a divine worship, though they were born of mortal race; of this sort were Hercules, Castor and Pollux, and Bacchus. These are reputed to be of a human species; for of all beings that which is divine is most excellent, and man amongst all animals is adorned with the greatest beauty, is also the best, being adorned by virtue above the rest because of the gift of intellect: therefore it was thought that those who were admirable for excellence should resemble that which is the best and most beautiful.
upon which account this is called the fabulous. The seventh category of deities added to the others are those who, because of their kindness to humanity, were celebrated with divine worship, even though they were born human; examples include Hercules, Castor, Pollux, and Bacchus. These are considered to be of human origin; for of all beings, the divine is the most excellent, and humans, among all animals, are blessed with the greatest beauty and are also the best, distinguished by their virtue through the gift of intellect: therefore, it was believed that those who were admirable for their excellence should reflect that which is the best and most beautiful.
CHAPTER VII. WHAT IS GOD?
Some of the philosophers, such as Diagoras the Melian, Theodorus the Cyrenean, and Euemerus the Tegeatan, did deny unanimously that there were any gods; and Callimachus the Cyrenean discovered his mind concerning Euemerus in these Iambic verses, thus writing:—
Some philosophers, like Diagoras from Melos, Theodorus from Cyrene, and Euemerus from Tegea, all agreed that there were no gods. Callimachus from Cyrene expressed his thoughts about Euemerus in these Iambic verses, writing:—
To th' ante-mural temple flock apace,
Where he that long ago composed of brass
Great Jupiter, Thrasonic old bald pate,
Now scribbles impious books,—a boastful ass!
To the temple outside the walls hurry quickly,
Where he who long ago made of brass
Great Jupiter, the old bald guy from Thrace,
Now writes irreverent books—a boastful fool! meaning books which prove there are no gods. Euripides the tragedian durst not openly declare his sentiment; the court of Areopagus terrified him. Yet he sufficiently manifested his thoughts by this method. He presented in his tragedy Sisyphus, the first and great patron of this opinion, and introduced himself as one agreeing with him:—
meaning books that show there are no gods. Euripides the tragedian didn’t dare to openly express his belief; the court of Areopagus frightened him. Still, he made his views clear through this method. He featured in his tragedy Sisyphus, the first and prominent supporter of this idea, and portrayed himself as one who shared that belief:—
Disorder in those days did domineer,
And brutal power kept the world in fear.
Chaos ruled during those times,
And cruel authority left the world in dread.Afterwards by the sanction of laws wickedness was suppressed; but by reason that laws could prohibit only public villanies, yet could not hinder many persons from acting secret impieties, some wise persons gave this advice, that we ought to blind truth with lying disguises, and persuade men that there is a God:—
After that, with the approval of laws, wrongdoing was kept in check; however, because laws could only stop public offenses and couldn't prevent many individuals from committing hidden wrongs, some wise people suggested that we should cover up the truth with lies and convince people that there is a God:—
There's an eternal God does hear and see
And understand every impiety;
Though it in dark recess or thought committed be.
There's an eternal God who hears and sees
And understands every wrongdoing;
Even if it's done in dark places or secret thoughts.But this poetical fable ought to be rejected, he thought, along with Callimachus, who thus saith:—
But this poetic fable should be dismissed, he thought, along with Callimachus, who says:—
If you believe a God, it must be meant
That you conceive this God omnipotent.
If you believe in a God, it has to mean
That you see this God as all-powerful.But God cannot do everything; for, if it were so, then a God could make snow black, and the fire cold, and him that is in a posture of sitting to be upright, and so on the contrary. The brave-speaking Plato pronounceth that God formed the world after his own image; but this smells rank of the old dotages, old comic writers would say; for how did God, casting his eye upon himself, frame this universe? Or how can God be spherical, and be inferior to man?
But God can't do everything; if that were the case, then God could make snow black, fire cold, and someone sitting up stand upright instead, and vice versa. The bold-speaking Plato claims that God created the world in His own image, but this reeks of outdated ideas that old comedians would mock; how could God, looking at Himself, create this universe? And how can God be spherical and still be inferior to man?
Anaxagoras avers that bodies did consist from all eternity, but the divine intellect did reduce them into their proper orders, and effected the origination of all beings. But Plato did not suppose that the primary bodies had their consistence and repose, but that they were moved confusedly and in disorder; but God, knowing that order was better than confusion, did digest them into the best methods. Both these were equally peccant; for both suppose God to be the great moderator of human affairs and for that cause to have formed this present world; when it is apparent that an immortal and blessed being, replenished with all his glorious excellencies, and not at all obnoxious to any sort of evil, but being wholly occupied with his own felicity and immortality, would not employ himself with the concerns of men; for certainly miserable is the being which, like a laborer or artificer, is molested by the troubles and cares which the forming and governing of this world must give him. Add to this, that the God whom these men profess was either not at all existing before this present world (when bodies were either reposed or in a disordered motion), or that at that time God did either sleep, or else was in a constant watchfulness, or that he did neither of these. Now neither the first nor the second can be entertained, because they suppose God to be eternal; if God from eternity was in a continual sleep, he was in an eternal death,—and what is death but an eternal sleep?—but no sleep can affect a deity, for the immortality of God and alliance to death are vastly different. But if God was in a continual vigilance, either there was something wanting to make him happy, or else his beatitude was perfectly complete; but according to neither of these can God be said to be blessed; not according to the first, for if there be any deficiency there is no perfect bliss; not according to the second, for, if there be nothing wanting to the felicity of God, it must be a needless enterprise for him to busy himself in human affairs. And how can it be supposed that God administers by his own providence human concerns, when to vain and trifling persons prosperous things happen, to great and high adverse? Agamemnon was both
Anaxagoras claims that bodies have existed from all eternity, but the divine intellect organized them into their proper orders and brought forth all beings. However, Plato argued that the primary bodies were neither stable nor at rest, but were instead moving chaotically and in disarray; yet God, understanding that order is better than chaos, arranged them in the best possible way. Both of these views are flawed; they both suggest that God is the main controller of human affairs and, for that reason, created this present world. It is clear that an immortal and blessed being, filled with all His glorious qualities and untouched by any kind of evil, would not engage in human concerns; certainly, it would be miserable for a being to be burdened by the troubles and worries that come from creating and governing this world. Additionally, the God that these men depict either did not exist before this present world (when bodies were either at rest or in disordered motion) or that during that time, God was either asleep, constantly watchful, or neither. The first two ideas cannot be accepted, because they imply God is eternal; if God was in a perpetual sleep, He would be in an eternal death—and what is death if not an eternal sleep?—but no sleep can affect a deity, as God's immortality and connection to death are vastly different. If God was in perpetual vigilance, then either something was lacking for His happiness, or His beatitude was completely perfect; but based on neither of these can God be said to be blessed. Not according to the first, because if there is any deficiency, then there can be no perfect bliss; nor according to the second, because if nothing is lacking in God's happiness, He would have no reason to involve Himself in human affairs. And how can it be assumed that God manages human matters by His own providence when trivial and insignificant people achieve prosperity while the great and noble suffer setbacks? Agamemnon was both
A virtuous prince, for warlike acts renowned,
("Iliad," iii. 179.)
A noble prince, famous for his acts of war,
("Iliad," iii. 179.)and by an adulterer and adulteress was vanquished and perfidiously slain. Hercules, after he had freed the life of man from many things that were pernicious to it, perished by the witchcraft and poison of Deianira.
and by an unfaithful man and woman was defeated and treacherously killed. Hercules, after he had saved humanity from many harmful things, died from the sorcery and poison of Deianira.
Thales said that the intelligence of the world was God.
Thales said that the intelligence of the universe was God.
Anaximander concluded that the stars were heavenly deities.
Anaximander concluded that the stars were divine beings.
Democritus said that God, being a globe of fire, is the intelligence and the soul of the world.
Democritus said that God, being a sphere of fire, is the mind and soul of the universe.
Pythagoras says that, of his principles, unity is God; and the good, which is indeed the nature of a unity, is mind itself; but the binary number, which is infinite, is a daemon, and evil,—about which the multitude of material beings and this visible world are related.
Pythagoras says that, among his principles, unity is God; and the good, which is truly the nature of unity, is mind itself; but the binary number, which is infinite, is a spirit and evil—connected to the multitude of material beings and this visible world.
Socrates and Plato agree that God is that which is one, hath its original from its own self, is of a singular subsistence, is one only being perfectly good; all these various names signifying goodness do all centre in mind; hence God is to be understood as that mind and intellect, which is a separate idea, that is to say, pure and unmixed of all matter, and not mingled with anything subject to passions.
Socrates and Plato agree that God is the one being who exists independently, has its origins within itself, is singular in existence, and is perfectly good; all these different names representing goodness come together in the notion of the mind. Therefore, God is understood as that mind and intellect, which is a distinct idea, meaning it is pure and untainted by any matter and not mixed with anything that is affected by emotions.
Aristotle's sentiment is, that God hath his residence in superior regions, and hath placed his throne in the sphere of the universe, and is a separate idea; which sphere is an ethereal body, which is by him styled the fifth essence or quintessence. For there is a division of the universe into spheres, which are contiguous by their nature but appear to reason to be separated; and he concludes that each of the spheres is an animal, composed of a body and soul; the body of them is ethereal, moved orbicularly, the soul is the rational form, which is unmoved, and yet is the cause that the sphere is in motion.
Aristotle believes that God resides in higher realms and has established His throne in the universe's sphere, which is a distinct concept. This sphere is an ethereal body, referred to by him as the fifth essence or quintessence. The universe is divided into spheres that are naturally connected but seem separate to reason. He concludes that each sphere is like an animal, made up of a body and a soul; the body is ethereal and moves in a circular motion, while the soul is the rational form that remains unmoved but is the reason the sphere is in motion.
The Stoics affirm that God is a thing more common and obvious, and is a mechanic fire which every way spreads itself to produce the world; it contains in itself all seminal virtues, and by this means all things by a fatal necessity were produced. This spirit, passing through the whole world, received different names from the mutations in the matter through which it ran in its journey. God therefore is the world, the stars, the earth, and (highest of all) the mind in the heavens. In the judgment of Epicurus all the gods are anthropomorphites, or have the shape of men; but they are perceptible only by reason, for their nature admits of no other manner of being apprehended, their parts being so small and fine that they give no corporeal representations. The same Epicurus asserts that there are four other natural beings which are immortal: of this sort are atoms, the vacuum, the infinite, and the similar parts; and these last are called Homoeomeries and likewise elements.
The Stoics believe that God is something more common and obvious, a mechanical fire that spreads everywhere to create the world; it holds all essential qualities within itself, and because of this, everything was produced out of necessity. This spirit flows through the entire world, gaining different names from the changes in the matter it encounters on its journey. Therefore, God is the world, the stars, the earth, and (most importantly) the mind in the heavens. Epicurus, on the other hand, thinks that all gods are anthropomorphic, or take on human form; however, they can only be understood through reason, as their nature doesn’t allow for any other way to be perceived, their parts being so tiny and fine that they do not provide any physical representations. Epicurus also claims that there are four other natural entities that are immortal: atoms, the vacuum, the infinite, and similar parts; the last of these are called Homoeomeries and also elements.
CHAPTER VIII. OF THOSE THAT ARE CALLED GENIUSES AND HEROES
Having treated of the essence of the deities in a just order, it follows that we discourse of daemons and heroes. Thales, Pythagoras, Plato, and the Stoics do conclude that daemons are essences endowed with souls; that the heroes are the souls separated from their bodies, some are good, some are bad; the good are those whose souls are good, the evil those whose souls are wicked. All this is rejected by Epicurus.
Having discussed the nature of the deities properly, we now turn our attention to daemons and heroes. Thales, Pythagoras, Plato, and the Stoics agree that daemons are beings with souls; that heroes are souls that have separated from their bodies, some being good and others bad; the good being those with virtuous souls, and the evil those with wicked souls. Epicurus dismisses all of this.
CHAPTER IX. OF MATTER.
Matter is that first being which is substrate for generation, corruption, and all other alterations.
The disciples of Thales and Pythagoras, with the Stoics, are of opinion that matter is changeable, mutable, convertible, and sliding through all things.
The followers of Thales and Pythagoras, along with the Stoics, believe that matter is changeable, mutable, convertible, and constantly shifting through everything.
The followers of Democritus aver that the vacuum, the atom, and the incorporeal substance are the first beings, and not obnoxious to passions.
The followers of Democritus claim that the vacuum, the atom, and the immaterial substance are the first entities and not subject to emotions.
Aristotle and Plato affirm that matter is of that species which is corporeal, void of any form, species, figure, and quality, but apt to receive all forms, that she may be the nurse, the mother, and origin of all other beings. But they that do say that water, earth, air, and fire are matter do likewise say that matter cannot be without form, but conclude it is a body; but they that say that individual particles and atoms are matter do say that matter is without form.
Aristotle and Plato agree that matter is a type that is physical, lacking any form, shape, or quality, but capable of taking on all forms so it can be the source, the caregiver, and the origin of all other beings. However, those who argue that water, earth, air, and fire are matter also claim that matter cannot exist without form, and they conclude that it is a body; on the other hand, those who say that individual particles and atoms are matter argue that matter is without form.
CHAPTER X. OF IDEAS.
An idea is a being incorporeal, not subsisting by itself, but gives figure unto shapeless matter, and becomes the cause of its phenomena.
Socrates and Plato conjecture that these ideas are beings separate from matter, subsisting in the understanding and imagination of the deity, that is, of mind.
Socrates and Plato suggest that these ideas exist independently from matter, existing in the understanding and imagination of the divine, or in other words, of the mind.
Aristotle accepted forms and ideas; but he doth not believe them separated from matter, or patterns of the things God has made.
Aristotle accepted forms and ideas, but he doesn’t believe they exist separately from matter or as patterns of the things God has created.
Those Stoics, that are of the school of Zeno, profess that ideas are nothing else but the conceptions of our own mind.
Those Stoics from Zeno's school claim that ideas are just the thoughts created by our own minds.
CHAPTER XI. OF CAUSES.
A cause is that by which anything is produced, or by which anything is effected.
Plato gives this triple division of causes,—the material, the efficient, and the final cause; the principal cause he judges to be the efficient, which is the mind and intellect.
Plato offers this three-part breakdown of causes: the material cause, the efficient cause, and the final cause. He considers the principal cause to be the efficient cause, which is the mind and intellect.
Pythagoras and Aristotle judge the first causes are incorporeal beings, but those that are causes by accident or participation become corporeal substances; by this means the world is corporeal.
Pythagoras and Aristotle believe that the first causes are non-physical entities, but those that are causes by chance or involvement become physical substances; this is how the world is made up of physical matter.
The Stoics grant that all causes are corporeal, inasmuch as they are physical.
The Stoics agree that all causes are physical since they are material.
CHAPTER XII. OF BODIES.
A body is that being which hath these three dimensions, breadth, depth, and length;—or a bulk which makes a sensible resistance;—or whatsoever of its own nature possesseth a place.
A body is something that has three dimensions: width, depth, and length;—or a mass that offers noticeable resistance;—or anything that naturally occupies a space.
Plato saith that it is neither heavy nor light in its own nature, when it exists in its own place; but being in the place where another should be, then it has an inclination by which it tends to gravity or levity.
Plato says that it is neither heavy nor light in its own nature when it is in its proper place; however, when it is in the position where something else should be, it has a tendency that makes it feel heavy or light.
Aristotle saith that, if we simply consider things in their own nature, the earth only is to be judged heavy, and fire light; but air and water are on occasions heavy and at other times light.
Aristotle says that, if we look at things in their natural state, the earth is considered heavy and fire is light; however, air and water can be heavy at times and light at others.
The Stoics think that of the four elements two are light, fire and air; two ponderous, earth and water; that which is naturally light doth by its own nature, not by any inclination, recede from its own centre; but that which is heavy doth by its own nature tend to its centre; for the centre is not a heavy thing in itself.
The Stoics believe that among the four elements, two are light—fire and air—while two are heavy—earth and water. The light elements naturally move away from their center, not because of any outside force, but due to their inherent nature. In contrast, heavy elements naturally move toward their center, because the center itself is not inherently heavy.
Epicurus thinks that bodies are not limited; but the first bodies, which are simple bodies, and all those composed of them, all acknowledge gravity; that all atoms are moved, some perpendicularly, some obliquely; some are carried aloft either by immediate impulse or with vibrations.
Epicurus believes that bodies aren't limited; however, the primary bodies, which are simple bodies, along with everything made from them, all recognize gravity. He claims that all atoms are in motion, some moving straight up and down, and others at angles. Some are lifted either through direct force or by vibrations.
CHAPTER XIII. OF THOSE THINGS THAT ARE LEAST IN NATURE.
Empedocles, before the four elements, introduceth the most minute bodies which resemble elements; but they did exist before the elements, having similar parts and orbicular.
Empedocles, before the four elements, introduces the tiniest bodies that resemble elements; however, they existed before the elements, having similar parts and being spherical.
Heraclitus brings in the smallest fragments, and those indivisible.
Heraclitus presents the tiniest fragments, and those that can't be divided.
CHAPTER XIV. OF FIGURES.
A figure is the exterior appearance, the circumscription, and the boundary of a body.
The Pythagoreans say that the bodies of the four elements are spherical, fire being in the supremest place only excepted, whose figure is conical.
The Pythagoreans claim that the shapes of the four elements are spherical, with fire being the exception, as its shape is conical and occupies the highest position.
CHAPTER XV. OF COLORS.
Color is the visible quality of a body.
The Pythagoreans called color the external appearance of a body. Empedocles, that which is consentaneous to the passages of the eye. Plato, that they are fires emitted from bodies, which have parts harmonious for the sight. Zeno the Stoic, that colors are the first figurations of matter. The Pythagoreans, that colors are of four sorts, white and black, red and pale; and they derive the variety of colors from the mixtures of the elements, and that seen in animals also from the variety of food and the air.
The Pythagoreans referred to color as the outside appearance of an object. Empedocles described it as what corresponds to the pathways of the eye. Plato believed that colors are fires emitted from objects that have harmonious parts for sight. Zeno the Stoic said that colors are the first forms of matter. The Pythagoreans identified four types of colors: white, black, red, and pale. They argued that the variety of colors comes from the mixing of the elements, and that the colors observed in animals are also a result of their diverse diets and the air they breathe.
CHAPTER XVI. OF THE DIVISION OF BODIES.
The disciples of Thales and Pythagoras grant that all bodies are passible and divisible into infinity. Others hold that atoms and indivisible parts are there fixed, and admit not of a division into infinity. Aristotle, that all bodies are potentially but not actually divisible into infinity.
The followers of Thales and Pythagoras believe that all things can be divided endlessly. Others argue that atoms and indivisible parts exist that cannot be divided infinitely. Aristotle states that all things can potentially be divided infinitely, but not actually.
CHAPTER XVII. HOW BODIES ARE MIXED AND CONTEMPERATED ONE WITH ANOTHER.
The ancient philosophers held that the mixture of elements proceeded from the alteration of qualities; but the disciples of Anaxagoras and Democritus say it is done by apposition. Empedocles composes the elements of still minuter bulks, those which are the most minute and may be termed the element of elements. Plato assigns three bodies (but he will not allow these to be elements, nor properly so called), air, fire, and water, which are mutable into one another; but the earth is mutable into none of these.
The ancient philosophers believed that the combination of elements came from changes in qualities; however, the followers of Anaxagoras and Democritus argue that it happens through direct contact. Empedocles combines elements made up of even smaller particles, which he refers to as the element of elements. Plato identifies three substances (though he does not consider them true elements), which are air, fire, and water, and these can transform into each other; however, the earth cannot change into any of these.
CHAPTER XVIII. OF A VACUUM.
All the natural philosophers from Thales to Plato rejected a vacuum. Empedocles says that there is nothing of a vacuity in Nature, nor anything superabundant. Leucippus, Democritus, Demetrius, Metrodorus, Epicurus, that the atoms are in number infinite; and that a vacuum is infinite in magnitude. The Stoics, that within the compass of the world there is no vacuum, but beyond it the vacuum is infinite. Aristotle, that the vacuum beyond the world is so great that the heaven has liberty to breathe into it, for the heaven is fiery.
All the natural philosophers from Thales to Plato dismissed the idea of a vacuum. Empedocles claimed that there’s nothing empty in Nature, nor anything in excess. Leucippus, Democritus, Demetrius, Metrodorus, and Epicurus argued that the number of atoms is infinite and that a vacuum is infinitely large. The Stoics believed that within the confines of the world there is no vacuum, but that beyond it, the vacuum is infinite. Aristotle thought that the vacuum outside the world is so vast that the heavens have the freedom to breathe into it since the heavens are fiery.
CHAPTER XIX. OF PLACE.
Plato, to define place, calls it that thing which in its own bosom receives forms and ideas; by which metaphor he denotes matter, being (as it were) a nurse or receptacle of beings. Aristotle, that it is the ultimate superficies of the circumambient body, contiguous to that which it doth encompass.
Plato, to define place, describes it as the thing that holds forms and ideas; with this metaphor, he refers to matter, which is like a nurse or container for beings. Aristotle says it is the outer surface of the surrounding body, touching that which it encircles.
CHAPTER XX. OF SPACE.
The Stoics and Epicureans make a place, a vacuum, and space to differ. A vacuum is that which is void of anything that may be called a body; place is that which is possessed by a body; a space that which is partly filled with a body, as a cask with wine.
The Stoics and Epicureans create distinctions between a void, a place, and space. A void is something completely empty of any physical substance; a place is occupied by a physical body; and space is something that is partially filled by a physical body, like a cask filled with wine.
CHAPTER XXI. OF TIME.
In the sense of Pythagoras, time is that sphere which encompasses the world. Plato says that it is a movable image of eternity, or the interval of the world's motion.
In the way Pythagoras understood it, time is the sphere that surrounds the world. Plato describes it as a moving reflection of eternity, or the space of the world's movement.
Eratosthenes, that it is the solar motion.
Eratosthenes, it refers to the movement of the sun.
CHAPTER XXII. OF THE SUBSTANCE AND NATURE OF TIME.
Plato says that the heavenly motion is time. Most of the Stoics that motion is time. Most philosophers think that time had no commencement; Plato, that time had only in intelligence a beginning.
Plato suggests that the movement of the heavens is time. Most Stoics agree that motion is time. Most philosophers believe that time has always existed; Plato, however, thinks that time only began in the mind.
CHAPTER XXIII. OF MOTION.
Plato and Pythagoras say that motion is a difference and alteration in matter. Aristotle, that it is the actual operation of that which may be moved. Democritus, that there is but one sort of motion, and it is that which is vibratory. Epicurus, that there are two species of motion, one perpendicular, and the other oblique. Herophilus, that one species of motion is obvious only to reason, the other to sense. Heraclitus utterly denies that there is anything of quiet or repose in nature; for that is the state of the dead; one sort of motion is eternal, which he assigns to beings eternal, the other perishable, to those things which are perishable.
Plato and Pythagoras argue that motion is a change and transformation in matter. Aristotle claims it is the actual functioning of something that can be moved. Democritus states that there is only one type of motion, and that is vibratory. Epicurus suggests that there are two types of motion: one vertical and the other angled. Herophilus believes that one type of motion is understood only through reason, while the other is recognized through the senses. Heraclitus completely rejects the idea that there is anything that is still or at rest in nature, as that is the condition of the dead; he says one type of motion is eternal, which he attributes to eternal beings, and the other is temporary, linked to perishable things.
CHAPTER XXIV. OF GENERATION AND CORRUPTION.
Parmenides Melissus, and Zeno deny that there are any such things as generation and corruption, for they suppose that the universe is unmovable. Empedocles, Epicurus, and other philosophers that combine in this, that the world is framed of small corporeal particles meeting together, affirm that corruption and generation are not so properly to be accepted; but there are conjunctions and separations, which do not consist in any distinction according to their qualities, but are made according to quantity by coalition or disjunction. Pythagoras, and all those who take for granted that matter is subject to mutation, say that generation and corruption are to be accepted in their proper sense, and that they are accomplished by the alteration, mutation, and dissolution of elements.
Parmenides, Melissus, and Zeno argue that generation and corruption don’t exist because they believe the universe is unchanging. Empedocles, Epicurus, and other philosophers who share this view contend that the world is made up of tiny physical particles that come together and separate, and they claim that we shouldn’t consider generation and corruption in a traditional sense; instead, what we have are combinations and separations that don’t rely on different qualities but are based on quantities through joining or separating. Pythagoras and others who assume that matter can change maintain that generation and corruption should be understood in their true sense, occurring through the transformation, mutation, and breakdown of elements.
CHAPTER XXV. OF NECESSITY.
Thales says that necessity is omnipotent, and that it exerciseth an empire over everything. Pythagoras, that the world is invested by necessity. Parmenides and Democritus, that there is nothing in the world but what is necessary, and that this same necessity is otherwise called fate, justice, providence, and the architect of the world.
Thales claims that necessity is all-powerful and rules over everything. Pythagoras believes that the world is surrounded by necessity. Parmenides and Democritus argue that there is nothing in the world except what is necessary, and this necessity is also known as fate, justice, providence, and the creator of the world.
CHAPTER XXVI. OF THE NATURE OF NECESSITY.
But Plato distinguisheth and refers some things to Providence, others to necessity. Empedocles makes the nature of necessity to be that cause which employs principles and elements. Democritus makes it to be a resistance, impulse, and force of matter. Plato sometimes says that necessity is matter; at other times, that it is the habitude or respect of the efficient cause towards matter.
But Plato distinguishes between and attributes some things to Providence and others to necessity. Empedocles sees necessity as the cause that uses principles and elements. Democritus views it as a resistance, impulse, and force of matter. Plato sometimes states that necessity is matter; at other times, that it is the relationship or regard of the efficient cause towards matter.
CHAPTER XXVII. OF DESTINY OR FATE.
Heraclitus, who attributes all things to fate, makes necessity to be the same thing with it. Plato admits of a necessity in the minds and the acts of men, but yet he introduceth a cause which flows from ourselves. The Stoics, in this agreeing with Plato, say that necessity is a cause invincible and violent; that fate is the ordered complication of causes, in which there is an intexture of those things which proceed from our own determination, so that certain things are to be attributed to fate, others not.
Heraclitus, who believes that everything is determined by fate, considers necessity to be the same as fate. Plato acknowledges a necessity in human thoughts and actions, but he also introduces a cause that comes from within us. The Stoics, aligning with Plato, argue that necessity is an unstoppable and forceful cause; that fate is the complex arrangement of causes, which includes those things that result from our own choices, so that some things can be attributed to fate and others cannot.
CHAPTER XXVIII. OF THE NATURE OF FATE.
According to Heraclitus, the essence of fate is a certain reason which penetrates the substance of all being; and this is an ethereal body, containing in itself that seminal faculty which gives an original to every being in the universe. Plato affirms that it is the eternal reason and the eternal law of the nature of the world. Chrysippus, that it is a spiritual faculty, which in due order doth manage and rule the universe. Again, in his book styled the "Definitions," that fate is the reason of the world, or that it is that law whereby Providence rules and administers everything that is in the world; or it is that reason by which all things have been, all things are, and all things will be produced. The Stoics say that it is a chain of causes, that is, it is an order and connection of causes which cannot be resisted. Posidonius, that it is a being the third in degree from Jupiter; the first of beings is Jupiter, the second Nature, and the third Fate.
According to Heraclitus, fate is a certain reason that permeates the essence of all existence; it is an ethereal body that holds the fundamental quality that gives rise to every being in the universe. Plato believes it is the eternal reason and the universal law governing the nature of the world. Chrysippus describes it as a spiritual force that systematically manages and governs the universe. In his book titled "Definitions," he states that fate is the reason behind the world, or the law by which Providence oversees and organizes everything in existence; it is the reason through which all things have come into being, currently exist, and will exist. The Stoics claim it is a chain of causes, meaning it is an order and connection of causes that cannot be resisted. Posidonius argues that fate is the third being after Jupiter; the first being is Jupiter, the second is Nature, and the third is Fate.
CHAPTER XXIX. OF FORTUNE.
Plato says, that it is an accidental cause and a casual consequence in things which proceed from the election and counsel of men. Aristotle, that it is an accidental cause in those things done by an impulse for a certain end; and this cause is uncertain and unstable: there is a great deal of difference betwixt that which flows from chance and that which falls out by Fortune; for that which is fortuitous allows also chance, and belongs to things practical; but what is by chance cannot be also by Fortune, for it belongs to things without action: Fortune, moreover, pertains to rational beings, but chance to rational and irrational beings alike, and even to inanimate things. Epicurus, that it is a cause not always consistent, but various as to persons, times, and manners. Anaxagoras and the Stoics, that it is that cause which human reason cannot comprehend; for there are some things which proceed from necessity, some things from Fate, some from choice and free-will, some from Fortune, some from chance.
Plato suggests that it’s an accidental cause and a casual consequence in things that come from people's choices and decisions. Aristotle argues that it’s an accidental cause in actions done with a specific goal in mind; and this cause is uncertain and unstable. There’s a big difference between what happens by chance and what happens by Fortune; since what is fortuitous can also involve chance and relates to practical matters, but what happens by chance cannot also be attributed to Fortune, as it deals with things that don’t involve action. Furthermore, Fortune relates to rational beings, whereas chance applies to both rational and irrational beings, as well as inanimate objects. Epicurus states that it’s a cause that isn’t always consistent, but varies by person, time, and manner. Anaxagoras and the Stoics assert that it’s a cause that human reason can’t fully grasp; because some things happen out of necessity, some from Fate, some from choice and free will, some from Fortune, and some from chance.
CHAPTER XXX. OF NATURE.
Empedocles affirms that Nature is nothing else but the mixture and separation of the elements; for thus he writes in the first book of his natural philosophy:—
Empedocles states that Nature is just the mixing and separating of the elements; as he writes in the first book of his natural philosophy:—
Nature gives neither life nor death,
Mutation makes us die or breathe.
The elements first are mixed, then each
Do part: this Nature is in mortal speech.
Nature gives neither life nor death,
Change makes us die or breathe.
The elements are first mixed, then each
Plays its part: this Nature speaks of mortality.Anaxagoras is of the same opinion, that Nature is coalition and separation, that is, generation and corruption.
Anaxagoras shares the same view that Nature involves coming together and falling apart, which is to say, creation and destruction.
BOOK II.
Having finished my dissertation concerning principles and elements and those things which chiefly appertain to them, I will turn my pen to discourse of those things which are produced by them, and will take my beginning from the world, which contains and encompasseth all beings.
Having completed my dissertation on principles and elements and the things that mainly relate to them, I will now write about the things that are created by them, starting with the world, which includes and surrounds all beings.
CHAPTER I. OF THE WORLD.
Pythagoras was the first philosopher that called the world [Greek omitted], from the order and beauty of it; for so that word signifies. Thales and his followers say the world is one. Democritus, Epicurus, and their scholar Metrodorus affirm that there are infinite worlds in an infinite space, for that infinite vacuum in its whole extent contains them. Empedocles, that the circle which the sun makes in its motion circumscribes the world, and that circle is the utmost bound of the world. Seleucus, that the world knows no limits. Diogenes, that the universe is infinite, but this world is finite. The Stoics make a difference between that which is called the universe, and that which is called the whole world;—the universe is the infinite space considered with the vacuum, the vacuity being removed gives the right conception of the world; so that the universe and the world are not the same thing.
Pythagoras was the first philosopher to refer to the world as [Greek omitted], highlighting its order and beauty, as that word means. Thales and his followers claim that the world is one. Democritus, Epicurus, and their student Metrodorus assert that there are infinite worlds within infinite space, as that infinite void contains them all. Empedocles states that the circle created by the sun's movement encompasses the world, and that circle is the outer boundary of the world. Seleucus argues that the world has no limits. Diogenes believes that the universe is infinite, but this world is finite. The Stoics distinguish between what is called the universe and what is referred to as the whole world; the universe is the infinite space considered with the vacuum, and removing the emptiness gives a correct understanding of the world; thus, the universe and the world are not the same.
CHAPTER II. OF THE FIGURE OF THE WORLD.
The Stoics say that the figure of the world is spherical, others that it is conical, others oval. Epicurus, that the figure of the world may be globular, or that it may admit of other shapes.
The Stoics claim that the shape of the world is spherical, while others argue it is conical or oval. Epicurus suggests that the world could be globular or take on different shapes.
CHAPTER III. WHETHER THE WORLD BE AN ANIMAL.
Democritus, Epicurus, and those philosophers who introduced atoms and a vacuum, affirm that the world is not an animal, nor governed by any wise Providence, but that it is managed by a nature which is void of reason. All the other philosophers affirm that the world is informed with a soul, and governed by reason and Providence. Aristotle is excepted, who is somewhat different; he is of opinion, that the whole world is not acted by a soul in every part of it, nor hath it any sensitive, rational, or intellectual faculties, nor is it directed by reason and Providence in every part of it; of all which the heavenly bodies are made partakers, for the circumambient spheres are animated and are living beings; but those things which are about the earth are void of those endowments; and though those terrestrial bodies are of an orderly disposition, yet that is casual and not primogenial.
Democritus, Epicurus, and the philosophers who talked about atoms and a vacuum believe that the world isn’t a living being and isn’t run by any wise higher power, but is instead managed by a nature that lacks reason. The other philosophers argue that the world has a soul and is governed by reason and higher power. Aristotle is an exception; he thinks that not every part of the world is animated by a soul, nor does it have sensitive, rational, or intellectual abilities, and it’s not directed by reason and higher power in every part. The heavenly bodies are a different story; they are animated and alive, while the things around the earth lack those qualities. Even though the earthly bodies are organized, that order is random and not inherent.
CHAPTER IV. WHETHER THE WORLD IS ETERNAL AND INCORRUPTIBLE.
Pythagoras [and Plato], agreeing with the Stoics, affirm that the world was framed by God, and being corporeal is obvious to the senses, and in its own nature is obnoxious to destruction; but it shall never perish, it being preserved by the providence of God. Epicurus, that the world had a beginning, and so shall have an end, as plants and animals have. Xenophanes, that the world never had a beginning, is eternal and incorruptible. Aristotle, that the part of the world which is sublunary is subject to change, and there terrestrial beings find a decay.
Pythagoras [and Plato], in agreement with the Stoics, state that the world was created by God, and being physical, is clear to our senses, and naturally susceptible to destruction; however, it will never truly vanish, as it is maintained by the providence of God. Epicurus believes that the world had a beginning and will therefore have an end, like plants and animals. Xenophanes argues that the world has no beginning, is eternal, and cannot be corrupted. Aristotle contends that the part of the world that exists below the moon is subject to change, and in that realm, earthly beings experience decay.
CHAPTER V. WHENCE DOES THE WORLD RECEIVE ITS NUTRIMENT?
Aristotle says that, if the world be nourished, it will likewise be dissolved; but it requires no aliment, and will therefore be eternal. Plato, that this very world prepares for itself a nutriment, by the alteration of those things which are corruptible in it. Philolaus affirms that a destruction happens to the world in two ways; either by fire failing from heaven, or by the sublunary water being poured down through the whirling of the air; and the exhalations proceeding from thence are aliment of the world.
Aristotle states that if the world is nourished, it will eventually break down, but it doesn’t need any food and will, therefore, be eternal. Plato believes that this world creates its own nourishment by changing the things that can decay within it. Philolaus claims that the world can be destroyed in two ways: either by fire falling from the sky or by water from below being poured down through swirling air; and the vapors that result are the world’s sustenance.
CHAPTER VI. FROM WHAT ELEMENT GOD DID BEGIN TO RAISE THE FABRIC OF THE WORLD.
The natural philosophers pronounce that the forming of this world took its original from the earth, it being its centre, for the centre is the principal part of the globe. Pythagoras, from the fire and the fifth element. Empedocles determines, that the first and principal element distinct from the rest was the aether, then fire, after that the earth, which earth being strongly compacted by the force of a potent revolution, water springs from it, the exhalations of which water produce the air; the heaven took its origin from the aether, and fire gave a being to the sun; those things nearest to the earth are condensed from the remainders. Plato, that the visible world was framed after the exemplar of the intellectual world; the soul of the visible world was first produced, then the corporeal figure, first that which proceeded from fire and earth, then that which came from air and water. Pythagoras, that the world was formed of five solid figures which are called mathematical; the earth was produced by the cube, the fire by the pyramid, the air by the octahedron, the water by the icosahedron, and the globe of the universe by the dodecahedron. In all these Plato hath the same sentiments with Pythagoras.
The natural philosophers claim that the formation of this world originated from the earth, which is its center, as the center is the most important part of the globe. Pythagoras believed it came from fire and the fifth element. Empedocles argued that the first and primary element, distinct from the others, was aether, followed by fire, and then earth. Earth, being tightly compacted by the force of a powerful revolution, produces water, the vapors of which create air; heaven originated from aether, and fire brought the sun into existence. The things closest to the earth are formed from its remnants. Plato stated that the visible world was shaped after the model of the intellectual world; the soul of the visible world was created first, followed by the physical form, starting with what came from fire and earth, then what arose from air and water. Pythagoras held that the world was formed from five solid geometric shapes known as mathematical figures: earth was created by the cube, fire by the pyramid, air by the octahedron, water by the icosahedron, and the globe of the universe by the dodecahedron. In all these views, Plato shares the same ideas as Pythagoras.
CHAPTER VII. IN WHAT FORM AND ORDER THE WORLD WAS COMPOSED.
Parmenides maintains that there are small coronets alternately twisted one within another, some made up of a thin, others of a condensed, matter; and there are others between mixed mutually together of light and of darkness, and around them all there is a solid substance, which like a firm wall surrounds these coronets. Leucippus and Democritus cover the world round about, as with a garment and membrane. Epicurus says that that which abounds some worlds is thin, and that which limits others is gross and condensed; and of these spheres some are in motion, others are fixed. Plato, that fire takes the first place in the world, the second the aether, after that the air, under that the water; the last place the earth possesseth: sometimes he puts the aether and the fire in the same place. Aristotle gives the first place to the aether, as that which is impassible, it being a kind of a fifth body after which he placeth those that are passible, fire, air, and water, and last of all the earth. To those bodies that are accounted celestial he assigns a motion that is circular, but to those that are seated under them, if they be light bodies, an ascending, if heavy, a descending motion. Empedocles, that the places of the elements are not always fixed and determined, but they all succeed one another in their respective stations.
Parmenides argues that there are small crowns twisted together, some made of light matter and others made of dense matter. There are also others that mix light and darkness, all surrounded by a solid substance, like a firm wall enclosing these crowns. Leucippus and Democritus cover the world as if with a garment and a membrane. Epicurus states that what fills some worlds is thin, while what confines others is dense and heavy; some of these spheres are in motion while others are stationary. Plato claims that fire is the most important element in the world, followed by aether, then air, then water, with earth being the last; sometimes he places aether and fire in the same category. Aristotle gives the top position to aether, which he describes as unchangeable, a kind of fifth element, followed by changeable elements: fire, air, water, and finally earth. He assigns circular motion to celestial bodies, while those beneath them have different motions: light bodies move upwards and heavy bodies move downwards. Empedocles notes that the positions of the elements are not always fixed and defined, but they succeed each other in their respective places.
CHAPTER VIII. WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF THE WORLD'S INCLINATION.
Diogenes and Anaxagoras state that, after the world was composed and had produced living creatures, the world out of its own propensity made an inclination toward the south. Perhaps this may be attributed to a wise Providence (they affirm), that thereby some parts of the world may be habitable, others uninhabitable, according as the various climates are affected with a rigorous cold, or a scorching heat, or a just temperament of cold and heat. Empedocles, that the air yielding to the impetuous force of the solar rays, the poles received an inclination; whereby the northern parts were exalted and the southern depressed, by which means the whole world received its inclination.
Diogenes and Anaxagoras say that once the world was formed and created living beings, it naturally leaned towards the south. They suggest that this might be due to a wise Providence, allowing some areas of the world to be livable while others are not, depending on how different climates experience extreme cold, intense heat, or a balanced mix of both. Empedocles adds that the air, responding to the powerful force of the sun's rays, caused the poles to tilt; as a result, the northern regions were raised while the southern ones sank, leading to the world's overall tilt.
CHAPTER IX. OF THAT THING WHICH IS BEYOND THE WORLD, AND WHETHER IT BE A VACUUM OR NOT.
Pythagoras and his followers say that beyond the world there is a vacuum, into which and out of which the world hath its respiration. The Stoics, that there is a vacuum into which infinite space by a conflagration shall be dissolved. Posidonius, not an infinite vacuum, but as much as suffices for the dissolution of the world; and this he asserts in his first book concerning the Vacuum. Aristotle affirms, that a vacuum does not exist. Plato concludes that neither within nor without the world there is any vacuum.
Pythagoras and his followers claim that beyond the world, there is a vacuum from which the world breathes in and out. The Stoics believe that there is a vacuum into which infinite space will be dissolved by fire. Posidonius argues that it’s not an infinite vacuum, but just enough space for the world to dissolve; he explains this in his first book about the Vacuum. Aristotle states that a vacuum doesn’t exist. Plato concludes that there is no vacuum, either inside or outside the world.
CHAPTER X. WHAT PARTS OF THE WORLD ARE ON THE RIGHT HAND, AND WHAT ON THE LEFT.
Pythagoras, Plato, and Aristotle declare that the eastern parts of the world, from whence motion commences, are of the right, those of the western are of the left hand of the world. Empedocles, that those that are of the right hand face the summer solstice, those of the left the winter solstice.
Pythagoras, Plato, and Aristotle state that the eastern regions of the world, where motion begins, are on the right, while the western regions are on the left. Empedocles adds that the right side faces the summer solstice, and the left side faces the winter solstice.
CHAPTER XI. OF HEAVEN, WHAT IS ITS NATURE AND ESSENCE.
Anaximenes affirms that the circumference of heaven makes the limit of the earth's revolution. Empedocles, that the heaven is a solid substance, and hath the form and hardness of crystal, it being composed of the air compacted by fire, and that in both hemispheres it invests the elements of air and fire. Aristotle, that it is formed by the fifth body, and by the mixture of extreme heat and cold.
Anaximenes claims that the edge of the sky sets the boundary for the earth's rotation. Empedocles believes that the sky is a solid material, with the shape and hardness of crystal, made from air compressed by fire, which surrounds the elements of air and fire in both halves of the world. Aristotle suggests that it is created by a fifth element, resulting from a mix of extreme heat and cold.
CHAPTER XII. INTO HOW MANY CIRCLES IS THE HEAVEN DISTINGUISHED; OR, OF THE DIVISION OF HEAVEN.
Thales, Pythagoras, and the followers of Pythagoras do distribute the universal globe of heaven into five circles, which they denominate zones; one of which is called the arctic circle, which is always conspicuous to us, another is the summer tropic, another is the solstice, another is the winter tropic, another is the antarctic circle, which is always out of sight. The circle called the zodiac is placed under the three that are in the midst, and is oblique, gently touching them all. Likewise, they are all divided in right angles by the meridian, which goes from pole to pole. It is supposed that Pythagoras made the first discovery of the obliquity of the zodiac, but one Oenopides of Chios challenges to himself the invention of it.
Thales, Pythagoras, and Pythagorean followers divide the entire sky into five circles, which they call zones. One is the Arctic Circle, which is always visible to us, another is the summer tropic, another is the solstice, another is the winter tropic, and the last is the Antarctic Circle, which is always out of view. The circle known as the zodiac is positioned below the three in the middle and is tilted, gently touching all of them. Similarly, they are all divided at right angles by the meridian, which runs from pole to pole. It’s believed that Pythagoras was the first to discover the tilt of the zodiac, but a man named Oenopides from Chios claims to have invented it.
CHAPTER XIII. WHAT IS THE ESSENCE OF THE STARS, AND HOW THEY ARE COMPOSED.
Thales affirms that they are globes of earth set on fire. Empedocles, that they are fiery bodies arising from that fire which the aether embraced within itself, and did shatter in pieces when the elements were first separated one from another. Anaxagoras, that the circumambient aether is of a fiery substance, which, by a vehement force in its whirling about, did tear stones from the earth, and by its own power set them on fire, and establish them as stars in the heavens. Diogenes thinks they resemble pumice stones, and that they are the breathings of the world; again he supposeth that there are some invisible stones, which fall sometimes from heaven upon the earth, and are there quenched; as it happened at Aegos-potami, where a stony star resembling fire did fall. Empedocles, that the fixed stars fastened to the crystal, but the planets are loosened. Plato, that the stars for the most part are of a fiery nature, but they are made partakers of another element, with they are mixed after the resemblance of glue. Zenophanes, that they are composed of inflamed clouds, which in the daytime are quenched, and in the night are kindled again. The like we see in coals; for the rising and setting of the stars is nothing else but the quenching and kindling of them. Heraclitus and the Pythagoreans, that every star is a world in an infinite aether, and encompasseth air, earth, and aether; this opinion is current among the disciples of Orpheus, for they suppose that each of the stars does make a world. Epicurus condemns none of these opinions, for he embraces anything that is possible.
Thales believes that stars are like glowing spheres of earth. Empedocles argues that they are fiery bodies emerging from the fire that the aether contained within itself, which broke apart when the elements were first separated. Anaxagoras claims that the surrounding aether is made of fiery substance, which, due to its intense swirling motion, ripped stones away from the earth and ignited them, placing them as stars in the sky. Diogenes thinks they look like pumice stones and are the breath of the world; he also suggests that there are invisible stones that occasionally fall from heaven to earth and are extinguished there, like the event at Aegospotami, where a stone-like star that looked like fire fell. Empedocles says that the fixed stars are attached to the crystal, while the planets are free-floating. Plato believes that most stars are fiery in nature but have a mixture of another element, combining them like glue. Zenophanes suggests they are made of burning clouds, which are extinguished during the day and reignited at night. This is similar to how coal behaves; the rise and set of the stars is simply their being extinguished and reignited. Heraclitus and the Pythagoreans think that each star is its own world in infinite aether, surrounded by air, earth, and aether; this idea is shared by the followers of Orpheus, who believe each star creates its own world. Epicurus doesn't dismiss any of these views, as he accepts anything that seems possible.
CHAPTER XIV. OF WHAT FIGURE THE STARS ARE.
The Stoics say that the stars are of a circular form, like as the sun, the moon, and the world. Cleanthes, that they are of a conical figure. Anaximenes, that they are fastened as nails in the crystalline firmament; some others, that they are fiery plates of gold, resembling pictures.
The Stoics claim that the stars are circular, similar to the sun, the moon, and the Earth. Cleanthes argues that they have a conical shape. Anaximenes believes they are pinned like nails in the clear sky; while others say they are fiery discs of gold that look like images.
CHAPTER XV. OF THE ORDER AND PLACE OF THE STARS.
Xenocrates says that the stars are moved in one and the same superficies. The other Stoics say that they are moved in various superficies, some being superior, others inferior. Democritus, that the fixed stars are in the highest place; after those the planets; after these the sun, Venus, and the moon, in order. Plato, that the first after the fixed stars that makes its appearance is Phaenon, the star of Saturn; the second Phaeton, the star of Jupiter; the third the fiery, which is the star of Mars; the fourth the morning star, which is the star of Venus; the fifth the shining star, and that is the star of Mercury; in the sixth place is the sun, in the seventh the moon. Plato and some of the mathematicians conspire in the same opinion; others place the sun as the centre of the planets. Anaximander, Metrodorus of Chios, and Crates assign to the sun the superior place, after him the moon, after them the fixed stars and planets.
Xenocrates claims that the stars are moved on a single plane. The other Stoics argue that they are moved on different planes, with some being higher and others lower. Democritus suggests that the fixed stars are the highest, then the planets, followed by the sun, Venus, and the moon, in that order. Plato states that the first star to appear after the fixed stars is Phaenon, the star of Saturn; the second is Phaeton, the star of Jupiter; the third is the fiery star of Mars; the fourth is the morning star, which is Venus; the fifth is the shining star of Mercury; sixth is the sun; and seventh is the moon. Plato and some mathematicians share the same view, while others place the sun at the center of the planets. Anaximander, Metrodorus of Chios, and Crates assign the highest position to the sun, followed by the moon, and then the fixed stars and planets.
CHAPTER XVI. OF THE MOTION AND CIRCULATION OF THE STARS.
Anaxagoras, Democritus, and Cleanthes say that all the stars have their motion from east to west. Alcmaeon and the mathematicians, that the planets have a contrary motion to the fixed stars, and in opposition to them are carried from the west to the east. Anaximander, that they are carried by those circles and spheres on which they are placed. Anaximenes, that they are turned under and about the earth. Plato and the mathematicians, that the sun, Venus, and Mercury hold equal measures in their motions.
Anaxagoras, Democritus, and Cleanthes believe that all the stars move from east to west. Alcmaeon and the mathematicians argue that the planets move in the opposite direction to the fixed stars, moving from west to east. Anaximander thinks they are moved by the circles and spheres they are positioned on. Anaximenes claims they rotate under and around the earth. Plato and the mathematicians say that the sun, Venus, and Mercury have equal rates in their movements.
CHAPTER XVII. WHENCE DO THE STARS RECEIVE THEIR LIGHT?
Metrodorus says that all the fixed stars derive their light from the sun. Heraclitus and the Stoics, that earthly exhalations are those by which the stars are nourished. Aristotle, that the heavenly bodies require no nutriment, for they being eternal cannot be obnoxious to corruption. Plato and the Stoics, that the whole world and the stars are fed by the same things.
Metrodorus claims that all the fixed stars get their light from the sun. Heraclitus and the Stoics believe that earthly vapors are what nourish the stars. Aristotle argues that the heavenly bodies don't need any nourishment, as they are eternal and can't be subject to decay. Plato and the Stoics state that the entire world and the stars are sustained by the same elements.
CHAPTER XVIII. WHAT ARE THOSE STARS WHICH ARE CALLED THE DIOSCURI, THE TWINS, OR CASTOR AND POLLUX?
Xenophanes says that those which appear as stars in the tops of ships are little clouds brilliant by their peculiar motion. Metrodorus, that the eyes of frighted and astonished people emit those lights which are called the Twins.
Xenophanes says that what looks like stars at the tops of ships are actually tiny clouds that shine because of their unique movement. Metrodorus claims that the eyes of terrified and amazed people give off the lights known as the Twins.
CHAPTER XIX. HOW STARS PROGNOSTICATE, AND WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF WINTER AND SUMMER.
Plato says that the summer and winter indications proceed from the rising and setting of the stars, that is, from the rising and setting of the sun, the moon, and the fixed stars. Anaximenes, that the rest in this are not at all concerned, but that it is wholly performed by the sun. Eudoxus and Aratus assign it in common to all the stars, for thus Aratus says:—
Plato mentions that the signs of summer and winter come from the rising and setting of the stars, which means the rising and setting of the sun, the moon, and the fixed stars. Anaximenes believes that the others don't play a role in this at all, and that it's entirely due to the sun. Eudoxus and Aratus attribute it to all the stars together, as Aratus states:—
Thund'ring Jove stars in heaven hath fixed,
And them in such beauteous order mixed,
Which yearly future things predict.
Thunderous Jupiter has placed stars in the sky,
And arranged them in such beautiful order,
Which predict future events each year.CHAPTER XX. OF THE ESSENCE OF THE SUN.
Anaximander says, that the sun is a circle eight and twenty times bigger than the earth, and has a circumference very much like that of a chariot-wheel, which is hollow and full of fire; the fire of which appears to us through its mouth, as by an aperture in a pipe; and this is the sun. Xenophanes, that the sun is constituted of small bodies of fire compacted together and raised from a moist exhalation, which condensed make the body of the sun; or that it is a cloud enfired. The Stoics, that it is an intelligent flame proceeding from the sea. Plato, that it is composed of abundance of fire. Anaxagoras, Democritus, and Metrodorus, that it is an enfired stone, or a burning body. Aristotle, that it is a sphere formed out of the fifth body. Philolaus the Pythagorean, that the sun shines as crystal, which receives its splendor from the fire of the world and so reflecteth its light upon us; so that first, the body of fire which is celestial is in the sun; and secondly, the fiery reflection that comes from it, in the form of a mirror; and lastly, the rays spread upon us by way of reflection from that mirror; and this last we call the sun, which is (as it were) an image of an image. Empedocles, that there are two suns; the one the prototype, which is a fire placed in the other hemisphere, which it totally fills, and is always ordered in a direct opposition to the reflection of its own light; and the sun which is visible to us, formed by the reflection of that splendor in the other hemisphere (which is filled with air mixed with heat), the light reflected from the circular sun in the opposite hemisphere falling upon the crystalline sun; and this reflection is borne round with the motion of the fiery sun. To give briefly the full sense, the sun is nothing else but the light and brightness of that fire which encompasseth the earth. Epicurus, that it is an earthy bulk well compacted, with ores like a pumice-stone or a sponge, kindled by fire.
Anaximander says that the sun is a circle 28 times bigger than the earth and has a circumference similar to that of a chariot wheel, which is hollow and filled with fire; the fire appears to us through its opening, like an aperture in a pipe, and this is the sun. Xenophanes claims that the sun is made up of small bodies of fire compacted together and raised from a moist vapor, which condenses to form the body of the sun; or that it is a cloud on fire. The Stoics believe it is an intelligent flame coming from the sea. Plato holds that it is made of an abundance of fire. Anaxagoras, Democritus, and Metrodorus think it is an ignited stone or a burning object. Aristotle states that it is a sphere made of the fifth element. Philolaus the Pythagorean believes that the sun shines like crystal, receiving its brilliance from the world's fire and reflecting that light upon us; thus, first, the celestial body of fire exists in the sun; secondly, the fiery reflection comes from it in the form of a mirror; and lastly, the rays spread over us as reflections from that mirror; what we call the sun is, in a way, an image of an image. Empedocles argues that there are two suns: one is the prototype, a fire in the other hemisphere that fills it completely and is always positioned directly opposite to the reflection of its own light; and the sun we see, formed by the reflection of that brightness in the other hemisphere (which is filled with air mixed with heat), with the light reflected from the circular sun in the opposite hemisphere falling on the crystalline sun; this reflection moves along with the fiery sun. To summarize the overall understanding, the sun is simply the light and brightness of that fire surrounding the earth. Epicurus suggests that it is a solid mass made of earth, resembling pumice stone or sponge, ignited by fire.
CHAPTER XXI. OF THE MAGNITUDE OF THE SUN.
Anaximander says, that the sun itself in greatness is equal to the earth, but that the circle from whence it receives its respiration and in which it is moved is seven and twenty times larger than the earth. Anaxagoras, that it is far greater than Peloponnesus. Heraclitus, that it is no broader than a man's foot. Epicurus, that he equally embraceth all the foresaid opinions,—that the sun may be of magnitude as it appears, or it may be somewhat greater or somewhat less.
Anaximander says that the sun is as large as the earth, but the circle it moves in and gets its energy from is twenty-seven times larger than the earth. Anaxagoras claims it’s much bigger than the Peloponnesus. Heraclitus argues it’s no wider than a man's foot. Epicurus states that he accepts all these views—that the sun could be as big as it seems, or it might be a little bigger or smaller.
CHAPTER XXII. WHAT IS THE FIGURE OR SHAPE OF THE SUN.
Anaximenes affirms that in its dilatation it resembles a leaf. Heraclitus, that it hath the shape of a boat, and is somewhat crooked. The Stoics, that it is spherical, and it is of the same figure with the world and the stars. Epicurus, that the recited dogmas may be defended.
Anaximenes claims that in its expansion it looks like a leaf. Heraclitus says it has the shape of a boat and is a bit crooked. The Stoics believe it is spherical and has the same shape as the world and the stars. Epicurus states that the discussed beliefs can be justified.
CHAPTER XXIII. OF THE TURNING AND RETURNING OF THE STARS, OR THE SUMMER AND WINTER SOLSTICE.
Anaximenes believes that the stars are forced by a condensed and resisting air. Anaxagoras, by the repelling force of the northern air, which is violently pushed on by the sun, and thus rendered more condensed and powerful. Empedocles, that the sun is hindered from a continual direct course by its spherical vehicle and by the two circular tropics. Diogenes, that the sun, when it comes to its utmost declination, is extinguished, a rigorous cold damping the heat. The Stoics, that the sun maintains its course only through that space in which its sustenance is seated, let it be the ocean or the earth; by the exhalations proceeding from these it is nourished. Plato, Pythagoras, and Aristotle, that the sun receives a transverse motion from the obliquity of the zodiac, which is guarded by the tropics; all these the globe clearly manifests.
Anaximenes thinks that the stars are pushed along by dense, resistant air. Anaxagoras believes it's the repelling force of the northern air, which the sun drives hard, making it denser and more powerful. Empedocles argues that the sun is prevented from moving in a straight line by its round vehicle and by the two circular tropics. Diogenes claims that when the sun reaches its lowest point, it goes out because extreme cold suppresses its heat. The Stoics say the sun can only travel through the area where it gets its sustenance, whether that’s from the ocean or the earth; it’s fed by the gases coming from these sources. Plato, Pythagoras, and Aristotle think the sun gets a sideways motion from the tilt of the zodiac, which is protected by the tropics; all of these ideas are clearly shown by the globe.
CHAPTER XXIV. OF THE ECLIPSE OF THE SUN.
Thales was the first who affirmed that the eclipse of the sun was caused by the moon's running in a perpendicular line between it and the world; for the moon in its own nature is terrestrial. And by mirrors it is made perspicuous that, when the sun is eclipsed, the moon is in a direct line below it. Anaximander, that the sun is eclipsed when the fiery mouth of it is stopped and hindered from respiration. Heraclitus, that it is after the manner of the turning of a boat, when the concave seems uppermost to our sight, and the convex nethermost. Xenophanes, that the sun is eclipsed when it is extinguished; and that a new sun is created and rises in the east. He gives a farther account of an eclipse of the sun which remained for a whole month, and again of an eclipse which changed the day into night. Some declare that the cause of an eclipse is the invisible concourse of condensed clouds which cover the orb of the sun. Aristarchus placeth the sun amongst the fixed stars, and believeth that the earth [the moon?] is moved about the sun, and that by its inclination and vergency it intercepts its light and shadows its orb. Xenophanes, that there are many suns and many moons, according as the earth is distinguished by climates, circles, and zones. At some certain times the orb of the sun, falling upon some part of the world which is untenanted, wanders in a vacuum and becomes eclipsed. The same person affirms that the sun proceeding in its motion in the infinite space, appears to us to move orbicularly, taking that representation from its infinite distance from us.
Thales was the first to claim that a solar eclipse happens when the moon moves directly between the sun and the Earth; he believed that the moon is of a terrestrial nature. Mirrors show that during a solar eclipse, the moon is directly beneath it. Anaximander suggested that a solar eclipse occurs when the sun’s fiery surface is obstructed and prevented from breathing. Heraclitus explained it like how a boat turns, where the concave side seems to be on top while the convex side is underneath. Xenophanes believed that the sun is eclipsed when it goes out, and then a new sun is created and rises in the east. He also described an eclipse that lasted an entire month and another that turned day into night. Some people say that an eclipse is caused by unseen, thick clouds covering the sun's surface. Aristarchus placed the sun among the fixed stars and thought that the Earth (or perhaps the moon) orbits the sun, and its tilt and angle block the light, creating shadows. Xenophanes stated that there are many suns and moons, depending on the differences in climates, circles, and zones on Earth. At certain times, the sun's orb, shining on uninhabited parts of the world, wanders in a vacuum and becomes eclipsed. This same person claimed that as the sun moves through infinite space, it appears to us to move in a circular way due to its vast distance from us.
CHAPTER XXV. OF THE ESSENCE OF THE MOON.
Anaximander affirms that the circle of the moon is nineteen times bigger than the earth, and resembles the sun, its orb being full of fire; and it suffers an eclipse when the wheel makes a revolution,—which he describes by the divers turnings of a chariot-wheel, in the midst of it there being a hollow nave replenished with fire, which hath but one way of expiration. Xenophanes, that it is a condensed cloud. The Stoics, that it is mixed of fire and air. Plato, that it is a body of the greatest part fiery. Anaxagoras and Democritus, that it is a solid, condensed, and fiery body, in which there are flat countries, mountains, and valleys. Heraclitus, that it is an earth covered with a bright cloud. Pythagoras, that the body of the moon was of a nature resembling a mirror.
Anaximander claims that the moon is nineteen times larger than the earth and is similar to the sun, with its surface being filled with fire. It experiences an eclipse when it goes through a cycle, which he explains using the various movements of a chariot wheel, describing a hollow center filled with fire that has only one opening to release it. Xenophanes suggests it's a thick cloud. The Stoics believe it's made of a mix of fire and air. Plato thinks it's mostly a fiery body. Anaxagoras and Democritus say it's a solid, dense, and fiery object that has flat lands, mountains, and valleys. Heraclitus describes it as an earth covered with a bright cloud. Pythagoras states that the moon's surface is like a mirror.
CHAPTER XXVI. OF THE SIZE OF THE MOON.
The Stoics declare, that in magnitude it exceeds the earth, just as the sun itself doth. Parmenides, that it is equal to the sun, from whom it receives its light.
The Stoics say that in size, it surpasses the earth, just like the sun does. Parmenides claims that it is equal to the sun, from which it gets its light.
CHAPTER XXVII. OF THE FIGURE OF THE MOON.
The Stoics believe that it is of the same figure with the sun, spherical. Empedocles, that the figure of it resembles a quoit. Heraclitus, a boat. Others, a cylinder.
The Stoics believe it has the same shape as the sun, which is spherical. Empedocles thinks it looks like a disk. Heraclitus sees it as a boat. Others consider it a cylinder.
CHAPTER XXVIII. FROM WHENCE IS IT THAT THE MOON RECEIVES HER LIGHT?
Anaximander thinks that she gives light to herself, but it is very slender and faint. Antiphon, that the moon shines by its own proper light; but when it absconds itself, the solar beams darting on it obscure it. Thus it naturally happens, that a more vehement light puts out a weaker; the same is seen in other stars. Thales and his followers, that the moon borrows all her light of the sun. Heraclitus, that the sun and moon are after the same manner affected; in their configurations both are shaped like boats, and are made conspicuous to us by receiving their light from moist exhalations. The sun appears to us more refulgent, by reason it is moved in a clearer and purer air; the moon appears more duskish, it being carried in an air more troubled and gross.
Anaximander believes that the moon gives off its own light, but it’s very dim and weak. Antiphon thinks that the moon shines with its own proper light, but when it hides itself, the sunlight hitting it makes it look dark. This naturally happens because a stronger light can overpower a weaker one, as we see with other stars. Thales and his followers believe that the moon gets all its light from the sun. Heraclitus says that the sun and moon are similarly affected; both are shaped like boats and are visible to us by reflecting light from moist vapors. The sun appears brighter to us because it’s in clearer and purer air, while the moon looks dimmer because it’s in a thicker and more turbulent atmosphere.
CHAPTER XXIX. OF THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON.
Anaximenes believes that the mouth of the wheel, about which the moon is turned, being stopped is the cause of an eclipse. Berasus, that it proceeds from the turning of the dark side of the lunar orb towards us. Heraclitus, that it is performed just after the manner of a boat turned upside downwards. Some of the Pythagoreans say, that the splendor arises from the earth, its obstruction from the Antichthon (or counter-earth). Some of the later philosophers, that there is such a distribution of the lunar flame, that it gradually and in a just order burns until it be full moon; in like manner, that this fire decays by degrees, until its conjunction with the sun totally extinguisheth it. Plato, Aristotle, the Stoics, and all the mathematicians agree, that the obscurity with which the moon is every month affected ariseth from a conjunction with the sun, by whose more resplendent beams she is darkened; and the moon is then eclipsed when she falls upon the shadow of the earth, the earth interposing between the sun and moon, or (to speak more properly) the earth intercepting the light of the moon.
Anaximenes thinks that the mouth of the wheel, around which the moon revolves, being blocked is what causes an eclipse. Berasus believes it happens because the dark side of the moon turns towards us. Heraclitus argues that it's similar to a boat being flipped upside down. Some of the Pythagoreans state that the brightness comes from the earth, while its blockage is due to the Antichthon (or counter-earth). Later philosophers suggest that the lunar flame is distributed in such a way that it gradually burns until it's a full moon; similarly, this fire dims gradually until its alignment with the sun completely extinguishes it. Plato, Aristotle, the Stoics, and all mathematicians agree that the shadow that the moon experiences every month is caused by its conjunction with the sun, whose brighter rays cause the moon to darken. The moon is eclipsed when it moves into the earth's shadow, with the earth blocking the light from the sun to the moon, or more accurately, preventing the moon from getting sunlight.
CHAPTER XXX. OF THE PHASES OF THE MOON, OR THE LUNAR ASPECTS; OR HOW IT COMES TO PASS THAT THE MOON APPEARS TO US TERRESTRIAL.
The Pythagoreans say, that the moon appears to us terraneous, by reason it is inhabited as our earth is, and in it there are animals of a larger size and plants of a rarer beauty than our globe affords; that the animals in their virtue and energy are fifteen degrees superior to ours; that they emit nothing excrementitious; and that the days are fifteen times longer. Anaxagoras, that the reason of the inequality ariseth from the commixture of things earthy and cold; and that fiery and caliginous matter is jumbled together, whereby the moon is said to be a star of a counterfeit aspect. The Stoics, that on account of the diversity of her substance the composition of her body is subject to corruption.
The Pythagoreans say that the moon seems like our Earth because it is also inhabited, and it has animals that are larger and plants that are more beautiful than those found on our planet. They claim that these animals are fifteen times more virtuous and energetic than ours, that they produce no waste, and that the days are fifteen times longer. Anaxagoras argues that this inequality comes from a mixture of earthy and cold elements, along with fiery and dark matter, which gives the moon its misleading appearance as a star. The Stoics believe that the diversity of its materials means that the composition of the moon's body can decay.
CHAPTER XXXI. HOW FAR THE MOON IS REMOVED FROM THE SUN.
Empedocles declares, that the distance of the moon from the sun is double her remoteness from the earth. The mathematicians, that her distance from the sun is eighteen times her distance from the earth. Eratosthenes, that the sun is remote from the earth seven hundred and eighteen thousand furlongs.
Empedocles states that the distance of the moon from the sun is twice her distance from the earth. The mathematicians say that her distance from the sun is eighteen times her distance from the earth. Eratosthenes claims that the sun is seven hundred eighteen thousand furlongs away from the earth.
CHAPTER XXXII. OF THE YEAR, AND HOW MANY CIRCULATIONS MAKE UP THE GREAT YEAR OF EVERY PLANET.
The year of Saturn is completed when he has had his circulation in the space of thirty solar years; of Jupiter in twelve; of Mars in two, of the sun in twelve months; in so many Mercury and Venus, the spaces of their circulation being equal; of the moon in thirty days, in which time her course from her prime to her conjunction is finished. As to the great year, some make it to consist of eight years solar, some of nineteen, others of fifty-nine. Heraclitus, of eighteen thousand. Diogenes, of three hundred and sixty-five such years as Heraclitus assigns. Others there are who lengthen it to seven thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven years.
The year of Saturn is completed when he has completed his cycle in thirty solar years; for Jupiter, it's twelve; for Mars, it's two; for the sun, it’s twelve months; Mercury and Venus have the same cycle duration; and for the moon, it takes thirty days, during which her journey from her peak to her conjunction is done. Regarding the great year, some say it consists of eight solar years, others say nineteen, while some claim fifty-nine. Heraclitus believed it was eighteen thousand. Diogenes thought it was three hundred sixty-five years, similar to what Heraclitus mentioned. There are also those who extend it to seven thousand seven hundred seventy-seven years.
BOOK III.
In my two precedent treatises having in due order taken a compendious view and given an account of the celestial bodies, and of the moon which stands between them and the terrestrial, I must now convert my pen to discourse in this third book of Meteors, which are beings above the earth and below the moon, and are extended to the site and situation of the earth, which is supposed to be the centre of the sphere of this world; and from thence will I take my beginning.
In my previous two writings, which have properly provided a brief overview and explanation of the celestial bodies, as well as the moon that lies between them and the Earth, I will now shift my focus in this third book about Meteors. These are entities above the Earth and below the moon, and they relate to the position and situation of the Earth, which is thought to be the center of this world’s sphere; this will be my starting point.
CHAPTER I. OF THE GALAXY, OR THE MILKY WAY.
It is a cloudy circle, which continually appears in the air, and by reason of the whiteness of its colors is called the galaxy, or the milky way. Some of the Pythagoreans say that, when Phaeton set the world on fire, a star falling from its own place in its circular passage through the region caused an inflammation. Others say that originally it was the first course of the sun; others, that it is an image as in a looking-glass, occasioned by the sun's reflecting its beams towards the heavens, and this appears in the clouds and in the rainbow. Metrodorus, that it is merely the solar course, or the motion of the sun in its own circle. Parmenides, that the mixture of a thick and thin substance gives it a color which resembles milk. Anaxagoras, that the sun moving under the earth and not being able to enlighten every place, the shadow of the earth, being cast upon the part of the heavens, makes the galaxy. Democritus, that it is the splendor which ariseth from the coalition of many small bodies, which, being firmly united amongst themselves, do mutually enlighten one another. Aristotle, that it is the inflammation of dry, copious, and coherent vapor, by which the fiery mane, whose seat is beneath the aether and the planets, is produced. Posidonius, that it is a combination of fire, of finer substance than the stars, but denser than light.
It’s a cloudy circle that constantly appears in the sky, and because of its white colors, it’s called the galaxy or the Milky Way. Some of the Pythagoreans say that when Phaeton set the world on fire, a star falling from its path in its circular motion through the area caused an inflammation. Others say it was originally the first path of the sun; some believe it’s a reflection, like in a mirror, caused by the sun’s rays hitting the heavens, which can be seen in the clouds and in rainbows. Metrodorus claims it’s just the solar path or the movement of the sun in its orbit. Parmenides argues that the mix of thick and thin substances gives it a color that looks like milk. Anaxagoras suggests that since the sun moves beneath the earth and can’t light up everywhere, the shadow of the earth cast on part of the sky creates the galaxy. Democritus posits that it’s the brightness that comes from the gathering of many small bodies that, when tightly united, illuminate each other. Aristotle believes it’s the glow from dry, abundant, and cohesive vapor, producing the fiery mane that lies beneath the ether and the planets. Posidonius argues that it’s a blend of fire, made of a finer substance than the stars but denser than light.
CHAPTER II. OF COMETS AND SHOOTING FIRES, AND THOSE WHICH RESEMBLE BEAMS.
Some of the Pythagoreans say, that a comet is one of those stars which do not always appear, but after they have run through their determined course, they then rise and are visible to us. Others, that it is the reflection of our sight upon the sun, which gives the resemblance of comets much after the same manner as images are reflected in mirrors. Anaxagoras and Democritus, that two or more stars being in conjunction by their united light make a comet. Aristotle, that it is a fiery coalition of dry exhalations. Strato, that it is the light of the star darting through a thick cloud that hath invested it; this is seen in light shining through lanterns. Heraclides, native of Pontus, that it is a lofty cloud inflamed by a sublime fire. The like causes he assigns to the bearded comet, to those circles that are seen about the sun or stars, or those meteors which resemble pillars or beams, and all others which are of this kind. This way unanimously go all the Peripatetics, holding that these meteors, being formed by the clouds, do differ according to their various configurations. Epigenes, that a comet arises from a rising of spirit or wind, mixed with an earthy substance and set on fire. Boethus, that it is a phantasy presented to us by fiery air. Diogenes, that comets are stars. Anaxagoras, that those styled shooting stars descend from the aether like sparks, and therefore are soon extinguished. Metrodorus, that it is a forcible illapse of the sun upon clouds which makes them to sparkle as fire. Xenophanes, that all such fiery meteors are nothing else but the conglomeration of the enfired clouds, and the flashing motions of them.
Some of the Pythagoreans believe that a comet is one of those stars that doesn’t always show up, but after it follows its set path, it rises and becomes visible to us. Others think it’s the reflection of our sight on the sun, creating the appearance of comets, much like images reflected in mirrors. Anaxagoras and Democritus argue that two or more stars coming together create a comet with their combined light. Aristotle suggests that it's a fiery gathering of dry vapors. Strato believes it’s the light of a star shining through a thick cloud that surrounds it, similar to light shining through lanterns. Heraclides, from Pontus, claims that it’s a tall cloud ignited by a high flame. He assigns similar causes to the bearded comet, the circles seen around the sun or stars, and those meteors that look like pillars or beams, as well as all others of this sort. All the Peripatetics agree with this view, arguing that these meteors are formed by clouds and vary based on their different shapes. Epigenes says a comet occurs from the rising of spirit or wind mixed with earthy material and set ablaze. Boethus claims it’s a fantasy presented to us by fiery air. Diogenes states that comets are stars. Anaxagoras argues that those called shooting stars fall from the aether like sparks, which is why they extinguish quickly. Metrodorus suggests that it’s a powerful burst of the sun on clouds that makes them sparkle like fire. Xenophanes holds that all such fiery meteors are simply a collection of the burning clouds and their flashing movements.
CHAPTER III. OF VIOLENT ERUPTION OF FIRE OUT OF THE CLOUDS. OF LIGHTNING. OF THUNDER. OF HURRICANES. OF WHIRLWINDS.
Anaximander affirms that all these are produced by the wind after this manner: the wind being enclosed by condensed clouds, on account of its minuteness and lightness violently endeavors to make a passage; and in breaking through the cloud gives noise; and the tearing the cloud, because of the blackness of it, gives a resplendent flame. Metrodorus, that when the wind falls upon a cloud whose densing firmly compacts it, by breaking the cloud it causeth a great noise, and by striking and rending the cloud it gives the flame; and in the swiftness of its motion, the sun imparting heat to it, it throws out the bolt. The weak declining of the thunderbolt ends in a violent tempest. Anaxagoras, that when heat and cold meet and are mixed together (that is, ethereal parts with airy), thereby a great noise of thunder is produced, and the color observed against the blackness of the cloud occasions the flashing of fire; the full and great splendor is lightning, the more enlarged and embodied fire becomes a whirlwind, the cloudiness of it gives the hurricane. The Stoics, that thunder is the clashing of clouds one upon another, the flash of lightning is their fiery inflammation; their more rapid splendor is the thunderbolt, the faint and weak the whirlwind. Aristotle, that all these proceed from dry exhalations, which, if they meet with moist vapors, forcing their passage, the breaking of them gives the noise of thunder; they, being very dry, take fire and make lightning; tempests and hurricanes arise from the plenitude of matter which each draw to themselves, the hotter parts attracted make the whirlwinds, the duller the tempests.
Anaximander claims that all of this is created by the wind like this: the wind, trapped by dense clouds, tries hard to break free because it's small and light; when it breaks through the cloud, it makes a noise, and tearing the black cloud creates a bright flame. Metrodorus says that when the wind hits a cloud that’s tightly packed, it causes a loud noise when it breaks the cloud, and when it strikes and tears the cloud, it creates a flame; as it moves quickly, the sun adds heat to it, resulting in a bolt of lightning. The gradual decline of the thunderbolt leads to a fierce storm. Anaxagoras claims that when heat and cold mix (that is, ethereal parts with air), they produce a loud thunder noise, and the color seen against the black cloud causes flashes of fire; the intense brightness is lightning, while the more expanded and concentrated fire becomes a whirlwind, with the thickness of it creating a hurricane. The Stoics say that thunder is the crashing of clouds against each other, and the flash of lightning is their fiery outburst; their quicker brightness is the thunderbolt, while the fainter one is the whirlwind. Aristotle argues that all these phenomena come from dry vapors that, when they encounter moist ones, force their way through, causing the thunder noise when they break apart; being very dry, they ignite and create lightning; storms and hurricanes arise from the abundance of matter that each attracts to itself, with the hotter parts creating whirlwinds and the colder ones producing storms.
CHAPTER IV. OF CLOUDS, RAIN, SNOW, AND HAIL.
Anaximenes thinks that the air by being very much condensed clouds are formed; this air being more compacted, rain is compressed through it; when water in its falling down freezeth, then snow is generated; when it is encompassed with a moist air, it is hail. Metrodorus, that a cloud is composed of a watery exhalation carried into a higher place. Epicurus, that they are made of vapors; and that hail and snow are formed in a round figure, being in their long descent pressed upon by the circumambient air.
Anaximenes believes that when air is heavily condensed, clouds are formed; as this air becomes more compact, it compresses rain within it. When water falls and freezes, it turns into snow; when it’s surrounded by moist air, it becomes hail. Metrodorus asserts that a cloud consists of watery vapor that’s lifted to a higher altitude. Epicurus claims that clouds are made of vapors and that hail and snow take on a round shape as they fall, being compressed by the surrounding air during their descent.
CHAPTER V. OF THE RAINBOW.
Those things which affect the air in the superior places of it are of two sorts. Some have a real subsistence, such are rain and hail; others not. Those which enjoy not a proper subsistence are only in appearance; of this sort is the rainbow. Thus the continent to us that sail seems to be in motion.
Those things that impact the air in its higher regions fall into two categories. Some exist in a tangible way, like rain and hail; others do not. Those that don't have a true existence are only illusions; the rainbow is an example of this. As a result, the land we see while sailing appears to be moving.
Plato says, that men admiring it feigned that it took origination from one Thaumas, which word signifies admiration. Homer sings:—
Plato says that men, in their admiration, pretended that it originated from someone named Thaumas, which means admiration. Homer sings:—
Jove paints the rainbow with a purple dye,
Alluring man to cast his wandering eye.
(Iliad, xvii. 547.)
Jove colors the rainbow with a purple dye,
Tempting people to look around.
(Iliad, xvii. 547.)Others therefore fabled that the bow hath a head like a bull, by which it swallows up rivers.
Others therefore claimed that the bow has a head like a bull, which swallows up rivers.
But what is the cause of the rainbow? It is evident that what apparent things we see come to our eyes in right or in crooked lines, or by refraction: these are incorporeal and to sense obscure, but to reason they are obvious. Those which are seen in right lines are those which we see through the air or horn or transparent stones, for all the parts of these things are very fine and tenuous; but those which appear in crooked lines are in water, the thickness of the water presenting them bended to our sight. This is the reason that oars in themselves straight, when put into the sea, appear to us crooked. The third manner of our seeing is by refraction, and this is perspicuous in mirrors. After this third sort the rainbow is affected. We conceive it is a moist exhalation converted into a cloud, and in a short space it is dissolved into small and moist drops. The sun declining towards the west, it will necessarily follow that the whole bow is seen opposite to the sun; for the eye being directed to those drops receives a refraction, and by this means the bow is formed. The eye doth not consider the figure and form, but the color of these drops; the first of which colors is a shining red, the second a purple, the third is blue and green. Let us consider whether the reason of this red shining color be the splendor of the sun falling upon these small drops, the whole body of light being refracted, by which this bright red color is produced; the second part being troubled and the light languishing in the drops, the color becomes purple (for the purple is the faint red); but the third part, being more and more troubled, is changed into the green color. And this is proved by other effects of Nature; if any one shall put water in his mouth and spit it out so opposite to the sun, that its rays may be refracted on the drops, he shall see the resemblance of a rainbow; the same appears to men that are blear-eyed, when they fix their watery eyes upon a candle.
But what causes the rainbow? It's clear that the things we see come to our eyes in straight or bent lines, or through refraction: these are intangible and hard to sense, but obvious to reason. The ones visible in straight lines are those we see through air, glass, or clear stones, because all parts of these items are very fine and delicate; but those that appear in bent lines are seen in water, where the thickness of the water makes them look distorted. This is why straight oars look crooked when placed in the sea. The third way we see is through refraction, which is clearly shown in mirrors. The rainbow is affected by this third manner. We think of it as a wet vapor turning into a cloud, which quickly dissolves into small, moist droplets. As the sun sets in the west, the entire bow will necessarily appear opposite to the sun; when our eyes are directed at those droplets, they receive refraction, creating the bow. Our eyes focus on the colors of these droplets rather than their shape; the first color is a bright red, the second a purple, and the third a blue-green. We should consider whether this shining red color comes from sunlight hitting these tiny droplets, with the whole spectrum of light being refracted, producing the bright red color; the second part gets muddled and the light weakens in the droplets, turning purple (since purple is a faint red); while the third part, getting increasingly muddled, changes to green. This is supported by other aspects of nature; if someone puts water in their mouth and spits it out into the sunlight so that its rays refract on the droplets, they will see something resembling a rainbow; the same happens to people with watery eyes when they focus on a candle.
Anaximenes thinks the bow is thus formed; the sun casting its splendor upon a thick, black, and gross cloud, and the rays not being in a capacity to penetrate beyond the superficies. Anaxagoras, that, the solar rays being reflected from a condensed cloud, the sun being placed directly opposite to it forms the bow after the mode of the repercussion of a mirror; after the same manner he assigns the natural cause of the Parhelia or mock-suns, which are often seen in Pontus. Metrodorus, that when the sun casts its splendor through a cloud, the cloud gives itself a blue, and the light a red color.
Anaximenes believes the rainbow is created this way: the sun shines its light on a thick, dark, and dense cloud, and the rays can't go beyond the surface. Anaxagoras thinks that the sunlight reflects off a thick cloud, with the sun positioned directly in front of it, forming the rainbow like the reflection from a mirror. He explains the natural cause of parhelia, or mock suns, which are often seen in Pontus, in the same way. Metrodorus suggests that when the sun shines its light through a cloud, the cloud appears blue while the light looks red.
CHAPTER VI. OF METEORS WHICH RESEMBLE RODS, OR OF RODS.
These rods and the mock-suns are constituted of a double nature, a real subsistence, and a mere appearance;—of a real subsistence, because the clouds are the object of our eyes; of a mere appearance, for their proper color is not seen, but that which is adventitious. The like affections, natural and adventitious, in all such things do happen.
These rods and the fake suns have a double nature, consisting of both real existence and just an illusion; they have real existence because we can see the clouds, and they are just an illusion because we don’t see their true color, but rather one that’s added. Similar feelings, both natural and added, occur in all such things.
CHAPTER VII. OF WINDS.
Anaximander believes that wind is a fluid air, the sun putting into motion or melting the moist subtle parts of it. The Stoics, that all winds are a flowing air, and from the diversity of the regions whence they have their origin receive their denomination; as, from darkness and the west the western wind; from the sun and its rising the eastern; from the north the northern, and from the south the southern winds. Metrodorus, that moist vapors heated by the sun are the cause of the impetuousness of violent winds. The Etesian, or those winds which annually commence about the rising of the Little Dog, the air about the northern pole being more compacted, blow violently following the sun when it returns from the summer solstice.
Anaximander thinks that wind is just air in motion, caused by the sun activating or warming the moist, subtle parts of it. The Stoics believe all winds are flowing air that get their names from the different regions they come from; for example, the western wind comes from the darkness and the west, the eastern wind comes from the sun and its rising, the northern wind comes from the north, and the southern wind comes from the south. Metrodorus says that moist vapors heated by the sun lead to the strength of strong winds. The Etesian winds, which start every year around the rising of the Little Dog, blow fiercely when the air around the northern pole becomes denser, following the sun as it moves back from the summer solstice.
CHAPTER VIII. OF WINTER AND SUMMER.
Empedocles and the Stoics believe that winter is caused by the thickness of the air prevailing and mounting upwards; and summer by fire, it falling downwards.
Empedocles and the Stoics think that winter happens because of dense air that rises, while summer is caused by fire that descends.
This description being given by me of Meteors, or those things that are above us, I must pass to those things which are terrestrial.
This description I'm providing about meteors, or those things that are above us, leads me to discuss the things that are earthly.
CHAPTER IX. OF THE EARTH, WHAT IS ITS NATURE AND MAGNITUDE.
Thales and his followers say that there is but one earth. Hicetes the Pythagorean, that there are two earths, this and the Antichthon, or the earth opposite to it. The Stoics, that this earth is one, and that finite and limited. Xenophanes, that the earth, being compacted of fire and air, in its lowest parts hath laid a foundation in an infinite depth. Metrodorus, that the earth is mere sediment and dregs of water, as the sun is of the air.
Thales and his followers argue that there is only one Earth. Hicetes the Pythagorean claims there are two Earths, this one and the Antichthon, which is the Earth opposite it. The Stoics believe that this Earth is singular and has boundaries. Xenophanes states that the Earth, made up of fire and air, has its foundation set in an infinite depth. Metrodorus suggests that the Earth is simply sediment and residue from water, just as the sun is from the air.
CHAPTER X. OF THE FIGURE OF THE EARTH.
Thales, the Stoics, and their followers say that the earth is globular. Anaximander, that it resembles a smooth stony pillar. Anaximenes, that it hath the shape of a table. Leucippus, of a drum. Democritus, that it is like a quoit externally, and hollow in the middle.
Thales, the Stoics, and their followers say that the earth is round. Anaximander claims it looks like a smooth stone pillar. Anaximenes believes it has the shape of a table. Leucippus says it's like a drum. Democritus argues that it's shaped like a disk on the outside and hollow in the center.
CHAPTER XI. OF THE SITE AND POSITION OF THE EARTH.
The disciples of Thales say that the earth is the centre of the universe. Xenophanes, that it is first, being rooted in the infinite space. Philolaus the Pythagorean gives to fire the middle place, and this is the source fire of the universe; the second place to the Antichthon; the third to that earth which we inhabit, which is placed in opposition unto and whirled about the opposite,—which is the reason that those which inhabit that earth cannot be seen by us. Parmenides was the first that confined the habitable world to the two solstitial (or temperate) zones.
The followers of Thales say that the Earth is the center of the universe. Xenophanes argues that it is the first, anchored in infinite space. Philolaus the Pythagorean places fire in the middle, which is the source of the universe; he assigns the second position to the Antichthon and the third to the Earth we live on, which is set in opposition to and revolves around the opposite—this is why those who live on that Earth cannot be seen by us. Parmenides was the first to limit the habitable world to the two temperate zones.
CHAPTER XII. OF THE INCLINATION OF THE EARTH.
Leucippus affirms that the earth vergeth towards the southern parts, by reason of the thinness and fineness that is in the south; the northern parts are more compacted, they being congealed by a rigorous cold, but those parts of the world that are opposite are enfired. Democritus, because, the southern parts of the air being the weaker, the earth as it enlarges bends towards the south; the northern parts are of an unequal, the southern of an equal temperament; and this is the reason that the earth bends towards those parts where the earth is laden with fruits and its own increase.
Leucippus states that the earth tilts toward the southern regions due to the thinner and finer qualities present there. The northern areas are more compact because they are frozen by severe cold, while the opposite regions of the world are warmed. Democritus explains that since the southern air is weaker, the earth naturally tilts toward the south as it expands; the northern areas have an uneven climate, while the southern areas have a more balanced one. This is why the earth leans toward the regions that are rich in fruits and abundance.
CHAPTER XIII. OF THE MOTION OF THE EARTH.
Most of the philosophers say that the earth remains fixed in the same place. Philolaus the Pythagorean, that it is moved about the element of fire, in an oblique circle, after the same manner of motion that the sun and moon have. Heraclides of Pontus and Ecphantus the Pythagorean assign a motion to the earth, but not progressive, but after the manner of a wheel being carried on its own axis; thus the earth (they say) turns itself upon its own centre from west to east. Democritus, that when the earth was first formed it had a motion, the parts of it being small and light; but in process of time the parts of it were condensed, so that by its own weight it was poised and fixed.
Most philosophers say that the earth stays in the same spot. Philolaus the Pythagorean argues that it moves around the element of fire in an oblique circle, similar to how the sun and moon move. Heraclides of Pontus and Ecphantus the Pythagorean assign a motion to the earth, but not in a straight line; instead, they describe it as spinning like a wheel on its own axis. They claim that the earth rotates on its own center from west to east. Democritus believes that when the earth was first formed, it had motion because its parts were small and light; however, over time, the parts became denser, so that due to its own weight, it became still and fixed.
CHAPTER XIV. INTO HOW MANY ZONES IS THE EARTH DIVIDED?
Pythagoras says that, as the celestial sphere is distributed into five zones, into the same number is the terrestrial; which zones are the arctic and antarctic, the summer and winter tropics (or temperate zones), and the equinoctial; the middle of which zones equally divides the earth and constitutes the torrid zone; but that portion which is in between the summer and winter tropics is habitable, by reason the air is there temperate.
Pythagoras states that just like the sky is divided into five zones, the Earth is divided into the same number. These zones include the arctic and antarctic, the summer and winter tropics (or temperate zones), and the equinox zone. The middle of these zones divides the Earth evenly and forms the torrid zone. The area between the summer and winter tropics is livable because the climate there is temperate.
CHAPTER XV. OF EARTHQUAKES.
Thales and Democritus assign the cause of earthquakes to water. The Stoics say that it is a moist vapor contained in the earth, making an irruption into the air, that causes the earthquake. Anaximenes, that the dryness and rarity of the earth are the cause of earthquakes, the one of which is produced by extreme drought, the other by immoderate showers. Anaxagoras, that the air endeavoring to make a passage out of the earth, meeting with a thick superficies, is not able to force its way, and so shakes the circumambient earth with a trembling. Aristotle, that a cold vapor encompassing every part of the earth prohibits the evacuation of vapors; for those which are hot, being in themselves light, endeavor to force a passage upwards, by which means the dry exhalations, being left in the earth, use their utmost endeavor to make a passage out, and being wedged in, they suffer various circumvolutions and shake the earth. Metrodorus, that whatsoever is in its own place is incapable of motion, except it be pressed upon or drawn by the operation of another body; the earth being so seated cannot naturally be moved, yet divers parts and places of the earth may move one upon another. Parmenides and Democritus, that the earth being so equally poised hath no sufficient ground why it should incline more to one side than to the other; so that it may be shaken, but cannot be removed. Anaximenes, that the earth by reason of its latitude is borne upon by the air which presseth upon it. Others opine that the earth swims upon the waters, as boards and broad planks, and by that reason is moved. Plato, that motion is by six manner of ways, upwards, downwards, on the right hand and on the left, behind and before; therefore it is not possible that the earth should be moved in any of these modes, for it is altogether seated in the lowest place; it therefore cannot receive a motion, since there is nothing about it so peculiar as to cause it to incline any way; but some parts of it are so rare and thin that they are capable of motion. Epicurus, that the possibility of the earth's motion ariseth from a thick and aqueous air under the earth, that may, by moving or pushing it, be capable of quaking; or that being so compassed, and having many passages, it is shaken by the wind which is dispersed through the hollow dens of it.
Thales and Democritus believe that earthquakes are caused by water. The Stoics claim that it's a moist vapor trapped in the earth that bursts into the air, causing the quake. Anaximenes suggests that the dryness and thinness of the earth are to blame—one type of earthquake comes from extreme drought, while another comes from heavy rain. Anaxagoras thinks that the air trying to escape the earth gets stuck when it encounters a thick surface, making the surrounding earth shake. Aristotle argues that a cold vapor surrounding the earth prevents the release of hotter vapors; since hot vapors are lighter, they try to rise, which leaves dry exhalations trapped underground, causing them to struggle to escape and shake the earth. Metrodorus states that anything in its place can't move unless pushed or pulled by something else; since the earth is stable, it shouldn’t move on its own, but various parts of it can shift relative to each other. Parmenides and Democritus argue that because the earth is balanced, there's no reason for it to tilt to one side, so it can shake but not be moved. Anaximenes believes that the earth, due to its size, is pressed down by the air above it. Others think the earth floats on water, like boards or large planks, which is why it can move. Plato asserts that motion happens in six ways: upwards, downwards, to the right and left, and forward and backward; thus, the earth can’t move in any of these ways since it’s situated at the lowest point and cannot tilt since nothing around it causes it to do so, though some areas may be light enough to move. Epicurus believes that the earth’s potential for movement comes from thick, watery air underneath it, which, when it shifts or pushes, can cause quaking; or that air moving through its many passages can shake it.
CHAPTER XVI. OF THE SEA, AND HOW IT IS COMPOSED, AND HOW IT BECOMES TO THE TASTE BITTER.
Anaximander affirms that the sea is the remainder of the primogenial humidity, the greatest part of which being dried up by the fire, the influence of the great heat altered its quality. Anaxagoras that in the beginning water did not flow, but was as a standing pool; and that it was burnt by the movement of the sun about it, by which the oily part of the water being exhaled, the residue became salt. Empedocles, that the sea is the sweat of the earth heated by the sun. Antiphon, that the sweat of that which was hot was separated from the rest which were moist; these by seething and boiling became bitter, as happens in all sweats. Metrodorus, that the sea was strained through the earth, and retained some part of its density; the same is observed in all those things which are strained through ashes. The schools of Plato, that the element of water being compacted by the rigor of the air became sweet, but that part which was expired from the earth, being enfired, became of a brackish taste.
Anaximander claims that the sea is what's left of the original moisture, most of which has dried up due to heat, changing its properties. Anaxagoras states that at the beginning, water was still, like a still pool; it was heated by the sun's movement, causing the oily part of the water to evaporate, leaving behind salt. Empedocles suggests that the sea is the sweat of the earth heated by the sun. Antiphon believes that the sweat from hot substances separated from the moist ones; the moist ones became bitter from boiling, as happens with all sweat. Metrodorus thinks the sea was filtered through the earth, retaining some of its thickness; this is similar to what happens with things strained through ashes. The followers of Plato argue that the water element, compacted by the cold air, became sweet, but the part that evaporated from the earth, when heated, turned salty.
CHAPTER XVII. OF TIDES, OR OF THE EBBING AND FLOWING OF THE SEA.
Aristotle and Heraclides say, they proceed from the sun, which moves and whirls about the winds; and these falling with a violence upon the Atlantic, it is pressed and swells by them, by which means the sea flows; and their impression ceasing, the sea retracts, hence they ebb. Pytheas the Massilian, that the fulness of the moon gives the flow, the wane the ebb. Plato attributes it all to a certain balance of the sea, which by means of a mouth or orifice causes the tide; and by this means the seas do rise and flow alternately. Timaeus believes that those rivers which fall from the mountains of the Celtic Gaul into the Atlantic produce a tide. For upon their entering upon that sea, they violently press upon it, and so cause the flow; but they disemboguing themselves, there is a cessation of the impetuousness, by which means the ebb is produced. Seleucus the mathematician attributes a motion to the earth; and thus he pronounceth that the moon in its circumlation meets and repels the earth in its motion; between these two, the earth and the moon, there is a vehement wind raised and intercepted, which rushes upon the Atlantic Ocean, and gives us a probable argument that it is the cause the sea is troubled and moved.
Aristotle and Heraclides suggest that the tides come from the sun, which moves and swirls around the winds; when these winds hit the Atlantic with force, they push the water up and make the sea swell, causing it to flow. Once their impact stops, the sea recedes, leading to the ebb. Pytheas of Massalia claims that the moon’s fullness causes the flow, while its waning causes the ebb. Plato attributes everything to a balance in the sea, which through an opening or passage causes the tides, allowing the seas to rise and fall alternately. Timaeus believes that rivers flowing from the mountains of Celtic Gaul into the Atlantic create a tide. When they enter the sea, they push against it forcefully, causing the flow; but when they empty out, the force stops, resulting in the ebb. Seleucus the mathematician connects a motion to the earth and states that the moon, in its orbit, meets and pushes against the earth in its movement. Between the earth and the moon, a strong wind is generated and trapped, which strikes the Atlantic Ocean, providing a strong argument that it causes the sea to be disturbed and move.
CHAPTER XVIII. OF THE AUREA, OR A CIRCLE ABOUT A STAR.
The aurea or circle is thus formed. A thick and dark air intervening between the moon or any other star and our eye, by which means our sight is dilated and reflected, when now our sight falls upon the outward circumference of the orb of that star, there presently seems a circle to appear. This circle thus appearing is called the [Greek omitted] or halo; and there is constantly such a circle seen by us, when such a density of sight happens.
The aurea or circle is formed like this: a thick and dark atmosphere lies between the moon or any other star and our eyes, which causes our vision to stretch and reflect. When our sight hits the outer edge of that star's orb, a circle seems to show up right away. This circle that appears is called the [Greek omitted] or halo, and we constantly see such a circle whenever this kind of visual density occurs.
BOOK IV.
Having taken a survey of the general parts of the world, I will take a view of the particular members of it.
CHAPTER I. OF THE OVERFLOWING OF THE NILE.
Thales conjectures that the Etesian or anniversary northern winds blowing strongly against Egypt heighten the swelling of the Nile, the mouth of that river being obstructed by the force of the sea rushing into it. Euthymenes the Massilian concludes that the Nile is filled by the ocean and that sea which is outward from it, the last being naturally sweet. Anaxagoras, that the snow in Ethiopia which is frozen in winter is melted in summer, and this makes the inundation. Democritus, that the snows which are in the northern climates when the sun enters the summer solstice are dissolved and diffused; from those vapors clouds are compacted, and these are forcibly driven by the Etesian winds into the southern parts and into Egypt, from whence violent showers are poured; and by this means the fens of Egypt are filled with water, and the river Nile hath its inundation. Herodotus the historian, that the waters of the Nile receive from their fountain an equal portion of water in winter and in summer; but in winter the water appears less, because the sun, making its approach nearer to Egypt, draws up the rivers of that country into exhalation. Ephorus the historiographer, that in summer all Egypt seems to be melted and sweats itself into water, to which the thin and sandy soils of Arabia and Lybia contribute. Eudoxus relates that the Egyptian priests affirm that, when it is summer to us who dwell under the northern tropic, it is winter with them that inhabit under the southern tropic; by this means there is a various contrariety and opposition of the seasons in the year, which cause such showers to fall as make the water to overflow the banks of the Nile and diffuse itself throughout all Egypt.
Thales suggests that the strong Etesian or anniversary northern winds blowing against Egypt increase the rising of the Nile, as the river's mouth is blocked by the force of the sea pushing into it. Euthymenes from Massilia believes that the Nile is filled by the ocean and the sea beyond it, which is naturally sweet. Anaxagoras proposes that the snow in Ethiopia, which freezes in winter, melts in summer, causing the flooding. Democritus thinks that the northern snows melt when the sun reaches the summer solstice, creating vapors that turn into clouds. These clouds are then pushed southward by the Etesian winds into Egypt, resulting in heavy rain that fills the wetlands of Egypt and causes the Nile to overflow. Herodotus the historian states that the waters of the Nile receive the same amount of water from their source in both winter and summer; however, in winter, the water appears lower because the sun, getting closer to Egypt, evaporates the rivers in that area. Ephorus the historiographer notes that in summer, all of Egypt seems to melt and sweats water, contributed by the thin, sandy soils of Arabia and Libya. Eudoxus mentions that Egyptian priests claim that when it’s summer for those of us in the northern tropic, it’s winter for those living under the southern tropic; this creates a contrasting opposition of seasons throughout the year, which leads to the heavy rains that overflow the banks of the Nile and spread throughout all of Egypt.
CHAPTER II. OF THE SOUL.
Thales first pronounced that the soul is that being which is in a perpetual motion, or that whose motion proceeds from itself. Pythagoras, that it is a number moving itself; he takes a number to be the same thing with a mind. Plato, that it is an intellectual substance moving itself, and that motion is in a numerical harmony. Aristotle, that it is the first actuality [Greek ommitted] of a natural organical body which has life potentially; and this actuality must be understood to be the same thing with energy or operation. Dicaearchus, that it is the harmony of the four elements. Asclepiades the physician, that it is the concurrent exercitation of the senses.
Thales was the first to say that the soul is something that is always in motion, or that its motion comes from within itself. Pythagoras claimed it is a number that moves itself, equating a number with a mind. Plato described it as an intellectual substance that moves itself, with motion existing in a numerical harmony. Aristotle defined it as the first actuality of a living, organic body that has life potentially; this actuality should be understood as the same as energy or action. Dicaearchus stated that it is the harmony of the four elements. Asclepiades the physician argued that it is the combined activity of the senses.
CHAPTER III. WHETHER THE SOUL BE A BODY, AND WHAT IS THE NATURE AND ESSENCE OF IT.
All those named by me do affirm that the soul itself is incorporeal, and by its own nature is in a motion, and in its own self is an intelligent substance, and the living actuality of a natural organical body. The followers of Anaxagoras, that it is airy and a body. The Stoics, that it is a hot exhalation. Democritus, that it is a fiery composition of things which are perceptible by reason alone, the same having their forms spherical and without an inflaming faculty; and it is a body. Epicurus, that it is constituted of four qualities, of a fiery quality, of an aerial quality, a pneumatical, and of a fourth quality which hath no name, but it contains the virtue of the sense. Heraclitus, that the soul of the world is the exhalation which proceeds from the moist parts of it; but the soul of animals, arising from exhalations that are exterior and from those that are within them, is homogeneous to it.
All those I’ve mentioned agree that the soul is immaterial, inherently in motion, and is an intelligent substance, as well as the living essence of a natural, organic body. Anaxagoras’ followers believe it is airy and corporeal. The Stoics claim it is a hot vapor. Democritus argues that it’s a fiery mix of things that can only be understood through reason, having spherical forms and lacking an ability to ignite; thus, it is a body. Epicurus states it’s made up of four qualities: fiery, airy, pneumatic, and a fourth unnamed quality, which holds sensory abilities. Heraclitus suggests that the world’s soul is the vapor that comes from its moist parts; meanwhile, the soul of animals is derived from both external and internal vapors, which are similar to it.
CHAPTER IV. OF THE PARTS OF THE SOUL.
Plato and Pythagoras, according to their first account, distribute the soul into two parts, the rational and irrational. By a more accurate and strict account the soul is branched into three parts; they divide the unreasonable part into the concupiscible and the irascible. The Stoics say the soul is constituted of eight parts; five of which are the senses, hearing, seeing, tasting, touching, smelling, the sixth is the faculty of speaking, the seventh of generating, the eighth of commanding; this is the principal of all, by which all the other are guided and ordered in their proper organs, as we see the eight arms of a polypus aptly disposed. Democritus and Epicurus divide the soul into two parts, the one rational, which bath its residence in the breast, and the irrational, which is diffused through the whole structure of the body. Democritus, that the quality of the soul is communicated to everything, yea, to the dead corpses; for they are partakers of heat and some sense, when the most of both is expired out of them.
Plato and Pythagoras, according to their initial account, split the soul into two parts: the rational and the irrational. However, by a more precise and thorough account, the soul is divided into three parts; they further categorize the irrational part into the appetitive and the angry. The Stoics assert that the soul consists of eight parts; five of these are the senses: hearing, seeing, tasting, touching, and smelling. The sixth is the ability to speak, the seventh is the ability to reproduce, and the eighth is the commanding faculty; this is the main one, which guides and organizes all the others in their respective functions, similar to how the eight arms of a octopus are skillfully arranged. Democritus and Epicurus also divide the soul into two parts: one rational, located in the chest, and the other irrational, which is spread throughout the entire body. Democritus believed that the quality of the soul is present in everything, even in dead bodies; because they still have some warmth and sense, even when most of both have left them.
CHAPTER V. WHAT IS THE PRINCIPAL PART OF THE SOUL, AND IN WHAT PART OF THE BODY IT RESIDES.
Plato and Democritus place its residence in the whole head. Strato, in that part of the forehead where the eyebrows are separated. Erasiatratus, in the Epikranis, or membrane which involves the brain. Herophilus, in that sinus of the brain which is the basis of it. Parmenides, in the breast; which opinion is embraced by Epicurus. The Stoics are generally of this opinion, that the seat of the soul is throughout the heart, or in the spirit about it. Diogenes, in the arterial ventricle of the heart, which is also full of vital spirit. Empedocles, in the mass of the blood. There are that say it is in the neck of the heart, others in the pericardium, others in the midriff. Certain of the Neoterics, that the seat of the soul is extended from the head to the diaphragm. Pythagoras, that the animal part of the soul resides in the heart, the intellectual in the head.
Plato and Democritus believe that the soul is located in the entire head. Strato places it in the part of the forehead where the eyebrows meet. Erasiatratus thinks it exists in the Epikranis, or the membrane surrounding the brain. Herophilus locates it in a particular area of the brain at its base. Parmenides believes it resides in the chest, a view shared by Epicurus. The Stoics generally hold that the soul's seat is throughout the heart, or in the spirit surrounding it. Diogenes identifies it in the heart's arterial ventricle, which is also filled with vital spirit. Empedocles claims it is found in the blood. Some say it is located in the neck of the heart, others in the pericardium, and others in the diaphragm. Certain modern thinkers suggest that the seat of the soul extends from the head to the diaphragm. Pythagoras states that the animal part of the soul is in the heart, while the intellectual part is in the head.
CHAPTER VI. OF THE MOTION OF THE SOUL.
Plato believes that the soul is in perpetual motion, but that it is immovable as regards motion from place to place. Aristotle, that the soul is not naturally moved, but its motion is accidental, resembling that which is in the forms of bodies.
Plato believes that the soul is always in motion, but it doesn’t move from one place to another. Aristotle thinks that the soul doesn’t move on its own; instead, its motion is accidental and similar to the movement in the forms of bodies.
CHAPTER VII. OF THE SOUL'S IMMORTALITY.
Plato and Pythagoras say that the soul is immortal; when it departs out of the body, it retreats to the soul of the world, which is a being of the same nature with it. The Stoics, when the souls leave the bodies, they are carried to divers places; the souls of the unlearned and ignorant descend to the coagmentation of earthly things, but the learned and vigorous last till the general fire. Epicurus and Democritus, the soul is mortal, and it perisheth with the body. Plato and Pythagoras, that part of the soul of man which is rational is eternal; for though it be not God, yet it is the product of an eternal deity; but that part of the soul which is divested of reason dies.
Plato and Pythagoras believe that the soul is immortal; when it leaves the body, it returns to the world soul, which is of the same essence. The Stoics say that when souls leave their bodies, they go to different places; the souls of those who are uneducated and ignorant descend to the assembly of earthly matters, while the souls of the knowledgeable and vigorous endure until the great fire. Epicurus and Democritus think that the soul is mortal and perishes with the body. According to Plato and Pythagoras, the rational part of the human soul is eternal; although it is not God, it is created by an eternal deity. However, the part of the soul that lacks reason dies.
CHAPTER VIII. OF THE SENSES, AND OF THOSE THINGS WHICH ARE OBJECTS OF THE SENSES,
The Stoics give this definition of sense: Sense is the Apprehension or comprehension of an object by means of an organ of sensation. There are several ways of expressing what sense is; it is either a habit, a faculty, an operation, or an imagination which apprehends by means of an organ of sense,—and also the eighth principal thing, from whence the senses originate. The instruments of sense are intelligent exhalations, which from the said commanding part extend unto all the organs of the body. Epicurus, that sense is a faculty, and that which is perceived by the sense is the product of it; so that sense hath a double acceptation,—sense which is the faculty, and the thing received by the sense, which is the effect. Plato, that sense is that commerce which the soul and body have with those things that are exterior to them; the power of which is from the soul, the organ by which is from the body; but both of them apprehend external objects by means of the imagination. Leucippus and Democritus, that sense and intelligence arise from external images; so neither of them can operate without the assistance of image falling upon us.
The Stoics define sense as the understanding or perception of something through a sensory organ. There are different ways to describe what sense is; it can be viewed as a habit, a faculty, an action, or an imagination that perceives through a sensory organ—and it is also the eighth main principle from which the senses originate. The tools of sense are intelligent emissions that extend from a controlling part to all the organs of the body. Epicurus states that sense is a faculty, and what is perceived by the senses is its product; thus, sense has a dual meaning—sense as the faculty and the thing perceived by sense as the effect. Plato suggests that sense is the interaction between the soul and body with external things; the power comes from the soul, while the organ belongs to the body, but both perceive external objects through imagination. Leucippus and Democritus believe that sense and intelligence arise from external images, so neither can function without images impacting us.
CHAPTER IX. WHETHER WHAT APPEARS TO OUR SENSES AND IMAGINATIONS BE TRUE OR NOT.
The Stoics say that what the senses represent is true; what the imagination, is partly false, partly true. Epicurus that every impression of the sense or imagination is true, but of those things that fall under the head of opinion, some are true, some false: sense gives us a false presentation of those things only which are the objects of our understanding; but the imagination gives us a double error, both of things sensible and things intellectual. Empedocles and Heraclides, that the senses act by a just accommodation of the pores in every case; everything that is perceived by the sense being congruously adapted to its proper organ.
The Stoics believe that what our senses perceive is true, while what our imagination conjures up is partly false and partly true. Epicurus argues that every impression from our senses or imagination is true, but when it comes to opinions, some are true and some are false. Our senses only misrepresent things that are within our understanding, while our imagination makes mistakes about both sensory and intellectual things. Empedocles and Heraclides suggest that our senses work by appropriately fitting into the openings of our perception; everything we perceive through our senses is suitably matched to its relevant organ.
CHAPTER X. HOW MANY SENSES ARE THERE?
The Stoics say that there are five senses properly so called, seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching. Aristotle indeed doth not add a sixth sense; but he assigns a common sense, which is the judge of all compounded species; into this each sense casts its proper representation, in which is discovered a transition of one thing into another, like as we see in figure and motion where there is a change of one into another. Democritus, that there are divers species of senses, which appertain to beings destitute of reason, to the gods, and to wise men.
The Stoics say that there are five senses: seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching. Aristotle doesn’t include a sixth sense, but he does talk about a common sense that judges all combined experiences; each sense contributes its own representation, revealing a shift from one thing to another, just like we observe in shapes and movements where one thing changes into another. Democritus argues that there are different types of senses that belong to beings without reason, to the gods, and to wise individuals.
CHAPTER XI. HOW THE ACTIONS OF THE SENSES, THE CONCEPTIONS OF OUR MINDS, AND THE HABIT OF OUR REASON ARE FORMED.
The Stoics affirm that every man, as soon as he is born, has a principal and commanding part of his soul, which is in him like a sheet of writing-paper, to which he commits all his notions. The first manner of his inscribing is by denoting those notions which flow from the senses. Suppose it be of a thing that is white; when the present sense of it is vanished, there is yet retained the remembrance; when many memorative notions of the same similitude do concur, then he is said to have an experience; for experience is nothing more than the abundance of notions that are of the same form met together. Some of these notions are naturally begotten according to the aforesaid manner, without the assistance of art; the others are produced by discipline, learning, and industry; these only are justly called notions, the others are prenotions. But reason, which gives us the denomination of rational, is completed by prenotions in the first seven years. The conception of the mind is the vision that the intelligence of a rational animal hath received; when that vision falls upon the rational soul, then it is called the conception of the mind, for it hath derived its name from the mind [Greek omitted] from [Greek omitted]. Therefore these visions are not to be found in any other animals; they only are appropriated to gods and to us men. If these we consider generally, they are phantasms; if specifically, they are notions. As pence or staters, if you consider them according to their own value, are simply pence and staters; but if you give them as a price for a naval voyage, they are called not merely pence, etc., but your freight.
The Stoics believe that every person, when they are born, has a main and guiding part of their soul, similar to a blank sheet of paper, where they record all their thoughts. The first way they write on this sheet is by noting the ideas that come from their senses. For example, if they see something white; even after the sight is gone, the memory lingers. When many similar memories come together, it’s called experience; experience is just a collection of thoughts that share the same characteristics. Some of these thoughts come naturally without any help, while others come from training, learning, and effort; the latter are rightfully called thoughts, while the former are prenotions. However, reason, which is what makes us rational, is shaped by prenotions during the first seven years. The mind’s understanding is like the insight that a rational being receives; when that insight reaches the rational soul, it’s termed the mind’s conception. It gets its name because it comes from the mind. Therefore, these insights are unique to gods and humans. If we look at them broadly, they are phantasms; if we look at them specifically, they are thoughts. Just like coins, if you think of them by their own value, they are simply coins; but if you use them as payment for a sea journey, they are not just coins, but your freight.
CHAPTER XII. WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN IMAGINATION [GREEK OMITTED], THE IMAGINABLE [GREEK OMITTED], FANCY [GREEK OMITTED], AND PHANTOM [GREEK
OMITTED]?
OMITTED?
Chrysippus affirms, these four are different one from another. Imagination is that passion raised in the soul which discovers itself and that which was the efficient of it; to use example, after the eye hath looked upon a thing that is white, the sight of which produceth in the mind a certain impression, this gives us reason to conclude that the object of this impression is white, which affecteth us. So with touching and smelling Phantasy or imagination is denominated from [Greek omitted] which denotes light; for as light discovers itself and all other things which it illuminates, so this imagination discovers itself and that which is the cause of it. The imaginable is the efficient cause of imagination; as anything that is white, or anything that is cold, or everything that may make an impression upon the imagination. Fancy is a vain impulse upon the mind of man, proceeding from nothing which is really conceivable; this is experienced in those that whirl about their idle hand and fight with shadows; for to the imagination there is always some real imaginable thing presented, which is the efficient cause of it; but to the fancy nothing. A phantom is that to which we are brought by such a fanciful and vain attraction; this is to be seen in melancholy and distracted persons. Of this sort was Orestes in the tragedy, pronouncing these words:
Chrysippus confirms that these four are different from each other. Imagination is the passion stirred in the soul that reveals itself and its cause; for example, when the eye sees something white, the sight creates a specific impression in the mind, leading us to conclude that the object of this impression is white, which affects us. The same goes for touch and smell. Phantasy or imagination comes from a Greek word that means light; just as light reveals itself and everything else it shines upon, imagination illuminates itself and its source. The imaginable is the efficient cause of imagination, encompassing anything that is white or cold or anything that can leave an impression on the mind. Fancy, on the other hand, is a pointless impulse in the human mind, stemming from nothing genuinely conceivable; this is seen in those who spin their hands aimlessly and wrestle with shadows, for the imagination always presents some real imaginable object that serves as its efficient cause, while fancy presents nothing. A phantom is what we are led to by such a fanciful and pointless attraction; this is evident in those who are melancholic or distracted. Orestes in the tragedy was of this sort, stating these words:
Mother, these maids with horror me affright;
Oh bring them not, I pray, into my sight!
They're smeared with blood, and cruel, dragon-like,
Skipping about with deadly fury strike.
Mom, these maids scare me to death;
Oh please don’t bring them in front of me!
They’re covered in blood and look like dragons,
Jumping around and striking with deadly rage.
These rave as frantic persons, they see nothing, and yet imagine they see. Thence Electra thus returns to him:
These shout like frantic people, they see nothing, but still think they see. So Electra returns to him:
O wretched man, securely sleep in bed;
Nothing thou seest, thy fancy's vainly led.
(Euripides, "Orestes", 255.)
O miserable man, sleep soundly in your bed;
Nothing you see, your imagination leads you astray.
(Euripides, "Orestes", 255.)After the same manner Theoclymenus in Homer.
After the same manner, Theoclymenus in Homer.
CHAPTER XIII. OF OUR SIGHT, AND BY WHAT MEANS WE SEE.
Democritus and Epicurus suppose that sight is caused by the insertion of little images into the visive organ, and by the reception of certain rays which return to the eye after meeting the object. Empedocles supposes that images are mixed with the rays of the eye; these he styles the rays of images. Hipparchus, that the visual rays extend from both the eyes to the superficies of bodies, and give to the sight the apprehension of those same bodies, after the same manner in which the hand touching the extremity of bodies gives the sense of feeling. Plato, that the sight is the splendor of united rays; there is a light which reaches some distance from the eyes into a cognate air, and there is likewise a light shed from bodies, which meets and joins with the fiery visual light in the intermediate air (which is liquid and mutable); and the union of these rays gives the sense of seeing. This is Plato's corradiancy, or splendor of united rays.
Democritus and Epicurus believe that sight happens when tiny images enter the eye and certain rays bounce back to it after hitting an object. Empedocles suggests that images mix with the rays coming from the eye, which he calls the rays of images. Hipparchus thinks that visual rays extend from both eyes to the surfaces of objects, allowing sight to perceive those objects in the same way a hand touching them provides a sense of feeling. Plato argues that sight is the brilliance of combined rays; there is a light that extends from the eyes into the surrounding air, and there's also light emitted from objects that merges with the fiery visual light in the air between them (which is fluid and changeable). The blending of these rays creates the experience of seeing. This concept is what Plato refers to as corradiancy, or the brilliance of united rays.
CHAPTER XIV. OF THOSE IMAGES WHICH ARE PRESENTED TO OUR EYES IN MIRRORS.
Empedocles says that these images are caused by certain effluxes which, meeting together and resting upon the superficies of the mirror, are perfected by that fiery element emitted by the said mirror, which transforms withal the air that surrounds it. Democritus and Epicurus, that the specular appearances are made by the subsistence of the images which flow from our eyes; these fall upon the mirror and remain, while the light returns to the eye. The followers of Pythagoras explain it by the reflection of the sight; for our sight being extended (as it were) to the brass, and meeting with the smooth dense surface thereof it is forced back, and caused to return upon itself: the same takes place in the hand, when it is stretched out and then brought back again to the shoulder. Any one may use these instances to explain the manner of seeing.
Empedocles explains that these images are created by certain emissions which, when they come together and settle on the surface of the mirror, are perfected by the fiery element released by the mirror itself, which also transforms the surrounding air. Democritus and Epicurus argue that the reflected images are formed by the images that flow from our eyes; these fall onto the mirror and stay there while the light bounces back to our eyes. The followers of Pythagoras describe it as the reflection of sight; when our sight extends (so to speak) toward the smooth surface of the brass, it is pushed back and returns to us: the same happens with the hand when it is stretched out and then pulled back to the shoulder. Anyone can use these examples to explain how we see.
CHAPTER XV. WHETHER DARKNESS CAN BE VISIBLE TO US.
The Stoics say that darkness is seen by us, for out of our eyes there issues out some light into it; and our eyes do not impose upon us, for they really perceive there is darkness. Chrysippus says that we see darkness by the striking of the intermediate air; for the visual spirits which proceed from the principal part of the soul and reach to the ball of the eye pierce this air, which, after they have made those strokes upon it, extend conically on the surrounding air, where this is homogeneous in quality. For from the eyes those rays are poured forth which are neither black nor cloudy. Upon this account darkness is visible to us.
The Stoics believe that we perceive darkness because some light emanates from our eyes into it; our eyes aren't deceiving us, as they really do recognize darkness. Chrysippus argues that we see darkness due to the interaction with the air in between. The visual spirits that come from the core of our soul and reach the eye's surface push through this air, and after making contact, they spread out conically into the surrounding air, which has a similar quality. This is why we can see darkness; those rays emitted from our eyes are neither black nor cloudy.
CHAPTER XVI. OF HEARING.
Empedocles says that hearing is formed by the insidency of the air upon the cochlea, which it is said hangs within the ear as a bell, and is beat upon by the air. Alcmaeon, that the vacuity that is within the ear makes us to have the sense of hearing, for the air forcing a vacuum gives the sound; every inanity affords a ringing. Diogenes the air which exists in the head, being struck upon by the voice gives the hearing. Plato and his followers, the air which exists in the head being struck upon, is reflected to the principal part of the soul, and this causeth the sense of hearing.
Empedocles states that hearing is produced by the movement of air against the cochlea, which hangs in the ear like a bell and is struck by the air. Alcmaeon suggests that the empty space within the ear allows us to hear, as the air pushing into a vacuum creates sound; every emptiness produces a ringing. Diogenes points out that the air in the head, when impacted by sound, enables hearing. Plato and his followers believe that the air in the head, when struck, is reflected to the main part of the soul, which creates the sense of hearing.
CHAPTER XVII. OF SMELLING.
Alcmaeon believes that the principal part of the soul, residing in the brain, draws to itself odors by respiration. Empedocles, that scents insert themselves into the breathing of the lungs; for, when there is a great difficulty in breathing, odors are not perceived by reason of the sharpness; and this we experience in those who have the defluxion of rheum.
Alcmaeon believes that the main part of the soul, located in the brain, attracts smells through breathing. Empedocles thinks that scents get into the lungs when we breathe. When breathing becomes really difficult, we can’t smell because of the intensity of the odors; we notice this with people who have a runny nose.
CHAPTER XVIII. OF TASTE.
Alcmaeon says that a moist warmth in the tongue, joined with the softness of it, gives the difference of taste. Diogenes, that by the softness and sponginess of the tongue, and because the veins of the body are joined in it, tastes are diffused by the tongue; for they are attracted from it to that sense and to the commanding part of the soul, as from a sponge.
Alcmaeon says that the moist warmth of the tongue, combined with its softness, creates different tastes. Diogenes adds that due to the softness and sponginess of the tongue—and because the veins in the body connect to it—tastes are spread by the tongue. They are drawn from it to our sense of taste and to the controlling part of the mind, similar to how a sponge works.
CHAPTER XIX. OF THE VOICE.
Plato thus defines a voice,—that it is a breath drawn by the mind through the mouth, and a blow impressed on the air and through the ear, brain, and blood transmitted to the soul. Voice is abusively attributed to irrational and inanimate beings; thus we improperly call the neighing of horses or any other sound by the name of voice. But properly a voice [Greek omitted] is an articulate sound, which illustrates [Greek omitted] the understanding of man. Epicurus says that it is an efflux emitted from things that are vocal, or that give sounds or great noises; this is broken into those fragments which are after the same configuration. Like figures are round figures with round, and irregular and triangular with those of the same kind. These falling upon the ears produce the sense of hearing. This is seen in leaking vessels, and in fullers when they fan or blow their cloths.
Plato defines a voice as a breath taken by the mind through the mouth, which creates a sound in the air and is transmitted through the ear, brain, and blood to the soul. People wrongly attribute "voice" to irrational and inanimate things; for example, we mistakenly refer to the neighing of horses or any other sound as "voice." In a proper sense, a voice is an articulate sound that conveys human understanding. Epicurus states that it is a flow emitted from things that make sounds or loud noises; this flow breaks into fragments that retain a similar shape. Round shapes correspond with round sounds, and irregular or triangular shapes match with similar kinds. When these sounds reach our ears, they create the sense of hearing. This can be observed in leaking vessels and in fullers as they fan or blow their cloth.
Democritus, that the air is broken into bodies of similar configuration, and these are rolled up and down with the fragments of the voice; as it is proverbially said, One daw lights with another, or, God always brings like to like. Thus we see upon the seashore, that stones like to one another are found in the same place, in one place the long-shaped, in another the round are seen. So in sieves, things of the same form meet together, but those that are different are divided; as pulse and beans falling from the same sieve are separated one from another. To this it may be objected: How can some fragments of air fill a theatre in which there is an infinite company of persons. The Stoics, that the air is not composed of small fragments, but is a continued body and nowhere admits a vacuum; and being struck with the air, it is infinitely moved in waves and in right circles, until it fill that air which surrounds it; as we see in a fish-pool which we smite by a falling stone cast upon it; yet the air is moved spherically, the water orbicularly. Anaxagoras says a voice is then formed when upon a solid air the breath is incident, which being repercussed is carried to the ears; after the same manner the echo is produced.
Democritus believed that air is made up of particles with similar shapes, and these particles move up and down with sound waves; as the saying goes, “One bird lights another,” or, “Like attracts like.” We can see this on the beach, where similar stones are found together—long stones in one area and round stones in another. Just like in sieves, items with the same shape group together, while different ones get separated; for instance, pulses and beans falling through the same sieve are sorted apart. One might ask: How can a few air particles fill a theater with countless people? The Stoics argue that air is not made up of tiny fragments but is a continuous substance that never allows for a vacuum. When air is struck, it moves infinitely in waves and circles until it fills the surrounding air, similar to how ripples spread across a pond when a stone is thrown in; however, air moves in spheres while water moves in circles. Anaxagoras states that sound occurs when the breath strikes solid air, causing it to bounce back and travel to our ears; this is also how echoes are created.
CHAPTER XX. WHETHER THE VOICE IS INCORPOREAL. WHAT IS IT THAT THE GIVES ECHO?
Pythagoras, Plato, and Aristotle declare that the voice is incorporeal; for it is not the air that causes the voice, but the figure which compasseth the air and its superficies having received a stroke, give the voice. But every superficies of itself is incorporeal. It is true that it move with the body but itself it hath no body; as we observe in a staff that is bended, the matter only admits of an inflection, while the superficies doth not. According to the Stoics a voice is corporeal since everything that is an agent or operates is a body; a voice acts and operates, for we hear it and are sensible of it; for it falls and makes an impression on the ear, as a seal of a ring gives its similitude upon the wax. Besides, everything that creates a delight or injury is a body; harmonious music affects with delight, but discord is tiresome. And everything that moved is a body; and the voice moves, and having its illapse upon smooth places is reflected, as when a ball is cast against a wall it rebounds. A voice spoken in the Egyptian pyramids is so broken, that it gives four or five echoes.
Pythagoras, Plato, and Aristotle argue that sound is incorporeal; it’s not the air itself that creates sound, but the shape that surrounds the air and its surface, which, when struck, produces the sound. However, every surface is incorporeal on its own. While it moves with the body, it doesn’t have a body itself; we can see this in a bent stick, where only the material allows for bending, while the surface does not. The Stoics, on the other hand, view sound as corporeal since anything that acts or operates must be a body; sound acts and has an effect because we hear it and perceive it; it makes an impact on the ear, similar to how a seal creates an impression on wax. Furthermore, anything that brings pleasure or pain is a body; harmonious music brings joy, while discord is annoying. Everything that moves is a body, and sound moves, bouncing off smooth surfaces, like a ball that rebounds when thrown against a wall. A sound made in the Egyptian pyramids is so distorted that it produces four or five echoes.
CHAPTER XXI. BY WHAT MEANS THE SOUL IS SENSIBLE, AND WHAT IS THE PRINCIPAL AND COMMANDING PART OF IT.
The Stoics say that the highest part of the soul is the commanding part of it: this is the cause of sense, fancy, consents, and desires; and this we call the rational part. From this principal and commander there are produced seven parts of the soul, which are spread through the body, as the seven arms in a polypus. Of these seven parts, five are assigned to the senses, seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching. Sight is a spirit which is extended from the commanding part of the eyes; hearing is that spirit which from the principle reacheth to the ears; smelling a spirit drawn from the principal to the nostrils; tasting a spirit extended from the principle to the tongue; touching is a spirit which from the principal is drawn to the extremity of those bodies which are obnoxious to a sensible touch. Of the rest, the one called the spermatical is a spirit which reacheth from the principal to the generating vessels; the other, which is the vocal and termed the voice, is a spirit extended from the principal to the throat, tongue, and other proper organs of speaking. And this principal part itself hath that place in our spherical head which God hath in the world.
The Stoics say that the highest part of the soul is its commanding part: this is responsible for perception, imagination, agreement, and desires; and we call this the rational part. From this main leader, seven parts of the soul emerge, spread throughout the body like the seven arms of a octopus. Of these seven parts, five are related to the senses: seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching. Sight is a spirit that extends from the commanding part to the eyes; hearing is the spirit that reaches from the main part to the ears; smelling is a spirit that flows from the main part to the nostrils; tasting is a spirit that extends from the main part to the tongue; and touching is a spirit drawn from the main part to the ends of the body that can be felt. Of the other two, one called the spermatical is a spirit that reaches from the main part to the reproductive organs; the other, known as the vocal part or voice, is a spirit that extends from the main part to the throat, tongue, and other areas involved in speaking. This main part itself occupies a position in our round head similar to that of God in the world.
CHAPTER XXII. OF RESPIRATION OR BREATHING.
Empedocles thinks, that the first breath the first animal drew was when the moisture in the embryo was separated, and by that means an entrance was given to the external air into the gaping vessels, the moisture in them being evacuated. After this the natural heat, in a violent force pressing upon the external air for a passage, begets an expiration; but this heat returning to the inward parts, and the air giving way to it, causeth a respiration. The respiration that now is arises when the blood is borne to the exterior surface, and by this movement drives the airy substance through the nostrils; thus in its recess it causeth expiration, but the air being again forced into those places which are emptied of blood, it causeth an inspiration. To explain which, he proposeth the instance of a water-clock, which gives the account of time by the running of water.
Empedocles believes that the first breath drawn by an animal happened when the moisture in the embryo was separated, allowing the external air to enter the open vessels as the moisture inside them was released. After this, the body's natural heat forcefully presses against the external air to create an exhale; then, as this heat returns to the inner parts and the air yields to it, it causes an inhale. The breathing we experience now occurs when blood moves to the outer surface, which, through this movement, pushes air through the nostrils. This process results in exhaling, but when air is forced back into areas that have emptied of blood, it creates an inhalation. To illustrate this, he uses the example of a water clock, which measures time by the flow of water.
Asclepiades supposeth the lungs to be in the manner of a funnel, and the cause of breathing to be the fineness of the inward parts of the breast; for thither the outward air which is more gross hastens, but is forced backward, the breast not being capable either to receive or want it. But there being always some of the more tenuous parts of the air left, so that all of it is not exploded, to that which there remains the more ponderous external air with equal violence is forced; and this he compares to cupping-glasses. All spontaneous breathings are formed by the contracting of the smaller pores of the lungs, and to the closing of the pipe in the neck; for these are at our command.
Asclepiades believes the lungs work like a funnel, and that the reason we breathe is due to the fine structure of the inner chest. The heavier outside air rushes in, but it gets pushed back because the chest can't take it all in or do without it. However, there are always some lighter parts of the air left inside, so not all of it gets pushed out. The denser external air then rushes in with equal force, which he likens to cupping glasses. All natural breathing happens because the smaller pores in the lungs contract and the airway in the neck closes; these are within our control.
Herophilus attributes a moving faculty to the nerves, arteries, and muscles, but thinks that the lungs are affected only with a natural desire of enlarging and contracting themselves. Farther, there is the first operation of the lungs by attraction of the outward air, which is drawn in because of the abundance of the external air. Next to this, there is a second natural appetite of the lungs; the breast, pouring in upon itself the breath, and being filled, is no longer able to make an attraction, and throws the superfluity of it upon the lungs, whereby it is then sent forth in expiration; the parts of the body mutually concurring to this function by the alternate participation of fulness and emptiness. So that to lungs pertain four motions—first, when the lungs receive the outward air; secondly, when the outward air thus entertained is transmitted to the breast; thirdly, when the lungs again receive that air which they imparted to the breast; fourthly, when this air then received from the breast is thrown outwards. Of these four processes two are dilatations, one when the lungs attract the air, another when the breast dischargeth itself of it upon the lungs; two are contractions, one when the breast draws into itself the air, the second when it expels this which was insinuated into it. The breast admits only of two motions—of dilatation, when it draws from the lungs the breath, and of contraction, when it returns what it did receive.
Herophilus attributes movement to the nerves, arteries, and muscles, but believes that the lungs are driven only by a natural urge to expand and contract. Furthermore, the lungs first operate by drawing in external air, which comes in due to the abundance of air outside. Next, there is a natural desire of the lungs; when the chest fills with breath, it can no longer draw in air and releases the excess into the lungs, which is then expelled during exhalation. The body parts work together in this process through alternating fullness and emptiness. Thus, the lungs have four movements: first, when they take in external air; second, when this air goes to the chest; third, when the lungs take back the air they gave to the chest; and fourth, when that air from the chest is pushed outwards. Of these four processes, two are expansions—one when the lungs attract air and another when the chest releases it into the lungs. The other two are contractions—one when the chest inhales air and another when it exhales what it has taken in. The chest only has two motions: expansion when it draws air from the lungs and contraction when it returns the air it received.
CHAPTER XXIII. OF THE PASSIONS OF THE BODY, AND WHETHER THE SOUL HATH A SYMPATHETICAL CONDOLENCY WITH IT.
The Stoics say that all the passions are seated in those parts of the body which are affected, the senses have their residence in the commanding part of the soul. Epicurus, that all the passions and all the senses are in those parts which are affected, but the commanding part is subject to no passion. Strato, that all the passions and senses of the soul are in the rational or commanding part of it, and are not fixed in those places which are affected; for in this place patience takes its residence, and this is apparent in terrible and dolorous things, as also in timorous and valiant individuals.
The Stoics believe that all emotions are rooted in the parts of the body that are impacted, while the senses are located in the rational part of the soul. Epicurus claims that all emotions and senses are in the affected areas, but the rational part is free from any emotion. Strato posits that all emotions and senses of the soul are in the rational or commanding part and are not fixed in the affected areas; it is here that patience resides, which is evident in the face of fearsome and painful situations, as well as in both fearful and brave individuals.
BOOK V
CHAPTER I. OF DIVINATION.
Plato and the Stoics introduce divination as a godlike enthusiasm, the soul itself being of a divine constitution, and this prophetic faculty being inspiration, or an illapse of the divine knowledge into man; and so likewise they account for interpretation by dreams. And these same allow many divisions of the art of divination. Xenophanes and Epicurus utterly refuse any such art of foretelling future contingencies. Pythagoras rejects all manner of divination which is by sacrifices. Aristotle and Dicaearchus admit only these two kinds of it, a fury by a divine inspiration, and dreams; they deny the immortality of the soul, yet they affirm that the mind of man hath a participation of something that is divine.
Plato and the Stoics describe divination as a divine inspiration, with the soul itself having a divine nature, and this prophetic ability being seen as a form of inspiration or a direct influence of divine knowledge on humans; they also explain dream interpretation in similar terms. They acknowledge several different types of divination. Xenophanes and Epicurus completely deny the existence of any art that predicts future events. Pythagoras dismisses all forms of divination that involve sacrifices. Aristotle and Dicaearchus recognize only two types: a prophetic frenzy caused by divine inspiration and dreams; they reject the idea of the soul's immortality but assert that the human mind has a connection to something divine.
CHAPTER II. WHENCE DREAMS DO ARISE.
Democritus says that dreams are formed by the illapse of adventitious representations. Strato, that the irrational part of the soul in sleep becoming more sensible is moved by the rational part of it. Herophilus, that dreams which are caused by divine instinct have a necessary cause; but dreams which have their origin from a natural cause arise from the soul's forming within itself the images of those things which are convenient for it, and which will happen; those dreams which are of a constitution mixed of both these have their origin from the fortuitous appulse of images, as when we see those things which please us; thus it happens many times to those persons who in their sleep imagine they embrace their mistresses.
Democritus says that dreams are created by random images that come to mind. Strato argues that the irrational part of the soul becomes more aware during sleep and is influenced by the rational part. Herophilus believes that dreams inspired by a divine force have a necessary cause; on the other hand, dreams that come from natural causes emerge from the soul's ability to create images of things that are helpful or that are likely to happen. Dreams that mix elements of both sources arise from the chance encounter of images, like when we dream of things that make us happy; this often happens to people who, while sleeping, imagine they are embracing their lovers.
CHAPTER III. OF THE NATURE OF GENERATIVE SEED.
Aristotle says, that seed is that thing which contains in itself a power of moving, whereby it is enabled to produce a being like unto that from whence it was emitted. Pythagoras, that seed is the sediment of that which nourisheth us, the froth of the purest blood, of the same nature of the blood and marrow of our bodies. Alcmaeon, that it is part of the brain. Plato, that it is the deflux of the spinal marrow. Epicurus, that it is a fragment torn from the body and soul. Democritus, that it proceeds from all the parts of the body, and chiefly from the principal parts, as the tissues and muscles.
Aristotle says that seed is something that has the power to move, allowing it to create a being similar to the one it came from. Pythagoras claims that seed is the residue of what nourishes us, the froth of the purest blood, similar in nature to the blood and marrow of our bodies. Alcmaeon believes it is part of the brain. Plato states that it is the overflow of the spinal marrow. Epicurus thinks it is a fragment taken from the body and soul. Democritus argues that it comes from all parts of the body, especially from the main parts, like the tissues and muscles.
CHAPTER IV. WHETHER THE SPERM BE A BODY.
Leucippus and Zeno say, that it is a body and a fragment of the soul. Pythagoras, Plato, and Aristotle, that the spermatic faculty is incorporeal, as the mind is which moves the body; but the effused matter is corporeal. Strato and Democritus, that the essential power is a body; for it is like spirit.
Leucippus and Zeno say that it’s a body and a part of the soul. Pythagoras, Plato, and Aristotle say that the reproductive ability is immaterial, like the mind that moves the body; however, the material released is physical. Strato and Democritus argue that the essential power is a body since it is similar to spirit.
CHAPTER V. WHETHER WOMEN DO GIVE A SPERMATIC EMISSION AS MEN DO.
Pythagoras, Epicurus, and Democritus say, that women have a seminal projection, but their spermatic vessels are inverted; and it is this that makes them have a venereal appetite. Aristotle and Plato, that they emit a material moisture, as sweat we see produced by exercise and labor; but that moisture has no spermatic power. Hippo, that women have a seminal emission, but not after the mode of men; it contributes nothing to generation, for it falls outside of the matrix; and therefore some women without coition, especially widows, give the seed. They also assert that from men the bones, from women the flesh proceed.
Pythagoras, Epicurus, and Democritus say that women have a type of seminal release, but their spermatic vessels are reversed; this is what creates their sexual desire. Aristotle and Plato claim that women produce a bodily fluid, similar to the sweat we see from exercise and hard work; however, this fluid lacks any reproductive power. Hippocrates believes that women do have a seminal release, but it's different from men’s; it does not contribute to conception because it falls outside the womb. Therefore, some women, especially widows, can produce seed without sexual intercourse. They also assert that bones come from men and flesh comes from women.
CHAPTER VI. HOW IT IS THAT CONCEPTIONS ARE MADE.
Aristotle says, that conception takes place when the womb is drawn down by the natural purgation, and the monthly terms attract from the whole mass part of the purest blood, and this is met by the seed of man. On the contrary, there is a failure by the impurity and inflation of the womb, by fear and grief, by the weakness of women, or the decline of strength in men.
Aristotle suggests that conception happens when the womb is pulled down during the natural process, and the monthly cycle draws out some of the purest blood from the whole body, which then meets the male seed. Conversely, conception fails due to impurities and swelling of the womb, as well as factors like fear, sadness, women's health issues, or diminishing strength in men.
CHAPTER VII. AFTER WHAT MANNER MALES AND FEMALES ARE GENERATED.
Empedocles affirms, that heat and cold give the difference in the generation of males and females. Hence is it, as histories acquaint us, that the first men originated from the earth in the eastern and southern parts, and the first females in the northern parts. Parmenides is of opinion perfectly contrariant. He affirms that men first sprouted out of the northern earth, for their bodies are more dense; women out of the southern, for theirs are more rare and fine. Hippo, that the more compacted and strong sperm, and the more fluid and weak, discriminate the sexes. Anaxagoras and Parmenides, that the seed of the man is naturally cast from his right side into the right side of the womb, or from the left side of the man into the left side of the womb; there is an alteration in this course of nature when females are generated. Cleophanes, whom Aristotle makes mention of, assigns the generation of men to the right testicle, of women to the left. Leucippus gives the reason of it to the alteration or diversity of parts, according to which the man hath a yard, the female the matrix; as to any other reason he is silent. Democritus, that the parts common to both sexes are engendered indifferently; but the peculiar parts by the one that is more powerful. Hippo, that if the spermatic faculty be more effectual, the male, if the nutritive aliment, the female is generated.
Empedocles claims that heat and cold create the differences in the birth of males and females. According to historical accounts, the first men came from the earth in the eastern and southern regions, while the first females originated in the northern regions. Parmenides has an opposing view. He believes that men first emerged from the northern earth because their bodies are denser, while women arose from the southern earth due to their lighter and finer bodies. Hippo suggests that stronger, more compact sperm creates males, while weaker, more fluid sperm produces females. Anaxagoras and Parmenides propose that a man's seed is naturally released from his right side into the right side of the womb, or from his left side into the left side of the womb; this natural process changes when females are conceived. Cleophanes, mentioned by Aristotle, states that men are generated from the right testicle and women from the left. Leucippus attributes this to the differences in body parts; men have a penis and women have a womb, and he doesn’t offer any other explanation. Democritus claims that shared body parts for both sexes are created equally, but the unique parts are produced by whoever is stronger. Hippo adds that if the sperm is more effective, a male is produced, while if the nourishing substance is stronger, a female is generated.
CHAPTER VIII. BY WHAT MEANS IT IS THAT MONSTROUS BIRTHS ARE EFFECTED.
Empedocles believes that monsters receive their origination from the abundance or defect of seed, or from its division into parts which are superabundant, or from some disturbance in the motion, or else that there is an error by a lapse into an unsuitable receptacle; and thus he presumes he hath given all the causes of monstrous conceptions. Strato, that it comes through addition, subtraction, or transposition of the seed, or the distension or inflation of the matrix. And some physicians say that the matrix suffers distortion, being distended with wind.
Empedocles thinks that monsters are created from either too much or too little seed, from its division into excessive parts, from some kind of disturbance in motion, or from mistakenly ending up in an inappropriate place; he believes this covers all the reasons for monstrous formations. Strato suggests it's due to adding, removing, or rearranging the seed, or the stretching or inflation of the womb. Some doctors claim that the womb is distorted because it's expanded by gas.
CHAPTER IX. HOW IT COMES TO PASS THAT A WOMAN'S TOO FREQUENT CONVERSATION WITH A MAN HINDERS CONCEPTION.
Diocles the physician says that either no genital sperm is projected, or, if there be, it is in a less quantity than nature requires, or there is no prolific faculty in it; or there is a deficiency of a due proportion of heat, cold, moisture, and dryness; or there is a resolution of the generative parts. The Stoics attribute sterility to the obliquity of the yard, by which means it is not able to ejaculate in a due manner, or to the unproportionable magnitude of the parts, the matrix being so contracted as not to have a capacity to receive. Erasistratus assigns it to the womb's being more callous or more carneous, thinner or smaller, than nature does require.
Diocles the physician states that either no sperm is produced, or if it is, there's not enough for reproduction, or it lacks the ability to create life; there might be an imbalance of heat, cold, moisture, and dryness; or the reproductive organs could be compromised. The Stoics believe sterility is caused by the angle of the penis, which prevents proper ejaculation, or by an improper size of the organs, where the uterus is too narrow to accommodate. Erasistratus attributes it to the uterus being too tough or too fleshy, thinner or smaller than what nature requires.
CHAPTER X. WHENCE IT IS THAT ONE BIRTH GIVES TWO OR THREE CHILDREN.
Empedocles affirms, that the superabundance of sperm and the division of it causes the bringing forth of two or three infants. Asclepiades, that it is performed from the excellent quality of the sperm, after the manner that from the root of one barleycorn two or three stalks do grow; sperm that is of this quality is the most prolific. Erasistratus, that superfetation may happen to women as to irrational creatures; for, if the womb be well purged and very clean, then there can be divers births. The Stoics, that it ariseth from the various receptacles that are in the womb: when the seed illapses into the first and second of them at once, then there are conceptions upon conception; and so two or three infants are born.
Empedocles claims that a surplus of sperm and its division can result in the birth of two or three infants. Asclepiades believes this happens due to the high quality of the sperm, similar to how one barley seed can grow into two or three stalks; this type of sperm is the most fertile. Erasistratus states that superfetation can occur in women just like in non-human animals; if the womb is well-cleansed and very clean, multiple births are possible. The Stoics suggest that this happens because of the various chambers in the womb: when the sperm enters the first and second chambers simultaneously, then there are conceptions on top of one another, leading to the birth of two or three infants.
CHAPTER XI. WHENCE IT IS THAT CHILDREN REPRESENT THEIR PARENTS AND PROGENITORS.
Empedocles says, that the similitude of children to their parents proceeds from the vigorous prevalency of the generating sperm; the dissimilitude from the evaporation of the natural heat it contains. Parmenides, that when the sperm falls on the right side of the womb, then the infant gives the resemblance of the father; if from the left, it is stamped with the similitude of the mother. The Stoics, that the whole body and soul give the sperm; and hence arise the likenesses in the characters and faces of the children, as a painter in his copy imitates the colors in a picture before him. Women have a concurrent emission of seed; if the feminine seed have the predominancy, the child resembles the mother; if the masculine, the father.
Empedocles says that children resemble their parents because of the strong influence of the generating sperm; their differences come from the loss of natural warmth. Parmenides states that if the sperm lands on the right side of the womb, the baby will look like the father; if it lands on the left, the baby will resemble the mother. The Stoics believe that both the body and soul contribute to the sperm, which explains the similarities in the traits and appearances of children, much like how a painter copies the colors from a reference picture. Women also have a release of seed; if the female seed dominates, the child looks like the mother; if the male seed dominates, the child looks like the father.
CHAPTER XII. HOW IT COMES TO PASS THAT CHILDREN HAVE A GREATER SIMILITUDE WITH STRANGERS THAN WITH THEIR PARENTS.
The greatest part of physicians affirm, that this happens casually and fortuitously; for, when the sperm of the man and woman is too much refrigerated, then children carry a dissimilitude to their parents. Empedocles, that a woman's imagination in conception impresses a shape upon the infant; for women have been enamoured with images and statues, and the children which were born of them gave their similitudes. The Stoics, that the resemblances flow from the sympathy and consent of minds, through the insertion of effluvias and rays, not of images or pictures.
Most doctors agree that this happens by chance; when the sperm from a man and woman is too cold, their children will look different from them. Empedocles believed that a woman's imagination during conception shapes the infant; women have been attracted to images and statues, and the children born from these influences often resemble them. The Stoics argued that resemblances come from the sympathy and agreement of minds, through the transmission of substances and energies, not through images or pictures.
CHAPTER XIII. WHENCE ARISETH BARRENNESS IN WOMEN, AND IMPOTENCY IN MEN?
The physicians maintain, that sterility in women can arise from the womb; for if it be after any ways thus affected, there will be a barrenness,—if it be more condensed, or more thin, or more hardened, or more callous, or more carneous; or it may be from languor, or from an atrophy or vicious condition of body; or, lastly, it may arise from a twisted or distorted position. Diocles holds that the sterility in men ariseth from some of these causes,—either that they cannot at all ejaculate any sperm, or if they do, it is less than nature doth require, or else there is no generative faculty in the sperm, or the genital members are flagging; or from the obliquity of the yard. The Stoics attribute the cause of sterility to the contrariant qualities and dispositions of those who lie with one another; but if it chance that these persons are separated, and there happen a conjunction of those who are of a suitable temperament, then there is a commixture according to nature, and by this means an infant is formed.
Doctors believe that female infertility can be caused by issues with the womb; if the womb is affected in any way, it can lead to barrenness—whether it is denser, thinner, harder, more calloused, or more fleshy. It can also result from weakness, atrophy, or a poor physical condition; or, finally, it may be due to a twisted or distorted position. Diocles asserts that male infertility can stem from some of these causes—either they are unable to ejaculate any sperm, or if they do, the amount is less than what is needed, or there is no ability to produce viable sperm, or their genital organs are weak; it may also be caused by a curvature of the penis. The Stoics attribute infertility to the opposing qualities and temperaments of those who are intimate with each other; however, if those individuals are separated and then come together with partners who have compatible temperaments, a natural combination occurs, resulting in the formation of a child.
CHAPTER XIV. HOW IT ARISES THAT MULES ARE BARREN.
Alcmaeon says, that the barrenness of the male mules ariseth from the thinness of the genital sperm, that is, the seed is too chill; the female mules are barren, because the womb does not open its mouth (as he expresses it). Empedocles, the matrix of the mule is so small, so depressed, so narrow, so invertedly growing to the belly, that the sperm cannot be regularly ejaculated into it, and if it could, there would be no capacity to receive it. Diocles concurs in this opinion with him; for, saith he, in our anatomical dissection of mules we have seen that their matrices are of such configurations; and it is possible that there may be the same reason why some women are barren.
Alcmaeon states that male mules are infertile because their sperm is too thin and cold. Female mules are barren because their wombs don't open properly (as he puts it). Empedocles argues that the mule's reproductive organ is so small, low, narrow, and turned towards the belly that sperm cannot be effectively deposited into it, and even if it could, there wouldn't be room to hold it. Diocles agrees with this view, noting that during our anatomical studies of mules, we've observed that their reproductive organs have these characteristics; it’s possible that this could also explain why some women are infertile.
CHAPTER XV. WHETHER THE INFANT IN THE MOTHER'S WOMB BE AN ANIMAL.
Plato says, that the embryo is an animal; for, being contained in the mother's womb, motion and aliment are imparted to it. The Stoics say that it is not an animal, but to be accounted part of the mother's belly; like as we see the fruit of trees is esteemed part of the trees, until it be full ripe; then it falls and ceaseth to belong to the tree; thus it is with the embryo. Empedocles, that the embryo is not an animal, yet whilst it remains in the belly it breathes. The first breath that it draws as an animal is when the infant is newly born; then the child having its moisture separated, the extraneous air making an entrance into the empty places, a respiration is caused in the infant by the empty vessels receiving of it. Diogenes, that infants are nurtured in the matrix inanimate, yet they have a natural heat; but presently, when the infant is cast into the open air, its heat brings air into the lungs, and so it becomes an animal. Herophilus acknowledgeth that a natural, but not an animal motion, and that the nerves are the cause of that motion; that then they become animals, when being first born they suck in something of the air.
Plato states that the embryo is an animal because, while it’s in the mother’s womb, it receives motion and nourishment. The Stoics argue that it isn’t considered an animal but rather part of the mother’s body; similar to how fruit is seen as part of a tree until it ripens, at which point it falls and no longer belongs to the tree. The same goes for the embryo. Empedocles claims that the embryo isn’t an animal, but while it’s in the womb, it breathes. The first time it breathes as an animal is when the baby is born; then, as the child’s moisture separates, outside air enters the empty spaces, causing respiration in the baby due to the empty vessels receiving it. Diogenes believes that infants are nourished in the womb without being alive, yet they have a natural heat; but once the baby is exposed to air, its heat allows air to enter the lungs, making it an animal. Herophilus acknowledges that there is natural, but not animal motion, and that nerves are responsible for this movement; they become animals when, upon birth, they inhale some air.
CHAPTER XVI. HOW EMBRYOS ARE NOURISHED, OR HOW THE INFANT IN THE BELLY RECEIVES ITS ALIMENT.
Democritus and Epicurus say, that the embryos in the womb receive their aliment by the mouth, for we perceive, as soon as ever the infant is born, it applies its mouth to the breast; in the wombs of women (our understanding concludes) there are little dugs, and the embryos have small mouths by which they receive their nutriment. The Stoics, that by the secundines and navel they partake of aliment, and therefore the midwife instantly after their birth ties the navel, and opens the infant's mouth, that it may receive another sort of aliment. Alcmaeon, that they receive their nourishment from every part of the body; as a sponge sucks in water.
Democritus and Epicurus say that embryos in the womb get their nutrients through their mouths because we notice that as soon as an infant is born, it instinctively puts its mouth to the breast. Our understanding suggests that there are small nipples in women's wombs, allowing the embryos to receive nourishment through small mouths. The Stoics believe that embryos get their nutrients through the umbilical cord and that’s why the midwife quickly ties the cord after birth and encourages the infant to open its mouth for a different type of nourishment. Alcmaeon argues that they take in nourishment from all parts of the body, much like a sponge absorbs water.
CHAPTER XVII. WHAT PART OF THE BODY IS FIRST FORMED IN THE WOMB.
The Stoics believe that the whole is formed at the same time. Aristotle, as the keel of a ship is first made, so the first part that is formed is the loins. Alcmaeon, the head, for that is the commanding and the principal part of the body. The physicians, the heart, in which are the veins and arteries. Some think the great toe is first formed; others affirm the navel.
The Stoics believe everything is formed simultaneously. Aristotle suggests that just as the keel of a ship is made first, the first part to develop is the loins. Alcmaeon states it's the head, as that is the controlling and main part of the body. The physicians point to the heart, where the veins and arteries reside. Some believe the great toe is the first to form; others insist it's the navel.
CHAPTER XVIII. WHENCE IS IT THAT INFANTS BORN IN THE SEVENTH MONTH ARE BORN ALIVE.
Empedocles says, that when the human race took first its original from the earth, the sun was so slow in its motion that then one day in its length was equal to ten months, as now they are; in process of time one day became as long as seven months are; and there is the reason that those infants which are born at the end of seven months or ten months are born alive, the course of nature so disposing that the infant shall be brought to maturity in one day after that night in which it is begotten. Timaeus says, that we count not ten months but nine, by reason that we reckon the first conception from the stoppage of the menstruas; and so it may generally pass for seven months when really there are not seven; for it sometimes occurs that even after conception a woman is purged to some extent. Polybus, Diocles, and the Empirics, acknowledge that the eighth month gives a vital birth to the infant, though the life of it is more faint and languid; many therefore we see born in that month die out of mere weakness. Though we see many born in that month arrive at the state of man, yet (they affirm) if children be born in that month, none wish to rear them.
Empedocles says that when humanity first originated from the earth, the sun moved so slowly that one day was as long as ten months, just like it is now. Over time, one day became as long as seven months. This is why infants born after seven or ten months are alive; nature ensures that the infant reaches maturity in one day after the night it was conceived. Timaeus mentions that we count nine months instead of ten because we start counting from when menstruation stops. So, it can often seem like there are seven months when there aren’t really seven, since a woman might still experience some bleeding after conception. Polybus, Diocles, and the Empirics agree that the eighth month can lead to a viable birth, although the baby's life is often weak and fragile; many we see born in that month don’t survive due to their fragility. While some infants born in that month do grow up to be healthy, they say that people generally don’t wish to raise children born then.
Aristotle and Hippocrates, that if the womb is full in seven months, then the child falls from the mother and is born alive, but if it falls from her but is not nourished, the navel being weak on account of the weight of the infant, then it doth not thrive; but if the infant continues nine months in the womb, and then comes forth from the woman, it is entire and perfect. Polybus, that a hundred and eighty-two days and a half suffice for the bringing forth of a living child; that is, six months, in which space of time the sun moves from one tropic to the other; and this is called seven months, for the days which are over plus in the sixth are accounted to give the seventh month. Those children which are born in the eighth month cannot live, for, the infant then falling from the womb, the navel, which is the cause of nourishment, is thereby too much wrenched; and is the reason that the infant languishes and hath an atrophy. The astrologers, that eight months are enemies to every birth, seven are friends and kind to it. The signs of the zodiac are then enemies, when they fall upon those stars which are lords of houses; whatever infant is then born will have a life short and unfortunate. Those signs of the zodiac which are malevolent and injurious to generation are those pairs of which the final is reckoned the eighth from the first, as the first and the eighth, the second and the ninth, etc; so is the Ram unsociable with Scorpio, the Bull with Sagittarius, the Twins with the Goat, the Crab with Aquarius, the Lion with Pisces, the Virgin with the Ram. Upon this reason those infants that are born in the seventh or tenth months are like to live, but those in the eighth month will die.
Aristotle and Hippocrates believed that if the womb is full at seven months, then the child is born alive. However, if the child is born but not properly nourished, the weak navel due to the baby's weight causes it to fail to thrive. If the baby stays in the womb for nine months and is then born, it is whole and perfect. Polybus stated that it takes one hundred eighty-two and a half days to deliver a living child, which is roughly six months. During this time, the sun moves from one tropic to the other, and this is referred to as seven months because the extra days in the sixth month count towards the seventh month. Babies born in the eighth month often cannot survive because, when they come out of the womb, the navel, which provides nourishment, gets too stressed, leading to weakness and malnutrition in the infant. Astrologers claim that eight months are harmful for any birth while seven months are beneficial. Zodiac signs are considered unfavorable when they align with stars that rule houses; any infant born during this time will likely have a short and unfortunate life. The zodiac signs that are detrimental to birth are pairs where the last sign is counted as the eighth from the first, such as the first and eighth signs, the second and ninth, and so on; for example, Aries is incompatible with Scorpio, Taurus with Sagittarius, Gemini with Capricorn, Cancer with Aquarius, Leo with Pisces, and Virgo with Aries. For this reason, infants born in the seventh or tenth months are likely to survive, but those born in the eighth month are likely to die.
CHAPTER XIX. OF THE GENERATION OF ANIMALS, HOW ANIMALS ARE BEGOTTEN, AND WHETHER THEY ARE OBNOXIOUS TO CORRUPTION.
Those philosophers who entertain the opinion that the world had an original do likewise assert that all animals are generated and corruptible. The followers of Epicurus, who gives an eternity to the world, affirm the generation of animals ariseth from the various permutation of parts mutually among themselves, for they are parts of this world. With them Anaxagoras and Euripides concur:
Those philosophers who believe that the world had a beginning also claim that all animals are created and can perish. The followers of Epicurus, who think the world is eternal, argue that animals are formed from the various rearrangements of parts among themselves, since they are all parts of this world. Anaxagoras and Euripides agree with this perspective:
Nothing dies,
Different changes give their various forms.
Nothing dies,
Different changes take on various forms.Anaximander's opinion is, that the first animals were generated in moisture, and were enclosed in bark on which thorns grew; but in process of time they came upon dry land, and this thorny bark with which they were covered being broken, they lived only for a short space of time. Empedocles says, that the first generation of animals and plants was by no means completed, for the parts were disjoined and would not admit of a union; the second preparation and for their being generated was when their parts were united and appeared in the form of images; the third preparation for generation was when their parts mutually amongst themselves gave a being to one another; the fourth, when there was no longer a mixture of like elements (as earth and water), but a union of animals among themselves,—in some the nourishment being made dense, in others female beauty provoking a desire of spermatic motion. All sorts of animals are discriminated by their proper temperament and constitution; some are carried by a proper appetite and inclination to water, some, which partake of a more fiery quality, to live in the air those that are heavier incline to the earth; but those animals whose parts are of a just temperament are fitted equally for all places.
Anaximander believes that the first animals emerged in wet environments and were covered in a thorny bark. Over time, they made their way onto dry land, and once the thorny bark broke away, they only lived for a short while. Empedocles argues that the initial creation of animals and plants wasn’t complete because their parts were separate and couldn’t come together. The second stage of their development occurred when their parts joined and resembled specific forms; the third stage happened when their parts contributed to each other's existence; the fourth stage emerged when there was no longer a mixing of similar elements (like earth and water), but rather a combination of animals among themselves—some developing denser nourishment while others exhibited female beauty that sparked a desire for reproduction. Different kinds of animals are identified by their unique temperament and constitution; some are drawn to water, others, which have a more fiery nature, prefer the air, while those that are heavier tend to be grounded on land. However, animals with a balanced temperament are suited for all environments.
CHAPTER XX. HOW MANY SPECIES OF ANIMALS THERE ARE, AND WHETHER ALL ANIMALS HAVE THE ENDOWMENTS OF SENSE AND REASON.
There is a certain treatise of Aristotle, in which animals are distributed into four kinds, terrestrial, aqueous, fowl, and heavenly; and he calls the stars and the world too animals, yea, and God himself he posits to be an animal gifted with reason and immortal. Democritus and Epicurus consider all animals rational which have their residence in the heavens. Anaxagoras says that animals have only that reason which is operative, but not that which is passive, which is justly styled the interpreter of the mind, and is like the mind itself. Pythagoras and Plato, that the souls of all those who are styled brutes are rational; but by the evil constitution of their bodies, and because they have a want of a discoursive faculty, they do not conduct themselves rationally. This is manifested in apes and dogs, which have inarticulate voice but not speech. Diogenes, that this sort of animals are partakers of intelligence and air, but by reason of the density in some parts of them, and by the superfluity of moisture in others, they neither enjoy understanding nor sense; but they are affected as madmen are, the commanding rational part being defectuous and injured.
There is a certain work by Aristotle where he classifies animals into four categories: land, water, birds, and celestial. He also includes the stars and the universe as animals, and even suggests that God is a rational, immortal animal. Democritus and Epicurus think that all animals living in the sky are rational. Anaxagoras argues that animals have only active reason, not passive reason, which is rightly called the interpreter of the mind and resembles the mind itself. Pythagoras and Plato believe that the souls of all creatures considered to be brute are rational, but due to the poor state of their bodies and lack of reasoning ability, they do not act rationally. This is evident in apes and dogs, which can make sounds but do not have speech. Diogenes claims that these animals possess some intelligence and air, but because of density in some areas and excess moisture in others, they lack understanding and perception; they behave like madmen with their rational faculties being impaired and damaged.
CHAPTER XXI. WHAT TIME IS REQUIRED TO SHAPE THE PARTS OF ANIMALS IN THE WOMB.
Empedocles believes, that the joints of men begin to be formed from the thirty-sixth day, and their shape is completed in the nine and fortieth. Asclepiades, that male embryos, by reason of a greater natural heat, have their joints begun to be formed in the twenty-sixth day,—many even sooner,—and that they are completed in all their parts on the fiftieth day; the parts of the females are articulated in two months, but by the defect of heat are not consummated till the fourth; but the members of brutes are completed at various times, according to the commixture of the elements of which they consist.
Empedocles believes that human joints start to form on the thirty-sixth day, and their shape is finished by the forty-ninth day. Asclepiades argues that male embryos, due to having a higher natural heat, begin to form their joints on the twenty-sixth day—some even earlier—and that they are fully formed by the fiftieth day; female parts form in two months, but due to a lack of heat, they aren't fully developed until the fourth month. The limbs of animals are completed at different times, depending on the combination of elements they are made up of.
CHAPTER XXII. OF WHAT ELEMENTS EACH OF THE MEMBERS OF US MEN IS COMPOSED.
Empedocles says, that the fleshy parts of us are constituted by the contemperation of the four elements in us; earth and fire mixed with a double proportion of water make nerves; but when it happens that the nerves are refrigerated where they come in contact with the air, then the nails are made; the bones are produced by two parts of water and the same of air, with four parts of fire and the same of earth, mixed together; sweat and tears flow from liquefaction of bodies.
Empedocles says that our flesh is made up of a balance of the four elements. Earth and fire mixed with double the amount of water create nerves. However, when the nerves cool down as they touch the air, they become nails. Bones are formed from two parts water and the same amount of air, combined with four parts fire and the same of earth. Sweat and tears result from the liquefaction of our bodies.
CHAPTER XXIII. WHAT ARE THE CAUSES OF SLEEP AND DEATH?
Alcmaeon says, that sleep is caused when the blood retreats to the concourse of the veins, but when the blood diffuses itself then we awake and when there is a total retirement of the blood, then men die. Empedocles, that a moderate cooling of the blood causeth sleep, but a total remotion of heat from blood causeth death. Diogenes, that when all the blood is so diffused as that it fills all the veins, and forces the air contained in them to the back and to the belly that is below it, the breast being thereby more heated, thence sleep arises, but if everything that is airy in the breast forsakes the veins, then death succeeds. Plato and the Stoics, that sleep ariseth from the relaxation of the sensitive spirit, it not receiving such total relaxing as if it fell to the earth, but so that that spirit is carried about the intestine, parts of the eyebrows, in which the principal part has its residence; but when there is a total relaxing of the sensitive spirit, death ensues.
Alcmaeon says that sleep happens when the blood pulls back into the veins, but when the blood spreads out, we wake up, and when the blood completely withdraws, people die. Empedocles suggests that a light cooling of the blood causes sleep, but a complete loss of heat from the blood leads to death. Diogenes notes that when all the blood spreads out, filling the veins and pushing the air inside them backward and down into the belly, it heats up the chest and causes sleep; however, if all the airy substances in the chest leave the veins, death follows. Plato and the Stoics believe that sleep comes from the relaxation of the sensitive spirit, which doesn’t relax completely as if it were falling to the ground, but rather moves around the intestines and parts of the eyebrows, where the main part resides; when the sensitive spirit fully relaxes, death occurs.
CHAPTER XXIV. WHEN AND FROM WHENCE THE PERFECTION OF A MAN COMMENCES.
Heraclitus and the Stoics say, that men begin their completeness when the second septenary of years begins, about which time the seminal serum is emitted. Trees first begin their perfection when they give their seeds; till then they are immature, imperfect, and unfruitful. After the same manner a man is completed in the second septenary of years, and is capable of learning what is good and evil, and of discipline therein.
Heraclitus and the Stoics state that people reach their full potential when they enter their second set of seven years, around the time when seminal fluid is released. Trees also achieve their full growth when they produce seeds; until then, they are still immature, incomplete, and nonproductive. Similarly, a person becomes complete in their second set of seven years and is able to learn about good and evil and how to be disciplined in that knowledge.
CHAPTER XXV. WHETHER SLEEP OR DEATH APPERTAINS TO THE SOUL OR BODY.
Aristotle's opinion is, that both the soul and body sleep; and this proceeds from the evaporation in the breast, which doth steam and arise into the head, and from the aliment in the stomach, whose proper heat is cooled in the heart. Death is the perfect refrigeration of all heat in body; but death is only of the body, and not of the soul, for the soul is immortal. Anaxagoras thinks, that sleep makes the operations of the body to cease; it is a corporeal passion and affects not the soul. Death is the separation of the soul from the body. Leucippus, that sleep is only of the body; but when the smaller particles cause excessive evaporation from the soul's heat, this makes death; but these affections of death and sleep are of the body, not of the soul. Empedocles, that death is nothing else but separation of those fiery parts by which man is composed, and according to this sentiment both body and soul die; but sleep is only a smaller separation of the fiery qualities.
Aristotle believes that both the soul and body sleep; this happens because of the vapor in the chest that rises to the head, and the food in the stomach, whose natural heat cools in the heart. Death is the complete cooling of all heat in the body; however, death only affects the body and not the soul, since the soul is eternal. Anaxagoras argues that sleep stops the body's functions; it's a physical condition that doesn't impact the soul. Death is when the soul separates from the body. Leucippus claims that sleep only affects the body; when smaller particles cause excessive vaporization from the soul’s heat, it leads to death; but both death and sleep are bodily experiences, not of the soul. Empedocles states that death is merely the separation of the fiery elements that make up a person, suggesting that both body and soul die, while sleep is just a lesser separation of the fiery qualities.
CHAPTER XXVI. HOW PLANTS INCREASE.
Plato and Empedocles believe, that plants are animals, and are informed with a soul; of this there are clear arguments, for they have tossing and shaking, and their branches are extended; when the woodmen bend them they yield, but they return to their former straightness and strength again when they are let loose, and even carry up weights that are laid upon them. Aristotle doth grant that they live, but not that they are animals; for animals are affected with appetite, sense, and reason. The Stoics and Epicureans deny that they are informed with a soul; by reason that all sorts of animals have either sense, appetite, or reason; but plants act fortuitously, and not by means of any soul. Empedocles, that the first of all animals were trees, and they sprang from the earth before the sun in its motion enriched the world, and before day and night were distinguished; but by the harmony which is in their constitution they partake of a masculine and feminine nature; and they increase by that heat which is exalted out of the earth, so that they are parts belonging to it, as embryos in the womb are parts of the womb. Fruits in plants are excrescences proceeding from water and fire; but the plants which lack water, when this is dried up by the heat of summer, shed their leaves; whereas they that have plenty thereof keep their leaves on, as the olive, laurel, and palm. The differences of their moisture and juice arise from the difference of particles and various other causes, and they are discriminated by the various particles that feed them. And this is apparent in vines for the excellence of wine flows not from the difference in the vines, but from the soil from whence they receive their nutriment.
Plato and Empedocles believe that plants are a type of animal and possess a soul. They argue this is evident because plants can sway and move, and their branches extend; when woodcutters bend them, they yield, but once released, they return to their original straightness and strength, even able to lift weights placed upon them. Aristotle agrees that plants are living but doesn't consider them animals because animals have appetite, senses, and reason. The Stoics and Epicureans reject the idea that plants have souls since all animals exhibit either senses, appetite, or reason; plants act randomly and not through any kind of soul. Empedocles claims that the first living beings were trees, which emerged from the earth before the sun began its journey and before day and night were defined. Due to the harmony in their structure, they embody both masculine and feminine qualities, growing from the heat that rises from the earth, and are thus parts of it, akin to embryos in a womb. The fruits of plants are growths arising from water and fire, but plants that lack water shed their leaves when summer heat dries them out; in contrast, those with ample water, like the olive, laurel, and palm, retain their leaves. Variations in moisture and juice result from differences in their components and various other factors, which can be seen in vines where the quality of wine doesn't stem from the vines themselves, but from the soil from which they draw their nutrients.
CHAPTER XXVII. OF NUTRITION AND GROWTH.
Empedocles believes, that animals are nourished by the remaining in them of that which is proper to their own nature; they are augmented by the application of heat; and the subtraction of either of these makes them to languish and decay. The stature of men in this present age, if compared with the magnitude of those men which were first produced, is only a mere infancy.
Empedocles believes that animals are sustained by what is naturally suited to them; they grow stronger with heat, and taking away either of these elements causes them to weaken and eventually perish. The height of people today, when compared to the size of those who first existed, is just in its infancy.
CHAPTER XXVIII. WHENCE IT IS THAT IN ANIMALS THERE ARE APPETITES AND PLEASURES.
Empedocles says that the want of those elements which compose animals gives to them appetite, and pleasures spring from humidity. As to the motions of dangers and such like things as perturbations, etc....
Empedocles says that the lack of the elements that make up animals creates a desire in them, and pleasures arise from moisture. Regarding the movements of dangers and similar disturbances, etc....
CHAPTER XXIX. WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF A FEVER, OR WHETHER IT IS AN AFFECTION OF THE BODY ANNEXED TO A PRIMARY PASSION
Erasistratus gives this definition of a fever: A fever is a quick motion of blood, not produced by our consent, which enters into the vessels, the seat of the vital spirits. This we see in the sea; it is in a serene calm when nothing disturbs it, but is in motion when a violent preternatural wind blows upon it, and then it rageth and is circled with waves. After this manner it is in the body of man; when the blood is in a nimble agitation, then it falls upon those vessels in which the spirits are, and there being in an extraordinary heat, it fires the whole body. The opinion that a fever is an appendix to a preceding affection pleaseth him. Diocles proceeds after this manner: Those things which are internal and latent are manifested by those which externally break forth and appear; and it is clear to us that a fever is annexed to certain outward affections, for example, to wounds, inflaming tumors, inguinary abscesses.
Erasistratus defines a fever as a rapid movement of blood that is not under our control, which flows into the vessels that hold the vital spirits. We can see a comparison in the sea; it's calm and still when nothing bothers it, but when a strong, unnatural wind hits, it becomes turbulent and is surrounded by waves. Similarly, in the human body, when the blood is in quick motion, it affects the vessels where the spirits reside, and due to this unusual heat, it can ignite the whole body. He finds the idea that a fever is a response to a prior condition appealing. Diocles explains it this way: internal and hidden issues reveal themselves through external signs and symptoms; it's clear that a fever is linked to specific external conditions, such as wounds, inflamed tumors, or groin abscesses.
CHAPTER XXX. OF HEALTH, SICKNESS, AND OLD AGE.
Alcmaeon says that the preserver of health is an equal proportion of the qualities of heat, moisture, cold, dryness, bitterness, sweetness, and the other qualities; on the contrary, the prevailing empire of one above the rest is the cause of diseases and author of destruction. The direct cause of disease is the excess of heat or cold, the formal cause is excess or defect, the place is the blood or brain. But health is the harmonious commixture of the elements. Diocles, that sickness for the most part proceeds from the irregular disposition of the elements in the body, for that makes an ill habit or constitution of it. Erasistratus, that sickness is caused by the excess of nourishment, indigestion, and corruptions; on the contrary, health is the moderation of the diet, and the taking that which is convenient and sufficient for us. It is the unanimous opinion of the Stoics that the want of heat brings old age, for (they say) those persons in whom heat more abounds live the longer. Asclepiades, that the Ethiopians soon grow old, and at thirty years of age are ancient men, their bodies being excessively heated and scorched by the sun; in Britain persons live a hundred and twenty years, on account of the coldness of the country, and because the people keep the fiery element within their bodies; the bodies of the Ethiopians are more fine and thin, because they are relaxed by the sun's heat, while they who live in northern countries are condensed and robust, and by consequence are more long lived.
Alcmaeon states that maintaining good health requires a balanced mix of qualities like heat, moisture, cold, dryness, bitterness, sweetness, and others. Conversely, when one quality dominates the others, it can lead to illness and destruction. The direct cause of sickness is too much heat or cold, while the underlying cause is an imbalance, with the blood or brain being the affected areas. Health is essentially a harmonious blend of the elements. Diocles argues that most illnesses come from the irregular arrangement of the elements within the body, which results in poor health or constitution. Erasistratus believes that sickness arises from overindulgence in food, poor digestion, and decay; in contrast, health comes from eating in moderation, with appropriate and sufficient food. The Stoics generally agree that a lack of heat leads to aging, as they claim that individuals with more heat tend to live longer. Asclepiades notes that Ethiopians age quickly, becoming old by the age of thirty due to excessive heat from the sun; meanwhile, people in Britain can live up to one hundred and twenty years due to the cold climate, which helps them retain the fiery element in their bodies. The bodies of Ethiopians are thinner and more delicate because they are weakened by the sun's heat, while those in northern regions are sturdier and more robust, leading to longer lifespans.
ABSTRACT OF A DISCOURSE SHOWING THAT THE STOICS SPEAK GREATER IMPROBABILITIES THAN THE POETS.
Pinder's Caeneus hath been taken to task by several, for being improbably feigned, impenetrable by steel and impassible in his body, and so
Descending, into hell without a wound.
And with sound foot parting in two the ground.
Descending into hell without a mark.
And with steady feet, splitting the ground apart.But the Stoics' Lapithes, as if they had carved him out of the very adamantine matter of impassibility itself, though he is not invulnerable, nor exempt from either sickness or pain, yet remains fearless, regretless, invincible, and unconstrainable in the midst of wounds, dolors, and torments, and in the very subversions of the walls of his native city, and other such like great calamities. Again, Pindar's Caeneus is not wounded when struck; but the Stoics' wise man is not detained when shut up in a prison, suffers no compulsion by being thrown down a precipice, is not tortured when on the rack, takes no hurt by being maimed, and when he catches a fall in wrestling he is still unconquered; when he is encompassed with a vampire, he is not besieged; and when sold by his enemies, he is still not made a prisoner. The wonderful man is like to those ships that have inscribed upon them A PROSPEROUS VOYAGE, OR PROTECTING PROVIDENCE, or A PRESERVATIVE AGAINST DANGERS, and yet for all that endure storms, and are miserably shattered and overturned.
But the Stoics' Lapithes, as if he were made from the very essence of stoicism itself, may not be invulnerable or free from sickness or pain, yet he remains fearless, without regrets, unbeatable, and unyielding amidst wounds, sorrows, and suffering, even when faced with the destruction of his home city and other great disasters. Similarly, Pindar's Caeneus isn’t hurt when struck; however, the Stoics' wise man isn’t kept from acting when thrown in prison, feels no pressure when tossed off a cliff, isn’t tortured on the rack, doesn’t suffer from being maimed, and when he falls in wrestling, he is still undefeated; when surrounded by threats, he is not imprisoned; and when sold by his enemies, he is still not made a captive. This remarkable individual is like those ships labeled with A PROSPEROUS VOYAGE, OR PROTECTING PROVIDENCE, or A PRESERVATIVE AGAINST DANGERS, yet still endures storms and is tragically wrecked and overturned.
Euripides's Iolaus of a feeble, superannuated old man, by means of a certain prayer, became on a sudden youthful and strong for battle; but the Stoics wise man was yesterday most detestable and the worst of villains, but today is changed on a sudden into a state of virtue, and is become of a wrinkled, pale fellow, and as Aeschylus speaks,
Euripides's Iolaus features a weak, elderly man who, through a specific prayer, suddenly becomes young and strong enough for battle. However, the Stoic wise man, who was once utterly detestable and the worst villain, has suddenly transformed into a state of virtue, becoming a wrinkled, pale individual, just as Aeschylus describes.
Of an old sickly wretch with stitch in 's back,
Distent with rending pains as on a rack,
Of an old sickly person with a stitch in their back,
Distended with tearing pains as if on a rack, a gallant, godlike, and beauteous person.
a brave, godlike, and beautiful person.
The goddess Minerva took from Ulysses his wrinkles, baldness, and deformity, to make him appear a handsome man. But these men's wise man, though old age quits not his body, but contrariwise still lays on and heaps more upon it, though he remains (for instance) humpbacked, toothless, one-eyed, is yet neither deformed, disfigured, nor ill-favored. For as beetles are said to relinquish perfumes and to pursue after ill scents; so Stoical love, having used itself to the most foul and deformed persons, if by means of philosophy they change into good form and comeliness, becomes presently disgusted.
The goddess Minerva took away Ulysses's wrinkles, baldness, and flaws to make him look handsome. However, even though a wise man ages and his body may be burdened with more issues, like being hunchbacked, toothless, or one-eyed, he is still not considered deformed, ugly, or unattractive. Just as beetles are said to abandon pleasant scents for unpleasant ones, Stoic love, having adapted to the most unattractive and flawed individuals, quickly becomes repulsed if, through philosophy, they transform into attractive and appealing people.
He that in the Stoics' account was in the forenoon (for example) the worst man in the world is in the afternoon the best of men; and he that falls asleep a very sot, dunce, miscreant, and brute, nay, by Jove, a slave and a beggar to boot, rises up the same day a prince, a rich and a happy man, and (which is yet more) a continent, just, determined, and unprepossessed person;—not by shooting forth out of a young and tender body a downy beard or the sprouting tokens of mature youth, but by having in a feeble, soft, unmanful, and undetermined mind, a perfect intellect, a consummate prudence, a godlike disposition, an unprejudiced science, and an unalterable habit. All this time his viciousness gives not the least ground in order to it, but he becomes in an instant, I had almost said, of the vilest brute, a sort of hero, genius, or god. For he that receives his virtue from the Stoics portico may say,
The Stoics believe that someone who is, for example, the worst person in the morning can suddenly become the best by the afternoon. A person who drifts off as a total drunk, an idiot, a scoundrel, and even a slave and a beggar can wake up the same day as a prince, wealthy and happy, and—what's even more impressive—a self-controlled, fair, determined, and unbiased individual. This transformation doesn't come from growing a beard or showing signs of becoming an adult, but from having a weak, soft, indecisive mind paired with perfect intellect, exceptional wisdom, a godlike nature, impartial knowledge, and an unwavering character. During all this time, his bad behavior doesn’t contribute anything to this change; instead, he instantly transforms—from being the lowest of the low into a sort of hero, genius, or deity. For those who gain their virtue from the Stoic teachings can claim,
Ask what thou wilt, it shall be granted thee.
(From Menander)
Ask what you want, and it will be given to you.
(From Menander)It brings wealth along with it, it contains kingship in it, it confers fortune; it renders men prosperous, and makes them to want nothing and to have a sufficiency of everything, though they have not one drachm of silver in the house.
It brings wealth with it, it holds power within it, it grants good luck; it makes people successful and ensures they lack nothing, having enough of everything, even if they don’t have a single coin in the house.
The fabular relations of the poets are so careful of decorum, that they never leave a Hercules destitute of necessaries; but those still spring, as out of some fountain, as well for him as for his companions. But he that hath received of the Stoics Amalthaea becomes indeed a rich man, but he begs his victuals of other men; he is a king, but resolves syllogisms for hire; he is the only man that hath all things, but yet he pays rent for the house he lives in, and oftentimes buys bread with borrowed money, or else begs it of those that have nothing themselves.
The stories of poets are so mindful of propriety that they never leave a Hercules without what he needs; instead, necessities seem to spring up for him and his friends, as if from a fountain. But the person who has received abundance from the Stoics becomes a wealthy man, yet he asks others for food; he is a king, but he works out arguments for pay; he appears to have everything, yet he still pays rent for his home and often buys bread with borrowed money or begs for it from those who have nothing.
The king of Ithaca begs with a design that none may know who he is, and makes himself
The king of Ithaca begs in a way that no one can tell who he is, and makes himself
As like a dirty sorry beggar
("Odyssey," xvi. 273.)
Like a filthy, pitiful beggar
("Odyssey," xvi. 273.)as he can. But he that is of the Portico, while he bawls and cries out, It is I only that am a king, It is I only that am a rich man, is yet many times seen at other people's doors saying:—
as he can. But the one from the Portico, while yelling and saying, "I am the only king, I am the only rich man," is often seen at other people's doors saying:—
On poor Hipponax, pray, some pity take,
Bestow an old cast coat for heaven's sake;
I'm well-nigh dead with cold, and all o'er quake.
Please have some pity on poor Hipponax,
Give him an old coat for heaven's sake;
I'm almost dead from the cold, and shaking all over.SYMPOSIACS.
BOOK 1.
Some, my dear Sossius Senecio imagine that this sentence, [Greek omitted] was principally designed against the stewards of a feast, who are usually troublesome and press liquor too much upon the guests. For the Dorians in Sicily (as I am informed) called the steward, [Greek omitted] a REMEMBRANCER. Others think that this proverb admonisheth the guests to forget everything that is spoken or done in company; and agreeably to this, the ancients used to consecrate forgetfulness with a ferula to Bacchus, thereby intimating that we should either not remember any irregularity committed in mirth and company, or apply a gentle and childish correction to the faults. But because you are of opinion (as Euripides says) that to forget absurdities is indeed a piece of wisdom, but to deliver over to oblivion all sort of discourse that merry meetings do usually produce is not only repugnant to that endearing quality that most allow to an entertainment, but against the known practice of the greatest philosophers (for Plato, Xenophon, Aristotle, Speusippus, Epicurus, Prytanis, Hieronymus, Dion the Academic, have thought it a worthy and noble employment to deliver down to us those discourses they had at table), and since it is your pleasure that I should gather up the chiefest of those scattered topics which both at Rome and Greece amidst our cups and feasting we have disputed on, in obedience to your commands I have sent three books, each containing ten problems; and the rest shall quickly follow, if these find good acceptance and do not seem altogether foolish and impertinent.
Some, my dear Sossius Senecio, think that this phrase, [Greek omitted] was mainly aimed at the hosts of a feast, who are usually annoying and pour too much alcohol on the guests. The Dorians in Sicily (as I've heard) called the host, [Greek omitted] a REMEMBRANCER. Others believe that this saying warns the guests to forget everything that is said or done in company; and in line with this, the ancients used to dedicate forgetfulness with a staff to Bacchus, suggesting that we should either not remember any misbehavior at joyful gatherings or offer a gentle and childlike correction to the mistakes. But since you believe (as Euripides says) that forgetting foolishness is indeed a form of wisdom, yet letting go of all kinds of conversations typically generated at cheerful meetings is not only contrary to that delightful quality most people associate with a good time, but also against the well-known practices of the greatest philosophers (for Plato, Xenophon, Aristotle, Speusippus, Epicurus, Prytanis, Hieronymus, and Dion the Academic all regarded it as worthwhile and honorable to pass down to us the discussions they had at the table), and since you want me to collect the main ideas from those scattered topics we've debated over drinks and feasts in both Rome and Greece, I have obeyed your order and sent three books, each containing ten problems; the rest will follow soon, if these are well received and don’t come off as totally foolish and irrelevant.
QUESTION I. WHETHER AT TABLE IT IS ALLOWABLE TO PHILOSOPHIZE? SOSSIUS, SENECIO, ARISTO, PLUTARCH, CRATO, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION I. IS IT ACCEPTABLE TO PHILOSOPHIZE AT THE TABLE? SOSSIUS, SENECIO, ARISTO, PLUTARCH, CRATO, AND OTHERS.
The first question is, Whether at table it is allowable to philosophize? For I remember at a supper at Athens this doubt was started, whether at a merry meeting it was fit to use philosophical discourse, and how far it might be used? And Aristo presently cried out: What then, for heaven's sake, are there any that banish philosophy from company and wine? And I replied: Yes, sir, there are, and such as with a grave scoff tell us that philosophy, like the matron of the house, should never be heard at a merry entertainment; and commend the custom of the Persians, who never let their wives appear, but drink, dance, and wanton with their whores. This they propose for us to imitate; they permit us to have mimics and music at our feasts, but forbid philosophy; she, forsooth, being very unfit to be wanton with us, and we in a bad condition to be serious. Isocrates the rhetorician, when at a drinking bout some begged him to make a speech, only returned: With those things in which I have skill the time doth not suit; and in those things with which the time suits I have no skill.
The first question is, can we talk philosophy at the dinner table? I remember at a dinner in Athens, this question came up: is it appropriate to discuss philosophical topics at a fun gathering, and how far can we take it? Aristo immediately exclaimed: What, for heaven's sake, do some people actually want to banish philosophy from parties and drinks? I replied: Yes, there are indeed people who do, and they mockingly tell us that philosophy, like the house matron, should never be present at a lively gathering; they praise the custom of the Persians, who never allow their wives to join but instead drink, dance, and enjoy themselves with their mistresses. They suggest we follow their example; they allow entertainment and music at our feasts but forbid philosophy; claiming that philosophy is too serious for us to indulge in fun. Isocrates, the orator, when asked to give a speech at a drinking party, simply replied: The topics I know don’t fit the occasion, and the topics that fit the occasion I don’t know.
And Crato cried out: By Bacchus, he was right to forswear talk, if he designed to make such long-winded discourses as would have spoiled all mirth and conversation; but I do not think there is the same reason to forbid philosophy as to take away rhetoric from our feasts. For philosophy is quite of another nature; it is an art of living, and therefore must be admitted into every part of our conversation, into all our gay humors and our pleasures, to regulate and adjust them, to proportion the time, and keep them from excess; unless, perchance, upon the same scoffing pretence of gravity, they would banish temperance, justice, and moderation. It is true, were we to feast before a court, as those that entertained Orestes, and were silence enjoined by law, that might prove no mean cloak of our ignorance; but if Bacchus is really [Greek omitted] (A LOOSER of everything), and chiefly takes off all restraints and bridles from the tongue, and gives the voice the greatest freedom, I think it is foolish and absurd to deprive that time in which we are usually most talkative of the most useful and profitable discourse; and in our schools to dispute of the offices of company, in what consists the excellence of a guest, how mirth, feasting, and wine are to be used and yet deny philosophy a place in these feasts, as if not able to confirm by practice what by precepts it instructs.
And Crato shouted: By Bacchus, he was right to avoid talking if he planned to go on with such long speeches that would ruin all our fun and conversation; but I don’t think there’s the same reason to ban philosophy as there is to take away rhetoric from our celebrations. Philosophy is something entirely different; it’s a way of living, and therefore it should be part of every conversation, included in all our light-hearted moments and our joys, to guide and manage them, to balance the time, and prevent excess; unless, perhaps, under the same mocking pretense of seriousness, they would kick out temperance, justice, and moderation. It’s true, if we were feasting in front of a court, like those who hosted Orestes, and silence was required by law, that might be a clever cover for our ignorance; but if Bacchus is truly a liberator of everything, and mainly removes all restraints from speech, giving the voice the greatest freedom, I think it’s silly and absurd to take away the most useful and valuable discussions during the time we are usually most talkative; and in our schools to debate about the roles of company, what makes a great guest, how laughter, feasting, and wine should be enjoyed, and yet deny philosophy a place at these gatherings, as if it can’t prove through practice what it teaches through principles.
And when you affirmed that none ought to oppose what Crato said, but determine what sorts of philosophical topics were to be admitted as fit companions at a feast, and so avoid that just and pleasant taunt put upon the wrangling disputers of the age,
And when you stated that no one should disagree with what Crato said, but rather decide which philosophical topics were appropriate to include in a discussion, thus steering clear of the fair and enjoyable ridicule aimed at the argumentative debaters of our time,
Come now to supper, that we may contend;
Come now to dinner, so we can argue;
and when you seemed concerned and urged us to speak to that head, I first replied: Sir, we must consider what company we have; for if the greater part of the guests are learned men,—as for instance, at Agatho's entertainment, characters like Socrates, Phaedrus, Pausanias, Euryximachus; or at Callias's board, Charmides, Antisthenes, Hermogenes, and the like,—we will permit them to philosohize, and to mix Bacchus with the Muses as well as with the Nymphs; for the latter make him wholesome and gentle to the body, and the other pleasant and agreeable to the soul. And if there are some few illiterate persons present, they, as consonants with vowels, in the midst of the other learned, will participate not altogether inarticulately and insignificantly. But if the greater part consists of such who can better endure the noise of any bird, fiddle-string, or piece of wood than the voice of a philosopher, Pisistratus hath shown us what to do; for being at difference with his sons, when he heard his enemies rejoiced at it, in a full assembly he declared that he had endeavored to persuade his sons to submit to him, but since he found them obstinate, he was resolved to yield and submit to their humors. So a philosopher, midst those companions that slight his excellent discourse, will lay aside his gravity, follow them, and comply with their humor as far as decency will permit; knowing very well that men cannot exercise their rhetoric unless they speak, but may their philosophy even whilst they are silent or jest merrily, nay, whilst they are piqued upon or repartee. For it is not only (as Plato says) the highest degree of injustice not to be just and yet seem so; but it is the top of wisdom to philosophize, yet not appear to do it; and in mirth to do the same with those that are serious, and still seem in earnest. For as in Euripides, the Bacchae, though unprovided of iron weapons and unarmed, wounded their invaders with their boughs, thus the very jests and merry talk of true philosophers move those that are not altogether insensible.
and when you seemed concerned and urged us to talk to that leader, I first replied: Sir, we need to think about the company we have; for if most of the guests are educated individuals—like at Agatho's gathering with people such as Socrates, Phaedrus, Pausanias, Euryximachus; or at Callias's table with Charmides, Antisthenes, Hermogenes, and others—we will let them engage in philosophical discussion and mix wine with poetry and fun; because the former makes wine enjoyable and gentle for the body, while the latter makes it delightful for the soul. And if there are a few uneducated people present, they will participate, as consonants with vowels, not entirely out of place among the more knowledgeable. But if the majority consists of those who would rather hear any noise from birds, fiddles, or wood than the voice of a philosopher, Pisistratus has shown us what to do; for being at odds with his sons, when he heard his enemies were happy about it, he declared in a crowded assembly that he had tried to persuade his sons to listen to him, but since they were stubborn, he decided to give in and go along with their wishes. So a philosopher, surrounded by those who disregard his valuable insights, will drop his serious demeanor, follow their lead, and go along with their mood as much as decency allows; understanding well that people can only practice their rhetoric when they speak, but they can still engage in philosophy even while being silent or joking, or even while they are irritated or bantering back. For it is not just (as Plato says) the height of injustice to be unjust and yet appear just; but it is the pinnacle of wisdom to engage in philosophy without seeming to do so, and to act the same way with serious people while still appearing earnest. For as in Euripides, the Bacchae, although unarmed and without metal weapons, wounded their attackers with their branches, so too can the light-hearted jests and cheerful conversation of true philosophers touch those who are not completely oblivious.
I think there are topics fit to be used at table, some of which reading and study give us, others the present occasion; some to incite to study, others to piety and great and noble actions, others to make us rivals of the bountiful and kind; which if a man cunningly and without any apparent design inserts for the instruction of the rest, he will free these entertainments from many of those considerable evils which usually attend them. Some that put borage into the wine, or sprinkle the floor with water in which verbena and maiden-hair have been steeped, as good raise mirth and jollity in the guests (in imitation of Homer's Helen, who with some medicament diluted the pure wine she had prepared), do not understand that that fable, coming from round Egypt, after a long way ends at last in easy and fit discourse. For whilst they were drinking Helen relates the story of Ulysses,
I believe there are subjects suitable for conversation at the table, some of which come from reading and study, while others arise from the current occasion; some topics inspire us to learn, others encourage piety and great, noble actions, and some make us competitive with the generous and kind. If someone cleverly and subtly introduces these themes for the benefit of others, they can keep these gatherings free from many common issues that usually come with them. Those who add borage to the wine or sprinkle the floor with water infused with verbena and maiden-hair, thinking it raises the mood and joy of the guests (like Homer's Helen, who diluted the fine wine she had prepared with some potion), don’t realize that this tale, originating from round Egypt, ultimately leads to easy and appropriate conversation. While they were drinking, Helen tells the story of Ulysses.
How Fortune's spite the hero did control,
And bore his troubles with a manly soul.
("Odyssey," iv. 242.)
How Fortune's cruelty affected the hero, And he faced his troubles with strength and courage. ("Odyssey," iv. 242.)For that, in my opinion, was the Nepenthe, the care-dissolving medicament, viz, that story exactly fitted to the then disasters and juncture of affairs. The pleasing men, though they designedly and apparently instruct, draw on their maxims rather with persuasive and smooth arguments, than the violent force of demonstrations. You see that even Plato in his Symposium, where he disputes of the chief end, the chief good, and is altogether on subjects theological, doth not lay down strong and close demonstrations; he doth not make himself ready for the contest (as he is wont) like a wrestler, that he may take the firmer hold of his adversary and be sure of giving him the trip; but draws men on by more soft and pliable attacks, by pleasant fictions and pat examples.
For me, that was the Nepenthe, the remedy that dissolves care, which means that story perfectly matched the disasters and situation at hand. The charming people, although they seem to teach and are clearly instructive, use persuasive and smooth arguments rather than the harsh force of solid proof. You can see that even Plato in his Symposium, where he discusses the ultimate purpose, the highest good, and focuses entirely on theological topics, doesn’t provide strong and clear arguments; he doesn’t prepare himself for the debate (as he usually would) like a wrestler ready to grip his opponent tightly and make sure to trip him; instead, he leads people with gentler and more flexible approaches, using enjoyable stories and relevant examples.
Besides the questions should be easy, the problems known, the interrogations plain, familiar, and not intricate and dark that they might neither vex the unlearned, nor fright them from the disquisition. For—as it is allowable to dissolve our entertainment into a dance, but if we force our guests to toss quoits or play at cudgels, we shall not only make our feast unpleasant, but hurtful and unnatural—thus light and easy disquisitions do pleasantly and profitably excite us, but we must forbear all contentions and (to use Democritus's word) wrangling disputes, which perplex the proposers with intricate and inexplicable doubts, and trouble all the others that are present. Our discourse should be like our wine, common to all, and of which every one may equally partake; and they that propose hard problems seem no better fitted for society than Aesop's fox and crane. For the fox vexed the crane with thin broth poured out upon a plain table, and laughed at her when he saw her, by reason of the narrowness of her bill and the thinness of the broth, incapable of partaking what he had prepared; and the crane, in requital, inviting the fox to supper, brought forth her dainties in a pot with a long and narrow neck, into which she could conveniently thrust her bill, whilst the fox could not reach one bit. Just so, when philosophers midst their cups dive into minute and logical disputes, they are very troublesome to those that cannot follow them through the same depths; and those that bring in idle songs, trifling disquisitions, common talk, and mechanical discourse destroy the very end of conversation and merry entertainments, and abuse Bacchus. Therefore, as when Phrynichus and Aeschylus brought tragedy to discourse of fictions and misfortunes, it was asked, What is this to Bacchus?—so methinks, when I hear some pedantically drawing a syllogism into table-talk, I have reason to cry out, Sir, what is this to Bacchus? Perchance one, the great bowl standing in the midst, and the chaplets given round, which the god in token of the liberty he bestows sets on every head, sings one of those songs called [Greek omitted] (CROOKED OR OBSCURE); this is not fit nor agreeable to a feast. Though some say these songs were not dark and intricate composures; but that the guests sang the first song all together, praising Bacchus and describing the power of the god; and the second each man sang singly in his turn, a myrtle bough being delivered to every one in order, which they call an [Greek omitted] because he that received it was obliged [Greek omitted] to sing; and after this a harp being carried round the company, the skilful took it, and fitted the music to the song; this when the unskilful could not perform, the song was called [Greek omitted] because hard to them, and one in which they could not bear a part. Others say this myrtle bough was not delivered in order, but from bed to bed; and when the uppermost of the first table had sung, he sent it to the uppermost of the second, and he to the uppermost of the third; and so the second in like manner to the second; and from these many windings and this circuit it was called [Greek omitted] CROOKED.
Besides, the questions should be easy, the problems known, and the discussions straightforward, familiar, and not complicated or obscure, so they don't annoy those who aren't knowledgeable or deter them from the conversation. Just as it's fine to turn our gathering into a dance, but if we make our guests toss quoits or fight with sticks, we'll ruin the feast, making it unpleasant and unnatural—light and easy discussions engage us in a pleasant and beneficial way, but we should avoid all arguments and (to quote Democritus) pointless disputes that confuse the speakers with complicated and unclear questions and trouble everyone else present. Our conversation should be like our wine—accessible to all, which everyone can enjoy; and those who propose difficult questions seem no better suited for socializing than Aesop's fox and crane. The fox annoyed the crane with thin broth poured onto a flat table and laughed at her when he saw she couldn't drink it because of her long beak and the thinness of the broth, and later, the crane, wanting revenge, invited the fox to dinner and served her treats in a pot with a long, narrow neck, where she could easily reach in with her beak, while the fox could get nothing. Just like this, when philosophers dive into detailed and logical arguments while drinking, they become a nuisance to those who can't follow them into those complexities, and those who bring in silly songs, trivial talks, casual conversation, and basic discussions ruin the purpose of social gatherings and revelries and disrespect Bacchus. Therefore, just as when Phrynichus and Aeschylus brought tragedy into discussions of stories and misfortunes, it was asked, "What does this have to do with Bacchus?"—similarly, when I hear someone pedantically dragging a syllogism into casual chat, I feel justified in shouting, "Sir, what does this have to do with Bacchus?" Perhaps someone, with the large bowl in the middle and the garlands handed around, which the god gives to symbolize the freedom he grants, sings one of those songs called [Greek omitted] (CROOKED OR OBSCURE); this is neither appropriate nor fitting for a feast. Although some say these songs weren’t dark or complicated compositions; they assert that the guests sang the first song together, praising Bacchus and celebrating his power, and the second song was sung individually in turn, with a myrtle branch given to each person in order, which they call an [Greek omitted] because he who received it was obliged [Greek omitted] to sing; and after this, a harp was passed around the group, the skilled musicians played it and matched the music to the song. When the less skilled could not join in, that song was called [Greek omitted] because it was hard for them, and they couldn't participate. Others say that this myrtle branch was passed around not in order, but from bed to bed; and when the person at the top of the first table had sung, he passed it to the top of the second, who then sent it to the top of the third; and so the second person did the same for the second table, and from these many twists and turns, it was called [Greek omitted] CROOKED.
QUESTION II. WHETHER THE ENTERTAINER SHOULD SEAT THE GUESTS, OR LET EVERY MAN TAKE HIS OWN PLACE. TIMON, A GUEST, PLUTARCH, PLUTARCH'S FATHER, LAMPRIAS, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION II. SHOULD THE HOST SEAT THE GUESTS, OR LET EACH PERSON CHOOSE THEIR OWN SEAT? TIMON, A GUEST, PLUTARCH, PLUTARCH'S FATHER, LAMPRIAS, AND OTHERS.
My brother Timon, making a great entertainment, desired the guests as they came to seat themselves; for he had invited strangers and citizens, neighbors and acquaintance, and all sorts of persons to the feast. A great many being already come, a certain stranger at last appeared, dressed as fine as hands could make him, his clothes rich, and an unseemly train of foot-boys at his heels; he walking up to the parlor-door, and, staring round upon those that were already seated, turned his back and scornfully retired; and when a great many stepped after him and begged him to return, he said, I see no fit place left for me. At that, the other guests (for the glasses had gone round) laughed abundantly, and desired his room rather than his company.
My brother Timon, putting on a grand event, urged the guests to find their seats as they arrived; he had invited strangers, locals, neighbors, and all kinds of people to the feast. A large number had already gathered when a certain stranger finally showed up, dressed as elegantly as possible, in luxurious clothing, followed by an inappropriate entourage of footmen. He walked up to the parlor door, glanced around at those already seated, turned his back, and arrogantly left. When several guests followed him and asked him to come back, he replied, "I see no suitable place for me." At this, the other guests (having had a few drinks) laughed heartily and preferred his absence over his company.
But after supper, my father addressing himself to me, who sat at another quarter of the table,—Timon, said he, and I have a dispute, and you are to be judge, for I have been upon his skirts already about that stranger; for if according to my directions he had seated every man in his proper place, we had never been thought unskilful in this matter, by one
But after dinner, my father turned to me, sitting at another part of the table. "Timon," he said, "we have a disagreement, and you need to be the judge. I've already talked to him about that stranger. If he had followed my instructions and seated everyone in their proper spot, we wouldn't have been considered clueless about this issue."
Whose art is great in ordering horse and foot.
("Iliad," ii 554.)
Whose skill is exceptional in organizing infantry and cavalry.
("Iliad," ii 554.)And story says that Paulus Aemilius, after he had conquered Perseus the king of Macedon, making an entertainment besides his costly furniture and extraordinary provision, was very critical in the order of his feast; saying, It is the same man's task to order a terrible battle and a pleasing, entertainment, for both of them require skill in the art of disposing right, and Homer often calls the stoutest and the greatest princes [Greek omitted] disposers of the people; and you use to say that the great Creator, by this art of disposing, turned disorder into beauty, and neither taking away nor adding any new being, but setting everything in its proper place, out of the most uncomely figure and confused chaos produced this beauteous, this surprising face of nature that appears. In these great and noble doctrines indeed you instruct us; but our own observation sufficiently assures us, that the greatest profuseness in a feast appears neither delightful nor genteel, unless beautified by order. And therefore it is absurd that cooks and waiters should be solicitous what dish must be brought first, what next, what placed in the middle, and what last; and that the garlands, and ointment, and music (if they have any) should have a proper place and order assigned, and yet that the guests should be seated promiscuously, and no respect be had to age, honor, or the like; no distinguishing order by which the man in dignity might be honored, the inferior learn to give place, and the disposer be exercised in distinguishing what is proper and convenient. For it is not rational that, when we walk or sit down to discourse, the best man should have the best place, and not the same order be observed at table; or that the entertainer should in civility drink to one before another, and yet make no difference in their seats, at the first dash making the whole company one Myconus (as they say), a hodge-podge and confusion. This my father brought for his opinion.
And the story goes that Paulus Aemilius, after defeating Perseus, the king of Macedon, hosted a banquet with his elaborate furnishings and exceptional food, paying close attention to the arrangement of his feast. He said, "It takes the same skill to plan a fierce battle and an enjoyable feast, as both require the art of proper organization. Homer often refers to the strongest and greatest leaders as the organizers of their people. You also claim that the great Creator used this art of organization to transform chaos into beauty, not by adding or taking away anything new, but by placing everything where it belongs, turning a messy and chaotic scene into the stunning and surprising face of nature that we see. These profound ideas teach us well, but our own experience clearly shows that even the most extravagant feast isn't enjoyable or refined unless it has order. Therefore, it’s unreasonable for cooks and servers to be worried about which dish should come first, next, in the middle, or last; or that the decorations, scents, and music (if there are any) should have their specific places, yet the guests are seated randomly without regard to age, status, or anything else. There should be a clear order to honor the dignified, teach the less notable to yield, and for the host to properly manage what is fitting and appropriate. It doesn't make sense that when we walk or sit down to converse, the best person gets the best seat, and yet the same order isn’t followed at the dinner table; or that the host politely drinks to one person before another, but doesn't differentiate their seating, instantly turning the whole gathering into a chaotic mix, like a hodge-podge. This is my father's perspective on the matter.
And my brother said: I am not so much wiser than Bias, that, since he refused to be arbitrator between two only of his friends, I should pretend to be a judge between so many strangers and acquaintance; especially since it is not a money matter, but about precedence and dignity, as if I invited my friends not to treat them kindly, but to abuse them. Menelaus is accounted absurd and passed into a proverb, for pretending to advise when unasked; and sure he would be more ridiculous that instead of an entertainer should set up for a judge, when nobody requests him or submits to his determination which is the best and which the worst man in the company; for the guests do not come to contend about precedency, but to feast and be merry. Besides, it is no easy task to distinguish for some claim respect by reason of their age, others—from their familiarity and acquaintance; and, as those that make declamations consisting of comparisons, he must have Aristotle's [Greek omitted] and Thrasymachus's [Greek omitted] (books that furnish him with heads of argument) at his fingers' ends; and all this to no good purpose or profitable effect but to bring vanity from the bar and the theatre into our feasts and entertainments, and, whilst by good fellowship endeavor to remit all other passions, especially pride and arrogance, from which, in my opinion we should be more careful to cleanse our souls than to wash our feet from dirt, that our conversation be free, simple, and full of mirth. And while by such meetings we strive to end all differences that have at any time risen amongst the invited, we should make them flame anew, and kindle them again by emulation, by thus humbling some and puffing up others. And if, according as we seat them, we should drink oftener and discourse more with some than others and set daintier dishes before them, instead of being friendly we should be lordly in our feasts. And if in other things we treat them all equally, why should we not begin at the first part, and bring it into fashion for all to take their seats promiscuously, without ceremony or pride, and to let them see, as soon as they enter, that they are invited to a dinner whose order is free and democratical, and not, as particular chosen men to the government of a city where aristocracy is the form; since the richest and the poorest sit promiscuously together.
And my brother said: I'm not that much wiser than Bias, who refused to be the judge between just two of his friends. So why should I act as a judge among so many strangers and acquaintances? Especially since this isn’t about money; it’s about precedence and dignity, as if I invited my friends to mistreat them instead of to enjoy their company. Menelaus is considered ridiculous and has become a saying for offering advice when no one asked; it would be even more absurd for him to take on the role of a judge where no one asked him or agreed to his decisions about who is the best or worst person in the group. Guests don’t come to argue about who is in charge; they come to eat and have a good time. Furthermore, it’s not easy to decide who should be respected because of their age versus those who are familiar and friendly; like those who make speeches based on comparisons, he needs to have Aristotle's [Greek omitted] and Thrasymachus's [Greek omitted] (books that provide him with arguments) at the ready. All this would serve no good purpose or benefit, but only bring vanity from the court and the stage into our meals and gatherings. While we should aim to ease all other feelings, especially pride and arrogance, I believe we should focus more on cleansing our spirits than just washing our feet of dirt, so our conversations can be open, simple, and cheerful. When we meet together, we should try to resolve any past disagreements among the guests without reigniting them by making some feel inferior and others superior. If, by how we seat them, we drink more with some and serve fancier dishes to others, instead of being friendly, we’d be acting hierarchical at our meals. If we treat them all equally in other ways, why should we not start at the beginning and set a trend where everyone sits together without formality or pride? Guests should see, as soon as they arrive, that they are invited to a dinner where the seating is open and equal, rather than as specially chosen individuals governing a city where an elite class holds power; since both the rich and the poor sit together without distinction.
When this had been offered on both sides, and all present required my determination, I said: Being an arbitrator and not a judge, I shall close strictly with neither side, but go indifferently in the middle between both. If a man invites young men, citizens, or acquaintance, they should (as Timon says) be accustomed to be content with any place, without ceremony or concernment; and this good nature and unconcernedness would be an excellent means to preserve and increase friendship. But if we use the same method to strangers, magistrates, or old men, I have just reason to fear that, whilst we seem to thrust our pride at the fore-door, we bring it in again at the back, together with a great deal of indifferency and disrespect. But in this, custom and the established rules of decency must guide; or else let us abolish all those modes of respect expressed by drinking to or saluting first; which we do not use promiscuously to all the company but according to their worth we honor every one
When both sides had made their offers and everyone present pushed for my decision, I said: As an arbitrator and not a judge, I won’t take sides but will remain neutral between both. If a person invites young people, citizens, or acquaintances, they should (as Timon says) be ready to accept any place without formality or concern; this good nature and lack of pretense would be a great way to maintain and strengthen friendships. But if we treat strangers, officials, or older people the same way, I fear that while we think we're showing humility upfront, we might actually be hiding our pride, along with a lot of indifference and disrespect. Custom and established rules of decency should guide us; otherwise, let’s get rid of all these ways of showing respect, like drinking to someone's health or greeting first, which we don’t offer to everyone equally but according to their worth.
With better places, meat, and larger cups,
("Iliad," xii. 311.)
With nicer places, better meat, and bigger cups,
("Iliad," xii. 311.)as Agamemnon says, naming the place first, as the chiefest sign of honor. And we commend Alcinous for placing his guest next himself:—
as Agamemnon says, naming the place first, as the greatest sign of honor. And we commend Alcinous for seating his guest right next to him:—
He stout Laomedon his son removed,
Who sat next him, for him he dearly loved;
("Iliad," xx. 15.)
He strong Laomedon his son moved away,
Who sat next to him, because he loved him dearly;
("Iliad," xx. 15.)for to place a suppliant stranger in the seat of his beloved son was wonderful kind, and extreme courteous. Nay even amongst the gods themselves this distinction is observed; for Neptune, though he came last into the assembly,
for placing a begging stranger in the seat of his cherished son was really kind and incredibly courteous. In fact, even among the gods, this practice is recognized; for Neptune, although he arrived last to the gathering,
sat in the middle seat,
("Odyssey," vii. 170.)
sat in the middle seat,
("Odyssey," vii. 170.)as if that was his proper place. And Minerva seems to have that assigned her which is next Jupiter himself; and this the poet intimates, when speaking of Thetis he says,
as if that was where he was meant to be. And Minerva appears to have that position right next to Jupiter himself; and the poet suggests this when he talks about Thetis, saying,
She sat next Jove, Minerva giving Place.
(Ibid. xxiv. 100.)
She sat next to Jove, with Minerva giving up her seat.
(Ibid. xxiv. 100.)And Pindar plainly says,
And Pindar clearly states,
She sits just next the thunder-breathing flames.
She sits right next to the roaring flames.
Indeed Timon urges, we ought not to rob many to honor one, which he seems to do himself, even more than others; for he robs that which makes something that is individual common; and suitable honor to his worth is each man's possession. And he gives that preeminence to running fast and making haste, which belongs to virtue, kindred, magistracies, and such other qualities; and whilst he endeavors not to affront his guests, he necessarily falls into that very inconvenience; for he must affront every one by defrauding them of their proper honor. Besides, in my opinion it is no hard matter to make this distinction, and seat our guests according to their quality; for first, it very seldom happens that many of equal honor are invited to the same banquet; and then, since there are many honorable places, you have room enough to dispose them according to content, if you can but guess that this man must be seated uppermost, that in the middle, another next to yourself, friend, acquaintance, tutor, or the like, appointing every one some place of honor; and as for the rest, I would supply their want of honor with some little presents, affability, and kind discourse. But if their qualities are not easy to be distinguished, and the men themselves hard to be pleased, see what device I have in that case; for I seat in the most honorable place my father, if invited; if not my grandfather, father-in-law, uncle, or somebody whom the entertainer hath a more particular reason to esteem. And this is one of the many rules of decency that we have from Homer; for in his poem, when Achilles saw Menelaus and Antilochus contending about the second prize of the horse-race, fearing that their strife and fury would increase, he gave the prize to another, under pretence of comforting and honoring Eumelus, but indeed to take away the cause of their contention.
Indeed, Timon insists that we shouldn’t take from many to honor one person, which he seems to do even more than others; he deprives individuals of what should be a shared honor, which belongs to everyone. He gives an undue priority to speed and haste, qualities that should belong to virtue, relationships, positions of authority, and similar traits. While he tries not to insult his guests, he inevitably does so by denying each one their rightful honor. Furthermore, I believe it’s not difficult to make this distinction and arrange our guests based on their status; after all, it’s rare that many equally honored guests are invited to the same gathering. Since there are various honorable positions, there’s plenty of room to place them according to satisfaction, if you can just determine who should be seated at the head, who in the middle, and who next to you—whether they are friends, acquaintances, teachers, or the like—assigning everyone a place of honor. As for the others, I would make up for their lack of status with small gifts, friendliness, and pleasant conversation. But if their distinctions are hard to find and the guests difficult to please, here’s my solution: I would seat my father in the most honored position if he’s invited; if not, then my grandfather, father-in-law, uncle, or some other person whom the host has a special reason to respect. This is one of many rules of propriety we get from Homer; in his poem, when Achilles saw Menelaus and Antilochus fighting over the second prize in a horse race, fearing their anger would escalate, he awarded the prize to someone else to comfort and honor Eumelus, but really to end the cause of their argument.
When I had said this, Lamprias, sitting (as he always doth) upon a low bed, cried out: Sirs, will you give me leave to correct this sottish judge? And the company bidding him speak freely and tell me roundly of my faults, and not spare, he said: And who can forbear that philosopher who disposes of places at a feast according to the birth, wealth, or offices of the guests, as if they were in a theatre or the Council House, so that pride and arrogance must be admitted even into our mirth and entertainments? In seating our guests we should not have any respect to honor, but mirth and conversation; not look after every man's quality, but their agreement and harmony with one another, as those do that join several different things in one composure. Thus a mason doth not set an Athenian or a Spartan stone, because formed in a more noble country, before an Asian or a Spanish; nor a painter give the most costly color the chiefest place; nor a shipwright the Corinthian fir or Cretan cypress; but so distribute them as they will best serve to the common end, and make the whole composure strong, beautiful, and fit for use. Nay, you see even the deity himself (by our Pindar named the most skilful artificer) doth not everywhere place the fire above and the earth below; but, as Empedocles hath it,
When I said this, Lamprias, sitting (as he always does) on a low bed, exclaimed: Guys, can I take a moment to challenge this foolish judge? And the group encouraged him to speak openly and tell me my faults without holding back; he said: Who can ignore that philosopher who assigns seats at a banquet based on the guests’ lineage, wealth, or status, as if they were in a theater or city council, allowing pride and arrogance to invade our joy and celebrations? When seating our guests, we should prioritize fun and conversation over honor, not focus on each person's status but on their compatibility and harmony with one another, similar to how one combines various elements into a single whole. Just like a mason doesn’t place a stone from Athens or Sparta, because it comes from a more esteemed country, ahead of one from Asia or Spain; nor does a painter position the most expensive color in the foremost spot; nor does a shipwright choose Corinthian fir or Cretan cypress over others but arranges everything to serve the common purpose and make the overall structure strong, beautiful, and functional. Indeed, even the deity himself (as our Pindar calls him, the most skilled craftsman) doesn’t uniformly position fire above and earth below; but, as Empedocles puts it,
The Oysters Coverings do directly prove,
That heavy Earth is sometimes rais'd above;
The Oysters' Coverings do directly prove,
That heavy Earth is sometimes raised above;not having that place that Nature appoints, but that which is necessary to compound bodies and serviceable to the common end, the preservation of the whole. Disorder is in everything an evil; but then its badness is principally discovered, when it is amongst men whilst they are making merry; for then it breeds contentions and a thousand unspeakable mischiefs, which to foresee and hinder shows a man well skilled in good order and disposing right.
not having the place that Nature designates, but rather that which is essential to create bodies and useful for the common goal, which is the preservation of the whole. Disorder is always a negative thing; however, its worst effects are mainly revealed when it occurs among people who are trying to enjoy themselves; because then it leads to conflicts and countless unspeakable troubles, which, to anticipate and prevent, demonstrates a person's skill in maintaining good order and proper arrangement.
We all agreed that he had said well, but asked him why he would not instruct us how to order things aright, and communicate his skill. I am content, says he, to instruct you, if you will permit me to change the present order of the feast, and will yield as ready obedience to me as the Thebans to Epaminondas when he altered the order of their battle. We gave him full power; and he, having turned all the servants out, looked round upon every one, and said: Hear (for I will tell you first) how I design to order you together. In my mind, the Theban Pammenes justly taxeth Homer as unskilful in love matters, for setting together, in his description of an army, tribe and tribe, family and family; for he should have joined the lover and the beloved, so that the whole body being united in their minds might perfectly agree. This rule will I follow, not set one rich man by another, a youth by a youth, a magistrate by a magistrate, and a friend by a friend; for such an order is of no force, either to beget or increase friendship and good-will. But fitting that which wants with something that is able to supply it, next one that is willing to instruct I will place one that is as desirous to be instructed; next a morose, one good-natured; next a talkative old man a youth patient and eager for a story; next a boaster, a jeering smooth companion; and next an angry man, a quiet one. If I see a wealthy fellow bountiful and kind, I will take some poor honest man from his obscure place, and set him next, that something may run out of that full vessel to the other empty one. A sophister I will forbid to sit by a sophister, and one poet by another;
We all agreed that he made a good point, but asked him why he wouldn't teach us how to arrange things properly and share his knowledge. "I'm happy to instruct you," he said, "if you let me change how this feast is currently set up, and if you agree to follow my lead as readily as the Thebans followed Epaminondas when he reorganized their battle." We gave him full authority, and after he sent all the servants away, he glanced at everyone and said: "Listen up (because I'm going to explain how I plan to arrange you). In my opinion, the Theban Pammenes rightly criticizes Homer for being unskilled in matters of love, as he groups his army by tribes and families; he should have paired the lover with the beloved so that everyone could connect mentally and align perfectly. That's the approach I'll take: I won't sit one wealthy person next to another, a youth next to a youth, a magistrate next to another magistrate, or a friend next to a friend; because that kind of arrangement does nothing to foster friendship and goodwill. Instead, I'll place someone who lacks something next to someone who can provide it; next to someone willing to teach, I'll put someone eager to learn; beside a grumpy person, a friendly one; near a talkative old man, a patient youth ready for a story; beside a braggart, a witty companion; and next to an angry person, a calm one. If I notice a generous, wealthy person, I'll bring a poor, honest person from the background to sit next to him so that something can flow from the full cup to the empty one. I'll make sure that one sophist doesn't sit next to another, nor one poet next to another;"
For beggars beggars, poets envy poets.
(Hesiod, "Work and Days," 26)
For beggars, beggars; poets envy poets.
(Hesiod, "Work and Days," 26)I separate the clamorous scoffers and the testy, by putting some good-nature between them, so they cannot jostle so roughly on one another; wrestlers, hunters, and farmers I put in one company. For some of the same nature, when put together, fight as cocks; others are very sociable as daws. Drinkers and lovers I set together, not only those who (as Sophocles says) feel the sting of masculine love, but those that are mad after virgins or married women; for they being warmed with the like fire, as two pieces of iron to be joined, will more readily agree; unless perhaps they both fancy the same person.
I separate the loud mockers and the irritated ones by placing some friendly people between them, so they don’t bump into each other too much; I group wrestlers, hunters, and farmers together. Some people with similar tendencies, when grouped, fight like roosters; others get along well like crows. I pair drinkers and lovers together, not just those who, as Sophocles says, experience the pain of romantic love, but also those who are infatuated with virgins or married women; since they are fueled by the same desires, like two pieces of iron wanting to bond, they’ll likely get along better—unless they both like the same person.
QUESTION III. UPON WHAT ACCOUNT IS THE PLACE AT THE TABLE CALLED CONSULAR ESTEEMED HONORABLE. THE SAME.
QUESTION III. WHY IS THE SEAT AT THE TABLE CALLED CONSULAR CONSIDERED HONORABLE? THE SAME.
This raised a dispute about the dignity of places, for the same seat is not accounted honorable amongst all nations; in Persia the midst, for that is the place proper to the king himself; in Greece the uppermost; at Rome the lowermost of the middle bed, and this is called the consular; the Greeks about Pontus, and those of Heraclea, reckon the uppermost of the middle bed to be the chief. But we were most puzzled about the place called consular; for though it is esteemed most honorable, yet it is not because it is either the first or the midst; and its other circumstances are either not proper to that alone, or very frivolous. Though I confess three of the reasons alleged seemed to have something in them. The first, that the consuls, having dissolved the monarchy and reduced everything to a more equal level and popular estate, left the middle, the kingly place, and sat in a lower seat; that by this means their power and authority might be less subject to envy, and not so grievous to their fellow-citizens. The second, that, two beds being appointed for the invited guests, the third—and the first place in it—is most convenient for the master of the feast, from whence like a pilot, he can guide and order everything, and readily overlook the management of the whole affair. Besides, he is not so far removed that he can easily discourse, talk to, and compliment his guests; for next below him his wife and children usually are placed; next above him the most honorable of the invited, that being the most proper place, as near the master of the feast. The third reason was, that it is peculiar to the this place to be most convenient for the despatch of any sudden business; for the Roman consul will not as Archias, the governor of Thebes, say, when letters of importance are brought to him at dinner, "serious things to-morrow" and then throw aside the packet and take the great bowl; but he will be careful, circumspect, and mind it at that very instant. For not only (as the common saying hath it)
This raised a debate about the value of different seating arrangements, as the same seat is not seen as honorable in every culture. In Persia, the center is considered the king's place; in Greece, it's the top seat; at Rome, it's the lowest of the middle level, known as the consular seat; while the Greeks from Pontus and those in Heraclea view the top seat of the middle level as the most prestigious. However, we found ourselves confused about the consular seat; although it's regarded as the most honorable, it's not due to being the first or at the center, and its other associations are either not exclusive to it or quite trivial. I must admit that three of the reasons presented seemed valid. The first is that the consuls, after dismantling the monarchy and leveling the playing field in a more democratic society, chose to sit in a lower seat, departing from the royal standard as a way to lessen envy and not be burdensome to their fellow citizens. The second is that, with two couches set for the guests, the third and primary spot is best suited for the host, allowing them to oversee everything like a captain managing a ship, while also being close enough to engage with and flatter their guests; typically, their wife and children sit just below them, and the most honored guests sit just above, making it fitting for proximity to the host. The third reason highlights that this position is especially advantageous for handling unexpected matters; the Roman consul won’t, like Archias, the governor of Thebes, say during dinner when important messages are delivered, "serious matters tomorrow," and then disregard the message to focus on the feast. Instead, he will pay careful attention to it right away. For not only (as the common saying goes)
Each throw doth make the dicer fear,
Each throw makes the player anxious,
but even midst his feasting and his pleasure a magistrate should be intent on intervening business; and he hath this place appointed, as the most convenient for him to receive any message, answer it, or sign a bill; for there the second bed joining with the third, the turning at the corner leaves a vacant space, so that a notary, servant, guard, or a messenger from the army might approach, deliver the message, and receive orders; and the consul, having room enough to speak or use his hand, neither troubles any one, nor is hindered by any the guests.
but even while he is enjoying his feast and having a good time, a magistrate should be focused on important matters; he has this spot chosen as the most convenient for receiving messages, responding to them, or signing documents. There, the second bed next to the third has a corner that leaves an open space, allowing a notary, servant, guard, or a messenger from the army to come up, deliver the message, and get instructions. The consul has enough room to talk or gesture without bothering anyone or being interrupted by the guests.
QUESTION IV. WHAT MANNER OF MAN SHOULD A DIRECTOR OF A FEAST BE? CRATO, THEON, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION IV. WHAT TYPE OF PERSON SHOULD A DIRECTOR OF A FEAST BE? CRATO, THEON, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
Crato my relative, and Theon my acquaintance, at a certain banquet, where the glasses had gone round freely, and a little stir arose but was suddenly appeased, began to discourse of the office of the steward of a feast; declaring that it was my duty to wear the chaplet, assert the decaying privilege, and restore that office which should take care for the decency and good order of the banquet. This proposal pleased every one, and they were all an end begging me to do it. Well then, said I, since you will have it so, I make myself steward and director of you all, command the rest to drink every one what he will but Crato and Theon, the first proposers and authors of this decree, I enjoin to declare in short what qualifications fit a man for this office, what he should principally aim at and how behave himself towards those under his command. This is the subject, and let them agree amongst themselves which head each shall manage.
Crato, my relative, and Theon, my acquaintance, were at a banquet where drinks were flowing freely and a bit of a commotion arose but was quickly settled. They started talking about the role of the banquet steward, claiming it was my responsibility to wear the garland, uphold the fading privilege, and restore the position that ensures the decorum and good order of the feast. Everyone was on board with this idea, and they all eagerly encouraged me to take it on. "Alright then," I said, "since you insist, I’ll be the steward and guide for all of you. I command everyone to drink what they like, but I instruct Crato and Theon, the ones who proposed this idea, to briefly explain what qualifications a person needs for this role, what they should focus on, and how they should conduct themselves towards those in their charge. This is the topic, and they should decide among themselves who will handle each aspect."
They made some slight excuse at first; but the whole company urging them to obey, Crato began thus. A captain of a watch (as Plato says) ought to be most watchful and diligent himself, and the director of merry companions ought to be the best. And such a one he is, that will not be easily overtaken or apt to refuse a glass; but as Cyrus in his epistle to the Spartans says, that in many other things he was more fit than his brother to be a king, and chiefly because he could bear abundance of wine. For one that is drunk must have an ill carriage and be apt to affront; and he that is perfectly sober must be unpleasant, and fitter to be a governor of a school than of a feast. Pericles as often as he was chosen general, when he put on his cloak, used to say to himself, as it were to refresh his memory, Take heed, Pericles, thou dost govern freemen, thou dost govern Greeks, thou dost govern Athenians. So let our director say privately to himself, Thou art a governor over friends, that he may remember to neither suffer them to be debauched nor stint their mirth. Besides he ought to have some skill in the serious studies of the guests and not be altogether ignorant of mirth and humor yet I would have him (as pleasant wine ought to be) a little severe and rough, for the liquor will soften and smooth him, and make his temper pleasant and agreeable. For as Xenophon says, that Clearchus's rustic and morose humor in a battle, by reason of his bravery and heat, seemed pleasant and surprising; thus one that is not of a very sour nature, but grave and severe, being softened by a chirping cup becomes more pleasant and complaisant. But chiefly he should be acquainted with every one of the guests' humors, what alteration the liquor makes in him, what passion he is most subject to, and what quantity he can bear; for it is not to be supposed different sorts of water bear various proportions to different sorts of wine (which kings' cup-bearers understanding sometimes pour in more, sometimes less), and that man hath no such relation to them. This our director ought to know, and knowing, punctually observe; so that like a good musician, screwing up one and letting down another, he may make between these different natures a pleasing harmony and agreement; so that he shall not proportion his wine by measure, but give every one what was proper and agreeable, according to the present circumstances of time and strength of body. But if this is too difficult a task, yet it is necessary that a steward should know the common accidents of age and nature, such as these,—that an old man will be sooner overtaken than a youth, one that leaps about or talks than he that is silent or sits still, the thoughtful and melancholy than the cheerful and the brisk. And he that understands these things is much more able to preserve quietness and order, than one that is perfectly ignorant and unskilful. Besides, I think none will doubt but that the steward ought to be a friend, and have no pique at any of the guests; for otherwise in his injunctions he will be intolerable, in his distributions unequal, in his jests apt to scoff and give offence. Such a figure, Theon, as out of wax, hath my discourse framed for the steward of a feast; and now I deliver him to you.
They made some minor excuses at first; but with the whole group urging them to comply, Crato began speaking. A captain of a watch (as Plato says) should be the most alert and diligent, and the leader of a group of friends should be the best as well. He should be someone who won’t easily be caught off-guard or refuse a drink; as Cyrus mentions in his letter to the Spartans, he was better suited to be a king than his brother, mainly because he could handle a lot of wine. A drunk person often behaves poorly and is prone to causing trouble, while someone who is completely sober can be unpleasant and is better suited to govern a school than a feast. Pericles, whenever he was chosen as general, would remind himself as he donned his cloak, “Take care, Pericles, you are governing free men, you are governing Greeks, you are governing Athenians.” Similarly, our leader should remind himself privately, “You are in charge of friends,” to ensure he neither allows them to misbehave nor limits their enjoyment. He should also have some knowledge of the serious pursuits of the guests while not being completely clueless about fun and humor. Nonetheless, I would prefer him to be a bit strict and rough, like a good wine should be, for the drink will soften and smooth him, making his demeanor pleasant and agreeable. As Xenophon states, Clearchus’s rough and grumpy nature in battle seemed enjoyable and surprising due to his bravery and intensity; thus, someone who is not too sour yet carries a serious demeanor can become more pleasant and agreeable when softened by a cheerful drink. Most importantly, he should be familiar with the personalities of each guest, understanding how the drink affects them, what emotions they are prone to, and how much they can handle; it’s reasonable to expect that just like different types of water react differently to various wines (which royal cupbearers sometimes pour in different amounts), a person has a similar relationship to them. Our leader should be aware of this and keep track of it well, so that like a skilled musician tuning one string and loosening another, he can create a pleasing harmony among these differing natures, not measuring his wine by exact amounts, but giving everyone what suits them well according to the timing and their physical condition. But if this task seems too challenging, it’s still important for a steward to understand the common effects of age and nature, such as that an older man will get drunk more quickly than a youth, someone who is lively or talkative will be affected more than a silent person, and the thoughtful and melancholic will be more affected than the cheerful and sprightly. Understanding these things will allow him to maintain order and calm far better than someone who is completely clueless and inexperienced. Furthermore, I think it’s undeniable that the steward should be a friend and hold no grudges against any of the guests; otherwise, his instructions will be unbearable, his distributions unfair, and his jokes likely to mock and offend. That’s the kind of figure, Theon, that I envision for the steward of a feast, and now I present him to you.
And Theon replied: He is welcome,—a very well-shaped gentleman, and fitted for the office; but whether I shall not spoil him in my particular application, I cannot tell. In my opinion he seems such a one as will keep an entertainment to its primitive institution, and not suffer it to be changed, sometimes into a mooting hall, sometimes a school of rhetoric, now and then a dicing room, a playhouse, or a stage. For do not you observe some making fine orations and putting cases at a supper, others declaiming or reading some of their own compositions, and others proposing prizes to dancers and mimics? Alcibiades and Theodorus turned Polition's banquet into a temple of initiation, representing there the sacred procession and mysteries of Ceres; now such things as these, in my opinion, ought not to be suffered by a steward, but he must permit such discourse only, such shows, such merriment, as promote the particular end and design of such entertainments; and that is, by pleasant conversation either to beget or maintain friendship and good-will among the guests; for an entertainment is only a pastime table with a glass of wine, ending in friendship through mutual goodwill.
And Theon replied: He is welcome—a very well-shaped gentleman, suited for the role; but I can't say if I might ruin him with my particular approach. To me, he seems like someone who will keep a gathering true to its original purpose and won't let it turn into a debate hall, a rhetoric class, a gambling den, a theater, or a stage. Don't you notice how some people give eloquent speeches and analyze situations at dinner, others are declaiming or reading their own works, and some are offering prizes for dancers and performers? Alcibiades and Theodorus turned Polition's banquet into a sacred initiation, showcasing the holy procession and mysteries of Ceres; in my view, such things shouldn't be allowed by a host. Instead, they should only allow discussions, performances, and entertainment that serve the specific purpose of these gatherings, which is to foster or maintain friendship and goodwill among the guests. An entertainment is just a casual meal with a glass of wine, ultimately leading to friendship through mutual goodwill.
But now because things pure and unmixed are usually surfeiting and odious, and the very mixture itself, unless the simples be well proportioned and opportunely put together, spoils the sweetness and goodness of the composition; it is evident that there ought to be a director to take care that the mirth and jollity of the guests be exactly and opportunely tempered. It is a common saying that a voyage near the land and a walk near the sea are the best recreation. Thus our steward should place seriousness and gravity next jollity and humor; that when they are merry, they should be on the very borders of gravity itself, and when grave and serious, they might be refreshed as sea-sick persons having an easy and short prospect to the mirth and jollity on land. For mirth may be exceeding useful, and make our grave discourses smooth and pleasant,—
But now, since things that are pure and unblended are often overwhelming and unpleasant, and the mixture itself can ruin the sweetness and quality of the whole unless the individual elements are balanced and combined properly, it’s clear that there should be someone in charge to ensure that the fun and enjoyment of the guests are well-timed and appropriately mixed. There's a saying that a trip along the coast and a stroll by the beach are the best forms of relaxation. Therefore, our steward should position seriousness and gravity alongside lightheartedness and humor, so that when the guests are having fun, they are just on the edge of seriousness, and when they are serious, they can still be uplifted like seasick travelers catching a glimpse of the joy onshore. After all, joy can be extremely valuable and can make our serious conversations smoother and more enjoyable—
As near the bramble oft the lily grows,
And neighboring rue commands the blushing rose.
Just like the lily often grows near the bramble,
And neighboring rue controls the blushing rose.But against vain and empty tempers, that wantonly break in upon our feasts, like henbane mixed with the wine, he must advise the guests, lest scoffing and affronts creep in under these, lest in their questions or commands they grow scurrilous and abuse, as for instance by enjoining stutterers to sing, bald-pates to comb their heads, or a cripple to rise and dance. As the company abused Agapestor the Academic, one of whose legs was lame and withered, when in a ridiculing frolic they ordained that every man should stand upon his right leg and take off his glass, or pay a fine; and he, when it was his turn to command, enjoined the company to follow his example drink as he did, and having a narrow earthen pitcher brought in, he put his withered leg into it, and drank his glass and every one in the company, after a fruitless endeavor to imitate, paid his forfeit. It was a good humor of Agapestor's and thus every little merry abuse must be as merrily revenged. Besides he must give such commands as will both please and profit, putting such as are familiar and easy to the person, and when performed will be for his credit and reputation. A songster must be enjoined to sing, an orator to speak, a philosopher to solve a problem, and a poet to make a song; for every one very readily and willingly undertakes that
But against vain and shallow people who disrupt our celebrations, like henbane mixed in with our wine, he needs to advise the guests to prevent mockery and insults from creeping in. We don’t want their questions or demands to become disrespectful, like telling stutterers to sing, bald people to comb their heads, or a disabled person to stand up and dance. For example, Agapestor the Academic, who had a lame and withered leg, was made fun of when they jokingly declared that everyone should stand on their right leg to take a drink or pay a fine. When it was his turn to give commands, he told everyone to follow his lead and drink like he did, putting his withered leg into a narrow earthen pitcher to drink, and after a pointless attempt to copy him, everyone else had to pay their fine. Agapestor had a good sense of humor, and every slight should be met with a lighthearted response. Additionally, he should give commands that are both enjoyable and beneficial, ones that are familiar and easy for the person, and when accomplished will enhance their reputation. A singer should be asked to sing, a speaker to speak, a philosopher to solve a problem, and a poet to write a poem; because everyone readily and eagerly takes on those tasks.
In which he may outdo himself.
In which he might surpass himself.
An Assyrian king by public proclamation promised a reward to him that would find out any new sort of luxury and pleasure. And let the governor, the king of an entertainments propose some pleasant reward for any one that introduceth inoffensive merriment, profitable delight and laughter, not such as attends scoffs and abusive jests, but kindness, pleasant humor, and goodwill; for these matters not being well looked after and observed spoil and ruin most of our entertainments. It is the office of a prudent man to hinder all sort of anger and contention; in the exchange, that which springs from covetousness; in the fencing and wrestling schools, from emulation; in offices and state affairs, from ambition; and in a feast or entertainment, from pleasantness and joke.
An Assyrian king publicly declared a reward for anyone who could discover a new kind of luxury and enjoyment. The governor, or the king of entertainment, should offer a nice reward for anyone who brings in cheerful fun, beneficial enjoyment, and laughter—not the kind that comes from mockery and hurtful jokes, but from kindness, good humor, and goodwill. If these aspects aren’t properly taken care of, they ruin most of our events. It’s the role of a wise person to prevent all kinds of anger and conflict; in trade, that which arises from greed; in sports like fencing and wrestling, from rivalry; in government and state matters, from ambition; and in a celebration or gathering, from cheerfulness and humor.
QUESTION V. WHY IT IS COMMONLY SAID THAT LOVE MAKES A MAN A POET. SOSSIUS, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION V. WHY IT'S COMMONLY STATED THAT LOVE TURNS A MAN INTO A POET. SOSSIUS, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
One day when Sossius entertained us, upon singing some Sapphic verses, this question was started, how it could be true
One day when Sossius had us over, while he was singing some Sapphic verses, this question came up: how could it be true
That love in all doth vigorous thoughts inspire,
And teaches ignorants to tune the lyre?
That love inspires strong thoughts in everyone,
And teaches the clueless how to play the lyre?Since Philoxenus, on the contrary, asserts, that the Cyclops
Since Philoxenus, on the other hand, claims that the Cyclops
With sweet-tongued Muses cured his love.
With sweet-talking Muses healed his love.
Some said that love was bold and daring, venturing at new contrivances, and eager to accomplish, upon which account Plato calls it the enterpriser of everything; for it makes the reserved man talkative, the modest complimental, the negligent and sluggish industrious and observant; and, what is the greatest wonder, a close, hard, and covetous fellow, if he happens to be in love, as iron in fire, becomes pliable and soft, easy, good-natured, and very pleasant; as if there were something in that common jest. A lover's purse is tied with the blade of a leek. Others said that love was like drunkenness; it makes men warm, merry, and dilated; and, when in that condition, they naturally slide down to songs and words in measure; and it is reported of Aeschylus, that he wrote tragedies after he was heated with a glass of wine; and my grandfather Lamprias in his cups seemed to outdo himself in starting questions and smart disputing, and usually said that, like frankincense, he exhaled more freely after he was warmed. And as lovers are extremely pleased with the sight of their beloved, so they praise with as much satisfaction as they behold; and as love is talkative in everything, so more especially in commendation; for lovers themselves believe, and would have all others think, that the object of their passion is pleasing and excellent; and this made Candaules the Lydian force Gyges into his chamber to behold the beauty of his naked wife. For they delight in the testimony of others, and therefore in all composures upon the lovely they adorn them with songs and verses, as we dress images with gold, that more may hear of them and that they may be remembered the more. For if they present a cock, horse, or any other thing to the beloved, it is neatly trimmed and set off with all the ornaments of art; and therefore, when they would present a compliment, they would have it curious, pleasing, as verse usually appears.
Some people say that love is bold and adventurous, eager to try new things, which is why Plato refers to it as the initiator of everything. It turns the shy person into a talker, the modest one into someone who gives compliments, the careless and lazy into industrious and observant individuals; and, most surprisingly, a close, greedy person, when in love, becomes soft and pliable, easygoing, kind, and very pleasant, almost like the saying goes. A lover's wallet is tied with a leek's blade. Others compare love to drunkenness; it makes people warm, cheerful, and expansive; and in that state, they naturally break into songs and rhythmic words. It's said that Aeschylus wrote tragedies after having a drink, and my grandfather Lamprias was known to outdo himself with questions and sharp debates when he was tipsy, claiming that, like incense, he expressed himself more freely after getting warmed up. Just as lovers are thrilled by the sight of their beloved, they express their appreciation with as much joy as they see; and since love is chatty about everything, it especially shines in praises. Lovers themselves believe and want everyone else to think that their beloved is charming and exceptional; this is what led Candaules the Lydian to force Gyges to peek at the beauty of his naked wife. They take pleasure in others' validation, and that's why, in all compositions about beauty, they decorate them with songs and verses, just like we adorn images with gold, so that more people hear about them and remember them better. If they offer a rooster, a horse, or anything else to their beloved, it’s carefully groomed and decorated with all kinds of artistry; therefore, when they want to give a compliment, they want it to be appealing, much like how poetry usually seems.
Sossius applauding these discourses added: Perhaps we may make a probable conjecture from Theophrastus's discourse of Music, for I have lately read the book. Theophrastus lays down three causes of music,—grief, pleasure and enthusiasm; for each of these changes the usual tone, and makes the voice slide into a cadence; for deep sorrow has something tunable in its groans, and therefore we perceive our orators in their conclusions, and actors in their complaints, are somewhat melodious, and insensibly fall into a tune. Excess of joy provokes the more airy men to frisk and dance and keep their steps, though unskilful in the art; and, as Pindar hath it,
Sossius, applauding these talks, added: Maybe we can make a reasonable guess based on Theophrastus’s discussion of Music, since I recently read that book. Theophrastus identifies three reasons for music—grief, pleasure, and enthusiasm—because each of these alters the usual tone and makes the voice flow into a rhythm. Deep sadness has a certain melody in its groans, which is why we notice our speakers in their conclusions, and actors in their expressions of sorrow, sound somewhat musical and naturally fall into a tune. Excessive joy encourages even the lighthearted to skip and dance and keep their rhythm, even if they lack skill in it; and, as Pindar puts it,
They shout, and roar, and wildly toss their heads.
They shout, roar, and wildly shake their heads.
But the graver sort are excited only to sing, raise their voice, and tune their words into a sonnet. But enthusiasm quite changes the body and the voice, and makes it far different from its usual constitution. Hence the very Bacchae use measure, and the inspired give their oracles in measure. And we shall see very few madmen but are frantic in rhyme and rave in verse. This being certain, if you will but anatomize love a little, and look narrowly into it, it will appear that no passion in the world is attended with more violent grief, more excessive joy, or greater ecstasies and fury; a lover's soul looks like Sophocles's city:—
But the more serious types are just eager to sing, raise their voices, and turn their words into a poem. But enthusiasm really changes the body and the voice, making them quite different from their usual state. That's why even the Bacchae use rhythm, and those who are inspired give their prophecies in rhythm. And we find very few mad people who aren’t crazy in rhyme and raving in verse. This is clear; if you take a closer look at love, you’ll see that no emotion in the world comes with more intense sadness, more overwhelming joy, or greater ecstatic feelings and rage; a lover's soul resembles Sophocles’s city:—
At once 'tis full of sacrifice,
Of joyful songs, of groans and cries.'
(Sophocles, "Oedipus Tyrannus," 4.)
Right now, it’s all about sacrifice,
joyful songs, groans, and cries.'
(Sophocles, "Oedipus Tyrannus," 4.)And therefore it is no wonder, that since love contains all the causes of music,—grief, pleasure, and enthusiasm,—and is besides industrious and talkative, it should incline us more than any other passion to poetry and songs.
And so it’s no surprise that since love encompasses all the reasons for music—grief, joy, and passion—and is also active and expressive, it leads us more than any other emotion to poetry and songs.
QUESTION VI. WHETHER ALEXANDER WAS A GREAT DRINKER. PHILINUS, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION VI. WAS ALEXANDER A HEAVY DRINKER? PHILINUS, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
Some said that Alexander did not drink much, but sat long in company, discoursing with his friends; but Philinus showed this to be an error from the king's diary, where it was very often registered that such a day, and sometimes two days together, the king slept after a debauch; and this course of life made him cold in love, but passionate and angry, which argues a hot constitution. And some report his sweat was fragrant and perfumed his clothes; which is another argument of heat, as we see the hottest and driest climates bear frankincense and cassia; for a fragrant smell, as Theophrastus thinks, proceeds from a due concoction of the humors, when the noxious moisture is conquered by the heat. And it is thought probable, that he took a pique at Calisthenes for avoiding his table because of the hard drinking, and refusing the great bowl called Alexander's in his turn, adding, I will not drink of Alexander's bowl, to stand in need of Aesculapius's. And thus much of Alexander's drinking.
Some people said that Alexander didn’t drink much, but spent a lot of time with his friends talking. However, Philinus proved this wrong with the king's diary, which frequently noted that on certain days, and sometimes for two days in a row, the king slept after a binge. This lifestyle made him cold in love, but passionate and angry, which suggests a hot temperament. Some even say his sweat had a pleasant fragrance that scented his clothes; this is another sign of heat, similar to how the hottest and driest climates produce frankincense and cassia. According to Theophrastus, a pleasant smell comes from the proper digestion of the body's humors when harmful moisture is overcome by heat. It seems likely that he took offense at Calisthenes for avoiding his gatherings due to the heavy drinking and for refusing the large drinking bowl known as Alexander's, saying, "I won’t drink from Alexander's bowl if it means needing Aesculapius." And that’s all there is to say about Alexander’s drinking.
Story tells us, that Mithridates, the famous enemy of the Romans, among other trials of skill that he instituted, proposed a reward to the greatest eater and the stoutest drinker in his kingdom. He won both the prizes himself; he outdrank every man living, and for his excellency that way was called Bacchus. But this reason for his surname is a vain fancy and an idle story; for whilst he was an infant a flash of lightning burnt his cradle, but did his body no harm, and only left a little mark on his forehead, which his hair covered when he was grown a boy; and after he came to be a man, another flash broke into his bedchambers, and burnt the arrows in a quiver that was hanging under him; from whence his diviners presaged, that archers and light-armed men should win him considerable victories in his wars; and the vulgar gave him this name, because in those many dangers by lightning he bore some resemblance to the Theban Bacchus.
Story tells us that Mithridates, the famous enemy of the Romans, among other skill challenges he organized, offered a prize to the greatest eater and the strongest drinker in his kingdom. He won both prizes himself; he outdrank every man alive, and for his excellence in that area, he was nicknamed Bacchus. However, this reason for his nickname is just a fanciful idea and a silly tale; because when he was an infant, a lightning strike burned his cradle, but he was unharmed, only leaving a small mark on his forehead, which his hair covered as he grew into a boy. Later, as a man, another lightning strike hit his bedroom and burned the arrows in a quiver hanging above him; from this, his soothsayers predicted that archers and light infantry would win him significant victories in his wars. The general public gave him this name because, in those many lightning-related dangers, he appeared somewhat like the Theban Bacchus.
From hence great drinkers were the subject of our discourse; and the wrestler Heraclides (or, as the Alexandrians mince it, Heraclus), who lived but in the last age, was accounted one. He, when he could get none to hold out with him, invited some to take their morning's draught, others to dinner, to supper others, and others after, to take a merry glass of wine; so that as the first went off, the second came, and the third and fourth company and he all the while without any intermission took his glass round, and outsat all the four companies.
From then on, we talked about heavy drinkers, and the wrestler Heraclides (or, as the Alexandrians say, Heraclus), who lived in the last generation, was considered one of them. Whenever he couldn't find anyone to keep up with him, he invited some people for a morning drink, others for lunch, some for dinner, and others later for a fun glass of wine; so that as the first group finished, the second arrived, then the third and fourth, while he kept pouring his drink the whole time and outlasted all four groups.
Amongst the retainers to Drusus, the Emperor Tiberus's son, was a physician that drank down all the court; he, before he sat down, would usually take five or six bitter almonds to prevent the operation of the wine; but whenever he was forbidden that, he knocked under presently, and a single glass dozed him. Some think these almonds have a penetrating, abstersive quality, are able to cleanse the face, and clear it from the common freckles; and therefore, when they are eaten, by their bitterness vellicate and fret the pores, and by that means draw down the ascending vapors from the head. But, in my opinion, a bitter quality is a drier, and consumes moisture; and therefore a bitter taste is the most unpleasant. For, as Plato says, dryness, being an enemy to moisture, unnaturally contracts the spongy and tender nerves of the tongue. And green ulcers are usually drained by bitter injections. Thus Homer:—
Among the attendants of Drusus, the son of Emperor Tiberius, was a physician known for drinking heavily at court. Before he sat down, he would typically consume five or six bitter almonds to counteract the effects of wine; however, if he was ever told not to, he would quickly succumb, and just one glass would make him drowsy. Some believe these almonds have a cleansing quality that can improve skin and clear up common freckles; therefore, when eaten, their bitterness irritates the pores and helps draw down the rising vapors from the head. However, I think that bitterness is quite drying and absorbs moisture, making it an unpleasant taste. As Plato suggests, dryness, which opposes moisture, unnaturally constricts the delicate and spongy nerves of the tongue. Additionally, bitter injections are typically used to drain green ulcers. Thus Homer:—
He squeezed his herbs, and bitter juice applied;
And straight the blood was stanched, the sore was dried.
("Iliad," xi. 846.)
He squeezed his herbs and applied the bitter juice;
And immediately the bleeding stopped, and the wound dried up.
("Iliad," xi. 846.)And he guesses well, that what is bitter to the taste is a drier. Besides, the powders women use to dry up their sweat are bitter, and by reason of that quality astringent. This then being certain, it is no wonder that the bitterness of the almonds hinders the operation of the wine, since it dries the inside of the body and keeps the veins from being overcharged; for from their distention and disturbance they say drunkenness proceeds. And this conjecture is much confirmed from that which usually happens to a fox; for if he eats bitter almonds without drinking, his moisture suddenly fails, and it is present death.
And he’s right to think that what tastes bitter is a drying agent. Also, the powders women use to absorb their sweat are bitter, which is a reason they have astringent properties. So, since this is true, it’s no surprise that the bitterness of almonds disrupts the effects of wine, as it dries out the body’s insides and prevents the veins from becoming overloaded; because it’s said that drunkenness comes from their swelling and agitation. This idea is further backed up by what often happens to a fox; if it eats bitter almonds without drinking, it quickly loses moisture, and it can lead to death.
QUESTION VII. WHY OLD MEN LOVE PURE WINE. PLUTARCH AND OTHERS.
QUESTION VII. WHY OLD MEN LOVE PURE WINE. PLUTARCH AND OTHERS.
It was debated why old men loved the strongest liquors. Some, fancying that their natural heat decayed and their constitution grew cold, said such liquors were most necessary and agreeable to their age; but this was mean and the obvious, and besides, neither a sufficient nor a true reason; for the like happens to all their other senses. For they are not easily moved or wrought on by any qualities, unless they are in intense degrees and make a vigorous impression; but the reason is the laxity of the habit of their body, for that, being grown lax and weak, loves a smart stroke. Thus their taste is pleased most with strong sapors, their smelling with brisk odors; for strong and unalloyed qualities make a more pleasing impression on the sense. Their touch is almost senseless to a sore, and a wound generally raises no sharp pain. The like also in their hearing may be observed; for old musicians play louder and sharper than others, that they may move their own dull tympanum with the sound. For what steel is to the edge in a knife, that spirit is to the sense in the body; and therefore, when the spirits fail, the sense grows dull and stupid, and cannot be raised, unless by something, such as strong wine, that makes a vigorous impression.
People have often wondered why older men are drawn to stronger liquors. Some believe that as they age and their natural warmth diminishes, these drinks become essential and enjoyable for their age. However, this reasoning is shallow and incomplete; it applies to all their senses as well. They aren't easily affected by anything unless it's at an intense level that makes a strong impact. The reason lies in the relaxation and weakness of their bodies, which craves a strong stimulus. Thus, their taste prefers bold flavors, their sense of smell enjoys vibrant scents, because strong and pure qualities leave a more pleasing impression on the senses. Their sense of touch is often dull even to pain, and injuries usually don’t cause sharp agony. A similar trend is noted in their hearing; older musicians tend to play louder and sharper to jolt their own sluggish ear drums with the sound. Just as a knife's edge depends on the steel, the body's senses rely on its vitality; therefore, when energy diminishes, the senses become dull and unresponsive, only reviving with something impactful, like strong wine.
QUESTION VIII. WHY OLD MEN READ BEST AT A DISTANCE. PLUTARCH, LAMPRIAS, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION VIII. WHY OLD MEN READ BEST AT A DISTANCE. PLUTARCH, LAMPRIAS, AND OTHERS.
To my discourse in the former problem some objection may be drawn from the sense of seeing in old men; for, if they hold a book at a distance, they will read pretty well, nearer they cannot see a letter and this Aeschylus means by these verses:—
To my discussion in the previous problem, some objections might arise from the vision of older men; because, if they hold a book at a distance, they can read it fairly well, but if it's closer, they can't see any letters. This is what Aeschylus is referring to in these verses:—
Behold from far; for near thou canst not see;
A good old scribe thou mayst much sooner be.
Look from afar; for you can't see up close;
You could much more easily become a good old scribe.And Sophocles more plainly:—
And Sophocles more clearly:—
Old men are slow in talk, they hardly hear;
Far off they see; but all are blind when near.
Old men talk slowly, and they can barely hear;
They see things from a distance, but up close they are all blind.And therefore, if old men's organs are more obedient to strong and intense qualities, why, when they read, do they not take the reflection near at hand, but, holding the book a good way off, mix and weaken it by the intervening air, as wine by water?
And so, if older men's senses respond better to strong and intense qualities, why do they not bring the reflection close when they read? Instead, they hold the book far away, diluting and weakening it with the air in between, just like wine mixed with water.
Some answered, that they did not remove the book to lesson the light, but to receive more rays, and let all the space between the letters and their eyes be filled with lightsome air. Others agreed with those that imagine the rays of vision mix with one another; for since there is a cone stretched between each eye and the object, whose point is in the eye and whose basis is the object, it is probable that for some way each cone extends apart and by itself; but, when the distance increases, they mix and make but one common light; and therefore every object appears single and not two, though it is seen by both eyes at once; for the conjunction of the cones makes these two appearances but one. These things supposed, when old men hold the letters close to their eyes, the cones not being joined, but each apart and by itself, their sight is weak; but when they remove it farther, the two lights being mingled and increased, see better, as a man with both hands can hold that for which either singly is too weak.
Some said they didn’t move the book to lessen the light, but to capture more rays and fill the space between the letters and their eyes with bright air. Others agreed with those who think that the rays of vision blend together; since there’s a cone extending from each eye to the object, with the tip in the eye and the base at the object, it makes sense that each cone initially spreads apart individually. However, as the distance increases, they blend together and create a single light, which is why each object appears as one, even though it’s seen by both eyes at the same time; the joining of the cones makes these two views into one. Given this, when older people hold the letters close to their eyes, the cones don’t connect and each functions separately, making their vision weak. But when they move it farther away, the two lights blend and become stronger, allowing for better sight, like how a person can hold something with both hands when one hand alone isn’t strong enough.
But my brother Lamprias, though unacquainted with Hieronymus's notions, gave us another reason. We see, said he, some species that come from the object to the eye, which at their first rise are thick and great; and therefore when near disturb old men, whose eyes are stiff and not easily penetrated; but when they are separated and diffused into the air, the thick obstructing parts are easily removed, and the subtile remainders coming to the eye gently and easily slide into the pores; and so the disturbance being less, the sight is more vigorous and clear. Thus a rose smells most fragrant at a distance; but if you bring it near the nose, it is not so pure and delightful; and the reason is this,—many earthy disturbing particles are carried with the smell, and spoil the fragrancy when near, but in a longer passage those are lost, and the pure brisk odor, by reason of its subtility, reaches and acts upon the sense.
But my brother Lamprias, although he wasn't familiar with Hieronymus's ideas, offered us another explanation. He said that there are some substances that travel from the object to the eye; at first, they are thick and large, which is why they can be bothersome to older people whose eyes are stiff and hard to penetrate. However, when these substances are spread out in the air, the thicker, obstructing parts easily dissipate, and the finer remnants gently slide into the eye's pores. As a result, the disturbance is reduced, and vision becomes sharper and clearer. Similarly, a rose smells its sweetest from a distance; but when you bring it close to your nose, the scent isn't as pure and delightful. This happens because many earthy, irritating particles travel with the fragrance and spoil its quality up close, but over a longer distance, those particles are lost, allowing the pure, fresh scent—due to its finesse—to reach and stimulate the sense.
But we, according to Plato's opinion, assert that a bright spirit darted from the eye mixes with the light about the object, and those two are perfectly blended into one similar body; now these must be joined in due proportion one to another; for one part ought not wholly to prevail on the other, but both, being proportionally and amicably joined, should agree in one third common power. Now this (whether flux, illuminated spirit, or ray) in old men being very weak, there can be no combination, no mixture with the light about the object; but it must be wholly consumed, unless, by removing the letters from their eyes, they lessen the brightness of the light, so that it comes to the sight not too strong or unmixed, but well proportioned and blended with the other. And this explains that common affection of creatures seeing in the dark; for their eyesight being weak is overcome and darkened by the splendor of the day; because the little light that flows from their eyes cannot be proportionably mixed with the stronger and more numerous beams; but it is proportionable and sufficient for the feeble splendor of the stars, and so can join with it, and cooperate to move the sense.
But we, following Plato's view, believe that a bright spirit shoots from the eye and mixes with the light around the object, and these two combine into one similar entity; now these must be connected in the right proportion to each other; for one part should not completely dominate the other, but both, being proportionately and harmoniously joined, should agree in one shared power. Now this (whether it's flux, illuminated spirit, or ray) is very weak in older people, so there can be no combination, no mixture with the light surrounding the object; it must be completely consumed, unless, by removing the letters from their eyes, they decrease the brightness of the light, allowing it to reach their sight not too strongly or purely, but well proportioned and blended with the other. This explains the common ability of creatures to see in the dark; their eyesight being weak is overwhelmed and dimmed by the brilliance of the day; because the small light that flows from their eyes cannot mix appropriately with the stronger and more numerous rays; but it is suitable and sufficient for the faint light of the stars, and thus can join with it and work together to stimulate the sense.
QUESTION IX. WHY FRESH WATER WASHES CLOTHES BETTER THAN SALT. THEON, THEMISTOCLES, METRIUS, FLORUS, PLUTARCH; AND OTHERS.
QUESTION IX. WHY FRESH WATER WASHES CLOTHES BETTER THAN SALT. THEON, THEMISTOCLES, METRIUS, FLORUS, PLUTARCH; AND OTHERS.
Theon the grammarian, when Metrius Florus gave us an entertainment, asked Themistocles the Stoic, why Chrysippus, though he frequently mentioned some strange phenomena in nature (as that salt meat soaked in salt water grows fresher than before; fleeces of wool are more easily separated by a gentle than a quick and violent force, and men that are fasting eat slower than those who took a breakfast), yet never gave any reason for the appearance. And Themistocles replied, that Chrysippus only proposed such things by the by, as instances to correct us, who easily assent and without any reason to what seems likely, and disbelieve everything that seems unlikely at the first sight. But why, sir, are you concerned at this? For if you are speculative and would inquire into the causes of things you need not want subjects in your own profession; but pray tell me why Homer makes Nausicaa wash in the river rather than the sea, though it was near, and in all likelihood hotter, clearer, and fitter to wash with than that?
Theon the grammarian, when Metrius Florus hosted an event, asked Themistocles the Stoic why Chrysippus, although he often talked about some strange phenomena in nature (like how salt meat soaked in salt water tastes fresher than before; how wool fibers are separated more easily with a gentle force than with a fast, violent one, and how people who are fasting eat slower than those who have had breakfast), never explained why these things happen. Themistocles replied that Chrysippus brought up these things to remind us that we tend to agree with what seems plausible without questioning it, while we dismiss everything that appears unlikely at first glance. But why does this concern you, sir? If you’re curious and want to explore the reasons behind things, you don't need to look far in your own field. But please, tell me why Homer has Nausicaa wash in the river instead of the sea, even though the sea was nearby and likely hotter, clearer, and better for washing?
And Theon replied: Aristotle hath already given an account for this from the grossness of the sea water; for in this an abundance of rough earthy particles is mixed, and those make it salt; and upon this account swimmers or any other weights sink not so much in sea water as in fresh for the latter, being thin and weak, yields to every pressure and is easily divided, because it is pure and unmixed and by reason of this subtility of parts it penetrates better than salt water, and so looseneth from the clothes the sticking particles of the spot. And is not this discourse of Aristotle very probable?
And Theon replied: Aristotle has already explained this due to the thickness of seawater; it contains a lot of rough earthy particles, which make it salty. For this reason, swimmers or any other objects sink less in seawater than in fresh water, since fresh water, being thin and weak, gives way to pressure and is easily divided. It is pure and unmixed, and because of this fineness of its particles, it penetrates better than saltwater, which helps to remove the sticking particles from clothing. Isn't Aristotle's explanation quite reasonable?
Probable indeed, I replied, but not true; for I have observed that with ashes, gravel, or, if these are not to be gotten, with dust itself they usually thicken the water, as if the earthy particles being rough would scour better than fair water, whose thinness makes it weak and ineffectual. And therefore he is mistaken when he says the thickness of the sea water hinders the effect, since the sharpness of the mixed particles very much conduces to make it cleansing; for that open the pores, and draws out the stain. But since all oily matter is most difficult to be washed out and spots a cloth, and the sea is oily, that is the reason why it doth not scour as well as fresh and that it is oily, even Aristotle himself asserts, for salt in his opinion hath some oil in it, and therefore makes candles, when sprinkled on them, burn the better and clearer than before. And sea water sprinkled on a flame increaseth it, and it more easily kindled than any other; in my opinion, makes it hotter than the fresh. And besides, I may urge another cause; for the end of washing is drying, and that seems cleanest which is driest; and the moisture that scours (as hellebore, with the humors that it purges) ought to fly away quickly together with the stain. The sun quickly draws out the fresh water, because it is so light but the salt water being rough lodges in the pores, and therefore is not easily dried.
"That may be likely," I replied, "but it's not true. I've noticed that people usually make water thicker with ashes, gravel, or, if those aren't available, with dust itself, as if the rough particles work better than clean water, which is too thin to be effective. So, he's wrong when he says that the thickness of seawater hinders its effectiveness, since the sharpness of the mixed particles actually helps with cleansing; they open the pores and lift out the stains. However, because oily substances are really hard to wash out and leave marks on cloth, and because seawater is oily, that's why it doesn't clean as well as fresh water. Even Aristotle says that salt contains some oil, which is why when you sprinkle it on candles, they burn better and brighter. And when seawater is sprinkled on a flame, it makes it grow stronger and burn faster than anything else; in my view, it makes it hotter than fresh water. Additionally, I can argue that the goal of washing is drying, and what seems cleanest is what is driest. The moisture that cleanses (like hellebore does with the impurities it removes) should evaporate quickly along with the stain. The sun quickly draws out fresh water because it's so light, but the roughness of saltwater gets stuck in the pores and therefore doesn’t dry easily."
And Theon replied: You say just nothing, sir; for Aristotle in the same book affirms that those that wash in the sea, if they stand in sun, are sooner dried than those that wash in the fresh streams. If it is true, I am answered, he says so; but I hope that Homer asserting the contrary will, by you especially, be more easily believed; for Ulysses (as he writes) after his shipwreck meeting Nausicaa,
And Theon replied: You’re saying nothing, sir; because Aristotle in the same book claims that those who wash in the sea, if they stand in the sun, dry faster than those who wash in fresh water. If that’s true, then I’ve been answered since he says so; but I hope that Homer’s opposing view will be more easily accepted by you, especially because Ulysses (as he writes) meets Nausicaa after his shipwreck,
A frightful sight, and with the salt besmeared
A terrifying sight, with the salt smeared
said to her maidens,
told her maids,
Retire a while, till I have washed my skin,
Take a break for a bit, until I've cleaned my skin,
And when he had leaped into the river,
And when he jumped into the river,
He from his head did scour the foaming sea.
(See "Odyssey," vi. 137, 218, 226.)
He surveyed the crashing waves from above. (See "Odyssey," vi. 137, 218, 226.)
The poet knew very well what happens in such a case; for when those that come wet out of the sea stand in the sun, the subtilest and lightest parts suddenly exhale, but the salt and rough particles stick upon the body in a crust, till they are washed away by the fresh water of a spring.
The poet understood perfectly what happens in a situation like this; when those who come out of the sea and stand in the sun, the finest and lightest particles quickly evaporate, but the salt and rough particles remain on the skin in a crust until they are washed away by fresh spring water.
QUESTION X. WHY AT ATHENS THE CHORUS OF THE TRIBE AEANTIS WAS NEVER DETERMINED TO BE THE LAST. PHILOPAPPUS, MARCUS, MILO, GLAUCIAS, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION X. WHY AT ATHENS THE CHORUS OF THE TRIBE AEANTIS WAS NEVER DETERMINED TO BE THE LAST. PHILOPAPPUS, MARCUS, MILO, GLAUCIAS, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
When we were feasting at Serapion's, who gave an entertainment after the tribe Leontis under his order and direction had won the prize (for we were citizens and free of that tribe), a very pertinent discourse, and proper to the then occasion, happened. It had been a very notable trial of skill, the king Philopappus being very generous and magnificent in his rewards, and defraying the expenses of all the tribes. He was at the same feast with us and being a very good-humored man and eager for instruction, he would now and then freely discourse of ancient customs, and as freely hear.
When we were enjoying a feast at Serapion's, who hosted a celebration after the Leontis tribe, under his leadership, won the prize (since we were citizens and members of that tribe), a very relevant discussion arose, fitting for the occasion. It was a remarkable contest, with King Philopappus being very generous and lavish with his rewards, covering the expenses for all the tribes. He was at the same feast with us, and being a very good-natured person eager to learn, he would occasionally engage in conversations about ancient customs, and was just as willing to listen.
Marcus the grammarian began thus: Neanthes the Cyzicenian, in his book called the "Fabulous Narrations of the City," affirms that it was a privilege of the tribe Aeantis that their chorus should never be determined to be the last. It is true, he brings some stories for confirmation of what he says; but if he falsifies, the matter is open, and let us all inquire after the reason of the thing. But, says Milo, suppose it be a mere tale. It is no strange thing replied Philopappus, if in our disquisitions after truth we meet now and then with such a thing as Democritus the philosopher did; for he one day eating a cucumber, and finding it of a honey taste, asked his maid where she bought it; and she telling him in such a garden, he rose from table and bade her direct him to the place. The maid surprised asked him what he meant; and he replied, I must search after the cause of the sweetness of the fruit, and shall find it the sooner if I see the place. The maid with a smile replied, Sit still, pray, sir, for I unwittingly put it into a honey barrel. And he, as it were discontented, cried out, Shame take thee, yet I will pursue my purpose, and seek after the cause, as if this sweetness were a taste natural and proper to the fruit. Therefore neither will we admit Neanthes's credulity and inadvertency in some stories as an excuse and a good reason for avoiding this disquisition; for we shall exercise our thoughts by it, though no other advantage rises from that inquiry.
Marcus the grammarian started like this: Neanthes the Cyzicenian, in his book called the "Fabulous Narrations of the City," claims that it was a privilege of the Aeantis tribe that their chorus should never be considered the last. He does provide some stories to back up his claims; however, if he's lying, the issue is open for discussion, and we should all explore the reasons behind it. But, Milo says, what if it's just a story? Philopappus replied that it's not unusual for us, in our quest for truth, to come across something like what Democritus the philosopher experienced; one day, while eating a cucumber that tasted sweet, he asked his maid where she got it. When she told him from a certain garden, he got up from the table and asked her to show him the place. The maid, surprised, asked what he meant, and he replied, I need to find out why the fruit is sweet, and I can do that faster if I see the place. The maid smiled and said, Please stay seated, sir, I accidentally put it into a honey barrel. And he, somewhat dissatisfied, exclaimed, Shame on you, but I will continue to pursue my quest and search for the cause as if this sweetness were a natural characteristic of the fruit. Therefore, we will not excuse Neanthes's gullibility and carelessness in some stories as a reason to avoid this discussion; we will engage our minds in it, even if we gain no other advantage from that inquiry.
Presently every one poured out something in commendation of that tribe, mentioning every matter that made for its credit and reputation. Marathon was brought in as belonging to it, and Harmodius with his associates, by birth Aphidneans, were also produced as glorious members of that tribe. The orator Glaucias proved that that tribe made up the right wing in the battle at Marathon, from the elegies of Aeschylus, who had himself fought valiantly in the same encounter; and farther evinced that Callimachus the field marshal was of that tribe, who behaved himself very bravely, and was the principal cause next to Miltiades, with whose opinion he concurred, that that battle was fought. To this discourse of Glaucias I added, that the edict which impowered Miltiades to lead forth the Athenians, was made when the tribe Aeantis was chief of the assembly, and that in the battle of Plataea the same tribe won the greatest glory; and upon that account, as the oracle directed, that tribe offered a sacrifice for this victory to the nymphs Sphragitides, the city providing a victim and all other necessaries belonging to it. But you may observe (I continued) that other tribes likewise have their peculiar glories; and you know that mine, the tribe Leontids, yields to none in any point of reputation. Besides, consider whether it is not more probable that this was granted out of a particular respect, and to please Ajax, from whom this tribe received its name; for we know he could not endure to be outdone, but was easily hurried on to the greatest enormities by his contentious and passionate humor; and therefore to comply with him and afford him some comfort in his disasters, they secured him from the most vexing grievance that follows the misfortune of the conquered, by ordering that his tribe should never be determined to be last.
Right now, everyone is saying something positive about that tribe, highlighting everything that boosts its reputation. Marathon is mentioned as part of that tribe, and Harmodius and his companions, who were from Aphidna, are also cited as proud members of it. The speaker Glaucias showed that this tribe was on the right flank in the battle at Marathon, referencing the elegies of Aeschylus, who also fought bravely in that battle. He further pointed out that Callimachus, the commander, was part of that tribe and acted heroically, being a major reason, alongside Miltiades, why that battle took place. To Glaucias's argument, I added that the decree empowering Miltiades to lead the Athenians was established when the tribe Aeantis was in charge of the assembly, and that during the battle of Plataea, this tribe achieved the most glory. Because of this, as the oracle instructed, the tribe offered a sacrifice for their victory to the nymphs Sphragitides, with the city providing the animal and everything else needed for it. But you might notice, I continued, that other tribes also have their unique honors; and you know that mine, the tribe Leontids, is not lacking in reputation. Also, think about whether it's more likely that this recognition was given out of special regard to please Ajax, after whom this tribe is named; because we know he couldn't stand being outdone and could easily be pushed into extreme actions by his fiery temper. Therefore, to accommodate him and give him some solace in his struggles, they ensured he wouldn’t face the most irritating embarrassment that comes with being defeated by deciding that his tribe would never be ranked last.
BOOK II.
Of the several things that are provided for an entertainment, some, my Sossius Senecio, are absolutely necessary; such are wine, bread, meat, lounges, and tables. Others are brought in, not for necessity, but pleasure; such are songs, shows, mimics, and buffoons; which, when present, delight indeed, but when absent, are not eagerly desired; nor is the entertainment looked upon as mean because such things are wanting. Just so of discourses; some the sober men admit as necessary to a banquet, and others for their pretty nice speculations, as more profitable and agreeable than the fiddle and the pipe. My former book gives you examples of both sorts. Of the first are these, Whether we should philosophize at table?—Whether the entertainer should appoint proper seats, or leave the guests to agree upon there own? Of the second, Why lovers are inclined to poetry? And the question about the tribe of Aeantis. The former I call properly [Greek omitted] but both together I comprehend under the general name of Symposiacs. They are promiscuously set down, not in the exact method, but as each singly occurred to memory. And let not my readers wonder that I dedicate these collections to you, which I have received from others or your own mouth; for if all learning is not bare remembrance, yet to learn and to remember are very commonly one and the same.
Of the many things that contribute to a good gathering, some, my Sossius Senecio, are absolutely essential; these include wine, bread, meat, seating, and tables. Others are included not out of necessity, but for enjoyment; these are songs, performances, impressions, and jesters, which bring joy when present, but are not missed when absent; and the gathering is not considered lacking when these things are missing. Similarly, in discussions, some topics are considered essential for a feast, while others are appreciated more for their interesting insights than for entertainment like music. My earlier book provides examples of both types. The first group includes questions like, Should we discuss philosophy at the table?—Should the host assign seats, or let guests choose for themselves? The second group includes questions like, Why are lovers drawn to poetry? And the inquiry about the tribe of Aeantis. I specifically call the former [Greek omitted], but I refer to both collectively under the term Symposiacs. They are presented here without strict organization, but simply as they came to mind. And let my readers not be surprised that I dedicate these collections to you, gathered from your own words or from others; for while not all learning is merely recollection, to learn and to remember often amount to the same thing.
QUESTION I WHAT, AS XENOPHON INTIMATES, ARE THE MOST AGREEABLE QUESTIONS AND MOST PLEASANT RAILLERY AT AN ENTERTAINMENT? SOSSIUS, SENECIO, AND PLUTARCH.
QUESTION I WHAT, AS XENOPHON SUGGESTS, ARE THE MOST ENJOYABLE QUESTIONS AND THE MOST PLEASANT JOKES AT A GATHERING? SOSSIUS, SENECIO, AND PLUTARCH.
Now each book being divided into ten questions, that shall make the first in this, which Socratial Xenophon hath as it were proposed; for he tells that, Gobryas banqueting with Cyrus, amongst other things he found admirable in the Persians, was surprised to hear them ask one another such questions that it was more pleasant to be interrogated than to be let alone, and pass such jests on one another that it was more pleasant to be jested on than not. For if some, even whilst they praise, offend, why should not their polite and neat facetiousness be admired, whose very raillery is delightful and pleasant to him that is the subject of it? Once you said: I wish I could learn what kind of questions those are; for to be skilled in and make right use of apposite questions and pleasant raillery, I think is no small part of conversation.
Now each book is divided into ten questions, which makes up the first part of this discussion, as proposed by Socratic Xenophon. He mentions that while Gobryas was dining with Cyrus, one of the things he found admirable about the Persians was how they asked each other such engaging questions that it was more enjoyable to be questioned than to be left alone, and they exchanged jokes that made it more enjoyable to be teased than not. If some people, even when praising others, end up offending, why shouldn’t their polite and clever humor be appreciated, especially when the teasing is delightful and enjoyable for the one being teased? You once said: I wish I could learn what kind of questions those are; because being skilled in and effectively using fitting questions and playful banter is, in my opinion, an important part of conversation.
A considerable one, I replied; but pray observe whether Xenophon himself, in his descriptions of Socrates's and the Persian entertainments, hath not sufficiently explained them. But if you would have my thoughts, first, men are pleased to be asked those questions to which they have an answer ready; such are those in which the persons asked have some skill and competent knowledge; for when the inquiry is above their reach, those that can return nothing are troubled, as if requested to give something beyond their power; and those that do answer, producing some crude and insufficient demonstration, must needs be very much concerned, and apt to blunder on the wrong. Now, if the answer not only is easy but hath something not common, it is more pleasing to them that make it; and this happens, when their knowledge is greater than that of the vulgar, as suppose they are well skilled in points of astrology or logic. For not only in action and serious matters, but also in discourse, every one hath a natural disposition to be pleased (as Euripides hath it)
That's quite a bit, I replied; but please notice whether Xenophon, in his descriptions of Socrates's and the Persian gatherings, has already explained them well enough. But if you want my opinion, first, people enjoy being asked questions they already know the answers to; these are the questions where the people being asked have some expertise and solid knowledge. When the questions are beyond their ability, those who can't respond feel anxious, as if they're being asked to give something that’s out of their reach; and those who do manage to answer may only give a rough and unsatisfactory reply, which makes them very uneasy and prone to mistakes. Now, if the answer is not only easy but has something unique, it becomes even more enjoyable for those who provide it; this often happens when their knowledge surpasses that of the average person, like when they are skilled in subjects like astrology or logic. Because, not just in actions and serious matters, but also in conversation, everyone has a natural tendency to enjoy (as Euripides says).
To seem far to outdo himself.
To appear as if he's trying way too hard to impress.
And all are delighted when men put such questions as they understand, and would have others know that they are acquainted with; and therefore travellers and merchants are most satisfied when their company is inquisitive about other countries, the unknown ocean, and the laws and manners of the barbarians; they are very ready to inform them, and describe the countries and the creeks, imagining this to be some recompense for their toil, some comfort for the dangers they have passed. In short, whatever though unrequested, we are wont to discourse of, we are desirous to be asked; because then we seem to gratify those whom otherwise our prattle would disturb and force from our conversation. And this is the common disease of travellers. But more genteel and modest men love to be asked about those things which they have bravely and successfully performed, and which modesty will not permit to be spoken by themselves before company; and therefore Nestor did well when, being acquainted with Ulysses's desire of reputation, he said,
And everyone is happy when people ask questions they understand and want others to know they’re familiar with; that's why travelers and merchants are most pleased when their audience is curious about other countries, the vast ocean, and the customs and ways of the locals. They are eager to share information and talk about the places and routes, thinking of it as a reward for their hard work and a comfort for the dangers they've faced. In short, whatever topics we often talk about without being prompted, we wish to be asked about; because then we feel like we’re pleasing those who otherwise might be annoyed or want to leave our conversation. This is a common trait among travelers. However, more refined and humble individuals prefer to be asked about their notable achievements, which their modesty prevents them from mentioning themselves in front of others; that's why Nestor did well when he recognized Ulysses's desire for respect and said,
Tell, brave Ulysses, glory of the Greeks,
How you the horses seized.
("Iliad," x. 544.)
Tell, courageous Ulysses, pride of the Greeks,
How you captured the horses.
("Iliad," x. 544.)For man cannot endure the insolence of those who praise themselves and repeat their own exploits, unless the company desires it and they are forced to a relation; therefore it tickles them to be asked about their embassies and administrations of the commonwealth, if they have done anything notable in either. And upon this account the envious and ill-natured start very few questions of that they sort; that thwart and hinder all such kind of motions, being very unwilling to give any occasion or opportunity for that discourse which shall tend to the advantage of the relater. In short, we please those to whom we put them, when we start questions about those matters which their enemies hate to hear.
For people can't stand the arrogance of those who brag about themselves and keep talking about their achievements, unless everyone else is interested and they’re forced into the conversation; so it amuses them to be asked about their roles in diplomacy and public service, especially if they’ve done something noteworthy in either. Because of this, the envious and unpleasant rarely ask such questions, actively trying to block any discussion that might benefit the storyteller. In short, we please those we engage with when we bring up topics that their enemies dislike hearing about.
Ulysses says to Alcinous,
Ulysses tells Alcinous,
You bid me tell what various ills I bore,
That the sad tale might make me grieve the more.
(Sophocles, "Oedipus at Colonus," 510.)
You asked me to share the many troubles I endured, So that this sad story could make me feel even worse. (Sophocles, "Oedipus at Colonus," 510.)
And Oedipus says to the chorus,
And Oedipus says to the chorus,
'Tis pain to raise again a buried grief.
("Odyssey," ix. 12.)
'Tis painful to bring up a buried grief.
("Odyssey," ix. 12.)But Euripides on the contrary,
But Euripides, on the other hand,
How sweet it is, when we are lulled in ease,
To think of toils!—when well, of a disease!
(Euripides, "Andromeda," Frag. 131.)
How nice it is, when we’re relaxed,
To think about hard work!—when feeling better, about an illness!
(Euripides, "Andromeda," Frag. 131.)True indeed, but not to those that are still tossed, still under a misfortune. Therefore be sure never ask a man about his own calamities; it is irksome to relate his losses of children or estate, or any unprosperous adventure by sea or land; but ask a man how he carried the cause, how he was caressed by the king, how he escaped such a storm, such an assault, thieves, and the like; this pleaseth him, he seems to enjoy it over again in his relation, and is never weary of the topic. Besides, men love to be asked about their happy friends, or children that have made good progress in philosophy or the law, or are great at court; as also about the disgrace and open conviction of their enemies; or of such matters they are most eager to discourse, yet are cautious of beginning it themselves, lest they should seem to insult over and rejoice at the misery of others. You please a hunter if you ask him about dogs, a wrestler about exercise, and an amorous man about beauties; the ceremonious and superstitious man discourses about dreams, and what success he hath had by following the directions of omens or sacrifices, and by the kindness of the gods; and some questions concerning those things will extremely please him. He that inquires anything of an old man, though the story doth not at all concern him, wins his heart, and urges one that is very willing to discourse:—
It's true, but not for those still struggling, still facing bad luck. So, never ask someone about their own misfortunes; it's tiring for them to talk about their losses, whether it's children or property, or any unsuccessful ventures at sea or on land. Instead, ask them how they handled a situation, how the king treated them, how they survived a storm, an attack, thieves, and similar experiences; this makes them happy, and they seem to relive those moments as they share, never getting tired of it. Furthermore, people love discussing their successful friends, children who excel in philosophy or law, or those who have made a name at court; they also enjoy talking about the disgrace or downfall of their enemies. They're eager to talk about these topics but cautious about bringing them up themselves, so they don't come off as gloating over others' misfortunes. You make a hunter happy by asking about dogs, a wrestler about training, and a lover about beautiful people; the formal and superstitious will chat about dreams and their success in following omens or sacrifices, benefitting from the favor of the gods; even a few questions about these things will really please them. If you ask an old man anything, even if the story has nothing to do with you, you’ll win his heart and encourage him to chat eagerly.
Nelides Nestor, faithfully relate
How great Atrides died, what sort of fate;
And where was Menelaus largely tell?
Did Argos hold him when the hero fell?
("Odyssey," iii. 247.)
Nelides Nestor, faithfully tell
How great Atrides died, what kind of fate;
And where was Menelaus? Reveal it well.
Did Argos keep him when the hero fell?
("Odyssey," iii. 247.)Here is a multitude of questions and variety of subjects; which is much better than to confine and cramp his answers, and so deprive the old man of the most pleasant enjoyment he can have. In short, they that had rather please than distaste will still propose such questions, the answers to which shall rather get the praise and good-will than the contempt and hatred of the hearers. And so much of questions.
Here is a bunch of questions and a range of topics; which is much better than limiting and restricting his answers, and thus taking away the most enjoyable experience he can have. In short, those who prefer to please rather than offend will always ask questions where the answers will earn praise and goodwill instead of contempt and hatred from the listeners. And that’s enough about questions.
As for raillery, those that cannot use it cautiously with art, and time it well, should never venture at it. For as in a slippery place, if you but just touch a man as you pass by, you throw him down; so when we are in drink, we are in danger of tripping at every little word that is not spoken with due address. And we are more apt to be offended with a joke than a plain and scurrilous abuse; for we see the latter often slip from a man unwittingly in passion, but consider the former as a thing voluntary, proceeding from malice and ill-nature; and therefore we are generally more offended at a sharp jeerer than a whistling snarler. Such a jest has indeed something designedly malicious about it, and often seems to be an insult skilfully devised and prepared. For instance, he that calls thee salt-fish monger plainly and openly abuseth; but he that says, I remember when you wiped your nose upon your sleeve, maliciously jeers. Such was Cicero's to Octavius, who was thought to be descended from an African slave; for when Cicero spoke something, and Octavius said he did not hear him, Cicero rejoined, Remarkable, for you have a hole through your ear. And Melanthius, when he was ridiculed by a comedian, said, You pay me now something that you do not owe me. And upon this account jeers vex more; for like bearded arrows they stick a long while, and gall the wounded sufferer. Their smartness is pleasant, and delights the company; and those that are pleased with the saving seem to believe the detracting speaker. For according to Theophrastus, a jeer is a figurative reproach for some fault or misdemeanor; and therefore he that hears it supplies the concealed part, as if he knew and gave credit to the thing. For he that laughs and is tickled at what Theocritus said to one whom he suspected of a design upon his clothes, and who asked him if he went to supper at such a place,—Yes, he replied, I go, but shall likewise lodge there all night,—doth, as it were, confirm the accusation, and believe the fellow was a thief. And therefore an impertinent jeerer makes the whole company seem ill-natured and abusive, as being pleased with and consenting to the scurrility of the jeer. It was one of the excellent laws in Sparta, that none should be bitter in their jests, and the jeered should patiently endure; but if he took offence, the other was to forbear, and pursue the frolic no farther. How is it possible therefore to determine such raillery as shall delight and please the person that is jested on, when to be smart without offence is no mean piece of cunning and address?
As for joking, those who can’t use it carefully and time it right, should never attempt it. Just like in a slippery spot, even a light touch can make someone fall; when we're drunk, we risk stumbling over every little word that isn't said properly. We're more likely to be offended by a joke than by plain, rude insults because we see the latter as something that slips out in a moment of anger, while we view the former as intentional, coming from malice and bad intentions. Therefore, we tend to be more upset by a sharp joke than by a rude comment. A joke often has an intentionally mean undertone and can seem like a carefully crafted insult. For example, someone who openly calls you a “salt-fish seller” is being rude, but if they say, “I remember when you wiped your nose on your sleeve,” that’s a malicious joke. A famous instance is when Cicero teased Octavius, thought to be a descendant of an African slave. When Cicero spoke and Octavius claimed he couldn’t hear him, Cicero replied, “Interesting, because you have a hole through your ear.” Also, Melanthius, when mocked by a comedian, responded, “You’re paying me something you don’t owe.” For this reason, jokes hurt more; like barbed arrows, they linger and wound the victim. Their sharpness entertains the audience, and those who enjoy the humor seem to back the insulting speaker. According to Theophrastus, a joke is a figurative insult for some flaw or wrongdoing, and so the person hearing it fills in the unspoken parts, as if they recognize and accept the implication. For example, when Theocritus joked with someone he suspected of trying to steal his clothes, who asked if he was going to dinner at a certain place, he replied, “Yes, I’m going, but I’ll also be sleeping there tonight,” which effectively confirmed the suspicion and painted the other person as a thief. Thus, a thoughtless joker can make everyone seem ill-tempered and abusive, as they appear to enjoy and agree with the insult. Sparta had a great rule that no one should be bitter in their jokes, and the person being joked about should bear it; if they got upset, the joker had to stop and not continue the teasing. So how can we find a way to joke that will amuse and please the person being joked about when being clever without offending is quite a skill?
First then, such as will vex and gall the conscious must please those that are clean, innocent, and not suspected of the matter. Such a joke is Xenophon's, when he pleasantly brings in a very ugly ill-looking fellow, and is smart upon him for being Sambaulas's minion. Such was that of Aufidius Modestus, who, when our friend Quinitus in an ague complained his hands were cold, replied, Sir, you brought them warm from your province; for this made Quintius laugh, and extremely pleased him; yet it had been a reproach and abuse to a covetous and oppressing governor. Thus Socrates, pretending to compare faces with the beauteous Critobulus, rallied only, and not abused. And Alcibiades again was smart on Socrates, as his rival in Agatho's affection. Kings are pleased when jests are put upon them as if they were private and poor men. Such was the flatterer's to Philip, who chided him: Sir, don't I keep you? For those that mention faults of which the persons are not really guilty intimate those virtues with which they are really adorned. But then it is requisite that those virtues should be evident and certainly belong to them; otherwise the discourse will breed disturbance and suspicion. He that tells a very rich man that he will procure him a sum of money,—a temperate sober man, and one that drinks water only, that he is foxed, or hath taken a cup too much,—a hospitable, generous, good-humored man, that he is a niggard and pinch-penny,—or threatens an excellent lawyer to meet him at the bar,—must make the persons smile and please the company. Thus Cyrus was very obliging and complaisant, when he challenged his playfellows at those sports in which he was sure to be overcome. And Ismenias piping at a sacrifice, when no good omens appeared, the man that hired him snatched the pipe, and played very ridiculously himself; and when all found fault, he said: To play satisfactorily is the gift of Heaven. And Ismenias with a smile replied: Whilst I played, the gods were so well pleased that they were careless of the sacrifice; but to be rid of thy noise they presently received it.
First, those who will annoy and anger the conscious must please those who are pure, innocent, and not suspected of anything wrong. A good example is Xenophon, who humorously introduces a very unattractive guy and makes a smart remark about him being Sambaulas's follower. Then there's Aufidius Modestus, who, when our friend Quinitus complained of cold hands during a fever, replied, "Sir, you brought them warm from your province." This made Quintius laugh and was very pleasing to him; yet it would have been an insult to a greedy and oppressive governor. Similarly, Socrates, pretending to compare appearances with the handsome Critobulus, was teasing, not insulting. Alcibiades also made a clever jab at Socrates as his competitor for Agatho's affection. Kings enjoy it when jokes are made at their expense as if they were ordinary, poor people. An example is the flatterer who told Philip, "Sir, don’t I support you?" For those who point out faults that the persons don’t truly possess suggest the virtues they actually do have. However, it’s essential that these virtues are clear and genuinely belong to them; otherwise, the comments can create tension and distrust. If someone tells a very wealthy man that they'll help him get money, or accuses a very sober person of being drunk, or claims a generous, good-natured person is stingy, or threatens an excellent lawyer with facing them in court—it should bring smiles and amuse the audience. Cyrus was very courteous and gracious when he challenged his friends to games he knew he would lose. And when Ismenias was playing music at a sacrifice and nothing good happened, the man who hired him grabbed the pipe and played very poorly himself; when everyone complained, he said, "Playing well is a gift from Heaven." Ismenias, smiling, replied, "While I played, the gods were so pleased that they didn’t care about the sacrifice; but to get rid of your noise, they immediately accepted it."
But more, those that jocosely put scandalous names upon things commendable, if it be opportunely done, please more than he that plainly and openly commends; for those that cover a reproach under fair and respectful words (as he that calls an unjust man Aristides, a coward Achilles) gall more than those that openly abuse. Such is that of Oedipus, in Sophocles,—
But more than that, those who jokingly label scandalous things with commendable names, if done at the right moment, are more enjoyable than someone who straightforwardly praises. This is because those who disguise a fault with polite and respectable language (like calling an unjust man Aristides or a coward Achilles) sting more than those who openly insult. This is illustrated in Oedipus by Sophocles,—
The faithful Creon, my most constant friend.
(Sophocles, "Oedipus Tyrannus," 385.)
The loyal Creon, my most steadfast friend. (Sophocles, "Oedipus Tyrannus," 385.)
The familiar irony in commendations answers to this on the other side. Such Socrates used, when he called the kind endeavor and industry of Antisthenes to make men friends pimping, bawds-craft, and allurement; and others that called Crates the philosopher, who wherever he went was caressed and honored, the door-opener.
The well-known irony in praise reflects this on the other side. Socrates used this when he referred to Antisthenes’ good efforts and hard work to make people friends as pimping, the trade of a bawd, and temptation; and others called Crates the philosopher, who was always welcomed and respected wherever he went, the door-opener.
Again, a complaint that implies thankfulness for a received favor is pleasant raillery. Thus Diogenes of his master Antisthenes:—
Again, a complaint that suggests gratitude for a favor received is light-hearted teasing. So, Diogenes about his mentor Antisthenes:—
That man that made me leave my precious ore,
Clothed me with rags, and forced me to be poor;
That man that made me wander, beg my bread,
And scorn to have a house to hide my head.
That guy who made me leave my valuable gold,
Dressed me in rags and made me live in poverty;
That dude who made me roam, begging for food,
And looked down on having a home to rest my head.For it had not been half so pleasant to have said, that man that made me wise, content, and happy. And a Spartan, making as if he would find fault with the master of the exercises for giving him wood that would not smoke, said, He will not permit us even to shed a tear. And he calls a hospitable man, and one that treats often, a kidnapper, and a tyrant who for a long time would not permit him to see his own table; and he whom the king hath raised and enriched, that says he had a design upon him and robbed him of his sleep and quiet. So if he that hath an excellent vintage should complain of Aeschlus's Cabeiri for making him want vinegar, as they haul jocosely threatened. For such as these have a pungent pleasantness, so that the praised are not offended nor take it ill.
For it wasn't nearly as nice to say that the man made me wise, content, and happy. A Spartan, pretending to complain to the master of the exercises about the wood that wouldn’t burn, said, "He won’t even let us shed a tear." And he labels a generous person who often hosts as a kidnapper, and a tyrant who for a long time wouldn’t let him see his own table; and the one who the king has raised and enriched claims that he had plans against him and robbed him of his sleep and peace. So if someone with an excellent vintage complains about Aeschylus's Cabeiri for making him crave vinegar, as they jokingly threatened. Because those kinds of things have a sharp pleasantness, so that those who are praised aren’t offended or upset.
Besides, he that would be civilly facetious must know the difference between a vice and a commendable study or recreation; for instance, between the love of money or contention and of music or hunting; for men are grieved if twitted with the former, but take it very well if they are laughed at for the latter. Thus Demosthenes the Mitylenean was pleasant enough when, knocking at a man's door that was much given to singing and playing on the harp, and being bid come in, he said, I will, if you will tie up your harp. But the flatterer of Lysimachus was offensive; for being frighted at a wooden scorpion that the king threw into his lap, and leaping out of his seat, he said after he knew the humor, And I'll fright your majesty too; give me a talent.
Besides, anyone who wants to be charmingly funny needs to understand the difference between a bad habit and a worthy interest or hobby. For example, between being obsessed with money or conflict and enjoying music or hunting. People get upset if you tease them about the former, but they usually take jokes about the latter in stride. For instance, Demosthenes from Mitylene was quite witty when he knocked on the door of a man who loved to sing and play the harp. When invited in, he replied, “I will, if you promise to put down your harp.” On the other hand, the flatterer of Lysimachus was off-putting; when startled by a wooden scorpion the king tossed into his lap, he jumped out of his seat and said, once he understood the joke, “And I’ll scare your majesty too; give me a talent.”
In several things about the body too the like caution is to be observed. Thus he that is jested on for a flat or hooked nose usually laughs at the jest. Thus Cassander's friend was not at all displeased when Theophrastus said to him, 'Tis strange, sir, that your eyes don't play, since your nose is so near and so well fitted for a pipe to give them the tune; and Cyrus commanded a long hawk-nosed fellow to marry a flat-nosed girl, for then they would very well agree. But a jest on any for his stinking breath or filthy nose is irksome; for baldness it may be borne, but for blindness or infirmity in the eyes it is intolerable. It is true, Antigonus would joke upon himself, and once, receiving a petition written in great letters, he said, This a man may read if he were stark blind. But he killed Theocritus the Chian for saying,—wh Byzantine to Pasiades saying, Sir, your eyes upbraid me with this infirmity, not considering that thy son carries the vengeance of Heaven on his back: now Pasiades's son was hunch-backed. And Archippus the popular Athenian was much displeased with Melanthius for being smart on his crooked back; for Melanthius had said that he did not stand at the head of the state but bowed down before it. It is true, some are not much concerned at such jeers. Thus Antigonus's friend, when he had begged a talent and was denied, desired a guard, lest somebody should rob him of that talent he was now to carry home. Different tempers make men differently affected, and that which troubles one is not regarded by another. Epaminondas feasting with his fellow-magistrates drank vinegar; and some asking if it was good for his health, he replied, I cannot tell that, but I know it makes me remember what I drink at home. Therefore it becomes every man that would rally, to look into the humors of his company, and take heed to converse without offence.
In many aspects concerning the body, similar caution should be exercised. For example, someone who is teased about having a flat or hooked nose often just laughs it off. Cassander's friend wasn’t bothered at all when Theophrastus remarked, "It's strange, sir, that your eyes don’t play a tune, considering your nose is so close and well-suited to give them the music." Cyrus even ordered a guy with a long hawk nose to marry a girl with a flat nose, believing they would match well. However, making jokes about someone’s bad breath or a dirty nose is irritating; people can tolerate baldness, but jokes about blindness or eye problems are unbearable. Antigonus was known to joke about himself, once joking about a petition he received written in large letters, saying, "This is something a blind man could read." But he killed Theocritus the Chian for saying to Pasiades, "Sir, your eyes remind me of this weakness," without realizing that Pasiades's son was hunchbacked. Archippus, the popular Athenian, was quite upset with Melanthius for mocking his crooked back, as Melanthius had pointed out that he didn’t stand at the head of the state, but rather bowed down to it. It's true that some people are not bothered by such ridicule. For instance, when Antigonus's friend asked for a talent and was turned down, he humorously requested a guard so no one would steal the talent he was about to take home. Different personalities react differently to these situations, and what bothers one person might not even be noticed by another. Epaminondas, while dining with fellow magistrates, drank vinegar; when asked if it was good for his health, he replied, "I can’t say, but it reminds me of what I drink at home." Therefore, it is important for anyone who wants to make jokes to understand the moods of those around them and to be careful not to offend in conversation.
Love, as in most things else, so in this matter causes different effects; for some lovers are pleased and some displeased at a merry jest. Therefore in this case a fit time must be accurately observed; for as a blast of wind puffs out a fire whilst it is weak and little, but when thoroughly kindled strengthens and increaseth it; so love, before it is evident and confessed, is displeased at a discoverer, but when it breaks forth and blazes in everybody's eyes, then it is delighted and gathers strength by the frequent blasts of joke and raillery. When their beloved is present it will gratify them most to pass a jest upon their passion, but to fall on any other subject will be counted an abuse. If they are remarkably loving to their own wives, or entertain a generous affection for a hopeful youth, then are they proud, then tickled when jeered for such a love. And therefore Arcesilaus, when an amorous man in his school laid down this proposition, in my opinion one thing cannot touch another, replied, Sir you touch this person, pointing to a lovely boy that sat near him.
Love, like many other things, has different effects; some lovers find joy while others are upset by a lighthearted joke. So in this situation, the right timing is crucial; just as a gust of wind can extinguish a small fire when it’s weak but helps it grow stronger once it’s fully lit, love, before it’s openly expressed, can be displeased by someone revealing it. But when love bursts out and is apparent to everyone, it thrives on the playful teasing and jokes that come with it. When their beloved is around, it’s most enjoyable for them to laugh about their feelings, but switching topics will feel like an insult. If they’re especially affectionate towards their wives or have a deep fondness for a promising young person, they feel proud and are amused when teased about that love. So, when Arcesilaus was challenged by a lovesick student who claimed that one thing cannot touch another, he pointed to a beautiful boy sitting nearby and said, “Sir, you’re touching this person.”
Besides, the company must be considered; for what a man will only laugh at when mentioned amongst his friends and familiar acquaintance, he will not endure to be told of before his wife, father, or his tutor, unless perhaps it be something that will please those too; as for instance, if before a philosopher one should jeer a man for going barefoot or studying all night; or before his father, for carefulness and thrift; or in the presence of his wife, for being cold to his companions and doting upon her. Thus Tigranes, when Cyrus asked him, What will your wife say when she hears that you are put to servile offices? replied, Sir, she will not hear it, but be present herself and see it.
Besides, the company matters; because what a guy might just laugh about with his friends or close acquaintances, he definitely won't tolerate being told in front of his wife, father, or mentor—unless it's something that would make them happy too. For example, if someone mocked a man for going barefoot or studying all night in front of a philosopher; or ridiculed him for being careful and frugal in front of his father; or, while his wife is present, teased him for being distant with his friends and overly affectionate towards her. So, when Cyrus asked Tigranes what his wife would say upon hearing that he was doing menial tasks, he replied, "Sir, she won't just hear about it; she'll be there to see it herself."
Again, those jokes are accounted less affronting which reflect somewhat also on the man that makes them; as when one poor man, base-born fellow, or lover jokes upon another. For whatever comes from one in the same circumstances looks more like a piece of mirth than a designed affront; but otherwise it must needs be irksome and distasteful. Upon this account, when a slave whom the king had lately freed and enriched behaved himself very impertinently in the company of some philosophers, asking them, how it came to pass that the broth of beans whether white or black, was always green, Aridices putting another question, why, let the whips be white or not, the wales and marks they made were still red, displeased him extremely, and made him rise from the table in a great rage and discontent. But Amphias the Tarsian, who was supposed to be sprung from a gardener, joking upon the governor's friend for his obscure and mean birth, and presently subjoining, But 'tis true, I sprung from the same seed, caused much mirth and laughter. And the harper very facetiously put a cheek to Philip's ignorance and impertinence; for when Philip pretended to correct him, he cried out, God forbid, sir, that ever you should be brought so low as to understand these things better than I. For by this seeming joke he instructed him without giving any offence. And therefore some of the comedians seem to lay aside their bitterness in every jest that may reflect upon themselves; as Aristophanes, when he is merry upon a baldpate; and Cratinus in his play "Pytine" upon drunkenness and excess.
Again, those jokes are considered less offensive if they also reflect upon the person telling them; like when one poor guy, a lowly fellow, cracks jokes about another. Whatever comes from someone in the same situation seems more like a bit of humor than a deliberate insult; but otherwise, it can be irritating and unpleasant. For instance, when a slave who had just been freed and enriched by the king acted very rudely in front of some philosophers, asking them why bean broth, whether white or black, was always green, Aridices posed another question: why, regardless of whether the whips were white or not, the welts and marks they made were always red. This irritated him greatly and made him leave the table in a huff. However, Amphias the Tarsian, who was thought to have come from a gardening background, joked about the governor's friend's humble and lowly origins, and then added, "But it’s true, I come from the same seed," which got a lot of laughs. The harpist also cleverly pointed out Philip's ignorance; when Philip tried to correct him, he exclaimed, "God forbid, sir, that you should ever stoop so low as to understand these things better than I." With this lighthearted joke, he taught him without causing any offense. Therefore, some comedians seem to hold back their bitterness in every joke that may reflect on themselves; like Aristophanes when he jokingly mentions a balding man, and Cratinus in his play "Pytine" when he talks about drunkenness and excess.
Besides, you must be very careful that the jest should seem to be extempore, taken from some present question or merry humor; not far-fetched, as if premeditate and designed. For as men are not much concerned at the anger and disputes among themselves at table while they are drinking, but if any stranger should come in and offer abuse, they would hate and look upon him as an enemy; so they will easily pardon and indulge a jest if undesignedly taken from any present circumstance; but if it is nothing to the matter in hand but fetched from another thing, it must look like a design and be resented as an affront. Such was that of Timagenes to the husband of a woman that often vomited,—"Thou beginnest thy troubles by bringing home this vomiting woman," saying [Greek omitted] (this vomiting woman), when the poet had written [Greek omitted] (this Muse); and also his question to Athenodorus the philosopher,—Is affection to our children natural? For when the raillery is not founded on some present circumstance, it is an argument of ill-nature and a mischievous temper; and such as these do often for a mere word, the lightest thing in the world (as Plato says), suffer the heaviest punishment. But those that know how to time and apply a jest confirm Plato's opinion, that to rally pleasantly and facetiously is the business of a scholar and a wit.
Besides, you need to be very careful that the joke seems spontaneous, arising from some current issue or light-hearted moment; it shouldn't seem forced or pre-planned. Just like people aren't too bothered by arguments among themselves at the table while drinking, if a stranger comes in and insults them, they will view that person as an enemy. They will easily forgive and accept a joke if it’s genuinely taken from the situation at hand, but if it has nothing to do with the topic and feels like it was manufactured, it will come off as an insult. Take, for example, Timagenes’ remark to the husband of a woman who often vomited—"You’re bringing home this throwing-up woman," referencing [Greek omitted] (this vomiting woman), when the poet had written [Greek omitted] (this Muse); and his question to the philosopher Athenodorus—Is affection for our children natural? When humor isn't based on something immediate, it shows bad character and a spiteful attitude; and people often face serious consequences for what seems like a trivial comment, as Plato mentions. However, those who know how to time and use a joke validate Plato's view that joking in a pleasant and witty manner is the role of a scholar.
QUESTION II. WHY IN AUTUMN MEN HAVE BETTER STOMACHS THAN IN OTHER SEASONS OF THE YEAR. GLAUCLAS, XENOCLES, LAMPRIAS, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION II. WHY IN AUTUMN MEN HAVE BETTER STOMACHS THAN IN OTHER SEASONS OF THE YEAR. GLAUCLAS, XENOCLES, LAMPRIAS, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
In Eleusis, after the solemn celebration of the sacred mysteries, Glaucias the orator entertained us at a feast; where after the rest had done, Xenocles of Delphi, as his humor is, began to be smart upon my brother Lamprias for his good Boeotian stomach. I in his defence opposing Xenocles, who was an Epicurean, said, Pray, sir, do not all place the very substance of pleasure in privation of pain and suffering? But Lamprias, who prefers the Lyceum before the Garden, ought by his practice to confirm Aristotle's doctrine; for he affirms that every man hath a better stomach in the autumn than in other seasons of the year, and gives the reason, which I cannot remember at present. So much the better (says Glaucias), for when supper is done, we will endeavor to discover it ourselves. That being over, Glaucias and Xenocles drew the autumnal fruit. One said that it scoured the body, and by this evacuation continually raised new appetites. Xenocles affirmed, that ripe fruit had usually a pleasing, vellicating sapor, and thereby provoked the appetite better than sauces or sweetmeats; for sick men of a vitiated stomach usually recover it by eating fruit. But Lamprias said, that our natural heat, the principal instrument of nutrition, in the midst of summer is scattered and becomes rare and weak, but when autumn comes it unites again and gathers strength, being shut in by the ambient cold and contraction of the pores, and I for my part said: In summer we are more thirsty and use more moisture than in other seasons; and therefore Nature, observing the same method in all her operations, at this change of seasons employs the contrary and makes us hungry; and to maintain an equal temper in the body, she gives us dry food to countervail the moisture taken in the summer. Yet none can deny but that the food itself is a partial cause; for not only new fruit, bread, or corn, but flesh of the same year, is better tasted than that of the former, more forcibly provokes the guests, and enticeth them to eat on.
In Eleusis, after the serious celebration of the sacred mysteries, Glaucias the orator treated us to a feast; and after everyone else had finished, Xenocles from Delphi, in his usual manner, started teasing my brother Lamprias about his hearty Boeotian appetite. Defending him, I pointed out to Xenocles, who was an Epicurean, "Come on, don’t we all believe that the essence of pleasure comes from avoiding pain and suffering?" But Lamprias, who prefers the Lyceum to the Garden, should, through his actions, support Aristotle's idea; he states that everyone has a better appetite in the autumn than at other times of the year, and he gives a reason for this, which I can’t recall right now. "All the better," says Glaucias, "because once supper's done, we can try to figure it out ourselves." After we finished eating, Glaucias and Xenocles discussed autumn fruits. One claimed that they cleanse the body and continually stimulate new appetites. Xenocles stated that ripe fruits often have a delightful, tantalizing taste, making them more appealing than sauces or sweets; sick people with upset stomachs usually recover by eating fruit. However, Lamprias argued that our natural heat, which is essential for digestion, is scattered and weak in the summer, but when autumn arrives, it gathers strength again because of the cooler temperatures and the tightening of the pores. I added, "In summer, we tend to feel thirstier and consume more liquids than in other seasons; thus, Nature, in line with her usual way of doing things, switches it up when the seasons change and makes us feel hungry; to balance out the moisture we took in during summer, she provides us with drier foods." Still, no one can deny that the food itself plays a part; not just fresh fruit, bread, or grains, but meat from the same year tastes better than from the previous year, really enticing the guests to eat more.
QUESTION III. WHICH WAS FIRST THE BIRD OR THE EGG? PLUTARCH, ALEXANDER, SYLLA, FIRMUS, SOSSIUS SENECIO, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION III. WHICH CAME FIRST, THE BIRD OR THE EGG? PLUTARCH, ALEXANDER, SYLLA, FIRMUS, SOSSIUS SENECIO, AND OTHERS.
When upon a dream I had forborne eggs a long time, on purpose that in an egg (as in a heart) I might make experiment of a notable vision that often troubled me; some at Sossius Senecio's table suspected that I was tainted with Orpheus's or Pythagoras's opinions, and refused to eat an egg (as some do the heart and brain) imagining it to be the principle of generation. And Alexander the Epicurean ridiculingly repeated,
When I had avoided eggs for a long time in the hopes of experiencing a significant vision that often troubled me, some people at Sossius Senecio's table suspected I was influenced by the ideas of Orpheus or Pythagoras. They refused to eat an egg, thinking it to be the source of life, just like some people do with the heart and brain. Alexander the Epicurean mockingly said,
To feed on beans and parents' heads
Is equal sin;
To feed on beans and parents' heads
Is the same sin;As if the Pythagoreans meant eggs by the word [Greek omitted] (BEANS), deriving it from [Greek omitted](TO CONCEIVE), and thought it as unlawful to feed on eggs as on the animals that lay them. Now to pretend a dream for the cause of my abstaining, to an Epicurean, had been a defence more irrational than the cause itself; and therefore I suffered jocose Alexander to enjoy his opinion, for he was a pleasant man and an excellent scholar.
As if the Pythagoreans meant eggs by the word [Greek omitted] (BEANS), deriving it from [Greek omitted](TO CONCEIVE), and believed it was just as wrong to eat eggs as it was to eat the animals that lay them. Now, claiming a dream as the reason for my abstaining would have seemed more unreasonable to an Epicurean than the actual reason, so I let the humorous Alexander hold onto his view, since he was a fun guy and a great scholar.
Soon after he proposed that perplexed question, that plague of the inquisitive, Which was first, the bird or the egg? And my friend Sylla, saying that with this little question, as with an engine, we shook the great and weighty problem (whether the world had a beginning), declared his dislike of such questions. But Alexander deriding the question as slight and impertinent, my relation Firmus said:. Well, sir, at present your atoms will do me some service; for if we suppose that small things must be the principles of greater, it is likely that the egg was before the bird; for an egg amongst sensible things is very simple, and the bird is more mixed, and contains a greater variety of parts. It is universally true that a principle is before that whose principle it is; now the seed is a principle, and the egg is somewhat more than the seed and less than the bird for as a disposition or a progress in goodness is something between a tractable mind and a habit of virtue, so an egg is as it were a progress of Nature tending from the seed to a perfect animal. And as in an animal they say the veins and arteries are formed first, upon the same account the egg should be before the bird, as the thing containing before the thing contained. Thus art first makes rude and ill-shapen figures and afterwards perfects everything with its proper form; and it was for this that the statuary Polycletus said, Then our work is most difficult, when the clay comes to be fashioned by the fingers. So it is probable that matter, not readily obeying the slow motions of contriving Nature, at first frames rude and indefinite masses, as the egg, and of these moulded anew, and joined in better order, the animal afterward is formed. As the canker is first, and then growing dry and cleaving lets forth a winged animal, called psyche; so the egg is first as it were the subject-matter of the generation. For it is certain that, in every change, that out of which the thing changes must be before the thing changing. Observe how worms and caterpillars are bred in trees from the moisture corrupted or concocted; now none can say but that the engendering moisture is naturally before all these. For (as Plato says) matter is as a mother or nurse in respect of the bodies that are formed, and we call that matter out of which anything that is made. And with a smile continued he, I speak to those that are acquainted with the mystical and sacred discourse of Orpheus, who not only affirms the egg to be before the bird, but makes it the first being in the whole world. The other parts, because deep mysteries, we shall now pass by; but let us look upon the various kinds of animals, and we shall find almost every one beginning from an egg,—fowls and fishes; land animals, as lizards; amphibious, as crocodiles; some with two legs, as a cock; some without any, as a snake; and some with many, as a locust. And therefore in the solemn feast of Bacchus it is very well done to dedicate an egg, as the emblem of that which begets and contains everything in itself.
Soon after he asked that baffling question, which has puzzled many, "Which came first, the bird or the egg?" my friend Sylla, addressing the idea, said that this small question, like a tool, shook the great and heavy issue of whether the world had a beginning. He expressed his disapproval of such questions. But Alexander dismissed the question as trivial and absurd, while my relative Firmus said: "Well, sir, your atomic theories may serve me now; if we assume that smaller things must be the foundation of larger ones, it's likely that the egg came before the bird. An egg is quite simple compared to a bird, which is more complex and has a greater variety of parts. It's universally true that a principle comes before that which it is the principle of; now, the seed is a principle, and the egg is somewhat more than the seed and less than the bird. Just like a developing mind is something between being teachable and having a habit of virtue, an egg is, in a way, a natural progression from the seed to a perfect animal. As people say that veins and arteries form first in an animal, it follows that the egg should precede the bird, as the container comes before what is contained. Thus, art initially creates rough and misshapen figures and then refines them into their proper forms; that's why the sculptor Polycletus said, 'Our work is most challenging when the clay is shaped by the hands.' It seems likely that matter, which doesn't easily conform to the slow workings of nature, initially forms rough and indefinite masses, like the egg, and from these, the animal is later shaped in a more organized manner. Just as a canker appears first and then dries up to release a winged creature called psyche, so the egg serves as the subject for generation. It is clear that in any transformation, that of which something changes must come before the thing that changes. Notice how worms and caterpillars develop in trees from corrupted or processed moisture; no one can argue that the generating moisture naturally comes before them. For, as Plato says, matter is like a mother or nurse in relation to the bodies that are formed, and we refer to that matter as what things are made from. And with a smile, he added, I speak to those familiar with the mystical and sacred teachings of Orpheus, who not only claims the egg predates the bird but also considers it the first being in the entire world. We shall now skip the deeper mysteries of other parts; instead, let's look at the various types of animals, and we will find that almost all start from an egg—birds and fish; land animals, like lizards; amphibians, like crocodiles; some with two legs, like roosters; some without any, like snakes; and some with many, like locusts. Therefore, at the grand feast of Bacchus, it is quite fitting to dedicate an egg as a symbol of that which produces and contains everything within itself.
To this discourse of Firmus, Senecio replied: Sir, your last similitude contradicts your first, and you have unwittingly opened the world (instead of the door, as the proverb goes) against yourself. For the world was before all, being the most perfect; and it is rational that the perfect in Nature should be before the imperfect, as the sound before the maimed, and the whole before the part. For it is absurd that there should be a part when there is nothing whose part it is; and therefore nobody says the seed's man or egg's hen, but the man's seed and hen's egg; because those being after these and formed in them, pay as it were a debt to Nature, by bringing forth another. For they are not in themselves perfect, and therefore have a natural appetite to produce such a thing as that out of which they were first formed; and therefore seed is defined as a thing produced that is to be perfected by another production. Now nothing can be perfected by or want that which as yet is not. Everybody sees that eggs have the nature of a concretion or consistence in some animal or other, but want those organs, veins, and muscles which animals enjoy. And therefore no story delivers that ever any egg was formed immediately from earth; and the poets themselves tell us, that the egg out of which came the Tyndaridae fell down from heaven. But even till this time the earth produceth some perfect and organized animals, as mice in Egypt, and snakes, frogs, and grasshoppers almost everywhere, some external and invigorating principle assisting in the production. And in Sicily, where in the servile war much blood was shed, and many carcasses rotted on the ground, whole swarms of locusts were produced, and spoiled the corn over the whole isle. Such spring from and are nourished by the earth; and seed being formed in them, pleasure and titillation provoke them to mix, upon which some lay eggs, and some bring forth their young alive; and this evidently proves that animals first sprang from earth, and afterwards by copulation, after different ways, propagated their several kinds. In short, it is the same thing as if you said the womb was before the woman; for as the womb is to the egg, the egg is to the chick that is formed in it; so that he that inquires how birds should be when there were no eggs, might ask as well how men and women could be before any organs of generation were formed. Parts generally have their subsistence together with the whole; particular powers follow particular members, and operations those Powers, and effects those operations. Now the effect of the generative power is the seed and egg; so that these must be after the formation of the whole. Therefore consider, as there can be no digestion of food before the animal is formed, so there can be no seed nor egg; for those, it is likely, are made by some digestion and alterations; nor can it be that, before the animal is, the superfluous parts of the food of the animal should have a being. Besides, though seed may perhaps pretend to be a principle, the egg cannot; for it doth not subsist first, nor hath it the nature of a whole, for it is imperfect. Therefore we do not affirm that the animal is produced without a principle of its being; but we call the principle that power which changes, mixes, and tempers the matter, so that a living creature is regularly produced; but the egg is an after-production, as the blood or milk of an animal after the taking in and digestion of the food. For we never see an egg formed immediately of mud, for it is produced in the bodies of animals alone; but a thousand living creatures rise from the mud. What need of many instances? None ever found the spawn or egg of an eel; yet if you empty a pit and take out all the mud, as soon as other water settles in it, eels likewise are presently produced. Now that must exist first which hath no need of any other thing that it may exist, and that after, which cannot be without the concurrence of another thing. And of this priority is our present discourse. Besides, birds build nests before they lay their eggs; and women provide cradles, swaddling cloths and the like; yet who says that the nest is before the egg, or the swaddling cloths before the infant. For the earth (as Plato says doth not imitate a woman, but a woman, and so likewise all other females, the earth.) Moreover, it is probable that the first production out of the earth, which was then vigorous and perfect, was self-sufficient and entire, nor stood in need of those secundines, membranes, and vessels, which now Nature forms to help the weakness and supply the defects of breeders.
To this conversation, Senecio replied: Sir, your last analogy contradicts your first, and you've unintentionally opened the world (instead of just a door, as the saying goes) against yourself. The world was there first, being the most perfect; it's logical that the perfect in nature should come before the imperfect, just like the healthy comes before the injured, and the whole comes before the part. It's illogical to have a part without something it belongs to; no one says "the seed's man" or "the egg's hen," but rather "the man's seed" and "the hen's egg"; because those come after these and are formed from them, as if paying a debt to nature by producing another. They aren't perfect in themselves, so they have an innate urge to create something from which they were originally formed; thus, seed is defined as something created that's meant to be completed by another creation. Nothing can be perfected by something that doesn't yet exist. Everyone recognizes that eggs contain the essence of some animal or another, but lack the organs, veins, and muscles that animals have. That's why no story claims an egg was ever formed directly from the earth; poets tell us that the egg which produced the Tyndaridae fell from the sky. Even now, the earth produces some perfect and organized animals, like mice in Egypt, as well as snakes, frogs, and grasshoppers almost everywhere, with some external and energizing force helping in their creation. In Sicily, where a lot of blood was shed during the servile war and many bodies decayed in the ground, whole swarms of locusts emerged and destroyed the crops across the entire island. Such creatures arise from and are nourished by the earth; and when they are formed, pleasure and excitement drive them to mate, resulting in some laying eggs and others giving birth to live young; this clearly shows that animals first originated from the earth and later, through various methods of mating, multiplied their kinds. In short, it's like saying the womb came before the woman; just as the womb relates to the egg, the egg relates to the chick that develops within it; so someone questioning how birds could exist without eggs might as well question how men and women could exist before any reproductive organs were formed. Parts tend to exist together with the whole; specific powers accompany specific organs, actions follow those powers, and results follow those actions. The result of the generative power is the seed and egg; therefore, these must come after the formation of the whole. So, just as there can't be any digestion of food before the animal exists, there can't be any seed or egg; likely, those are created through some digestion and changes; and it's impossible for the excess parts of the animal's food to exist before the animal itself does. Also, while seed may seem to be a principle, the egg cannot; it doesn’t exist first nor does it have the nature of a whole because it is imperfect. Thus, we don't claim that an animal emerges without a principle of its existence; we refer to the principle as the power that transforms, blends, and shapes the matter, allowing a living creature to be produced properly; but the egg is a later product, like blood or milk from an animal after consuming and digesting food. We never see an egg directly formed from mud, as it is only produced within the bodies of animals; yet countless living creatures arise from mud. What’s the need for more examples? No one has ever found eel spawn or eggs; but if you drain a pit and remove all the mud, as soon as new water settles in it, eels are quickly produced. Something that requires nothing else to exist must exist first, while that which cannot exist without the help of something else must come after. This is the priority of our current discussion. Additionally, birds build nests before laying eggs, and women prepare cradles, swaddling clothes, and similar items; yet nobody claims that the nest comes before the egg, or the swaddling clothes come before the baby. As Plato suggests, the earth does not imitate a woman, but rather the woman, along with all other females, resembles the earth. Furthermore, it’s probable that the first life forms emerging from the earth, which was then robust and perfect, were complete and did not require the secondary structures, membranes, and vessels that nature now forms to support the frailty and fill the gaps of breeders.
QUESTION IV. WHETHER OR NO WRESTLING IS THE OLDEST EXERCISE. SOSICLES, LYSIMACHUS, PLUTARCH, PHILINUS.
QUESTION IV. IS WRESTLING THE OLDEST SPORT? SOSICLES, LYSIMACHUS, PLUTARCH, PHILINUS.
Sosicles of Coronea having at the Pythian games won the prize from all the poets, gave us an entertainment. And the time for running, cuffing, wrestling, and the like drawing on, there was a great talk of the wrestlers; for there were many and very famous men, who came to try their skill. Lysimachus, one of the company, a procurator of the Amphictyons, said he heard a grammarian lately affirm that wrestling was the most ancient exercise of all, as even the very name witnessed; for some modern things have the names of more ancient transferred to them; thus to tune a pipe is called fitting it, and playing on it is called striking; both these names being transferred to it from the harp. Thus all places of exercise they call wrestling schools, wrestling being the oldest exercise, and therefore giving its name to the newer sorts. That, said I, is no good argument, for these palaestras or wrestling schools are called so from wrestling [Greek omitted] not because it is the most ancient exercise, but because it is the only sort in which they use clay [Greek omitted] dust, and oil; for in these there is neither racing nor cuffing, but wrestling only, and that feature of the pancratium in which they struggle on the ground,—for the pancratium comprises both wrestling and cuffing. Besides, it is unlikely that wrestling, being more artificial and methodical than any other sort of exercise, should likewise be the most ancient; for mere want or necessity putting us upon new inventions, produces simple and inartificial things first, and such as have more of force in them than sleight and skill. This ended, Sosicles said: You speak right, and I will confirm your discourse from the very name; for, in my opinion, [Greek omitted] wrestling, is derived from [Greek omitted] i.e. to throw down by sleight and artifice. And Philinus said, it seems to me to be derived from [Greek omitted] the palm of the hand, for wrestlers use that part most, as cuffers do the [Greek omitted] fist; and hence both these sorts of exercises have their proper names, the one [Greek omitted] the other [Greek omitted]. Besides, since the poets use the word [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], to sprinkle, and this action is most frequent amongst wrestlers, this exercise [Greek omitted] may receive its name from that word. But more, consider that racers strive to be distant from one another; cuffers, by the judges of the field, are not permitted to take hold; and none but wrestlers come up breast to breast, and clasp one another round the waist, and most of their turnings, liftings, lockings bring them very close. It is probable that this exercise is called [Greek omitted] from [Greek omitted] or [Greek omitted] to come up close or to be near together.
Sosicles of Coronea, having won the prize from all the poets at the Pythian games, hosted an event for us. As the time for running, boxing, wrestling, and similar activities approached, there was a lot of chatter about the wrestlers; many renowned athletes came to showcase their skills. Lysimachus, one of the attendees and a representative of the Amphictyons, mentioned that he heard a grammarian recently assert that wrestling is the oldest form of exercise, as even its name suggests. Some modern activities borrow names from older ones; for example, tuning a pipe is referred to as fitting it, and playing it as striking, with both terms transferred from the harp. Similarly, all exercise venues are called wrestling schools, wrestling being the oldest form of exercise and thus lending its name to newer kinds. I interjected that this is not a strong argument, as these wrestling schools are called that due to wrestling [Greek omitted], not because it’s the oldest exercise, but because it’s the only one that uses clay [Greek omitted], dust, and oil. There are no races or boxing matches here, just wrestling, along with the ground-based aspect of the pancratium, which includes both wrestling and boxing. Moreover, it seems unlikely that wrestling, being more technical and organized than other forms of exercise, should also be the oldest. Necessity typically leads to new innovations, resulting in simpler and more natural activities arising first, primarily because they rely more on brute force than on finesse or skill. After I concluded, Sosicles responded: “You make a good point, and I’ll back your argument with the very name itself; in my view, [Greek omitted] wrestling comes from [Greek omitted], which means to throw down with skill and trickery.” Philinus added that he believes it derives from [Greek omitted], meaning the palm of the hand, since wrestlers primarily use that part, just as boxers use their [Greek omitted] fists. Hence, each type of exercise has its own specific names, one being [Greek omitted] and the other [Greek omitted]. Furthermore, since poets use the term [Greek omitted] to mean [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], to sprinkle, and since this action is most frequent among wrestlers, this exercise [Greek omitted] might have gotten its name from that word. Additionally, consider that runners aim to keep their distance; boxers are not allowed to grab hold during matches, and only wrestlers engage face to face, wrapping their arms around each other’s waists, with most of their lifts, twists, and grips bringing them very close together. It’s reasonable to think this exercise is called [Greek omitted] from [Greek omitted] or [Greek omitted], implying to come close or to be near one another.
QUESTION V. WHY, IN RECKONING UP DIFFERENT KINDS OF EXERCISES, HOMER PUTS CUFFING FIRST, WRESTLING NEXT, AND RACING LAST. LYSIMACHUS, CRATES, TIMON, PLUTARCH.
QUESTION V. WHY, WHEN LISTING DIFFERENT TYPES OF EXERCISES, DOES HOMER PUT BOXING FIRST, WRESTLING SECOND, AND RUNNING LAST? LYSIMACHUS, CRATES, TIMON, PLUTARCH.
This discourse being ended, and Philinus hummed, Lysimachus began again, What sort of exercise then shall we imagine to be first? Racing, as at the Olympian games? For here in the Pythian, as every exercise comes on, all the contenders are brought in, the boy wrestlers first, then the men, and the same method is observed when the cuffers and fencers are to exercise; but there the boys perform all first, and then the men. But, says Timon interposing, pray consider whether Homer hath not determined this matter; for in his poems cuffing is always put in the first place, wrestling next, and racing last. At this Menecrates the Thessalian surprised cried out, Good God, what things we skip over! But, pray sir, if you remember any of his verses to that purpose, do us the favor to repeat them. And Timon replied: That the funeral solemnities of Patroclus had this order I think every one hath heard; but the poet, all along observing the same order, brings in Achilles speaking to Nestor thus:
Once the discussion wrapped up and Philinus was humming, Lysimachus started again, “What kind of exercise should we imagine comes first? Racing, like at the Olympic games? Because here at the Pythian games, as each exercise begins, all the competitors are gathered, starting with the young wrestlers, then the men, and the same approach is used when the boxers and fencers compete; but there, the boys go first, followed by the men. However, Timon interjected, consider whether Homer hasn’t already addressed this; in his works, fighting always comes first, then wrestling, and racing last. At this, Menecrates the Thessalian exclaimed, ‘Good Lord, what things we overlook!’ But, sir, if you can recall any of his lines on the subject, please share them with us. Timon answered, ‘I think everyone has heard that the funeral rites of Patroclus were ordered this way; but all the while, the poet maintains the same order, presenting Achilles speaking to Nestor like this:
With this reward I Nestor freely grace,
Unfit for cuffing, wrestling, or the race.
With this reward, I honor Nestor openly,
Not suited for fighting, wrestling, or racing.And in his answer he makes the old man impertinently brag:—
And in his response, he makes the old man arrogantly boast:—
I cuffing conquered Oinop's famous son,
With Anceus wrestled, and the garland won,
And outran Iphiclus.
("Iliad," xxiii. 620 and 634.)
I finally defeated Oinop's famous son,
Wrestled with Anceus, and won the prize,
And outran Iphiclus.
("Iliad," xxiii. 620 and 634.) And again he brings in Ulysses challenging the Phaeacians
And once more he brings in Ulysses challenging the Phaeacians
To cuff, to wrestle, or to run the race;
To cuff, to wrestle, or to run the race;
and Alcinous answers:
and Alcinous replies:
Neither in cuffing nor in wrestling strong
But swift of foot are we.
("Odyssey" viii. 206 and 246.)
We're not strong in handcuffs or wrestling
But we're quick on our feet.
("Odyssey" viii. 206 and 246.)So that he doth not carelessly confound the order, and, according to the present occasion, now place one sort first and now another; but he follows the then custom and practice and is constant in the same. And this was so as long as the ancient order was observed.
So that he doesn’t carelessly mix up the order, and, depending on the situation, place one type first and then another; instead, he follows the old customs and practices and stays consistent with them. And this was the case as long as the ancient order was maintained.
To this discourse of my brother's I subjoined, that I liked what he said, but could not see the reason of this order. And some of the company, thinking it unlikely that cuffing or wrestling should be a more ancient exercise than racing, they desired me to search farther into the matter; and thus I spake upon the sudden. All these exercises seem to me to be representations of feats of arms and training therein; for after all, a man armed at all points is brought in to show that that is the end at which all these exercises and trainings end. And the privilege granted to the conquerors, viz., as they rode into the city, to throw down some part of the wall—hath this meaning; that walls are but a small advantage to that city which hath men able to fight and overcome. In Sparta those that were victors in any of the crowned games had an honorable place in the army and were to fight near the king's person. Of all other creatures a horse only can have a part in these games and win the crown, for that alone is designed by nature to be trained to war, and to prove assisting in a battle. If these things seem probable, let us consider farther, that it is the first work of a fighter to strike his enemy and ward the other's blows; the second, when they come up close and lay hold of one another, to trip and overturn him; and in this, they say, our countrymen being better wrestlers very much distressed the Spartans at the battle of Leuctra. And Aeschylus describes a warrior thus,—
To my brother's argument, I added that I liked what he said, but I didn't understand the reasoning behind this order. Some of the group, thinking it's unlikely that cuffing or wrestling could be an older practice than racing, asked me to look deeper into it; so I spoke up on the spot. All these activities seem to me to be representations of combat skills and training for them; after all, a fully armed man is brought in to show that this is the goal towards which all these exercises and trainings lead. And the privilege given to the victors—in that as they rode into the city, they could throw down part of the wall—means that walls are a minor advantage to a city that has men capable of fighting and winning. In Sparta, those who won in any of the crowned games had an honored position in the army and fought near the king. Of all creatures, only a horse can participate in these games and win the crown, as it's the only one naturally suited to prepare for war and prove helpful in battle. If this seems reasonable, let’s explore further; the first task of a fighter is to strike their enemy and defend against incoming blows; the second, when they close in and grapple with each other, is to trip and throw them down. In this regard, our countrymen, being better wrestlers, caused significant trouble for the Spartans at the battle of Leuctra. Aeschylus describes a warrior like this—
One stout, and skilled to wrestle in his arms;
A strong and skilled wrestler in his arms;
and Sophocles somewhere says of the Trojans,—
and Sophocles somewhere says about the Trojans,—
They rid the horse, they could the bow command
And wrestle with a rattling shield in hand.
They ride the horse, they can command the bow
And wrestle with a clattering shield in hand.But it is the third and last, either when conquered to fly, when conquerors to pursue. And therefore it is likely that cuffing is set first, wrestling next, and racing last; for the first bears the resemblance of charging or warding the blows; the second, of close fighting and repelling; the third, of flying a victorious, or pursuing a routed enemy.
But it’s the third and final one, either when defeated it takes flight or when victors chase. So, it makes sense that cuffing comes first, wrestling second, and racing last; the first resembles charging or blocking blows; the second, close combat and defending; the third, fleeing from a victorious opponent or chasing a defeated enemy.
QUESTION VI. WHY FIR-TREES, PINE-TREES, AND THE LIKE WILL NOT BE GRAFTED UPON. SOCLARUS, CRATO, PHILO.
QUESTION VI. WHY FIR TREES, PINE TREES, AND SIMILAR ONES CANNOT BE GRAFTED UPON. SOCLARUS, CRATO, PHILO.
Soclarus entertaining us in his gardens, round which the river Cephissus runs, showed us several trees strangely varied by the different grafts upon their stocks. We saw an olive upon a juniper, a peach upon a myrtle, pear grafts on an oak, apple upon a plane, a mulberry on a fig and a great many such like, which were grown strong enough to bear. Some joked on Soclarus as nourishing stranger kinds of things than the poets' Sphinxes or Chimaeras, but Crato set us to inquire why those stocks only that are of an oily nature will not admit such mixtures for we never see a pine, fir, or cypress bear a graft of another kind.
Soclarus entertained us in his gardens, around which the Cephissus River flows, and showed us several trees that were oddly varied by the different grafts on their roots. We saw an olive tree grafted onto a juniper, a peach on a myrtle, pear grafts on an oak, apple on a plane tree, a mulberry on a fig, and many others that were strong enough to bear fruit. Some joked about Soclarus nurturing stranger things than the poets' Sphinxes or Chimaeras, but Crato prompted us to ask why only certain oily trees won't accept such mixtures, as we never see a pine, fir, or cypress bearing a graft of a different kind.
And Philo subjoined: There is, Crato, a reason for this amongst the philosophers, which the gardeners confirm and strengthen. For they say, oil is very hurtful to all plants, and any plant dipped in it like a bee, will soon die. Now these trees are of a fat and oily nature, insomuch that they weep pitch and rosin; and, if you cut then gore (as it were) appears presently in the wound. Besides, a torch made of them sends forth an oily smoke, and the brightness of the flame shows it to be fat; and upon this account these trees are as great enemies to all other kinds of grafts as oil itself. To this Crato added, that the bark was a partial cause; for that, being rare and dry, could not afford either convenient room or sufficient nourishment to the grafts; but when the bark is moist, it quickly joins with those grafts that are let into the body of the tree.
And Philo added: There’s a reason for this among philosophers, which gardeners confirm and support. They say that oil is very harmful to all plants, and any plant dipped in it, like a bee, will soon die. Now, these trees are of a fatty and oily nature, to the point that they weep pitch and rosin; and if you cut them, a sort of gore appears almost immediately in the wound. Also, a torch made from them gives off an oily smoke, and the brightness of the flame shows that it is fatty; for this reason, these trees are as much enemies to all other kinds of grafts as oil itself. Crato added that the bark was a contributing factor; because it is thin and dry, it can't provide adequate space or enough nourishment for the grafts. However, when the bark is moist, it quickly bonds with those grafts that are inserted into the body of the tree.
Then Soclarus added: This too ought to be considered, that that which receives a graft of another kind ought to be easy to be changed, that the graft may prevail, and make the sap in the stock fit and natural to itself. Thus we break up the ground and soften it, that being thus broken it may more easily be wrought upon, and applied to what we plant in it; for things that are hard and rigid cannot be so quickly wrought upon nor so easily changed. Now those trees, being of very light wood, do not mix well with the grafts, because they are very hard either to be changed or overcome. But more, it is manifest that the stock which receives the graft should be instead of a soil to it, and a soil should have a breeding faculty; and therefore we choose the most fruitful stocks to graft on, as women that are full of milk, when we would put out a child to nurse. But everybody knows that the fir, cypress, and the like are no great bearers. For as men very fat have few children (for, the whole nourishment being employed in the body, there remains no overplus to make seed), so these trees, spending all their sap in their own stock, flourish indeed and grow great; but as for fruit, some bear none at all, some very little, and that too slowly ripens; therefore it is no wonder that they will not nourish another's fruit, when they are so very sparing to their own.
Then Soclarus added: This also should be considered: the plant that receives a graft from another type should be easy to modify so that the graft can thrive and the sap in the base matches it naturally. This is why we loosen and aerate the soil so that when it's broken up, it can easily accommodate whatever we plant in it; hard and rigid materials can't be easily adapted or changed. Now those trees, having very light wood, don't graft well because they're difficult to alter or overcome. Furthermore, it's clear that the base plant receiving the graft should act like soil for it, and soil should have the ability to nurture; that's why we select the most fruitful base plants to graft onto, like women rich in milk when we want to have a child nursed. But everyone knows that firs and cypresses, among others, don't yield much. Just as very fat people have few children (because their entire nourishment is used up in their bodies, leaving no surplus for producing seeds), these trees use all their sap for their own growth. They flourish and grow large, but when it comes to fruit, some produce none at all, and those that do, bear very little, which ripens slowly. So it's no surprise they don't support another tree's fruit when they're so stingy with their own.
QUESTION VII. ABOUT THE FISH CALLED REMORA OR ECHENEIS. CHAEREMONIANUS, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION VII. ABOUT THE FISH CALLED REMORA OR ECHENEIS. CHAEREMONIANUS, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
Chaeremonianus the Trallian, when we were at a very noble fish dinner, pointing to a little, long, sharp-headed fish, said the echeneis (ship-stopper) was like that, for he had often seen it as he sailed in the Sicilian sea, and wondered at its strange force; for it stopped the ship when under full sail, till one of the seamen perceived it sticking to the outside of the ship, and took it off. Some laughed at Chaeremonianus for believing such an incredible and unlikely story. Others on this occasion talked very much of antipathies, and produced a thousand instances of such strange effects; for example, the sight of a ram quiets an enraged elephant; a viper lies stock-still, if touched with a beechen leaf; a wild bull grows tame, if bound with the twigs of a fig-tree; and amber draws all light things to it, except basil and such as are dipped in oil; and a loadstone will not draw a piece of iron that is rubbed with onion. Now all these, as to matter of fact, are very evident; but it is hard, if not altogether impossible, to find the cause.
Chaeremonianus the Trallian, while we were enjoying a fancy fish dinner, pointed to a small, long, sharply-headed fish and said that the echeneis (ship-stopper) was like that. He had often seen it while sailing in the Sicilian sea and marveled at its unusual power; it could stop a ship dead in its tracks when fully under sail until one of the crew noticed it clinging to the side of the ship and removed it. Some laughed at Chaeremonianus for believing such an incredible and unlikely story. Others on that occasion talked a lot about antipathies and shared numerous examples of such strange effects; for instance, the sight of a ram calms an angry elephant; a viper stays completely still if touched with a beech leaf; a wild bull becomes tame if tied with twigs from a fig tree; amber attracts all light things to it, except basil and items coated in oil; and a loadstone won’t attract a piece of iron that’s been rubbed with onion. Now, all of these are very clear in terms of observable fact, but it's difficult, if not entirely impossible, to determine the cause.
Then said I: This is a mere shift and avoiding of the question, rather than a declaration of the cause; but if we please to consider, we shall find a great many accidents that are only consequents of the effect to be unjustly esteemed the causes of it; as for instance, if we should fancy that by the blossoming of the chaste-tree the fruit of the vine is ripened; because this is a common saying,—
Then I said: This is just dodging the question, instead of explaining the reason; but if we think about it, we’ll see that there are many events that are just results of the effect, yet are wrongly viewed as its causes. For example, if we were to believe that the blossoming of the chaste tree causes the grapes to ripen, since that's a common saying,—
The chaste-tree blossoms, and the grapes grow ripe;
The chaste-tree flowers, and the grapes are getting ripe;
Or that the little protuberances in the candle-snuff thicken the air and make it cloudy; or the hookedness of the nails is the cause and not an accident consequential to an ulcer. Therefore as those things mentioned are but consequents to the effect, though proceeding from one and the same cause, so one and the same cause stops the ship, and joins the echeneis to it; for the ship continuing dry, not yet made heavy by the moisture soaking into the wood, it is probable that it lightly glides, and as long as it is clean, easily cuts the waves; but when it is thoroughly soaked, when weeds, ooze, and filth stick upon its sides, the stroke of the ship is more obtuse and weak; and the water, coming upon this clammy matter, doth not so easily part from it; and this is the reason why they usually calk their ships. Now it is likely that the echeneis in this case, sticking upon the clammy matter, is not thought an accidental consequent to this cause, but the very cause itself.
Or that the small bumps in the candle snuff make the air thicker and cloudy; or the curve of the nails is the reason and not just a result of an infection. So, just like those mentioned things are results of the effect, even though they come from the same source, the same source stops the ship and attaches the echeneis to it; because as long as the ship remains dry, not yet weighed down by moisture soaking into the wood, it probably glides smoothly, and when it’s clean, it easily cuts through the waves; but when it’s thoroughly soaked, when weeds, sludge, and dirt stick to its sides, the ship's movement becomes blunt and weak; and the water, coming into contact with this sticky matter, doesn’t easily separate from it; and that’s why they usually caulk their ships. Now it’s likely that in this situation, the echeneis stuck to the slimy matter is not considered just a result of this cause, but the actual cause itself.
QUESTION VIII. WHY THEY SAY THOSE HORSES CALLED [GREEK OMITTED] ARE VERY METTLESOME. PLUTARCH, HIS FATHER, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION VIII. WHY THEY SAY THOSE HORSES CALLED [GREEK OMITTED] ARE VERY METTLESOME. PLUTARCH, HIS FATHER, AND OTHERS.
Some say the horses called [Greek omitted] received that name from the fashion of their bridles (called [Greek omitted]), that had prickles like the teeth on the wolf's jaw; for being fiery and hard-mouthed, the riders used such to tame them. But my father, who seldom speaks but on good reason, and breeds excellent horses, said, those that were set upon by wolves when colts, if they escaped, grew swift and mettlesome, and were called [Greek omitted] Many agreeing to what he said, it began to be inquired why such an accident as that should make them more mettlesome and fierce; and many of the company thought that, from such an assault, fear and not courage was produced; and that thence growing fearful and apt to start at everything, their motions became more quick and vigorous, as they are in wild beasts when entangled in a net. But, said I, it ought to be considered whether the contrary be not more probable; for the colts do not become more swift by escaping the assault of a wild beast, but they had never escaped unless they had been swift and mettlesome before. As Ulysses was not made wise by escaping from the Cyclops, but by being wise before he escaped.
Some say the horses called [Greek omitted] got their name from the style of their bridles (called [Greek omitted]), which had spikes like the teeth of a wolf; since they were fiery and hard to handle, riders used these bridles to tame them. However, my father, who rarely speaks unless he has a good reason and breeds excellent horses, said that those colts attacked by wolves, if they managed to escape, grew swift and spirited, and were called [Greek omitted]. Many agreed with him, leading to questions about why such an experience would make them more spirited and fierce. Some in the group believed that fear, not courage, resulted from such an attack, and that it made them more prone to startle, thus causing their movements to become quicker and more vigorous, like wild animals trapped in a net. But I argued that we should consider whether the opposite might be more likely; for the colts don't become swifter just by escaping a wild animal, but they would not have escaped at all if they hadn't already been swift and spirited. Just as Ulysses didn't become wise by merely escaping from the Cyclops, but because he was wise before that escape.
QUESTION IX. WHY THE FLESH OF SHEEP BITTEN BY WOLVES IS SWEETER THAN THAT OF OTHERS, AND THE WOOL MORE APT TO BREED LICE. PATROCLIAS, THE SAME.
QUESTION IX. WHY THE MEAT OF SHEEP ATTACKED BY WOLVES TASTES SWEETER THAN THAT OF OTHER SHEEP, AND WHY THEIR WOOL IS MORE LIKELY TO HARBOR LICE. PATROCLIAS, THE SAME.
After the former discourse, mention was made of those sheep that wolves have bitten; for it is commonly said of them, that their flesh is very sweet, and their wool breeds lice. My relative Patroclias seemed to be pretty happy in his reasoning upon the first part, saying, that the beast by biting it did mollify the flesh; for wolves' spirits are so hot and fiery, that they soften and digest the hardest bones and for the same reason things bitten by wolves rot sooner than others. But concerning the wool we could not agree, being not fully resolved whether it breeds those lice, or only opens a passage for them, separating the flesh by its fretting roughness or proper warmth; and appeared that this power proceeded from the bite of wolf, which alters even the very hair of the creature that it kills. And this some particular instances seem to confirm; for we know some huntsmen and cooks will kill a beast with one stroke, so that it never breathes after, whilst others repeat their blows, and scarce do it with a great deal of trouble. But (what is more strange) some, as they kill it, infuse such a quality that the flesh rots presently and cannot be kept sweet above a day; yet others that despatch it as soon find no such alteration, but the flesh will keep sweet a long while. And that by the manner of killing a great alteration is made even in the skins, nails, and hair of a beast, Homer seems to witness, when, speaking of a good hide, he says,—
After the earlier discussion, we talked about those sheep that wolves have bitten; it’s often said that their meat is really tasty, but their wool attracts lice. My relative Patroclias seemed pretty satisfied with his thoughts on the first part, stating that when the wolf bites, it tenderizes the meat; the spirits of wolves are so hot and fierce that they can soften and break down even the toughest bones, which is why things bitten by wolves decay faster than others. However, we didn't agree on the wool, as we weren't entirely sure if it causes lice to breed or just creates a way for them to enter, possibly by irritating the flesh with its roughness or warmth. It seemed that this effect came from the wolf’s bite, which even changes the hair of the creature it kills. Some specific examples seem to support this; for instance, we know that some hunters and cooks can kill an animal with one blow, instantly stopping its breathing, while others have to strike multiple times and struggle to do so. What’s even stranger is that some, when they kill the animal, inject a quality that makes the meat spoil right away and impossible to keep fresh for more than a day, whereas others who kill it quickly notice no such change, and the meat remains fresh for a long time. And it seems that the way an animal is killed can even significantly alter its skin, nails, and hair, as Homer suggests when he talks about a good hide, saying—
An ox's hide that fell by violent blows;
("Iliad," iii. 375.)
An ox's hide that was torn apart by brutal strikes;
("Iliad," iii. 375.)for not those that fell by a disease or old age, but by a violent death, leave us tough and strong hides; but after they are bitten by wild beasts, their hoofs grow black, their hair falls, their skins putrefy and are good for nothing.
for not those that fell by a disease or old age, but by a violent death, leave us tough and strong hides; but after they are bitten by wild beasts, their hooves grow black, their hair falls out, their skins rot and are good for nothing.
QUESTION X. WHETHER THE ANCIENTS, BY PROVIDING EVERY ONE HIS MESS, DID BEST OR WE, WHO SET MANY TO THE SAME DISH. PLUTARCH, HAGIAS.
QUESTION X. DID THE ANCIENTS DO BETTER BY GIVING EACH PERSON THEIR OWN PLATE, OR DO WE DO BETTER BY SERVING MANY PEOPLE FROM THE SAME DISH? PLUTARCH, HAGIAS.
When I was chief magistrate, most of the suppers consisted of distinct messes, where every particular guest had his portion of the sacrifice allowed him. Some were wonderfully well pleased with this order; others blamed it as unsociable and ungenteel, and were of the opinion that, as soon as I was out of my office, the manner of entertainments ought to be reformed; for, says Hagias, we invite one another not barely to eat and drink, but to eat and drink together. Now this division into messes takes away all society, makes many suppers, and many eaters, but no one sups with another; but every man takes his pound of beef, as from the meat shop, sets it before himself, and falls on. And is it not the same thing to provide a different cup and different table for every guest (as the Demophontidae treated Orestes), as now to set each man his loaf of bread and mess of meat, and feed him, as it were, out of his own proper manger? Only, it is true, we are not (as those that treated Orestes were) obliged to be silent and not discourse. Besides, that all the guests should have a share in everything, we may draw an argument from hence;—the same discourse is common to us all, the same songstress sings, and the same musician plays to all. So, when the same cup is set in the midst, not appropriated to any, it is a large spring of good fellowship, and each man may take as much as his appetite requires; not like this most unjust distribution of bread and meat, which prides itself forsooth in being equal to all, though unequal, stomachs; for the same share to a man of a small appetite is too much; to one of a greater, too little. And, sir, as he that administers the very same dose of physic to all sorts of patients must be very ridiculous; so likewise must that entertainer who, inviting a great many guests that can neither eat nor drink alike, sets before every one an equal mess, and measures what is just and fit by an arithmetical not geometrical proportion. When we go to a shop to buy, we all use, it is true, one and the same public measure; but to an entertainment each man brings his own belly, which is satisfied with a portion, not because it is equal to that which others have, but because it is sufficient for itself. Those entertainments where every one had his single mess Homer mentions amongst soldiers and in the camp, which we ought not to bring into fashion amongst us; but rather imitate the good friendship of the ancients, who, to show what reverence they had for all kinds of societies, not only respected those that lived with them or under the same roof, but also those that drank out of the same cup or ate out of the same dish. Let us never mind Homer's entertainments; they were good for nothing but to starve a man, and the makers of them were kings more stingy and observant than the Italian cooks; insomuch that in the midst of a battle, whilst they were at handy-blows with their enemies, they could exactly reckon up how many glasses each man drank at his table. But those that Pindar describes are much better,—
When I was the chief magistrate, most of the dinners consisted of separate portions, where each guest had their share of the meal allocated to them. Some were really happy with this setup; others criticized it as unfriendly and lacking refinement, believing that once I was no longer in my role, the way we entertained should change. As Hagias puts it, we invite each other not just to eat and drink, but to eat and drink together. The split into separate portions takes away all sense of community—it creates many dinners and many eaters, but no one dines with anyone else; everyone just takes their pound of meat, like at the butcher, sets it in front of themselves, and digs in. Isn't it the same as providing a different cup and different table for every guest (as the Demophontidae did for Orestes), as it is now to set each person their loaf of bread and plate of meat, feeding them as if they were eating from their own personal trough? True, we aren’t (as those who served Orestes were) required to stay silent and not converse. Furthermore, for all the guests to share in everything, we can make this argument: the same conversation is shared by all, the same singer performs, and the same musician plays for everyone. So when the same cup is placed in the center, not assigned to anyone, it promotes a sense of fellowship, and each person can take as much as they want; unlike this most unfair distribution of food which mistakenly prides itself on being equal for all, despite unequal appetites—what is too much for someone with a small appetite is too little for someone with a bigger one. And, sir, just like it would be ridiculous for someone to give the same dose of medicine to all types of patients, it’s equally absurd for a host, inviting many guests with different appetites, to serve everyone the same amount and assume an arithmetic approach is suitable rather than a more personalized one. When we go to a store to buy, we all use the same public measure; but at a meal, each person brings their own appetite, which is satisfied with a portion that’s sufficient for only them, not just because it’s the same as everyone else's. Homer mentions those meals where each soldier had their own portion in the camp, which we shouldn't adopt; instead, we should emulate the good friendships of the ancients who, to show their respect for all types of gatherings, honored not only those who lived or shared a roof with them but also those who drank from the same cup or ate from the same dish. Let's not focus on Homer's meals; they did nothing but starve a person, and the hosts were more miserly and restrictive than Italian cooks; they could even count how many glasses each man drank in the heat of battle. But those gatherings described by Pindar are much better—
Where heroes mixed sat round the noble board,
Where heroes mingled around the grand table,
because they maintained society and good fellowship; for the latter truly mixed and joined friends, but our modern system divides and asperses them as persons who, though seemingly very good friends, cannot so much as eat with one another out of the same dish.
because they supported community and camaraderie; the latter genuinely brought friends together, but our current system separates and undermines them as people who, even though they appear to be good friends, can't even eat from the same dish.
To this polite discourse of Hagias they urged me to reply. And I said: Hagias, it is true, hath reason to be troubled at this unusual disappointment, because having so great a belly (for he was an excellent trencherman) he had no larger mess than others; for in a fish eaten together Democritus says, there are no bones. But that very thing is likely to increase our share beyond our own proper allowance. For it is equality, as the old woman in Euripides hath it,
To this polite conversation about Hagias, they encouraged me to respond. So I said: Hagias certainly has a reason to be upset about this unusual letdown, because with such a big appetite (he was a really good eater), he didn't get a bigger portion than anyone else; as Democritus says, in a fish eaten together, there are no bones. But that very thing is likely to increase our portion beyond what we deserve. Because it’s about equality, as the old woman in Euripides says,
That fastens towns to towns, and friends to friends;
(Euripides, "Phoenissae," 536.)
That connects towns to towns, and friends to friends;
(Euripides, "Phoenissae," 536.)and entertainments chiefly stand in need of this. The necessity is from nature as well as custom, and is not lately introduced or founded only on opinion. For when the same dish lies in common before all, the man that is slow and eats little must be offended at the other that is too quick for him, as a slow ship at the swift sailor. Besides, snatching, contention, shoving, and the like, are not, in my mind, neighborly beginnings of mirth and jollity; but they are absurd, doggish, and often end in anger or reproaches, not only against one another, but also against the entertainer himself or the carvers of the feast. But as long as Moera and Lachesis (DIVISION AND DISTRIBUTION) maintained equality in feasts, nothing uncivil or disorderly was seen, and they called the feasts [Greek omitted], DISTRIBUTIONS, the entertained [Greek omitted], and the carvers [Greek omitted], DISTRIBUTERS, from dividing and distributing to every man his proper mess. The Lacedaemonians had officers called distributers of the flesh, no mean men, but the chief of the city; for Lysander himself by king Agesilaus was constituted one of these in Asia. But when luxury crept into our feasts, distributing was thrown out; for I suppose they had not leisure to divide these numerous tarts, cheese-cakes, pies, and other delicate varieties; but, surprised with the pleasantness of the taste and tired with the variety, they left off cutting it into portions, and left all in common. And this is confirmed from the present practice; for in our religious or public feasts, where the food is simple and inartificial, each man hath his mess assigned him; so that he that endeavors to retrieve the ancient custom will likewise recover thrift and almost lost frugality again. But, you object, where only property is, community is lost. True indeed, where equality is not; for not the possession of what is proper and our own, but the taking away of another's and coveting that which is common, is the cause of all injury and contention; and the laws, restraining and confining these within the proper bounds, receive their name from their office, being a power distributing equally to every one in order to the common good. Thus every one is not to be honored by the entertainer with the garland or the chiefest place; but if any one brings with him his sweetheart or a singing girl, they must be common to him and his friends, that all possessions may be brought together, as Anaxagoras would have it. Now if propriety in these things doth not in the least hinder but that things of greater moment, and the only considerable, as discourse and civility, may be still common, let us leave off abasing distributions or the lot, the son of Fortune (as Euripides hath it), which hath no respect either to riches or honor, but in its inconsiderate wheel now and then raiseth up the humble and the poor, and makes him master of himself, and, by accustoming the great and rich to endure and not be offended at equality, pleasingly instructs.
and entertainment primarily need this. It’s necessary by nature as well as by tradition, and it’s not something that has been recently created or based solely on opinion. When the same dish is served to everyone, the person who eats slowly and takes little must feel offended by the one who is too quick, like a slow ship resenting the fast sailor. Moreover, grabbing, arguing, shoving, and similar behaviors are not, in my view, friendly beginnings of fun and joy; rather, they are ridiculous, aggressive, and often end in anger or blame, not only toward each other but also against the host or the servers of the meal. However, as long as Moera and Lachesis (DIVISION AND DISTRIBUTION) kept things equal at feasts, nothing rude or chaotic was seen, and they referred to the feasts as [Greek omitted], DISTRIBUTIONS, the attendees as [Greek omitted], and the servers as [Greek omitted], DISTRIBUTERS, for sharing and dividing every person’s proper portion. The Lacedaemonians had officials known as distributors of the meat, who were respectable individuals, the leaders of the city; for Lysander himself was appointed one of these by King Agesilaus in Asia. But when luxury infiltrated our feasts, distributing was abandoned; I believe they lacked the time to divide these numerous tarts, cheesecakes, pies, and other delicacies; instead, caught up in the enjoyment of the flavors and exhausted by the variety, they stopped cutting them into portions and left everything communal. This is supported by current practices; for in our religious or public feasts, where the food is simple and unrefined, each person has their assigned portion; thus, one who seeks to revive the old custom will also restore thriftiness and nearly lost frugality. But you might argue that where property exists, community is lost. That is true, where there is no equality; for it is neither the ownership of what is rightfully ours that causes harm and conflict, but the taking from others and coveting what is shared, which is the source of all damage and strife. The laws, which hold back and contain these within proper limits, derive their name from their role, acting as a force distributing equally for the common good. Therefore, not everyone should be honored by the host with a garland or the prime spot; however, if someone brings their partner or a singer, they should be shared among him and his friends, so that all resources can be pooled together, as Anaxagoras suggested. Now, if propriety in these matters does not hinder the discussion and civility, which are of greater importance, from being shared, let us stop undervaluing distributions or the lot, the offspring of Fortune (as Euripides puts it), which does not concern itself with wealth or status but, in its random course, occasionally elevates the humble and the poor, allowing them to take charge of their lives, and, by training the great and wealthy to accept and not resent equality, provides valuable lessons.
BOOK III
Simonides the poet, my Sossius Senecio, seeing one of the company sit silent and discourse nobody, said: Sir, if you are fool, it is wisely done; if a wise man, very foolishly. It is good to conceal a man's folly (but as Heraclitus says) it is very hard to do it over a glass of wine,—
Simonides the poet, my Sossius Senecio, seeing one of the guests sitting quietly and not engaging with anyone, said: Sir, if you’re a fool, you’re doing it wisely; if you’re a wise man, that’s quite foolish. It’s good to hide a person’s foolishness (but as Heraclitus says) it’s really hard to do that while having a glass of wine,—
Which doth the gravest men to mirth advance,
And let them loose to sing, to laugh, and dance,
And speak what had been better unsaid.
("Odyssey," xiv. 464.)
Which the serious men to joy encourage,
And allow them to sing, laugh, and dance,
And say what would have been better left unsaid.
("Odyssey," xiv. 464.)In which lines the poet in my mind shows the difference between being a little heated and downright drunk; for to sing, laugh, and dance may agree very well with those that have gone no farther than the merry cup; but to prattle, and speak what had been better left unsaid, argues a man to be quite gone. And therefore Plato thinks that wine is the must ingenious discoverer of men's humors; and Homer, when he says,—
In these lines, the poet illustrates the difference between being a little tipsy and completely drunk; because singing, laughing, and dancing might be suitable for those who have only had a few drinks, but rambling and saying things that are better left unspoken indicates that someone is really intoxicated. That's why Plato believes that wine is the most clever revealer of people's true feelings; and Homer, when he says,—
At feasts they had not known each other's minds,
(Ibid. xxi. 35.)
At feasts they hadn't known each other's thoughts,
(Ibid. xxi. 35.)evidently shows that he knew wine was powerful to open men's thoughts, and was full of new discoveries. It is true from the bare eating and drinking, if they say nothing we can give no guess at the tempers of the men; but because drinking leads them into discourse, and discourse lays a great many things open and naked which were secret and hid before, therefore to sport a glass of wine together lets us into one another's humors. And therefore a man may reasonably fall foul on Aesop: Why sir, would you have a window in every man's breast, through which we may look in upon his thoughts? Wine opens and exposes all, it will not suffer us to be silent, but takes off all mask and visor, and makes us regardless of the severe precepts of decency and custom. Thus Aesop or Plato, or any other that designs to look into a man, may have his desires satisfied by the assistance of a bottle; but those that are not solicitous to pump one another, but to be sociable and pleasant, discourse of such matters and handle such questions as make no discovery of the bad parts of the soul, but such as comfort the good, and, by the help of neat and polite learning, lead the intelligent part into an agreeable pasture and garden of delight This made me collect and dedicate the first to you this third dedication of table discourses, the first of which is about chaplets made of flowers.
clearly shows that he understood that wine was powerful in opening people's thoughts and was full of new discoveries. It’s true that from just eating and drinking, if no one speaks, we can’t guess the moods of the people; but because drinking encourages conversation, and conversation reveals many things that were previously secret, sharing a glass of wine together allows us to understand each other's temperaments. Thus, one might justifiably criticize Aesop: Why, sir, should there be a window into every person's heart, through which we can see their thoughts? Wine reveals and exposes everything; it doesn’t allow us to be silent, but removes all pretense and makes us careless of the strict rules of decency and custom. So, Aesop or Plato, or anyone else who wishes to understand a person, can have their curiosity satisfied with the help of a bottle. However, those who aren’t eager to pry into each other’s minds, but rather to be friendly and enjoyable, will talk about subjects that don’t reveal the darker sides of the soul, but instead nurture the good, and, with the help of elegant and refined learning, guide the thoughtful part into a pleasant and delightful space. This inspired me to gather and dedicate the first of this third collection of dinner conversations to you, the first of which is about garlands made of flowers.
QUESTION I. WHETHER IT IS FITTING TO WEAR CHAPLETS OF FLOWERS AT TABLE. ERATO, AMMONIUS, TRYPHO, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION I. WHETHER IT IS APPROPRIATE TO WEAR FLOWER GARLANDS AT THE TABLE. ERATO, AMMONIUS, TRYPHO, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
At Athens Erato the musician keeping a solemn feast to the Muses, and inviting a great many to the treat, the company was full of talk, and the subject of the discourse garlands. For after supper many of all sorts of flowers being presented to the guests, Ammonius began to jeer me for choosing a rose chaplet before a laurel, saying that those made of flowers were effeminate, and fitted toyish girls and women more than grave philosophers and men of music. And I admire that our friend Erato, that abominates all flourishing in songs, and blames good Agatho, who first in his tragedy of the Mysians ventured to introduce the chromatic airs, should himself fill his entertainment with such various and such florid colors; yet, while he shuts out all the soft delights that through the ears can enter to the soul, he should introduce others through the eyes and through the nose, and make these garlands, instead of signs of piety, to be instruments of pleasure. For it must be confessed that this ointment gives a better smell than those trifling flowers, which wither even in the hands of those that wreathe them. Besides, all pleasure must be banished the company of philosophers, unless it is of some use or desired by natural appetite; for as those that are carried to a banquet by some of their invited friends (as, for instance, Socrates carried Aristodemus to Agatho's table) are as civilly entertained as the bidden guests, but he that goes on his own account is shut out of doors; thus the pleasures of eating and drinking, being invited by natural appetite, should have admission; but all the others which come on no account and have only luxury to introduce them, ought in reason to be denied.
At Athens, Erato the musician was hosting a formal feast for the Muses and invited many people to join in. The atmosphere was lively, and the main topic of conversation was garlands. After dinner, a variety of flowers were presented to the guests, and Ammonius started teasing me for choosing a rose crown instead of a laurel, saying that flower crowns were feminine and better suited for playful girls and women than serious philosophers and musicians. I’m surprised that our friend Erato, who despises all flamboyance in songs and criticizes good Agatho for being the first to introduce colorful melodies in his tragedy 'The Mysians,' would himself adorn his gathering with such a variety of bright colors. Yet, while he excludes all the gentle pleasures that enter the soul through sound, he allows others in through sight and smell, making these garlands, rather than symbols of reverence, mere instruments of enjoyment. It must be acknowledged that this ointment smells better than those trivial flowers that wilt even in the hands of those who weave them. Furthermore, all pleasure should be excluded from philosophers’ gatherings unless it serves a purpose or is desired by natural instinct; for just as those who are brought to a banquet by friends (like Socrates bringing Aristodemus to Agatho's table) are welcomed as gracious guests, those who arrive on their own are left outside. Thus, the pleasures of eating and drinking, invited by our natural appetite, should be allowed, but all others that come without reason and only bring luxury should reasonably be turned away.
At this some young men, not thoroughly acquainted with Ammonius's humor, being abashed, privately tore their chaplets; but I, perceiving that Ammonius proposed this only for discourse and disputation's sake, applying myself to Trypho the physician, said: Sir, you must put off that sparkling rosy chaplet as well as we, or declare, as I have often heard you, what excellent preservatives these flowery garlands are against the strength of liquor. But here Erato putting in said: What, is it decreed that no pleasure must be admitted without profit? And must we be angry with our delight, unless hired to endure it? Perhaps we may have reason to be ashamed of ointments and purple vests, because so costly and expensive, and to look upon them as (in the barbarian's phrase) treacherous garments and deceitful odors; but these natural smells and colors are pure and simple as fruits themselves, and without expense or the curiosity of art. And I appeal to any one, whether it is not absurd to receive the pleasant savors Nature gives us, and enjoy and reject those smells and colors that the seasons afford us, because forsooth they blossom with delight, if they have no other external profit or advantage. Besides, we have an axiom against you, for if (as you affirm) Nature makes nothing in vain, those things that have no other use were designed on purpose to please and to delight. Besides, observe that to thriving trees Nature hath given leaves, both for the preservation of the fruit and of the stock itself; for those sometimes warming, sometimes cooling it, the seasons creep on by degrees, and do not assault it with all their violence at once. But now the flower, whilst it is on the plant, is of no profit at all, unless we use it to delight our nose with the admirable smell, and to please our eyes when it opens that inimitable variety of colors. And therefore, when the leaves are plucked off, the plants as it were suffer injury and grief. There is a kind of an ulcer raised, and an unbecoming nakedness attends them; and we must not only (as Empedocles says)
At this, some young men, not fully familiar with Ammonius's humor, felt embarrassed and quietly tore off their floral wreaths. But I, realizing that Ammonius suggested this just for conversation and debate, turned to Trypho the physician and said: "Sir, you should take off that shiny, rosy wreath just like us, or explain, as I've often heard you say, how these flowery garlands are great defenses against the effects of alcohol." Then Erato chimed in: "What, is it decided that we can't enjoy anything unless it has some benefit? Do we have to feel guilty about our pleasures unless we're getting paid to enjoy them? Sure, we might feel embarrassed about expensive perfumes and fancy clothes, which might be thought of as deceptive garments and misleading scents; but these natural smells and colors are as pure and straightforward as fruits themselves, and they come without cost or artistic complication. I challenge anyone to say it's not ridiculous to accept the lovely fragrances that Nature provides us while dismissing the scents and colors of the seasons just because they bring joy without any other material gain. Besides, we have a principle against you: if, as you claim, Nature makes nothing in vain, then those things that serve no other purpose must exist solely to please and delight. Moreover, notice that Nature has given thriving trees leaves, which protect both the fruit and the tree itself; they help it manage temperatures gradually rather than being hit by extremes all at once. But the flower, while still on the plant, serves no purpose at all unless we enjoy its wonderful scent and the stunning variety of colors it offers. Therefore, when the leaves are plucked, it’s like the plants suffer injury and sorrow; they experience a sort of wound, and an inappropriate nakedness befalls them; and we must not only, as Empedocles states...
By all means spare the leaves that grace the palm,
By all means, save the leaves that adorn the palm,
but likewise of all other trees, and not injuriously against Nature robbing them of their leaves, bring deformity on them to adorn ourselves. But to pluck the flowers doth no injury at all. It is like gathering of grapes at the time of vintage; unless plucked when ripe, they wither of themselves and fall. And therefore, like the barbarians who clothe themselves with the skins more commonly than with the wool of sheep, those that wreathe leaves rather than flowers into garlands seem to me to use the plants neither according to the dictates of reason nor the design of Nature. And thus much I say in defence of those who sell chaplets of flowers; for I am not grammarian enough to remember those poems which tell us that the old conquerors in the sacred games were crowned with flowers. Yet, now I think of it, there is a story of a rosy crown that belongs to the Muses; Sappho mentions it in a copy of verses to a woman unlearned and unacquainted with the Muses:—
but also about all other trees, and not harmfully against Nature by stripping them of their leaves just to beautify ourselves. However, picking flowers does no harm at all. It's like harvesting grapes at the right time; if you don't pick them when they're ripe, they wither and drop off by themselves. So, like the barbarians who wear animal skins more often than sheep's wool, those who make wreaths from leaves instead of flowers don’t seem to be using the plants according to reason or Nature’s purpose. I say this to defend those who sell flower crowns; I’m not knowledgeable enough to recall the poems that tell us that ancient champions in the sacred games were crowned with flowers. Yet, now that I think about it, there is a tale of a rosy crown that belongs to the Muses; Sappho mentions it in a poem to a woman who is uneducated and unfamiliar with the Muses:—
Thou shalt unregarded lie
Cause ne'er acquainted with the Muses' Rose.
(From Sappho, Frag. 68.)
You will lie unnoticed
Because you have never been familiar with the Muses' Rose.
(From Sappho, Frag. 68.)But if Trypho can produce anything to our advantage from physic, pray let us have it.
But if Trypho can offer anything beneficial from physics, please share it with us.
Then Trypho taking the discourse said: The ancients were very curious and well acquainted with all these things, because plants were the chief ingredients of their physic. And of this some signs remain till now; for the Tyrians offer to Agenor, and the Magnesians to Chiron, the first supposed practitioners of physic, as the first fruits, the roots of those plants which have been successful on a patient. And Bacchus was not only counted a physician for finding wine, the most pleasing and most potent remedy, but for bringing ivy, the greatest opposite imaginable to wine, into reputation, and for teaching his drunken followers to wear garlands of it, that by that means they might be secured against the violence of a debauch, the heat of the liquor being remitted by the coldness of the ivy. Besides, the names of several plants sufficiently evidence the ancients curiosity in this matter; for they named the walnut-tree [Greek omitted], because it sends forth a heavy and [Greek omitted] drowsy spirit, which affects their heads who sleep beneath it; and the daffodil, [Greek omitted], because it benumbs the nerves and causes a stupid narcotic heaviness in the limbs, and therefore Sophocles calls it the ancient garland flower of the great (that is, the earthy) gods. And some say rue was called [Greek omitted] from its astringent quality; for, by its dryness preceding from its heat, it fixes [Greek omitted] or dries the seed, and is very hurtful to great-bellied women. But those that imagine the herb amethyst [Greek omitted], and the precious stone of the same name, are called so because powerful against the force of wine are much mistaken; for both receive there names from their color; for its leaf is not of the color of strong wine, but resembles that of weak diluted liquor. And indeed I could mention a great many which have their names from their proper virtues. But the care and the experience of the ancients sufficiently appears in those of which they made their garlands when they designed to be merry and frolic over a glass of wine; for wine, especially when it seizes on the head, and weakens the body just at the very spring and origin of the sense, disturbs the whole man. Now the effluvia of flowers are an admirable preservative against this, they secure the brain, as it were a citadel, against the effects of drunkenness; for those that are hot upon the pores and give the fumes free passage to exhale, and those moderately cold repel and keep down the ascending vapors. Such are the violet and rose; for the odors of both these are prevalent against any ache and heaviness in the head. The flowers of the privet and crocus bring those that have drunk freely into a gentle sleep; for they send forth a smooth and gentle effluvia, which softly takes off all asperities that arise in the body of the drunken; and so all things being quiet and composed, the violence on the noxious humor is abated and thrown off. The smells of some flowers being received into the brain cleanse the organs and instruments of sense, and gently by their heat, without any violence or force, dissolve the humors, and warm and cherish the brain itself, which is naturally cold. And upon this account, they call those little posies they hang about their necks [Greek omitted], and anointed their breasts with the oils that were squeezed from them; and of this Alcaeus is a witness, when he bids his friends,
Then Trypho, continuing the conversation, said: The ancients were very curious and well-informed about all these things because plants were the main ingredients in their medicine. Some signs of this still exist today; for the Tyrians offer to Agenor, and the Magnesians to Chiron, the first supposed practitioners of medicine, the roots of those plants that have proven effective for a patient as their first fruits. Bacchus was regarded not only as a healer for discovering wine, the most enjoyable and powerful remedy, but also for elevating ivy, the greatest contrast to wine, into popularity, teaching his drunken followers to wear garlands of it. This was meant to protect them against the excesses of drinking, as the coldness of the ivy helped to counteract the heat of the liquor. Moreover, the names of several plants clearly show the ancients' interest in this topic; they named the walnut tree [Greek omitted] because it releases a heavy and [Greek omitted] drowsy spirit that affects the heads of those who sleep beneath it. They named the daffodil [Greek omitted] because it numbs the nerves and induces a dull, narcotic heaviness in the limbs, and therefore Sophocles calls it the ancient garland flower of the great (earthly) gods. Some claim that rue was named [Greek omitted] due to its astringent quality; it fixes [Greek omitted] or dries the seed, being quite harmful to pregnant women. But those who think that the herb amethyst [Greek omitted] and the precious stone of the same name are named so because they counteract the effects of wine are mistaken; both derive their names from their color, as the leaf resembles that of weak diluted liquor rather than strong wine. In fact, I could mention many more that are named after their specific virtues. But the knowledge and experience of the ancients is clear in the plants they chose for their garlands when they intended to enjoy a drink; for wine, especially when it affects the head and weakens the body right at the source of the senses, disturbs the whole person. The fragrances of flowers are a remarkable preventative against this; they protect the brain like a citadel against the effects of drunkenness, as those that are warm open the pores and allow the fumes to escape, while those that are moderately cool repel and contain the rising vapors. Such are the violet and rose; the scents from both are effective against any pain and heaviness in the head. The flowers of the privet and crocus help those who have drunk heavily into a gentle sleep; they produce a soft and gentle fragrance that eases all discomfort caused by drunkenness, helping everything to settle and calm down, thus diminishing the harmful effects. The scents of certain flowers, when inhaled, cleanse the organs of sense and gently warm the brain, which is naturally cold, without causing any harm or distress. For this reason, they call those little bouquets they wear around their necks [Greek omitted], and they anointed their chests with the oils pressed from them; Alcaeus attests to this when he encourages his friends.
Pour ointments o'er his laboring temples, pressed
With various cares, and o'er his aged breast.
Apply ointments to his troubled temples, weighed down
By various concerns, and onto his aged chest.For the warm odors shoot upward into the very brain, being drawn up by the nostrils. For they did not call those garlands hung about the neck [Greek omitted] because they thought the heart was the seat and citadel of the mind [Greek omitted], for on that account they should rather have called them [Greek omitted], but, as I said before, from their vapor and exhalation. Besides, it is no strange thing that these smells of garlands should be of so considerable a virtue; for some tell us that the shadow of the yew, especially when it blossoms, kills those that sleep under it; and a subtle spirit ariseth from pressed poppy, which suddenly overcomes the unwary squeezers. And there is an herb called alyssus, which to some that take it in their hands, to others that do but look on it, is found a present remedy against the hiccough; and some affirm that planted near the stalls it preserves sheep and goats from the rot and mange. And the rose is called [Greek omitted], probably because it sends forth a stream [Greek omitted] of odors; and for that reason it withers presently. It is a cooler, yet fiery to look upon; and no wonder, for upon the surface a subtile heat, being driven out by the inward heat, looks vivid and appears.
The warm scents rise up to the brain, pulled in by the nostrils. They didn’t call those garlands worn around the neck [Greek omitted] because they believed the heart was the center of thought [Greek omitted]; if that were the case, they would have called them [Greek omitted]. Instead, as I mentioned before, it’s due to their vapor and fragrance. It’s not surprising that the scents from these garlands have such a strong effect; some say that the shadow of a yew tree, especially when it’s in bloom, can kill those who sleep beneath it, and a potent essence comes from pressed poppy seeds that can suddenly incapacitate unsuspecting handlers. There’s also a herb called alyssus, which is said to cure hiccups for those who touch it or even just look at it, and some claim that when planted near livestock, it protects sheep and goats from rot and mange. The rose is called [Greek omitted], likely because it emits a flow [Greek omitted] of fragrance, which is why it wilts quickly. It’s cool to the touch, yet fiery to the eye; this is no surprise, as a subtle heat from within pushes outward, making it seem vibrant and lively.
QUESTION II. WHETHER IVY IS OF A HOT OR COLD NATURE. AMMONIUS, TRYPHO, ERATO.
QUESTION II. IS IVY HOT OR COLD? AMMONIUS, TRYPHO, ERATO.
Upon this discourse, when we all hummed Trypho, Ammonius with a smile said: It is not decent by any contradiction to pull in pieces, like a chaplet, this various and florid discourse of Trypho's. Yet methinks the ivy is a little oddly interwoven, and unjustly said by its cold powers to temper the heat of strong wine; for it is rather fiery and hot, and its berries steeped in wine make the liquor more apt to inebriate and inflame. And from this cause, as in sticks warped by the fire, proceeds the crookedness of the boughs. And snow, that for many days will lie on other trees, presently melts from the branches of the ivy, and wastes all around, as far as the warmth reaches. But the greatest evidence is this. Theophrastus tells us, that when Alexander commanded Harpalus to plant some Grecian trees in the Babylonian gardens, and—because the climate is very hot and the sun violent—such as were leafy, thick, and fit to make a shade, the ivy only would not grow; though all art and diligence possible were used, it withered and died. For being hot itself, it could not agree with the fiery nature of the soil; for excess in similar qualities is destructive, and therefore we see everything as it were affects its contrary; a cold plant flourishes in a hot ground, and a hot plant is delighted with a cold. Upon which account it is that bleak mountains, exposed to cold winds and snow, bear firs, pines, and the like, full of pitch, fiery, and excellent to make a torch. But besides, Trypho, trees of a cold nature, their little feeble heat not being able to diffuse itself but retiring to the heart, shed their leaves; but their natural oiliness and warmth preserve the laurel, olive, and cypress always green; and the like too in the ivy may be observed. And therefore it is not likely our dear friend Bacchus, who called wine [Greek omitted] intoxicating and himself [Greek omitted], should bring ivy into reputation for being a preservative against drunkenness and an enemy to wine. But in my opinion, as lovers of wine, when they have not any juice of the grape ready, drink ale, mead, cider, or the like; thus he that in winter would have a vine-garland on his head, and finding the vine naked and without leaves, used the ivy that is like it; for its boughs are twisted and irregular, its leaves moist and disorderly confused, but chiefly the berries, like ripening clusters, make an exact representation of the vine. But grant the ivy to be a preservative against drunkenness,—that to please you, Trypho, we may name Bachus a physician,—still I affirm that power to proceed from its heat, which either opens the pores or helps to digest the wine.
Upon this conversation, when we all hummed Trypho, Ammonius, smiling, said: It's not appropriate to pull apart this varied and elaborate discourse of Trypho's like a string of beads. However, I think the ivy is a bit strangely interwoven, and it's wrongly said that its cold properties help balance the heat of strong wine; in reality, it's rather fiery and hot, and its berries soaked in wine make the drink more likely to intoxicate and ignite passion. This explains why, much like sticks warped by fire, the branches become crooked. And snow, which can rest on other trees for days, quickly melts from the ivy's branches, leaving everything around it bare, as far as the warmth extends. But the strongest evidence is this: Theophrastus tells us that when Alexander ordered Harpalus to plant some Greek trees in the Babylonian gardens, which—due to the intense heat and strong sunlight—needed to be leafy, dense, and suitable for creating shade, only the ivy failed to grow; despite all possible care and effort, it withered and died. Being hot itself, it couldn't thrive in the fiery nature of the soil; excess of similar qualities is harmful, and that's why we see everything tends to thrive in its opposite; a cold plant flourishes in warm soil, while a hot plant thrives in cold. This is why harsh mountains, exposed to cold winds and snow, are home to firs, pines, and similar trees, full of pitch, fiery, and excellent for making torches. Additionally, Trypho, cold-natured trees, whose weak heat can't spread and instead retreats to the core, shed their leaves; yet their natural oiliness and warmth keep the laurel, olive, and cypress green year-round; similar traits can also be seen in ivy. Therefore, it seems unlikely that our dear friend Bacchus, who referred to wine as intoxicating and to himself in a certain way, would promote ivy as a remedy against drunkenness and an enemy to wine. To me, it’s like wine lovers, when they don't have any grape juice available, turn to ale, mead, cider, or similar drinks; likewise, someone in winter wanting a vine garland on their head, and finding the vine bare and leafless, would use ivy instead, which resembles it; its branches are twisted and irregular, its leaves lush and somewhat chaotic, but especially the berries resemble ripening clusters, effectively mimicking the vine. But even if we acknowledge ivy as a remedy against drunkenness—just to satisfy you, Trypho, let’s call Bacchus a healer—still, I maintain that its effectiveness comes from its heat, which either opens the pores or aids in digesting the wine.
Upon this Trypho sat silent, studying for an answer. Erato addressing himself to us youths, said: Trypho wants your assistance; help him in this dispute about the garlands, or be content to sit without any. Ammonius too bade us not be afraid, for he would not reply to any of our discourses; and Trypho likewise urging me to propose something, I said: To demonstrate that the ivy is cold is not so proper a task for me as Trypho, for he often useth coolers and binders; but that proposition, that wine in which ivy berries have been is more inebriating, is not true; for that disturbance which it raiseth in those that drink it is not so properly called drunkenness as alienation of mind or madness, such as hyoscyamus and a thousand other things that set men beside themselves usually produce. The crookedness of the bough is no argument at all, for such violent and unnatural effects cannot be supposed to proceed from any natural quality or power. Now sticks are bent by the fire, because that draws the moisture, and so the crookedness is a violent distortion; but the natural heat nourishes and preserves the body. Consider, therefore, whether it is not the weakness and coldness of the body that makes it wind, bend, and creep upon the ground; for those qualities check its rise, and depress it in its ascent, and render it like a weak traveller, that often sits down and then goes on again. And therefore the ivy requires something to twine about, and needs a prop; for it is not able to sustain and direct its own branches, because it wants heat, which naturally tends upward. The snow is melted by the wetness of the leaf, for water destroys it easily, passing through the thin contexture, it being nothing but a congeries of small bubbles; and therefore in very cold but moist places the snow melts as soon as in hot. That it is continually green doth not proceed from its heat, for to shed its leaves doth not argue the coldness of a tree. Thus the myrtle and well fern, though not hot, but confessedly cold, are green all the year. Some imagine this comes from the equal and duly proportioned mixture of the qualities in the leaf, to which Empedocles hath added a certain aptness of pores, through which the nourishing juice is orderly transmitted, so that there is still supply sufficient. But now it is otherwise in trees whose leaves fall, by reason of the wideness of their higher and narrowness of their lower pores; for the latter do not send juice enough, nor do the former keep it, but as soon as a small stock is received pour it out. This may be illustrated from the usual watering of our gardens; for when the distribution is unequal, the plants that are always watered have nourishment enough, seldom wither, and look always green. But you further argue, that being planted in Babylon it would not grow. It was well done of the plant, methinks, being a particular friend and familiar of the Boeotian god, to scorn to live amongst the barbarians, or imitate Alexander in following the manners of those nations; but it was not its heat but cold that was the cause of this aversion, for that could not agree with the contrary quality. For one similar quality doth not destroy but cherish another. Thus dry ground bears thyme, though it is naturally hot. Now at Babylon they say the air is so suffocating, so intolerably hot, that many of the more prosperous sleep upon skins full of water, that they may lie cool.
Trypho sat quietly, thinking for an answer. Erato turned to us young people and said, "Trypho needs your help; assist him with this debate about the garlands, or just sit here without any." Ammonius also told us not to be afraid, as he wouldn’t respond to any of our arguments; and Trypho urged me to suggest something. I replied, "It's not really my place to show that ivy is cold—that’s more Trypho’s area since he often uses coolers and binders. But the idea that wine infused with ivy berries is more intoxicating isn’t true; that disturbance it causes in drinkers isn’t properly called drunkenness, but rather a loss of mental clarity or madness, similar to what hyoscyamus and various other things do to people. The crookedness of the branch doesn’t prove anything, as such extreme and unnatural effects can’t come from any natural quality or power. Sticks bend in the fire because the heat draws out moisture, resulting in a violent distortion; natural heat actually nourishes and supports the body. So, consider whether it’s the weakness and coldness of the body that causes it to bend, stoop, and crawl on the ground; those qualities hinder its upward movement, dragging it down like a weak traveler who often sits down and then gets up again. Therefore, ivy needs something to wrap around and a support because it can’t hold up or guide its own branches due to a lack of heat, which would naturally help it grow upwards. The snow melts because of the moisture on the leaf; water easily breaks it down, passing through its thin structure, which is just made up of tiny bubbles. That’s why in very cold but moist places, snow melts as quickly as it does in hot locations. Its constant greenness doesn’t come from heat, as shedding leaves doesn’t mean the tree is cold. Similarly, the myrtle and common fern, though not hot but recognized as cold, stay green all year round. Some believe this is due to the balanced mixture of qualities in the leaf, which Empedocles noted is aided by a specific arrangement of pores that allows the nourishing juice to flow properly, maintaining enough supply. In contrast, trees that lose their leaves suffer because the upper pores are wide while the lower ones are narrow; the lower pores don’t provide enough juice, and the upper pores quickly release whatever small amount they receive. You can see this from the way we water our gardens; when the watering is uneven, the plants that get enough water thrive, rarely wither, and always look green. But you also argue that it wouldn’t grow if planted in Babylon. I think it was wise of the plant, being a close friend of the Boeotian god, to avoid living among the barbarians or imitating Alexander by adopting their ways. But it wasn’t heat that drove it away; rather it was the cold that didn’t mix well with the opposing quality. One similar quality doesn’t destroy but supports another. So, dry soil produces thyme, despite its natural heat. In Babylon, they say the air is so stifling and unbearably hot that many wealthier people sleep on water-filled skins to stay cool.
QUESTION III. WHY WOMEN ARE HARDLY, OLD MEN EASILY, FOXED. FLORUS, SYLLA.
QUESTION III. WHY WOMEN ARE HARDLY FOOLED, OLD MEN EASILY. FLORUS, SYLLA.
Florus thought it strange that Aristotle in his discourse of Drunkenness, affirming that old men are easily, women hardly, overtaken, did not assign the cause, since he seldom failed on such occasions. Therefore he proposed it to us (we were a great many acquaintance met at supper) as a fit subject for our inquiry. Sylla began: One part will conduce to the discovery of the other; and if we rightly hit the cause in relation to the women, the difficulty, as it concerns the old men, will be easily despatched; for their two natures are quite contrary. Moistness, smoothness, and softness belong to the one; and dryness, roughness, and hardness are the accidents of the other. As for women, I think the principal cause is the moistness of their temper; this produceth a softness in the flesh, a shining smoothness, and their usual purgations. Now when wine is mixed with a great deal of weak liquor, it is overpowered by that, loses its strength, and becomes flat and waterish. Some reason likewise may be drawn from Aristotle himself; for he affirms that those that drink fast, and take a large draught without drawing breath, are seldom overtaken, because the wine doth not stay long in their bodies, but having acquired an impetus by this greedy drinking, suddenly runs through; and women are generally observed to drink after that manner. Besides, it is probable that their bodies, by reason of the continual deduction of the moisture in order to their usual purgations, are very porous, and divided as it were into many little pipes and conduits; into which when the wine falls, it is quickly conveyed away, and doth not lie and fret the principal parts, from whose disturbance drunkenness proceeds. But that old men want the natural moisture, even the name [Greek omitted], in my opinion, intimates; for that name was given them not as stooping to the earth [Greek omitted] but as being in the habit of their body [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], earthlike and earthy. Besides, the stiffness and roughness prove the dryness of their nature. Therefore it is probable that, when they drink, their body, being grown spongy by the dryness of its nature, soaks up the wine, and that lying in the vessels it affects the senses and prevents the natural motions. For as floods of water glide over the close grounds, nor make them slabby, but quickly sink into the open and chapped fields; thus wine, being sucked in by the dry parts, lies and works in the bodies of old men. But besides, it is easy to observe, that age of itself hath all the symptoms of drunkenness. These symptoms everybody knows; viz., shaking of the joints, faltering of the tongue, babbling, passion, forgetfulness, and distraction of the mind; many of which being incident to old men, even whilst they are well and in perfect health, are heightened by any little irregularity and accidental debauch. So that drunkenness doth not beget in old men any new and proper symptoms, but only intend and increase the common ones. And an evident sign of this is, that nothing is so like an old man as a young man drunk.
Florus found it odd that Aristotle, in his discussion about drunkenness, claimed that old men get drunk easily while women do not, without explaining why—something he usually does. So, he brought it up to us (we were a large group of friends having dinner) as a suitable topic for discussion. Sylla started: Understanding one aspect will help us understand the other; if we figure out the reason for women, we can easily tackle the issue regarding old men since their natures are completely different. Moistness, smoothness, and softness apply to women, while dryness, roughness, and hardness define men. I believe the main reason for women is their moist temperament, which creates softness in their flesh, a shiny smoothness, and regular purging. When wine is mixed with a lot of weak drink, it gets diluted, loses its potency, and becomes flat and watery. Additionally, Aristotle suggests that those who drink quickly and gulp down a lot without taking a breath seldom get drunk because the wine doesn't stay in their bodies long; it quickly rushes through after being greedily consumed, and women tend to drink like that. Moreover, it's likely that their bodies, due to constant moisture removal for typical purging, are very porous, almost like many tiny pipes and channels; when wine enters, it is swiftly carried away, preventing it from lingering and affecting the main bodily functions that lead to drunkenness. On the other hand, old men seem to lack natural moisture, as their name suggests; it wasn't given because they stoop to the ground but because of their bodily characteristics appearing earthlike. Furthermore, their stiffness and roughness indicate their dry nature. So, it's likely that when they drink, their bodies, having become spongy due to their natural dryness, absorb the wine, which then stays in their systems and impacts their senses, disrupting normal functions. Just as water flows over hard ground without making it muddy but sinks quickly into open and dry areas, wine gets absorbed by the dry parts of old men's bodies, where it remains and causes effects. Additionally, it's noticeable that aging itself exhibits many drunken-like symptoms. These symptoms are well-known: shaking joints, slurred speech, rambling, emotional outbursts, forgetfulness, and mental distractions—many of which often occur in old men even when they are healthy, and they worsen with minor irregularities or excess. Thus, drunkenness does not introduce new symptoms in old men; it merely intensifies the usual ones. A clear indication of this is that nothing resembles an old man more than a young man who is drunk.
QUESTION IV. WHETHER THE TEMPER OF WOMEN IS COLDER OR HOTTER THAN THAT OF MEN. APOLLONIDES, ATHRYILATUS.
QUESTION IV. IS THE TEMPERAMENT OF WOMEN COLDER OR HOTTER THAN THAT OF MEN? APOLLONIDES, ATHRYILATUS.
Thus Sylla said, and Apollonides the marshal subjoined: Sir, what you discoursed of old men I willingly admit; but in my opinion you have omitted a considerable reason in relation to the women, viz., the coldness of their temper, which quencheth the heat of the strongest wine, and makes it lose all its destructive force and fire. This reflection seeming reasonable, Athryilatus the Thasian, a physician, kept us from a hasty conclusion in this matter, by saying that some supposed the female sex was not cold, but hotter than the male; and others thought wine rather cold than hot.
Thus, Sylla said, and Apollonides the marshal added: Sir, I agree with what you said about old men; however, I believe you’ve overlooked an important point regarding women: their cool temperament, which can dull the intensity of even the strongest wine, making it lose all its dangerous power and spirit. This observation seemed valid, and Athryilatus the Thasian, a physician, stopped us from jumping to conclusions by pointing out that some believed women were not cold but rather hotter than men, while others thought wine was more cold than hot.
When Florus seemed surprised at this discourse, Athryilatus continued: Sir, what I mention about wine I shall leave to this man to make out (pointing to me, for a few days before we had handled the same matter). But that women are of a hot constitution, some suppose, may be proved, first, from their smoothness, for their heat wastes all the superfluous nourishment which breeds hair; secondly from their abundance of blood, which seems to be the fountain and source of all the heat that is in the body;—now this abounds so much in females, that they would be all on fire, unless relieved by frequent and sudden evacuations. Thirdly, from a usual practice of the sextons in burning the bodies of the dead, it is evident that females are hotter than males; for the bedsmen are wont to put one female body with ten males upon the same pile, for that contains some inflammable and oily parts, and serves for fuel to the rest. Besides, if that that is soonest fit for generation is hottest, and a maid begins to be furious sooner than a boy, this is a strong proof of the hotness of the female sex. But a more convincing proof follows: women endure cold better than men, they are not so sensible of the sharpness of the weather, and are contented with a few clothes.
When Florus seemed surprised by this conversation, Athryilatus continued: Sir, I'll leave it to this man to elaborate on what I mentioned about wine (pointing to me, since we had discussed the same topic a few days earlier). However, the idea that women have a fiery nature can be supported in several ways. First, their smooth skin shows that their heat consumes any excess nourishment that would cause hair growth. Second, their rich blood seems to be the source of all the heat in their bodies; women have so much of it that they would be ablaze if not relieved by frequent and sudden releases. Third, it's clear that women are hotter than men based on a common practice among the sextons who cremate bodies. They tend to place one female body with ten male bodies on the same pyre because the female body contains some flammable and oily parts that help fuel the fire for the others. Moreover, if what's quickest to be ready for reproduction is the hottest, and a girl shows signs of lust earlier than a boy, that strongly supports the notion of women's heat. But there’s an even stronger argument: women tolerate cold better than men, they are less affected by harsh weather, and they are satisfied with minimal clothing.
And Florus replied: Methinks, sir, from the same topics I could draw conclusions against your assertion. For, first, they endure cold better, because one similar quality doth not so readily act upon another; and then again, their seed is not active in generation, but passive matter and nourishment to that which the male injects. But more, women grow effete sooner than men; that they burn better than the males proceeds from their fat, which is the coldest part of the body; and young men, or such as use exercise, have but little fat. Their monthly purgations do not prove the abundance, but the corruption and badness, of their blood; for being the superfluous and undigested part, and having no convenient vessel in the body it flows out, and appears languid and feculent, by reason of the weakness of its heat. And the shivering that seizes them at the time of their purgations sufficiently proves that which flows from them is cold and undigested. And who will believe their smoothness to be an effect of heat rather than cold, when everybody knows that the hottest parts of a body are the most hairy? For all such excrements are thrust out by the heat, which opens and makes passages through the skin; but smoothness is a consequent of that closeness of the superficies which proceeds from condensing cold. And that the flesh of women is closer than that of men, you may be informed by those that lie with women that have anointed themselves with oil or other perfumes; for though they do not touch the women, yet they find themselves perfumed, their bodies by reason of their heat and rarity drawing the odor to them. But I think we have disputed plausibly and sufficiently of this matter....
And Florus replied, "I think, sir, I could also use the same points to argue against your claim. First, women tolerate cold better, because similar qualities don’t easily affect one another. Additionally, their reproductive matter is passive; it serves as nourishment for what the male contributes, rather than being active in reproduction. Furthermore, women lose their vitality sooner than men; their ability to burn fat better than men comes from the fact that fat is the coldest part of the body, while young men or those who exercise have very little fat. Their monthly cycles don’t indicate abundance, but rather the corruption and poor quality of their blood; as it is the excess and undigested part that lacks a suitable vessel, it flows out, appearing weak and dirty due to the lack of heat. The shivering they experience during these cycles is clear proof that what is expelled is cold and undigested. And who would believe their smoothness is caused by heat instead of cold, when it's well-known that the hottest areas of a body have the most hair? All such waste is expelled by heat, which opens and creates passages through the skin, while smoothness is a result of the skin’s compactness caused by cooling. You can confirm that women’s flesh is denser than men’s from the experience of those who have been with women who have used oil or perfumes; even if they don’t touch the women, they find themselves smelling pleasant because their warm and less dense bodies draw in the scent. But I believe we have discussed this matter thoroughly enough..."
QUESTION V. WHETHER WINE IS POTENTIALLY COLD. ATHRYILATUS, PLUTARCH.
QUESTION V. DOES WINE HAVE THE POTENTIAL TO BE COLD? ATHRYILATUS, PLUTARCH.
But now I would fain know upon what account you can imagine that wine is cold. Then, said I, do you believe this to be my opinion? Yes, said he, whose else? And I replied: I remember a good while ago I met with a discourse of Aristotle's upon this very question. And Epicurus, in his Banquet, hath a long discourse, the sum of which is that wine of itself is not hot, but that it contains some atoms that cause heat, and others that cause cold; now, when it is taken into the body, it loses one sort of particles and takes the other out of the body itself, as it agrees with one's nature and constitution; so that some when they are drunk are very hot, and others very cold.
But now I’d like to know why you think wine is cold. Then I asked him, do you really think that’s my opinion? Yes, he said, whose else could it be? I replied: I remember a while ago I came across a discussion by Aristotle on this very topic. And Epicurus, in his Banquet, has a lengthy discussion that concludes that wine itself isn’t hot, but contains some particles that produce heat and others that produce cold. When it’s consumed, it loses one type of particle and absorbs the other from the body, according to one’s nature and constitution; so, some people get really hot when they’re drunk, while others get very cold.
This way of talking, said Florus, leads us by Protagoras directly to Pyrrho; for it is evident that, suppose we were to discourse of oil, milk, honey, or the like, we shall avoid all inquiry into their particular natures by saying that things are so and so by their mutual mixture with one another. But how do you prove that wine is cold? And I, being forced to speak extempore, replied: By two arguments. The first I draw from the practice of physicians, for when their patients' stomachs grow very weak, they prescribe no hot things, and yet give them wine as an excellent remedy. Besides, they stop looseness and immoderate sweating by wine; and this shows that they think it more binding and constipating than snow itself. Now if it were potentially hot, I should think it as wise a thing to apply fire to snow as wine to the stomach.
"This way of talking," said Florus, "takes us from Protagoras directly to Pyrrho; because if we start discussing oil, milk, honey, or similar items, we can avoid examining their specific natures by saying that things are what they are due to their mix with each other. But how can you prove that wine is cold? I had to think on my feet and answered: I have two points. The first comes from what doctors do; when their patients have very weak stomachs, they don’t recommend hot foods, yet they still prescribe wine as a great remedy. They also use wine to stop diarrhea and excessive sweating, which suggests they believe it’s more binding and constipating than snow. If it were potentially hot, it would be as sensible to apply fire to snow as it would be to give wine to the stomach."
Again, most teach that sleep proceeds from the coolness of the parts; and most of the narcotic medicines, as mandrake and opium, are coolers. Those indeed work violently, and forcibly condense, but wine cools by degrees; it gently stops the motion, according as it hath more or less of such narcotic qualities. Besides, heat has a generative power; for owing to heat the fluid flows easily and the vital spirit gets vigor and a stimulating force. Now the great drinkers are very dull, inactive fellows, no women's men at all; they eject nothing strong, vigorous, and fit for generation, but are weak and unperforming, by reason of the bad digestion and coldness of their seed. And it is farther observable that the effects of cold and drunkenness upon men's bodies are the same,—trembling, heaviness, paleness, shivering, faltering of tongue, numbness, and cramps. In many, a debauch ends in a dead palsy, when the wine stupefies and extinguisheth all the heat. And the physicians use this method in curing the qualms and diseases gotten by debauch; at night they cover them well and keep them warm; and at day they annoint and bathe, and give them such food as shall not disturb, but by degrees recover the heat which the wine hath scattered and driven out of the body. Thus, I added, in these appearances we trace obscure qualities and powers; but as for drunkenness, it is easily known what it is. For, in my opinion, as I hinted before, those that are drunk are very much like old men; and therefore great drinkers grow old soonest, and they are commonly bald and gray before their time; and all these accidents certainly proceed from want of heat. But mere vinegar is of a vinous nature, and nothing quenches fire so soon as that; its extreme coldness overcomes and kills the flame presently. And of all fruits physicians use the vinous as the greatest coolers, as pomegranates and apples. Besides, do they not make wine by mixing honey with rain-water or snow; for the cold, because those two qualities are near akin, if it prevails, changes the luscious into a poignant taste? And did not the ancients of all the creeping beasts consecrate the snake to Bacchus, and of all the plants the ivy, because they were of a cold and frozen nature? Now, lest any one should think this is a proof of its heat, that if a man takes juice of hemlock, a large dose of wine cures him, I shall, on the contrary affirm that wine and hemlock juice mixed is an incurable poison, and kills him that drinks it presently. So that we can no more conclude it to be hot because it resists, than to be cold because it assists, the poison. For cold is the only quality by which hemlock juice works and kills.
Again, most people believe that sleep comes from the coolness of the body. Most narcotic medicines, like mandrake and opium, have cooling effects. While these can be quite strong and forcefully compress the senses, wine cools gradually; it slows down the body’s activity depending on how much of those narcotic qualities it contains. Moreover, heat has a generating power; it allows fluids to flow smoothly, energizing the vital spirit and providing stimulation. However, heavy drinkers tend to be sluggish and inactive; they're not appealing to women at all. They don't produce anything strong, vigorous, or suitable for reproduction, instead being weak and unproductive due to poor digestion and the coldness in their bodily fluids. It's also worth noting that the effects of cold and drunkenness on the body are similar—trembling, heaviness, paleness, shivering, slurred speech, numbness, and cramps. In many cases, a binge can lead to a paralysis-like state when alcohol dulls and extinguishes all warmth. Physicians use a specific approach to treating the nausea and illnesses caused by excess drinking: at night, they keep the patient warm and covered, and during the day, they apply ointments, give baths, and provide food that won't upset the stomach but gradually helps restore the heat that alcohol has dispersed from the body. Thus, I added, in these phenomena, we see unclear qualities and powers; however, drunkenness is easily recognizable. In my opinion, as I mentioned earlier, people who are drunk resemble old men quite a bit; that's why heavy drinkers tend to age faster, often going bald and graying prematurely; all these effects clearly stem from a lack of heat. But pure vinegar has a vinous nature, and nothing puts out a fire as quickly as it does; its extreme cold instantly extinguishes the flame. Among all fruits, doctors consider vinous fruits, like pomegranates and apples, to be the strongest coolers. Furthermore, don't they make wine by mixing honey with rainwater or snow? When the cold is dominant, it transforms the sweet taste into something sharp and pungent. And didn’t the ancients dedicate the snake to Bacchus, and the ivy among plants, due to their cold and frozen characteristics? Now, lest anyone think that the ability for a large dose of wine to cure someone who has ingested hemlock juice proves wine's warmth, I must assert the opposite: a mixture of wine and hemlock juice is an incurable poison that kills anyone who drinks it immediately. Therefore, we cannot conclude that something is hot because it counters poison, nor that it is cold because it helps with it. Cold is the sole quality that enables hemlock juice to operate and be lethal.
QUESTION VI. WHICH IS THE FITTEST TIME FOR A MAN TO KNOW HIS WIFE? YOUTHS, ZOPYRUS, OLYMPICHUS, SOCLARUS.
QUESTION VI. WHAT IS THE BEST TIME FOR A MAN TO GET TO KNOW HIS WIFE? YOUNG MEN, ZOPYRUS, OLYMPICHUS, SOCLARUS.
Some young students, that had not gone far in the learning of the ancients, inveighed against Epicurus for bringing in, in his Svmposium, an impertinent and unseemly discourse, about what time was best to lie with a woman; for an old man at supper in the company of youths to talk of such a subject, and dispute whether after or before supper was the most convenient time, argued him to be a very loose and debauched man. To this some said that Xenophon, after his entertainment was ended, sent all his guests home on horseback, to lie with their wives. But Zopyrus the physician, a man very well read in Epicurus, said, that they had not duly weighed that piece; for he did not propose that question first, and then discuss that matter on purpose; but after supper he desired the young men to take a walk, and he then discoursed on it, that he might persuade them to continence, and to abate their desires and restrain their appetites; showing them that it was very dangerous at all times, but especially after they had been eating or making merry. But suppose he had proposed this as the chief topic for discourse, doth it never become a philosopher to inquire which is the convenient and proper time? Ought we not to time it well, and direct our embrace by reason? Or may such discourse be otherwise allowed, and must they be thought unseemly problems to be proposed at table? Indeed I am of another mind. It is true, I should blame a philosopher that in the middle of the day, in the schools, before all sorts of men, should discourse of such a subject; but over a glass of wine between friends and acquaintance, when it is necessary to propose something beside dull, serious discourse, why should it be a fault to hear or speak anything that may inform our judgments or direct our practice in such matters? And I protest I had rather that Zeno had inserted his loose topics in some merry discourses and agreeable table-talk, than in such a grave, serious piece as his politics.
Some young students, who hadn’t progressed much in learning from the ancients, criticized Epicurus for including an inappropriate and awkward discussion in his Symposium about the best time to sleep with a woman. They felt it was inappropriate for an older man, dining with young people, to talk about such topics and debate whether it was better to do it before or after dinner, which made him seem very immoral and debauched. Some mentioned that Xenophon, after his dinner parties, sent his guests home on horseback to be with their wives. But Zopyrus the physician, who was well-versed in Epicurus, argued that they hadn’t fully considered his point; Epicurus didn’t bring up that question first nor discuss it on purpose, but rather, after dinner, he encouraged the young men to take a walk, using the topic to persuade them towards self-control, advising them to temper their desires and manage their appetites—especially warning that it was dangerous at all times, particularly after they had been eating or celebrating. But even if he had introduced it as the main topic for discussion, isn’t it appropriate for a philosopher to inquire about the right and suitable time? Shouldn’t we consider timing wisely and ensure our actions are guided by reason? Or is such a discussion unacceptable and should we view these questions as inappropriate to raise at the table? I actually think differently. True, I would criticize a philosopher for discussing such a subject in the middle of the day, in schools, among all kinds of people; but over a glass of wine with friends, when it’s essential to bring up something beyond dull, serious talk, why would it be wrong to listen to or share anything that could help us think more clearly or guide our actions in these matters? I’d actually prefer if Zeno had included his risqué topics in lighthearted conversations at a dinner table rather than in such a serious work as his politics.
The youth, startled at this free declaration, sat silent; and the rest of the company desired Zopyrus to deliver Epicurus's sentiment. He said: The particulars I cannot remember; but I believe he feared the violent agitations of such exercises, because the bodies employed in them are so violently disturbed. For it is certain that wine is a very great disturber, and puts the body out of its usual temper; and therefore, when thus disquieted, if quiet and sleep do not compose it but other agitations seize it, it is likely that those parts which knit and join the members may be loosened, and the whole frame be as it were unsettled from its foundation and overthrown. For then likewise the seed cannot freely pass, but is confusedly and forcibly thrown out, because the liquor hath filled the vessels of the body, and stopped its way. Therefore, says Epicurus, we must use those sports when the body is at quiet, when the meat hath been thoroughly digested, carried about and applied to several parts of the body, so that we begin to want a fresh supply of food. To this of Epicurus we might join an argument taken from physic. At day-time, while our digestion is performing, we are not so lusty nor eager to embrace; and presently after supper to endeavor it is dangerous, for the crudity of the stomach, the food being yet undigested, may be disorderly motion upon this crudity, and so the mischief be double. Olympicus, continuing the discourse, said: I very much like what Clinias the Pythagorean delivers. For the story goes that, being asked when a man should lie with a woman, he replied, when he hath a mind to receive the greatest mischief that he can. For Zopyrus's discourse seems rational, and other times as well as those he mentions have their peculiar inconveniences. And therefore,—as Thales the philosopher, to free himself from the pressing solicitations of his mother who advised him to marry, said at first, 'tis not yet time; and when, now he was growing old, she repeated her admonition, replied, nor is it now time,—so it is best for every man to have the same mind in relation to those sports of Venus; when he goes to bed, let him say, 'tis not yet time; and when he rises, 'tis not now time.
The young man, surprised by this open statement, sat quietly; and the rest of the group urged Zopyrus to share Epicurus's viewpoint. He said: I can’t remember the details, but I think he was concerned about the intense disruptions caused by such activities since the bodies involved get so thrown off balance. It's a fact that wine is a huge disruptor and can really upset the body's normal state; so, when it's disturbed in this way, if rest and sleep don't soothe it but instead other disturbances take over, it’s likely that the parts that connect and hold the body may become loose, and the entire structure can feel unsettled and toppled. At that point, the seed also can’t pass freely, but is instead expelled chaotically and forcefully because the liquid has filled the body's pathways and blocked the way. Therefore, says Epicurus, we should engage in those activities when the body is calm, after the food has been fully digested and distributed throughout the body, so that we start craving a new supply of food. To this idea from Epicurus, we could add a point from medicine. During the day, while our digestion is taking place, we aren’t as vigorous or eager to engage, and attempting to do so right after dinner can be risky since the food is still undigested, which can lead to chaotic reactions due to the undigested food, making the problem even worse. Olympicus, continuing the discussion, said: I really like what Clinias the Pythagorean has to say. The story goes that when asked when a man should sleep with a woman, he replied, when he wants to invite the biggest trouble he can. Zopyrus's argument seems reasonable, and there are other times besides those he mentioned that have their own issues. So, just as Thales the philosopher, trying to escape his mother’s persistent advice to marry, first replied, 'it’s not the right time yet'; and when she brought it up again as he was getting older, said, 'nor is it the right time now'—it’s best for every man to have the same mindset regarding the pursuits of Venus; when he goes to bed, he should think, 'it's not the right time yet'; and when he gets up, 'it's not the right time now.'
What you say, Olympicus, said Soclarus interposing, befits wrestlers indeed; it smells, methinks, of their meals of flesh and casks of wine, but is not suitable to the resent company, for there are some young married men here,
What you’re saying, Olympicus, Soclarus interrupted, is fitting for wrestlers; it feels, to me, like it’s coming straight from their meat-heavy meals and barrels of wine, but it doesn’t suit the company we have here, since we have some young married men present.
Whose duty 'tis to follow Venus' sports.
Whose responsibility it is to pursue Venus' games.
Nay, we ourselves seem to have some relation to Venus still, when in our hymns to the gods we pray thus to her,
Nay, we still seem to have some connection to Venus when we pray to her in our hymns to the gods like this,
Fair Venus, keep off feeble age.
Fair Venus, stay away from weak old age.
But waiving this, let us inquire (if you think fit) whether Epicurus does well, when contrary to all right and equity he separates Venus and the Night, though Menander, a man well skilled in love matters, says that she likes her company better than that of any of the gods. For, in my opinion, night is a very convenient veil, spread over those that give themselves to that kind of pleasure; for it is not fit that day should be the time, lest modesty should be banished from our eyes, effeminacy grow bold, and such vigorous impressions on our memories be left, as might still possess us with the same fancies and raise new inclinations. For the sight (according to Plato) receives a more vigorous impression than any other bodily organ, and joining with the imagination, that lies near it, works presently upon the soul, and ever causes fresh desires by those images of pleasure which it brings. But the night, hiding many and the most furious of the actions, quiets and lulls nature, and doth not suffer it to be carried to intemperance by the eye. But besides this, how absurd is it, that a man returning from an entertainment merry perhaps and jocund, crowned and perfumed, should cover himself up, turn his back to his wife, and go to sleep; and then at day-time, in the midst of his business, send for her out of her apartment to serve his pleasure or in the morning, as a cock treads his hens. No, sir the evening is the end of our labor, and the morning the beginning. Bacchus the Loosener and Terpsichore and Thalia preside over the former; and the latter raiseth us up betimes to attend on Minerva the Work-mistress, and Mercury the merchandiser. And therefore songs, dances, and epithalamiums, merry-meetings, with balls and feasts, and sounds of pipes and flutes, are the entertainment of the one; but in the other, nothing but the noise of hammers and anvils, the scratching of saws, the city cries, citations to court or to attend this or that prince and magistrate are heard.
But putting that aside, let’s ask (if you think it's appropriate) whether Epicurus is right to separate Venus and Night, even though Menander, who is quite knowledgeable about love, suggests that she prefers the company of Night over that of any gods. In my view, night serves as a perfect cover for those indulging in pleasure; it's not appropriate for day to be the time for such acts, as that would drive modesty away, encourage shamelessness, and leave strong impressions in our minds that could lead to persistent desires and new inclinations. According to Plato, sight leaves a stronger impression than any other sense, and when linked with the imagination, which is closely related, it quickly impacts the soul and constantly stirs up new desires through the images of pleasure it presents. However, Night conceals many of the most intense actions, soothing and calming our nature, preventing it from being driven to excess by what our eyes see. Moreover, how ridiculous is it for a man to come home from a party, perhaps feeling cheerful and lively, adorned and scented, only to cover himself up, turn away from his wife, and go to sleep; and then during the day, in the middle of his business, call for her from her room to satisfy his needs, or in the morning, like a rooster mating with hens? No, the evening marks the end of our work, and morning signifies the beginning. Bacchus the Liberator, Terpsichore, and Thalia preside over the evening; the morning lifts us to serve Minerva the Mistress of Work and Mercury the Merchant. Therefore, the evening is filled with songs, dances, joyful gatherings, parties and feasts, and the sounds of pipes and flutes; while the morning is filled with the clanging of hammers and anvils, the grinding of saws, the cries of street vendors, and summons to court or to attend to various princes and officials.
Then all the sports of pleasure disappear,
Then Venus, then gay youth removes:
No Thyrsus then which Bacchus loves;
But all is clouded and o'erspread with care.
Then all the fun and games fade away,
Then Venus, then lively youth departs:
No Thyrsus that Bacchus cherishes;
But everything is shrouded and overwhelmed with worry.Besides, Homer makes not one of the heroes lie with his wife or mistress in the day-time, but only Paris, who, having shamefully fled from the battle, sneaked into the embraces of his wife; intimating that such lasciviousness by day did not befit the sober temper of a man, but the mad lust of an adulterer. But, moreover, the body will not (as Epicurus fancies) be injured more after supper than at any other time, unless a man be drunk or overcharged,—for in those cases, no doubt, it is very dangerous and hurtful. But if a man is only raised and cheered, not overpowered by liquor, if his body is pliable, his mind agreeing, and then he sports, he need not fear any disturbance from the load he has within him; he need not fear catching cold, or too great a transportation of atoms, which Epicurus makes the cause of all the ensuing harm. For if he lies quiet he will quickly fill again, and new spirits will supply the vessels that are emptied.
Besides, Homer doesn’t show any of the heroes sleeping with their wives or mistresses during the day, except for Paris, who shamefully ran away from battle and sneaked into his wife's arms; this suggests that such indulgence during the day is inappropriate for a respectable man, but rather suits the reckless desires of an adulterer. Furthermore, the body doesn’t get hurt more after dinner than at any other time, except if someone is drunk or overindulged — in those situations, it’s definitely risky and harmful. However, if a person is just lighthearted and not overly intoxicated, if their body is relaxed, their mind is in agreement, and then they engage in activities, they shouldn’t worry about any negative effects from what they’ve consumed; they shouldn’t fear getting cold or an excessive movement of atoms, which Epicurus claims causes all subsequent harm. Because if they stay still, they will soon refill, and new spirits will replace the empty vessels.
But this is to be especially taken care of, that, the body being then in a ferment and disturbed, no cares of the soul, no business about necessary affairs, no labor, should distract and seize it, lest they should corrupt and sour its humors, Nature not having had time enough for settling what has been disturbed. For, sir, all men have not the command of that happy ease and tranquillity which Epicurus's philosophy procured him; for many great incumbrances seize almost upon every one every day, or at least some disquiets; and it is not safe to trust the body with any of these, when it is in such a condition and disturbance, presently after the fury and heat of the embrace is over. Let, according to his opinion, the happy and immortal deity sit at ease and never mind us; but if we regard the laws of our country, we must not dare to enter into the temple and offer sacrifice, if but a little before we have done any such thing. It is fit therefore to let night and sleep intervene, and after there is a sufficient space of time past between, to rise as it were pure and new, and (as Democritus was wont to say) "with new thoughts upon the new day."
But we need to be especially careful that, when the body is still unsettled and agitated, no concerns of the soul, no urgent matters, and no work should distract or overwhelm it, as they could upset and spoil its balance because Nature hasn’t had enough time to calm what has been disturbed. Because, honestly, not everyone has the kind of peace and calm that Epicurus's philosophy gave him; many burdens affect almost everyone every day, or at least create some worries. It’s not wise to burden the body with any of these when it’s in such a state and after the intensity and heat of the moment has passed. According to him, let the happy and immortal deity relax and ignore us; but if we respect the laws of our country, we shouldn’t dare to enter the temple and make a sacrifice if we’ve just engaged in something similar. Therefore, it’s best to allow for night and sleep to intervene, and after a sufficient amount of time has passed, rise feeling fresh and renewed, with “new thoughts for the new day,” as Democritus used to say.
QUESTION VII. WHY NEW WINE DOTH NOT INEBRIATE AS SOON AS OTHER. PLUTARCH, HIS FATHER, HAGIAS, ARISTAENETUS, AND OTHER YOUTH.
QUESTION VII. WHY NEW WINE DOES NOT GET YOU DRUNK AS QUICKLY AS OTHER WINES. PLUTARCH, HIS FATHER, HAGIAS, ARISTAENETUS, AND OTHER YOUNG PEOPLE.
At Athens on the eleventh day of February (thence called [Greek omitted] THE BARREL-OPENING), they began to taste their new wine; and in old times (as it appears), before they drank, they offered some to the gods, and prayed that that cordial liquor might prove good and wholesome. By us Thebans the month is named [Greek omitted], and it is our custom upon the sixth day to sacrifice to our good Genius and then taste our new wine, after the zephyr has done blowing; for that wind makes wine ferment more than any other, and the liquor that can bear this fermentation is of a strong body and will keep well. My father offered the usual sacrifice, and when after supper the young men, my fellow-students, commended the wine, he started this question: Why does not new wine inebriate as soon as other? This seemed a paradox and incredible to most of us; but Hagias said, that luscious things were cloying and would presently satiate, and therefore few could drink enough to make them drunk; for when once the thirst is allayed, the appetite would be quickly palled by that unpleasant liquor; for that a luscious is different from a sweet taste, even the poet intimates, when he says,
At Athens on February 11th (now called THE BARREL-OPENING), they started to taste their new wine. In ancient times, before drinking, they offered some to the gods and prayed that it would be good and healthful. We Thebans call this month [Greek omitted], and on the sixth day, we sacrifice to our good spirit and then taste our new wine, after the zephyr has stopped blowing. That wind ferments wine more than any other, and the wine that can handle this fermentation is strong and will last well. My father made the usual sacrifice, and after dinner, when the young men, my classmates, praised the wine, he raised this question: Why doesn’t new wine get people drunk as quickly as other wines? This seemed like a paradox and unbelievable to most of us, but Hagias said that rich things can be overwhelming and quickly satisfy, so few can drink enough to become drunk; once the thirst is quenched, the enjoyment fades quickly due to that unpleasant drink. Even the poet suggests that a rich flavor is different from a sweet taste when he says,
With luscious wine, and with sweet milk and cheese.
("Odyssey, xx. 69.)
With rich wine, and with sweet milk and cheese.
("Odyssey, xx. 69.)Wine at first is sweet; afterward, as it grows old, it ferments and begins to be pricked a little; then it gets a sweet taste.
Wine is sweet at first; then, as it ages, it ferments and starts to become a bit sharper; finally, it develops a sweet flavor.
Aristaenetus the Nicaean said, that he remembered he had read somewhere that sweet things mixed with wine make it less heady, and that some physicians prescribe to one that hath drunk freely, before he goes to bed, a crust of bread dipped in honey. And therefore, if sweet mixtures weaken strong wine, it is reasonable that wine should not be heady till it hath lost its sweetness.
Aristaenetus the Nicaean said that he remembered reading somewhere that sweet things mixed with wine make it less intoxicating, and that some doctors recommend drinking a piece of bread dipped in honey for someone who has had a lot to drink before going to bed. So, if sweet mixtures weaken strong wine, it makes sense that wine shouldn't be too potent until it has lost its sweetness.
We admired the acuteness of the young philosophers, and were well pleased to see them propose something out of the common road and give us their own sentiments on this matter. Now the common and obvious reason is the heaviness of new wine,—which (as Aristotle says) violently presseth the stomach,—or the abundance of airy and watery parts that lie in it; the former of which, as soon as they are pressed, fly out; and the watery parts are naturally fit to weaken the spirituous liquor. Now, when it grows old, the juice is improved, and though by the separation of the watery parts it loses in quantity, it gets in strength.
We admired how sharp the young philosophers were and were happy to see them suggest something outside the ordinary and share their own thoughts on the matter. The usual explanation is that new wine is heavy, which (as Aristotle says) puts a strain on the stomach, or that it has too many airy and watery components. The first of these quickly evaporates once pressed, while the watery parts tend to dilute the alcoholic drink. However, when it ages, the juice improves, and even though it loses volume due to the separation of the watery parts, it gains strength.
QUESTION VIII. WHY DO THOSE THAT ARE STARK DRUNK SEEM NOT SO MUCH DEBAUCHED AS THOSE THAT ARE BUT HALF FOXED? PLUTARCH, HIS FATHER.
QUESTION VIII. WHY DO THOSE THAT ARE COMPLETELY DRUNK SEEM NOT AS DEBAUCHED AS THOSE THAT ARE JUST HALF DRUNK? PLUTARCH, HIS FATHER.
Well then, said my father, since we have fallen upon Aristotle, I will endeavor to propose something of my own concerning those that are half drunk; for, in my mind, though he was a very acute man, he is not accurate enough in such matters. They usually say, I think, that a sober man's understanding apprehends things right and judges well; the sense of one quite drunk is weak and enfeebled; but of him that is half drunk the fancy is vigorous and the understanding weakened, and therefore, following their own fancies, they judge, but judge ill. But pray, sirs, what is your opinion in these matters?
Well then, my father said, since we've come across Aristotle, I’m going to share my thoughts on people who are half drunk. I believe that although he was a smart guy, he wasn’t precise enough on this topic. They often say that a sober person understands things correctly and judges well; a completely drunk person’s sense is impaired and weak. But someone who is half drunk has a lively imagination and a weakened understanding, so they follow their own fancy and make poor judgments. But please, what do you all think about this?
This reason, I replied, would satisfy me upon a private disquisition; but if you will have my own sentiments, let us first consider, whether this difference doth not proceed from the different temper of the body. For of those that are only half drunk, the mind alone is disturbed, but the body not being quite overwhelmed is yet able to obey its motions; but when it is too much oppressed and the wine has overpowered it, it betrays and frustrates the motions of the mind, for men in such a condition never go so far as action. But those that are half drunk, having a body serviceable to the absurd motions of the mind, are rather to be thought to have greater ability to comply with those they have, than to have worse inclinations than the others. Now if, proceeding on another principle, we consider the strength of the wine itself, nothing hinders but that this may be different and changeable, according to the quantity that is drunk. As fire, when moderate, hardens a piece of clay, but if very strong, makes it brittle and crumble into pieces; and the heat of the spring fires our blood with fevers but as the summer comes on, the disease usually abates; what hinders then but that the mind, being naturally raised by the power of the wine, when it is come to a pitch, should by pouring on more be weakened again and its force abated? Thus hellebore, before it purges, disturbs the body; but if too small a dose be given, disturbs only and purges not at all; and some taking too little of an opiate are more restless than before; and some taking too much sleep well. Besides, it is probable that this disturbance into which those that are half drunk are put, when it comes to a pitch, leads to that decay. For a great quantity being taken inflames the body and consumes the frenzy of the mind; as a mournful song and melancholy music at a funeral raises grief at first and forces tears, but as it continues, by little and little it takes away all dismal apprehensions and consumes our sorrows. Thus wine, after it hath heated and disturbed, calms the mind again and quiets the frenzy; and when men are dead drunk, their passions are at rest.
This reason, I replied, would satisfy me in a private discussion; but if you want to hear my thoughts, let's first think about whether this difference comes from the different states of the body. For those who are only half drunk, the mind is disturbed, but the body isn’t completely overwhelmed and is still able to follow its commands. However, when it’s too affected and the wine has taken over, it disrupts and hinders the mind's actions, because people in this state rarely take action. Those who are half drunk, with a body able to support the strange thoughts of the mind, are more likely to be seen as having a greater ability to go along with their thoughts rather than having worse inclinations than the others. Now, if we look at this from another angle and consider the strength of the wine itself, nothing prevents this from being different and changeable depending on how much is consumed. Just like fire, when at a moderate level, hardens a piece of clay, but if it's too strong, it makes the clay brittle and causes it to crumble; and the heat of spring ignites fevers in our blood, but as summer arrives, the illness typically fades. So what's to stop the mind, naturally heightened by the power of wine, from being weakened again by adding more? Hellebore, before it purges, disrupts the body; but if a too-small dose is given, it only disrupts without purging. Some who take too little of an opiate feel even more restless than before, while others who take too much end up sleeping well. Furthermore, it’s likely that the disturbance experienced by those who are half drunk, when it reaches a peak, leads to that decline. Consuming a large quantity inflames the body and diminishes the frenzy of the mind; just as a mournful song and melancholic music at a funeral initially evoke grief and force tears, but as it goes on, it gradually eases all distressing thoughts and alleviates our sadness. In this way, wine, after having heated and disturbed, eventually calms the mind and soothes the frenzy, and when people are completely drunk, their passions are at rest.
QUESTION IX. WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THE SAYING: DRINK EITHER FIVE OR THREE, BUT NOT FOUR? ARISTO, PLUTARCH, PLUTARCH'S FATHER.
QUESTION IX. WHAT DOES THE SAYING MEAN: DRINK EITHER FIVE OR THREE, BUT NOT FOUR? ARISTO, PLUTARCH, PLUTARCH'S FATHER.
When I had said these things Aristo, as his habit was, cried out: A return has been decreed in banquets to a very popular and just standard, which, because it was driven away by unseasonable temperance as if by the act of a tyrant, has long remained in exile. For just as those trained in the canons of the lyre declare the sesquialter proportion produces the symphony diapente, the double proportion the diapason, the sesquiterte the diatessaron, the slowest of all, so the specialists in Bacchic harmonies have detected three accords between wine and water—Diapente, Diatrion, Diatessaron. For so they speak and sing, "drink five or three, but not four." For five have the sesquialter proportion, three cups of water being mixed in two of wine; three, the double proportion, two being mixed with one; four, the sesquiterce, three cups of water to one of wine, which is the epitrite proportion for those exercising their minds in the council-chamber or frowning over dialectics, when changes of speeches are expected,—a sober and mild mixture. But in regard to those proportions of two to one, that mixture gives the strength by which we are confused and made half drunk, "Exciting the chords of the soul never moved before." For it does not admit of sobriety, nor does it induce the senselessness of pure wine. The most harmonious is the proportion of two to three, provoking sleep, generating the forgetfulness of cares, and like that cornfield of Hesiod, "which mildly pacifieth children and heals injuries." It composes in us the harsh and irregular motions of the soul and secures deep peace for it. Against these sayings of Aristo no one had anything to offer in reply, since it was quite evident he was jesting. I suggested to him to take a cup and treat it as a lyre, tuning it to the harmony and order he praised. At the same time a slave came offering him pure wine. But he refused it, saying with a laugh that he was discussing logical not organic music. To what had been said before my father added that Jove seemed to have taken, according to the ancients, two nurses, Ite and Adrastea; Juno one, Euboea; Apollo also two, Truth and Corythalea; but Bacchus several, because he needed several measures of water to make him manageable, trained, milder, and more prudent.
When I said all this, Aristo, as usual, shouted out: A return has been established at banquets to a very popular and fair standard, which was driven away by excessive moderation as if by the actions of a tyrant, and has been in exile for a long time. Just like those trained in the principles of the lyre claim that the sesquialter ratio creates the symphony diapente, the double ratio produces the diapason, and the sesquitertius creates the diatessaron, the experts in wine harmonies have discovered three mixes of wine and water—Diapente, Diatrion, Diatessaron. They say and sing, "drink five or three, but not four." Five has the sesquialter ratio, mixing three cups of water into two of wine; three has the double ratio, mixing two cups of wine with one; four has the sesquiterce ratio, mixing three cups of water with one of wine, which is suitable for those who are thinking seriously in discussions or pondering over dialectics, when changes in conversation are expected—a sober and mild blend. But regarding the two to one ratio, that mix gives the strength that confuses us and makes us half drunk, "Exciting the chords of the soul never moved before." It doesn't allow for sobriety nor the complete senselessness of pure wine. The most harmonious is the proportion of two to three, promoting sleep, generating forgetfulness of worries, and like that cornfield of Hesiod, "which gently calms children and heals wounds." It soothes the harsh and irregular motions of the soul and brings deep peace to it. No one could counter Aristo’s statements, as it was clear he was joking. I suggested he take a cup and treat it like a lyre, tuning it to the harmony and order he praised. At that moment, a servant brought him pure wine. But he declined it, laughing that he was discussing logical, not physical, music. To what had been said before, my father added that Jove seemed to have taken, according to the ancients, two nurses, Ite and Adrastea; Juno one, Euboea; Apollo also two, Truth and Corythalea; but Bacchus several, because he needed multiple measures of water to make him manageable, trained, milder, and more prudent.
QUESTION X. WHY FLESH STINKS SOONER WHEN EXPOSED TO THE MOON, THAN TO THE SUN. EUTHYDEMUS, SATYRUS.
QUESTION X. WHY DOES FLESH START TO SMELL SOONER WHEN EXPOSED TO THE MOON THAN TO THE SUN? EUTHYDEMUS, SATYRUS.
Euthydemus of Sunium gave us at an entertainment a very large boar. The guests wondering at the bigness of the beast, he said that he had one a great deal larger, but in the carriage the moon had made it stink; he could not imagine how this should happen, for it was probable that the sun, being much hotter than the moon, should make it stink sooner. But, said Satyrus, this is not so strange as the common practice of the hunters; for, when they send a boar or a doe to a city some miles distant, they drive a brazen nail into it to keep it from stinking.
Euthydemus from Sunium brought a huge boar to a gathering. The guests were amazed by the size of the animal, and he remarked that he had one even bigger, but it had begun to smell during transport, thanks to the moon. He couldn't understand how that happened, considering the sun is much hotter than the moon and would spoil it sooner. But Satyrus said that this isn’t as strange as the usual practice of hunters; when they send a boar or a doe to a city several miles away, they drive a bronze nail into it to prevent it from smelling.
After supper Euthydemus bringing the question into play again, Moschio the physician said, that putrefaction was a colliquation of the flesh, and that everything that putrefied grew moister than before, and that all heat, if gentle, did stir the humors, though not force them out, but if strong, dry the flesh; and that from these considerations an answer to the question might be easily deduced. For the moon gently warming makes the body moist; but the sun by his violent beams dries rather, and draws all moisture from them. Thus Archilochus spoke like a naturalist,
After dinner, Euthydemus brought the question up again. Moschio the physician explained that putrefaction is the breakdown of flesh, and that everything that rots becomes wetter than before. He mentioned that gentle heat stirs up the fluids in the body without forcing them out, whereas strong heat dries out the flesh. From these points, he argued, it's easy to find an answer to the question. The moon, by warming gently, makes the body moist, while the sun, with its intense rays, dries things out and pulls moisture away. In this way, Archilochus spoke like a scientist.
I hope hot Sirius's beams will many drain,
I hope the hot beams of Sirius will drain many,
And Homer more plainly concerning Hector, over whose body Apollo spread a thick cloud,
And Homer clearly describes Hector, over whose body Apollo cast a thick cloud,
Lest the hot sun should scorch his naked limbs.
(Iliad, xxiii, 190.)
Lest the hot sun should burn his bare skin.
(Iliad, xxiii, 190.)Now the moon's rays are weaker; for, as Ion says,
Now the moon's rays are weaker; because, as Ion says,
They do not ripen well the clustered grapes.
They don’t ripen well, the clustered grapes.
When he had done, I said: The rest of the discourse I like very well, but I cannot consent when you ascribe this effect to the strength and degree of heat, and chiefly in the hot seasons; for in winter every one knows that the sun warms little, yet in summer it putrefies most. Now the contrary should happen, if the gentleness of the heat were the cause of putrefaction. And besides, the hotter the season is, so much the sooner meat stinks; and therefore this effect is not to be ascribed to the want of heat in the moon, but to some particular proper quality in her beams. For heat is not different only by degrees; but in fires there are some proper qualities very much unlike one another, as a thousand obvious instances will prove. Goldsmiths heat their gold in chaff fires; physicians use fires of vine-twigs in their distillations; and tamarisk is the best fuel for a glass-house. Olive-boughs in a chimney warm very well, but hurt other baths: they spoil the plastering, and weaken the foundation; and therefore the most skilful of the public officers forbid those that rent the baths to burn olive-tree wood, or throw darnel seed into the fire, because the fumes of it dizzy and bring the headache to those that bathe. Therefore it is no wonder that the moon differs in her qualities from the sun; and that the sun should shed some drying, and the moon some dissolving, influence upon flesh. And upon this account it is that nurses are very cautious of exposing their infants to the beams of the moon; for they being full of moisture, as green plants, are easily wrested and distorted. And everybody knows that those that sleep abroad under the beams of the moon are not easily waked, but seem stupid and senseless; for the moisture that the moon sheds upon them oppresses their faculty and disables their bodies. Besides, it is commonly said, that women brought to bed when the moon is a fortnight old, have easy labors; and for this reason I believe that Diana, which was the same with the moon, was called the goddess of childbirth. And Timotheus appositely says,
When he finished, I said: I really like the rest of what you said, but I can't agree when you attribute this effect to the strength and level of heat, especially during hot seasons. Everyone knows that in winter the sun barely warms us, yet in summer it causes things to rot the most. The opposite should happen if gentler heat were the cause of decay. Plus, the hotter the season, the quicker food spoils; so this effect shouldn't be attributed to a lack of heat from the moon, but rather to some unique quality of its rays. Heat isn't just different in intensity; there are distinct qualities in fires that are very different from one another, as countless examples show. Goldsmiths heat their gold using chaff fires; doctors use vine-twig fires for their distillations; and tamarisk is the best fuel for glassmaking. Olive branches warm up well in a chimney but can damage other baths: they ruin the plaster and weaken the foundation, which is why the most skilled public officials prohibit bath renters from burning olive wood or tossing darnel seeds into the fire, as its fumes can make those bathing feel dizzy and give them headaches. So it's no surprise that the moon has different qualities compared to the sun; and that the sun provides some drying influence, while the moon offers a dissolving effect on flesh. This is why nurses are very careful about exposing their infants to moonlight; they are full of moisture, similar to green plants, and can easily become weak and deformed. Also, everyone knows that those who sleep outside under the moonlight are hard to wake and seem dazed and unresponsive; the moisture from the moon puts a weight on their senses and weakens their bodies. Additionally, it’s often said that women who give birth when the moon is two weeks old have easier labors; that’s why I believe Diana, who was the same as the moon, was called the goddess of childbirth. And Timotheus aptly states,
By the blue heaven that wheels the stars,
And by the moon that eases women's pains.
By the blue sky that spins the stars,
And by the moon that soothes women's pains.Even in inanimate bodies the power of the moon is very evident. For trees that are cut in the full of the moon carpenters refuse, as being soft, and, by reason of their moistness, subject to corruption; and in its wane farmers usually thresh their wheat, that being dry it may better endure the flail; for the corn in the full of the moon is moist, and commonly bruised in threshing. Besides, they say dough will be leavened sooner in the full, for then, though the leaven is scarce proportioned to the meal, yet it rarefies and leavens the whole lump. Now when flesh putrefies, the combining spirit is only changed into a moist consistence, and the parts of the body separate and dissolve. And this is evident in the very air itself, for when the moon is full, most dew falls; and this Alcman the poet intimates, when he somewhere calls dew the air's and moon's daughter, saying,
Even in lifeless things, the moon's influence is clear. Carpenters avoid cutting trees during a full moon because they become too soft and moist, making them prone to rot. During the waning phase, farmers usually thresh their wheat, as it's dryer then and can withstand the flail better; wheat harvested during a full moon tends to be moist and often gets damaged during threshing. Additionally, it’s said that dough rises faster during a full moon, even if the yeast is in short supply since it aerates and leavens the entire batch. When meat spoils, the combining agent simply turns into a wet substance, causing the body’s parts to break apart and dissolve. This is also noticeable in the air itself, as more dew forms when the moon is full; Alcman the poet hints at this when he refers to dew as the daughter of the air and the moon, saying,
See how the daughter of the Moon and Air
Does nourish all things.
See how the daughter of the Moon and Air
nurtures everything.Thus a thousand instances do prove that the light of the moon is moist, and carries with it a softening and corrupting quality. Now the brazen nail that is driven through the flesh, if, as they say, it keeps the flesh from putrefying, doth it by an astringent quality proper to the brass. The rust of brass physicians use in astringent medicines, and they say those that dig brass ore have been cured of a rheum in their eyes, and that the hair upon their eyelids hath grown again; for the particles rising from the ore, being insensibly applied to the eyes, stops the rheum and dries up the humor, and upon this account, perhaps; Homer calls brass [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], and Aristotle says, that wounds made by a brazen dart or a brazen sword are less painful and sooner cured than those that are made of iron weapons, because brass hath something medicinal in itself, which in the very instant is applied to the wound. Now it is manifest that astringents are contrary to putrefying, and healing to corrupting qualities. Some perhaps may say, that the nail being driven through draws all the moisture to itself, for the humor still flows to the part that is hurt; and therefore it is said that by the nail there always appears some speck and tumor; and therefore it is rational that the other parts should remain sound, when all the corruption gathers about that.
So, a thousand examples show that moonlight is moist and has a softening and corrupting effect. Now, the metal nail that’s driven through the flesh, if it really does stop the flesh from decaying, does so because of the drying quality of the brass. Doctors use brass rust in drying medicines, and they say that people who mine brass ore have been cured of eye issues, and that the hair on their eyelids has grown back; because particles rising from the ore, when they come into contact with the eyes, stop the eye discharge and dry up the fluid. Maybe that's why Homer calls brass [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], and Aristotle mentions that wounds caused by a brass arrow or sword hurt less and heal faster than those from iron weapons, because brass has healing properties that immediately affect the wound. It’s clear that astringents go against decay and benefit healing. Some might argue that the nail, when driven in, draws all the moisture to itself since fluid keeps flowing to the injured area; and that’s why there’s always some mark and swelling around it; which makes sense since the other parts stay healthy while all the decay collects around that spot.
BOOK IV.
Polybius, my Sossius Senecio, advised Scipio Africanus never to return from the Forum, where he was conversant about the affairs of the city, before he had gained one new friend. Where I suppose the word friend is not to be taken too nicely, to signify a lasting and unchangeable acquaintance; but, as it vulgarly means, a well-wisher, and as Dicearchus takes it, when he says that we should endeavor to make all men well-wishers, but only good men friends. For friendship is to be acquired by time and virtue; but good-will is produced by a familiar intercourse, or by mirth and trifling amongst civil and genteel men, especially if opportunity assists their natural inclinations to good-nature. But consider whether this advice may not be accommodated to an entertainment as well as the Forum; so that we should not break up the meeting before we had gained one of the company to be a well-wisher and a friend. Other occasions draw men into the Forum, but men of sense come to an entertainment as well to get new friends as to make their old ones merry; indeed, to carry away anything else is sordid and uncivil, but to depart with one friend more than we had is pleasing and commendable. And so, on the contrary, he that doth not aim at this renders the meeting useless and unpleasant to himself, and departs at last, having been a partaker of an entertainment with his belly but not with his mind. For he that makes one at a feast doth not come only to enjoy the meat and drink, but likewise the discourse, mirth, and genteel humor which ends at last in friendship and good-will. The wrestlers, that they may hold fast and lock better, use dust; and so wine mixed with discourse is of extraordinary use to make us hold fast of, and fasten upon, a friend. For wine tempered with discourse carries gentle and kind affections out of the body into the mind; otherwise, it is scattered through the limbs, and serves only to swell and disturb. Thus as a marble, by cooling red hot iron, takes away its softness and makes it hard, fit to be wrought and receive impression; thus discourse at an entertainment doth not permit the men that are engaged to become altogether liquid by the wine, but confines and makes their jocund and obliging tempers very fit to receive an impression from the seal of friendship if dexterously applied.
Polybius, my friend Sossius Senecio, advised Scipio Africanus never to leave the Forum, where he was involved in the city’s affairs, without making at least one new friend. I think the term friend shouldn’t be taken too literally here, implying a lasting and unchanging relationship, but rather, as it commonly means, a supportive acquaintance. As Dicearchus puts it, we should strive to make everyone a well-wisher, and reserve true friendship for the good people. Friendship is built over time and through virtue, while goodwill comes from casual interactions or lighthearted exchanges among polite and pleasant individuals, especially when circumstances support their natural kindness. But think about whether this advice could also apply to social gatherings as well as the Forum; we shouldn’t end a meeting before gaining at least one new well-wisher and friend from the group. Different reasons draw people to the Forum, but those with sense attend social events to forge new friendships as well as to enjoy their existing ones. Leaving an event having gained a new friend is rewarding and commendable, while leaving without that aim makes the gathering pointless and unenjoyable. Ultimately, someone who attends a feast isn’t just there for the food and drink; they also seek engaging conversation, laughter, and the charm that can lead to friendship and goodwill. Just as wrestlers use dust to grip better, wine mixed with conversation helps us connect with and retain a friend. Wine blended with conversation channels warm and kind feelings into our minds; otherwise, those feelings get dispersed throughout our bodies, resulting only in discomfort. Similarly, just as marble hardens red-hot iron, making it capable of being shaped and leaving an impression, engaging in conversation at a social event ensures that the attendees don’t become completely intoxicated by the wine, but rather remain cheerful and accommodating, ready to receive the mark of friendship if it’s skillfully offered.
QUESTION I. WHETHER DIFFERENT SORTS OF FOOD, OR ONE SINGLE DISH FED UPON AT ONCE, IS MORE EASILY DIGESTED. PHILO, PLUTARCH, MARCION.
QUESTION I. WHICH IS EASIER TO DIGEST: DIFFERENT TYPES OF FOOD OR JUST ONE DISH EATEN AT A TIME? PHILO, PLUTARCH, MARCION.
The first question of my fourth decade of Table Discourses shall be concerning different sorts of food eaten at one meal. When we came to Hyampolis at the feast called Elaphebolia, Philo the physician gave us a very sumptuous entertainment; and seeing a boy who came with Philinus feeding upon dry bread and calling for nothing else, he cried out, O Hercules, well I see the proverb is verified,
The first question of my fourth decade of Table Discourses will be about the different types of food eaten at one meal. When we arrived in Hyampolis for the festival called Elaphebolia, Philo the doctor hosted us with a lavish feast; and noticing a boy who came with Philinus eating only dry bread and asking for nothing else, he exclaimed, "Oh Hercules, I can see that the saying is true!"
They fought midst stones, but could not take up one,
They fought among the stones, but couldn't pick one up,
and presently went out to fetch him some agreeable food. He stayed some time, and at last brought them dried figs and cheese; upon which I said: It is usually seen that those that provide costly and superfluous dainties neglect, or are not well furnished with, useful and necessary things. I protest, said Philo, I did not mind that Philinus designs to breed us a young Sosastrus, who (they say) never all his lifetime drank or ate anything beside milk, although it is probable that it was some change in his constitution that made him use this sort of diet; but our Chiron here,—quite contrary to the old one that bred Achilles from his very birth,—feeding his son with unbloody food, gives people reason to suspect that like a grasshopper he keeps him on dew and air. Indeed, said Philinus, I did not know that we were to meet with a supper of a hundred beasts, such as Aristomenes made for his friends; otherwise I had come with some poor and wholesome food about me, as a specific against such costly and unwholesome entertainments. For I have often heard that simple diet is not only more easily provided, but likewise more easily digested, than such variety. At this Marcion said to Philo: Philinus hath spoiled your whole provision by deterring guests from eating; but, if you desire it, I will be surety for you, that such variety is more easily digested than simple food, so that without fear or distrust they may feed heartily. Philo desired him to do so.
and soon went out to get him some good food. He took a while, and finally returned with dried figs and cheese; I then said: It's often the case that those who provide fancy and excessive treats overlook or are lacking in useful and necessary items. I swear, said Philo, I didn’t realize that Philinus plans to raise us a young Sosastrus, who (they say) never ate or drank anything but milk throughout his life, though it’s likely that some change in his body made him follow that diet; but our Chiron here—unlike the old one who raised Achilles from birth—feeding his son only unbloody food makes people suspect that, like a grasshopper, he’s keeping him on dew and air. Indeed, said Philinus, I didn’t know we were about to have a feast fit for a hundred animals, like the one Aristomenes prepared for his friends; otherwise, I would have brought some simple and healthy food to counteract such expensive and unhealthy meals. I’ve often heard that a simple diet is not only easier to prepare but also easier to digest than such a mix. At this, Marcion said to Philo: Philinus has ruined your whole meal by scaring guests away from eating; but if you want, I will guarantee that such a variety is easier to digest than simple food, so they can eat heartily without fear or doubt. Philo asked him to do so.
When after supper we begged Philinus to discover what he had to urge against variety of food, he thus began: I am not the author of this opinion, but our friend Philo here is ever now and then telling us, first, that wild beasts, feeding on one sort only and simple diet, are much more healthy than men are; and that those which are kept in pens are much more subject to diseases and crudities, by reason of the prepared variety we usually give them. Secondly, no physician is so daring, so venturous at new experiments, as to give a feverish patient different sorts of food at once. No, simple food, and without sauce, as more easy to be digested, is the only diet they allow. Now food must be wrought on and altered by our natural powers; in dyeing, cloth of the most simple color takes the tincture soonest; the most inodorous oil is soonest by perfumes changed into an essence; and simple diet is soonest changed, and soonest yields to the digesting power. For many and different qualities, having some contrariety, when they meet disagree and corrupt one another; as in a city, a mixed rout are not easily reduced into one body, nor brought to follow the same concerns; for each works according to its own nature, and is very hardly brought to side with another's quality. Now this is evident in wine; mixed wine inebriates very soon, and drunkenness is much like a crudity rising from undigested wine; and therefore the drinkers hate mixed liquors, and those that do mix them do it privately, as afraid to have their design upon the company discovered. Every change is disturbing and injurious, and therefore musicians are very careful how they strike many strings at once; though the mixture and variety of the notes would be the only harm that would follow. This I dare say, that belief and assent can be sooner procured by disagreeing arguments, than concoction by various and different qualities. But lest I should seem jocose, waiving this, I will return to Philo's observations again. We have often heard him declare that it is the quality that makes meat hard to be digested; that to mix many things together is hurtful, and begets unnatural qualities; and that every man should take that which by experience he finds most agreeable to his temper.
When we asked Philinus after dinner to share his thoughts on why he prefers a simple diet, he replied: I'm not the one who came up with this idea; our friend Philo keeps telling us that, first, wild animals that eat a single, simple type of food are much healthier than humans. Those that are kept in captivity suffer more from diseases due to the variety of prepared foods we usually give them. Second, no doctor is bold enough to give a feverish patient multiple types of food at once. No, they stick to simple foods without sauces because they're easier to digest. Food must be processed and altered by our natural abilities; just like in dyeing, plain cloth absorbs color more quickly. The simplest oils are the quickest to change with perfumes, and simple foods are the easiest to digest. When many different qualities come together, they often conflict and spoil each other, just like a chaotic crowd in a city struggles to unite and focus on common goals, as each individual acts according to their own nature. This is clear with wine; mixed wines can intoxicate quickly, and drunkenness resembles the upset stomach caused by undigested wine. That’s why drinkers avoid mixed drinks, and those who do mix them often do so discreetly to keep their intentions hidden. Any kind of interference is disruptive and harmful, which is why musicians are careful not to strike too many strings at once; the variety of notes could only lead to chaos. I can confidently say that it’s easier to convince someone with opposing arguments than to achieve harmony among disparate qualities. But to avoid sounding silly, I’ll return to Philo's insights. He often emphasizes that the quality of food makes it harder to digest; mixing too many items together is harmful and creates unnatural qualities. Each person should stick to what they find most agreeable through experience.
Now if nothing is by its own nature hard to be digested, but it is the quantity that disturbs and corrupts, I think we have still greater reason to forbear that variety with which Philo's cook, as it were in opposition to his master's practice, would draw us on to surfeits and diseases. For by the different sorts of food and new ways of dressing, he still keeps up the unwearied appetite, and leads it from one dish to another, till tasting of everything we take more than is sufficient and enough; as Hypsipyle's foster-son,
Now, if nothing is inherently hard to digest, but rather it's the amount that causes problems, I think we have even more reason to avoid the variety that Philo's cook, in a way that opposes his master's approach, tempts us with, leading us to overeating and illness. By offering different kinds of food and new cooking styles, he keeps our appetite constantly hungry, moving us from one dish to another, so that by trying everything, we end up consuming more than we actually need; just like Hypsipyle's foster-son,
Who, in a garden placed, plucked up the flowers,
One after one, and spent delightful hours;
But still his greedy appetite goes on,
And still he plucked till all the flowers were gone.
(From the "Hypsipyle" of Euripides, Frag. 754.)
Who, in a garden, picked the flowers,
One by one, and enjoyed lovely hours;
But still his ravenous desire remains,
And he kept picking until all the flowers were drained.
(From the "Hypsipyle" of Euripides, Frag. 754.)But more, methinks, Socrates is here to be remembered, who adviseth us to forbear those junkets which provoke those that are not hungry to eat; as if by this he cautioned us to fly variety of meats. For it is variety that in everything draws us on to use more than bare necessity requires. This is manifest in all sorts of pleasures, either of the eye, ear, or touch; for it still proposeth new provocatives; but in simple pleasures, and such as are confined to one sort, the temptation never carries us beyond nature's wants. In short, in my opinion, we should more patie musician praise a disagreeing variety of notes, or a perfumer mixed ointments, than a physician commend the variety of dishes; for certainly such changes and turnings as must necessarily ensue will force us out of the right way of health.
But more than that, I think Socrates should be remembered here, as he advises us to avoid indulging in food that tempts those who aren't hungry to eat; as if he were warning us to steer clear of a variety of dishes. It’s variety that encourages us to consume more than what we truly need. This is clear in all kinds of pleasures, whether they appeal to our sight, hearing, or touch; they continually present new temptations. But with simple pleasures, which are limited to one type, the temptation never pushes us beyond our natural needs. In short, in my opinion, we should praise a musician’s disagreeing variety of notes or a perfumer’s mixed ointments more than we should commend a physician for the variety of dishes; because such changes and fluctuations will inevitably lead us away from the path of good health.
Philinus having ended his discourse, Marcion said: In my opinion, not only those that separate profit from honesty are obnoxious to Socrates's curse, but those also that separate pleasure from health, as if it were its enemy and opposite, and not its great friend and promoter. Pain we use but seldom and unwillingly, as the most violent instrument. But from all things else, none, though he would willingly, can remove pleasure. It still attends when we eat, sleep, bathe, or anoint, and takes care of and nurses the diseased; dissipating all that is hurtful and disagreeable, by applying that which is proper, pleasing, and natural. For what pain, what want, what poison so quickly and so easily cures a disease as seasonable bathing? A glass of wine, when a man wants it, or a dish of palatable meat, presently frees us from all disturbing particles, and settles nature in its proper state, there being as it were a calm and serenity spread over the troubled humors. But those remedies that are painful do hardly and by little and little only promote the cure, every difficulty pushing on and forcing Nature. And therefore let not Philinus blame us, if we do not make all the sail we can to fly from pleasure, but more diligently endeavor to make pleasure and health, than other philosophers do to make pleasure and honesty, agree. Now, in my opinion, Philinus, you seem to be out in your first argument, where you suppose the beasts use more simple food and are more healthy than men; neither of which is true. The first the goats in Eupolis confute, for they extol their pasture as full of variety and all sorts of herbs, in this manner,
Philinus finished his talk, and Marcion said: In my view, not only those who separate profit from honesty deserve Socrates's curse, but also those who separate pleasure from health, as if it were an enemy and contrary to it, rather than a great ally and supporter. We only use pain rarely and reluctantly, as it is the most extreme tool. But from everything else, no one can get rid of pleasure, even if they wanted to. It’s always present when we eat, sleep, bathe, or apply ointments, taking care of and comforting the sick; it drives away all that is harmful and unpleasant by offering what is suitable, enjoyable, and natural. What pain, lack, or poison cures a disease as quickly and easily as a good bath? A glass of wine, when someone craves it, or a tasty meal, instantly relieves us of all discomfort and restores balance, creating a calm and peaceful feeling over the troubled humors. On the other hand, painful remedies barely promote healing and only do so gradually, with each challenge pushing Nature onward. So let’s not blame Philinus if we don’t rush to escape pleasure; instead, we work harder to link pleasure and health, unlike other philosophers who try to harmonize pleasure with honesty. Now, in my view, Philinus, you seem to be mistaken in your initial argument, where you claim that animals eat simpler food and are healthier than humans; neither of these points is true. The first is contradicted by the goats in Eupolis, who praise their pastures as abundant in variety and all sorts of herbs, saying it like this,
We feed almost on every kind of trees,
Young firs, the ilex, and the oak we crop:
Sweet trefoil fragrant juniper, and yew,
Wild olives, thyme,—all freely yield their store.
We feed on nearly every type of tree,
Young firs, holm oaks, and oaks we trim:
Sweet clover, fragrant juniper, and yew,
Wild olives, thyme— all generously provide their bounty.These that I have mentioned are very different in taste, smell, and other qualities, and he reckons more sorts which I have omitted. The second Homer skilfully refutes, when he tells us that the plague first began amongst the beasts. Besides, the shortness of their lives proves that they are very subject to diseases; for there is scarce any irrational creature long lived, besides the crow and the chough; and those two every one knows do not confine themselves to simple food, but eat anything. Besides, you take no good rule to judge what is easy and what is hard of digestion from the diet of those that are sick; for labor and exercise, and even to chew our meat well, contribute very much to digestion, neither of which can agree with a man in a fever. Again, that the variety of meats, by reason of the different qualities of the particulars, should disagree and spoil one another, you have no reason to fear. For if Nature takes from dissimilar bodies what is fit and agreeable, the diverse nourishment forces many and sundry qualities into the mass and bulk of the body, applying to every part that which is meet and fit; so that, as Empedocles words it,
These I’ve mentioned are very different in taste, smell, and other qualities, and he lists even more types that I haven’t included. The second Homer cleverly contradicts this when he says that the plague first started among the animals. Moreover, their short lifespans show that they are very prone to diseases; hardly any non-human creature lives long, except for the crow and the chough. And everyone knows that those two don’t stick to simple food but will eat anything. Additionally, you don't really get a good guideline for what is easy or hard to digest by looking at the diet of sick beings; labor and exercise, along with thoroughly chewing our food, greatly aid digestion, neither of which is suitable for someone with a fever. Also, you shouldn’t be concerned that the variety of meats, due to their different qualities, will clash and spoil each other. If Nature selects what is suitable and pleasing from different substances, the diverse nourishment forces a variety of qualities into the bulk of the body, providing each part with what it needs; as Empedocles puts it,
The sweet runs to the sweet, the sour combines
With sour, the sharp with sharp, the salt with salt;
The sweet goes with the sweet, the sour mixes with sour, the sharp pairs with sharp, the salty with salty;
and after being mixed it is spread through the mass by the heat, the proper parts are separated and applied to the proper members. Indeed, it is very probable that such bodies as ours, consisting of parts of different natures, should be nourished and built up rather of various than of simple matter. But if by concoction there is an alteration made in the food, this will be more easily performed when there are different sorts of meat, than when there is only one, in the stomach; for similars cannot work upon similars and the very contrariety in the mixture considerably promotes the alteration of the weakened qualities. But if, Philinus, you are against all mixture, do not chide Philo only for the variety of his dishes and sauces, but also for using mixture in his sovereign antidotes, which Erasistratus calls the gods' hands. Convince him of absurdity and vanity, when he mixes herbs, metals, and animals, and things from sea and land, in one potion; and recommend him to neglect these, and to confine all physic to barley-broth, gourds, and oil mixed with water. But you urge farther, that variety enticeth the appetite that hath no command over itself. That is, good sir, cleanly, wholesome, sweet, palatable, pleasing diet makes us eat and drink more than ordinary. Why then, instead of fine flour, do not we thicken our broth with coarse bran? And instead of asparagus, why do we not dress nettle-tops and thistles; and leaving this fragrant and pleasant wine, drink sour, harsh liquor that gnats have been buzzing about a long while? Because, perhaps you may reply, wholesome feeding doth not consist in a perfect avoiding of all that is pleasing, but in moderating the appetite in that respect, and making it prefer profit before pleasure. But, sir, as a mariner has a thousand ways to avoid a stiff gale of wind, but when it is clear down and a perfect calm, cannot raise it again; thus to correct and restrain our extravagant appetite is no hard matter, but when it grows weak and faint, when it fails as to its proper objects, then to raise it and make it vigorous and active again is, sir, a very difficult and hard task. And therefore variety of viands is as much better than simple food, which is apt to satisfy by being but of one sort, as it is easier to stop Nature when she makes too much speed than to force her on when languishing and faint. Besides, what some say, that fullness is more to be avoided than emptiness, is not true; but, on the contrary, fullness then only hurts when it ends in a surfeit or disease; but emptiness, though it doth no other mischief, is of itself unnatural. And let this suffice as an answer to what you proposed. But you sparing men have forgot, that variety is sweeter and more desired by the appetite, unless too sweet. For, the sight preparing the way, it is soon assimilated to the eager receiving body; but that which is not desirable Nature either throws off again, or keeps it in for mere want. But pray observe this, that I do not plead for variety in tarts, cakes, or custards;—those are vain, insignificant, and superfluous things;—but even Plato allowed variety to those fine citizens of his, setting before them onions, olives, leeks, cheese, and all sorts of meat and fish, and besides these, allowed them some comfits.
and after being mixed, it spreads throughout the mass due to heat, the appropriate parts are separated and allocated to the correct members. Indeed, it’s very likely that bodies like ours, composed of parts of different natures, should be nourished and built up more from various substances than from just one kind. However, if food undergoes a transformation, this will happen more easily when there are different types of meat in the stomach than when there’s only one, because similar substances cannot act on one another, and the very contrast in the mixture significantly enhances the alteration of weakened qualities. But if, Philinus, you are against all mixture, don’t just criticize Philo for the variety in his dishes and sauces, but also for using mixtures in his powerful antidotes, which Erasistratus refers to as the gods' hands. Show him how ridiculous and vain it is when he combines herbs, metals, animals, and things from both the sea and land into one potion; suggest that he ignore these and limit all medicine to barley broth, gourds, and oil mixed with water. But you go further, claiming that variety tempts the appetite that lacks self-control. In other words, good sir, clean, wholesome, sweet, palatable, and enjoyable food leads us to eat and drink more than usual. So why, instead of using fine flour, don’t we thicken our broth with coarse bran? And instead of asparagus, why don’t we cook nettle tops and thistles; and leaving aside this fragrant and pleasant wine, drink sour, harsh liquor that has been swarming with gnats for a long time? Because, perhaps you might respond, healthy eating doesn’t mean completely avoiding all that is pleasing, but rather moderating the appetite and making it favor benefit over enjoyment. But, sir, just as a sailor has many ways to avoid a strong wind, when it's completely calm and clear, he cannot create wind again; similarly, correcting and restraining our excessive appetite is relatively easy, but when it becomes weak and faint—when it fails to respond to its proper objects—then reviving it and making it strong and vigorous again is a very challenging task. Therefore, a variety of foods is much better than simple food, which tends to satisfy just by being one type, as it is easier to slow down Nature when she’s moving too fast than to urge her on when she is languishing and faint. Moreover, what some say—that fullness is worse than emptiness—is not true; on the contrary, fullness only becomes problematic when it results in a surfeit or disease; but emptiness, even if it causes no other harm, is unnatural in itself. And let this be enough as a response to your arguments. But you economical men have forgotten that variety is sweeter and more appealing to the appetite, unless it’s overly sweet. For, the sight preparing the way, it is quickly integrated into the eager receiving body; but what is undesirable, Nature either eliminates or retains out of mere need. But please note, I am not advocating for variety in tarts, cakes, or custards—those are petty, insignificant, and excessive;—rather, even Plato permitted variety for his esteemed citizens, presenting them with onions, olives, leeks, cheese, and various types of meat and fish, and in addition to these, allowed them some sweets.
QUESTION II. WHY MUSHROOMS ARE THOUGHT TO BE PRODUCED BY THUNDER, AND WHY IT IS BELIEVED THAT MEN ASLEEP ARE NEVER THUNDERSTRUCK. AGEMACHUS, PLUTARCH, DOROTHEUS.
QUESTION II. WHY PEOPLE THINK MUSHROOMS COME FROM THUNDER, AND WHY IT’S BELIEVED THAT SLEEPING MEN CAN'T BE STRUCK BY LIGHTNING. AGEMACHUS, PLUTARCH, DOROTHEUS.
At a supper in Elis, Agemachus set before us very large mushrooms. And when all admired at them, one with a smile said, These are worthy the late thunder, as it were deriding those who imagine mushrooms are produced by thunder. Some said that thunder did split the earth, using the air as a wedge for that purpose, and that by those chinks those that sought after mushrooms were directed where to find them; and thence it grew a common opinion, that thunder engenders mushrooms, and not only makes them a passage to appear; as if one should imagine that a shower of rain breeds snails, and not rather makes them creep forth and be seen abroad. Agemachus stood up stiffly for the received opinion, and told us, we should not disbelieve it only because it was strange, for there are a thousand other effects of thunder and lightning and a thousand omens deduced from them, whose causes it is very hard, if not impossible, to discover; for this laughed-at, this proverbial mushroom doth not escape the thunder because it is so little, but because it hath some antipathetical qualities that preserve it from blasting; as likewise a fig-tree, the skin of a sea-calf (as they say), and that of the hyena, with which sailors cover the ends of their sails. And husbandmen call thunder-showers nourishing, and think them to be so. Indeed, it is absurd to wonder at these things, when we see the most incredible things imaginable in thunder, as flame rising out of moist vapors, and from soft clouds such astonishing noises. Thus, he continued, I prattle, exhorting you to inquire after the cause; and I shall accept this as your club for these mushrooms.
At a dinner in Elis, Agemachus served us some really large mushrooms. When everyone admired them, one person smiled and said, “These must be from the recent thunder,” teasing those who believe mushrooms grow from thunder. Some said that thunder actually splits the ground, using the air as a wedge, and that the cracks guide mushroom hunters to where they can find them. This led to a common belief that thunder creates mushrooms, rather than just allowing them to appear, like how a rain shower is thought to make snails come out instead of creating them. Agemachus argued strongly for the accepted belief and told us that we shouldn’t dismiss it just because it sounds strange, since there are countless effects of thunder and lightning, with many omens linked to them, whose causes are often very hard, if not impossible, to identify. He said that this mocked mushroom doesn’t escape thunder because it’s small, but because it has certain qualities that protect it from being damaged, just like a fig tree, the skin of a sea calf (as people say), and the skin of a hyena, which sailors use to cover the ends of their sails. Farmers call thunder showers beneficial and believe they are. It really is silly to be amazed by all this when we see the most unbelievable things happen in thunder, like flames rising from moist vapor and astonishing noises coming from soft clouds. So, he said, I ramble on, urging you to look for the cause; and I’ll take this as your support for these mushrooms.
Then I began: Agemachus himself helps us exceedingly towards this discovery; for nothing at the present seems more probable than that, together with the thunder, oftentimes generative waters fall, which take that quality from the heat mixed with them. For the piercing pure parts of the fire break away in lightning; but the grosser windy part, being wrapped up in cloud, changes it, taking away the coldness and heating the moisture, altering and being altered with it, affects it so that it is made fit to enter the pores of plants, and is easily assimilated to them. Besides, such rain gives those things which it waters a peculiar temperature and difference of juice. Thus dew makes the grass sweeter to the sheep, and the clouds from which a rainbow is reflected make those trees on which they fall fragrant. And our priests, distinguishing it by this, call the wood of those trees Iris-struck, fancying that Iris, or the rainbow, hath rested on them. Now it is probable that when these thunder and lightning showers with a great deal of warmth and spirit descend forcibly into the caverns of the earth, these are rolled around, and knobs and tumors are formed like those produced by heat and noxious humors in our bodies, which we call wens or kernels. For a mushroom is not like a plant, neither is it produced without rain; it hath no root nor sprouts, it depends on nothing, but is a being by itself, having its substance of the earth, a little changed and altered. If this discourse seems frivolous, I assure you that such are most of the effects of thunder and lightning which we see; and upon that account men think them to be immediately directed by Heaven, and not depending on natural causes.
Then I began: Agemachus himself is a huge help to us in this discovery; because nothing seems more likely right now than that, along with the thunder, generative waters often fall, gaining that quality from the heat mixed in. The sharp, pure parts of the fire break away in lightning; but the heavier, windy parts, wrapped in clouds, change it, removing the coldness and heating the moisture, altering and being altered, making it so that it can enter the pores of plants and is easily taken in by them. Also, such rain gives whatever it waters a unique temperature and different juice. For instance, dew makes the grass sweeter for the sheep, and the clouds that reflect a rainbow make the trees they fall on fragrant. Our priests, noting this, call the wood of those trees Iris-struck, believing that Iris, or the rainbow, has rested on them. Now, it seems likely that when these thunder and lightning showers, packed with warmth and energy, violently descend into the earth's caverns, they swirl around, forming lumps and growths similar to those caused by heat and harmful humors in our bodies, which we call wens or kernels. A mushroom isn’t like a plant, nor does it grow without rain; it has no roots or sprouts, it relies on nothing, but exists on its own, having its substance from the earth, just a bit changed and altered. If this discussion seems silly, I assure you that most of the effects of thunder and lightning that we observe are similar; and for that reason, people believe they are directly controlled by Heaven and not by natural causes.
Dorotheus the rhetorician, one of our company, said: You speak right, sir, for not only the vulgar and illiterate, but even some of the philosophers, have been of that opinion. I remember here in this town lightning broke into a house and did a great many strange things. It let the wine out of a vessel, though the earthen vessel remained whole; and falling upon a man asleep, it neither hurt him nor blasted his clothes, but melted certain pieces of silver that he had in his pocket, defaced them quite, and made them run into a lump. Upon this he went to a philosopher, a Pythagorean, that sojourned in the town, and asked the reason; the philosopher directed him to some expiating rites, and advised him to consider seriously with himself and go to prayers. And I have been told, upon a sentinel at Rome, as he stood to guard the temple, burned the latchet of his shoe, and did no other harm; and several silver candlesticks lying in wooden boxes, the silver was melted while the boxes lay untouched. These stories you may believe or not as you please. But that which is most wonderful, and which everybody knows, is this,—the bodies of those that are killed by thunderbolt never putrefy. For many neither burn nor bury such bodies, but let them lie above ground with a fence about them, so that every one may see the they remain uncorrupted, confuted by this Euripides's Clymene, who says thus of Phaeton,
Dorotheus the rhetorician, one of our group, said: You're right, sir, because not just the common people and the uneducated, but even some philosophers, have held that view. I remember an incident in this town where lightning struck a house and caused many strange things to happen. It spilled wine from a container, yet the clay vessel stayed intact; and when it hit a man who was sleeping, it didn’t harm him or damage his clothes, but it melted some silver pieces he had in his pocket, completely distorting them and turning them into a lump. After this, he went to a philosopher, a Pythagorean who lived in town, and asked him why this happened; the philosopher suggested some purification rituals and advised him to reflect deeply and pray. I also heard about a guard in Rome who, while watching over the temple, had the strap of his shoe burned, with no other damage done; and some silver candlesticks stored in wooden boxes melted while the boxes remained untouched. You can choose to believe these stories or not. But the most astonishing thing, which everyone knows, is that the bodies of those struck by lightning never decay. Many neither burn nor bury these bodies, but instead leave them above ground surrounded by a fence, allowing everyone to see that they remain uncorrupted, as Euripides’s Clymene points out about Phaeton.
My best beloved, but now he lies
And putrefies in some dark vale.
My beloved, but now he lies
And decays in some dark valley.And I believe brimstone is called [Greek omitted] (DIVINE), because its smell is like that fiery offensive scent which rises from bodies that are thunderstruck. And I suppose that, because of this scent, dogs and birds will not prey on such carcasses. Thus far have I gone; let him proceed, since he hath been applauded for his discourse of mushrooms, lest the same jest might be put upon us that was upon Androcydes the painter. For when in his landscape of Scylla he painted fish the best and most to the life of anything in the whole draught, he was said to use his appetite more than his art, for he naturally loved fish. So some may say that we philosophize about mushrooms, the cause of whose production is confessedly doubtful, for the pleasure we take in eating them....
And I think brimstone is called [Greek omitted] (DIVINE) because its smell is like that fiery, unpleasant scent that comes from bodies struck by lightning. I believe this odor is why dogs and birds avoid those carcasses. I've shared my thoughts so far; let him continue, since he has been praised for his talk about mushrooms, so we don't end up as the subject of the same joke that was made about Androcydes the painter. When he painted his landscape of Scylla, the fish were the most realistic part of the entire piece, and people said he relied more on his appetite than his skill since he naturally loved fish. Similarly, some might say we philosophize about mushrooms, whose origin is undeniably uncertain, simply because we enjoy eating them...
And when I put in my suggestion, saying that it was as seasonable to dispute about thunder and lightning amidst our banquets as it would be in a comedy to bring in machines to throw out lightning, the company agreed to omit all other questions relating to the subject, and desired me only to proceed on this head, Why men asleep are never struck with lightning. And I, though I knew I should get no great credit by proposing a cause whose reason was common to other things, said thus: Lightning is wonderfully piercing and subtile, partly because it rises from a very pure substance, and partly because by the swiftness of its motion it purges itself and throws off all gross earthy particles that are mixed with it. Nothing, says Democritus, is blasted with lightning, that cannot resist and stop the motion of the pure flame. Thus the close bodies, as brass, silver, and the like, which stop it, feel its force and are melted, because they resist; whilst rare, thin bodies, and such as are full of pores, are passed through and are not hurted, as clothes or dry wood. It blasts green wood or grass, the moisture within them being seized and kindled by the flame. Now if it is true that men asleep are never killed by lightning, from what we have proposed, and not from anything else, we must endeavor to draw the cause. Now the bodies of those that are awake are stiffer and more apt to resist, all the parts being full of spirits; which as it were in a harp, distending and screwing up the organs of sense, makes the body of the animal firm, close, and compacted. But when men are asleep, the organs are let down, and the body becomes rare, lax, and loose; and the spirits failing, it hath abundance of pores, through which small sounds and smells do flow insensibly. For in that case, there is nothing that can resist and by this resistance receive any sensible impression from any objects that are presented, much less from such as are so subtile and move so swiftly as lightning. Things that are weak Nature shields from harm, fencing them about with some hard, thick covering; but those things that cannot be resisted do less harm to the bodies that yield than to those that oppose their force. Besides, those that are asleep are not startled at the thunder; they have no consternation upon them, which kills a great many that are no otherwise hurt, and we know that thousands die with the very fear of being killed. Even shepherds teach their sheep to run together when it thunders, for whilst they lie scattered they die with fear; and we see thousands fall, which have no marks of any stroke or fire about them, their souls (as it seems), like birds, flying out of their bodies at the fright. For many, as Euripides says,
And when I made my suggestion, stating that it was as pointless to argue about thunder and lightning during our feasts as it would be in a comedy to include machines that throw lightning, the group agreed to drop all other questions on the topic and wanted me only to address why people asleep are never struck by lightning. Although I knew I wouldn’t gain much respect for proposing a reason that applies to other things too, I said: Lightning is incredibly sharp and subtle, partly because it comes from a very pure source, and partly because its swift movement purges and discards any heavy, earthy particles mixed in with it. Nothing, as Democritus says, is struck by lightning that can resist and stop the motion of pure flame. Therefore, solid objects like brass and silver that can stop it experience its force and get melted, because they resist it, while light, porous materials like clothes or dry wood are passed through and remain unharmed. It can destroy green wood or grass because the moisture inside them is captured and ignited by the flame. Now, if it’s true that people asleep are never harmed by lightning based on what we’ve discussed, and not for any other reason, we need to figure out why. The bodies of awake individuals are stiffer and more likely to resist, as all their parts are full of energy; this creates a firm, tight body, much like how a harp is taut across its strings. But when people are asleep, their senses relax, and their bodies become softer, looser, and more porous, allowing small sounds and smells to enter seemlessly. In that state, there is nothing to resist the influence of surrounding objects—especially not something as fine and fast-moving as lightning. Nature protects fragile things from harm by surrounding them with a hard, thick covering. But those that cannot resist tend to be less harmed by forces that easily pass through them than those that try to oppose it. Additionally, those who are asleep aren’t startled by thunder; they feel no panic, which can actually kill a lot of people who aren’t otherwise injured. We know that many die simply from the fear of being struck. Even shepherds train their sheep to huddle together when it thunders because if they're scattered, they die from fear. We witness many fall dead, showing no signs of being struck or burned, as if their souls, like birds, escape their bodies in fright. As Euripides observes,
A clap hath killed, yet ne'er drew drop of blood.
A clap has killed, yet never drew a drop of blood.
For certainly the hearing is a sense that is soonest and most vigorously wrought upon, and the fear that is caused by an astonishing noise raiseth the greatest commotion and disturbance in the body; from all which men asleep, because insensible, are secure. But those that are awake are oftentimes killed with fear before they are touched; the fear contracts and condenses the body, so that the stroke must be strong, because there is so considerable a resistance.
For sure, hearing is the sense that gets impacted the quickest and the hardest, and a startling noise can create the biggest commotion and disturbance in the body. However, people who are asleep are safe from this because they're not aware of it. But those who are awake often feel intense fear before any harm comes to them; the fear tightens and tenses the body, meaning that any blow must be strong since there's so much resistance.
QUESTION III. WHY MEN USUALLY INVITE MANY GUESTS TO A WEDDING SUPPER. SOSSIUS SENECIO, PLUTARCH, THEO.
QUESTION III. WHY MEN USUALLY INVITE MANY GUESTS TO A WEDDING SUPPER. SOSSIUS SENECIO, PLUTARCH, THEO.
At my son Autobulus's marriage, Sossius Senecio from Chaeronea and a great many other noble persons were present at the same feast; which gave occasion to this question (Senecio proposed it), why to a marriage feast more guests are usually invited than to any other. Nay even those law-givers that chiefly opposed luxury and profuseness have particularly confined marriage feasts to a set number. Indeed, in my opinion, he continued, Hecataeus the Abderite, one of the old philosophers, hath said nothing to the purpose in this matter, when he tells us that those that marry wives invite a great many to the entertainment, that many may see and be witnesses that they being born free take to themselves wives of the same condition. For, on the contrary, the comedians reflect on those who revel at their marriages, who make a great ado and are pompous in their feasts, as such who are taking wives with not much confidence and courage. Thus, in Menander, one replies to a bridegroom that bade him beset the house with dishes,...
At my son Autobulus's wedding, Sossius Senecio from Chaeronea and many other distinguished guests attended the same celebration, which led to the question (proposed by Senecio) of why wedding receptions usually have more guests than any other event. Even those legislators who primarily opposed extravagance and excess have specifically limited the number of guests at wedding banquets. In my view, he continued, Hecataeus the Abderite, one of the ancient philosophers, has missed the point when he states that those who marry invite many to the feast so that a lot of people can see and witness that they, being free, choose to take wives of the same status. On the contrary, comedians often criticize those who celebrate their weddings with extravagant parties, suggesting that those who are ostentatious in their celebrations lack confidence and courage in their choice of partners. For example, in Menander, one character responds to a bridegroom who tells him to surround the house with dishes,...
Your words are great, but what's this to your bride?
Your words are impressive, but what does this mean to your bride?
But lest I should seem to find fault with those reasons others give, only because I have none of my own to produce, continued he, I will begin by declaring that there is no such evident or public notice given of any feast as there is of one at a marriage. For when we sacrifice to the gods, when we take leave of or receive a friend, a great many of our acquaintance need not know it. But a marriage dinner is proclaimed by the loud sound of the wedding song, by the torches and the music, which as Homer expresseth it,
But I don't want to sound like I'm criticizing the reasons others provide just because I don't have my own to offer, he continued, so I'll start by saying that there's no other event that's announced as clearly and publicly as a wedding feast. When we make sacrifices to the gods or say goodbye to a friend, many of our acquaintances don't need to be informed. But a wedding dinner is announced by the loud wedding song, the torches, and the music, which, as Homer put it,
The women stand before the doors to see and hear.
(Iliad, xviii. 495.)
The women stand in front of the doors to see and hear.
(Iliad, xviii. 495.)And therefore when everybody knows it, the persons are ashamed to omit the formality of an invitation, and therefore entertain their friends and kindred, and every one that they are anyway acquainted with.
And so when everyone is aware of it, people feel embarrassed to skip the formalities of an invitation, and therefore they host their friends and family, as well as anyone they know in any capacity.
This being generally approved, Well, said Theo, speaking next, let it be so, for it looks like truth; but let this be added, if you please, that such entertainments are not only friendly, but also kindredly, the persons beginning to have a new relation to another family. But there is something more considerable, and that is this; since by this marriage two families join in one, the man thinks it his duty to be civil and obliging to the woman's friends, and the woman's friends think themselves obliged to return the same to him and his; and upon this account the company is doubled. And besides, since most of the little ceremonies belonging to the wedding are performed by women, it is necessary that, where they are entertained, their husbands should be likewise present.
This idea being generally accepted, Well, said Theo, speaking next, let’s go with that, since it seems true; but let’s also add that such gatherings are not only friendly but also create a new bond between families. However, there’s something even more significant; since this marriage brings together two families, the man feels it’s his duty to treat the woman’s friends with respect and kindness, and the woman’s friends feel obligated to do the same for him and his. Because of this, the group becomes larger. Also, since most of the small wedding customs are handled by women, it’s necessary for their husbands to be present at these gatherings as well.
QUESTION IV. WHETHER THE SEA OR LAND AFFORDS BETTER FOOD. CALLISTRATUS, SYMMACHUS, POLYCRATES.
QUESTION IV. WHICH PROVIDES BETTER FOOD, THE SEA OR THE LAND? CALLISTRATUS, SYMMACHUS, POLYCRATES.
Aedepsus in Euboea, where the baths are, is a place by nature every way fitted for free and gentle pleasures, and withal so beautified with stately edifices and dining rooms, that one would take it for no other than the common place of repast for all Greece. Here, though the earth and air yield plenty of creatures for the service of men, the sea no less furnisheth the table with variety of dishes, nourishing a store of delicious fish in its deep and clear waters. This place is especially frequented in the spring; for hither at this time of year abundance of people resort, solacing themselves in the mutual enjoyment of all those pleasures the place affords, and at spare hours pass away the time in many useful and edifying discourses. When Callistratus the Sophist lived here, it was a hard matter to dine at any place besides his house; for he was so extremely courteous and obliging, that no man whom he invited to dinner could have the face to say him nay. One of his best humors was to pick up all the pleasant fellows he could meet with, and put them in the same room. Sometimes he did, as Cimon one of the ancients used to do, and satisfactorily treated men of all sorts and fashions. But he always (so to speak) followed Celeus, who was the first man, it is said, that assembled daily a number of honorable persons of distinction, and called the place where they met the Prytaneum.
Aedepsus in Euboea, known for its baths, is naturally a place perfect for relaxing and enjoying gentle pleasures. It’s adorned with impressive buildings and dining rooms, making it feel like a central dining hub for all of Greece. Here, the land and air provide an abundance of food for people, and the sea offers a wide variety of dishes, filled with delicious fish from its deep, clear waters. This spot attracts many visitors in the spring; lots of people come here at this time of year, enjoying the various pleasures it offers and spending their free time engaging in meaningful and enlightening conversations. When Callistratus the Sophist lived here, it was hard to find a place to dine other than his home. He was so wonderfully charming and generous that anyone he invited for dinner felt they couldn’t refuse. One of his favorite things was gathering all the fun individuals he could find and putting them together in one room. Sometimes, like the ancient Cimon, he would happily host people from all walks of life. But he always, so to speak, followed in the footsteps of Celeus, who was said to be the first person to regularly bring together a number of distinguished individuals and called their gathering place the Prytaneum.
Several times at these public meetings divers agreeable discourses were raised; and it fell out that once a very splendid treat, adorned with all variety of dainties, gave occasion for inquiries concerning food, whether the land or sea yielded better. Here when a great part of the company were highly commanding the land, as abounding with many choice, nay, an infinite variety of all sorts of creatures, Polycrates calling to Symmachus, said to him: But you, sir, being an animal bred between two seas, and brought up among so many which surround your sacred Nicopolis, will not you stand up for Neptune? Yes, I will, replied Symmachus, and therefore command you to stand by me, who enjoy the most pleasant part of all the Achaean Sea. Well, says Polycrates, the beginning of my discourse shall be grounded upon custom; for as of a great number of poets we usually give one, who far excels the rest, the famous name of poet; so though there be many sorts of dainties, yet custom has so prevailed that the fish alone, or above all the rest, is called [Greek omitted], because it is more excellent than all others. For we do not call those gluttonous and great eaters who love beef as Hercules, who after flesh used to eat green figs; nor those that love figs, as Plato; nor lastly, those that are for grapes, as Arcesilaus; but those who frequent the fish-market, and soonest hear the market-bell. Thus when Demosthenes had told Philocrates that the gold he got by treachery was spent upon whores and fish, he upbraids him as a gluttonous and lascivious fellow. And Ctesiphon said pat enough, when a certain glutton cried aloud in company that he should burst asunder: No, by no means let us be baits for your fish! And what did he mean, do you think, who made this verse,
Several times at these public meetings, various enjoyable conversations took place; and one time, a very lavish spread, filled with all kinds of delicacies, prompted a discussion about food—whether land or sea provided better options. Here, with a large part of the audience enthusiastically praising land offerings for their vast array, Polycrates called out to Symmachus, saying: "But you, sir, being someone raised between two seas and surrounded by many that encircle your esteemed Nicopolis, will you not support Neptune?" "Yes, I will," replied Symmachus, "and I ask you to join me, as I enjoy the best part of the Achaean Sea." Polycrates responded, "Well, the start of my argument will be based on tradition; just as among a great number of poets we often designate one who is far superior to the rest with the renowned title of poet, so too, although there are many types of delicacies, tradition has made it so that fish alone, or above all others, is considered [Greek omitted], because it is superior to all." For we don’t refer to those gluttonous, heavy eaters who enjoy beef as Hercules—who, after his meat, would eat green figs—nor those who like figs as Plato, nor finally, those who prefer grapes as Arcesilaus; but we do call those who frequent the fish market and quickly respond to the market bell. Thus, when Demosthenes told Philocrates that the gold he gained through treachery was spent on prostitutes and fish, he insulted him as a greedy and immoral person. And Ctesiphon made a sharp remark when a certain glutton loudly complained in company that he would burst: "No, by no means let us be bait for your fish!" And what do you think he meant, who wrote this line,
You capers gnaw, when you may sturgeon eat?
You pick at small bites when you could be enjoying a full meal?
And what, for God's sake, do those men mean who, inviting one another to sumptuous collations, usually say: To-day we will dine upon the shore? Is it not that they suppose, what is certainly true, that a dinner upon the shore is of all others most delicious? Not by reason of the waves the sea-coast would be content to feed upon a pulse or a caper?—but because their table is furnished with plenty of fresh fish. Add to this, that sea-food is dearer than any other. Wherefore Cato inveighing against the luxury of the city, did not exceed the bounds of truth, when he said that at Rome a fish was sold for more than an ox. For they sell a small pot of fish for as much as a hecatomb of sheep and all the accessories of sacrifice. Besides, as the physician is the best judge of physic, and the musician of songs; so he is able to give the best account of the goodness of meat who is the greatest lover of it. For I will not make Pythagoras and Xenocrates arbitrators in this case; but Antagoras the poet, and Philoxenus the son of Eryxis, and Androcydes the painter, of whom it was reported that, when he drew a landscape of Scylla, he drew fish in a lively manner swimming round her, because he was a great lover of them. So Antigonus the king, surprising Antagoras the poet in the habit of a cook, broiling congers in his tent, said to him: Dost thou think that Homer was dressing congers when he writ Agamemnon's famous exploits? And he as smartly replied: Do you think that Agamemnon did so many famous exploits when he was inquiring who dressed congers in the camp? These arguments, says Polycrates, I have urged in behalf of fishmongers, drawing them from testimony and custom.
And what do those guys mean when they invite each other to lavish meals and say, "Today we're dining by the shore"? Don't they think, and rightly so, that a meal by the shore is the most enjoyable of all? It's not just because of the waves—would the seaside settle for just beans or capers? It's because their table is filled with fresh fish. Plus, seafood costs more than anything else. That's why Cato, criticizing the luxury of the city, didn't exaggerate when he said that in Rome, a fish was sold for more than an ox. They charge as much for a small pot of fish as they do for a huge number of sheep and all the items for a sacrifice. Also, just like a doctor knows best about medicine and a musician knows best about songs, the greatest food lover can best judge the quality of meat. I won’t let Pythagoras and Xenocrates decide this; instead, I'll cite Antagoras the poet, Philoxenus the son of Eryxis, and Androcydes the painter, who was said to draw fish swimming around Scylla in a lively way because he loved them so much. So, when King Antigonus caught Antagoras the poet cooking eels in his tent, he asked him, "Do you think Homer was grilling eels when he wrote about Agamemnon's famous deeds?" To which Antagoras quickly replied, "Do you think Agamemnon did all those famous things while wondering who was cooking eels in the camp?" These points, says Polycrates, I've made in favor of fishmongers, based on evidence and tradition.
But, says Symmachus, I will go more seriously to work, and more like a logician. For if that may truly be said to be a relish which gives meat the best relish, it will evidently follow, that that is the best sort of relish which gets men the best stomach to their meat. Therefore, as those philosophers who were called Elpistics (from the Greek word signifying hope, which above all others they cried up) averred that there was nothing in the world which concurred more to the preservation of life than hope, without whose gracious influence life would be a burden and altogether intolerable; in the like manner that of all other things may be said to get us a stomach to our meat without which all meat would be unpalatable and nauseous. And among all those things the earth yields, we find no such things as salt, which we can only have from the sea. First of all, without salt, there would be nothing eatable which mixed with flour seasons bread also. Neptune and Ceres had both the same temple. Besides, salt is the most pleasant of all condiments. For those heroes who like athletes used themselves to a spare diet, banishing from their tables all vain and superfluous delicacies, to such a degree that when they encamped by the Hellespont they abstained from fish, yet for all this could not eat flesh without salt; which is a sufficient evidence that salt is the most desirable of all relishes. For as colors need light, so tastes require salt, that they may affect the sense, unless you would have them very nauseous and unpleasant. For, as Heraclitus used to say, a carcass is more abominable than dung. Now all flesh is dead and part of a lifeless carcass; but the virtue of salt, being added to it, like a soul, gives it a pleasing relish and a poignancy. Hence it comes to pass that before meat men use to take sharp things, and such as have much salt in them; for these beguile us into an appetite. And whoever has his stomach sharpened with these sets cheerfully and freshly upon all other sorts of meat. But if he begin with any other kind of food, all on a sudden his stomach grows dull and languid. And therefore salt doth not only make meat but drink palatable. For Homer's onion, which, he tells us, they were used to eat before they drank, was fitter for seamen and boatmen than kings. Things moderately salt, by being pleasing to the mouth, make all sorts of wine mild and palateable, and water itself of a pleasing taste. Besides, salt creates none of those troubles which an onion does, but digests all other kinds of meat, making them tender and fitter for concoction; so that at the same time it is sauce to the palate and physic to the body. But all other seafood, besides this pleasantness, is also very innocent for though it be fleshly, yet it does not load the stomach as all other flesh does, but is easily concocted and digested. This Zeno will avouch for me, and Crato too, who confine sick persons to a fish diet, as of all others the lightest sort of meat. And it stands with reason, that the sea should produce the most nourishing and wholesome food, seeing it yields us the most refined, the purest and therefore the most agreeable air.
But, as Symmachus says, I will approach this more seriously and like a logician. If we can really call something a seasoning that makes food taste the best, then it logically follows that the best seasoning is the one that gives people the best appetite for their food. Just as those philosophers known as Elpistics (from the Greek word for hope, which they praised above all else) claimed that nothing contributes more to preserving life than hope, without which life would be a burden and unbearable; in the same way, it can be said that nothing helps us enjoy our food more than certain things, without which all food would be tasteless and nauseating. Among all the things the earth provides, there’s nothing like salt, which we can only get from the sea. First and foremost, without salt, there would be nothing edible that could mix with flour to flavor bread. Neptune and Ceres shared the same temple. Additionally, salt is the most enjoyable of all seasonings. Those heroes who, like athletes, stuck to a simple diet and eliminated all unnecessary delicacies, even abstaining from fish when they camped by the Hellespont, still couldn’t eat meat without salt; this clearly shows that salt is the most sought-after of all seasonings. Just as colors need light, tastes require salt to stimulate the senses, unless you want them to be unappealing and disgusting. As Heraclitus said, a carcass is more repulsive than dung. Now, all meat is dead and part of a lifeless body; however, when salt is added, like a soul, it gives it a pleasant flavor and zest. That’s why before meals, people often take sharp foods and those high in salt; they awaken our appetite. Anyone whose appetite is sharpened by these can happily and energetically enjoy all other types of food. But if they start with any other kind of food, suddenly their appetite becomes dull and sluggish. Therefore, salt enhances both food and drink. Homer mentions that onions, which were typical to eat before drinking, were more fitting for sailors than for kings. Moderately salty items, being enjoyable to eat, mellow out all types of wine and even make water taste good. Moreover, salt doesn’t cause the problems that onions do; instead, it helps digest all other foods, making them tender and easier to process; so at once, it serves as both a condiment for our taste buds and medicine for our bodies. Additionally, all other seafood, besides being pleasant to eat, is also very gentle on the stomach; even though it’s meaty, it doesn’t weigh you down like other meats do, but is easily digestible. Zeno and Crato would agree with me, as they recommend a fish diet for sick people, claiming it’s the lightest type of meat. It makes sense that the sea should produce the most nourishing and healthy food, since it gives us the purest, most refined air, which is also the most pleasing.
You say right, says Lamprias, but let us think of something else to confirm what you have spoken. I remember my old grandfather was used to say in derision of the Jews, that they abstained from most lawful flesh; but we will say that that is the most lawful meat which comes from the sea. For we can claim no great right over land creatures, which are nourished with the same food, draw the same air, wash in and drink the same water, that we do ourselves; and when they are slaughtered, they make us ashamed of what we are doing, with their hideous cries; and then again, by living amongst us, they arrive at some degree of familiarity and intimacy with us. But sea creatures are altogether strangers to us, and are born and brought up as it were in another world; neither does their voice, look, or any service they have done us plead for their life. For this kind of creatures are of no use at all to us, nor is there any necessity that we should love them. But that place which we inhabit is hell to them, and as soon as ever they enter upon it they die.
"You’re right," says Lamprias, "but let’s think of something else to back up what you’ve said. I remember my grandfather used to mock the Jews for avoiding most lawful meats, but let’s say that the most lawful meat comes from the sea. We don’t really have a strong claim over land animals since they eat the same food, breathe the same air, and drink the same water as we do. When they’re slaughtered, their horrible cries make us feel ashamed of what we’re doing. Plus, by living among us, they become somewhat familiar with us. But sea creatures are completely foreign to us; they’re born and raised in a different world. Their voices, appearance, or any service they’ve provided don’t argue for their lives. These creatures are useless to us, and there’s no reason for us to care about them. The place we live in is hell for them, and as soon as they enter it, they die."
QUESTION V. WHETHER THE JEWS ABSTAINED FROM SWINE'S FLESH BECAUSE THEY WORSHIPPED THAT CREATURE, OR BECAUSE THEY HAD AN ANTIPATHY AGAINST IT. CALLISTRATUS, POLYCRATES, LAMPRIAS.
QUESTION V. DID THE JEWS AVOID EATING PORK BECAUSE THEY WORSHIPPED THAT ANIMAL, OR BECAUSE THEY HAD A STRONG DISLIKE FOR IT? CALLISTRATUS, POLYCRATES, LAMPRIAS.
After these things were spoken, and some in the company were minded to say something in defence of the contrary opinion, Callistratus interrupted their discourse and said: Sirs, what do you think of that which was spoken against the Jews, that they abstain from the most lawful flesh? Very well said, quoth Polycrates, for that is a thing I very much question, whether it was that the Jews abstained from swine's flesh because they conferred divine honor upon that creature, or because they had a natural aversion to it. For whatever we find in their own writings seems to be altogether fabulous, except they have some more solid reasons which they have no mind to discover.
After this was said, and some people in the group wanted to defend the opposing view, Callistratus interrupted them and asked: “So, what do you think about the claim that the Jews avoid the most lawful meat?” Polycrates replied, “That's a good point, because I really wonder if the Jews avoid eating pork because they consider the pig sacred or because they just naturally dislike it. Everything we read in their texts seems totally unbelievable, unless they have solid reasons they're not willing to share.”
Hence it is, says Callistratus, that I am of an opinion that this nation has that creature in some veneration; and though it be granted that the hog is an ugly and filthy creature, yet it is not quite so vile nor naturally stupid as a beetle, griffin, crocodile, or cat, most of which are worshipped as the most sacred things by some priests amongst the Egyptians. But the reason why the hog is had in so much honor and veneration amongst them is, because as the report goes, that creature breaking up the earth with its snout showed the way to tillage, and taught them how to use the ploughshare, which instrument for that very reason, as some say, was called HYNIS from [Greek omitted], A SWINE. Now the Egyptians inhabiting a country situated low and whose soil is naturally soft, have no need of the plough; but after the river Nile hath retired from the grounds it overflowed, they presently let in all their hogs into the fields, and they with their feet and snout break up the ground, and cover the sown seed. Nor ought this to seem strange to anyone, that there are in the world those that abstain from swine's flesh on such an account as this; when it is evident that in barbarous nations there are other animals had in greater honor and veneration for lesser reasons, if not altogether ridiculous. For the field-mouse only for its blindness was worshipped as a god among the Egyptians, because they were of an opinion that darkness was before light and that the latter had its birth from mice about the fifth generation at the new moon; and moreover that the liver of this creature diminishes in the wane of the moon. But they consecrate the lion to the sun, because the lioness alone, of all clawed four-footed beasts, brings forth her young with their eyesight; for they sleep in a moment, and when they are asleep their eyes sparkle. Besides, they place gaping lions' heads for the spouts of their fountains, because Nilus overflows the Egyptian fields when the sign is Leo: they give it out that their bird ibis, as soon as hatched, weighs two drachms, which are of the same weight with the heart of a newborn infant; and that its legs being spread with the bill an exact equilateral triangle. And yet who can find fault with the Egyptians for these trifles, when it is left upon record that the Pythagoreans worshipped a white cock, and of sea creatures abstained especially from mullet and urtic. The Magi that descended from Zoroaster adored the land hedgehog above other creatures but had a deadly spite against water-rats, and thought that man was dear in the eyes of the gods who destroyed most of them. But I should think that if the Jews had such an antipathy against a hog, they would kill it as the magicians do mice; when, on the contrary, they are by their religion as much prohibited to kill as to eat it. And perhaps there may be some reason given for this; for as the ass is worshipped by them as the first discoverer of fountains, so perhaps the hog may be had in like veneration, which first taught them to sow and plough. Nay, some say that the Jews also abstain from hares, as abominable and unclean creatures.
So, Callistratus says that I believe this nation has a certain respect for this animal; and while it's true that the pig is an ugly and dirty creature, it’s not nearly as disgusting or naturally foolish as a beetle, griffin, crocodile, or cat, many of which are revered as the most sacred by some priests in Egypt. The reason the pig is held in such high regard among them is that, according to reports, this animal, using its snout to dig in the earth, showed them how to cultivate the land and taught them to use the plow, which some claim got its name, HYNIS, from [Greek omitted], meaning A SWINE. Since the Egyptians live in a low-lying area with naturally soft soil, they don't need a plow; instead, after the Nile River recedes from the flooded fields, they let their pigs into the land, and the pigs use their feet and snouts to break up the soil and cover the sown seeds. It shouldn't be surprising to anyone that there are people who avoid eating pig due to this belief, especially when it's clear that in other cultures, certain animals are held in higher regard for much less significant reasons, if not completely absurd ones. For instance, the field mouse was worshipped as a god among the Egyptians solely for being blind, as they believed that darkness existed before light and that light was born from mice around the fifth generation at the new moon; they also thought that the liver of this creature shrinks as the moon wanes. However, they dedicated the lion to the sun because the lioness, unlike any other clawed four-legged animal, gives birth to her young with their eyes open; they sleep briefly, and when they do, their eyes shine. Moreover, they place gaping lion heads as the spouts of their fountains since the Nile floods Egyptian fields when the zodiac sign is Leo: they claim that their bird, the ibis, weighs two drachms as soon as it hatches, which is the same weight as a newborn's heart; and that its legs, when spread with the beak, form a perfect equilateral triangle. Yet, who can criticize the Egyptians for such minor details when history shows that the Pythagoreans worshipped a white rooster and particularly avoided certain sea creatures like mullet and urchin? The Magi, descendants of Zoroaster, worshipped the land hedgehog more than any other creature, yet held a deadly hatred for water rats, believing that man earned the gods' favor by killing most of them. But I think if the Jews had such a strong aversion to pigs, they would treat them the same way the magicians treat mice; instead, their religion prohibits them from killing it just as much as from eating it. There might be some reasoning behind this; just as they worship the donkey for being the first to find water, perhaps the pig is similarly honored for teaching them to sow and plow. Furthermore, some say that Jews also avoid hares, seeing them as disgusting and unclean animals.
They have reason for that, said Lamprias, because a hare is so like an ass which they detest; for in its color, ears, and the sparkling of its eyes, it is so like an ass, that I do not know any little creature that represents a great one so much as a hare doth an ass; except in this likewise imitating the Egyptians, they suppose that there is something of divinity in the swiftness of this creature, as also in its quickness of sense; for the eyes of hares are so unwearied that they sleep with them open. Besides, they seem to excel all other creatures in quickness of hearing; whence it was that the Egyptians painted a hare's ear amongst their other hieroglyphics, as an emblem of hearing. But the Jews do hate swine's flesh, because all the barbarians are naturally fearful of a scab and leprosy, which they presume comes by eating such kind of flesh. For we may observe that all pigs under the belly are overspread with a leprosy and scab; which may be supposed to proceed from an ill disposition of body and corruption within, which breaks out through the skin. Besides, swine's feeding is commonly so nasty and filthy, that it must of necessity cause corruptions and vicious humors; for, setting aside those creatures that are bred from and live upon dung, there is no other creature that takes so much delight to wallow in the mire and in other unclean and stinking places. Hogs' eyes are said to be so flattened and fixed upon the ground, that they see nothing above them, nor ever look up to the sky, except when turned upon their back they turn their eyes upwards contrary to nature. Therefore this creature, at other times most clamorous' when laid upon his back, is still, as astonished at the unusual sight of the heavens; while the greatness of the fear he is in (as it is supposed) is the cause of his silence. And if it be lawful to intermix our discourse with fables, it is said that Adonis was slain by a boar. Now Adonis is supposed to be the same with Bacchus; and there are a great many rites in both their sacrifices which confirm this opinion. Others will have Adonis to be Bacchus's paramour; and Phanocles an amorous love-poet writes thus,
They have a reason for that, Lamprias said, because a hare resembles an ass, which they hate. In its color, ears, and the sparkle of its eyes, a hare looks so much like an ass that I can’t think of any other small creature that represents a larger one as much as a hare does an ass. Except for this, they also imitate the Egyptians in believing that there’s something divine about the swiftness of this creature, as well as its sharp senses. Hares have such alert eyes that they can sleep with them open. Additionally, they seem to be better than all other creatures at hearing, which is why the Egyptians included a hare's ear in their hieroglyphics as a symbol of hearing. The Jews hate pork because all the barbarians are naturally afraid of scabs and leprosy, which they think comes from eating that kind of meat. We can see that all pigs have leprosy and scabs under their bellies, which is likely due to poor health and internal corruption that surfaces through the skin. Also, pigs have such filthy feeding habits that they inevitably cause corruptions and bad humors; aside from those creatures that are bred from and live on dung, there’s no other animal that enjoys rolling in muck and other unclean, smelly places as much as pigs do. Pigs’ eyes are said to be so flattened and fixed on the ground that they see nothing above them and never look up at the sky, except when they are turned on their backs and can glance upward against their natural behavior. Therefore, this animal, usually quite noisy, becomes quiet and seems amazed at the unusual sight of the heavens when it’s on its back; it’s believed that the great fear it feels causes its silence. If it’s permissible to mix our discussion with fables, it’s said that Adonis was killed by a boar. Now, Adonis is thought to be the same as Bacchus, and there are many rituals in both their sacrifices that support this idea. Others claim that Adonis was Bacchus's lover; and Phanocles, a love poet, writes this:
Bacchus on hills the fair Adonis saw,
And ravished him, and reaped a wondrous joy.
Bacchus saw the beautiful Adonis on the hills,
And captivated him, and experienced incredible delight.QUESTION VI. WHAT GOD IS WORSHIPPED BY THE JEWS. SYMMACHUS, LAMPRIAS, MOERAGENES.
QUESTION VI. WHAT GOD IS WORSHIPPED BY THE JEWS. SYMMACHUS, LAMPRIAS, MOERAGENES.
Here Symmachus, greatly wondering at what was spoken, says: What, Lamprias, will you permit our tutelar god, called Evius, the inciter of women, famous for the honors he has conferred upon him by madmen, to be inscribed and enrolled in the mysteries of the Jews? Or is there any solid reason that can be given to prove Adonis to be the same with Bacchus? Here Moeragenes interposing, said: Do not be so fierce upon him, for I who am an Athenian answer you, and tell you, in short, that these two are the very same. And no man is able or fit to bring the chief confirmation of this truth, but those amongst us who are initiated and skilled in the triennial [Greek omitted] or chief mysteries of the god. But what no religion forbids to speak of among friends, especially over wine, the gift of Bacchus, I am ready at the command of these gentlemen to disclose.
Here Symmachus, deeply intrigued by what was said, asks: What, Lamprias, will you allow our guardian god, known as Evius, the instigator of women, celebrated for the recognition he’s received from the crazed, to be included in the Jewish mysteries? Or is there any solid argument that can prove Adonis is the same as Bacchus? Moeragenes then interjected, saying: Don’t be so hard on him, for I, being an Athenian, can tell you plainly that these two are indeed the same. No one but those among us who are initiated and knowledgeable in the triennial mysteries of the god can provide the strongest confirmation of this truth. But what no religion forbids us to discuss among friends, especially over wine, the gift of Bacchus, I am ready to reveal at the request of these gentlemen.
When all the company requested and earnestly begged it of him; first of all (says he), the time and manner of the greatest and most holy solemnity of the Jews is exactly agreeable to the holy rites of Bacchus; for that which they call the Fast they celebrate in the midst of the vintage, furnishing their tables with all sorts of fruits while they sit under tabernacles made of vines and ivy; and the day which immediately goes before this they call the day of Tabernacles. Within a few days after they celebrate another feast, not darkly but openly, dedicated to Bacchus, for they have a feast amongst them called Kradephoria, from carrying palm-trees, and Thyrsophoria, when they enter into the temple carrying thyrsi. What they do within I know not; but it is very probable that they perform the rites of Bacchus. First they have little trumpets, such as the Grecians used to have at their Bacchanalia to call upon their gods withal. Others go before them playing upon harps, which they call Levites, whether so named from Lusius or Evius,—either word agrees with Bacchus. And I suppose that their Sabbaths have some relation to Bacchus; for even now many call the Bacchi by the name of Sabbi, and they make use of that word at the celebration of Bacchus's orgies. And this may be discovered out of Demosthenes and Menander. Nor would it be out of place, were any one to say that the name Sabbath was given to this feast from the agitation and excitement [Greek omitted] which the priests of Bacchus display. The Jews themselves witness no less; for when they keep the Sabbath, they invite one another to drink till they are drunk; or if they chance to be hindered by some more weighty business, it is the fashion at least to taste the wine. Some perhaps may surmise that these are mere conjectures. But there are other arguments which will clearly evince the truth of what I assert. The first may be drawn from their High-priest, who on holidays enters their temple with his mitre on, arrayed in a skin of a hind embroidered with gold, wearing buskins, and a coat hanging down to his ankles; besides, he has a great many little bells depending from his garment which make a noise as he walks. So in the nocturnal ceremonies of Bacchus (as the fashion is amongst us), they make use of music, and call the god's nurses [Greek omitted]. High up on the wall of their temple is a representation of the thyrsus and timbrels, which surely suits no other god than Bacchus. Mor ancients were wont to make themselves drun And at this day barbarous people who want wine drink metheglin, allaying the sweetness of the honey by bitter roots, much of the taste of our wine. The Greeks offered to their gods these temperate offerings or honey-offerings, as they called them, because that honey was of a nature quite contrary to wine. But this is no inconsiderable argument that Bacchus was worshipped by the Jews, in that, amongst other kinds of punishment, that was most remarkably odious by which malefactors were forbid the use of wine for so long a time as the judge thought fit to prescribe. Those thus punished....
When everyone in the group asked him sincerely and passionately about it, he said, first of all, the timing and the way the most important and sacred Jewish festival is celebrated aligns perfectly with the holy practices of Bacchus. What they call the Fast takes place right in the middle of the grape harvest, with their tables filled with all kinds of fruits while they sit under shelters made of vines and ivy. The day right before this is known as the Day of Tabernacles. A few days later, they celebrate another festival, not secretly but openly, dedicated to Bacchus; they have a celebration called Kradephoria, where they carry palm trees, and Thyrsophoria, when they enter the temple carrying thyrsi. I don’t know what they do inside, but it’s likely that they perform Bacchus's rituals. First, they have small trumpets, similar to those the Greeks used during their Bacchanalia to call upon their gods. Others play harps in front of them, known as Levites, possibly named after Lusius or Evius—both names are associated with Bacchus. I suspect their Sabbaths have some connection to Bacchus because even today, many refer to the Bacchae as Sabbi, and that term is used during Bacchus's celebrations. This is supported by evidence from Demosthenes and Menander. It wouldn’t be surprising if someone suggested that the name Sabbath was given to this festival because of the excitement and fervor that Bacchus's priests display. The Jews themselves confirm this; when they observe the Sabbath, they invite each other to drink until they’re drunk, or if they happen to be busy with something urgent, it’s customary at least to sip the wine. Some might think these are just speculations. However, there are other points that clearly support my claim. The first can be seen in their High Priest, who on holidays enters the temple wearing a mitre, dressed in a golden-embroidered hind skin, with buskins on and a long coat. Additionally, he has many small bells hanging from his garments that jingle as he walks. In the late-night ceremonies of Bacchus (as we do), they use music and refer to the god's nurses. High up on the wall of their temple, there’s a depiction of the thyrsus and tambourines, symbols that surely belong to no other god than Bacchus. In ancient times, people would get drunk, and to this day, those in remote regions who lack wine drink metheglin, softening the sweetness of honey with bitter roots, resembling the taste of our wine. The Greeks offered their gods these moderate or honey-based offerings because honey is quite different from wine. But this serves as a strong argument that Bacchus was honored by the Jews; among other forms of punishment, one of the most shocking was when offenders were forbidden to drink wine for as long as the judge deemed appropriate. Those punished...
(The remainder of the Fourth Book is wanting.)
(The rest of the Fourth Book is missing.)
QUESTION VII. WHY THE DAYS WHICH HAVE THE NAMES OF THE PLANETS ARE NOT ARRANGED ACCORDING TO THE ORDER OF THE PLANETS, BUT THE CONTRARY. THERE IS ADDED A DISCOURSE ON THE POSITION OF THE SUN.
QUESTION VII. WHY THE DAYS NAMED AFTER THE PLANETS ARE NOT ARRANGED IN THE ORDER OF THE PLANETS, BUT INSTEAD IN REVERSE. A DISCUSSION ON THE POSITION OF THE SUN IS ALSO INCLUDED.
BOOK V.
What is your opinion at present, Sossius Senecio, of the pleasures of mind and body, is not evident to me;
Because us two a thousand things divide,
Vast shady hills, and the rough ocean's tide.
("Iliad" i. 156)
Because a thousand things separate us,
Vast shady hills and the rough ocean's waves.
("Iliad" i. 156)But formerly, I am sure, you did not lean to nor like their opinion, who will not allow the soul to have any proper agreeable pleasure, which without respect to the body she desires for herself; but define that she lives as a form assistant to the body, is directed by the passions of it, and, as that is affected, is either pleased or grieved, or, like a looking-glass, only receives the images of those sensible impressions made upon the body. This sordid and debasing opinion is especially confuted as follows; for at a feast, the genteel well-bred men after supper fall upon some topic or another as second course, and cheer one another by their pleasant talk. Now the body hath very little or no share in this; which evidently proves that this is a particular banquet for the soul, and that those pleasures are peculiar to her, and different from those which pass to her through the body and are vitiated thereby. Now, as nurses, when they feed children, taste a little of their pap, and have but little pleasure therefrom, but when the infants are satisfied, leave crying, and go to sleep, then being at their own disposal, they take such meat and drink as is agreeable to their own bodies; thus the soul partakes of the pleasures that arise from eating and drinking, like a nurse, being subservient to the appetites of the body, kindly yielding to its necessities and wants, and calming its desires; but when that is satisfied and at rest, then being free from her business and servile employment, she seeks her own proper pleasures, revels on discourse, problems, stories, curious questions, or subtle resolutions. Nay, what shall a man say, when he sees the dull unlearned fellows after supper minding such pleasures as have not the least relation to the body? They tell tales, propose riddles, or set one another a-guessing at names, comprised and hid under such and such numbers. Thus mimics, drolls, Menander and his actors were admitted into banquets, not because they can free the eye from any pain, or raise any tickling motion in the flesh; but because the soul, being naturally philosophical and a lover of instruction, covets its own proper pleasure and satisfaction, when it is free from the trouble of looking after the body.
But in the past, I'm sure you didn't agree with those who believe that the soul shouldn't have any true enjoyable pleasures that it desires independently of the body. They claim the soul exists only to assist the body, reacting to its passions, and is either happy or sad depending on how the body feels, or, like a mirror, simply reflects the sensations that affect the body. This degrading viewpoint can be easily challenged. At a feast, for instance, well-mannered people often engage in conversation after dinner, enjoying each other's company. The body plays a minimal role in this, clearly showing that this is an occasion especially for the soul, and that these pleasures are unique to her, distinct from those experienced through the body, which are often diminished by it. Similarly, when nurses feed babies, they might taste a bit of the food but derive little pleasure from it. Once the babies are fed and content, the nurses can attend to their own appetites, choosing food and drink that they enjoy. In this way, the soul experiences pleasures from eating and drinking, acting like a nurse that caters to the body’s needs and cravings. Once those needs are met and the body is at peace, the soul, free from her servitude, seeks her own pleasures, indulging in discussions, puzzles, stories, intriguing questions, or clever solutions. Furthermore, what can one say when observing simple, uneducated folks after a meal engrossed in pleasures that have nothing to do with the body? They tell stories, pose riddles, or challenge each other to guess names hidden under numbers. Comedians, jesters, and actors like Menander were welcomed at banquets for this reason—not because they relieve any physical discomfort or provoke laughter in the flesh, but because the soul, being naturally philosophical and eager to learn, seeks its own fulfillment and enjoyment when free from the burdens of caring for the body.
QUESTION I. WHY WE TAKE DELIGHT IN HEARING THOSE THAT REPRESENT THE PASSIONS OF MEN ANGRY OR SORROWFUL, AND YET CANNOT WITHOUT CONCERN BEHOLD THOSE WHO ARE REALLY SO AFFECTED?
QUESTION I. WHY DO WE ENJOY HEARING ABOUT PEOPLE WHO EXPRESS EMOTIONS LIKE ANGER OR SORROW, YET FEEL UNEASY WHEN WE SEE OTHERS ACTUALLY EXPERIENCING THOSE EMOTIONS?
PLUTARCH, BOETHUS.
PLUTARCH, BOETHIUS.
Of this we discoursed in your company at Athens, when Strato the comedian (for he was a man of great credit) flourished. For being entertained at supper by Boethus the Epicurean, with a great many more of the sect, as it usually happens when learned and inquisitive men meet together, the remembrance of the comedy led us to this inquiry,—Why we are disturbed at the real voices of men, either angry, pensive, or afraid, and yet are delighted to hear others represent them, and imitate their gestures, speeches, and exclamations. Every one in the company gave almost the same reason. For they said, he that only represents excels him that really feels, inasmuch as he doth not suffer the misfortunes; which we knowing are pleased and delighted on that account.
We talked about this in your presence in Athens when Strato the comedian, a well-respected man, was at the height of his career. While we were having dinner with Boethus the Epicurean and several others from the same school, as often happens when knowledgeable and curious people gather, the memory of the comedy led us to this question: Why do we feel disturbed by the genuine voices of people when they're angry, sad, or scared, yet we enjoy hearing others imitate them, along with their gestures, speech, and exclamations? Everyone in the group seemed to have a similar answer. They said that someone who merely acts out these emotions is better than someone who actually feels them, because the actor doesn’t experience the hardships; knowing this, we find pleasure and enjoyment in their performance.
But I, though it was not properly my talent, said that we, being by nature rational and lovers of ingenuity, are delighted with and admire everything that is artificially and ingeniously contrived. For as a bee, naturally loving sweet things, seeks after and flies to anything that has any mixture of honey in it; so man, naturally loving ingenuity and elegancy, is very much inclined to accept and highly approve every word or action that is seasoned with wit and judgement. Thus, if any one offers a child a piece of bread, and at the same time, a little dog or ox made in paste, we shall see the boy run eagerly to the latter; so likewise if anyone, offers silver in the lump, and another a beast or a cup of the same metal, he will rather choose that in which he sees a mixture of art and reason. Upon the same account it is that a child is much in love with riddles, and such fooleries as are difficult and intricate; for whatever is curious and subtle doth attract and allure mankind, as antecedently to all instruction agreeable and proper to it. And therefore, because he that is really affected with grief or anger presents us with nothing but the common bare passion, but in the imitation some dexterity and persuasiveness appears, we are naturally inclined to be disturbed at the former, whilst the latter delights us. It is unpleasant to see a sick man, or one at his last gasp; yet with content we can look upon the picture of Philoctetes, or the statue of Jocasta, in whose face it is commonly said that the workmen mixed silver, so that the brass might depict the face and color of one ready to faint and expire. And this, said I, the Cyrenaics may use as a strong argument against you Epicureans, that all the sense of pleasure which arises from the working of any object on the ear or eye is not in those organs, but in the intellect itself. Thus the continual cackling of a hen or cawing of a crow is very ungrateful and disturbing; yet he that imitates those noises well pleases the hearers. Thus to behold a consumptive man is no delightful spectacle; yet with pleasure we can view the pictures and statues of such persons, because the very imitating hath something in it very agreeable to the mind, which allures and captivates its faculties. For upon what other account, for God's sake, from what external impression upon our organs, should men be moved to admire Parmeno's sow so much as to pass it into a proverb? Yet it is reported, that Parmeno being very famous for imitating the grunting of a pig, some endeavoured to rival and outdo him. And when the hearers, being prejudiced, cried out, Very well indeed, but nothing comparable to Parmeno's sow; one took a pig under his arm and came upon the stage. And when, though they heard the very pig, they still continued, This is nothing comparable to Parmeno's sow; he threw his pig amongst them, to show that they judged according to opinion and not truth. And hence it is very evident, that like motions of the sense do not always raise like affections in the mind, when there is not an opinion that the thing done was not neatly and ingeniously performed.
But I, even though it wasn't really my strength, said that we, being naturally rational and lovers of creativity, are thrilled by and admire everything that is skillfully and cleverly made. Just like a bee, which naturally loves sweet things, seeks out and flies toward anything with even a hint of honey; in the same way, humans, who naturally love creativity and elegance, are very inclined to accept and wholeheartedly approve every word or action that is infused with wit and judgment. For instance, if someone offers a child a piece of bread along with a little dog or an ox made out of dough, we’ll see the boy eagerly rush to the latter; similarly, if someone offers raw silver and another presents a crafted beast or a cup made of the same metal, he is more likely to choose the one that shows a blend of art and reason. A child is also drawn to riddles and tricky puzzles for the same reason; anything curious and intricate captures and fascinates us, paving the way for all appropriate and enjoyable instruction. Therefore, because someone genuinely affected by grief or anger only shows us raw, bare emotion, but in imitation, we see some skill and persuasion, we tend to be disturbed by the former while the latter entertains us. It's unpleasant to watch a sick person or someone gasping for breath; yet we can happily view the picture of Philoctetes or the statue of Jocasta, where it's said the sculptors mixed silver so that the brass could depict the face and color of someone on the brink of fainting. This, I said, the Cyrenaics can use as a strong argument against you Epicureans, proving that all the sense of pleasure derived from the stimulation of our ears or eyes isn't in those senses, but in the mind itself. While the constant clucking of a hen or cawing of a crow is quite annoying and disturbing, someone who mimics those sounds can actually please the listeners. Similarly, watching a sickly person isn’t a delightful sight; however, we can enjoy seeing pictures and statues of such individuals because the very act of imitation has something very appealing to the mind that draws and captivates us. For what other reason, for goodness' sake, should people be moved to admire Parmeno's pig to the point of making it a saying? It is said that Parmeno became quite famous for his ability to imitate a pig's grunt, prompting others to try to outdo him. And when the audience, biased, exclaimed, "Very nice, but nothing compares to Parmeno's pig"; one performer brought a pig on stage. Yet, even when they heard the actual pig, they still insisted, "This doesn’t even come close to Parmeno's pig." He then tossed the pig into the crowd, demonstrating that they were judging based on opinion rather than truth. Hence, it’s clear that similar sensory experiences do not always evoke similar feelings in the mind unless there is a belief that the action was done skillfully and cleverly.
QUESTION II. THAT THE PRIZE FOR POETS AT THE GAMES WAS ANCIENT.
QUESTION II. THAT THE PRIZE FOR POETS AT THE GAMES WAS ANCIENT.
At the solemnity of the Pythian names, there was a consult about taking away all such sports as had lately crept in and were not of ancient institution. For after they had taken in the tragedy in addition to the three ancient, which were as old as the solemnity itself, the Pythian piper, the harper, and the singer to the harp, as if a large gate were opened, they could not keep out an infinite crowd of plays and musical entertainments of all sorts that rushed in after him. Which indeed made no unpleasant variety, and increased the company, but yet impaired the gravity and neatness of the solemnity. Besides it must create a great deal of trouble to the umpires, and considerable dissatisfaction to very many, since but few could obtain the prize. It was chiefly agreed upon, that the orators and poets should be removed; and this determination did not proceed from any hatred to learning, but forasmuch as such contenders are the most noted and worthiest men of all, therefore they reverence them, and were troubled that, when they must judge every one very deserving, they could not bestow the prize equally upon all. I, being present at this consult, dissuaded those who were for removing things from their present settled order, and who thought this variety as unsuitable to the solemnity as many strings and many notes to an instrument. And when at supper, Petraeus the president and director of the sports entertaining us, the same subject was discoursed on, I defended music, and maintained that poetry was no upstart intruder, but that it was time out of mind admitted into the sacred games, and crowns were given to the best performer. Some straight imagined that I intended to produce some old musty stories, like the funeral solemnities of Oeolycus the Thessalian or of Amphidamas the Chalcidean, in which they say Homer and Hesiod contended for the prize. But passing by these instances as the common theme of every grammarian, as likewise their criticisms who, in the description of Patroclus's obsequies in Homer, read [Greek omitted] ORATORS, and not [Greek omitted], DARTERS, ("Iliad," xxiii, 886.) as if Achilles had proposed a prize for the best speaker,—omitting all these, I said that Acastus at his father Pelias's funeral set a prize for contending poets, and Sibylla won it. At this, a great many demanding some authority for this unlikely and incredible relation, I happily recollecting myself produced Acesander, who in his description of Africa hath this relation; but I must confess this is no common book. But Polemo the Athenian's "Commentary of the Treasures of the City Delphi" I suppose most of you have diligently perused, he being a very learned man in the Greek Antiquities. In him you shall find that in the Sicyonian treasure there was a golden book dedicated to the god, with this inscription: Aristomache, the poetess of Erythraea, dedicated this after she had got the prize at the Isthmian games. Nor is there any reason, I continued, why we should so admire and reverence the Olympic games, as if, like Fate, they were unalterable, and never admitted any change since the first institution. For the Pythian, it is true, hath had three or four musical prizes added; but all the exercises of the body were for the most part the same from the beginning. But in the Olympian all beside racing are late additions. They instituted some, and abolished them again; such were the races of mules, either rode or in a chariot as likewise the crown appointed for boys that were victor's in the five contests. And, in short, a thousand things in those games are mere novelties. At Pisa they had a single combat, where he that yielded or was overcome was killed upon the place. But pray for the future require no author for my story, lest I may appear ridiculous if amidst my cups I should forget the name.
At the solemn event of the Pythian games, there was a discussion about eliminating all the recent sports that had emerged and weren’t part of the traditional lineup. After they added tragedy to the three original performances that had been part of the event since its inception—the Pythian piper, the harper, and the singer with the harp—like a wide gate swinging open, they couldn’t fend off an overwhelming flood of plays and various musical acts that flocked in afterward. While this did offer some enjoyable variety and increased attendance, it undermined the seriousness and order of the event. Additionally, it created a lot of challenges for the judges and significant dissatisfaction among many participants, since only a few could win a prize. The general consensus was to remove orators and poets from the competition; this decision wasn’t made out of any disdain for education, but because these contenders were the most distinguished and respected individuals, which made it awkward for judges who wanted to fairly reward everyone deserving but couldn’t do so. I, being present at this discussion, advised those who wanted to disrupt the current system, arguing that the new variety was as inappropriate for the solemnity as multiple strings and notes would be for a single instrument. Later, during dinner, as Petraeus, the president and organizer of the events, entertained us, we revisited the topic, and I defended the inclusion of music, asserting that poetry had long been accepted in the sacred games, with crowns awarded to the best performers. Some thought I was going to bring up ancient, irrelevant tales, like the funeral games of Oeolycus from Thessaly or Amphidamas from Chalcis, where Homer and Hesiod competed for a prize. Skipping over those examples, which are the usual references of any scholar, and their debates over the description of Patroclus's funeral in Homer, I mentioned that Acastus established a prize for poets at his father Pelias's funeral, which Sibylla won. When many questioned the credibility of this surprising claim, I recalled Acesander, who wrote about it in his account of Africa; however, I admit that this isn’t a widely known book. Most of you likely have read Polemo the Athenian's "Commentary on the Treasures of the City of Delphi," as he was a very knowledgeable scholar in Greek ancient history. There, you will find that in the Sicyonian treasury, a golden book was dedicated to the god, with this inscription: Aristomache, the poetess of Erythraea, dedicated this after winning the prize at the Isthmian games. Furthermore, I continued, there’s no reason to hold the Olympic games in such high regard, as if they were immutable, having remained unchanged since their inception. In truth, the Pythian games have had three or four musical prizes added over time, but most of the physical contests have largely stayed the same since the beginning. In contrast, many events in the Olympic games besides racing have been recent additions. Some were instituted and then later abolished, such as the mule races, whether ridden or in chariots, and the crown designated for boys who won in all five contests. In short, a plethora of aspects in those games are recent innovations. At Pisa, they had a single combat where the loser would be killed on the spot. But please, in the future, don’t ask for sources for my stories. It might lead me to seem foolish if, amid my drinks, I forget the name.
QUESTION III. WHY WAS THE PINE COUNTED SACRED TO NEPTUNE AND BACCHUS? AND WHY AT FIRST THE CONQUEROR IN THE ISTHMIAN GAMES WAS CROWNED WITH A GARLAND OF PINE, AFTERWARDS WITH PARSLEY, AND NOW AGAIN WITH PINE.
QUESTION III. WHY WAS THE PINE TREE CONSIDERED SACRED TO NEPTUNE AND BACCHUS? AND WHY WAS THE WINNER OF THE ISTHMIAN GAMES FIRST CROWNED WITH A GARLAND OF PINE, THEN WITH PARSLEY, AND NOW BACK TO PINE?
LUCANIUS, PRAXITELES.
LUCANIUS, PRAXITELES.
This question was started, why the Isthmian garland was made of pine. We were then at supper in Corinth, in the time of the Isthmian games, with Lucanius the chief priest. Praxiteles the commentator brought this fable for a reason; it is said that the body of Melicertes was found fixed to a pine-tree by the sea; and not far from Megara, there is a place called the Race of a Fair Lady, through which the Megarians say that Ino, with her son Melicertes in her arms, ran to the sea. And when many put forth the common opinion, that the pine-tree garland peculiarly belongs to Neptune, Lucanius added that it is sacred to Bacchus too, but yet, for all that, it might also be appropriated to the honor of Melicertes; this started the question, why the ancients dedicated the pine to Neptune and Bacchus. As for my part, it did not seem incongruous to me, for both the gods seem to preside over the moist and generative principle; and almost all the Greeks sacrifice to Neptune the nourisher of plants, and to Bacchus the preserver of trees. Besides, it may be said that the pine peculiarly agrees to Neptune, not, as Apollodorus thinks, because it grows by the seaside, or because it loves a bleak place (for some give this reason), but because it is used in building ships; for it together with the like trees, as fir and cypress, affords the best and the lightest timber, and likewise pitch and rosin, without which the compacted planks would be altogether unserviceable at sea. To Bacchus they dedicate the pine, because it seasons wine, for among the pines they say the sweetest and most delicious grapes grow. The cause of this Theophrastus thinks to be the heat of the soil; for pines grow most in chalky grounds. Now chalk is hot, and therefore must very much conduce to the concoction of the wine; as a chalky spring affords the lightest and sweetest water; and if chalk is mixed with corn, by its heat it makes the grains swell, and considerably increases the heap. Besides, it is probable that the vine itself is bettered by the pine, for that contains several things which are good to preserve wine. All cover the insides of wine casks with rosin, and many mix rosin with wine, as the Euboeans in Greece, and in Italy those that live about the river Po. From the parts of Gaul about Vienna there is a sort of pitched wine brought, which the Romans value very much; for such things mixed with it do not only give it a good flavor, but make the wine generous, taking away by their gentle heat all the crude, watery, and undigested particles. When I had said thus much, a rhetorician in the company, a man well read in all sorts of polite learning, cried out: Good Gods! was it not but the other day that the Isthmian garland began to be made of pine? And was not the crown anciently of twined parsley? I am sure in a certain comedy a covetous man is brought in speaking thus:—
This question came up: Why was the Isthmian garland made of pine? We were having dinner in Corinth during the Isthmian games, along with Lucanius, the chief priest. Praxiteles the commentator shared this fable to explain; it's said that the body of Melicertes was found stuck to a pine tree by the sea. Not far from Megara, there's a place called the Race of a Fair Lady, where the Megarians claim that Ino, carrying her son Melicertes, ran to the sea. When many expressed the common belief that the pine tree garland is specifically for Neptune, Lucanius added that it is also sacred to Bacchus. Nevertheless, it could also be dedicated to the honor of Melicertes. This raised the question of why the ancients dedicated the pine to Neptune and Bacchus. Personally, I didn't think it was strange, since both gods seem to oversee the wet and generative element. Almost all Greeks sacrifice to Neptune, the nourisher of plants, and to Bacchus, the preserver of trees. Moreover, it can be said that the pine tree especially belongs to Neptune, not because, as Apollodorus believes, it grows by the seaside or thrives in harsh conditions (some say this), but because it’s used in shipbuilding. Pine, along with similar trees like fir and cypress, provides the best and lightest wood, as well as pitch and rosin, which are essential so that the planks are functional at sea. They dedicate the pine to Bacchus because it enhances wine; among the pines, they say the sweetest and most delicious grapes grow. Theophrastus thinks this is due to the warmth of the soil since pines thrive in chalky areas. Chalk is warm, which likely aids in the fermentation of wine; similarly, a chalky spring produces the lightest and sweetest water. If chalk is mixed with grain, its heat makes the grains swell and significantly increases the volume. Additionally, it’s possible that the vine itself benefits from the pine, as it has several properties that help preserve wine. People coat the insides of wine casks with rosin, and many mix rosin with wine, such as the Euboeans in Greece and those living around the Po River in Italy. A specific type of resinous wine is brought from the Gaul regions near Vienna, which the Romans highly value; these additives not only enhance its flavor but also enrich the wine, gently removing any crude, watery, or undigested particles. After I had explained all of this, a rhetorician in the group, well-versed in various areas of culture, exclaimed: Good gods! Wasn’t it just a short while ago that the Isthmian garland was first made of pine? And wasn’t the crown originally made of twisted parsley? I recall a particular comedy where a greedy character says:—
The Isthmian garland I will sell as cheap
As common wreaths of parsley may be sold.
I'll sell the Isthmian garland for just as little
As regular parsley wreaths can be sold.And Timaeus the historian says that, when the Corinthians were marching to fight the Carthaginians in the defence of Sicily, some persons carrying parsley met them, and when several looked upon this as a bad omen,—because parsley is accounted unlucky, and those that are dangerously sick we usually say have need of parsley,—Timoleon encouraged them by putting them in mind of the Isthmian parsley garland with which the Corinthians used to crown the conquerors. And besides, the admiral-ship of Antigonus's navy, having by chance some parsley growing on its poop, was called Isthmia. Besides, a certain obscure epigram upon an earthen vessel stopped with parsley intimates the same thing. It runs thus:—
And Timaeus the historian says that when the Corinthians were marching to fight the Carthaginians to defend Sicily, some people carrying parsley crossed their path. Several of them saw this as a bad omen—because parsley is considered unlucky, and we usually say that those who are seriously ill need parsley. Timoleon encouraged them by reminding them of the Isthmian parsley garland that the Corinthians used to award to the victors. Also, the admiralship of Antigonus's navy, which happened to have some parsley growing on its stern, was called Isthmia. Additionally, there's a little-known epigram on a clay pot sealed with parsley that suggests the same idea. It goes like this:—
The Grecian earth, now hardened by the flame,
Holds in its hollow belly Bacchus blood;
And hath its mouth with Isthmian branches stopped.
The Greek land, now hardened by fire,
Holds in its hollow belly Bacchus’s blood;
And has its mouth blocked with Isthmian branches. Sure, he continued, they never read these authors, who cry up the pine as anciently wreathed in the Isthmian garlands, and would not have it some upstart intruder. The young men yielded presently to him, as being a man of various reading and very learned.
Sure, he continued, they never read these authors, who praise the pine as traditionally adorned with Isthmian garlands, and would not accept some newcomer. The young men quickly gave in to him, seeing him as a well-read and knowledgeable person.
But Lucanius, with a smile looking upon me, cried out: Good God! here's a deal of learning. But others have taken advantage of our ignorance and unacquaintedness with such matters, and, on the contrary, persuaded us that the pine was the first garland, and that afterwards in honor of Hercules the parsley was received from the Nemean games, which in a little time prevailing, thrust out the pine, as if it were its right to be the wreath; but a little while after the pine recovered its ancient honor, and now flourishes in its glory. I was satisfied, and upon consideration found that I had run across a great many authorities for it. Thus Euphorion writes of Melicertes,
But Lucanius, smiling at me, exclaimed, "Good God! There's so much knowledge here." Yet others have exploited our lack of understanding about these things and convinced us that the pine was the original wreath. Later, in honor of Hercules, parsley was introduced from the Nemean games, which soon took over and seemed to claim its right to be the wreath. But after a while, the pine regained its former glory and now thrives. I felt satisfied and, upon reflection, realized that I had encountered many sources that supported this. Thus, Euphorion writes about Melicertes,
They mourned the youth, and him on pine boughs laid
Of which the Isthmian victors' crowns are made.
Fate had not yet seized beauteous Mene's son
By smooth Asopus; since whose fall the crown
Of parsley wreathed did grace the victor's brow.
They grieved for the young man, laid on pine branches
From which the crowns of the Isthmian champions are made.
Fate had not yet claimed beautiful Mene's son
By the gentle Asopus; since his fall,
The parsley crown has adorned the victor's head.And Callimachus is plainer and more express, when he makes Hercules speak thus of parsley,
And Callimachus is clearer and more direct when he has Hercules say this about parsley,
This at Isthmian sports
To Neptune's glory now shall be the crown;
The pine shall be disused, which heretofore
In Corinth's fields successful victors wore.
This at Isthmian sports
To Neptune's glory now shall be the crown;
The pine shall be put aside, which before
In Corinth's fields successful winners wore.And besides, if I am not mistaken, in Procles's history of the Isthmian games I met with this passage; at first a pine garland crowned the conqueror, but when this game began to be reckoned amongst the sacred, then from the Nemean solemnity the parsley was received. And this Procles was one of Xenocrates's fellow-students at the Academy.
And besides, if I'm not mistaken, in Procles's history of the Isthmian games, I came across this passage: at first, a pine garland crowned the champion, but when this event started being considered sacred, then the parsley was adopted from the Nemean festival. And this Procles was one of Xenocrates's classmates at the Academy.
QUESTION IV. CONCERNING THAT EXPRESSION IN HOMER, [GREEK OMITTED] ("Iliad," ix. 203.)
QUESTION IV. ABOUT THAT EXPRESSION IN HOMER, [GREEK OMITTED] ("Iliad," ix. 203.)
NICERATUS, SOSICLES, ANTIPATER, PLUTARCH.
NICERATUS, SOSICLES, ANTIPATER, PLUTARCH.
Some at the table were of opinion that Achilles talked nonsense when he bade Patroclus "mix the wine stronger," adding this reason,
Some people at the table believed that Achilles was being ridiculous when he told Patroclus to "mix the wine stronger," giving this reason,
For now I entertain my dearest friends.
For now, I’m hanging out with my closest friends.
But Niceratus a Macedonian, my particular acquaintance, maintained that [Greek omitted] did not signify pure but hot wine; as if it were derived from [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] (LIFE-GIVING AND BOILING), and it were requisite at the coming of his friends to temper a fresh bowl, as every one of us in his offering at the altar pours out fresh wine. But Sosicles the poet, remembering a saying of Empedocles, that in the great universal change those things which before were [Greek omitted], UNMIXED, should then be [Greek omitted], affirmed that [Greek omitted] there signified [Greek omitted], WELL-TEMPERED, and that Achilles might with a great deal of reason bid Patroclus provide well-tempered wine for the entertainment of his friends; and it was absurd (he said) to use [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted] any more than [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], or [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], for the comparatives are very properly put for the positives. My friend Antipater said that years were anciently called [Greek omitted], and that the particle [Greek omitted] in composition signified greatness; and therefore old wine, that had been kept for many years, was called by Achilles [Greek omitted].
But Niceratus, a Macedonian and my good friend, argued that [Greek omitted] meant not pure but hot wine; as if it came from [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] (LIFE-GIVING AND BOILING), and it was necessary, when his friends arrived, to mix a fresh bowl, just as each of us pours fresh wine in our offerings at the altar. However, Sosicles the poet recalled a saying from Empedocles, that in the grand universal change, those things which were before [Greek omitted], UNMIXED, would then be [Greek omitted]. He insisted that [Greek omitted] actually meant [Greek omitted], WELL-TEMPERED, which made perfect sense for Achilles to ask Patroclus to provide well-tempered wine for his friends’ gathering; he argued that it was ridiculous to use [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted] any more than [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], or [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], since the comparatives are properly used instead of the positives. My friend Antipater mentioned that years were once called [Greek omitted], and that the prefix [Greek omitted] indicated greatness; therefore, old wine that had been stored for many years was referred to by Achilles as [Greek omitted].
I put them in mind that some imagine that [Greek omitted], hot, is signified by [Greek omitted], and that hotter means really faster, as when we command servants to move themselves more hotly or in hotter haste. But I must confess, your dispute is frivolous, since it is raised upon this supposition that if [Greek omitted], signifies more pure wine, Achilles's command would be absurd, as Zoilus of Amphipolis imagined. For first he did not consider that Achilles saw Phoenix and Ulysses to be old men, who are not pleased with diluted wine, and upon that account forbade any mixture. Besides, he having been Chiron's scholar, and from him having learned the rules of diet, he considered that weaker and more diluted liquors were fittest for those bodies that lay at ease, and were not employed in their customary exercise or labor. Thus with the other provender he gave his horses smallage, and this upon very good reason; for horses that lie still grow sore in their feet, and smallage is the best remedy in the world against that. And you will not find smallage or anything of the same nature given to any other horses in the whole "Iliad." Thus Achilles, being experienced in physic, provided suitable provender for his horses, and used the lightest diet himself, as the fittest whilst he lay at ease. But those that had been wearied all day in fight he did not think convenient to treat like those that had lain at ease, but commanded more pure and stronger wine to be prepared. Besides, Achilles doth not appear to be naturally addicted to drinking, but he was of a haughty, inexorable temper.
I reminded them that some believe that [Greek omitted], hot, means [Greek omitted], and that hotter actually means faster, like when we tell servants to hurry up or move with more urgency. But I have to admit, your argument is pointless since it’s based on the assumption that if [Greek omitted] means purer wine, then Achilles's command would be ridiculous, as Zoilus from Amphipolis thought. First, he didn’t consider that Achilles saw Phoenix and Ulysses as older men who wouldn’t enjoy diluted wine, which is why he forbade mixing it. Plus, having been taught by Chiron, he understood the rules of diet and thought that weaker, more diluted drinks were best for people who were resting and not engaged in their usual activities or labor. Just like with other food, he gave his horses smallage, and for a very good reason; horses that are inactive can get sore feet, and smallage is the best remedy for that. You won't find smallage or anything similar given to any other horses in the whole "Iliad." So, Achilles, knowledgeable in medicine, provided appropriate food for his horses and kept his own diet light, which was suitable while he was resting. However, he didn’t think it was right to treat those who had been exhausted from fighting all day like those who had been resting, so he ordered purer and stronger wine to be ready. Also, Achilles doesn’t seem to be someone who naturally enjoys drinking; rather, he had a proud and unyielding personality.
No pleasant humor, no, soft mind he bore,
But was all fire and rage.
("Iliad," xx. 467.)
He had no pleasant humor, no gentle spirit,
But was all fire and fury.
("Iliad," xx. 467.)And in another place very plainly Homer says, that
And in another place, Homer clearly states that
Many a sleepless night he knew.
("Iliad," ix. 325.)
He knew many sleepless nights.
("Iliad," ix. 325.)Now little sleep cannot content those that drink strong liquors; and in his railing at Agamemnon, the first ill name he gives him is drunkard, proposing his great drinking as the chiefest of his faults. And for these reasons it is likely that, when they came, he thought his usual mixture too weak and not convenient for them.
Now, people who drink strong liquor hardly ever sleep well; and when he insults Agamemnon, the first bad name he calls him is "drunkard," highlighting his heavy drinking as his biggest flaw. For these reasons, it seems that when they arrived, he thought his usual drink was too weak and not suitable for them.
QUESTION V. CONCERNING THOSE THAT INVITE MANY TO A SUPPER. PLUTARCH, ONESICRATES, LAMPRIAS THE ELDER.
QUESTION V. ABOUT THOSE WHO INVITE MANY TO A DINNER. PLUTARCH, ONESICRATES, LAMPRIAS THE ELDER.
At my return from Alexandria all my friends by turns treated me, inviting all such too as were any way acquainted, so that our meetings were usually tumultuous and suddenly dissolved; which disorders gave occasion to discourses concerning the inconveniences that attend such crowded entertainments. But when Onesicrates the physician in his turn invited only the most familiar acquaintance, and men of the most agreeable temper, I thought that what Plato says concerning the increase of cities might be applied to entertainments. For there is a certain number which an entertainment may receive, and still be an entertainment; but if it exceeds that, so that by reason of the number there cannot be a mutual conversation amongst all, if they cannot know one another nor partake of the same jollity, it ceaseth to be such. For we should not want messengers there, as in a camp, or boatswains, as in a galley; but we ourselves should immediately converse with one another. As in a dance, so in an entertainment, the last man should be placed within hearing of the first.
When I got back from Alexandria, all my friends took turns hosting me, inviting anyone they knew, which made our gatherings loud and chaotic. These disturbances led to discussions about the downsides of such crowded events. However, when Onesicrates the physician invited only close friends and easygoing people, I realized that Plato’s thoughts on the growth of cities could apply to gatherings. There’s a certain number of guests that can make an event enjoyable, but if it goes beyond that, making it impossible for everyone to talk and connect, it stops being a true gathering. We shouldn’t need messengers like in a camp, or crew members like on a ship; we should be able to communicate directly with each other. Just as in a dance, at a gathering the last person should be close enough to hear the first.
As I was speaking, my grandfather Lamprias cried out: Then it seems there is need of temperance not only in our feasts, but also in our invitations. For methinks there is even an excess in kindness, when we pass by none of our friends, but draw them all in, as to see a sight or hear a play. And I think, it is not so great a disgrace for the entertainer not to have bread or wine enough for his, guests, as not to have room enough, with which he ought always to be provided, not only for invited guests, strangers and chance visitants. For suppose he hath not wine and bread enough, it may be imputed either to the carelessness or dishonesty of his servants; but the want of room must be imputed to the imprudence of the inviter. Hesiod is very much admired for beginning thus,
As I was speaking, my grandfather Lamprias exclaimed: Then it seems we need to practice moderation not just in our feasts, but also in our invitations. Because it seems to me there can be too much kindness when we invite all our friends, as if just to see a spectacle or hear a performance. And I think it’s not as much of a disgrace for the host to run out of bread or wine for his guests as it is for him not to have enough space, which he should always have ready, not just for invited guests, but also for strangers and unexpected visitors. Because if he lacks enough wine and bread, it might be blamed on the carelessness or dishonesty of his staff; but the shortage of space must be blamed on the host's lack of foresight. Hesiod is highly praised for beginning in this way,
A vast chaos first was made.
(Hesiod, "Theogony," 116.)
A great chaos was created first.
(Hesiod, "Theogony," 116.)For it was necessary that there should be first a place and room provided for the beings that were afterward to be produced; and not as was seen yesterday at my son's entertainment, according to Anaxagoras's saying,
For it was necessary to first create a space and room for the beings that were to be produced later; and not as was seen yesterday at my son's gathering, according to Anaxagoras's saying,
All lay jumbled together.
All lay mixed together.
But suppose a man hath room and provision enough, yet a large company itself is to be avoided for its own sake, as hindering all familiarity and conversation; and it is more tolerable to let the company have no wine, than to exclude all converse from a feast. And therefore Theophrastus jocularly called the barbers' shops feasts without wine; because those that sit there usually prattle and discourse. But those that invite a crowd at once deprive all of free communication of discourse, or rather make them divide into cabals, so that two or three privately talk together, and neither know nor look on those that sit, as it were, half a mile distant.
But imagine a guy who has plenty of space and enough food, yet a big crowd should still be avoided just for the sake of it, since it disrupts closeness and conversation. It's actually better to have no wine at all than to cut out all discussion from a gathering. That’s why Theophrastus humorously referred to barbershops as parties without wine; because people there tend to chat and talk. However, when someone invites a big group, they end up preventing everyone from communicating freely, or worse, they split into small cliques, with two or three people talking quietly while ignoring those who are sitting, as if they were half a mile away.
Some took this way to valiant Ajax's tent,
And some the other to Achilles' went.
("Iliad," xi. 7.)
Some went this way to brave Ajax's tent,
And others took the route to Achilles'.
("Iliad," xi. 7.)And therefore some rich men are foolishly profuse, who build rooms big enough for thirty tables or more at once; for such a preparation certainly is for unsociable and unfriendly entertainments, and such as are fit for a panegyriarch rather than a symposiarch to preside over. But this may be pardoned in those; for wealth would not he wealth, it would be really blind and imprisoned, unless it had witnesses, as tragedies would be devoid of spectators. Let us entertain few and often, and make that a remedy against having a crowd at once. For those that invite but seldom are forced to have all their friends, and all that upon any account they are acquainted with together; but those that invite frequently, and but three or four, render their entertainments like little barks, light and nimble. Besides, the very reason why we ask friends teaches us to select some out of the number. For as when we are in want we do not call all together, but only those that can best afford, help in that particular case,—when we would be advised, the wiser part; and when we are to have a trial, the best pleaders; and when we are to go a journey, those that can live pleasantly and are at leisure,—thus to our entertainments we should only call those that are at the present agreeable. Agreeable, for instance, to a prince's entertainment will be the magistrates, if they are his friends, or chiefest of the city; to marriage or birthday feasts, all their kindred, and such as are under the protection of the same Jupiter the guardian of consanguinity; and to such feasts and merry-makings as this those are to be invited whose tempers are most suitable to the occasion. When we offer sacrifice to one god, we do not worship all the others that belong to the same temple and altar at the same time; but suppose we have three bowls, out of the first we pour oblations to some, out of the second to others and out of the third to the rest, and none of the gods take distaste. And in this a company of friends may be likened to the company of gods; none takes distaste at the order of the invitation, if it be prudently managed and every one allowed a turn.
Some wealthy people are wastefully extravagant, building grand rooms large enough for thirty tables or more at once; such preparations are definitely suited for unsociable and unfriendly gatherings, more fitting for a toastmaster than someone leading a friendly gathering. But this can be excused, as wealth wouldn’t really be wealth if it were blind and trapped, lacking witnesses, just as tragedies would lack purpose without an audience. Let’s host small gatherings often, which serves as a remedy against having too many people at once. Those who rarely invite guests are forced to include everyone they know, while those who invite regularly and only a few at a time create lighter, more enjoyable events. Moreover, the very reason we invite friends teaches us to choose carefully among them. Just as, when in need, we don’t gather everyone but only those who can best help in that situation—be it wise counsel, the best advocates for a trial, or travel companions who can enjoy the journey—we should only invite those who are most agreeable for the occasion. For a prince’s banquet, agreeable guests might be the magistrates if they’re his friends or important figures from the city; for wedding or birthday celebrations, all relatives and those under the protection of the same god of family should be present; and for parties and celebrations, invite those whose personalities fit the occasion best. When we make a sacrifice to one god, we don’t worship all the others at the same time; for example, if we have three bowls, we might pour offerings to some from the first, others from the second, and so forth, with none of the gods being offended. In the same way, a group of friends may be compared to a gathering of gods; no one minds the order of invitations if it’s managed wisely and everyone gets a turn.
QUESTION VI. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT THE SAME ROOM WHICH AT THE BEGINNING OF A SUPPER SEEMS TOO NARROW APPEARS WIDE ENOUGH AFTERWARDS.
QUESTION VI. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT THE SAME ROOM WHICH AT THE START OF DINNER FEELS TOO SMALL SEEMS SPACIOUS ENOUGH LATER ON?
After this it was presently asked, why the room which at the beginning of supper seems too narrow for the guest is afterwards wide enough; when the contrary is most likely, after they are filled with the supper. Some said the posture of our sitting was the cause; for they sit when they eat, with their full breadth to the table, that they may command it with their right hand; but after they have supped, they sit more sideways, and make an acute figure with their bodies, and do not touch the place according to the superficies, if I may so say, but the line. Now as cockal bones do not take up as much room when they fall upon one end as when they fall flat, so every one of us at the beginning sitting broadwise, and with a full face to the table, afterwards changes the figure, and turns his depth, not his breadth, to the board. Some attribute it to the beds whereon we sat, for those when pressed stretch; as strait shoes after a little wearing have their pores widened, and grow fit for—sometimes too big for—the foot. An old man in the company merrily said, that the same feast had two very different presidents and directors; in the beginning, Hunger, that is not in the least skilled in ordering and disposing, but afterward Bacchus, whom all acknowledge to be the best orderer of an army in the world. As therefore Epaminondas, when the unskilful captains had led their forces into narrow disadvantageous straits, relieved the phalanx that was fallen foul on itself and all in disorder, and brought it into good rank and file again; thus we in the beginning, being like greedy hounds confused and disordered by hunger, the god (hence named the looser and the dancesetter) settles us in a friendly and agreeable order.
After this, someone asked why the room that seemed too small for the guests at the start of dinner felt spacious enough later on, even though it seems like it should be the opposite after everyone is full. Some said it was because of how we sit; we face the table directly when we eat, taking up more space to manage the food with our right hand. But after we’ve finished eating, we tend to sit more sideways, forming an acute angle with our bodies, so we don’t cover the whole table but rather just the edge. Just like how kneecaps take up less space when they’re upright compared to when they’re flat, we all start with our bodies facing the table and then shift our position, turning the depth of our bodies toward the board. Some suggested it might be because of the benches we sit on, which stretch when we’re seated, just like tight shoes loosen up after being worn for a while, sometimes even becoming too big. An older guy at the table jokingly remarked that the same feast had two very different leaders: at the start, it was Hunger, who knows nothing about organizing or managing, but later it was Bacchus, who everyone agrees is the best at directing a gathering. So, just as Epaminondas helped to realign a disordered army that got stuck in a difficult spot, we begin our meal like hungry hounds, confused and messy from our appetites, and then the god—who is also known as the bringer of joy and fitting arrangements—puts us back into a friendly and pleasing order.
QUESTION VII. CONCERNING THOSE THAT ARE SAID TO BEWITCH. METRIUS FLORUS, PLUTARCH, SOCLARUS, PATROCLES, CAIUS.
QUESTION VII. ABOUT THOSE WHO ARE SAID TO BE WITCHES. METRIUS FLORUS, PLUTARCH, SOCLARUS, PATROCLES, CAIUS.
A discourse happening at supper concerning those that are said to bewitch or have a bewitching eye, most of the company looked upon it as a whim, and laughed at it. But Metrius Florus, who then gave us a supper, said that the strange events wonderfully confirmed the report; and because we cannot give a reason for the thing, therefore to disbelieve the relation was absurd, since there are a thousand things which evidently are, the reasons of which we cannot readily assign. And, in short, he that requires everything should be probable destroys all wonder and admiration; and where the cause is not obvious, there we begin to doubt, that is, to philosophize. So that they who disbelieve all wonderful relations do in some measure take away all philosophy. The cause why anything is so, reason must find out; but that a thing is so, testimony is a sufficient evidence; and we have a thousand instances of this sort attested. We know that some men by looking upon young children hurt them very much, their weak and soft temperature being wrought upon and perverted, whilst those that are strong and firm are not so liable to be wrought upon. And Phylarchus tells us that the Thibians, the old inhabitants about Pontus, were destructive not only to little children, but to some also of riper years; for those upon whom they looked or breathed, or to whom they spake, would languish and grow sick. And this, likely, those of other countries perceived who bought slaves there. But perhaps this is not so much to be wondered at, for in touching and handling there is some apparent principle and cause of the effect. And as when you mix other birds' wings with the eagles', the plumes waste and suddenly consume; so there is no reason to the contrary, but that one man's touch may be good and advantageous, and another's hurtful and destructive. But that some, by being barely looked upon, are extremely prejudiced is certain; though the stories are disbelieved, because the reason is hard to be given.
A conversation at dinner about people who are said to have the power to bewitch or have an enchanting gaze had most of the attendees dismissing it as nonsense and laughing. However, Metrius Florus, who was hosting the dinner, argued that the unusual occurrences really supported the claims, and since we can't always explain everything, it's unreasonable to dismiss such stories. After all, there are countless things we acknowledge exist without understanding their reasons. In short, if you insist that everything must be likely, you ruin all sense of wonder and amazement; when the cause isn't clear, that's when we start to question things, or in other words, to think philosophically. Those who reject all extraordinary accounts are, in a sense, undermining philosophy itself. While reason should uncover why something happens, the existence of something can be sufficiently backed by testimony, and we have countless examples to support this. We know that some people can harm young children just by looking at them, as their delicate and soft nature can be affected and damaged, while stronger individuals are less susceptible. Phylarchus tells us that the Thibians, the ancient locals around Pontus, could harm not just young kids but also some older individuals; those who they looked at or spoke to would weaken and become ill. This was likely noticed by people from other regions who bought slaves there. But maybe it's not that surprising, as there is a clear principle and cause behind touching and handling. Just as mixing other birds' feathers with eagle feathers causes them to fade and disintegrate quickly, there's no reason to believe that one person's touch can be beneficial while another's can be harmful and destructive. However, it is indeed true that some individuals suffer greatly just from being looked at, though these accounts are often doubted because it's hard to explain the reasoning behind them.
True, said I, but methinks there is some small track to the cause of this effect, if you come to the effluvia of bodies. For smell, voice, breath, and the like, are effluvia from animal bodies, and material parts that move the senses, which are wrought upon by their impulse. Now it is very likely that such effluvia must continually part from animals, by reason of their heat and motion; for by that the spirits are agitated, and the body, being struck by those, must continually send forth effluvia. And it is probable that these pass chiefly through the eye. For the sight, being very vigorous and active, together with the spirit upon which it depends, sends forth a strange fiery power; so that by it men act and suffer very much, and are always proportionably pleased or displeased, according as the visible objects are agreeable or not. Love, that greatest and most violent passion of the soul, takes its beginning from the eye; so that a lover, when he looks upon the fair, flows out as it were, and seems to mix with her. And therefore why should any one, that believes men can be affected and prejudiced by the sight, imagine that they cannot act and hurt is well? For the mutual looks of mature beauties, and that which comes from the eye, whether light or a stream of spirits, melt and dissolve the lovers with a pleasing pain, which they call the bittersweet of love. For neither by touching or hearing the voice of their beloved are they so much wounded and wrought upon, as by looking and being looked upon again. There is such a communication, such a flame raised by one glance, that those must be altogether unacquainted with love that wonder at the Median naphtha, that takes fire at a distance from the flame. For the glances of a fair one, though at a great distance, quickly kindle a fire in the lover's breast. Besides every body knows the remedy for the jaundice; if they look upon the bird called charadrios they are cured. For that animal seems to be of that temperature and nature as to receive and draw away the disease, that like a stream flows out through the eyes; so that the charadrios will not look on one that hath the jaundice; he cannot endure it, but turns away his head and shuts his eyes, not envying (as some imagine) the cure he performs, but being really hurt by the effluvia of the patient. And of all diseases, soreness of the eyes is the most infectious; so strong and vigorous is the sight, and so easily does it cause infirmities in another.
True, I said, but I think there’s a small connection to the cause of this effect, especially when considering the emissions of bodies. Smell, voice, breath, and similar sensations are emissions from living beings and material parts that stimulate the senses, influenced by their energy. Now, it seems probable that such emissions must constantly come from animals due to their heat and movement; because this stirs the spirits, and the body, impacted by these, must continually release emissions. It’s likely that these primarily pass through the eye. The sight, being very intense and active, along with the spirit it relies upon, emits a unique fiery energy; therefore, through it, people experience significant actions and feelings, always feeling satisfied or dissatisfied depending on whether the visible objects are pleasing or not. Love, which is the strongest and most intense passion of the soul, begins with the eye; so when a lover gazes at the beautiful, they seem to merge with them. So why should anyone who believes that people can be affected by sight think they can’t also act and harm someone in the same way? For the mutual glances between mature beauties, and what comes from the eye, whether it’s light or a stream of spirits, both enchant and dissolve lovers with a delightful pain, which they describe as the bittersweet of love. Neither touching nor hearing the voice of their beloved wounds them as deeply as looking and being looked at in return. There’s such a connection, such a flame ignited by a single glance, that only those completely unfamiliar with love would be astonished by the Median naphtha, which ignites from a distance. For the looks of a beautiful person, even from far away, can quickly ignite a fire in the lover's heart. Plus, everyone knows the remedy for jaundice; if they look at the bird called charadrios, they are cured. This animal appears to be of a temperament and nature that can receive and draw away the disease, which flows out as a stream through the eyes; thus, the charadrios won’t look at someone with jaundice; it can’t stand it and turns its head away, shutting its eyes, not out of envy of the cure it provides, but because it is genuinely affected by the emissions of the sick person. And of all ailments, eye soreness is the most contagious; the sight is so strong and potent that it easily causes afflictions in others.
Very right, said Patrocles, and you reason well as to changes wrought upon the body; but as to the soul, which in some measure exercises the power of witchcraft, how can this cause any disturbance by the eye? Sir, I replied, do not you consider that the soul, when affected, works upon the body? Ideas of love excite lust, and rage often blinds dogs as they fight with wild beasts. Sorrow, covetousness, or jealousy makes us change color, and destroys the habit of the body; and envy more than any passion, when fixed in the soul, fills the body full of ill humors, and makes it pale and ugly; which deformities good painters in their pictures of envy endeavor to represent. Now, when men thus perverted by envy fix their eyes upon another, and these, being nearest to the soul, easily draw the venom from it, and send out as it were poisoned darts, it is no wonder, in my mind, if he that is looked upon is hurt. Thus the biting of a dog when mad is most dangerous; and then the seed of a man is most prolific, when he embraces one that he loves; and in general the affections of the mind strengthen and invigorate the powers of the body. And therefore people imagine that those amulets that are preservative against witchcraft are likewise good and efficacious against envy; the sight by the strangeness of the spectacle being diverted, so that it cannot make so strong an impression upon the patient. This, Florus, is what I can say; and pray sir, accept it as my club for this entertainment.
"You're absolutely right," Patrocles said, "and your reasoning about changes in the body makes sense. But when it comes to the soul, which can somewhat wield the power of witchcraft, how can this affect anyone through the eyes? I replied, "Don't you realize that when the soul is affected, it influences the body? Thoughts of love can ignite desire, and anger often blinds dogs when they fight wild animals. Feelings of sadness, greed, or jealousy can make us change color and ruin our physical appearance; envy, more than any other emotion, when it takes root in the soul, fills the body with negativity and makes it look pale and unattractive—something good artists try to capture in their portrayals of envy. So, when people twisted by envy fix their gaze on someone else, those eyes, being so close to the soul, easily draw out that negativity and launch it like poisoned arrows. It's no surprise, then, if the person being watched feels hurt. Just like a rabid dog’s bite is especially dangerous, a man’s seed is most potent when he embraces someone he loves. Generally, the mind's feelings boost and energize the body's abilities. That's why people believe that amulets meant to protect against witchcraft are also effective against envy; they distract the afflicted person's gaze with something unusual so that it doesn’t leave such a strong impact. This, Florus, is what I can share; and please, consider it my contribution to this conversation."
Well, said Soclarus, but let us try whether the money be all good or no; for, in my mind some of it seems brass. But if we admit the general report about these matters to be true, you know very well that it is commonly supposed that some have friends, acquaintance, and even fathers, that have such evil eyes; so that the mothers will not show their children to them, nor for a long time suffer them to be looked upon by such; and how can the effects wrought by these proceed from envy? But what, for God's sake, wilt thou say to those that are reported to bewitch themselves?—for I am sure you have heard of such, or at least read these lines:—
Well, said Soclarus, let's see if all the money is legitimate; I think some of it looks like brass. But if we accept the general consensus on these matters as true, you know it's often believed that some people have friends, acquaintances, and even family members who have such bad vibes that mothers won’t let their children be around them or be seen by them for a long time. How can the effects caused by these people come from envy? But what, for heaven's sake, do you say about those who are said to cast spells on themselves?—I’m sure you’ve heard of such things or at least read about them:—
Curls once on Eutel's head in order stood;
But when he viewed his figure in a flood,
He overlooked himself, and now they fall...
Curls that used to proudly sit on Eutel's head;
But when he saw his reflection in the water,
He lost sight of himself, and now they droop...For they say that this Eutelidas, appearing very delicate and beauteous to himself, was affected with that sight and grew sick upon it, and lost his beauty and his health. Now, pray sir, what reason can you find for these wonderful effects?
For they say that this Eutelidas, seeing himself as very delicate and beautiful, was impacted by that sight and became sick from it, losing both his beauty and his health. Now, please, sir, what explanation can you offer for these astonishing effects?
At any other time, I replied, I question not but I shall give you full satisfaction. But now, sir, after such a large pot as you have seen me take, I boldly affirm, that all passions which have been fixed in the soul a long time raise ill humors in the body, which by continuance growing strong enough to be, as it were, a new nature, being excited by any intervening accident, force men, though unwilling, to their accustomed passions. Consider the timorous, they are afraid even of those things that preserve them. Consider the pettish, they are angry with their best and dearest friends. Consider the amorous and lascivious, in the height of their fury they dare violate a Vestal. For custom is very powerful to draw the temper of the body to anything that is suitable to it; and he that is apt to fall will stumble at everything that lies in his way. So it is no wonder that those that have raised in themselves an envious and bewitching habit, if according to the peculiarity of their passion they are carried on to suitable effects; for when they are once moved, they do that which the nature of the thing, not which their will, leads them to. For as a sphere must necessarily move spherically, and a cylinder cylindrically, according to the difference of their figures; thus his disposition makes an envious man move enviously to all things; and it is likely they should chiefly hurt their most familiar acquaintance and best beloved. And that fine fellow Eutelidas you mentioned, and the rest that are said to overlook themselves, may be easily and upon good rational grounds accounted for; for, according to Hippocrates, a good habit of body, when at height, is easily perverted, and bodies come to their full maturity do not stand at a stay there, but fall and waste down to the contrary extreme. And therefore when they are in very good plight, and see themselves look much better than they expected, they gaze and wonder; but then their body being nigh to change, and their habit declining into a worse condition, they overlook themselves. And this is done when the effluvia are stopped and reflected by the water rather than by any other reflecting body; for this exhales upon them whilst they look upon it, so that the very same particles which would hurt others must hurt themselves. And this perchance often happens to young children, and the cause of their diseases is falsely attributed to those that look upon them.
At any other time, I would confidently say that I could satisfy you completely. But now, sir, after the large amount I’ve just consumed, I firmly believe that deep-seated emotions can negatively affect the body. When these emotions grow strong enough over time, they can become a new nature that, when triggered by any event, forces people back into their usual feelings, even if they don’t want to. Look at the fearful—they are scared even by the things that keep them safe. Look at the irritable—they lash out at their closest friends. Look at those who are infatuated; in their rage, they might even harm a priestess. Habit is very powerful in aligning the body’s temperament with whatever fits it; a person prone to stumble will trip over anything in their path. So, it’s no surprise that those who have developed an envious and harmful habit will act according to their specific emotions. Once stirred, they will act based on what the situation requires, not what their will dictates. Just like a sphere has to move in a spherical way and a cylinder in a cylindrical way due to their shapes, an envious person will inevitably act enviously toward everything; and it is likely they will primarily harm those closest to them. As for that charming guy Eutelidas you mentioned and others who are said to overlook themselves, this can be explained with sound reasoning. According to Hippocrates, when someone has a good physical state at its peak, it can easily be disrupted, and once bodies reach full maturity, they don’t stay there but instead deteriorate towards the opposite extreme. So, when they’re in great shape and see themselves looking much better than expected, they stare in amazement. But as their bodies are about to change and their condition moves towards decline, they begin to overlook themselves. This typically occurs when reflections are interrupted and distorted by water rather than any other reflective surface, as the water emits substances while they look at it, meaning the very particles that could harm others can also harm themselves. This often happens with young children, and the cause of their illnesses is mistakenly blamed on those who look at them.
When I had done, Caius, Florus's son-in-law, said: Then it seems you make no more reckoning or account of Democritus's images, than of those of Aegium or Megara; for he delivers that the envious send out images which are not altogether void of sense or force, but full of the disturbing and poisonous qualities of those from whom they come. Now these being mixed with such qualities, and remaining with and abiding in those persons that injure them both in mind and body; for this, I think, is the meaning of that philosopher, a man in his opinion and expressions admirable and divine. Very true, said I, and I wonder that you did not observe that I took nothing from those effluvia and images but life and will; lest you should imagine that, now it is almost midnight, I brought in spectres and wise and understanding images to terrify and fright you; but in the morning, if you please, we will talk of those things.
When I finished speaking, Caius, Florus's son-in-law, said: So it seems you think no more of Democritus's images than you do of those from Aegium or Megara; because he claims that envious people send out images that aren’t entirely without sense or power, but are filled with the disturbing and toxic qualities of their origins. These qualities mix and linger with those who harm them both mentally and physically; I believe this is what that philosopher, who is admirable and almost divine in his views and words, meant. That’s true, I replied, and I’m surprised you didn’t notice that I only took life and will from those emanations and images; I didn’t want you to think that, since it’s almost midnight, I brought in ghosts or wise and understanding images to scare you. But in the morning, if you’d like, we can discuss those things.
QUESTION VIII. WHY HOMER CALLS THE APPLE-TREE [GREEK OMITTED], AND EMPEDOCLES CALLS APPLES [GREEK OMITTED]. PLUTARCH, TRYPHO, CERTAIN GRAMMARIANS, LAMPRIAS THE ELDER.
QUESTION VIII. WHY HOMER CALLS THE APPLE-TREE [GREEK OMITTED], AND EMPEDOCLES CALLS APPLES [GREEK OMITTED]. PLUTARCH, TRYPHO, CERTAIN GRAMMARIANS, LAMPRIAS THE ELDER.
As we were at supper in Chaeronea, and had all sorts of fruit at the table, one of the company chanced to speak these verses,
As we were having dinner in Chaeronea, with all kinds of fruit on the table, one of the guests happened to recite these verses,
The fig-trees sweet, the apple-trees that bear
Fair fruit, and olives green through all the year.
("Odyssey," vii. 115.)
The fig trees are sweet, the apple trees bear
Beautiful fruit, and olives stay green all year round.
("Odyssey," vii. 115.)Upon this there arose a question, why the poet calls apple-trees particularly [Greek omitted], BEARING FAIR FRUIT. Trypho the physician said that this epithet was given comparatively in respect of the tree, because, it being small and no goodly tree to look upon, bears fair and large fruit. Somebody else said, that the particular excellencies scattered amongst all other fruits are united in this alone. As to the touch, it is smooth and polished, so that it makes the hand that toucheth it odorous without defiling it; it is sweet to the taste, and to the smell and sight very pleasing; and therefore there is reason that it should be duly praised, as being that which congregates and allures all the senses together.
Upon this, a question arose about why the poet refers to apple trees specifically as BEARING FAIR FRUIT. Trypho the physician suggested that this description is relative to the tree itself, noting that, although it is small and not particularly impressive in appearance, it produces large and beautiful fruit. Another person mentioned that the unique qualities found in other fruits are all combined in this one. In terms of touch, it is smooth and polished, making it pleasant to handle without leaving any dirt; it is sweet in taste, and its appearance and aroma are very attractive. For these reasons, it deserves to be praised for bringing together and appealing to all the senses.
This discourse pleased us indifferently well. But whereas Empedocles has thus written,
This conversation was okay for us. But while Empedocles has written this,
Why pomegranates so late do thrive,
And apples give a lovely show [Greek omitted];
Why do pomegranates thrive so late,
And apples put on such a lovely display [Greek omitted];I guess the epithet to be given to pomegranates, because that at the end of autumn, and when the heats begin to decrease, they ripen the fruit; for the sun will not suffer the weak and thin moisture to thicken into a consistence until the air begins to wax colder; therefore, says Theophrastus, this only tree ripens its fruit best and soonest in the shade. But in what sense the philosopher gives the epithet [Greek omitted], to apples, I much question, since it is not his custom to try to adorn his verses with varieties of epithets, as with gay and florid colors. But in every verse he gives some description of the substance and virtue of the subject which he treats; as when he calls the body encircling the soul the mortal-surrounding earth; as also when he calls the air cloud-gathering, and the liver much blooded.
I guess the nickname for pomegranates comes from the fact that at the end of autumn, when the heat starts to fade, they ripen their fruit. The sun won’t let the weak and thin moisture thicken into a solid form until the air begins to get cooler. That’s why, as Theophrastus says, this particular tree ripens its fruit best and fastest in the shade. But I really wonder what the philosopher means by the nickname [Greek omitted], for he doesn’t usually try to fancy up his verses with a variety of epithets like they’re adorned with bright and flashy colors. Instead, in every verse, he describes the substance and qualities of the subject he’s discussing, like when he refers to the body surrounding the soul as the mortal-surrounding earth, or when he describes the air as cloud-gathering and the liver as well-blooded.
When now I had said these things myself, certain grammarians affirmed, that those apples were called [Greek omitted] by reason of their vigor and florid manner of growing; for to blossom and flourish after an extraordinary manner is by the poets expressed by the word [Greek omitted]. In this sense, Antimachus calls the city of Cadmeans flourishing with fruit; and Aratus, speaking of the dog-star Sirius, says that he
When I said these things, some grammarians claimed that those apples were called [Greek omitted] because of their strength and colorful way of growing; poets describe blooming and thriving in an extraordinary way using the word [Greek omitted]. In this sense, Antimachus refers to the city of the Cadmeans as flourishing with fruit, and Aratus, when talking about the dog-star Sirius, says that he
To some gave strength, but others did ruin,
Their bloom;
To some it gave strength, but to others it brought ruin,
Their bloom;calling the greenness of the trees and the blossoming of the fruit by the name of [Greek omitted]. Nay, there are some of the Greeks also who sacrifice to Bacchus surnamed [Greek omitted]. And therefore, seeing the verdure and floridness chiefly recommend this fruit, philosophers call it [Greek omitted]. But Lamprias our grandfather used to say that the word [Greek omitted] did not only denote excess and vehemency, but external and supernal; thus we call the upper frame of a door [Greek omitted], and the upper portion of the house [Greek omitted]; and the poet calls the outward parts of the victim the upper-flesh, as he calls the entrails the inner-flesh. Let us see therefore, says he, whether Empedocles did not make use of this epithet in this sense, seeing that other fruits are encompassed with an outward rind and with certain coatings and membranes, but the only cortex rind that the apple has is a glutinous and smooth tunic (or core) containing the seed, so that the part which can be eaten, and lies without, was properly called [Greek omitted], that IS OVER or OUTSIDE OF THE HUSK.
calling the green of the trees and the blooming of the fruit by the name of [Greek omitted]. In fact, some Greeks also sacrifice to Bacchus, who is called [Greek omitted]. Therefore, since the greenery and brightness mainly highlight this fruit, philosophers refer to it as [Greek omitted]. But Lamprias, our grandfather, used to say that the word [Greek omitted] not only referred to excess and intensity, but also to the external and heavenly; thus we call the upper part of a door [Greek omitted], and the top section of the house [Greek omitted]; and the poet refers to the outer parts of the sacrifice as the upper-flesh, just as he describes the entrails as the inner-flesh. So let us see, he says, whether Empedocles didn't use this term in this sense, considering that other fruits have an outer peel with certain coatings and membranes, but the only skin the apple has is a sticky and smooth covering (or core) that contains the seed, so the part that can be eaten, which is outside, was rightly called [Greek omitted], that IS OVER or OUTSIDE OF THE HUSK.
QUESTION IX. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT THE FIG-TREE, BEING ITSELF OF A VERY SHARP AND BITTER TASTE, BEARS SO SWEET FRUIT? LAMPRIAS THE ELDER, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION IX. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT THE FIG TREE, EVEN THOUGH IT HAS A VERY SHARP AND BITTER TASTE, PRODUCES SUCH SWEET FRUIT? LAMPRIAS THE ELDER, AND OTHERS.
This discourse ended, the next question was about fig-trees, how so luscious and sweet fruit should come from so bitter a tree. For the leaf from its roughness is called [Greek omitted]. The wood of it is full of sap, and as it burns sends forth a very biting smoke; and the ashes of it thoroughly burnt are so acrimonious, that they make a lye extremely detersive. And, which is very strange, all other trees that bud and bear fruit put forth blossoms too; but the fig-tree never blossoms. And if (as some say) it is never thunderstruck, that likewise may be attributed to the sharp juices and bad temper of the stock; for such things are as secure from thunder as the skin of a sea calf or hyena. Then said the old man: It is no wonder that when all the sweetness is separated and employed in making the fruit, that which is left should be bitter and unsavory. For as the liver, all the gall being gathered in its proper place, is itself very sweet; so the fig-tree having parted with its oil and sweet particles to the fruit, reserves no portion for itself. For that this tree hath some good juice, I gather from what they say of rue, which growing under a fig-tree is sweeter than usual, and hath a sweeter and more palatable juice, as if it drew some sweet particles from the tree which mollified its offensive and corroding qualities; unless perhaps, on the contrary, the fig-tree robbing it of its nourishment draws likewise some of its sharpness and bitterness away.
Once this conversation wrapped up, the next question was about fig trees and how such delicious and sweet fruit could come from such a bitter tree. The leaf is known for its rough texture. The wood is full of sap, and when it burns, it produces a very harsh smoke; the ashes from it, once burnt, are so caustic that they create a lye that’s very effective at cleaning. What’s really odd is that while all other trees that bud and bear fruit also produce blossoms, the fig tree doesn’t blossom at all. And if (as some claim) it never gets struck by lightning, that might also be linked to the sharp juices and bad nature of the tree, since such things are as safe from lightning as the skin of a seal or a hyena. Then the old man said: It’s not surprising that when all the sweetness is used up in producing the fruit, what remains is bitter and tasteless. Just as the liver, when all the bile is gathered in its place, is very sweet; the fig tree, having given all its oil and sweet elements to the fruit, keeps none for itself. That this tree has some good juice, I infer from what they say about rue, which grows under a fig tree and is sweeter than usual, with a tastier and more pleasant juice, as if it draws some sweetness from the tree that softens its unpleasant and harsh qualities; unless, perhaps, it’s the other way around, and the fig tree, taking its nourishment, also pulls some of the rue’s sharpness and bitterness away.
QUESTION X. WHAT ARE THOSE THAT ARE SAID TO BE [GREEK OMITTED], AND WHY HOMER CALLS SALT DIVINE? FLORUS, APOLLOPHANES, PLUTARCH, PHILINUS.
QUESTION X. WHAT ARE THOSE THAT ARE SAID TO BE [GREEK OMITTED], AND WHY DOES HOMER CALL SALT DIVINE? FLORUS, APOLLOPHANES, PLUTARCH, PHILINUS.
Florus, when we were entertained at his house, put this question, What are those in the proverb who are said to be about the salt and cummin? Apollophanes the grammarian presently satisfied him, saying, by that proverb were meant intimate acquaintance, who could sup together on salt and cummin. Thence we proceeded to inquire how salt should come to be so much honored as it is; for Homer plainly says,
Florus, when we were having a meal at his house, asked this question: What does the proverb mean about those who are said to be close to the salt and cumin? Apollophanes the grammarian quickly answered him, stating that the proverb refers to close friends who can share a meal together, symbolized by salt and cumin. From there, we started to explore why salt is held in such high regard, as Homer clearly indicates,
And after that he strewed his salt divine
("Iliad," ix. 214.)
And after that he spread his divine salt
("Iliad," ix. 214.)and Plato delivers that by man's laws salt is to be accounted most sacred. And this difficulty was increased by the customs of the Egyptian priests, who professing chastity eat no salt, no, not so much as in their bread. For if it be divine and holy, why should they avoid it?
and Plato says that according to human laws, salt is considered very sacred. This issue was made more complicated by the practices of the Egyptian priests, who claim to be chaste and eat no salt, not even in their bread. If it is divine and holy, why do they stay away from it?
Florus bade us not mind the Egyptians, but speak according to the Grecian custom on the present subject. But I replied: The Egyptians are not contrary to the Greeks in this matter; for the profession of purity and chastity forbids getting children, laughter, wine, and many other very commendable and lawful things; and perhaps these priests avoid salt, as being, according to some men's opinions, by its heat provocative and apt to raise lust. Or they refuse it as the most pleasant of all sauces, for indeed salt may be called the sauce of all sauces; and therefore some call salt [Greek omitted]; because it makes food, which is necessary for life, to be relishing and pleasant.
Florus advised us to disregard the Egyptians and speak about the topic in a Grecian way. But I responded: The Egyptians are not opposed to the Greeks in this regard; the commitment to purity and chastity prohibits having children, laughter, wine, and many other highly respected and acceptable things. Perhaps these priests avoid salt because some believe it is warming, stimulating, and likely to provoke desire. Or maybe they reject it because it is the most enjoyable of all seasonings, as salt can indeed be considered the seasoning of all seasonings; that’s why some call salt [Greek omitted]; it makes food, which is essential for life, tasty and enjoyable.
What then, said Florus, shall we say that salt is termed divine for that reason? Indeed that is very considerable, for men for the most part deify those common things that are exceeding useful to their necessities and wants, as water, light, the seasons of the year; and the earth they do not only think to be divine, but a very god. Now salt is as useful as either of these, protecting in a way the food as it comes into the body, and making it palatable and agreeable to the appetite. But consider farther, whether its power of preserving dead bodies from rotting a long time be not a divine property, and opposite to death; since it preserves part, and will not suffer that which is mortal wholly to be destroyed. But as the soul, which is our diviner part, connects the limbs of animals, and keeps the composure from dissolution; thus salt applied to dead bodies, and imitating the work of the soul, stops those parts that were falling to corruption, binds and confines them, and so makes them keep their union and agreement with one another. And therefore some of the Stoics say, that swine's flesh then deserves the name of a body, when the soul like salt spreads through it and keeps the parts from dissolution. Besides, you know that we account lightning to be sacred and divine, because the bodies that are thunderstruck do not rot for a long time; what wonder is it then, that the ancients called salt as well as lightning divine, since it hath the same property and power?
"What then," said Florus, "should we say that salt is called divine for that reason? That’s quite significant, because people often deify common things that are extremely useful for their needs and desires, like water, light, and the seasons of the year; and they not only think of the earth as divine but as a true god. Salt is just as useful as any of these, as it protects food when it enters the body and makes it tasty and enjoyable. But consider further whether its ability to preserve dead bodies from decaying for a long time isn’t a divine quality, one that stands against death; since it preserves a part and prevents the mortal from being completely destroyed. Just as the soul, our divine aspect, connects the limbs of animals and keeps them whole from breaking apart; in the same way, salt applied to dead bodies imitates the soul’s work, halting parts that are starting to decay, binding and holding them together, thus maintaining their unity and cohesion. Therefore, some Stoics argue that pig meat deserves to be called a body when it’s like salt spreading through it, keeping the parts from breaking down. Additionally, you know we consider lightning to be sacred and divine because the bodies struck by lightning don’t rot for a long time; so what’s so surprising that the ancients called both salt and lightning divine since they share the same property and power?"
I making no reply, Philinus subjoined: Do you not think that that which is generative is to be esteemed divine, seeing God is the principle of all things? And I assenting, he continued: Salt, in the opinion of some men, for instance the Egyptians you mentioned, is very operative that way; and those that breed dogs, when they find their bitches not apt to be hot, give them salt and seasoned flesh, to excite and arouse their sleeping lechery and vigor. Besides, the ships that carry salt breed abundance of mice; the females, as some imagine, conceiving without the help of the males, only by licking the salt. But it is most probable that the salt raiseth an itching in animals, and so makes them salacious and eager to couple. And perhaps for the same reason they call a surprising and bewitching beauty, such as is apt to move and entice, [Greek omitted], SALTISH. And I think the poets had a respect to this generative power of salt in their fable of Venus springing from the sea. And it may be farther observed, that they make all the sea gods very fruitful, and give them large families. And besides, there are no land animals so fruitful as the sea ones; agreeable to which observation is that verse of Empedocles,
I didn't respond, and Philinus added: Do you not think that what is generative should be considered divine, since God is the source of everything? I agreed, and he went on: Salt, according to some people, like the Egyptians you mentioned, has a strong effect in this regard; those who breed dogs, for instance, when they find their female dogs not in heat, give them salt and seasoned meat to stimulate their dormant desires and energy. Moreover, ships that transport salt generate a lot of mice; females, as some believe, conceive without male assistance, merely by licking the salt. But it's more likely that the salt creates an itch in animals, leading them to be more lustful and eager to mate. Perhaps that's why they refer to a striking and enchanting beauty, one that can attract and entice, as [Greek omitted], SALTISH. I think the poets referenced this generative power of salt in their tale of Venus rising from the sea. Additionally, it's worth noting that they portray all sea gods as very fertile and grant them large families. Furthermore, there are no land animals as prolific as those from the sea; this aligns with Empedocles' verse,
Leading the foolish race of fruitful fish.
Leading the silly race of productive fish.
BOOK VI.
Timotheus the son of Conon, Sossius Senecio, after a full enjoyment of luxurious campaign diet, being entertained by Plato in his Academy, at a neat, homely, and (as Ion says) no surfeiting feast (such an one as is constantly attended by sound sleep, and by reason of the calm and pleasant state the body enjoys, rarely interrupted with dreams and apparitions), the next day, being sensible of the difference, said that those that supped with Plato were well treated, even the day after the feast. For such a temper of a body not overcharged, but expedite and fitted for the ready execution of all its enterprises, is without all doubt a great help for the more comfortable passing away of the day. But there is another benefit not inferior to the former, which does usually accrue to those that sup with Plato, namely, the recollection of those points that were debated at the table. For the remembrance of those pleasures which arise from meat and drink is ungenteel, and short-lived withal, and nothing but the remains of yesterday's smell. But the subjects of philosophical queries and discourses, being always fresh after they are imparted, are equally relished by all, as well by those that were absent as by those that were present at them; insomuch that learned men even now are as much partakers of Socrates's feasts as those who really supped with him. But if things pertaining to the body had af discourse, but of the great variety of dishes, sauces, and other costly compositions that were prepared in the houses of Callias and Agatho. Yet there is not the least mention made of any such things, though questionless they were as sumptuous as possible; but whatever things were treated of and learnedly discussed by their guests were left upon record and transmitted to posterity as precedents, not only for discoursing at table, but also for remembering the things that were handled at such meetings.
Timotheus, the son of Conon, and Sossius Senecio, after indulging in a luxurious campaign diet, were entertained by Plato in his Academy at a simple, homey, and (as Ion puts it) modest feast—one that often leads to sound sleep, with the pleasant and calm state of the body rarely disturbed by dreams. The next day, feeling the difference, they remarked that those who dined with Plato were well taken care of even after the feast. A body that isn't overindulged but is alert and ready to execute all its tasks surely helps make the day much more enjoyable. There's another benefit that often comes to those who dine with Plato: the ability to recall the discussions held at the table. The memories of the pleasures from food and drink are fleeting and unrefined, like the faint smell of yesterday's meal. In contrast, the topics of philosophical debates remain fresh and are appreciated by everyone, even those who were not present. So much so that scholars today partake in Socrates's feasts just as much as those who actually shared the meal with him. However, if discussions focused on the wide variety of dishes, sauces, and elaborate recipes that were prepared at the homes of Callias and Agathon, we wouldn't hear a mention of such things, even though they were undoubtedly extravagant. Instead, the subjects that were discussed and examined by their guests were recorded and passed down as examples, not just for dining conversations, but also for remembering the topics covered during those gatherings.
QUESTION I. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT THOSE THAT ARE FASTING ARE MORE THIRSTY THAN HUNGRY? PLUTARCH AND OTHERS.
QUESTION I. WHY ARE THOSE WHO ARE FASTING MORE THIRSTY THAN HUNGRY? PLUTARCH AND OTHERS.
I present you with this Sixth Book of Table Discourses, wherein the first thing that cometh to be discussed is an inquiry into the reason why those that are fasting are more inclinable to drink than to eat. For the assertion carries in it a repugnancy to the standing rules of reason; forasmuch as the decayed stock of dry nourishment seems more naturally to call for its proper supplies. Whereupon I told the company, that of those things whereof our bodies are composed, heat only—or, however, above all the rest—stands in continual need of such accessions; for the truth of which this may be urged as a convincing argument: neither air, water, nor earth requires any matter to feed upon, or devours whatsoever lies next it; but fire alone doth. Hence it comes to pass that young men, by reason of their greater share of natural heat, have commonly greater stomachs than old men; whereas on the contrary, old men can endure fasting much better, for this only reason, because their natural heat is grown weaker and decayed. Just so we see it fares with bloodless animals, which by reason of the want of heat require very little nourishment. Besides, every one of us finds by experience, that bodily exercises, clamors, and whatever other actions by violent motion occasion heat, commonly sharpen our stomachs and get us a better appetite. Now, as I take it, the most natural and principal nourishment of heat is moisture, as it evidently appears from flames, which increase by the pouring in of oil, and from ashes, which are of the driest things in nature; for after the humidity is consumed by the fire, the terrene and grosser parts remain without any moisture at all. Add to these, that fire separates and dissolves bodies by extracting that moisture which should keep them close and compact. Therefore, when we are fasting, the heat first of all forces the moisture out of the relics of the nourishment that remain in the body, and then, pursuing the other humid parts, preys upon the natural moisture of the flesh itself. Hence the body like clay becoming dry, wants drink more than meat; till the heat, receiving strength and vigor by our drinking, excites an appetite for more substantial food.
I present to you this Sixth Book of Table Discourses, where the first topic we discuss is why those who are fasting tend to crave drinks more than food. This idea seems contradictory to the basic principles of reason since the dried-up remnants of food would naturally seem to require replenishment. I shared with the group that among the elements that make up our bodies, heat alone—or at least above all else—constantly needs more input. A solid argument for this is that air, water, and earth don't require anything to consume or do not devour what’s nearby; only fire does. As a result, young people, having a greater amount of natural heat, usually have a larger appetite than older individuals, who can tolerate fasting better simply because their natural heat has diminished over time. We also observe this in cold-blooded animals, which need very little nourishment due to their lack of heat. Moreover, we all experience that physical activity, shouting, and other vigorous motions generate heat, which in turn typically sharpens our appetites. In my view, the most natural and essential nourishment for heat is moisture, as clearly demonstrated by flames that grow stronger with the addition of oil, and by ashes, which are some of the driest materials in nature; once the moisture has been consumed by the fire, the solid and coarser parts are left without any moisture at all. Additionally, fire breaks down and dissolves substances by drawing out the moisture that keeps them together. Therefore, when we are fasting, the heat first forces the moisture out of whatever remnants of food are left in the body, and then, seeking more humid parts, begins to consume the natural moisture of the flesh itself. This results in the body, like clay becoming dry, desiring drink more than food; until the heat, gaining strength from our drinking, stimulates a craving for more substantial nourishment.
QUESTION II. WHETHER WANT OF NOURISHMENT CAUSETH HUNGER AND THIRST OR THE CHANGE IN THE FIGURES OF THE PORES. PHILO, PLUTARCH.
QUESTION II. DOES LACK OF NOURISHMENT CAUSE HUNGER AND THIRST OR THE CHANGE IN THE SHAPE OF THE PORES? PHILO, PLUTARCH.
After these things were spoke, Philo the physician started the first question, asserting that thirst did not arise from the want of nourishment, but from the different transfiguration of certain passages. For, says he, this may be made evident, partly from what we see happens to those that thirst in the night, who, if sleep chance to steal upon them, though they did not drink before, are yet rid of their thirst; partly from persons in a fever, who, as soon as the disease abates or is removed, thirst no more. Nay, a great many men, after they have bathed or vomited, perceive presently that their thirst is gone; yet none of these add anything to their former moisture, but only the transfiguration of the pores causeth a new order and disposition. And this is more evident in hunger; for many sick persons, at the same time when they have the greatest need of meat, have no stomach. Others, after they have filled their bellies, have the same stomachs, and their appetites are rather increased than abated. There are a great many besides who loathe all sorts of diet, yet by taking of a pickled olive or caper recover and confirm their lost appetites. This doth clearly evince, that hunger proceeds from some change in the pores, and not from any want of sustenance, forasmuch as such kind of food lessens the defect by adding food, but increases the hunger; and the pleasing relish and poignancy of such pickles, by binding and straitening the mouth of the ventricle, and again by opening and loosening of it, beget in it a convenient disposition to receive meat, which we call by the name of appetite.
After these things were said, Philo the physician posed the first question, claiming that thirst doesn’t come from a lack of nutrition, but from the different transformation of certain passages. He explains that this can be demonstrated in part by what we observe happening to those who feel thirsty at night—if they happen to fall asleep, even without drinking beforehand, they wake up without their thirst; and also by people who are feverish, who no longer feel thirsty once the fever subsides or is gone. Many individuals find their thirst disappears after they bathe or vomit; yet none of these actions add to their previous moisture, but rather the transformation of the pores creates a new order and arrangement. This is even clearer in the case of hunger, as many sick people, despite needing food the most, have no appetite. Others, after they have eaten, experience the same appetite again, often feeling even hungrier. Additionally, many who find all types of food unappetizing can restore and strengthen their lost appetites by consuming a pickled olive or caper. This clearly shows that hunger arises from some change in the pores, not from a lack of food, as such foods reduce the deficiency without actually providing nourishment, yet still elevate the hunger; and the delightful taste and sharpness of these pickles, by constricting and then relaxing the stomach, create a suitable condition for receiving food, which we refer to as appetite.
I must confess this discourse seemed to carry in it some shadow of reason and probability; but in the main it is directly repugnant to the chief end of nature, to which appetite directs every animal. For that makes it desire a supply of what they stand in need of, and avoid a defect of their proper food. For to deny what especially makes a living creature differ from an inanimate object as given to us for our preservation and conservation (being as it were the receiver of what supplements and agrees with the nature of our body) is the argument of one who takes no account of natural law, especially when he would add that the characteristic proceeds from the great or small size of the pores. Besides, it is absurd to think that a body through the want of natural heat should be chilled, and should not in like manner hunger and thirst through the want of natural moisture and nourishment. And yet this is more absurd, that Nature when overcharged should desire to disburden herself, and yet should not require to be supplied on account of emptiness, but on account of some condition or other, I know not what. Moreover, these needs and supplies in relation to animals have some resemblance to those we see in husbandry. There are a great many like qualities and like provisions on both sides. For in a drought we water our grounds, and in case of excessive heat, we frequently make use of moderate coolers; and when our fruits are too cold, we endeavor to preserve and cherish them, by covering and making fences about them. And for such things as are out of the reach of human power, we implore the assistance of the gods, that is, to send us softening dews, and sunshines qualified with moderate winds; that so Nature, being always desirous of a due mixture, may have her wants supplied. And for this reason I presume it was that nourishment is called [Greek omitted] (from [Greek omitted]), because it observes and preserves Nature. Now Nature is preserved in plants, which are destitute of sense, by the favorable influence of the circumambient air (as Empedocles says), moistening them in such a measure as is most agreeable to their nature. But as for us men, our appetites prompt us on to the chase and pursuance of whatsoever is wanting to our natural temperament.
I have to admit that this discussion seems to carry some hint of reason and likelihood; however, overall it goes against the main purpose of nature, which appetite directs in every living being. This purpose compels them to seek what they need and avoid a lack of their essential food. To reject what distinctly distinguishes a living creature from a non-living one, which is given to us for our survival and preservation (acting as the receiver of what complements our body's nature), is to disregard natural law, especially when someone suggests that this characteristic comes from the size of the pores. Furthermore, it’s unreasonable to believe that a body can become cold due to a lack of natural heat but wouldn’t feel hunger or thirst from a lack of natural moisture and nourishment. The absurdity grows when we consider that Nature, when overloaded, would seek to relieve itself but wouldn’t need to be replenished due to emptiness, but rather some vague condition, the specifics of which are unclear. Additionally, the needs and supplies related to animals resemble those we observe in farming. There are many similar qualities and provisions on both sides. For instance, during a drought we water our fields, and in times of excessive heat, we often use moderate cooling methods; when our fruits are too cold, we try to protect and nurture them by covering them and building barriers around them. For things beyond human control, we ask the gods for help, to send us softening dews and sunshine tempered by gentle winds so that Nature, always striving for the right balance, can have its needs met. That's likely why nourishment is called [Greek omitted] (from [Greek omitted]), because it respects and maintains Nature. Now, in plants that lack sensation, Nature is preserved by the favorable influence of the surrounding air (as Empedocles says), moistening them in a way that's most suitable for their nature. But for us humans, our appetites drive us to seek and pursue whatever we lack for our natural balance.
But now let us pass to the examination of the truth of the arguments that seem to favor the contrary opinion. And for the first, I suppose that those meats that are palatable and of a quick and sharp taste do not beget in us an appetite, but rather bite and fret those parts that receive the nourishment, as we find that scratching the skin causes itching. And supposing we should grant that this affection or disposition is the very thing which we call the appetite, it is probable that, by the operation of such kind of food as this, the nourishment may be made small, and so much of it as is convenient for Nature severed from the rest, so that the indigency proceeds not from the transmutation, but from the evacuation and purgation of the passages. For sharp, tart, and salt things grate the inward matter, and by dispersing of it cause digestion, so that by the concoctions of the old there may arise an appetite for new. Nor does the cessation of thirst after bathing spring from the different position of the passages, but from a new supply of moisture received into the flesh, and conveyed from thence to them also. And vomiting, by throwing off whatever is disagreeable to Nature, puts her in a capacity of enjoying what is most suitable for her. For thirst does not call for a superfluity of moisture, but only for so much as sufficeth Nature; and therefore, though a man had plenty of disagreeable and unnatural moisture, yet he wants still, for that stops the course of the natural, which Nature is desirous of, and hinders a due mixture and temperament, till it be cast out and the pores receive what is most proper and convenient for them. Moreover, a fever forces all the moisture downward; and the middle parts being in combustion, it all retires thither, and there is shut up and forcibly detained. And therefore it is usual with a great many to vomit, by reason of the density of the inward parts squeezing out the moisture, and likewise to thirst, by reason of the poor and dry state the rest of the body is in. But after the violence of the distemper is once abated, and the raging heat hath left the middle parts, the moisture begins to disperse itself again; and according to its natural motion, by a speedy conveyance into all the parts, it refreshes the entrails, softens and makes tender the dry and parched flesh. Very often also it causes sweat, and then the defect which occasioned thirst ceases; for the moisture leaving that part of the body wherein it was forcibly detained, and out of which it hardly made an escape, retires to the place where it is wanted. For as it fares with a garden wherein there is a large well,—if nobody draw thereof and water it, the herbs must needs wither and die,—so it fares with a body; if all the moisture be contracted into one part, it is no wonder if the rest be in want and dry, till it is diffused again over the other limbs. Just so it happens to persons in a fever, after the heat of the disease is over, and likewise to those who go to sleep thirsty. For in these, sleep draws the moisture to the middle parts, and equally distributes it amongst the rest, satisfying them all. But, I pray, what kind of transfiguration of the passages is this which causes hunger and thirst? For my part, I know no other distinction of the pores but in respect of their number or that some of them are shut, others open. As for those that are shut, they can neither receive meat nor drink; and as for those that are open, they make an empty space, which is nothing but a want of that which Nature requires. Thus, sir, when men dye cloth, the liquor in which they dip it hath very sharp and abstersive particles; which, consuming and scouring off all the matter that filled the pores, make the cloth more apt to receive the dye, because its pores are empty and want something to fill them up.
But now let's take a look at the validity of the arguments that seem to support the opposite view. First, I suppose that foods that are tasty and have a strong, sharp flavor don't actually create an appetite in us; they irritate and aggravate the parts that absorb the nourishment, similar to how scratching the skin causes itching. And if we were to accept that this feeling or state is what we call appetite, it’s likely that, due to this type of food, the nourishment may be diminished, and what's suitable for our needs might be separated from the rest, so that the lack of nourishment comes not from transformation but from the clearing out of the passages. Sharp, sour, and salty foods irritate the inner matter, aiding digestion by dispersing it, which may lead to a craving for new food from the processed leftovers. The cessation of thirst after bathing doesn't come from the different positions of the passages but from a fresh supply of moisture absorbed into the flesh and then passed on to them. Vomiting, by expelling whatever is unpleasant for the body, prepares it to enjoy what it truly needs. Thirst doesn’t require an excess of moisture, just enough to satisfy the body's needs; therefore, even if someone has an abundance of unpleasant and unnatural moisture, they still feel a lack because that excess disrupts the natural flow that the body craves, preventing a proper balance until it’s expelled and the pores can absorb what they truly need. Also, a fever forces all moisture downward; the central parts become inflamed and hold on tightly to it. So, it's common for many people to vomit due to the pressure of the inner parts squeezing out moisture and to feel thirsty because the rest of the body is in a poor, dry state. Once the intensity of the illness diminishes and the heat subsides, the moisture starts to spread out again; naturally moving quickly to all parts, it revitalizes the insides, softening and soothing the dry, parched flesh. Often, it also causes sweating, after which the thirst subsides because the moisture that was trapped in a particular area finally returns to where it’s needed. It’s like a garden with a large well—if no one draws from it to water the plants, the herbs will inevitably wither and die. So it is with the body; if all the moisture is concentrated in one area, it’s no surprise that the rest becomes dry and in need until it’s spread out again across the limbs. This is what happens to people with a fever after the heat of the illness has passed, and also to those who fall asleep thirsty. In these cases, sleep draws moisture to the central parts and evenly distributes it among the rest, satisfying all. But tell me, what kind of transformation of the passages creates hunger and thirst? Personally, I see no other distinction among the pores except in their number or the fact that some are closed while others are open. Those that are closed can’t take in food or drink; and those that are open create an empty space, which is simply a lack of what nature needs. So, sir, when people dye cloth, the liquid they dip it in has very sharp and cleansing particles that remove all the matter clogging the pores, making the cloth more ready to absorb the dye because its pores are empty and need something to fill them.
QUESTION III. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT HUNGER IS ALLAYED BY DRINKING, BUT THIRST INCREASED BY EATING? THE HOST, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION III. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT HUNGER IS SATISFIED BY DRINKING, BUT THIRST IS INCREASED BY EATING? THE HOST, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
After we had gone thus far, the master of the feast told the company that the former points were reasonably well discussed; and waiving at present the discourse concerning the evacuation and repletion of the pores, he requested us to fall upon another question, that is, how it comes to pass that hunger is stayed by drinking, when, on the contrary, thirst is more violent after eating. Those who assign the reason to be in the pores seem with a great deal of ease and probability, though not with so much truth, to explain the thing. For seeing the pores in all bodies are of different sorts and sizes, the more capacious receive both dry and humid nourishment, the lesser take in drink, not meat; but the vacuity of the former causes hunger, of the latter thirst. Hence it is that men that thirst are never better after they have eaten, the pores by reason of their straitness denying admittance to grosser nourishment, and the want of suitable supply still remaining. But after hungry men have drunk, the moisture enters the greater pores, fills the empty spaces, and in part assuages the violence of the hunger.
After we had gone this far, the host of the feast told everyone that the previous topics had been discussed fairly well; and putting aside the conversation about the evacuation and replenishment of the pores for now, he asked us to tackle another question: why does drinking alleviate hunger, while eating makes thirst worse? Those who attribute the reason to the pores seem to offer a fairly straightforward and probable explanation, though not entirely accurate. They argue that since the pores in all bodies vary in type and size, the larger ones can absorb both dry and wet nourishment, while the smaller ones can only take in liquid, not food. The emptiness of the larger ones leads to hunger, while the emptiness of the smaller ones leads to thirst. This is why thirsty people feel no better after eating; the narrow pores block access to coarser nourishment, leaving the need for appropriate intake still unfulfilled. However, when hungry people drink, the moisture fills the larger pores, occupies the empty spaces, and partially eases the intensity of their hunger.
Of this effect, said I, I do not in the least doubt, but I do not approve of the reason they give for it. For if any one should admit these pores (which some are so unreasonably fond of) to be in the flesh, he must needs make it a very soft, loose, flabby substance; and that the same parts do not receive the meat and drink, but that they run through different canals and strainers in them, seems to me to be a very strange and unaccountable opinion. For the moisture mixes with the dry food, and by the assistance of the natural heat and spirits cuts the nourishment far smaller than any cleaver or chopping-knife, to the end that every part of it may be exactly fitted to each part of the body, not applied, as they would have it, to little vessels and pores, but united and incorporated with the whole substance. And unless the thing were explained after this manner, the hardest knot in the question would still remain unsolved. For a man that has a thirst upon him, supposing he eats and doth not drink, is so far from quenching, that he does highly increase it. This point is yet undiscussed. But mark, said I, whether the positions on my side be clear and evident or not. In the first place, we take it for granted that moisture is wasted and destroyed by heat, that the drier parts of the nourishment qualified and softened by moisture, are diffused and fly away in vapors. Secondly, we must by no means suppose that all hunger is a total privation of dry, and thirst of humid nutriment, but only a moderate one, and such as is sufficient to cause the one or the other; for whoever are wholly deprived of either of these, they neither hunger nor thirst, but die instantly. These things being laid down as a foundation, it will be no hard matter to find out the cause. For thirst is increased by eating for this reason, because that meat by its natural siccity contracts and destroys all that small quantity of moisture which remained scattered here and there through the body; just as happens in things obvious to our senses; we see the earth, dust, and the like presently suck in the moisture that is mixed with them. Now, on the contrary, drink must of necessity assuage hunger; for the moisture watering and diffusing itself through the dry and parched relics of the meat we ate last, by turning them into thin juices, conveys them through the whole body, and succors the indigent parts. And therefore with very good reason Erasistratus called moisture the vehicle of the meat; for as soon as this is mixed with things which by reason of their dryness, or some other quality, are slow and heavy, it raises them up and carries them aloft. Moreover, several men, when they have drunk nothing at all, but only washed themselves, all on a sudden are freed from a very violent hunger, because the extrinsic moisture entering the pores makes the meat within more succulent and of a more nourishing nature, so that the heat and fury of the hunger declines and abates; and therefore a great many of those who have a mind to starve themselves to death live a long time only by drinking water; that is, as long as the siccity does not quite consume whatever may be united to and nourish the body.
I'm completely convinced of this effect, but I don't agree with the explanation given for it. If anyone were to accept that these pores (which some are absurdly obsessed with) exist in the flesh, they would have to conclude that it's a very soft, loose, and flabby substance. The idea that these parts don't take in food and drink, but rather that they go through different channels and filters, seems to me like a really strange and illogical belief. The moisture combines with dry food, and with the help of natural heat and energy, breaks down the nourishment into pieces much smaller than any cleaver or knife could manage, so that every bit of it can perfectly match each part of the body, not just being delivered to tiny vessels and pores, but integrated and merged with the whole substance. Unless this is explained like this, the toughest part of the question will still be unresolved. Because a person who is thirsty and eats but doesn't drink is not going to quench that thirst; in fact, it only makes it worse. This point hasn't been discussed yet. But pay attention, I said, to whether my arguments are clear and obvious. First, we accept that heat wastes and destroys moisture, and that the drier parts of food, when made moist, disperse and evaporate. Second, we should not assume that all hunger means a complete lack of dry nourishment, and thirst means a total lack of humid nourishment, but only a moderate need for one or the other; since anyone completely deprived of either will neither feel hunger nor thirst, but will die instantly. With these points established as a foundation, it won't be hard to find the cause. Thirst increases when eating because the dry food naturally absorbs and destroys any small amount of moisture left in the body; it’s like how dust and dirt absorbs moisture mixed in with it. Conversely, drinking must alleviate hunger because the moisture seeps in and spreads through the dry remnants of the previous meal, turning them into thin juices, allowing them to circulate through the body and help the needy parts. That's why Erasistratus rightly called moisture the carrier of food; once it's mixed with dry or heavy substances, it lifts and carries them upward. Furthermore, many people, even after not drinking anything but just washing themselves, suddenly find relief from intense hunger because the external moisture entering the pores makes the food inside more succulent and nourishing, causing the heat and intensity of hunger to decrease. This is why many individuals who intend to starve themselves can survive for a long time by only drinking water—as long as the dryness doesn’t completely consume anything that can nourish the body.
QUESTION IV. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT A BUCKET OF WATER DRAWN OUT OF A WELL, IF IT STANDS ALL NIGHT IN THE AIR THAT IS IN THE WELL, IS, MORE COLD IN THE MORNING THAN THE REST OF THE WATER?
QUESTION IV. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT A BUCKET OF WATER DRAWN OUT OF A WELL, IF IT STANDS ALL NIGHT IN THE AIR THAT IS IN THE WELL, IS MORE COLD IN THE MORNING THAN THE REST OF THE WATER?
A GUEST, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
A guest, Plutarch, and others.
One of the strangers at the the table, who took wonderful great delight in drinking of cold water, had some brought to him by the servants, cooled after this manner; they had hung in the well a bucket full of the same water, so that it could not touch the sides of the well, and there let it remain, all night: the next day, when it was brought to table, it was colder than the water that was newdrawn. Now this gentleman was an indifferent good scholar, and therefore told the company that he had learned this from Aristotle, who gives the reason of it. The reason which he assigned was this. All water, when it hath been once hot, is afterwards more cold; as that which is prepared for kings, when it hath boiled a good while upon the fire, is afterwards put into a vessel set round with snow, and so made colder; just as we find our bodies more cool after we have bathed, because the body, after a short relaxation from heat, is rarefied and more porous, and therefore so much the more fitted to receive a larger quantity of air, which causes the alteration. Therefore the water, when it is drawn out of the well, being first warmed in the air, grows presently cold.
One of the strangers at the table, who really enjoyed drinking cold water, had some brought to him by the servants, cooled this way: they hung a bucket full of water in the well, so it wouldn’t touch the sides, and let it sit there all night. The next day, when it was brought to the table, it was colder than freshly drawn water. This gentleman was a decent scholar, so he told the group that he had learned this from Aristotle, who explained why. He said that all water, once it's been hot, becomes colder afterward. Just like water prepared for kings, which is boiled for a good while and then placed in a vessel surrounded by snow to cool it down. Similarly, we notice that our bodies feel cooler after we’ve bathed because the body, after a brief break from heat, expands and becomes more porous, making it better at absorbing more air, which causes the change. So, when the water is drawn from the well, being warmed by the air first, it quickly becomes cold.
Whereupon we began to commend the man very highly for his happy memory; but we called in question the pretended reason. For if the air wherein the vessel hangs be cold, how, I pray, does it heat the water? If hot, how does it afterwards make it cold? For it is absurd to say, that the same thing is affected by the same thing with contrary qualities, no difference at all intervening. While the gentleman held his peace, as not knowing what to say; there is no cause, said I, that we should raise any scruple concerning the nature of the air, forasmuch as we are ascertained by sense that it is cold, especially in the bottom of a well; and therefore we can never imagine that it should make the water hot. But I should rather judge this to be the reason: the cold air, though it cannot cool the great quantity of water which is in the well, yet can easily cool each part of it, separate from the whole.
So we started praising the guy a lot for his great memory, but we questioned his supposed reason. If the air where the vessel hangs is cold, how does it heat the water? If it's hot, how does it then make the water cold? It doesn't make sense to say that the same thing affects itself with opposite qualities without any difference in between. While the gentleman stayed quiet, not knowing what to say, I said there’s no reason to be skeptical about the nature of the air, since we can clearly sense that it’s cold—especially at the bottom of a well. Therefore, we can’t really think it would make the water hot. Instead, I would suggest this reason: the cold air, although it can’t cool the large amount of water in the well, can easily cool each part of it separately.
QUESTION V. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT PEBBLE STONES AND LEADEN BULLETS THROWN INTO THE WATER MAKE IT MORE COLD? A GUEST, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION V. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT PEBBLE STONES AND LEAD BULLETS THROWN INTO THE WATER MAKE IT COLDER? A GUEST, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
I suppose you may remember that what Aristotle says in his problems, of little stones and pieces of iron, how it hath been observed by some that being thrown into the water they temper and cool it. This is no more than barely asserted by him; but we will go farther and inquire into the reason of it, the discovery of which will be a matter of difficulty. Yes, says I, it will so, and it is much if we hit upon it; for do but consider, first of all, do not you suppose that the air which comes in from without cools the water? But now air has a great deal more power and force, when it beats against stones and pieces of iron. For they do not, like brazen and earthen vessels, suffer it to pass through; but, by reason of their solid bulk, beat it back and reflect it into the water, so that upon all parts the cold works very strongly. And hence it comes to pass that rivers in the winter are colder than the sea, because the cold air has a power over them, which by reason of its depth it has not over the sea, where it is scattered without any reflection. But it is probable that for another reason thinner waters may be made colder by the air than thicker, because they are not so strong to resist its force. Now whetstones and pebbles make the water thinner by drawing to them all the mud and other grosser substances that be mixed with it, that so by taking the strength from it may the more easily be wrought upon by the cold. But besides, lead is naturally cold, as that which, being dissolved in vinegar, makes the coldest of all poisons, called white-lead; and stones, by reason of their density, raise cold in the bottom of the water. For every stone is nothing else but a congealed lump of frozen earth, though some more or less than others; and therefore it is no absurdity to say that stones and lead, by reflecting the air, increase the coldness of the water.
I guess you might remember what Aristotle says in his writings about small stones and pieces of iron, noting that some have observed how, when thrown into water, they can cool it down. He simply states this fact, but we’ll dig deeper and explore the reasons behind it, which won’t be easy. Sure, it may be tough, and it’s a lot if we figure it out; but just think about it—don’t you think that the air coming in from outside cools the water? However, air has much more power when it hits stones and iron pieces. Unlike bronze and clay vessels, which let air pass through, these solid materials bounce the air back and reflect it into the water, causing the cold to work effectively in all areas. This is why rivers are colder in winter than the sea; cold air has more influence on rivers, which it doesn't have over the sea due to its depth, which causes the air to disperse without reflection. Additionally, it’s likely that thinner waters can be cooled more by air than thicker ones because they’re not as strong in resisting that force. Whetstones and pebbles make the water thinner by drawing in mud and heavier particles mixed with it, making it easier for the cold to take effect. Moreover, lead is naturally cold, since when it dissolves in vinegar, it creates the coldest poison, known as white lead; and stones, due to their density, generate cold at the bottom of the water. Each stone is just a solid piece of frozen earth, though some more so than others; thus, it’s not unreasonable to say that stones and lead, by reflecting the air, enhance the coldness of the water.
QUESTION VI WHAT IS THE REASON THAT MEN PRESERVE SNOW BY COVERING IT WITH CHAFF AND CLOTHS? A GUEST, PLUTARCH.
QUESTION VI WHAT IS THE REASON THAT MEN PRESERVE SNOW BY COVERING IT WITH CHAFF AND CLOTHS? A GUEST, PLUTARCH.
Then the stranger, after he had made a little pause, said: Men in love are ambitious to be in company with their sweethearts; when that is denied them, they desire at least to talk of them. This is my case in relation to snow; and, because I cannot have it at present, I am desirous to learn the reason why it is commonly preserved by the hottest things. For, when covered with chaff and cloth that has never been at the fuller's, it is preserved a long time. Now it is strange that the coldest things should be preserved by the hottest.
Then the stranger, after taking a brief pause, said: People in love are eager to be with their partners; when that’s not possible, they at least want to talk about them. This is how I feel about snow; since I can’t have it right now, I want to understand why it’s typically kept safe by the hottest substances. When it’s wrapped in chaff and cloth that has never been to the cleaner, it stays preserved for a long time. It’s odd that the coldest things are kept safe by the hottest.
Yes, said I, it is a very strange thing, if true. But it is not so; and we cozen ourselves by presently concluding a thing to be hot if it have a faculty of causing heat, when as yet we see that the same garment causes heat in winter, and cold in summer. Thus the nurse in the tragedy,
Yes, I said, it’s a really strange thing, if true. But it’s not; and we trick ourselves into thinking something is hot if it has the ability to make us feel hot, even when we see that the same garment makes us warm in winter and cold in summer. So, the nurse in the tragedy,
In garments thin doth Niobe's children fold,
And sometimes heats and sometimes cools the babes.
In thin clothes, Niobe's children are wrapped,
And sometimes they get warm and sometimes cool.The Germans indeed make use of clothes only against the cold, the Ethiopians only against the heat; but they are useful to us upon both accounts. Why therefore should we rather say the clothes are hot, because they cause heat, than cold, because they cause cold? Nay, if we must be tried by sense, it will be found that they are more cold than hot. For at the first putting on of a coat it is cold, and so is our bed when we lie down; but afterwards they grow hot with the heat of our bodies, because they both keep in the heat and keep out the cold. Indeed, feverish persons and others that have a violent heat upon them often change their clothes, because they perceive that fresh ones at the first putting on are much colder; but within a very little time their bodies make them as hot as the others. In like manner, as a garment heated makes us hot, so a covering cooled keeps snow cold. Now that which causes this cold is the continual emanations of a subtile spirit the snow has in it, which spirit, as long as it remains in the snow, keeps it compact and close; but, after once it is gone, the snow melts and dissolves into water, and instantly loses its whiteness, occasioned by a mixture of this spirit with a frothy moisture. Therefore at the same time, by the help of these clothes, the cold is kept in, and the external air is shut out, lest it should thaw the concrete body of the snow. The reason why they make use of cloth that has not yet been at the fuller's is this, because that in such cloth the hair and coarse flocks keep it off from pressing too hard upon the snow, and bruising it. So chaff lying lightly upon it does not dissolve the body of the snow, besides the chaff lies close and shuts out the warm air, and keeps in the natural cold of the snow. Now that snow melts by the evaporating of this spirit, we are ascertained by sense; for when snow melts it raises a vapor.
The Germans really wear clothes just to keep warm, while the Ethiopians wear them mainly to stay cool; but we find them useful for both reasons. So why do we say clothes are hot because they create heat instead of cold because they prevent it? In fact, if we go by what we feel, we’ll see that clothes tend to be cooler than warmer. When you first put on a coat, it feels cold, and the same goes for our beds when we lie down; but eventually, they warm up from our body heat since they both trap warmth and block out the cold. People with fevers or anyone feeling really hot often change into fresh clothes because they notice new ones feel much colder at first; however, in a short time, their bodies warm them up just like the others. Similarly, just like a heated garment can warm us up, a cool covering keeps snow from melting. What creates this cold is the constant flow of a subtle essence that the snow holds; as long as this essence is in the snow, it stays compact and solid. Once it's gone, the snow melts into water and quickly loses its whiteness, mixing that essence with moisture. So, with the help of these clothes, the cold is contained, and outside air is kept out to prevent it from melting the solid snow. The reason they use unprocessed cloth is that the fibers and coarse bits keep it from pressing too hard on the snow and damaging it. Just like how chaff lying lightly on it doesn’t break down the snow, it also covers closely to block warm air and maintain the natural cold of the snow. We know that snow melts due to the evaporation of this essence because when snow melts, it creates vapor.
QUESTION VII. WHETHER WINE OUGHT TO BE STRAINED OR NOT. NIGER, ARISTIO.
QUESTION VII. SHOULD WINE BE STRAINED OR NOT? NIGER, ARISTIO.
Niger, a citizen of ours, was lately come from school, after he had spent some time under the discipline of a celebrated philosopher, but had absorbed nothing but those faults by which his master was odious to others, especially his custom of reproving and of carping at whatever upon any occasion chanced to be discussed in company. And therefore, when we were at supper one time at Aristio's, not content to assume to himself a liberty to rail at all the rest of the preparations as too profuse and extravagant, he had a pique at the wine too, and said that it ought not to be brought to table strained, but that, observing Hesiod's rule, we ought to drink it new out of the vessel. Moreover, he added that this way of purging wine takes the strength from it, and robs it of its natural heat, which, when wine is poured out of one vessel into another, evaporates and dies. Besides he would needs persuade us that it showed too much of a vain curiosity, effeminacy, and luxury, to convert what is wholesome into that which is palatable. For as the riotous, not the temperate, use to cut cocks and geld pigs, to make their flesh tender and delicious, even against Nature; just so (if we may use a metaphor, says he) those that strain wine geld and emasculate it, whilst their squeamish stomachs will neither suffer them to drink pure wine, nor their intemperance to drink moderately. Therefore they make use of this expedient, to the end that it may render the desire they have of drinking plentifully more excusable. So they take all the strength from the wine, leaving the palatableness still: as we use to deal with those with whose constitution cold water does not agree, to boil it for them. For they certainly take off all the strength from the wine, by straining of it. And this is a great argument, that the wine deads, grows flat, and loses its virtue, when it is separated from the lees, as from its root and stock; for the ancients for very good reason called wine lees, as we use to signify a man by his head or soul, as the principal part of him. So in Greek, grape-gatherers are said [Greek omitted], the word being derived from [Greek omitted], which signifies lees; and Homer in one place calls the fruit of the wine [Greek omitted], and the wine itself high-colored and red,—not pale and yellow, such as Aristio gives us to supper, after all the goodness is purged out of it.
Niger, one of our citizens, recently returned from his studies, having spent some time under the guidance of a well-known philosopher, but he only picked up those habits that made his teacher disliked by others, especially his tendency to criticize and nitpick anything discussed in conversation. So, when we were having dinner one evening at Aristio's place, he couldn’t help but express his criticism of all the preparations as too extravagant and excessive. He even had a problem with the wine, claiming it shouldn’t be served strained; that, following Hesiod's advice, we should drink it straight from the container. He further claimed that straining wine diminishes its strength and takes away its natural warmth, which evaporates and dissipates when poured from one container to another. Furthermore, he insisted that wanting everything to be palatable reflects vain curiosity, softness, and luxury, as those who indulge often castrate roosters and neuter pigs to make their meat tender and tasty, even against nature. Similarly, he said, those who strain wine are effectively neutering it, as their picky stomachs can't handle straight wine, nor can their indulgence allow them to drink moderately. They resort to this method to justify their excessive drinking. So, they strip the wine of its strength while keeping it tasty: just like how we prepare water for those who can't handle it cold. They truly remove all the strength from the wine by straining it. This strongly indicates that wine weakens, becomes bland, and loses its quality when separated from its sediment, just like a person being represented by their head or soul as their vital part. In Greek, grape gatherers are referred to by a term that comes from the word for lees; and Homer refers to wine as deep-colored and red—not the pale yellow stuff that Aristio serves us for dinner, after all the goodness has been removed.
Then Aristio smiling presently replied: Sir, the wine I bring to table does not look so pale and lifeless as you would have it: but it appears only in the cup to be mild and well qualified. But for your part, you would glut yourself with night wine, which raises melancholy vapors; and upon this account you cry out against purgation, which, by carrying off whatever might cause melancholy or load men's stomachs, and make them drunk or sick, makes it mild and pleasant to those that drink it, such as heroes (as Homer tells us) were formerly wont to drink. And it was not dark wine which he called [Greek omitted], but clear and transparent; for otherwise he would never have named brass [Greek omitted], after characterizing it as man-exalting and resplendent. Therefore as the wise Anacharsis, discommending some things that the Grecians enjoined, commended their coals, because they leave the smoke without doors, and bring the fire into the house; so you judicious men might blame me for some other reason than this. But what hurt, I pray, have I done to the wine, by taking from it a turbulent and noisome quality, and giving it a better taste, though a paler color? Nor have I brought you wine to the table which, like a sword, hath lost its edge and vigorous relish, but such as is only purged of its dregs and filth. But you will say that wine not strained hath a great deal more strength. Why so, my friend? One that is frantic and distracted has more strength than a man in his wits; but when, by the help of hellebore or some other fit diet, he is come to himself, that rage and frenzy leave him and quite vanish, and the true use of his reason and health of body presently comes into its place. In like manner, purging of wine takes from it all the strength that inflames and enrages the mind, and gives it instead thereof a mild and wholesome temper; and I think there is a great deal of difference between gaudiness and cleanliness. For women, while they paint, perfume, and adorn themselves with jewels and purple robes, are accounted gaudy and profuse; yet nobody will find fault with them for washing their faces, anointing themselves, or platting their hair. Homer very neatly expresses the difference of these two habits, where he brings in Juno dressing herself:—
Then Aristio, smiling, replied: "Sir, the wine I bring to the table doesn't look as pale and lifeless as you think; it only appears that way in the cup because it's mild and well-balanced. But you, on the other hand, indulge in heavy wine that brings on gloomy thoughts; that’s why you complain about purging, which removes anything that might cause sadness or upset someone's stomach, making them drunk or ill, and instead leaves a pleasant drink for those who enjoy it, just like the heroes (as Homer tells us) used to drink. He didn’t refer to dark wine as [Greek omitted], but rather to clear and transparent wine; otherwise, he wouldn’t have described it as man-elevating and shining like brass [Greek omitted]. Just as the wise Anacharsis criticized some things that the Greeks recommended while praising their coals for leaving smoke outside and bringing fire into homes, you, wise men, might have other reasons to criticize me. But what's the harm in taking away the harsh and foul qualities of the wine and giving it a better taste, even if it’s a bit lighter in color? I haven’t served you wine that's lost its edge and lively flavor like a dulled sword, but wine that has simply been cleared of its dregs and impurities. You might say that unstrained wine is much stronger. But why is that, my friend? A madman may seem stronger than someone in control of their senses, but once, with the help of hellebore or a suitable diet, he regains his sanity, his rage and frenzy disappear, and his reason returns, along with his bodily health. Similarly, purging wine removes the qualities that inflame and disturb the mind, replacing them with a mild and wholesome character; there's a significant difference between being flashy and being clean. For instance, women who paint, perfume, and adorn themselves with jewels and fancy dresses are seen as extravagant, yet no one criticizes them for washing their faces, applying ointments, or styling their hair. Homer captures this distinction nicely when he describes Juno dressing herself:—"
With sweet ambrosia first she washed her skin,
And after did anoint herself with oil.
("Iliad," xiv. 170.)
With sweet ambrosia, she first washed her skin,
And then she anointed herself with oil.
("Iliad," xiv. 170.)So much was allowable, being no more than a careful cleanliness. But when she comes to call for her golden buttons, her curiously wrought earrings, and last of all puts on her bewitching girdle, this appears to be an extravagant and idle curiosity, and betrays too much of wantonness, which by no means becomes a married woman. Just so they that sophisticate wine by mixing it with aloes, cinnamon, or saffron bring it to the table like a gorgeous-apparelled woman, and there prostitute it. But those that only take from it what is nasty and no way profitable do only purge it and improve it by their labor. Otherwise you may find fault with all things whatsoever as vain and extravagant, beginning at the house you live in. As first, you may say, why is it plastered? Why does it open especially on that side where it may have the best convenience for receiving the purest air, and the benefit of the evening sun? What is the reason that our cups are washed and made so clean that they shine and look bright? Now if a cup ought to have nothing that is nasty or loathsome in it, ought that which is drunk out of the cup to be full of dregs and filth? What need is there for mentioning anything else? The making corn into bread is a continual cleansing; and yet what a great ado there is before it is effected! There is not only threshing, winnowing, sifting, and separating the bran, but there must be kneading the dough to soften all parts alike, and a continual cleansing and working of the mass till all the parts become edible alike. What absurdity is it then by straining to separate the lees, as it were the filth of the wine, especially since the cleansing is no chargeable or painful operation?
So much is acceptable, as it’s just being carefully clean. But when she comes to fetch her golden buttons, her intricately designed earrings, and finally puts on her enchanting belt, it seems like an excessive and frivolous curiosity, showing too much desire, which is definitely not fitting for a married woman. It’s like those who spoil wine by mixing it with aloe, cinnamon, or saffron, presenting it as if it were an elegantly dressed woman, and there they cheapen it. But those who only remove what’s unpleasant and unhelpful simply refine it and enhance it through their effort. Otherwise, you could criticize everything as being vain and excessive, starting with the house you live in. First, you might ask, why is it plastered? Why does it open especially on the side that receives the best air and the warmth of the evening sun? Why are our cups washed and made so clean that they shine brightly? If a cup shouldn’t have anything nasty or undesirable in it, should what comes from the cup be filled with dregs and dirt? Why mention anything else? Turning grain into bread is a constant process of cleaning; yet what a fuss there is to achieve it! It involves not just threshing, winnowing, and sifting, but also kneading the dough to ensure all parts are evenly soft, and continuously cleaning and working the mixture until it’s all edible. What absurdity it is, then, to strain out the sediment, as if it were the dirt of the wine, especially when cleaning it requires neither great cost nor effort!
QUESTION VIII. WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF BULIMY OR THE GREEDY DISEASE? PLUTARCH, SOCLARUS, CLEOMENES, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION VIII. WHAT CAUSES BULIMIA OR THE GREEDY DISEASE? PLUTARCH, SOCLARUS, CLEOMENES, AND OTHERS.
There is a certain sacrifice of very ancient institution, which the chief magistrate or archon performs always in the common-hall, and every private person in his own house. 'Tis called the driving out of bulimy; for they whip out of doors some one of their servants with a bunch of willow rods, repeating these words, Get out of doors, bulimy; and enter riches and health. Therefore in my year there was a great concourse of people present at the sacrifice; and, after all the rites and ceremonies of the sacrifice were over, when we had seated ourselves again at the table, there was an inquiry made first of all into the signification of the word bulimy, then into the meaning of the words which are repeated when the servant is turned out of doors. But the principal dispute was concerning the nature of it, and all its circumstances. First, as for the word bulimy, it was agreed upon by all to denote a great and public famine, especially among us who use the Aeolic dialect, putting [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted]. For it was not called by the ancients [Greek omitted] but [Greek omitted], that is, [Greek omitted], much hunger. We concluded that it was not the same with the disease called Bubrostis, by an argument fetched out of Metrodorus's Ionics. For the said Metrodorus informs us that the Smyrnaeans, who were once Aeolians, sacrificed to Bubrostis a black bull cut into pieces with the skin on, and so burnt it. Now, forasmuch as every species of hunger resembles a disease, but more particularly Bulimy, which is occasioned by an unnatural disposition of the body, these two differ as riches and poverty, health and sickness. But as the word NAUSEATE [Greek omitted] first took its name from men who were sea-sick in a ship, and afterwards custom prevailed so far that the word was applied to all persons that were any way in like sort affected; so the word BULIMY, rising at first from hence, was at last extended to a more large and comprehensive signification. What has been hitherto said was a general club of the opinions of all those who were at table.
There’s a certain ancient ritual that the chief magistrate or archon always performs in the public hall, while every individual does it in their own home. It's called the driving out of bulimy; they chase out one of their servants with a bundle of willow rods, repeating the words, “Get out of here, bulimy; and let riches and health come in.” So, during my year, there was a large crowd present at the ritual. After all the rites and ceremonies were completed, when we had settled back at the table, we first inquired about the meaning of the word bulimy, and then about the significance of the phrases used when the servant is sent outside. But the main debate was about its nature and all its aspects. First, everyone agreed that the word bulimy refers to a severe public famine, especially among us who speak the Aeolic dialect, using [Greek omitted] instead of [Greek omitted]. The ancients didn’t call it [Greek omitted] but [Greek omitted], meaning [Greek omitted], great hunger. We concluded that bulimy is different from the disease known as Bubrostis, based on an argument derived from Metrodorus's Ionics. Metrodorus mentions that the Smyrnaeans, who were once Aeolians, sacrificed a black bull, intact with its skin on, to Bubrostis and burned it. Now, since every type of hunger resembles a disease, but especially bulimy, which arises from an unnatural condition of the body, these two differ as much as wealth differs from poverty, or health from sickness. Just as the word NAUSEATE [Greek omitted] initially referred to people who were seasick on a ship, but eventually came to describe anyone feeling similarly nauseous, the word BULIMY, originally emerging from this, gradually broadened to a more general meaning. What has been discussed so far represents a collective opinion from everyone at the table.
But after we began to inquire after the cause of this disease, the first thing that puzzled us was to find out the reason why bulimy seizes upon those that travel in the snow. As Brutus, one time marching from Dyrrachium to Apollonia in a deep snow, was endangered of his life by bulimy, whilst none of those that carried the provisions for the army followed him; just when the man was ready to faint and die, some of his soldiers were forced to run to the walls of the enemies' city, and beg a piece of bread of the sentinels, by the eating of which he was presently refreshed; for which cause, after Brutus had made himself master of the city, he treated all the inhabitants very mercifully. Asses and horses are frequently troubled with bulimy, especially when they are laden with dry figs and apples; and, which is yet more strange, of all things that are eaten, bread chiefly refreshes not only men but beasts; so that, by taking a little quantity of bread, they regain their strength and go forward on their journey.
But after we started to investigate the cause of this disease, the first thing that confused us was figuring out why bulimia affects those traveling in the snow. When Brutus was marching from Dyrrachium to Apollonia in heavy snow, he was in serious danger from bulimia, while none of the soldiers carrying supplies followed him. Just as he was about to faint and die, some of his soldiers had to run to the walls of the enemy's city and ask the guards for a piece of bread, which he ate and instantly felt better. Because of this, once Brutus took control of the city, he treated all the inhabitants very kindly. Donkeys and horses often suffer from bulimia, especially when loaded with dry figs and apples; and even more surprisingly, of all the foods eaten, bread is the most refreshing not only for people but also for animals. By consuming just a little bit of bread, they regain their strength and continue on their journey.
After all were silent, I (who had observed that dull fellows and those of a less piercing judgment were satisfied with and did acquiesce in the reasons the ancients gave for bulimy, but to men of ingenuity and industry they only pointed out the way to a more clear discovery of the truth of the business) mentioned Aristotle's opinion, who says, that extreme cold without causes extreme heat and consumption within; which, if it fall into the legs, makes them lazy and heavy, but if it come to the fountain of motion and respiration, occasions faintings and weakness. When I had said that, some of the company opposed it, others held with me.
Once everyone fell silent, I (having noticed that those who weren’t very bright and had less discerning judgment were satisfied with and accepted the reasons given by the ancients for bulimia, whereas those who were clever and hardworking saw only a path to a clearer understanding of the truth) brought up Aristotle's view. He claimed that extreme cold causes extreme heat and internal consumption; if this cold affects the legs, it makes them sluggish and heavy, but if it impacts the source of movement and breathing, it leads to faintness and weakness. After I shared that, some in the group disagreed, while others supported me.
At length says Soclarus: I like the beginning of this reason very well, for the bodies of travellers in a great snow must of necessity be surrounded and condensed with cold; but that from the heat within there should arise such a consumption as invades the principle of respiration, I can no way imagine. I rather think, says he, that abundance of heat penned up in the body consumes the nourishment, and that failing, the fire as it were goes out. Here it comes to pass, that men troubled with this bulimy, when they are ready to starve with hunger, if they eat never so little meat, are presently refreshed. The reason is, because meat digested is like fuel for the heat to feed upon.
At last, Soclarus says: I really like the start of this reasoning because travelers in heavy snow must be surrounded and weighed down by the cold. However, I can't imagine how the heat inside could cause such a consumption that affects the ability to breathe. I believe, instead, that a lot of heat trapped in the body uses up the nourishment, and when that runs out, it's like the fire goes out. This is why people suffering from bulimia, when they're about to starve from hunger, feel refreshed after eating just a little meat. The reason is that digested meat acts like fuel for the heat to thrive on.
But Cleomenes the physician would have the word [Greek omitted] (which signifies hunger) to be added to the making up of the word [Greek omitted] without sufficient reason; as [Greek omitted], to drink, is added to [Greek omitted], to swallow; and [Greek omitted] to incline, into [Greek omitted] to raise the head. Nor is bulimy, as it seems, a kind of hunger, but an affection in the stomach causing a faintness on account of the concourse of heat. Therefore as things that have a good smell recall the spirits of those that are faint, so bread affects those that are almost overcome with a bulimy; not that they have any need of food (for the least piece of it restores them their strength), but the bread calls back their vigor and languishing spirits. Now that bulimy is not hunger but a faintness, is manifest from all laboring beasts, which are seized with it very often through the smell of dry figs and apples; for a smell does not cause any want of food, but rather a pain and agitation in the stomach.
But Cleomenes the physician insisted that the word [Greek omitted] (which means hunger) should be added to the formation of the word [Greek omitted] without good reason; just as [Greek omitted], to drink, is added to [Greek omitted], to swallow; and [Greek omitted], to incline, is combined with [Greek omitted], to raise the head. Bulimia, it seems, isn’t a type of hunger, but a condition in the stomach that causes faintness due to the buildup of heat. So, just as pleasant smells revive the spirits of those who are faint, bread affects those who are nearly overcome with bulimia; not because they actually need food (since even the smallest piece can restore their strength), but because the bread brings back their energy and reviving spirits. The fact that bulimia isn’t hunger but rather faintness is evident from all laboring animals, which often experience it from the scent of dried figs and apples; for a smell doesn’t create a need for food, but rather causes discomfort and agitation in the stomach.
These things seemed to be reasonably well urged; and yet it seemed that much might be said for the contrary opinion, and that it was possible enough to maintain that bulimy ariseth not from condensation but rarefication of the stomach. For the spirit which flows from the snow is nothing but the aether and finest fragment of the frozen substance, endued with a virtue of cutting and dividing not only the flesh, but also silver and brazen vessels; for we see that these are not able to keep in the snow, for it dissolves and evaporates, and glazes over the outmost superficies of the vessels with a thin dew, not unlike to ice, which this spirit leaves as it secretly passes through the pores. Therefore this piercing spirit, like a flame, seizing upon those that travel in the snow, seems to burn their outsides, and like fire to enter and penetrate the flesh. Hence it is that the flesh is more rarefied, and the heat is extinguished by the cold spirit that lies upon the superficies of the body; therefore the body evaporates a dewy thin sweat, which melts away and decays the strength. Now if a man should sit still at such a time, there would not much heat fly out of his body. But when the motion of the body doth quickly heat the nourishment, and that heat bursts through the thin skin, there must necessarily be a great loss of strength. Now we know by experience, that cold hath a virtue not only to condense but also to loosen bodies; for in extreme cold winters pieces of lead are found to sweat. And when we see that a bulimy happens where there is no hunger, we may conclude that at that time the body is rather in a fluid than condensed state. The reason that bodies are rarefied in winter is because of the subtility of the spirit; especially when the moving and tiring of the body stir the heat, which, as soon as it is subtilized and agitated, flies apace, and spreads itself through the whole body. Lastly, it is very possible that apples and dry figs exhale some such thing as this, which rarefies and attenuates the heat of the beasts; for some things have a natural tendency as well to weaken as to refresh different creatures.
These points seemed reasonably well argued; however, it also appeared that much could be said for the opposite viewpoint, and it was quite possible to argue that bulimia arises not from the thickening but from the thinning of the stomach. The essence that comes from snow is nothing but the ether and the tiniest fragment of the frozen substance, endowed with the ability to cut and divide not only flesh but also silver and bronze vessels; for we see that these materials cannot contain the snow, as it dissolves and evaporates, coating the outer surfaces of the vessels with a thin dew, not unlike ice, which this essence leaves behind as it moves through the pores. Therefore, this penetrating essence, like a flame, seems to burn those who travel in the snow and, like fire, enters and penetrates the flesh. This is why the flesh becomes thinner, and the heat is extinguished by the cold essence resting on the surface of the body; therefore the body sweats a fine dew that melts away and diminishes strength. If a person were to sit still during this time, not much heat would escape from their body. But when the body's movement quickly heats the food, and that heat breaks through the thin skin, there must inevitably be a significant loss of strength. We know from experience that cold has the ability not only to thicken but also to loosen substances; for in extremely cold winters, pieces of lead are observed to sweat. And when we witness bulimia occurring without hunger, we can conclude that at that moment the body is more in a fluid state than a solid one. The reason things thin out in winter is because of the essence's subtlety; especially when the body's movement and exertion stir the heat, which, as soon as it becomes subtle and agitated, escapes quickly and spreads throughout the body. Lastly, it is entirely possible that apples and dried figs release something similar that thins and reduces the heat of animals; for some substances naturally tend to weaken as well as refresh different creatures.
QUESTION IX. WHY DOES HOMER APPROPRIATE A CERTAIN PECULIAR EPITHET TO EACH PARTICULAR LIQUID, AND CALL OIL ONLY LIQUID? PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION IX. WHY DOES HOMER ASSIGN A SPECIFIC UNIQUE EPITHET TO EACH LIQUID AND REFER TO OIL SIMPLY AS LIQUID? PLUTARCH AND OTHERS.
It was the subject once of a discourse, why, when there are several sorts of liquids, the poet should give every one of them a peculiar epithet, calling milk white, honey yellow, wine red, and yet for all this bestow no other upon oil but what it hath in common with all other liquids. To this it was answered that, as that is said to be most sweet which is perfectly sweet, and to be most white which is perfectly white (I mean here by perfectly that which hath nothing of a contrary quality mixed with it), so that ought to be called perfectly humid whereof never a part is dry; and this is proper to oil.
It was once the topic of a discussion why, among the various types of liquids, the poet gives each one a specific adjective—calling milk white, honey yellow, wine red—but refers to oil only with the common term shared by all liquids. In response, it was noted that just as something is said to be the sweetest when it is completely sweet, and the whitest when it is completely white (by "completely" I mean that it contains no opposing quality), so something should be called perfectly moist if not a single part of it is dry; and this applies to oil.
For first of all, its smoothness shows the evenness of its parts; for touch it where you please, it is all alike. Besides, you may see your face in it as perfectly as in a mirror; for there is nothing rough in it to hinder the reflection, but by reason of its humidity it reflects to the eye the least particle of light from every portion. As, on the contrary, milk, of all other liquids, does not return our images, because it hath too many terrene and gross parts mixed with it; again, oil of all other liquids makes the least noise when moved, for it is perfectly humid. When other liquids are moved or poured out, their hard and grosser parts fall and dash one against another, and so make a noise by reason of their roughness. Moreover, oil only is pure and unmixed; for it is of all other liquids most compact, nor has it any empty spaces and pores between the dry and earthy parts to receive what chances to fall upon it. Besides, because of the similitude of its parts, it is closely joined together, and unfit to be joined to anything else. When oil froths, it does not let any wind in, by reason of the contiguity and subtility of its parts; and this is also the cause why fire is nourished by it. For fire feeds upon nothing but what is moist, for nothing is combustible but what is so; for when the fire is kindled, the air turns to smoke, and the terrene and grosser parts remain in the ashes. Fire only preys upon the moisture, which is its natural nourishment. Indeed, water, wine, and other liquors, having abundance of earthy and heavy parts in them, by falling into fire part it, and by their roughness and weight smother and extinguish it. But oil, because purely liquid, by reason of its subtility, is overcome by the fire, and so changed into flame.
First of all, its smoothness shows how even its parts are; no matter where you touch it, it feels the same everywhere. You can see your face in it just as clearly as in a mirror, because there’s nothing rough to interfere with the reflection. Thanks to its moisture, it reflects even the smallest light from every part. In contrast, milk doesn't show our reflection because it has too many solid and coarse bits mixed in. Also, oil makes the least noise when moved compared to other liquids because it’s completely fluid. When other liquids are poured, their harder and bulkier parts collide and create noise due to their roughness. Moreover, oil is pure and unblended; it’s the most compact of all liquids and doesn’t have any empty spaces or pores among the solid and earthy bits that could catch anything that lands on it. Additionally, because of the similarity of its parts, it sticks together closely and doesn’t mix well with anything else. When oil froths, it keeps out any air due to the closeness and fineness of its parts. This is also why fire is sustained by it. Fire only feeds on what’s moist because nothing burns unless it’s wet. When the fire is ignited, the air turns into smoke while the solid and heavier parts remain as ashes. Fire thrives on moisture, which is its essential fuel. In fact, water, wine, and other liquids, filled with heavy and earthy components, extinguish fire when they spill into it due to their roughness and weight. But oil, being purely liquid and fine, is consumed by the fire and transforms into flames.
It is the greatest argument that can be of its humidity, that the least quantity of it spreads itself a great way; for so small a drop of honey, water, or any other liquid does not extend itself so far, but very often, by reason of the dry mixed parts, is presently wasted. Because oil is ductile and soft, men are wont to make use of it for anointing their bodies; for it runs along and spreads itself through all the parts, and sticks so firmly to them that it is not easily washed off. We find by experience, that a garment wet with water is presently dried again; but it is no easy matter to wash out the spots and stain of oil, for it enters deep, because of its most subtile and humid nature. Hence it is that Aristotle says, that the drops of diluted wine are the hardest to be got out of clothes, because they are most subtile, and run farther into the pores of the cloth.
It’s the best argument for its moisture that even a small amount can spread a long way; a tiny drop of honey, water, or any other liquid doesn’t cover as much ground, but often gets absorbed quickly because of the dry particles mixed in. Because oil is flexible and smooth, people tend to use it for anointing their bodies; it glides over and spreads to all parts and sticks so well that it’s tough to wash off. From experience, we know that a garment soaked with water dries quickly; however, it’s not easy to remove oil stains, as it seeps deep in due to its fine and moist nature. That’s why Aristotle says the drops of diluted wine are the hardest to wash out of fabric because they are the most subtle and penetrate deeper into the fabric’s fibers.
QUESTION X. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT FLESH OF SACRIFICED BEASTS, AFTER BEING HUNG A WHILE UPON A FIG-TREE IS MORE TENDER THAN BEFORE? ARISTIO, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION X. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT THE MEAT OF SACRIFICED ANIMALS, AFTER BEING HUNG FOR A WHILE ON A FIG TREE, IS TENDERER THAN BEFORE? ARISTIO, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
At supper we were commanding Aristio's cook, who, amongst other dishes that he had dressed very curiously, brought a cock to table just killed as a sacrifice to Hercules, as tender as though it had been killed a day or two before. When Aristio told us that this was no wonder,—seeing such a thing might very easily be done, if the cock, as soon as he was killed, was hung upon a fig-tree,—we began to inquire into the reason of what he asserted. Indeed, I must confess, our eye assures us that a fig-tree sends out a fierce and strong spirit; which is yet more evident, from what we have heard said of bulls. That is, a bull, after he is tied to a fig-tree, though never so mad before, grows presently tame, and will suffer you to touch him, and on a sudden all his rage and fury cool and die. But the chiefest cause that works this change is the sharp acrimonious quality of the tree. For this tree is the fullest of sap, and so are its figs, wood, and bark; and hence it comes to pass, that the smoke of fig-wood is most offensive to the eyes; and when it is burned, its ashes make the best lye to scour withal. But all these effects proceed from heat. Now there are some that say, when the sap of this tree thrown into milk curds it, that this effect does not arise from the irregular figures of the parts of the milk, which the sap joins and (as it were) sticks together, the smooth and globose parts being squeezed out, but that by its heat it loosens the unstable and watery parts of the liquid body. And we may use as a proof the unprofitableness of the sap of this tree, which, though it is very sweet, yet makes the worst liquor in the world. For it is not the inequality in the parts that affects the smooth part, but what is cold and raw is stopped by heat. And salt help to do this; for it is hot, and works contrary to the uniting of the parts just mentioned, causing rather a dissolution; for to it, above all other things, Nature has given a dissolving faculty. Therefore the fig-tree sends forth a hot and sharp spirit, which cuts and boils the flesh of the bird. The very same thing may be effected by placing the flesh upon a heap of corn, or near nitre; the heat will produce the same that the fig-tree did. Now it may be made manifest that wheat is naturally hot, in that wine, put into a hogshead and placed among wheat, is presently consumed.
At dinner, we were dealing with Aristio's cook, who, among other dishes he had prepared very creatively, brought a freshly killed rooster to the table as a sacrifice to Hercules, as tender as if it had been killed just a day or two earlier. When Aristio mentioned that this wasn't surprising—since it could easily be done by hanging the rooster on a fig tree right after it was killed—we started to ask about the reason behind his claim. I must admit, our eyes tell us that a fig tree releases a strong and intense spirit; this is even more evident from what we’ve heard about bulls. In other words, a bull, after being tied to a fig tree, even if it was previously raging mad, quickly calms down, allowing you to touch it, and suddenly all its anger fades away. The main reason for this change is the sharp, acrid quality of the tree. This tree is full of sap, and so are its figs, wood, and bark; this is why the smoke from fig wood irritates the eyes, and when it burns, its ashes make the best lye for cleaning. But all these effects come from heat. Some people say that when the sap of this tree is added to milk, it curdles it, and this effect doesn’t come from the irregular shapes of the milk particles that the sap binds together, pushing out the smooth, round parts, but rather that the heat loosens the unstable, watery parts of the liquid. We can prove this by noting how unproductive the sap from this tree is, which, despite being very sweet, produces the worst liquor imaginable. The issue isn't the unevenness of the parts affecting the smooth part, but what is cold and raw being hindered by heat. Salt helps with this too; it's hot and works against the uniting of parts mentioned earlier, causing more of a breakdown since Nature has given it a strong dissolving ability. Therefore, the fig tree emits a hot and sharp spirit that tenderizes the flesh of the bird. You can achieve a similar effect by placing the flesh on a pile of grain or near saltpeter; the heat will have the same effect as the fig tree. It can also be shown that wheat is naturally hot because wine placed in a barrel surrounded by wheat gets consumed quickly.
BOOK VII.
The Romans, Sossius Senecio, remember a pretty saying of a pleasant man and good companion, who supping alone said that he had eaten to-day, but not supped; as if a supper always wanted company and agreement to make it palatable and pleasing. Evenus said that fire was the sweetest of all sauces in the world. And Homer calls salt [Greek omitted], divine; and most call it [Greek omitted], graces, because, mixed with most part of our food, it makes it palatable and agreeable to the taste. Now indeed the best and most divine sauce that can be at an entertainment or a supper is a familiar and pleasant friend; not because he eats and drinks with a man, but because he participates of and communicates discourse, especially if the talk be profitable, pertinent, and instructive. For commonly loose talk over a glass of wine raiseth passions and spoils company, and therefore it is fit that we should be as critical in examining what discourses as what friends are fit to be admitted to a supper; not following either the saying or opinion of the Spartans, who, when they entertained any young man or a stranger in their public halls, showed him the door, with these words, "No discourse goes out this way." What we use to talk of may be freely disclosed to everybody, because we have nothing in our discourses that tends to looseness, debauchery, debasing of ourselves, or back-biting others. Judge by the examples, of which this seventh book contains ten.
The Romans, Sossius Senecio, remember a nice saying from a pleasant guy and good friend, who, when dining alone, mentioned that he had eaten today, but hadn’t truly dined; as if a dinner always needed company and agreement to be enjoyable and satisfying. Evenus claimed that fire is the sweetest of all sauces in the world. And Homer called salt divine; most refer to it as graces because, mixed with most of our food, it makes it tasty and enjoyable. Indeed, the best and most divine addition to a gathering or a dinner is a familiar and pleasant friend; not just because they eat and drink with you, but because they share a conversation, especially if it's meaningful, relevant, and enlightening. Typically, casual talk over a glass of wine stirs up emotions and ruins the mood, so it’s wise to be selective about the topics we discuss, just like we are selective about the friends we invite to dinner; we shouldn’t follow the saying of the Spartans, who, when hosting a young man or a stranger in their public halls, would point him to the door while saying, “No discourse goes out this way.” What we choose to talk about can be shared freely with anyone, because our conversations don’t lead to looseness, indulgence, self-deprecation, or gossip about others. Judge by the examples, of which this seventh book contains ten.
QUESTION I. AGAINST THOSE WHO FIND FAULT WITH PLATO FOR SAYING THAT DRINK PASSETH THROUGH THE LUNGS. NICIAS, PLUTARCH, PROTOGENES, FLORUS.
QUESTION I. AGAINST THOSE WHO CRITICIZE PLATO FOR CLAIMING THAT DRINK PASSES THROUGH THE LUNGS. NICIAS, PLUTARCH, PROTOGENES, FLORUS.
At a summer entertainment, one of the company pronounced that common verse,
At a summer gathering, one of the group recited that familiar verse,
Now drench thy lungs with wine, the Dog appears.
Now fill your lungs with wine, the Dog appears.
And Nicias of Nicopolis, a physician, presently subjoined: It is no wonder that Alcaeus, a poet, should be ignorant of that of which Plato the philosopher was. Though Alcaeus may be defended; for it is probable that the lungs, lying near the stomach, may participate of the steam of the liquor, and be drenched with it. But the philosopher, expressly delivering that most part of our drink passeth through the lungs, hath precluded all ways of excuse to those that would be willing to defend him. For it is a very great and complicated ignorance; for first, it being necessary that our liquid and dry food should be mixed, it is very probable that the stomach is the vessel for them both, which throws out the dry food after it is grown soft and moist into the guts. Besides, the lungs being a dense and compacted body, how is it possible that, when we sup gruel or the like, the thicker parts should pass through them? And this was the objection which Erasistratus rationally made against Plato. Besides, when he considered for what end every part of the body was made, and what use Nature designed in their contrivance, it was easy to perceive that the epiglottis was framed on purpose that when we drink the windpipe should be shut, and nothing be suffered to fall upon the lungs. For if anything by chance gets down that way, we are troubled with retching and coughing till it is thrown up again. And this epiglottis being framed so that it may fall on either side, whilst we speak it shuts the weasand, but when we eat or drink it falls upon the windpipe, and so secures the passage for our breath. Besides, we know that those who drink by little and little are looser than those who drink greedily and large draughts; for in the latter the very force drives it into their bladders, but in the former it stays, and by its stay is mixed with and moistens the meat thoroughly. Now this could not be, if in the very drinking the liquid was separated from the dry food; but the effect follows, because we mix and convey them both together, using (as Erasistratus phraseth it) the liquid as a vehicle for the dry.
And Nicias of Nicopolis, a doctor, quickly added: It's no surprise that Alcaeus, a poet, is unaware of what Plato the philosopher knew. Alcaeus might have some justification; after all, it’s likely that the lungs, being close to the stomach, might absorb some of the steam from liquids and get soaked by it. However, the philosopher, clearly stating that most of what we drink goes through the lungs, has left no room for excuses from those who want to defend him. This is a significant and complex misunderstanding; first, because it’s necessary for our liquid and solid food to mix, it’s highly likely that the stomach is the receptacle for both, which then processes the solid food after it’s been softened and moistened before sending it into the intestines. Additionally, since the lungs are a dense and compact organ, how could it be possible that, when we eat gruel or something similar, the thicker parts would pass through them? This was the logical argument Erasistratus made against Plato. Furthermore, when he thought about the purpose of each body part and what function Nature intended when they were designed, it became clear that the epiglottis was specifically made so that when we drink, the windpipe can be closed, preventing anything from entering the lungs. If something accidentally goes down the wrong way, we end up coughing and gagging until it’s expelled. The epiglottis is structured to fall either way; when we speak, it covers the windpipe, but when we eat or drink, it covers the air passage, protecting it. Moreover, we observe that those who sip slowly are less likely to feel the urge to urinate than those who drink quickly and in large amounts; in the latter case, the force of the intake pushes it into their bladders, while in the former, it lingers and thoroughly mixes with and moistens the food. Now this couldn’t happen if the liquid was separated from the solid food while drinking; rather, it occurs because we combine and transport both together, using what Erasistratus describes as the liquid as a vehicle for the solid.
Nicias having done, Protogenes the grammarian subjoined, that Homer was the first that observed the stomach was the vessel of the food, and the windpipe (which the ancients called [Greek omitted] of the breath, and upon the same account they called those who had loud voices [Greek omitted]). And when he describes how Achilles killed Hector, he says,
Nicias then added that Protogenes the grammarian pointed out that Homer was the first to recognize that the stomach is the container of food and that the windpipe (which the ancients referred to as [Greek omitted] of the breath, and that's why they called those with loud voices [Greek omitted]). And when he describes how Achilles killed Hector, he says,
He pierced his weasand, where death enters soon;
He pierced his throat, where death soon enters;
and adds,
and adds,
But not his windpipe, so that he could speak,
("Iliad," xxii. 325-329.)
But not his windpipe, so that he could speak,
("Iliad," xxii. 325-329.)taking the windpipe for the proper passage of the speech and breath....
taking the windpipe for the correct passage of speech and breath....
Upon this, all being silent, Florus began thus: What, shall we tamely suffer Plato to be run down? By no means, said I, for if we desert him, Homer must be in the same condition, for he is so far from denying the windpipe to be the passage for our drink, that the dry food, in his opinion, goes the same way. For these are his words:—
Upon this, everyone fell silent, and Florus began: What, should we just sit back and let Plato be attacked? Absolutely not, I said, because if we abandon him, Homer would be in the same boat. He certainly doesn’t deny that the windpipe is the passage for our drinks; in fact, he believes that even solid food goes the same route. Here are his words:—
From his gullet [Greek omitted] flowed
The clotted wine and undigested flesh.
("Odyssey," ix. 373.)
From his throat [Greek omitted] flowed
The thick wine and undigested meat.
("Odyssey," ix. 373.)Unless perchance you will say that the Cyclops, as he had but one eye, so had but one passage for his food and voice; or would have [Greek omitted] to signify weasand, not windpipe, as both all the ancients and moderns use it. I produce this because it is really his meaning, not because I want other testimonies, for Plato hath store of learned and sufficient men to join with him. For not to mention Eupolis, who in his play called the "Flatterers" says,
Unless you want to argue that the Cyclops, having only one eye, also had just one pathway for food and speech; or that it would mean weasand, not windpipe, as both ancient and modern texts use it. I point this out because it truly reflects his meaning, not because I seek other evidence, as Plato has plenty of knowledgeable and reliable men to support him. Not to mention Eupolis, who in his play called the "Flatterers" says,
Protagoras bids us drink a lusty bowl,
That when the Dog appears our lungs may still be moist;
Protagoras invites us to drink a hearty cup,
So that when the Dog shows up, our lungs remain fresh;or elegant Eratosthenes, who says,
or elegant Eratosthenes, who states,
And having drenched his lungs with purest wine;
And having soaked his lungs with the finest wine;
even Euripides, somewhere expressly saying,
even Euripides explicitly says,
The wine passed through the hollows of the lungs,
The wine traveled through the spaces in the lungs,
shows that he saw better and clearer than Erasistratus. For he saw that the lungs have cavities and pores, through which the liquids pass. For the breath in expiration hath no need of pores, but that the liquids and those things which pass with them might go through, it is made like a strainer and full of pores. Besides, sir, as to the example of gruel which you proposed, the lungs can discharge themselves of the thicker parts together with the thin, as well as the stomach. For our stomach is not, as some fancy, smooth and slippery, but full of asperities, in which it is probable that the thin and small particles are lodged, and so not taken quite down. But neither this nor the other can we positively affirm; for the curious contrivance of Nature in her operation is too hard to be explained; nor can we be particularly exact upon those instruments (I mean the spirit and the heat) which she makes use of in her works. But besides those we have mentioned to confirm Plato's opinion, let us produce Philistion of Locri, very ancient and very famous physician, and Hippocrates too, with his disciple Dioxippus; for they thought of no other passage but that which Plato mentions. Dio says, that when we feed, the moist parts are about that separated from the dry, and the first are carried down the windpipe, the other down the weasand; and that the windpipe receives no parts of the food, but the stomach, together with the dry parts, receives some portion of the liquids. And this is probable, for the epiglottis lies over the windpipe, as a fence and strainer, that the drink may get in by little and little, lest descending in a large full stream, it stop the breath and endanger the life. And therefore birds have no epiglottis, because they do not sup or lap when they drink, but take up a little in their beak, and let it run gently down their windpipe.
shows that he observed more clearly than Erasistratus. He recognized that the lungs have cavities and pores that allow liquids to pass through. The breath in exhalation doesn’t require pores; instead, these are designed like a strainer, full of openings to let liquids and other substances flow through. Furthermore, in regard to the gruel example you mentioned, the lungs can flush out both the thicker and thinner parts, similar to the stomach. Our stomach isn’t, as some believe, smooth and slippery, but rather full of roughness, where it’s likely that small, thin particles get stuck and aren’t fully digested. However, neither of these points can we state definitively; the intricate design of Nature in her processes is too complex to explain, and we can't be precisely accurate about the mechanisms (meaning the spirit and the heat) that she employs in her workings. Besides those points we've raised to support Plato's view, let’s also consider Philistion of Locri, a very ancient and renowned physician, along with Hippocrates and his student Dioxippus, as they believed in no other passage than the one Plato mentions. Dio states that when we eat, the moist parts are separated from the dry, and the former are directed down the windpipe while the latter go down the esophagus; the windpipe doesn’t take in any food particles, but the stomach, along with the dry matter, absorbs some of the liquids. This makes sense, as the epiglottis sits above the windpipe like a barrier and a strainer, allowing liquid to enter gradually so that it doesn’t flood in all at once, which could obstruct breathing and threaten life. Therefore, birds don’t have an epiglottis because they don’t sip or lap when they drink; instead, they take a little in their beak and let it flow gently down their windpipe.
These testimonies I think are enough; and reason confirms Plato's opinion by arguments drawn first from sense. For when the windpipe is wounded, no drink will go down; but as if the pipe were broken it runs out, though the weasand be whole and unhurt. And all know that in the inflammation of the lungs the patient is troubled with extreme thirst; the heat or dryness or some other cause, together with the inflammation, making the appetite intense. But a stronger evidence than all these follows. Those creatures that have very small lungs, or none at all, neither want nor desire drink, because to some parts there belongs a natural appetite to drink, and those that want those parts have no need to drink, nor any appetite to be supplied by it. But more, the bladder would seem unnecessary; for, if the weasand receives both meat and drink and conveys it to the belly, the superfluous parts of the liquids would not want a proper passage, one common one would suffice as a canal for both that were conveyed to the same vessel by the same passage. But now the bladder is distinct from the guts, because the drink goes from the lungs, and the meat from the stomach; they being separated as we take them down. And this is the reason that in our water nothing can be found that either in smell or color resembles dry food. But if the drink were mixed with the dry meat in the belly, it must be impregnant with its qualities, and not come forth so simple and untinged. Besides, a stone is never found in the stomach, though it is likely that the moisture should be coagulated there as well as in the bladder, if all the liquor were conveyed through the weasand then into the belly. But it is probable at the weasand robs the windpipe of a sufficient quantity of liquor as it is going down, and useth it to soften and concoct the meat. And therefore its excrement is never purely liquid; and the lungs, disposing of the moisture, as of the breath, to all of the parts that want it, deposit the superfluous portion in the bladder. And I am sure that this is a much more probable opinion than the other. But which is the truth cannot perhaps be discovered, and therefore it is not fit so peremptorily to find fault with the most acute and most famed philosopher, especially when the matter is so obscure, and the Platonists can produce such considerable reasons for their position.
These testimonies seem enough to me; and reason supports Plato's view through arguments based on our senses. When the windpipe is injured, no liquid can go down; instead, it flows out as if the pipe were broken, even if the esophagus is intact. Everyone knows that when someone has pneumonia, they suffer from intense thirst; the heat, dryness, or other factors combined with the inflammation lead to a strong desire for water. Even more convincing evidence follows. Creatures with very small or absent lungs don’t feel thirsty or desire to drink, since certain parts of the body have a natural need for water, and those lacking those parts have no need or desire for it. Furthermore, the bladder seems unnecessary; if the esophagus takes in both food and drink and sends it to the stomach, the excess liquid wouldn’t need a separate route—one common passage would be enough for both to reach the same place. However, the bladder is separate from the intestines because the drink comes from the lungs and the food from the stomach, each processed differently. This is why nothing in our urine resembles solid food in smell or color. If the drink mixed with solid food in the stomach, it would take on those qualities and wouldn’t come out so pure and uncolored. Additionally, a stone isn’t found in the stomach, even though it might seem that moisture would coagulate there just like in the bladder if all liquid were moved through the esophagus into the stomach. It’s likely that the esophagus extracts a sufficient amount of liquid as it passes down, using it to soften and break down food. Therefore, its waste is never completely liquid; while the lungs distribute moisture, like breath, to all parts that need it, they deposit the excess in the bladder. I believe this explanation is much more plausible than the other one. Yet, we may never discover the absolute truth, so it isn’t fair to criticize the most insightful and famed philosopher too harshly, especially given how unclear the issue is and since the Platonists can present strong arguments for their perspective.
QUESTION II. WHAT HUMORED MAN IS HE THAT PLATO CALLS [Greek omitted]? AND WHY DO THOSE SEEDS THAT FALL ON THE OXEN'S HORNS BECOME [Greek omitted]?
QUESTION II. WHAT HUMORED MAN IS HE THAT PLATO CALLS [Greek omitted]? AND WHY DO THOSE SEEDS THAT FALL ON THE OXEN'S HORNS BECOME [Greek omitted]?
PLUTARCH, PATROCLES, EUTHYDEMUS, FLORUS.
Plutarch, Patrocles, Euthydemus, Florus.
We had always some difficulty started about [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], not what humor those words signified (for it is certain that some, thinking that those seeds which fall on the oxen's horns bear fruit which is very hard, did by a metaphor call a stiff untractable fellow by these names), but what was the cause that seeds falling on the oxen's horns should bear hard fruit. I had often desired my friends to search no farther, most of all fearing the passage of Theophrastus, in which he has collected many things whose causes we cannot discover. Such are the hen's using a straw to purify herself with after she has laid, the seal's consuming her rennet when she is caught, the deer's burying his horns, and the goat's stopping the whole herd by holding a branch of sea-holly in his mouth; and among the rest he reckoned this is a thing of which we are certain, but whose cause it is very difficult to find. But once at supper at Delphi, some of my companions—as if we were not only better counsellors when our bellies are full (as one hath it), but wine would make us brisker in our inquiries and bolder in our resolutions desired me to speak somewhat to that problem.
We had always found it challenging to discuss [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], not because of the humor those words implied (since it’s definitely true that some people, thinking that seeds falling on the oxen's horns produce hard fruit, used those terms metaphorically to describe a stubborn person), but rather why seeds that land on the oxen's horns actually generate hard fruit. I had often asked my friends to stop digging deeper, mostly because I was worried about Theophrastus's writings, where he compiled many occurrences whose causes we can't figure out. Examples include the hen using a straw to clean herself after laying an egg, the seal swallowing her rennet when caught, the deer burying its antlers, and the goat stopping the entire herd by carrying a branch of sea-holly in its mouth; he included this as something we are sure of, but whose cause is very hard to identify. However, one evening at dinner in Delphi, some of my friends—suggesting that we're not only better decision-makers when we're full (as one saying goes), but that wine would make us livelier in our discussions and bolder in our decisions—urged me to address that problem.
I refused, though I had some excellent men on my side, namely, Euthydemus my fellow-priest, and Patrocles my relative, who brought several the like instances, which they had gathered both from husbandry and hunting; for instance, that those officers that are appointed to watch the coming of the hail avert the storm by offering a mole's blood or a woman's cloths; that a wild fig being bound to a garden fig-tree will keep the fruit from falling and promote their ripening; that deer when they are taken shed salt tears, and boars sweet. But if you have a mind to such questions, Euthydemus will presently desire you to give an account of smallage and cummin; one of the which, if trodden down as it springs, will grow the better, and the other men curse and blaspheme whilst they sow it.
I refused, even though I had some great support from guys like Euthydemus, my fellow priest, and Patrocles, my relative, who shared several similar examples they had collected from farming and hunting. For instance, those officials assigned to watch for hailstorms can supposedly ward off the storm by offering a mole's blood or a woman's clothing. A wild fig tied to a garden fig tree is said to help keep the fruit from falling and encourage ripening. It's also noted that deer shed salty tears when caught, while boars shed sweet ones. But if you're interested in such topics, Euthydemus will quickly ask you to explain about smallage and cumin; one of which, if crushed as it grows, actually thrives better, while people curse and complain when they sow the other.
This last Florus thought to be an idle foolery; but he said, that we should not forbear to search into the causes of the other things as if they were incomprehensible. I have found, said I, your design to draw me on to this discourse, that you yourself may afterward give us a solution of the other proposed difficulties.
This last Florus considered it a pointless idea; however, he stated that we shouldn't shy away from investigating the reasons behind other matters as if they were beyond our understanding. I replied, I've noticed your intention to lead me into this discussion so that you can later provide us with answers to the other challenges presented.
In my opinion it is cold that causes this hardness in corn and pulse, by contracting and constipating their parts till the substance becomes close and extremely rigid; while heat is a dissolving and softening quality. And therefore those that cite this verse against Homer,
In my view, it's the cold that makes corn and pulses hard by tightening and constricting their components until they become dense and very stiff; whereas heat has a breaking down and softening effect. So, those who use this verse to argue against Homer,
The season, not the field, bears fruit,
The season, not the field, bears fruit,
do not justly reprehend him. For fields that are warm by nature, the air being likewise temperate, bear more mellow fruit than others. And therefore those seeds that fall immediately on the earth out of the sower's hand, and are covered presently, and cherished by being covered, partake more of the moisture and heat that is in the earth. But those that strike against the oxen's horns do not enjoy what Hesiod names the best position, but seem to be scattered rather than sown; and therefore the cold either destroys them quite, or else, lighting upon them as they lie naked, condenseth their moisture, and makes them hard and woody. Thus stones that lie under ground and, plant-animals have softer parts than those that lie above; and therefore stone-cutters bury the stones they would work, as if they designed to have them prepared and softened by the heat; but those that lie above ground are by the cold made hard, rigid, and very hurtful to the tools. And if corn lies long upon the floor, the grains become much harder than that which is presently carried away. And sometimes too a cold wind blowing whilst they winnow spoils the corn, as it hath happened at Philippi in Macedonia; and the chaff secures the grains whilst on the floor. For is it any wonder that as husband-men affirm, one ridge will bear soft and fruitful, and the very next to it hard and unfruitful corn or—which is stranger—that in the same bean-cod some beans are of this sort, some of the other, as more or less wind and moisture falls upon this or that?
do not justly criticize him. Fields that are naturally warm and have temperate air produce fruit that is more ripe than others. Therefore, seeds that fall directly to the ground from the sower’s hand, and are quickly covered and nurtured by being buried, absorb more moisture and heat from the earth. In contrast, those that hit the oxen's horns don’t benefit from what Hesiod calls the best position; they appear to be scattered rather than sown, and as a result, the cold either completely destroys them or, landing upon them while they lie exposed, condenses their moisture, making them hard and woody. Likewise, stones that are underground, along with plants, have softer parts than those above the ground; that’s why stone-cutters bury the stones they want to work on, as if they want them to soften from the heat. Those that are above ground become hard, stiff, and are very damaging to the tools. If grain sits on the floor for too long, the kernels become much harder than those that are promptly taken away. Sometimes, a cold wind blowing during winnowing spoils the grain, as happened at Philippi in Macedonia; and the chaff protects the kernels while they are on the floor. Is it any surprise that, as farmers say, one ridge produces soft and fruitful crops while the very next yields hard and unfruitful grains? Or—stranger still—that within the same bean pod, some beans are one type, and some are another, depending on how much wind and moisture each side gets?
QUESTION III. WHY THE MIDDLE OF WINE, THE TOP OF OIL, AND THE BOTTOM OF HONEY IS BEST. ALEXION, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
QUESTION III. WHY THE MIDDLE OF WINE, THE TOP OF OIL, AND THE BOTTOM OF HONEY IS BEST. ALEXION, PLUTARCH, AND OTHERS.
My father-in-law Alexion laughed at Hesiod, for advising us to drink freely when the barrel is newly broached or almost out, but moderately when it is about the middle, since there is the best wine. For who, said he, doth not know, that the middle of wine, the top of oil, and the bottom of honey is the best? Yet he bids us spare the middle, and stay till worse wine runs, when the barrel is almost out. This said, the company minded Hesiod no more, but began to inquire into the cause of this difference.
My father-in-law Alexion laughed at Hesiod for suggesting that we should drink freely when the barrel is freshly opened or nearly empty, but moderately when it's half full, since that’s when the wine is best. He said, who doesn’t know that the middle of wine, the top of oil, and the bottom of honey are the best? Yet, he tells us to hold back on the middle and wait until worse wine comes out when the barrel is almost empty. After he said this, the group paid no more attention to Hesiod and instead started to question why there’s this difference.
We were not at all puzzled about the honey, everybody almost knowing that that which is lightest is so because it is rare, and that the heaviest parts are dense and compact, and by reason of their weight settle below the others. So, if you turn the vessel, each in a little time will recover its proper place, the heavier subsiding, and the lighter rising above the rest. And as for the wine, probable solutions presently appeared; for its strength consisting in heat, it is reasonable that it should be contained chiefly in the middle, and there best preserved; for the lower parts the lees spoil, and the upper are impaired by the neighboring air. For that the air will impair wine no man doubts, and therefore we usually bury or cover our barrels, that as little air as can be might come near them. And besides (which is an evident sign) a barrel when full is not spoiled so soon as when it is half empty; because a great deal of air getting into the empty space troubles and disturbs the liquor, whereas the wine that is in the unemptied cask is preserved and defended by itself, not admitting much of the external air, which is apt to injure and corrupt it.
We weren’t confused at all about the honey; everyone pretty much knew that the lightest substances are light because they’re rare, while the heaviest parts are dense and compact, and due to their weight, they settle below the others. So, if you flip the container, each will eventually return to its rightful place, with the heavier parts sinking and the lighter ones rising to the top. As for the wine, plausible explanations quickly appeared; since its strength comes from heat, it makes sense that it should mainly be found in the middle, where it’s best preserved. The lower parts get spoiled by the sediment, and the upper parts are affected by the surrounding air. No one doubts that air can ruin wine, which is why we usually bury or cover our barrels to minimize air exposure. Additionally, there’s a clear sign: a full barrel stays good longer than one that’s half empty because a lot of air getting into the empty space disrupts the liquid, while the wine in the full cask is protected by itself, letting in very little external air, which can harm and spoil it.
But the oil gave us the most difficulty. One thought that the bottom of the oil was affected, because it was foul and troubled with the lees; and that the top was not really better than the rest, but only seemed so, because it was farthest removed from those corrupting particles. Others thought the thickness of the liquor to be the reason, which thickness keeps it from mixing with other humids, unless blended together and shaken violently; and therefore it will not mix with air, but keeps it off by its smoothness and close contexture, so that it hath no power to corrupt it. But Aristotle seems to be against this opinion, who hath observed that oil grows sweeter by being kept in vessels not exactly filled, and afterwards ascribes this melioration to the air; for more air, and therefore more powerful to produce the effect, flows into a vessel not well filled.
But the oil gave us the most trouble. One thought that the bottom of the oil was affected because it was dirty and mixed with sediments; and that the top wasn't actually better than the rest, but only appeared that way because it was farther away from those corrupting particles. Others believed the thickness of the liquid was the reason, which prevents it from mixing with other liquids unless they are blended together and shaken violently; therefore, it won’t mix with air, instead keeping it out due to its smoothness and tight structure, so it has no power to spoil it. But Aristotle seems to disagree with this viewpoint, as he noted that oil becomes sweeter when kept in containers that aren’t completely full, and he attributes this improvement to the air because more air—and thus a stronger ability to create the effect—flows into a vessel that isn’t well filled.
Well then! said I, the same quality in the air may spoil wine, and better oil. For long keeping improves wine, but spoils oil. Now the air keeps oil from growing old; for that which is cooled continues fresh and new, but that which is kept close up, having no way to exhale its corrupting parts, presently decays, and grows old. Therefore it is probable that the air coming upon the superficies of the oil keepeth it fresh and new. And this is the reason that the top of wine is worst, and of oil best; because age betters the one, and spoils the other.
Well then! I said, the same quality in the air can ruin wine and better oil. Keeping wine for a long time improves it, but it spoils oil. The air prevents oil from aging; what is exposed stays fresh and new, but what is sealed up, without a way to release its harmful parts, quickly rots and ages. Therefore, it seems likely that the air on the surface of the oil keeps it fresh and new. This is why the top of wine is the worst and the top of oil is the best; because age improves one and spoils the other.
QUESTION IV. WHAT WAS, THE REASON OF THAT CUSTOM OF THE ANCIENT ROMANS TO REMOVE THE TABLE BEFORE ALL THE MEAT WAS EATEN, AND NOT TO PUT OUT THE LAMP? FLORUS, EUSTROPHUS, CAESERNIUS, LUCIUS.
QUESTION IV. WHAT WAS THE REASON BEHIND THE ANCIENT ROMANS' CUSTOM OF REMOVING THE TABLE BEFORE ALL THE MEAT WAS EATEN, AND NOT TURNING OFF THE LAMP? FLORUS, EUSTROPHUS, CAESERNIUS, LUCIUS.
Florus, who observed the ancient manners, would not let the table be removed quite empty, but always left some meat upon it; declaring likewise that his father and grandfather were not only curious in this matter, but would never suffer the lamp after supper to be put out,—a thing about which the ancient Romans were very careful,—while those of to-day put it out immediately after supper, that they may lose no oil. Eustrophus the Athenian being present said: What could they get by that, unless they knew the cunning trick of our Polycharmus, who, after long deliberation how to find out a way to prevent the servants' stealing of the oil, at last with a great deal of difficulty happened upon this: As soon as you have put out the lamp, fill it up, and the next morning look carefully whether it remains full. Then Florus with a smile replied: Well, since we are agreed about that, let us inquire for what reason the ancients were so careful about their tables and their lamps.
Florus, who respected traditional customs, wouldn’t let the table be cleared completely, always leaving some food behind. He mentioned that his father and grandfather were not only particular about this but also never allowed the lamp to be extinguished after dinner—a practice the ancient Romans took very seriously—while people today put it out right after dinner to save oil. Eustrophus the Athenian, who was present, asked what they gained from that, unless they knew the clever method of our Polycharmus, who, after much thought on how to stop the servants from stealing the oil, finally figured out this trick: once you turn off the lamp, refill it and check the next morning to see if it’s still full. Florus replied with a smile: Since we agree on that, let’s explore why the ancients were so particular about their tables and lamps.
First, about the lamps. And his son-in-law Caesernius was of opinion that the ancients abominated all extinction of fire, because of the relation that it had to the sacred and eternal flame. Fire, like man, may be destroyed two ways, either when it is violently quenched, or when it naturally decays. The sacred fire was secured against both ways, being always watched and continually supplied; but the common fire they permitted to go out of itself, not forcing or violently extinguishing it, but not supplying it with nourishment, like a useless beast, that they might not feed it to no purpose.
First, about the lamps. His son-in-law Caesernius believed that the ancients hated all extinguishing of fire because of its connection to the sacred and eternal flame. Fire, like humans, can be extinguished in two ways: either by forcefully putting it out or by letting it naturally burn out. The sacred fire was protected from both methods; it was always watched over and continually replenished. However, they allowed common fire to go out on its own, not extinguishing it with force, but rather choosing not to keep it fed, like a useless animal, so they wouldn't nourish it for no good reason.
Lucius, Florus's son, subjoined, that all the rest of the discourse was very good, but that they did not reverence and take care of this holy fire because they thought it better or more venerable than other fire; but, as amongst the Egyptians some worship the whole species of dogs, wolves, or crocodiles, yet keep but one wolf, dog, or crocodile (for all could not be kept), so the particular care which the ancients took of the sacred fire was only a sign of the respect they had for all fires. For nothing bears such a resemblance to an animal as fire. It is moved and nourished by itself, and by its brightness, like the soul, discovers and makes everything apparent; but in its quenching it principally shows some power that seems to proceed from our vital principle, for it makes a noise and resists, like an animal dying or violently slaughtered. And can you (looking upon me) offer any better reason?
Lucius, Florus's son, added that while the rest of the conversation was really good, they didn't properly respect and take care of this sacred fire because they believed it was better or more important than other fires. Just like how some Egyptians worship various types of dogs, wolves, or crocodiles but only keep one of each (since they can't keep them all), the special attention that the ancients gave to the sacred fire was just a reflection of the respect they had for all fires. Nothing resembles an animal more than fire. It moves and feeds itself, and through its brightness, like a soul, it reveals everything. But when it goes out, it particularly shows a force that seems to come from our life force, as it makes a noise and resists, like an animal dying or being violently killed. And can you (looking at me) offer any better explanation?
I can find fault, replied I, with no part of the discourse, yet I would subjoin, that this custom is an instruction for kindness and good-will. For it is not lawful for any one that hath eaten sufficiently to destroy the remainder of the food; nor for him that hath supplied his necessities from the fountain to stop it up; nor for him that hath made use of any marks, either by sea or land, to ruin or deface them; but every one ought to leave those things that may be useful to those persons that afterwards may have need of them. Therefore it is not fit, out of a saving covetous humor, to put out a lamp as soon as we need it not; but we ought to preserve and let it burn for the use of those that perhaps want its light. Thus, it would be very generous to lend our ears and eyes, nay, if possible, our reason and understanding, to others, whilst we are idle or asleep. Besides, consider whether to stir up men to gratitude these minute observances were practised. The ancients did not act absurdly when they highly reverenced an oak. The Athenians called one fig-tree sacred, and forbade any one to cut down an olive. For such observances do not (as some fancy) make men prone to superstition, but persuade us to be communicative and grateful to one another, by being accustomed to pay this respect to these senseless and inanimate creatures. Upon the same reason Hesiod, methinks, adviseth well, who would not have any meat or broth set on the table out of those pots out of which there had been no portion offered, but ordered the first-fruits to be given to the fire, as a reward for the service it did in preparing it. And the Romans, dealing well with the lamps, did not take away the nourishment they had once given, but permitted them to live and shine by it.
I can’t find fault with any part of the discussion, but I want to add that this custom teaches us about kindness and goodwill. It’s not right for someone who's had enough to waste the rest of the food; nor for someone who has taken water from a well to block it; nor for a person who has used any markers, whether on land or sea, to ruin or damage them. Instead, everyone should leave things that could be useful to those who might need them later. So, it’s not appropriate, out of a stingy attitude, to snuff out a lamp just because we don’t need it anymore; we should keep it lit for others who might need its light. It would be very generous to lend our ears and eyes, and even our reasoning and understanding, to others while we’re just idle or asleep. Also, think about whether these small acts were meant to inspire gratitude in people. The ancients weren’t silly for holding an oak in high regard. The Athenians called a particular fig tree sacred and forbade anyone from cutting down an olive tree. Such practices do not (as some believe) lead people to superstition, but instead encourage us to be generous and thankful to one another by taking the time to show respect even to these inanimate objects. For the same reason, I think Hesiod gives good advice when he says that no food or broth should be served from pots that have not had a portion offered to them, and that the first fruits should be dedicated to the fire as a reward for its role in cooking. Likewise, the Romans treated lamps well by not taking away the fuel they had once provided, allowing them to continue to shine.
When I had said thus, Eustrophus subjoined: This gives us some light into that query about the table; for they thought that they ought to leave some portion of the supper for the servants and waiters, for those are not so well pleased with a supper provided for them apart, as with the relics of their master's table. And upon this account, they say, the Persian king did not only send portions from his own table to his friends, captains, and gentlemen of his bed-chamber, but had always what was provided for his servants and his dogs served up to his own table; that as far as possible all those creatures whose service was useful might seem to be his guests and companions. For, by such feeding in common and participation, the wildest of beasts might be made tame and gentle.
When I said that, Eustrophus added: This sheds some light on the question about the table; they believed they should leave some of the supper for the servants and waiters, as they are not as happy with a separate meal as they are with leftovers from their master’s table. For this reason, they say the Persian king not only sent portions from his own table to his friends, captains, and gentlemen of his court, but also always had what was prepared for his servants and dogs served at his own table, so that, as much as possible, all those who were useful to him might seem to be his guests and companions. Through this kind of shared meal and participation, even the wildest beasts could be tamed and made gentle.
Then I with a smile said: But, sir, that fish there, that according to the proverb is laid up, why do not we bring out into play together with Pythagoras's choenix, which he forbids any man to sit upon, thereby teaching us that we ought to leave something of what we have before us for another time, and on the present day be mindful of the morrow? We Boeotians use to have that saying frequently in our mouths, "Leave something for the Medes," ever since the Medes overran and spoiled Phocis and the marches of Boeotia; but still, and upon all occasions, we ought to have that ready, "Leave something for the guests that may come." And therefore I must needs find fault with that always empty and starving table of Achilles; for, when Ajax and Ulysses came ambassadors to him, he had nothing ready, but was forced out of hand to dress a fresh supper. And when he would entertain Priam, he again bestirs himself, kills a white ewe, joints and dresses it, and in that work spent a great part of the night. But Eumaeus (a wise scholar of a wise master) had no trouble upon him when Telemachus came home, but presently desired him to sit down, and feasted him, setting before him dishes of boiled meat,
Then I smiled and said, "But, sir, that fish there, which according to the proverb is set aside, why don’t we use it along with Pythagoras's choenix, which he forbids anyone to sit on? This teaches us that we should leave something for later and remember the future today. We Boeotians often say, 'Leave something for the Medes,' ever since the Medes invaded and ruined Phocis and the borders of Boeotia. Still, we should always be prepared with, 'Leave something for the guests who may come.' Therefore, I must criticize Achilles's always empty and starving table. When Ajax and Ulysses came as ambassadors to him, he had nothing ready and had to quickly prepare a fresh meal. And when he entertained Priam, he again hurried to kill a white ewe, butcher it, and cook it, spending a large part of the night on that task. But Eumaeus (a wise student of a wise master) had no worries when Telemachus returned; he simply invited him to sit down and feasted him with dishes of boiled meat."
The cleanly reliques of the last night's feast.
The leftover food from last night's feast.
But if this seems trifling, and a small matter, I am sure it is no small matter to command and restrain appetite while there are dainties before you to satisfy and please it. For those that are used to abstain from what is present are not so eager for absent things as others are.
But if this seems trivial and insignificant, I know it’s still a big deal to control your cravings when there are tempting treats right in front of you. People who are used to staying away from what’s available aren't as desperate for what they can’t have as others are.
Lucius subjoining said, that he had heard his grandmother say, that the table was sacred, and nothing that is sacred ought to be empty. Beside [omitted]. Therefore as we desire that the earth should always have and bear something that is useful for us, so we think that we should not let the table be altogether empty and void of all provision.
Lucius added that he had heard his grandmother say that the table is sacred, and nothing sacred should be empty. Besides [omitted]. So, just as we want the earth to always provide something useful for us, we believe we shouldn't let the table be completely empty and lacking in food.
QUESTION V. THAT WE OUGHT CAREFULLY TO PRESERVE OURSELVES FROM PLEASURES ARISING FROM BAD MUSIC AND HOW IT MAY BE DONE. CALLISTRATUS, LAMPRIAS.
QUESTION V. THAT WE SHOULD CAREFULLY PROTECT OURSELVES FROM PLEASURES CAUSED BY BAD MUSIC AND HOW THIS CAN BE ACHIEVED. CALLISTRATUS, LAMPRIAS.
At the Pythian games Callistratus, procurator of the Amphictyons, forbade a piper, his citizen and friend, who did not give in his name in due time, to appear in the solemnity, according to the law. But afterward very fine tune; but afterwards, having tickled and sounded the humor of the whole company, and found that most were inclined to pleasure and would suffer him to play what effeminate and lascivious tunes he pleased, throwing aside all modesty, he showed that music was more intoxicating than wine to those that wantonly and unskilfully use it. For they were not content to sit still and applaud and clap, but many at last leaped from their seats, danced lasciviously, and made such gentle steps as became such effeminate and mollifying tunes. But after they had done, and the company, as it were recovered of its madness, began to come to itself again, Lamprias would have spoken to and severely chid the young men; but as fearing he would be too harsh and give offence, Callistratus gave him a hint, and drew him on by this discourse:—
At the Pythian Games, Callistratus, the procurator of the Amphictyons, stopped a piper, who was both his citizen and friend, from performing at the ceremony because he hadn’t submitted his name on time, as the rules required. However, after gauging the mood of the crowd and noticing that most people were in the mood for fun and would allow him to play whatever seductive and risqué tunes he liked, he dropped all pretense of modesty and demonstrated that music could be more intoxicating than wine for those who indulge in it recklessly and without skill. The audience wasn’t satisfied to just sit and applaud; many eventually jumped from their seats, danced provocatively, and moved in ways that suited the effeminate and soothing melodies. But once they had finished, and the crowd started to snap out of its frenzy, Lamprias wanted to scold the young men, but fearing he might come off too harsh and offend them, Callistratus nudged him with a suggestion and guided him with this conversation:—
For my part, I absolve all lovers of shows and music from intemperance; yet I cannot altogether agree with Aristoxenus, who says that those pleasures alone deserve the approbation "fine." For we call viands and ointments fine; and we say we have finely dined, when we have been splendidly entertained. Nor, in my opinion, doth Aristotle free those complacencies we take in shows and songs upon good reason from the charge of excess, saying, that those belong peculiarly to man, and of other pleasures beasts have a share. For I am certain that a great many irrational creatures are delighted with music, as deer with pipes; and to mares, whilst they are horsing, they play a tune called [Greek omitted]. And Pindar says, that his songs make him move,
For my part, I let all lovers of shows and music off the hook for being excessive; however, I can't completely agree with Aristoxenus, who argues that only those pleasures should be called "fine." We describe foods and perfumes as fine; and we say we've had a fine meal when we’ve been wonderfully entertained. Also, I don’t think Aristotle justifiably excuses our enjoyment of shows and music from being excessive, by claiming that those pleasures are unique to humans and that animals share in other pleasures. I’m certain many animals also enjoy music, like deer responding to pipes; and mares, while they’re being bred, hear a tune called [Greek omitted]. Pindar also says that his songs inspire him,
As brisk as Dolphins, whom a charming tune
Hath raised from th' bottom of the quiet flood.
As lively as dolphins, who a charming tune
Has brought up from the depths of the calm water.And certain fish are taken by means of dancing; for as the dance goes on they lift up their heads above water, being much pleased and delighted with the sight, and twisting their backs this way and that way, in imitation of the dancers. Therefore I see nothing peculiar in those pleasures, that they should be accounted proper to the mind, and all others to belong to the body, so far as to end there. But music, rhythm, dancing, song, passing through the sense, fix a pleasure and titilation in the sportive part of the soul and therefore none of these pleasures is enjoyed in secret, nor wants darkness nor walls about it, according to the women's phrase; but circuses and theatres are built for them. And to frequent shows and music-meetings with company is both more delightful and more genteel; because we take a great many witnesses, not of a luxurious and intemperate, but of a pleasant and respectable, manner of passing away our time.
And certain fish are caught by dancing; as the dance continues, they raise their heads above the water, clearly entertained and excited by the spectacle, twisting their bodies to mimic the dancers. So, I don't find anything unusual in these pleasures that would make them seem exclusive to the mind, leaving all others for the body alone. However, music, rhythm, dancing, and song, engaging the senses, create a joy and excitement in the playful part of the soul, meaning none of these pleasures are experienced in private or require darkness or walls, as the saying goes. Instead, circuses and theaters are built for them. Attending performances and music events with others is both more enjoyable and classy, as we gather many witnesses, not for a lavish and excessive display, but for a pleasant and respectable way to spend our time.
Upon this discourse of Callistratus, my father Lamprias, seeing the musicians grow bolder, said: That is not the reason, sir, and, in my opinion, the ancients were much out when they named Bacchus the son of Forgetfulness. They ought to have called him his father; for it seems he hath made you forget that of those faults which are committed about pleasures some proceed from a loose intemperate inclination, and others from heedlessness or ignorance. Where the ill effect is very plain, there intemperate inclination captivates reason, and forces men to sin; but where the just reward of intemperance is not directly and presently inflicted, there ignorance of the danger and heedlessness make men easily wrought oil and secure. Therefore those that are vicious, either in eating, drinking, or venery, which diseases, wasting of estates, and evil reports usually attend, we call intemperate. For instance, Theodectes, who having sore eyes, when his mistress came to see him, said,
Upon hearing Callistratus, my father Lamprias noticed the musicians getting bolder and said: "That's not the reason, sir. In my opinion, the ancients were really off when they called Bacchus the son of Forgetfulness. They should have called him the father instead because it seems he has made you forget that some of the faults surrounding pleasures come from a reckless, unrestrained desire, while others come from carelessness or ignorance. When the negative consequences are clear, that reckless desire takes over reason and leads people to sin. However, when the consequences of that recklessness aren’t immediately obvious, ignorance of the danger and carelessness make it easy for people to be led astray and feel secure. So, those who are excessive in eating, drinking, or other vices—attended by ailments, loss of wealth, and bad reputations—are what we call intemperate. For example, Theodectes, who had sore eyes, said when his mistress came to see him,"
All hail, delightful light;
All hail, lovely light;
or Anaxarchus the Abderite,
or Anaxarchus from Abdera,
A wretch who knew what evils wait on sin,
Yet love of pleasure drove him back again.
Once almost free, he sank again to vice,
That terror and disturber of the wise.
A miserable person who knew the consequences of sin,
Yet the desire for pleasure pulled him back in.
Once nearly free, he fell back into wrongdoing,
That fear and troublemaker of the wise. Now those that take all care possible to secure themselves from all those pleasures that assault them either at the smelling, touch, or taste, are often surprised by those that make their treacherous approaches either at the eye or ear. But such, though as much led away as the others, we do not in like manner call incontinent and intemperate, since they are ruined through ignorance and want of experience. For they imagine they are far from being slaves to pleasures, if they can stay all day in the theatre without meat or drink; as if a pot forsooth should be mighty proud that a man cannot take it up by the bottom or the belly and carry it away, though he can easily do it by the ears. And therefore Agesilaus said, it was all one whether a man were a CINOEDUS before or behind. We ought principally to dread those softening delights that please and tickle through the eyes and ears, and not think that city not taken which hath all its other gates secured by bars, portcullises, and chains, if the enemies are already entered through one and have taken possession; or fancy ourselves invincible against the assaults of pleasure, because stews will not provoke us, when the music-meeting or theatre prevails. For we in one case as much as the other resign up our souls to the impetuousness of pleasures, which pouring in those potions of songs, cadences, and tunes, more powerful and bewitching than the best mixtures of the most skilful cook or perfumer, conquer and corrupt us; and in the meantime, by our own confession as it were, the fault is chiefly ours. Now, as Pindar saith, nothing that the earth and sea hath provided for our tables can be justly blamed; but neither our meat nor broth, nor this excellent wine which we drink, hath raised such a noisy tumultous pleasure as those songs and tunes did, which not only filled the house with clapping and shouting, but perhaps the whole town. Therefore we ought principally to secure ourselves against such delights, because they are more powerful than others; as not being terminated in the body, like those which allure the touch, taste, or smelling, but affecting the very intellectual and judging faculties. Besides, from most other delights, though reason doth not free us, yet other passions very commonly divert us. Sparing niggardliness will keep a glutton from dainty fish, and covetousness will confine a lecher from a costly whore. As in one of Menander's plays, where every one of the company was to be enticed by the bawd who brought out a surprising whore, but each of them, though all boon companions,
Now, those who do everything they can to protect themselves from all the pleasures that tempt them through smell, touch, or taste are often caught off guard by those that sneak up on them through sight or sound. However, we don’t label these people as reckless or indulgent in the same way as the others, since they are led astray by ignorance and lack of experience. They believe they are far from being slaves to pleasure if they can spend the whole day in the theater without food or drink; it’s like a pot being proud that someone can't lift it by its base or handle but can easily grab it by the ears. That’s why Agesilaus said it doesn’t matter whether a man is a CINOEDUS (a derogatory term for a submissive male) from the front or back. We should mainly be wary of the subtle pleasures that charm and tease through our eyes and ears, and not think of a city as still secure if all its gates are locked but one, through which the enemy has already entered and taken over; or believe we are invincible against pleasure’s advances just because we’re not tempted by brothels when we’re drawn to the music or theater. In both cases, we surrender our souls to the overpowering nature of pleasure, which, through songs, rhythms, and melodies—perhaps more enchanting and intoxicating than the finest food or perfume—defeat and corrupt us; and at the same time, we acknowledge that the fault lies primarily with us. As Pindar says, nothing that the earth and sea provide for our tables deserves blame; but neither our food nor drink, nor this excellent wine we enjoy creates the same loud, chaotic pleasure as those songs and tunes do, which not only fill the venue with applause and cheers but perhaps the entire town. Therefore, we should mainly guard ourselves against such pleasures, as they are more potent than others; since they don't just target the body like those that appeal to touch, taste, or smell, but instead engage our very intellect and judgment. Moreover, while reason may not free us from most other pleasures, different passions often distract us. A miserly attitude might keep a glutton away from gourmet fish, and greed could prevent a lecher from approaching an expensive prostitute. In one of Menander’s plays, everyone there is tempted by the bawd who introduces a stunning whore, yet each one, despite being heavy drinkers and friends,
Sat sullenly, and fed upon his cates.
Sat sadly, and ate his food.
For to pay interest for money is a severe punishment that follows intemperance, and to open our purses is no easy matter. But these pleasures that are called genteel, and solicit the ears or eyes of those that are frantic after shows and music, may be had without any charge at all, in every place almost, and upon every occasion; they may be enjoyed at the prizes, in the theatre, or at entertainments, at others cost. And therefore those that have not their reason to assist and guide them may be easily spoiled.
To pay interest on borrowed money is a harsh consequence of indulgence, and it’s not easy to part with our money. However, these so-called refined pleasures, which catch the attention of those who are obsessed with entertainment and music, can be enjoyed for free almost anywhere and at any time; they can be experienced at events, in theatres, or at social gatherings without any personal expense. Because of this, those who lack reason to help them make decisions can easily be led astray.
Silence following upon this, What application, said I, shall reason make, or how shall it assist? For I do not think it will apply those ear-covers of Xenocrates, or force us to rise from the table as soon as we hear a harp struck or a pipe blown. No indeed, replied Lamprias, but as soon as we meet with the foresaid intoxications, we ought to make our application to the Muses, and fly to the Helicon of the ancients. To him that loves a costly strumpet, we cannot bring a Panthea or Penelope for cure; but one that delights in mimics and buffoons, loose odes, or debauched songs, we can bring to Euripides, Pindar, and Menander, that he might wash (as Plato phraseth it) his salt hearing with fresh reason. As the exorcists command the possessed to read over and pronounce Ephesian letters, so we in those possessions, during the madness of music and the dance, when
Silence followed this, and I asked, what good is reason, or how can it help? I doubt it will put on Xenocrates' ear coverings or force us to get up from the table as soon as we hear a harp or a flute. No, indeed, Lamprias replied, but as soon as we encounter those previously mentioned distractions, we should turn to the Muses and seek refuge in the ancient Helicon. For someone who loves a pricey mistress, we can't offer them a Panthea or Penelope for comfort; but for a person who enjoys comedians, silly verses, or raunchy songs, we can introduce them to Euripides, Pindar, and Menander, so they might cleanse (as Plato puts it) their weary ears with fresh reasoning. Just as exorcists instruct the possessed to read and pronounce the Ephesian letters, so we must do in those moments of madness, amid the music and the dance, when
We toss our hands with noise, and madly shout,
We wave our hands with noise and shout wildly,
remembering those venerable and sacred writings, and comparing with them those odes, poems, and vain empty compositions, shall not be altogether cheated by them, or permit ourselves to be carried away sidelong, as by a smooth and undisturbed stream.
remembering those respected and sacred writings, and comparing them with those odes, poems, and pointless empty compositions, we shall not be completely fooled by them, nor let ourselves be swayed off course, like by a smooth and calm stream.
QUESTION VI. CONCERNING THOSE GUESTS THAT ARE CALLED SHADOWS, AND WHETHER BEING INVITED BY SOME TO GO TO ANOTHER'S HOUSE, THEY OUGHT TO GO; AND WHEN, AND TO WHOM.
QUESTION VI. ABOUT THOSE GUESTS KNOWN AS SHADOWS, AND WHETHER, WHEN INVITED BY SOMEONE TO VISIT ANOTHER PERSON'S HOUSE, THEY SHOULD GO; AND IF SO, WHEN AND TO WHOM.
PLUTARCH, FLORUS, CAESERNIUS.
PLUTARCH, FLORUS, CAESAR.
Homer makes Menelaus come uninvited to his brother Agamemnon's treat, when he feasted the commanders;
Homer has Menelaus show up uninvited to his brother Agamemnon's feast, where he was hosting the commanders;
For well he knew great cares his brother vexed.
("Iliad," ii. 409.)
For he knew that his brother was troubled by many worries.
("Iliad," ii. 409.)He did not take notice of the plain and evident omission of his brother, or show his resentments by not coming, as some surly testy persons usually do upon such oversights of their best friends; yet they had rather be overlooked than particularly invited, that they may have some color for their pettish anger. But about the introduced guests (which we call shadows) who are not invited by the entertainer, but by some others of the guests, a question was started, from whom that custom began. Some thought from Socrates, who persuaded Aristodemus, who was not invited, to go along with him to Agatho's, where there happened a pretty jest. For Socrates by chance staying somewhat behind, Aristodemus went in first; and this seemed very appropriate, for, the sun shining on their backs, the shadow ought to go before the body. Afterwards it was thought necessary at all entertainments, especially of great men, when the inviter did not know their favorites and acquaintance, to desire the invited to bring his company, appointing such a set number, lest they should be put to the same shifts which he was put to who invited King Philip to his country-house. The king came with a numerous attendance, but the provision was not equal to the company. Therefore, seeing his entertainer much cast down, he sent some about to tell his friends privately, that they should keep one corner of their bellies for a large cake that was to come. And they, expecting this, fed sparingly on the meat that was set before them, so that the provision seemed sufficient for them all.
He didn’t notice the obvious and clear absence of his brother, nor did he show his irritation by not coming, like some grumpy people often do when their close friends make such mistakes. Yet, they would rather be overlooked than specifically invited so they can justify their bad mood. A question came up regarding the guests (whom we call shadows) who aren’t invited by the host but by other guests. Some believed this practice started with Socrates, who convinced Aristodemus, a person who wasn't invited, to join him at Agatho's place, where an amusing incident occurred. When Socrates happened to lag behind, Aristodemus entered first, which seemed fitting because, with the sun shining on their backs, the shadow should lead the way. Later, it became common at all gatherings, especially those hosted by important people, to ask the invited guests to bring their own friends, setting a specific number, so they wouldn’t face the same dilemma as the person who invited King Philip to his country house. The king arrived with a large entourage, but there wasn’t enough food for everyone. Seeing that his host looked quite distressed, he sent some people to discreetly tell his friends to save some room for a big cake that was on its way. They anticipated this and ate lightly from the dishes that were served, making it seem like there was enough food for everyone.
When I had talked thus waggishly to the company Florus had a mind to talk gravely concerning these shadows, and have it discussed whether it was fit for those that were so invited to go, or no. His son-in-law Caesernius was positively against it. We should, says he, following Hesiod's advice,
When I jokingly spoke to the group, Florus wanted to have a serious conversation about these shadows and discuss whether it was appropriate for those who were invited to go or not. His son-in-law Caesernius was firmly against it. "We should," he said, following Hesiod's advice,
Invite a friend to feast,
("Works and Days," 342.)
Invite a friend to eat,
("Works and Days," 342.)or at least we should have our acquaintance and familiars to participate of our entertainments, mirth, and discourse over a glass of wine; but now, as ferry-men permit their passengers to bring in what fardel they please, so we permit others to fill our entertainments with any persons, let them be good companions or not. And I should wonder that any man of breeding being so (that is, not at all) invited, should go; since, for the most part, he must be unacquainted with the entertainer, or if he was acquainted, was not thought worthy to be bidden. Nay, he should be more ashamed to go to such a one, if he considers that it will look like an upbraiding of his unkindness, and yet a rude intruding into his company against his will. Besides, to go before or after the guest that invites him must look unhandsomely, nor is it creditable to go and stand in need of witnesses to assure the guests that he doth not come as a principally invited person, but such a one's shadow. Besides, to attend others bathing or anointing, to observe his hour, whether he goes early or late, is servile and gnathonical (for there never was such an excellent fellow as Gnatho to feed at another man's table). Besides, if there is no more proper time and place to say,
or at least we should have our friends and acquaintances join us for our entertainment, laughter, and conversation over a glass of wine; but now, just like ferry operators let their passengers bring whatever baggage they want, we allow others to fill our gatherings with anyone, whether they are good company or not. I would be surprised that any well-bred man, being so (that is, not at all) invited, would attend; since, most of the time, he must be unfamiliar with the host, or if he did know them, he wasn’t considered worthy of an invitation. In fact, he should be more embarrassed to show up, as it would seem like a criticism of the host's unkindness, and yet a rude intrusion into their space against their wishes. Furthermore, arriving before or after the person who invited him would appear awkward, and it's not respectable to attend just to need others to assure the guests that he isn’t primarily invited but merely a shadow of someone else. Additionally, to watch others bathe or apply lotion, to keep track of whether they arrive early or late, is servile and fawning (for there has never been such a fine person as Gnatho to eat at someone else’s table). Besides, if there is no more appropriate time and place to say,
Speak, tongue, if thou wilt utter jovial things,
Speak, tongue, if you want to say cheerful things,
than at a feast, and freedom and raillery is mixed with everything that is either done or said over a glass of wine, how should he behave himself, who is not a true principally invited guest, but as it were a bastard and supposititious intruder? For whether he is free or not, he lies open to the exception of the company. Besides, the very meanness and vileness of the name is no small evil to those who do not resent it but can quietly endure to be called and answer to the name of shadows. For, by enduring such base names, men are insensibly accustomed and drawn on to base actions. Therefore, when I make an invitation, for it is hard to break the custom of a place, I give my guests leave to bring shadows; but when I myself am invited as a shadow, I assure you I refuse to go.
than at a feast, where freedom and teasing mix with everything said or done over a glass of wine, how should someone act who isn't a genuine invited guest, but rather feels like an unwelcome intruder? Whether he feels free or not, he’s still subject to the judgment of the others. Additionally, the very lowliness of the title is no small matter for those who don’t mind it but can quietly accept being called and responding to the name of shadows. By putting up with such derogatory names, people gradually become accustomed to and drawn into disgraceful actions. So, when I extend an invitation, since it's hard to break the customs of a place, I allow my guests to bring their shadows; but when I'm invited as a shadow myself, I assure you, I refuse to go.
A short silence followed this discourse; then Florus began thus: This last thing you mentioned, sir, is a greater difficulty than the other. For it is necessary when we invite our friends to give them liberty to choose their own shadows, as was before hinted; for to entertain them without their friends is not very obliging, nor is it very easy to know whom the person we invite would be most pleased with. Then said I to him: Consider therefore whether those that give their friends this license to invite do not at the same time give the invited license to accept the invitation and come to the entertainment. For it is not fit either to allow or to desire another to do that which is not decent to be done, or to urge and persuade to that which no one ought to be persuaded or to consent to do. When we entertain a great man or stranger, there we cannot invite or choose his company, but must receive those that come along with him. But when we feast a friend, it will be more acceptable if we ourselves invite all, as knowing his acquaintance and familiars; for it tickles him extremely to see that others take notice that he hath chiefly a respect for such and such, loves their company most, and is well pleased when they are honored and invited as well as he. Yet sometimes we must deal with our friend as petitioners do when they make addresses to a god; they offer vows to all that belong to the same altar and the same shrine, though they make no particular mention of their names. For no dainties, wine, or ointment can incline a man to merriment, as much as a pleasant agreeable companion. For as it is rude and ungenteel to inquire and ask what sort of meat, wine, or ointment the person whom we are to entertain loves best; so it is neither disobliging nor absurd to desire him who hath a great many acquaintance to bring those along with him whose company he likes most, and in whose conversation he can take the greatest pleasure. For it is not so irksome and tedious to sail in the same ship, to dwell in the same house, or be a judge upon the same bench, with a person whom we do not like, as to be at the same table with him; and the contrary is fully as pleasant. An entertainment is a communion of serious or merry discourse or actions; and therefore, to make a merry company, we should not pick up any person at a venture, but take only such as are known to one another and sociable. Cooks, it is true, mix sour and sweet juices, rough and oily, to make their sauces; but there never was an agreeable table or pleasant entertainment where the guests were not all of a piece, and all of the same humor. Now, as the Peripatetics say, the first mover in nature moves only and is not moved, and the last moved is moved only but does not move, and between these there is that which moves and is moved by others; so there is the same analogy between those three sorts of persons that make up a company,—there is the simple inviter, the simple invited and the invited that invites another. We have spoken already concerning the inviter, and it will not be improper, in my opinion, to deliver my sentiments about the other two. He that is invited and invites others, should, in my opinion, be sparing in the number that he brings. He should not, as if he were to forage in an enemy's country, carry all he can with him; or, like those who go to possess a new-found land, by the excessive number of his own friends, incommode or exclude the friends of the inviter, so that the inviter must be in the same case with those that set forth suppers to Hecate and the gods who turn away evil, of which neither they nor any of their family partake, except of the smoke and trouble. It is true they only speak in waggery that say,
A brief silence followed this conversation; then Florus began: The last point you brought up, sir, is more challenging than the others. When we invite our friends, it’s important to let them choose their own companions, as was previously mentioned; hosting them without their friends isn’t very thoughtful, and it can be hard to know whom the person we invite would enjoy having around. Then I said to him: So, consider whether those who allow their friends to invite others also give those invited the right to accept the invitation and attend the gathering. It’s not appropriate to allow or encourage someone to do something that isn’t right, or to push someone towards something they shouldn’t agree to do. When we host an important person or a stranger, we can’t choose or invite their company; we have to accept whoever comes with them. But when we host a friend, it’s better if we invite everyone ourselves, knowing his acquaintances and friends; it really pleases him to see that others recognize who he values, enjoys spending time with, and appreciates being honored and invited alongside him. Yet sometimes we should treat our friend like petitioners do when they make offerings to a deity; they vow to all associated with the same altar and shrine, even if they don’t mention names specifically. No delicacies, wine, or fragrance can bring someone joy like a pleasant companion can. Just as it’s rude and impolite to ask what type of food, wine, or fragrance the person we’re hosting prefers, it’s not inconsiderate or silly to invite a friend who has many acquaintances to bring along those whose company he enjoys most and with whom he enjoys conversing. It’s not as annoying or tedious to share a ship, a house, or a bench with someone we don’t like as it is to sit at the same table with them; the opposite is just as enjoyable. A gathering is meant to be a sharing of meaningful or fun conversations and activities; therefore, to create a lively company, we shouldn’t randomly pick anyone but should include only those who know each other and get along. It’s true that chefs mix sour and sweet, rough and smooth, to create their sauces; but there has never been a pleasant table or enjoyable gathering where the guests didn’t share a similar vibe and humor. Now, as the Peripatetics say, the primary mover in nature moves on its own and isn’t moved by anything else, while the last mover is only moved and doesn’t move; in between these, there’s something that both moves and is moved by others. The same idea applies to the three different kinds of people that make up a gathering—there’s the one who invites, the one who is invited, and the one who invites someone else. We’ve already talked about the inviter, and I think it’s appropriate to share my thoughts on the other two. The invited person who invites others should be careful about how many he brings. He shouldn’t treat this like raiding an enemy territory, bringing as many as he can; nor should he act like those who seek to claim a newly discovered land, inconveniencing or excluding the inviter’s friends with too many of his own. Otherwise, the inviter ends up like those who prepare suppers for Hecate and the gods who ward off evil, from which neither they nor their families partake, except for the smoke and trouble. It’s true that they simply joke when they say,
He that at Delphi offers sacrifice
Must after meat for his own dinner buy.
Whoever makes a sacrifice at Delphi
Must later buy food for their own dinner.But the same thing really happens to him who entertains ill-bred guests or acquaintances, who with a great many shadows, as it were harpies, tear and devour his provision. Besides, he should not take anybody that he may come upon along with him to another's entertainment, but chiefly the entertainer's acquaintance, as it were contending with him and preceding him in the invitation. But if that cannot be effected, let him carry such of his own friends as the entertainer would choose himself; to a civil modest man, some of complaisant humor; to a learned man, ingenuous persons; to a man that hath borne office, some of the same rank; and, in short, such whose acquaintance he hath formerly sought and would be now glad of. For it will be extremely pleasing and obliging to bring such into company together; but one who brings to a feast men who have no likeness at all with the feast-maker, but who are entire aliens and strangers to him,—as hard drinkers to a sober man,—gluttons and sumptuous persons to a temperate thrifty entertainer,—or to a young, merry, boon companion, grave old philosophers solemnly speaking in their beards,—will be very disobliging, and turn all the intended mirth into an unpleasant sourness. The entertained should be as obliging to the entertainer as the entertainer to the entertained; and then he will be most obliging, when not only he himself, but all those that come by his means, are pleasant and agreeable.
But the same thing really happens to someone who hosts rude guests or acquaintances, who, like a bunch of harpies, tear apart his resources. Plus, he shouldn’t bring just anyone he runs into to someone else's gathering, but mainly the host’s friends, as if competing with him and getting in ahead of him in the invitation. If that’s not possible, he should bring along friends who the host would be happy to have; for a polite, modest guy, bring some agreeable people; for a knowledgeable person, bring some genuine folks; for someone who has held a position, bring those of the same status; and, in short, friends whose company he has sought before and would appreciate now. It will be incredibly enjoyable and pleasing to have such people together; however, someone who brings guests who have nothing in common with the host—like heavy drinkers to a sober person, gluttons and extravagant eaters to a careful host, or serious old philosophers to a young, fun-loving companion—will be very inconsiderate and ruin all the intended fun with an unpleasant atmosphere. The guests should be as considerate to the host as the host is to the guests; and he will be most considerate when not only he himself but everyone he brings is pleasant and agreeable.
The last of the three which remains to be spoken of is he that is invited by one man to another's feast. Now he that disdains and is so much offended at the name of a shadow will appear to be afraid of a mere shadow. But in this matter there is need of a great deal of caution, for it is not creditable readily to go along with every one and to everybody. But first you must consider who it is that invites; for if he is not a very familiar friend, but a rich or great man, such who, as if upon a stage, wants a large or splendid retinue, or such who thinks that he puts a great obligation upon you and does you a great deal of honor by this invitation, you must presently deny. But if he is your friend and particular acquaintance, you must not yield upon the first motion: but if there seems a necessity for some conversation which cannot be put off till another time, or if he is lately come from a journey or designs to go on one, and out of mere good-will and affection seems desirous of your company, and doth not desire to carry a great many, or strangers, but only some few friends along with him; or, besides all this, if he designs to bring you thus invited acquainted with the principal inviter, who is very worthy of your acquaintance, then consent and go. For as to ill-humored persons, the more they seize and take hold of us like thorns, we should endeavor to free ourselves from them or leap over them the more. If he that invites is a civil and well-bred person, yet doth not design to carry you to one of the same temper, you must refuse, lest you should take poison in honey, that is, get the acquaintance of a bad man by an honest friend. It is absurd to go to one you do not know, and with whom you never had any familiarity, unless, as I said before, the person be an extraordinary man, and, by a civil waiting, upon him at another man's invitation, you design to begin an acquaintance with him. And those friends you should chiefly go to as shadows, who would come to you again in the same quality. To Philip the jester, indeed, he seemed more ridiculous that came to a feast of his own accord than he that was invited; but to well-bred and civil friends it is more obliging for men of the same temper to come at the nick of time with other friends, when uninvited and unexpected; at once pleasing both to those that invite and those that entertain. But chiefly you must avoid going to rulers, rich or great men, lest you incur the deserved censure of being impudent, saucy, rude, and unseasonably ambitious.
The last of the three we need to discuss is the person invited by one person to another's feast. If someone scoffs at the idea of a shadow, they may seem scared of something that's just a reflection. However, you need to be careful here, as it’s not wise to just agree to every invite from anyone. First, consider who’s inviting you; if it's not a close friend but a wealthy or important person, someone who wants to show off or thinks they’re doing you a big favor by inviting you, you should politely decline. But if it’s a friend or someone you know well, don’t rush to accept the invite right away. If there’s a genuine need to talk that can’t wait, or if they’ve just returned from a trip or are planning to leave soon and genuinely want your company, especially if they're only bringing a few friends, then you can agree to go. If they want to introduce you to the main host, who is a worthy person to know, then it's fine to accept. For those with bad attitudes, the more they cling to us like thorns, the more we should try to distance ourselves or jump over them. If the inviter is polite and well-mannered but plans to take you to someone who isn’t, you should decline to avoid falling into a trap disguised as a sweet deal. It's pointless to go to someone you don’t know or have no rapport with unless, as I mentioned before, they are exceptional, and you plan to start an acquaintance through their invitation. You should especially visit friends who can return the gesture in the same spirit. It seemed more foolish for Philip the jester to show up at a party uninvited than for the one who was invited; however, for well-mannered friends, it's more appreciative for those like them to arrive unexpectedly, pleasing both the hosts and the guests. Most importantly, avoid attending gatherings hosted by powerful or wealthy individuals, as it may lead to rightful criticism of being forward, rude, or overly ambitious.
QUESTION VII. WHETHER FLUTE-GIRLS ARE TO BE ALLOWED AT A FEAST? DIOGENIANUS, A SOPHIST, PHILIP.
QUESTION VII. SHOULD FLUTE GIRLS BE ALLOWED AT A FEAST? DIOGENIANUS, A SOPHIST, PHILIP.
At Chaeronea, Diogenianus the Pertamenian being present, we had a long discourse once at an entertainment about music; and we had a great deal of trouble to hold out against a great bearded sophister of the Stoic sect, who quoted Plato as blaming a company that admitted flute-girls and were not able to entertain one another with discourse. And Philip the Prusian, of the same sect, said: Those guests of Agatho, whose discourse was more sweet than the sound of any pipe in the world, were no good authority in this case; for it was no wonder that in their company the flute-girl was not regarded; but it is strange that, in the midst of the entertainment, the extreme pleasantness of the discourse had not made them forget their meat and drink. Yet Xenophon thought it not indecent to bring in to Socrates, Antisthenes, and the like the jester Philip; as Homer doth an onion to make the wine relish. And Plato brought in Aristophanes's discourse of love, as a comedy, into his entertainment; and at the last, as it were drawing all the curtains, he shows a scene of the greatest variety imaginable,—Alcibiades drunk, frolicking, and crowned. Then follows that pleasant raillery between him and Socrates concerning Agatho, and the encomium of Socrates; and when such discourse was going on, good gods! Had it not been allowable, if Apollo himself had come in with his harp ready to desire the god to forbear till the argument was out? These men, having such a pleasant way of discoursing, used these arts and insinuating methods, and graced their entertainment's by such facetious raillery. But shall we, being mixed with tradesmen and merchants, and some (as it now and then happens) ignorants and rustics, banish out of our entertainments this ravishing delight, or fly the musicians, as if they were Sirens, as soon as we see them coming? Clitomachus the wrestler, rising and getting away when any one talked of love, was much wondered at; and should not a philosopher that banisheth music from a feast, and is afraid of a musician, and bids his link boy presently light his link and be gone, be laughed at, since he seems to abominate the most innocent pleasures, as beetles do ointment? For, if at any time, certainly over a glass of wine, music should be permitted, and then chiefly the harmonious god should have the direction of our souls; so that Euripides, though I like him very well in other things, shall never persuade me that music, as he would have it, should be applied to melancholy and grief. For there sober and serious reason, like a physician, should take care of the diseased men; but those pleasures should be mixed with Bacchus, and serve to increase our mirth and frolic. Therefore it was a pleasant saying of that Spartan at Athens, who, when some new tragedians were to contend for the prize, seeing the preparations of the masters of the dances, the hurry and busy diligence of the instructors, said, the city was certainly mad which sported with so much pains. He that designs to sport should sport, and not buy his case and pleasure with great expense, or the loss of that time which might be useful to other things; but whilst he is feasting and free from business, those should be enjoyed. And it is advisable to try amidst our mirth, whether any profit is to be gotten from our delights.
At Chaeronea, while Diogenianus the Pertamenian was present, we had a long talk at a gathering about music. We had a tough time holding our ground against a bearded Stoic philosopher, who quoted Plato, criticizing a group that welcomed flute-girls but lacked the ability to engage in meaningful conversation. Philip the Prusian, from the same school, remarked that the guests at Agatho's were no solid example in this case, as their discussions were more delightful than any music, making it no surprise the flute-girl didn’t stand out. It was surprising, however, that amid all the enjoyment of the conversation, they hadn’t forgotten about their food and drink. Yet Xenophon didn’t find it inappropriate to bring Philip the jester to Socrates, just as Homer adds an onion to enhance the wine's flavor. Plato included Aristophanes's commentary on love, treating it as a comedic element in his gathering, and ultimately, as if revealing all the curtains, he presented an incredibly varied scene—Alcibiades drunk, lively, and crowned. Then came that amusing banter between him and Socrates about Agatho, followed by Socrates's praise, and during such a conversation, good heavens! Would it not have been acceptable if Apollo himself appeared with his harp, asking the god to wait until the discussion ended? These men, with their delightful way of chatting, employed wit and charm, making their gatherings entertaining. But should we, mingling with tradespeople and merchants, and occasionally dealing with the ignorant and rustic types, exclude this captivating joy from our events, or flee from musicians as if they were Sirens the moment they arrive? Clitomachus the wrestler drew attention when he got up and left whenever love was mentioned; and shouldn’t a philosopher, who rejects music from a feast and fears a musician, while telling his servant to light the lamp and leave, be laughed at for rejecting the most innocent pleasures, like a beetle shunning ointment? Because if there’s ever a time when music should be welcomed, especially over a glass of wine, it’s then that the harmonious god should guide our spirits; thus, even though I appreciate Euripides for various reasons, he will never convince me that music should be associated with sadness and grief. In those cases, serious reasoning, like a doctor, should attend to the troubled, while those pleasures should combine with Bacchus, enhancing our joy and revelry. So it was a humorous remark from that Spartan in Athens, who, upon seeing the new tragic performers preparing for a contest, witnessed the dance masters' flurry and the busy instructors, saying that the city must be insane for enjoying such toil. He believed that if one wishes to celebrate, they should do so freely, not at the expense of significant costs or time that could be utilized for other interests; but while one is feasting and free from concerns, those pleasures should be savored. And it’s wise to discern whether any benefits can be gained from our merriment amidst our enjoyment.
QUESTION VIII. WHAT SORT OF MUSIC IS FITTEST FOR AN ENTERTAINMENT? DIOGENIANUS, A SOPHIST, PHILIP.
QUESTION VIII. WHAT TYPE OF MUSIC IS BEST FOR AN ENTERTAINMENT? DIOGENIANUS, A SOPHIST, PHILIP.
When Philip had ended, I hindered the sophister from returning an answer to the discourse, and said: Let us rather inquire, Diogenianus, since there are a great many sorts of music, which is fittest for an entertainment. And let us beg this learned man's judgment in this case; for since he is not prejudiced or apt to be biased by any sort, there is no danger that he should prefer that which is pleasantest before that which is best. Diogenianus joining with me in this request, he presently began. All other sorts I banish to the theatre and playhouse, and can only allow that which hath been lately admitted into the entertainments at Rome, and with which everybody is not yet acquainted. You know, continued he, that some of Plato's dialogues are purely narrative, and some dramatic. The easiest of this latter sort they teach their children to speak by heart; making them to imitate the actions of those persons they represent, and to form their voice and affections to be agreeable to the words. This all the grave and well-bred men exceedingly admire; but soft and effeminate fellows, whose ears ignorance and ill-breeding hath corrupted, and who, as Aristoxenus phraseth it, are ready to vomit when they hear excellent harmony, reject it; and no wonder, when effeminacy prevails.
When Philip finished, I stopped the sophister from responding to the discussion and said: Let's explore, Diogenianus, since there are many types of music, which one is best for entertainment. And let’s ask this knowledgeable person for his opinion; since he isn't biased towards any particular type, he won’t choose what’s most enjoyable over what’s truly the best. Diogenianus agreed with my request, and he immediately started. I dismiss all other types to the theater and playhouse, and I only accept what has recently been included in the entertainments in Rome, with which not everyone is familiar yet. You know, he continued, that some of Plato's dialogues are purely narrative, while others are dramatic. They teach children to recite the easier dramatic ones by heart; making them imitate the actions of the characters and adjust their tone and emotions to match the words. This method is highly praised by respectable and well-mannered people, but soft and effeminate individuals, whose harshness and lack of refinement have corrupted their taste, and who, as Aristoxenus puts it, are quick to react negatively when they hear beautiful music, reject it; which is no surprise when softness takes over.
Philip, perceiving some of the company uneasy at this discourse, said: Pray spare us, sir, and be not so severe upon us; for we were the first that found fault with that custom when it first began to be countenanced in Rome, and reprehended those who thought Plato fit to entertain us whilst we were making merry, and who would hear his dialogues whilst they were eating cates and scattering perfumes. When Sappho's songs or Anaereon's verses are recited, I protest I think it decent to set aside my cup. But should I proceed, perhaps you would think me much in earnest, and designing to oppose you, and therefore, together with this cup which I present my friend, I leave it to him to wash your salt ear with fresh discourse.
Philip, noticing that some people in the group were uncomfortable with the conversation, said: Please, spare us, sir, and don't be so harsh on us; we were the first to criticize that custom when it started to gain popularity in Rome, and we called out those who thought Plato was suitable to entertain us while we were having fun, and who wanted to listen to his dialogues while we were eating treats and scattering perfumes. When Sappho's songs or Anacreon's verses are read, I honestly think it's proper to set my drink aside. But if I continue, you might think I'm being too serious and trying to oppose you, so along with this cup that I offer my friend, I’ll let him wash your salt ear with lively conversation.
Then Diogenianus, taking the cup, said: Methinks this is very sober discourse, which makes me believe that the wine doth not please you, since I see no effect of it; so that I fear I ought to be corrected. Indeed, many sorts of music are not to be rejected; first, tragedy, as having nothing familiar enough for an entertainment, and being a representation of actions attended with grief and extremity of passion. I reject the sort of dancing which is called Pyladean from Pylades, because it is full of pomp, very pathetical, and requires a great many persons; but if we would admit any of those sorts that deserve those encomiums which Socrates mentions in his discourse about dancing, I like that sort called Bathyllean, which requires not so high a motion, but hath something of the character of the Cordax, and resembles the motion of an Echo, a Pan, or a Satyr frolicking with love. Old comedy is not fit for men that are making merry, by reason of the excuses that appear in it; for that vehemency which they use in the parabasis is loud and indecent, and the liberty they take to scoff and abuse is very surfeiting, too open, and full of filthy words and lewd expressions. Besides, as at great men's tables every man hath a servant waiting at his elbow, so each of his guests would need a grammarian to sit by him, and explain who is Laespodias in Eupolis, Cinesias in Plato, and Lampo in Cratinus, and who is each person that is jeered in the play. Concerning new comedy there is no need of any long discourse. It is so fitted, so interwoven with entertainments, that it is easier to have a regular feast without wine, than without Menander. Its phrase is sweet and familiar, the Humor innocent and easy, so that there is nothing for men whilst sober to despise, or when merry to be troubled at. The sentiments are so natural and unstudied, that midst wine, as it were in fire, they soften and bend the rigidest temper to be pliable and easy. And the mixture of gravity and jests seems to be contrived for nothing so aptly as for the pleasure and profit of those that are frolicking and making merry. The love-scenes in Menander are convenient for those who have already drunk their cups, and who in a short time must retire home to their wives; for in all his plays there is no love of boys mentioned, and all rapes committed on virgins and decently in marriages at last. As for misses, if they are impudent and jilting, they are bobbed, the young gallants turning sober, and repenting of their lewd courses. But if they are kind and constant, either their true parents are discovered, or a time is determined for intrigue, which brings them at last to obliging modesty and civil kindness. These things to men busied about other matters may seem scarce worth taking notice of; but whilst they are making merry, it is no wonder that the pleasantness and smoothness of the parts should work a neat conformity and distinction in the hearers and make their manners like the pattern they have from those genteel characters.
Then Diogenianus, picking up the cup, said: I think this is a very sensible conversation, which makes me think that the wine doesn’t seem to be enjoying you since I see no effect from it; so I worry I should be corrected. Indeed, many kinds of music shouldn’t be dismissed; first, tragedy, as it doesn’t have anything familiar enough for entertainment and represents actions filled with sorrow and intense emotion. I dismiss the type of dancing known as Pyladean, named after Pylades, because it’s all about show, very emotional, and needs a lot of people; but if we were to accept any types deserving of praise, like Socrates mentions in his talk about dance, I prefer the Bathyllean style, which doesn’t require such elaborate movements but has some characteristics of the Cordax and resembles the movement of an Echo, a Pan, or a Satyr playing around with love. Old comedy isn’t suitable for people who are just trying to have a good time, due to the awkwardness that appears in it; the intensity used in the parabasis is loud and inappropriate, and the freedom they take to mock and insult is very excessive, too brazen, and filled with crude language and lewd expressions. Besides, just like at the tables of wealthy men, where everyone has a servant at their elbow, each guest would need a grammarian beside them to explain who Laespodias is in Eupolis, Cinesias in Plato, and Lampo in Cratinus, as well as all the characters being mocked in the play. As for new comedy, there’s no need for a lengthy discussion. It’s so well-crafted and blended with entertainment that it’s easier to have a proper feast without wine than without Menander. Its language is sweet and relatable, the humor innocent and easygoing, meaning there’s nothing for people to scoff at when sober, or to be bothered by when they’re merry. The ideas are so natural and unforced that amidst wine, like in fire, they soften and bend even the stiffest personality to be more flexible and easygoing. The mix of seriousness and humor seems designed perfectly for the enjoyment and benefit of those who are partying and having fun. The love scenes in Menander are perfect for those who have already had a few drinks and who soon need to head home to their wives; in all his plays, there's no mention of love for young boys, and all acts of violation on virgins are eventually resolved decently in marriages. As for mistresses, if they are shameless and deceitful, they are soon disregarded, as the young men become sober and regret their reckless behavior. But if they are kind and faithful, either their true parents are revealed or a time is set for their romantic encounters, which ultimately leads them to be polite and kind. These things might seem unworthy of attention to those focused on other matters; but while they are having fun, it’s not surprising that the charm and smoothness of the pieces create a neat conformity and distinction among the listeners and influence their behavior to reflect the refined characters they observe.
Diogenianus, either designedly or for want of breath ended thus. And when the sophister attacked him again, and contended that some of Aristophanes's verses should be read, Philip speaking to me said: Diogenianus hath had his wish in praising his beloved Menander, and seems not to care for any of the rest. There are a great many sorts which we have not at all considered, concerning which I should be very glad to have your opinion; and the prize for the carvers we will set up to-morrow, when we are sober, if Diogenianus and this stranger think fit. Of representations, said I, some are allegorical, and some are farces; neither of these are fit for an entertainment; the first by reason of their length and cost, and the latter being so full of filthy discourse and lewd actions, that they are not fit to be seen by the foot-boys that wait on civil masters. Yet the rabble, even with their wives and young sons, sit quietly to be spectators of such representations as are apt to disturb the soul more than the greatest debauch in drink. The harp ever since Homer's time was well acquainted with feasts and entertainments, and therefore it is not fitting to dissolve such an ancient friendship and acquaintance; but we should only desire the harpers to forbear their sad notes and melancholy tunes, and play only those that are delighting, and fit for such as are making merry. The pipe, if we would, we cannot reject, for the libation in the beginning of the entertainment requires that as well as the garland. Then it insinuates and passeth through the ears, spreading even to the very soul a pleasant sound, which produceth serenity and calmness; so that, if the wine hath not quite dissolved or driven away all vexing solicitous anxiety this, by the softness and delightful agreeableness of its sound, smooths and calms the spirits, if so be that it keeps within due bounds, and doth not elevate too much, and, by its numerous surprising divisions, raise an ecstasy in the soul which wine hath weakened and made easy to be perverted. For as brutes do not understand a rational discourse, yet lie down or rise up at the sound of a shell or whistle, or of a chirp or clap; so the brutish part of the soul, which is either incapable of understanding or obeying reason, men conquer by songs and tunes, and by music reduce it to tolerable order. But to speak freely what I think, no pipe nor harp simply played upon, and without a song with it, can be very fit for an entertainment. For we should still accustom ourselves to take our chiefest pleasure from discourse, and spend our leisure time in profitable talk, and use tunes and airs as a sauce for the discourse, and not singly by themselves, to please the unreasonable delicacy of our palate. For as nobody is against pleasure that ariseth from sauce or wine going in with our necessary food, but Socrates flouts and refuseth to admit that superfluous and vain pleasure which we take in perfumes and odors at a feast; thus the sound of a pipe or harp, when singly applied to our ears, we utterly reject, but if it accompanies words, and together with an ode feasts and delights our reason, we gladly introduce it. And we believe the famed Marsyas was punished by Apollo for pretending, when he had nothing but his single pipe, and his muzzle to apply to his lips, to contend with the harp and song of the god. Let us only take care that, when we have such guests as are able to cheer one another with philosophy and good discourse we do not introduce anything that may rather prove an uneasy hindrance to the conversation than promote it. For not only those are fools, who, as Euripides says, having safety at home and in their own power, yet would hire some from abroad; but those too who, having pleasantness enough within, are eager after some external pastimes to comfort and delight them. That extraordinary piece of honor which the Persian king showed Antalcidas the Spartan seemed rude and uncivil, when he dipped a garland composed of crocus and roses in ointment, and sent it him to wear, by that dipping putting a slight upon and spoiling the natural sweetness and beauty of the flowers. He doth as bad, who having a Muse in his own breast, and all the pleasantness that would fit an entertainment, will have pipes and harps play, and by that external adventitious noise destroy all the sweetness that was proper and his own. But in short, all ear-delights are fittest then, when the company begins to be disturbed, to fall out, and quarrel, for then they may prevent raillery and reproach, and stop the dispute that is running on to sophistical and unpleasant wrangling, and bridle all babbling declamatory altercations, so that the company may be freed of noise and quietly composed.
Diogenianus, either on purpose or out of breath, wrapped it up like this. And when the scholar went after him again, insisting that some verses by Aristophanes should be read, Philip turned to me and said: "Diogenianus has gotten what he wanted by praising his favorite Menander and seems indifferent to everything else. There are many kinds we haven’t really discussed, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on them; we’ll set up the prize for the carvers tomorrow when we’re sober, if Diogenianus and this stranger agree." I said, "Among representations, some are allegorical and some are farces; neither of these are suitable for entertainment. The first type is too long and expensive, while the second is filled with filthy language and lewd acts, which aren’t appropriate for the footmen who serve respectable masters. Yet, the common people, along with their wives and young sons, sit quietly to watch performances that disturb the soul more than the worst drunkenness. The harp has been a staple of banquets and entertainment since Homer's day, so it’s not right to break such an ancient bond; we just need to ask the harpers to skip their sad tunes and play only cheerful pieces for those who are having a good time. As for the pipe, we can’t avoid it, since its use is required at the beginning of the festivities, just like a garland. It flows through our ears, spreading a pleasant sound that brings peace and calmness; so, if the wine hasn’t completely washed away all annoying worries, the gentle and delightful sounds can soothe our spirits, as long as it stays within reasonable limits and doesn’t elevate our emotions too much with its surprising variations, which can confuse the mind that the wine has already weakened. Just as animals don’t grasp rational speech but respond to sounds like a shell or whistle, the animalistic part of our soul, which can’t comprehend or follow reason, is tamed by music and brought into harmony. But honestly, no pipe or harp played solo without a song really fits an entertainment. We should train ourselves to find our greatest joy in conversation, spending leisure time engaging in meaningful talks, and use music as an enhancement for the dialogue, not as the main dish satisfying our unreasonable appetites. Just as no one complains about the pleasure we get from food seasoned with sauce or wine, Socrates mocked the pointless joy we find in perfumes and scents at a feast. Similarly, we completely reject the sound of a pipe or harp played alone, but if it accompanies words and together with a song entertains our minds, we welcome it. We remember that the famous Marsyas was punished by Apollo for trying to compete with the god's harp and song using only his single pipe. Let’s just ensure that when we have guests who can uplift one another with philosophical discussions and good conversation, we avoid introducing anything that might hinder the dialogue rather than encourage it. Those are the true fools who, as Euripides says, despite having safety at home and in their own power, would hire someone from outside; the same goes for those who, having enough enjoyment within, seek external distractions to comfort and amuse them. The strange honor shown by the Persian king to Antalcidas the Spartan seemed rude and out of place when he dipped a garland made of crocus and roses in ointment and sent it to him, thereby diminishing the natural beauty and fragrance of the flowers. It’s just as bad for someone who has a Muse in their own heart, along with all the joy suitable for entertainment, to insist on having pipes and harps play, thus ruining the natural sweetness that was theirs alone. Ultimately, all pleasurable sounds are most fitting when the company starts to become restless, fight, or quarrel, as they can prevent jesting and insults, halt the arguments spiraling into sophistry and unpleasant disputes, and curb all silly chatter, so that the group can enjoy peace and quiet.
QUESTION IX. THAT IT WAS THE CUSTOM OF THE GREEKS AS WELL AS PERSIANS TO DEBATE OF STATE AFFAIRS AT THEIR ENTERTAINMENTS. NICOSTRATUS, GLAUCIAS.
QUESTION IX. THAT IT WAS THE CUSTOM OF THE GREEKS AS WELL AS PERSIANS TO DISCUSS STATE AFFAIRS AT THEIR PARTIES. NICOSTRATUS, GLAUCIAS.
At Nicostratus's table we discoursed of those matters which the Athenians were to debate of in their next assembly. And one of the company saying, It is the Persian fashion, sir, to debate midst your cups; And why, said Glaucias rejoining, not the Grecian fashion? For it was a Greek that said,
At Nicostratus's table, we talked about the topics the Athenians were going to discuss in their next assembly. One person in the group said, "It's the Persian way to debate while drinking." Glaucias responded, "And why not the Greek way? After all, it was a Greek who said,
After your belly's full, your counsel's best.
After you’re full, your advice is the best.
And they were Greeks who with Agamemnon besieged Troy, to whom, whilst they were eating and drinking,
And they were Greeks who, along with Agamemnon, laid siege to Troy, to whom, while they were eating and drinking,
Old Nestor first began a grave debate;
("Iliad," vii. 324.)
Old Nestor started a serious discussion;
("Iliad," vii. 324.)and he himself advised the king before to call the commanders together for the same purpose:—
and he himself advised the king earlier to gather the commanders for the same purpose:—
For the commanders, sir, a feast prepare,
And see who counsels best, and follow him.
(Ibid, ix. 70 and 74.)
For the leaders, sir, get a feast ready,
And pay attention to the best advice, and follow it.
(Ibid, ix. 70 and 74.)Therefore Greece, having a great many excellent institutions, and zealously following the customs of the ancients, hath laid the foundations of her polities in wine. For the assemblies in Crete called Andria, those in Sparta called Phiditia, were secret consultations and aristocratical assemblies; such, I suppose, as the Prytaneum and Thesmothesium here at Athens. And not different from these is that night-meeting, which Plato mentions, of the best and most polite men, to which the greatest, the most considerable and puzzling matters are assigned. And those
Therefore, Greece, with its many great institutions, and its strong adherence to ancient customs, has built the foundations of its societies in wine. The assemblies in Crete known as Andria and those in Sparta called Phiditia were private meetings and gatherings of the aristocracy; similar, I think, to the Prytaneum and Thesmothesium here in Athens. Not unlike these is the night gathering that Plato mentions, where the most esteemed and cultured individuals discuss the most significant and challenging issues. And those
Who, when they do design to seek their rest,
To Mercury their just libations pour,
("Odyssey," vii. 138.)
Who, when they plan to rest,
Pour their rightful offerings to Mercury,
("Odyssey," vii. 138.)do they not join reason and wine together, since, when they are about to retire, they make their vows to the wisest god, as if he was present and particularly president over their actions? But the ancients indeed call Bacchus the good counsellor, as if he had no need of Mercury; and for his sake they named the night [Greek omitted] as it were, GOOD ADVISER.
do they not combine reason and wine, since, when they’re about to leave, they make their promises to the wisest god, as if he were present and specifically overseeing their actions? But the ancients did indeed refer to Bacchus as the good advisor, as if he didn't need Mercury; and for his sake, they named the night [Greek omitted] as it were, GOOD ADVISOR.
QUESTION X. WHETHER THEY DID WELL WHO DELIBERATED MIDST THEIR CUPS. GLAUCIAS, NICOSTRATUS.
QUESTION X. DID THEY DO WELL TO DELIBERATE WHILE DRINKING? GLAUCIAS, NICOSTRATUS.
Whilst Glaucias was discoursing thus, the former tumultuous talk seemed to be pretty well lulled; and that it might be quite forgotten, Nicostratus started another question, saying, he never valued the matter before, whilst he thought it a Persian custom, but since it was discovered to be the Greek fashion too, it wanted (he thought) some reason to excuse or defend its seeming absurdity. For our reason ( much moisture, is hard to be moved, and unable to perform its operations. And all sorts of troubles and discontents, like insects to the sun, creeping forth, and being agitated by a glass of wine, make the mind irresolute and inconstant. Therefore as a bed is more convenient for a man whilst making merry than a chair, because it contains the whole body and keeps it from all disturbing motion, so it is best to have the soul perfectly at quiet; or, if that cannot be, we must give it, as to children that will be doing, not a sword or spear, but a rattle or a ball,—in this following the example of the god himself, who puts into the hands of those that are making merry a ferula, the lightest and softest of all weapons, that, when they are most apt to strike, they may hurt least. Over a glass of wine men should make only ridiculous slips, and not such as may prove tragical, lamentable, or of any considerable concern. Besides, in serious debates, it is chiefly to be considered, that persons of mean understanding and unacquainted with business should be guided by the wise and experienced; but wine destroys this order. Insomuch that Plato says, wine is called [Greek omitted] because it makes those that drink it [Greek omitted] think that they have wit; for none over a glass of wine thinks himself so noble, beauteous, or rich (though he fancies himself all these), as wise; and therefore wine is babbling, full of talk, and of a dictating humor; so that we are rather for being heard than hearing, for leading than being led. But a thousand such objections may be raised, for they are very obvious. But let us hear which of the company, either old or young, can allege anything for the contrary opinion.
While Glaucias was speaking, the earlier chaotic conversation seemed to quiet down. To completely change the subject, Nicostratus raised another question. He mentioned that he had never thought much of the matter before, assuming it was just a Persian custom. But now that he realized it was also a Greek thing, he felt there should be some justification for its apparent absurdity. He noted that reason, much like excessive moisture, is hard to stir and struggles to function. Various troubles and discontent, like insects drawn to the sun, come out and are stirred by a glass of wine, making the mind unstable and fickle. Therefore, just as a bed is more suitable for relaxation during a celebration than a chair—because it supports the entire body and prevents any disruptive movement—it's best to keep the soul completely at ease. If that’s not possible, we should provide it with something less dangerous, like how we give children a rattle or a ball instead of a sword or a spear. This follows the example of the god who gives those who are celebrating the lightest and softest of tools so that when they feel most inclined to strike, their impact is less harmful. While enjoying a drink, men should only make silly mistakes, not ones that could be tragic, lamentable, or significant. Moreover, in serious discussions, it's important that those who are less knowledgeable and inexperienced in matters be guided by the wise and seasoned, but wine disrupts this hierarchy. Plato even says wine is called [Greek omitted] because it makes drinkers think they are [Greek omitted] clever; no one enjoying a drink believes themselves to be more noble, beautiful, or wealthy (even if they think they are all of these) than wise. Therefore, wine leads to babbling, excessive talking, and a tendency to dominate; we prefer to be heard rather than to listen, to lead rather than to follow. Yet, many objections can be easily pointed out. Let’s hear from anyone in the group, whether old or young, who can provide an argument for the opposite view.
Then said my brother cunningly: And do you imagine that any, upon a sudden, can produce any probable reasons? And Nicostratus replying, Yes, no doubt, there being so many learned men and good drinkers in company; he with a smile continued: Do you think, sir, you are fit to treat of these matters, when wine hath disabled you to discourse of politics and state affairs? Or is not this all the same as to think that a man in his liquor doth not see very well nor understand those that talk and discourse with him, yet hears the music and the pipers very well? For as it is likely that useful and profitable things draw and affect the sense more than fine and gaudy; so likewise they do the mind too. And I shall not wonder that the nice philosophical speculation should escape a man who hath drunk freely; but yet, I think, if he were called to political debates, his wisdom would become more strong and vigorous. Thus Philip at Chaeronea, being well heated, talked very foolishly, and was the sport of the whole company; but as soon as they began to discourse of a truce and peace, he composed his countenance, contracted his brows, and dismissing all vain, empty and dissolute thoughts, he gave an excellent, wise, and sober answer to the Athenians. To drink freely is different from being drunk, and those that drink till they grow foolish ought to retire to bed. But as for those that drink freely and are otherwise men of sense, why should we fear that they will fail in their understanding or lose their skill, when we see that musicians play as well at a feast as in a theatre? For when skill and art are found in the soul, they make the body correct and proper in its operations, and obedient to the motions of the spirit. Besides, wine inspirits some men, and raises a confidence and assurance in them, but not such as is haughty and odious, but pleasing and agreeable. Thus they say that Aeschylus composed his tragedies over a bottle, and that all his plays (though Gorgias thought that one of them, the "Seven against Thebes," was full of Mars) were Bacchus's. For wine (according to Plato), heating the soul together with the body, makes the body pliable, quick, and active, and opens the passages; while the fancies draw in discourse with boldness, and daring.
Then my brother said cleverly, “Do you really think anyone can suddenly come up with convincing reasons?” Nicostratus replied, “Of course, especially with all these smart folks and good drinkers around.” He smiled and continued, “Do you really think you're in a good position to discuss these topics when wine has made it hard for you to talk about politics and state matters? Isn't it like saying that a drunk person can’t see or understand the people around them, yet they can hear the music and the pipers just fine? Just as useful and important things attract our senses more than fancy, showy things, they also engage the mind similarly. I wouldn’t be surprised if clever philosophical ideas slip by someone who’s had too much to drink, but I believe if he were asked to engage in political discussions, his wisdom would come back stronger. Like Philip at Chaeronea, who, when tipsy, acted quite foolishly and became the joke of the party; but as soon as they started talking about a truce and peace, he straightened up, furrowed his brows, and dismissed all light-hearted and frivolous thoughts, giving a brilliant, wise, and sound answer to the Athenians. Drinking freely is not the same as being drunk, and those who drink until they get foolish should head to bed. But those who drink freely and are otherwise rational—why should we worry that they'll lose their judgment or skills, when we see musicians perform just as well at a party as they do in a theater? When talent and artistry are present in the soul, they keep the body in line and responsive to the spirit's movements. Plus, wine can uplift some people, giving them confidence that’s not arrogant or unpleasant, but nice and agreeable. It’s said that Aeschylus wrote his tragedies over a bottle, and that all his plays (though Gorgias thought one of them, “Seven against Thebes,” was all about war) were inspired by Bacchus. According to Plato, wine, by warming the soul along with the body, makes the body flexible, quick, and active, while also opening the way for bold and daring conversation.
For some have a good natural invention, yet whilst they are sober are too diffident and too close, but midst their wine, like frankincense, exhale and open at the heat. Besides, wine expels all fear, which is the greatest hindrance to all consultations, and quencheth many other degenerate and lazy passions; it opens the rancor and malice, as it were, the two-leaved doors of the soul, and displays the whole disposition and qualities of any person in his discourse. Freedom of speech, and, through that, truth it principally produceth; which it once wanting, neither quickness of wit nor experience availeth anything; and many proposing that which comes next rather hit the matter, than if they warily and designedly conceal their present sentiments. Therefore there is no reason to fear that wine will stir up our affections; for it never stirs up the bad, unless in the worst men, whose judgment is never sober. But as Theophrastus used to call the barbers' shops wineless entertainments; so there is a kind of an uncouth wineless drunkenness always excited either by anger, malice, emulation, or clownishness in the souls of the unlearned. Now wine, blunting rather than sharpening many of these passions, doth not make them sots and foolish, but simple and ingenuous; not negligent of what is profitable, but desirous of what is good and honest. Now those that think craft to be cunning, and vanity or closeness to be wisdom, have reason to think those that over a glass of wine plainly and ingenuously deliver their opinions to be fools. But, on the contrary, the ancients called the god the Freer and Loosener, and thought him considerable in divination; not, as Euripides says, because he makes men raging mad, but because he looseth and frees the soul from all base distrustful fear, and puts them in a condition to speak truth freely to one another.
For some people have a natural talent for creativity, but when they’re sober, they tend to be overly cautious and reserved. However, when they drink wine, they become more expressive and open. Plus, wine removes all fear, which is the biggest obstacle to genuine conversation, and it also suppresses other negative and lazy emotions. It reveals resentment and malice, almost like it opens the two-leaved doors of the soul, showing a person's true nature and qualities during their speech. It mainly encourages freedom of speech, and through that, truth; without it, quick thinking or experience won’t mean much. Many people end up accidentally saying the right thing simply because they’re more candid than if they were trying to carefully hide their true feelings. So there’s no reason to worry that wine will provoke our emotions; it doesn’t stir up negativity except in the most foolish individuals, whose judgment is never sober. Just as Theophrastus referred to barbershops as places without wine, there’s a kind of clumsy, sober drunkenness created by anger, malice, envy, or ignorance in uneducated people. Wine blunts rather than sharpens many of these emotions; it doesn’t make them foolish but rather simple and sincere, not careless about what’s beneficial, but eager for what’s good and honorable. Those who think cleverness is the same as craftiness, and who see vanity or guardedness as wisdom, might consider those who honestly express their thoughts over a glass of wine to be fools. However, the ancients referred to the god of wine as the Freer and Loosener, believing he played an important role in divination. Not because, as Euripides says, he drives men to madness, but because he liberates the soul from all base, distrustful fears, allowing people to speak the truth freely to each other.
BOOK VIII.
Those, my Sossius Senecio, who throw philosophy out of entertainments do worse than those who take away a light. For the candle being removed, the temperate and sober guests will not become worse than they were before, being more concerned to reverence than to see one another. But if dulness and disregard to good learning wait upon the wine, Minerva's golden lamp itself could not make the entertainment pleasing and agreeable. For a company to sit silent and only cram themselves is, in good truth, swinish and almost impossible. But he that permits men to talk, yet doth not allow set and profitable discourses, is much more ridiculous than he who thinks that his guests should eat and drink, yet gives them foul wine, unsavory and nastily prepared meat. For no meat nor drink which is not prepared as it ought to be is so hurtful and unpleasant as discourse which is carried round in company insignificantly and out of season. The philosophers, when they would give drunkenness a vile name, call it doting by wine. Now doting is to use vain and trifling discourse; and when such babbling is accompanied by wine, it usually ends in most disagreeable and rude contumely and reproach. It is a good custom therefore of our women, who in their feasts called Agrionia seek after Bacchus as if he were run away, but in a little time give over the search, and cry that he is fled to the Muses and lurks with them; and some time after, when supper is done, put riddles and hard questions to one another. For this mystery teaches us, that midst our entertainments we should use learned and philosophical discourse, and such as hath a Muse in it; and that such discourse being applied to drunkenness, everything that is brutish and outrageous in it is concealed, being pleasingly restrained by the Muses.
Those, my Sossius Senecio, who throw philosophy out of entertainment do worse than those who take away light. When the candle is removed, the moderate and sober guests won't become worse than they were before, being more focused on respect than on seeing each other. But if boredom and disregard for good learning accompany the wine, even Minerva's golden lamp couldn't make the gathering enjoyable and pleasant. It's truly swinish and nearly impossible for a group to sit in silence and just stuff themselves. But someone who lets people talk while preventing meaningful and valuable conversations is much more ridiculous than someone who thinks their guests should eat and drink but offers them bad wine and poorly prepared food. No food or drink that isn’t prepared properly is as harmful and unpleasant as pointless conversation that drags on at inappropriate times. Philosophers, when they want to disparage drunkenness, call it "doting by wine." Doting means to engage in meaningless and trivial talk; when this babbling is combined with wine, it usually leads to the most unpleasant and rude insult and reproach. It’s a good tradition among our women, who at their feasts called Agrionia look for Bacchus as if he had run away, but after a while give up the search and declare that he has fled to the Muses to hide with them; and some time later, after dinner, they challenge each other with riddles and difficult questions. This practice teaches us that amidst our entertainment we should engage in learned and philosophical discussions, ones inspired by the Muses; and that when such discourse is connected to drunkenness, everything brutish and outrageous about it is hidden, being pleasantly moderated by the Muses.
This book, being the eighth of my Symposiacs, begins with that discourse in which about a year ago, on Plato's birthday, I was concerned.
This book, the eighth in my Symposiacs series, starts with the discussion I had about a year ago on Plato's birthday.
QUESTION I. CONCERNING THOSE DAYS IN WHICH SOME FAMOUS MEN WERE BORN; AND ALSO CONCERNING THE GENERATION OF THE GODS. DIOGENIANUS, PLUTARCH, FLORUS, TYNDARES.
QUESTION I. ABOUT THE DAYS WHEN SOME FAMOUS PEOPLE WERE BORN; AND ALSO ABOUT THE GENERATION OF THE GODS. DIOGENIANUS, PLUTARCH, FLORUS, TYNDARES.
On the sixth day of May we celebrated Socrates's birthday, and on the seventh Plato's; and that first prompted us to such discourse as was suitable to the meeting, which Diogenianus the Pergamenian began thus: Ion, said he, was happy in his expression, when he said that Fortune, though much unlike Wisdom, yet did many things very much like her; and that she seemed to have some order and design, not only in placing the nativities of these two philosophers so near together, but in setting the birthday of the most famous of the two first, who was also the master of the other. I had a great deal to say to the company concerning some notable things that fell out on the same day, as concerning the time of Euripides's birth and death; for he was born the same day that the Greeks beat Xerxes by sea at Salamis, and died the same day that Dionysius the elder, the Sicilian tyrant, was born,—Fortune (as Timaeus hath it) at the same time taking out of the world a representer, and bringing into it a real actor, of tragedies. Besides, we remembered that Alexander the king and Diogenes the Cynic died upon the same day. And all agreed that Attalus the king died on his own birthday. And some said, that Pompey the great was killed in Egypt on his birthday, or, as others will have it, a day before. We remember Pindar also, who, being born at the time of the Pythian games, made afterwards a great many excellent hymns in honor of Apollo.
On May sixth, we celebrated Socrates's birthday, and on the seventh, Plato's; this sparked a conversation appropriate for our gathering, which Diogenianus from Pergamon started by saying: Ion had a great point when he mentioned that Fortune, despite being very different from Wisdom, often acted in ways similar to her. It seemed like there was some kind of plan behind the timing of these two philosophers' birthdays, especially since the more famous one, who was also the mentor of the other, was born first. I had a lot to share with everyone about some remarkable events that happened on the same day, including details about the births and deaths of Euripides; he was born on the day the Greeks defeated Xerxes at Salamis and died on the same day that the tyrant Dionysius the Elder was born,—Fortune (as Timaeus puts it) removing one representative from the world while introducing a true actor of tragedies. Additionally, we recalled that both Alexander the Great and Diogenes the Cynic died on the same day. Everyone agreed that King Attalus died on his own birthday. Some mentioned that Pompey the Great was killed in Egypt on his birthday, or as others say, a day before. We also remembered Pindar, who, born during the Pythian games, later wrote many excellent hymns in honor of Apollo.
To this Florus subjoined: Now we are celebrating Plato's nativity, why should we not mention Carneades, the most famous of the whole Academy, since both of them were born on Apollo's feast; Plato, whilst they were celebrating the Thargelia at Athens, Carneades, whilst the Cyrenians kept their Carnea; and both these feasts are, upon the same day. Nay, the god himself you (he continued), his priests and prophets, call Hebdomagenes, as if he were born on the seventh day. And therefore those who make Apollo Plato's father do not, in my opinion, dishonor the god; since by Socrates's as by another Chiron's instructions he is become a physician for the diseases of the mind. And together with this, he mentioned that vision and voice which forbade Aristo, Plato's father, to come near or lie with his wife for ten months.
To this, Florus added: Now that we're celebrating Plato's birthday, why shouldn't we also mention Carneades, the most renowned of the entire Academy, since both were born on Apollo's feast day? Plato was born during the Thargelia festival in Athens, while Carneades was born when the Cyrenians celebrated their Carnea; both festivals fall on the same day. In fact, the god himself, as you (he continued) know, his priests and prophets refer to him as Hebdomagenes, as if he was born on the seventh day. So, those who claim Apollo is Plato's father aren't dishonoring the god, in my opinion; because, like Socrates or another Chiron, he has become a healer for the ailments of the mind. Alongside this, he mentioned the vision and voice that warned Aristo, Plato's father, to stay away from or not to lie with his wife for ten months.
To this Tyndares the Spartan subjoined: It is very fit we should apply that to Plato,
To this, Tyndares the Spartan added: It’s very fitting that we should apply that to Plato,
He seemed not sprung from mortal man, but God.
("Iliad," xxiv. 258.)
He didn't seem like he was born from a human, but from God.
("Iliad," xxiv. 258.)But, for my part, I am afraid to beget, as well as to be begotten, is repugnant to the incorruptibility of the deity. For that implies a change and passion; as Alexander imagined, when he said that he knew himself to be mortal as often as he lay with a woman or slept. For sleep is a relaxation of the body, occasioned by the weakness of our nature; and all generation is a corruptive parting with some of our own substance. But yet I take heart again, when I hear Plato call the eternal and unbegotten deity the father and maker of the world and all other begotten things; not as if he parted with any seed, but as if by his power he implanted a generative principle in matter, which acts upon, forms, and fashions it. Winds passing through a hen will on occasions impregnate her; and it seems no incredible thing, that the deity, though not after the fashion of a man, but by some other certain communication, fills a mortal creature with some divine conception. Nor is this my sense; but the Egyptians who say Apis was conceived by the influence of the moon, and make no question but that an immortal god may have communication with a mortal woman. But on the contrary, they think that no mortal can beget anything on a goddess, because they believe the goddesses are made of thin air, and subtle heat and moisture.
But for my part, I’m afraid that creating life, as well as being created, goes against the unchangeable nature of the divine. That suggests a shift and feeling; as Alexander thought, when he said he felt mortal every time he was with a woman or slept. Sleep is a break for the body brought on by our natural frailty, and all creation involves a corruptive loss of part of ourselves. Yet I feel encouraged again when I hear Plato refer to the eternal and uncreated deity as the father and creator of the world and everything else that comes into being; not as though he loses any essence, but as if by his power he instills a generative force within matter that shapes and molds it. Winds can occasionally pass through a hen and cause her to become pregnant; it doesn’t seem far-fetched that the divine, though not in a human way, connects with a mortal creature and instills a divine idea. This isn’t just my view; the Egyptians say that Apis was conceived by the moon’s influence and have no doubt that an immortal god can connect with a mortal woman. Conversely, they believe that no mortal can father anything on a goddess, as they think goddesses are made of thin air, and a delicate balance of heat and moisture.
QUESTION II. WHAT IS PLATO'S MEANING, WHEN HE SAYS THAT GOD ALWAYS PLAYS THE GEOMETER? DIOGENIANUS, TYNDARES, FLORUS, AUTOBULUS.
QUESTION II. WHAT DOES PLATO MEAN WHEN HE SAYS THAT GOD ALWAYS PLAYS THE GEOMETER? DIOGENIANUS, TYNDARES, FLORUS, AUTOBULUS.
Silence following this discourse, Diogenianus began again and said: Since our discourse is about the gods, shall we, especially on his own birthday, admit Plato to the conference, and inquire upon what account he says (supposing it to be his sentence) that God always plays the geometer? I said that this sentence was not plainly set down in any of his books; yet there are good arguments that it is his, and it is very much like his expression. Tyndares presently subjoining said: Perhaps, Diogenianus, you imagine that this sentence intimates some curious and difficult speculation, and not that which he hath so often mentioned, when he praiseth geometry as a science that takes off men from sensible objects, and makes them apply themselves to the intelligible and eternal Nature, the contemplation of which is the end of philosophy, as the view of the initiatory mysteries into holy rites. For the nail of pain and pleasure, that fastens the soul to the body, seems to do us the greatest mischief, by making sensible things more powerful over us than intelligible, and by forcing the understanding to determine the rather according to passion than reason. For this faculty, being accustomed by the vehemency of pain or pleasure to be intent on the mutable and uncertain body, as if it really and truly were, grows blind as to that which really is, and loses that instrument and light of the soul, which is worth a thousand bodies, and by which alone the deity can be discovered. Now in all sciences, as in plain and smooth mirrors, some marks and images of the truth of intelligible objects appear, but in geometry chiefly; which, according to Philo, is the chief and principal of all, and doth bring back and turn the understanding, as it were, purged and gently loosened from sense. And therefore Plato himself dislikes Eudoxus, Archytas, and Menaechmus for endeavoring to bring down the doubling the cube to mechanical operations; for by this means all that was good in geometry would be lost and corrupted, it falling back again to sensible things, and not rising upward and considering immaterial and immortal images, in which God being versed is always God.
After a pause in the conversation, Diogenianus spoke up again and said: Since we’re discussing the gods, shall we, especially on his birthday, invite Plato to join us and ask why he claims (if it really is his view) that God is always playing the role of a geometer? I stated that this idea isn’t clearly found in any of his writings; however, there are strong reasons to believe it's his, and it closely resembles his typical expressions. Tyndares then remarked: Perhaps, Diogenianus, you think this idea points to some intricate and challenging speculation, rather than what he frequently mentions when he praises geometry as a discipline that steers people away from sensory experiences and encourages them to focus on the intelligible and eternal Nature, which is the ultimate goal of philosophy, similar to the insights gained from sacred initiatory rituals. The entanglement of pain and pleasure ties the soul to the body, causing us the most harm by making sensory experiences more influential than intellectual ones, and by leading the mind to act more on emotion than on reason. This ability, conditioned by the intensity of pain or pleasure to fixate on the changeable and unreliable body, becomes blind to what truly exists and loses the soul’s instrument and light, which is worth far more than a thousand bodies and is the only means to reveal the divine. In all sciences, similar to clear and reflective mirrors, some signs and images of the truth of intelligible objects emerge, but geometry, in particular, stands out; according to Philo, it is the foremost among all disciplines, redirecting and refining the understanding, as if it is cleansed and gently released from sensory distractions. Therefore, Plato himself criticizes Eudoxus, Archytas, and Menaechmus for trying to limit the doubling of the cube to practical mechanics; because this would lead to a loss and corruption of everything valuable in geometry, dragging it back to the realm of sensory experiences, rather than elevating it to consider immaterial and immortal forms, in which God, being immersed, is always God.
After Tyndares, Florus, a companion of his, and who always jocosely pretended to be his admirer, said thus: Sir, we are obliged to you for making your discourse not proper to yourself, but common to us all; for you have made it possible to disprove it by demonstrating that geometry is not necessary to the gods, but to us. Now the deity doth not stand in need of science, as an instrument to withdraw his intellect from things created and to turn it to the real things; for these are all in him, with him, and about him. But pray consider whether Plato, though you do not apprehend it, doth not intimate something that is proper and peculiar to you, mixing Lycurgus with Socrates, as much as Dicaearchus thought he did Pythagoras. For Lycurgus, I suppose you know, banished out of Sparta all arithmetical proportion, as being democratical and favoring the crowd; but introduced the geometrical, as agreeable to an oligarchy and kingly government that rules by law; for the former gives an equal share to every one according to number, but the other gives according to the proportion of the deserts. It doth not huddle all things together, but in it there is a fair discretion of good and bad, every one having what is fit for him, not by lot or weight, but according as he is virtuous or vicious. The same proportion, my dear Tyndares, God introduceth, which is called [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], and which teacheth us to account that which is just equal, and not that which is equal just. For that equality which many affect, being often the greatest injustice, God, as much as possible, takes away; and useth that proportion which respects every man's deserts, geometrically defining it according to law and reason.
After Tyndares, Florus, one of his friends who always jokingly acted like he was his biggest fan, said: “Sir, we owe you thanks for making your discussion not just about yourself but relevant to all of us; you've shown that geometry isn't necessary for the gods but for us. The divine doesn't need knowledge as a tool to shift its focus from created things to what is truly real since all things exist in, with, and around it. But please consider whether Plato, even if you don't see it, is suggesting something unique to you, blending Lycurgus with Socrates, just as Dicaearchus thought he did with Pythagoras. You know that Lycurgus kicked out all arithmetic from Sparta because he saw it as supporting democracy and the masses; instead, he introduced geometry, which aligns with oligarchic and lawful governance. Arithmetic gives everyone an equal share based on number, while geometry distributes according to merit. It doesn’t lump everything together; instead, it fairly discerns between good and bad, giving each person what is suitable for them—not by chance or mass but based on their virtue or vice. The same kind of proportion, dear Tyndares, is what God introduces, which is called [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], and it teaches us to recognize what is just as equal, rather than what is equal as just. That kind of equality that many strive for often leads to the greatest injustice, which God tries to eliminate as much as possible, using a proportion that considers each person's merit and defining it geometrically according to law and reason.”
This exposition we applauded; and Tyndares, saying he envied him, desired Autobulus to engage Florus and confute his discourse. That he refused to do, but produced another opinion of his own. Geometry, said he, considers nothing else but the accidents and properties of the extremities of bodies; neither did God make the world any other way than by terminating matter, which was infinite before. Not that matter was actually without limits as to either magnitude or multitude; but the ancients used to call that infinite which by reason of its confusion and disorder is undetermined and unconfined. Now the terms of everything that is formed or figured are the form and figure of that thing, and without which the thing would be formless and unfigured. Now numbers and proportions being applied to matter, it is circumscribed and as it were bound up by lines, and through lines by surfaces and solids; and so were settled the first types and differences of bodies, as foundations from which to create the four elements, fire, air, water, and earth. For it was impossible that, out of an unsteady and confused matter, the equality of the sides, the likeness of the angles, and the exact proportion of octahedrons, icosahedrons, pyramids, and cubes should be deduced, unless by some power that terminated and shaped every particle of matter. Therefore, terms being fixed to that which was undetermined or infinite before, the whole became and still continues agreeable in all parts, and excellently terminated and mixed; the matter indeed always affecting an indeterminate state, and flying all geometrical confinement, but proportion terminating and circumscribing it, and dividing it into several differences and forms, out of which all things that arise are generated and subsist.
We applauded this explanation, and Tyndares, saying he envied him, asked Autobulus to challenge Florus and counter his argument. Autobulus refused but offered his own perspective. He stated that geometry only looks at the characteristics and properties of the edges of objects; God created the world by defining matter, which was previously limitless. Not that matter was truly infinite in size or quantity, but the ancients referred to what was confusing and chaotic as infinite because it was undefined and unconfined. The defining characteristics of anything that is shaped are its form and figure; without these, the object would be formless and unfigured. When numbers and ratios are applied to matter, it becomes limited and bound by lines, and through these lines by surfaces and solids. This established the initial types and differences of bodies, serving as the foundation for creating the four elements: fire, air, water, and earth. It was impossible to derive the equality of sides, similarity of angles, and precise proportions of octahedrons, icosahedrons, pyramids, and cubes from chaotic and unstable matter unless there was a force that defined and shaped every particle of matter. Consequently, once terms were assigned to what was previously undefined or infinite, everything became harmonious and well-defined, with matter remaining in an indefinite state and resisting all geometric limitations, while ratios defined and enclosed it, creating various forms and differences from which everything originates and exists.
When he had said this, he desired me to contribute something to the discourse; and I applauded their conceits as their own devices, and very probable. But lest you despise yourselves (I continued) and altogether look for some external explication, attend to an exposition upon this sentence, which your masters very much approve. Amongst the most geometrical theorems, or rather problems, this is one: Two figures being given, to describe a third, which shall be equal to one and similar to the other. And it is reported that Pythagoras, upon the discovery of this problem, offered a sacrifice to the gods; for this is a much more exquisite theorem than that which lays down, that the square of the hypothenuse in a right-angled triangle is equal to the squares of the two sides. Right, said Diogenianus, but what is this to the present question? You will easily understand, I replied, if you call to mind how Timaeus divides that which gave the world its beginning into three parts. One of which is justly called God, the other matter, and the third form. That which is called matter is the most confused subject, the form the most beautiful pattern, and God the best of causes. Now this cause, as far as possible, would leave nothing infinite and indeterminate, but adorn Nature with number, measure, and proportion making one thing of all the subjects together, equal to the matter, and similar to the form. Therefore proposing to himself this problem, he made and still makes a third, and always preserves it equal to the matter, and like the form; and that is the world. And this world, being in constant changes and alterations because of the natural necessity of body, is helped and preserved by the father and maker of all things, who by proportion terminates the substance according to the pattern.
When he said this, he asked me to add something to the discussion; I praised their ideas as their own creations, which were quite likely. But to prevent you from underestimating yourselves (I continued) and expecting only an external explanation, consider an interpretation of this sentence that your teachers greatly value. Among the most geometrical theorems, or rather problems, there is one: Given two shapes, to create a third that is equal to one and similar to the other. It’s said that Pythagoras, upon discovering this problem, offered a sacrifice to the gods; for this is a far more sophisticated theorem than the one stating that the square of the hypotenuse in a right triangle equals the squares of the two legs. "True," said Diogenianus, "but what does this have to do with the current question?" You'll understand easily, I replied, if you remember how Timaeus divides what gave rise to the world into three parts. One is rightly called God, the second matter, and the third form. Matter is the most chaotic subject, form the most beautiful pattern, and God the best cause. This cause, as much as possible, would leave nothing infinite and undefined, instead dressing Nature with number, measure, and proportion, creating one entity from all the subjects combined, equal to matter and similar to form. Hence, in proposing this problem, he created and continues to create a third thing, always keeping it equal to matter and like form; that is the world. And this world, being in constant flux and change due to the natural necessity of physical existence, is supported and maintained by the father and maker of all things, who defines the substance according to the pattern through proportion.
QUESTION III. WHY NOISES ARE BETTER HEARD IN THE NIGHT THAN THE DAY. AMMONIUS, BOETHUS, PLUTARCH, THRASYLLUS, ARISTODEMUS.
QUESTION III. WHY SOUNDS ARE LOUDER AT NIGHT THAN DURING THE DAY. AMMONIUS, BOETHUS, PLUTARCH, THRASYLLUS, ARISTODEMUS.
When we supped with Ammonius at Athens, who was then the third time captain of the city-bands, there was a great noise about the house, some without doors calling, Captain! Captain! After he had sent his officers to quiet the tumult, and had dispersed the crowd, we began to inquire what was the reason that those that are within doors hear those that are without, but those that are without cannot hear those that are within as well. And Ammonius said, that Aristotle had given a reason for that already; for the sound of those within, being carried without into a large tract of air, grows weaker presently and is lost; but that which comes in from without is not subject to the like casualty, but is kept close, and is therefore more easy to be heard. But that seemed a more difficult question, Why sounds seem greater in the night than in the day, and yet altogether as clear. For my own part (continued he) I think Providence hath very wisely contrived that our hearing should be quickest when our sight can do us very little or no service; for the air of the "blind and solitary Night," as Empedocles calls it, being dark, supplies in the ears that defect of sense which it makes in the eyes. But since of natural effects we should endeavor to find the causes, and to discover what are the material and mechanical principles of things is the proper task of a natural philosopher, who shall first give us a rational account hereof?
When we had dinner with Ammonius in Athens, who was the captain of the city guards for the third time, there was a lot of noise outside the house, with some people shouting, "Captain! Captain!" After he sent his officers to calm the chaos and disperse the crowd, we started to wonder why those inside could hear those outside, but not the other way around as clearly. Ammonius explained that Aristotle had already addressed this; the sound from inside gets carried out into the open air, where it quickly fades away and disappears. In contrast, sound coming from outside is not lost in the same way; it stays contained and is therefore easier to hear. However, he found it more puzzling why sounds seem louder at night than during the day, yet they remain clear. For my part, he added, I believe that Providence has cleverly arranged for our hearing to be more acute when our sight is of little or no use. The "dark and solitary Night," as Empedocles refers to it, being devoid of light, enhances our hearing to compensate for the lack of vision. But since we should strive to find the causes of natural phenomena, and discovering the material and mechanical principles of things is the true responsibility of a natural philosopher, who will first provide us with a rational explanation for this?
Boethus began, and said: When I was a novice in letters, I then made use of geometrical postulates, and assumed as undoubted truths some undemonstrated suppositions; and now I shall make use of some propositions which Epicurus hath demonstrated already. Bodies move in a vacuum, and there are a great many spaces interspersed among the atoms of the air. Now when the air being rarefied is more extended, so as to fill the vacant space, there are only a few vacuities scattered and interspersed among the particles of matter; but when the atoms of air are condensed and laid close together, they leave a vast empty space, convenient and sufficient for other bodies to pass through. Now the coldness of the night makes such a constipation. Heat opens and separates parts of condensed bodies, and therefore bodies that boil, grow soft, or melt, require a greater space than before; but, on the contrary, the parts of the body that are condensed or freeze are contracted closer to one another, and leave those vessels and places from which they retired partly empty. Now the sound, meeting and striking against a great many bodies in its way, is either altogether lost or scattered, and very much and very frequently hindered in its passage; but when it hath a plain and smooth way through an empty space, and comes to the ear uninterrupted, the passage is so sudden, that it preserves its articulate distinctness, as well as the words it carries. You may observe that empty vessels, when knocked, answer presently, send out a noise to a great distance, and oftentimes the sound whirled round in the hollow breaks out with a considerable force; whilst a vessel that is filled either with a liquid or a solid body will not answer to a stroke, because the sound hath no room or passage to come through. And among solid bodies themselves, gold and stone, because they want pores, can hardly be made to sound; and when a noise is made by a stroke upon them, it is very flat, and presently lost. But brass is sounding, it being a porous, rare, and light metal, not consisting of parts tightly compacted, but being mixed with a yielding and uncompacted substance, which gives free passage to other motions, and kindly receiving the sound sends it forward; till some touching the instrument do, as it were, seize on it in the way, and stop the hollow; for then, by reason of the hindering force, it stops and goes no further. And this, in my opinion, is the reason why the night is more sonorous, and the day less; since in the day, the heat rarefying the air makes the empty spaces between the particles to be very little. But, pray, let none argue against the suppositions I assumed.
Boethus began and said: When I was new to learning, I used geometrical principles and accepted as undeniable truths some unproven assumptions; now I will refer to some points that Epicurus has already established. Bodies move in a vacuum, and there are many gaps scattered among the air’s atoms. When the air gets thinner and expands to fill the empty space, only a few voids remain scattered among the particles of matter. But when the air atoms are compressed and packed closely together, they create a vast empty space, adequate for other bodies to pass through. The coldness of night causes this compression. Heat expands and separates the parts of condensed bodies, so boiling, softening, or melting bodies need more space than they did before; conversely, when parts of a body condense or freeze, they come closer together, leaving some vessels and spaces partly empty. Sound, when it meets and hits many objects on its way, may be completely lost or scattered, and often greatly hindered in its travel. However, when it travels through an open space without interruptions, it moves so suddenly that it keeps its clear distinctness, along with the words it carries. You can notice that empty vessels, when struck, respond immediately, producing a sound that travels far, and often the sound bouncing around in the hollow comes out with significant force; whereas a vessel filled with liquid or solid won’t respond to a hit because the sound has no room to pass through. Among solid bodies, gold and stone, due to their lack of pores, produce little sound when struck, and the noise they make is very flat and quickly fades away. But brass is resonant; it’s a porous, light metal made not of tightly packed parts, but mixed with a softer, more open material that allows other movements to pass freely and carries the sound along. However, if someone touches the instrument, they sort of catch the sound in the moment and block the hollow; then, due to the resistance, it stops and doesn’t go any further. In my view, this is why night sounds louder, and daytime sounds quieter; during the day, heat thins the air, minimizing the empty spaces between particles. But please, let no one dispute the assumptions I’ve made.
And I (Ammonius bidding me oppose him) said: Sir, your suppositions which demand a vacuum to be granted I shall admit; but you err in supposing that a vacuum is conducive either to the preservation or conveyance of sound. For that which cannot be touched, acted upon, or struck is peculiarly favorable to silence. But sound is a stroke of a sounding body; and a sounding body is that which has homogeneousness and uniformity, and is easy to be moved, light, smooth, and, by reason of its tenseness and continuity, it is obedient to the stroke; and such is the air. Water, earth, and fire are of themselves soundless; but each of them makes a noise when air falls upon or gets into it. And brass hath no vacuum; but being mixed with a smooth and gentle air it answers to a stroke, and is sounding. If the eye may be judge, iron must be reckoned to have a great many vacuities, and to be porous like a honey-comb, yet it is the dullest, and sounds worse than any other metal.
And I (Ammonius asked me to challenge him) said: Sir, I’ll accept your claims that require a vacuum to be acknowledged; however, you’re mistaken in thinking that a vacuum helps with preserving or transmitting sound. What can’t be touched, acted upon, or struck is actually very good for silence. Sound is produced by the strike of a sounding body; a sounding body is one that is uniform and consistent, easy to move, light, smooth, and, due to its tension and continuity, responsive to the strike; and that’s what air is. Water, earth, and fire are silent on their own; but each makes noise when air hits them or gets into them. Brass doesn’t have a vacuum; yet, when mixed with smooth and gentle air, it responds to a strike and produces sound. To the eye, iron appears to have many voids and is porous like a honeycomb, yet it’s the dullest and sounds worse than any other metal.
Therefore there is no need to trouble the night to contract and condense its air, that in other parts we may leave vacuities and wide spaces; as if the air would hinder and corrupt the substance of the sounds, whose very substance, form, and power itself is. Besides, if your reason held, misty and extreme cold nights would be more sonorous than those which are temperate and clear, because then the atoms in our atmosphere are constipated, and the spaces which they left remain empty; and, what is more obvious, a cold day should be more sonorous than a warm summer's night; neither of which is true. Therefore, laying aside that explication, I produce Anaxagoras, who teacheth that the sun makes a tremulous motion in the air, as is evident from those little motes which are seen tossed up and down and flying in the sunbeams. These (says he), being in the day-time whisked about by the heat, and making a humming noise, lessen or drown other sounds; but at night their motion, and consequently their noise, ceaseth.
So, there’s no need to disturb the night by contracting and compressing its air, just so we can leave empty spaces in other areas; as if the air would interfere with and ruin the essence of sounds, which is what gives them their substance, shape, and power. Moreover, if your reasoning is correct, misty and extremely cold nights would be louder than those that are mild and clear, because in those conditions, the particles in our atmosphere are stagnant, leaving gaps behind; and obviously, a cold day should be louder than a warm summer night, which is not the case. Therefore, putting that explanation aside, I refer to Anaxagoras, who teaches that the sun creates a vibrating motion in the air, as shown by those little specks that are seen bouncing up and down in the sunlight. He says these particles, during the day, are stirred up by the heat, creating a buzzing noise that masks or diminishes other sounds; but at night, their movement, and therefore their noise, stops.
When I had thus said, Ammonius began: Perhaps it will look like a ridiculous attempt in us, to endeavor to confute Democritus and correct Anaxagoras. Yet we must not allow that humming noise to Anaxagoras's little motes, for it is neither probable nor necessary. But their tremulous and whirling motion in the sunbeams is oftentimes sufficient to disturb and break a sound. For the air (as hath been already said), being itself the body and substance of sound, if it be quiet and undisturbed, makes a straight, easy, and continuous way to the particles or the motions which make the sound. Thus sounds are best heard in calm still weather; and the contrary is seen in stormy weather, as Simonides hath it:—
When I said this, Ammonius began: Maybe it seems like a silly effort for us to challenge Democritus and correct Anaxagoras. But we shouldn’t be distracted by Anaxagoras's tiny particles, as that idea is neither likely nor necessary. However, their shaky and swirling movement in the sunlight is often enough to disrupt and break a sound. Since the air (as mentioned before) is the body and essence of sound, when it’s calm and undisturbed, it creates a clear, easy, and continuous path for the particles or movements that produce sound. That’s why sounds are best heard in still weather; the opposite is true in stormy conditions, as Simonides puts it:—
No tearing tempests rattled through the skies,
Which hinder sweet discourse from mortal ears.
No raging storms shook the skies,
Blocking the sweet conversation from human ears.For often the disturbed air hinders the articulateness of a discourse from coming to the ears, though it may convey something of the loudness and length of it. Now the night, simply considered in itself, hath nothing that may disturb the air; though the day hath,—namely the sun, according to the opinion of Anaxagoras.
For often the turbulent air prevents the clarity of a conversation from reaching our ears, even if we can sense its volume and duration. Now, the night, when viewed on its own, has nothing that disrupts the air; whereas the day does—specifically the sun, according to Anaxagoras.
To this Thrasyllus, Ammonius's son, subjoining said: What is the matter, for God's sake, that we endeavor to solve this difficulty by the unintelligible fancied motion of the air, and neglect the tossing and divulsion thereof, which are evident? For Jupiter, the great ruler above, doth not covertly and silently move the little particles of air; but as soon as he appears, he stirs up and moves everything.
To this, Thrasyllus, Ammonius's son, replied: What's the problem, for heaven's sake, that we try to figure out this issue through the confusing imagined motion of the air, while ignoring the obvious turbulence and disruption happening around us? Because Jupiter, the supreme ruler above, doesn't secretly and quietly move the tiny particles of air; as soon as he shows up, he stirs and moves everything.
He sends forth lucky signs,
And stirs up nations to their proper work,
He sends out good omens,
And motivates nations to do their part,And they obey; and (as Democritus saith) with fresh thoughts for each new day, as if newly born again, they fall to their worldly concerns with noisy and effectual contrivances. And upon this account, Ibycus oppositely calls the dawning [Greek omitted] (from [Greek omitted], TO HEAR), because then men first begin to hear and speak. Now at night, all things being at rest, the air being quiet and undisturbed must therefore probably transmit the voice better, and convey it whole and unbroken to our ears.
And they listen; and (as Democritus said) with fresh ideas for each new day, as if they are born again, they jump into their daily tasks with loud and effective methods. For this reason, Ibycus calls the dawn [Greek omitted] (from [Greek omitted], TO HEAR), because that's when people first start to hear and speak. At night, with everything calm and the air still, it likely carries sound better, delivering it clearly and completely to our ears.
Aristodemus the Cyprian, being then in the company, said: But consider, sir, whether battles or the marches of great armies by night do not confute your reason; for the noise they make seems as loud as otherwise, though then the air is broken and very much disturbed. But the reason is partly in ourselves; for our voice at night is usually vehement, we either commanding others to do something or asking short questions with heat and concern. For that, at the same time when Nature requires rest, we should stir to do or speak anything, there must be some great and urgent necessity for it; and thence our voices become more vehement and loud.
Aristodemus from Cyprus, who was present, said: But think about this, sir: don’t battles or the movements of large armies at night challenge your reasoning? The noise they create seems just as loud as it does otherwise, even though the air is disrupted and very much affected. But part of the reason lies within us; at night, our voices tend to be intense, whether we are commanding others to do something or asking urgent questions with passion and concern. For the fact that we would act or speak at a time when Nature calls for rest indicates a pressing and significant necessity; that’s why our voices become more intense and loud.
QUESTION IV. WHY, WHEN IN THE SACRED GAMES ONE SORT OF GARLAND WAS GIVEN IN ONE, AND ANOTHER IN ANOTHER, THE PALM WAS COMMON TO ALL. AND WHY THEY CALL THE GREAT DATES [Greek omitted].
QUESTION IV. WHY, DURING THE SACRED GAMES, WAS ONE TYPE OF GARLAND GIVEN IN ONE EVENT AND A DIFFERENT ONE IN ANOTHER, WHILE THE PALM WAS COMMON TO ALL? AND WHY DO THEY REFER TO THE GREAT DATES [Greek omitted]?
SOSPIS, HERODES, PROTOGENES, PRAXITELES, CAPHISUS.
SOSPIS, HERODES, PROTOGENES, PRAXITELES, CAPHISUS.
The Isthmian games being celebrated, when Sospis was the second time director of the solemnity, we avoided other entertainments,—he treating a great many strangers and often all his fellow-citizens,—but once, when he entertained his nearest and most learned friends at his own house, I was one of the company. After the first course, one coming to Herodes the rhetorician brought a palm and a wreathed crown, which one of his acquaintance, who had won the prize for an encomiastic exercise, sent him. This Herodes received very kindly, and sent it back again, but added that he could not tell the reason why, since each of the games gave a particular garland, yet all of them bestowed the palm. For those do not satisfy me (said he) who say that the equality of the leaves is the reason, which growing out one against another seem to resemble some striving for the prize, and that victory is called [Greek omitted] from [Greek omitted], not to yield. For a great many other trees, almost by measure and weight dividing the nourishment to their leaves growing opposite to one another, show a decent order and wonderful equality. They seem to speak more probably who say the ancients were pleased with the beauty and figure of the tree. Thus Homer compares Nausicaa to a palm-branch. For you all know very well, that some threw roses at the victors, and others pomegranates and apples, to honor and reward them. But now the palm hath nothing evidently more taking than many other things, since here in Greece it bears no fruit that is good to eat, it not ripening and growing mature enough. But if, as in Syria and Egypt, it bore a fruit that is the most pleasant to the eyes of anything in the world, and the sweetest to the taste, then I must confess nothing could compare with it. And the Persian monarch (as the story goes), being extremely taken with Nicolaus the Peripatetic philosopher, who was a very sweet-humored man, tall and slender, and of a ruddy complexion, called the greatest and fairest dates Nicolai.
The Isthmian games were being celebrated when Sospis was once again in charge of the event. We skipped other entertainment—he was hosting a lot of strangers and often his fellow citizens—but once, when he invited his closest and most educated friends over to his house, I was part of the group. After the first course, someone brought a palm branch and a wreathed crown to Herodes the rhetorician, a gift from one of his friends who had won a prize for a commendatory speech. Herodes accepted it graciously and sent it back, but mentioned that he didn’t understand why, since each of the games awarded a specific garland, yet all of them were given the palm. He said he wasn’t convinced by those who argue that the uniformity of the leaves represents the competition for the prize, and that victory is named [Greek omitted] from [Greek omitted], meaning “not to yield.” Many other trees, by distributing nourishment evenly to their opposite leaves, show a nice order and impressive equality. It seems more reasonable to believe that the ancients appreciated the beauty and shape of the tree. Homer compares Nausicaa to a palm branch. You all know that some people threw roses at the victors, while others threw pomegranates and apples to honor and reward them. But nowadays, the palm doesn’t stand out more than many other things since, here in Greece, it doesn’t produce any edible fruit that ripens or matures enough. If it bore fruit like in Syria and Egypt that was pleasing to the eye and sweet to taste, I must admit nothing could compare. According to the story, the Persian king was so taken with Nicolaus the Peripatetic philosopher, who was kind-hearted, tall, slender, and had a ruddy complexion, that he named the greatest and finest dates after him.
This discourse of Herodes seemed to give occasion for a query about Nicolaus, which would be as pleasant as the former. Therefore, said Sospis, let every one carefully give his sentiments of the matter before us. I begin, and think that, as far as possible, the honor of the victor should remain fresh and immortal. Now a palm-tree is the longest lived of any, as this line of Orpheus testifies:—
This discussion by Herodes seemed to spark a question about Nicolaus, which would be just as enjoyable as the previous one. So, Sospis said, let everyone share their thoughts on the matter before us. I’ll start and believe that, as much as possible, the
They lived like branches of a leafy palm.
They lived like the fronds of a lush palm tree.
And this almost alone has the privilege (though it is said to belong to many besides) of having always fresh and the same leaves. For neither the laurel nor the olive nor the myrtle, nor any other of those trees named evergreen, is always to be seen with the very same leaves; but as the old fall, new ones grow. So cities continue the same, where new parts succeed those that decay. But the palm, never shedding a leaf, is continually adorned with the same green. And this power of the tree, I believe, men think agreeable to, and fit to represent, the strength of victory.
And this almost exclusively has the privilege (even though it's said to belong to many others) of always having fresh and identical leaves. Because neither the laurel nor the olive nor the myrtle, nor any of those trees called evergreen, can always be seen with the exact same leaves; as the old ones fall, new ones grow. Similarly, cities remain the same, where new parts replace those that crumble. But the palm, never shedding a leaf, is always adorned with the same green. I believe people find this trait of the tree appealing and suitable to represent the strength of victory.
When Sospis had done, Protogenes the grammarian, calling Praxiteles the commentator by his name, said. What then, shall we suffer those rhetoricians to be thought to have hit the mark when they bring arguments only from probabilities and conjectures? And can we produce nothing from history to club to this discourse? Lately, I remember, reading in the Attic annals, I found that Theseus first instituted games in Delos, and tore off a branch from the sacred palm-tree, which was called spadix (from [Greek omitted] TO TEAR).
When Sospis finished, Protogenes the grammarian, addressing Praxiteles the commentator by name, said, “So, are we really going to let those rhetoricians be seen as having succeeded just because they present arguments based solely on probabilities and guesses? And can’t we bring anything from history to strengthen this discussion? Recently, I remember reading in the Attic records that Theseus was the first to establish games in Delos, and he broke off a branch from the sacred palm tree, which was called spadix (from [Greek omitted] TO TEAR).”
And Praxiteles said: This is not certain; but perhaps some will demand of Theseus himself, upon what account when he instituted the game, he broke off a branch of palm rather than of laurel or of olive. But consider whether this be not a prize proper to the Pythian games, as appropriate to Amphictyon. For there they first, in honor of the god, crowned the victors with laurel and palm, as consecrating to the god, not the laurel or olive, but the palm. So Nicias did, who defrayed the charges of the solemnity in the name of the Athenians at Delos the Athenians themselves at Delphi; and before these, Cypselus the Corinthian. For this god is a lover of games, and delights in contending for the prize at harping, singing, and throwing the bar, and, as some say, at cuffing; and assists men when contending, as Homer witnesseth, by making Achilles speak thus,
And Praxiteles said: This isn't certain; but maybe some will ask Theseus himself why, when he established the games, he chose a palm branch instead of laurel or olive. But think about whether this might not be a fitting prize for the Pythian games, as suitable for Amphictyon. There, they first crowned the winners with laurel and palm in honor of the god, dedicating the palm rather than the laurel or olive to him. Nicias did this when he covered the expenses of the event on behalf of the Athenians at Delos, and the Athenians themselves did so at Delphi; and even before them, Cypselus the Corinthian. This god loves games and enjoys competing for prizes in music, singing, and throwing the discus, and, as some say, in wrestling; and he helps people when they compete, as Homer shows by having Achilles say this,
Let two come forth in cuffing stout, and try
To which Apollo gives the victory.
("Iliad," xxiii. 659.)
Let two step up in strong competition, and see
To whom Apollo grants the victory.
("Iliad," xxiii. 659.)And amongst the archers, he that made his address to Apollo made the best shot, and he that forgot to pray to him missed the mark. And besides, it is not likely that the Athenians would rashly, and upon no grounds, dedicate their place of exercise to Apollo. But they thought that the god which bestows health gives likewise a vigorous constitution, and strength for the encounter. And since some of the encounters are light and easy, others laborious and difficult, the Delphians offered sacrifices to Apollo the cuffer; the Cretans and Spartans to Apollo the racer; and the dedication of spoils taken in the wars and trophies to Apollo Pythias show that he is of great power to give victory in war.
And among the archers, the one who addressed Apollo made the best shot, while the one who forgot to pray to him missed the target. Moreover, it’s unlikely that the Athenians would carelessly dedicate their training ground to Apollo without reason. They believed that the god who grants health also provides a strong constitution and the strength for competition. Since some competitions are easy and others are tough, the Delphians offered sacrifices to Apollo the giver; the Cretans and Spartans to Apollo the runner; and the dedication of spoils collected in wars and trophies to Apollo Pythias shows that he holds great power to grant victory in battle.
Whilst he was speaking, Caphisus, Theon's son, interrupted him, and said: This discourse smells neither of history nor comment, but is taken out of the common topics of the Peripatetics, and endeavors to persuade; besides, you should, like the tragedians, raise your machine, and fright all that contradict you with the god. But the god, as indeed it is requisite he should be, is equally benevolent to all. Now let us, following Sospis (for he fairly leads the way), keep close to our subject, the palm-tree, which affords us sufficient scope for our discourse. The Babylonians celebrate this tree, as being useful to them three hundred and sixty several ways. But to us Greeks it is of very little use, but its lack of fruit makes it appropriate for contenders in the games. For being the fairest, greatest, and best proportioned of all sorts of trees, it bears no fruit amongst us; but by reason of its strong nature it exhausts all its nourishment (like an athlete) upon its body, and so has very little, and that very bad, left for seed. Besides all this, it hath something peculiar, which cannot be attributed to any other tree. The branch of a palm, if you put a weight upon it, doth not yield and bend downwards, but turns the contrary way as if it resisted the pressing force. The like is to be observed in these exercises. For those who, through weakness or cowardice, yield to them, their adversaries oppress; but those who stoutly endure the encounter have not only their bodies, but their minds too, strengthened and increased.
While he was speaking, Caphisus, Theon's son, interrupted him and said: This talk doesn’t sound like history or commentary; it comes from the usual topics of the Peripatetics and tries to persuade us. Besides, you should, like the tragedians, elevate your argument and scare off anyone who disagrees with the authority of the divine. But the divine, as it should be, is equally kind to everyone. Now let’s stick to our topic with Sospis leading the way: the palm tree, which gives us plenty to discuss. The Babylonians celebrate this tree because it’s useful to them in three hundred and sixty different ways. Yet for us Greeks, it’s not very useful; its lack of fruit makes it perfect for competitors in the games. It’s the most beautiful, largest, and best-proportioned of all trees, but it doesn’t bear fruit among us. Instead, due to its strong nature, it uses all its nourishment (like an athlete) for its own growth, leaving very little, and that of poor quality, for seeds. Additionally, it has something unique that no other tree has. If you place a weight on a palm branch, it doesn’t bend down; instead, it curves upward as if it’s resisting the pressure. This mirrors what we see in these competitions. Those who give in out of weakness or fear get oppressed by their opponents; however, those who bravely withstand the challenge strengthen and grow not just their bodies but their minds as well.
QUESTION V. WHY THOSE THAT SAIL UPON THE NILE TAKE UP THE WATER THEY ARE TO USE BEFORE DAY.
QUESTION V. WHY THOSE WHO SAIL ON THE NILE COLLECT WATER THEY WILL USE BEFORE DAYLIGHT.
One demanded a reason why the sailors take up the water for their occasions out of the river Nile by night, and not by day. Some thought they feared the sun, which heating the liquid would make it more liable to putrefaction. For everything that is warmed becomes more easy to be changed, having already suffered when its natural quality was remitted. And cold constipating the parts seems to preserve everything in its natural state, and water especially. For that the cold of water is naturally constringent is evident from snow, which keeps flesh from corrupting a long time. And heat, as it destroys the proper quality of other things, so of honey, for it being boiled is itself corrupted, though when raw it preserves other bodies from corruption. And that this is the cause, I have a very considerable evidence from standing pools; for in winter they are as wholesome as other water, but in summer they grow bad and noxious. Therefore the night seeming in some measure to resemble the winter, and the day the summer, they think the water that is taken up at night is less subject to be vitiated and changed.
One asked why the sailors collect water from the Nile at night instead of during the day. Some speculated that they feared the sun, which could heat the water and make it more prone to spoilage. Everything that gets warmed is easier to change, as it has already been affected when its natural state is altered. Cold seems to preserve things in their natural condition, especially water. It's clear that cold water is naturally constricting, as shown by snow, which keeps meat from spoiling for a long time. Heat can destroy the natural quality of other substances; for instance, boiling honey corrupts it, even though raw honey can preserve other items from rotting. I have strong evidence for this from stagnant pools; in winter, they're as safe as other water, but in summer, they become bad and toxic. Thus, since night resembles winter to some extent, while day resembles summer, they believe that water collected at night is less likely to be spoiled or altered.
To these seemingly probable reasons another was added, which confirmed the ingenuity of the sailors by a very strong proof. For some said that they took up their water by night because then it was clear and undisturbed; but at day-time, when a great many fetched water together, and many boats were sailing and many beasts swimming upon the Nile, it grew thick and muddy, and in that condition it was more subject to corruption. For mixed bodies are more easily corrupted than simple and unmixed; for from mixture proceeds disagreement of the parts, from that disagreement a change, and corruption is nothing else but a certain change; and therefore painters call the mixing of their colors [Greek omitted], corrupting; and Homer expresseth dyeing by [Greek omitted] (TO STAIN OR CONTAMINATE). Commonly we call anything that is simple and unmixed incorruptible and immortal. Now earth being mixed with water soonest corrupts its proper qualities, and makes it unfit for drinking; and therefore standing water stinks soonest, being continually filled with particles of earth, whilst running waters preserve themselves by either leaving behind or throwing off the earth that falls into them. And Hesiod justly commends
To these seemingly likely reasons, another was added, which strongly demonstrated the sailors' cleverness. Some said they took on water at night because it was clear and calm then; but during the day, when many were fetching water together and lots of boats were sailing with many animals swimming in the Nile, it became thick and muddy, making it more prone to spoilage. This is because mixed substances are more easily spoiled than those that are simple and uncombined; from mixing comes conflict among the parts, and that conflict leads to change, with spoilage being just a specific type of change. That's why painters refer to mixing their colors as corrupting, and Homer refers to dyeing as staining or contaminating. Generally, we consider anything that is simple and uncombined to be incorruptible and immortal. Now, earth mixed with water quickly loses its qualities and becomes unsuitable for drinking; this is why stagnant water smells bad quickly, as it continually gathers particles of dirt, while flowing water stays clean by leaving behind or flushing out any dirt that gets into it. And Hesiod rightly praises
The water of a pure and constant spring.
The water from a fresh and steady spring.
For that water is wholesome which is not corrupted, and that is not corrupted which is pure and unmixed. And this opinion is very much confirmed from the difference of earths; for those springs that run through a mountainous, rocky ground are stronger than those which are cut through plains or marshes, because they do not take off much earth. Now the Nile running through a soft country, like the blood mingled with the flesh, is filled with sweet juices that are strong and very nourishing; yet it is thick and muddy, and becomes more so if disturbed. For motion mixeth the earthly particles with the liquid, which, because they are heavier, fall to the bottom as soon as the water is still and undisturbed. Therefore the sailors take up the water they are to use at night, by that means likewise preventing the sun, which always exhales and consumes the subtler and lighter particles of the liquid.
Water is clean when it’s not contaminated, and it’s not contaminated when it’s pure and untainted. This belief is strongly supported by the differences in soil types; springs that flow through rocky, mountainous areas are stronger than those that run through flatlands or marshes because they have less soil in them. The Nile, flowing through a soft region, is like blood combined with flesh, filled with rich nutrients that are potent and very nourishing; however, it's thick and muddy, and gets even murkier when disturbed. Movement mixes the heavier earth particles into the water, which, since they're denser, settle at the bottom once the water is calm and still. Therefore, the sailors collect the water they need at night, avoiding exposure to the sun, which evaporates and removes the lighter, more delicate substances from the liquid.
QUESTION VI. CONCERNING THOSE WHO COME LATE TO AN ENTERTAINMENT; AND FROM WHENCE THESE WORDS, [Greek omitted] AND, [Greek omitted] ARE DERIVED.
QUESTION VI. ABOUT THOSE WHO ARRIVE LATE TO A GATHERING; AND WHERE THESE WORDS, [Greek omitted] AND, [Greek omitted] COME FROM.
PLUTARCH'S SONS, THEON'S SONS, THEON, PLUTARCH, SOCLARUS.
PLUTARCH'S SONS, THEON'S SONS, THEON, PLUTARCH, SOCLARUS.
My younger sons staying too long at the plays, and coming in too late to supper, Theon's sons waggishly and jocosely called them supper hinderers, night-suppers, and the like; and they in reply called their runners-to-supper. And one of the old men in the company said [Greek omitted] signified one that was too late for supper; because, when he found himself tardy, he mended his pace, and made more than common haste. And he told us a jest of Battus, Caesar's jester, who called those that came late supper-lovers, because out of their love to entertainments, though they had business, they would not desire to be excused.
My younger sons stayed too long at the plays and came home too late for dinner. Theon's sons playfully called them "supper hinderers" and "night-suppers," and in return, they called Theon's kids "runners-to-supper." One of the older men in the group mentioned a term [Greek omitted] that referred to someone who arrived late for dinner; because when he realized he was late, he quickened his pace and hurried more than usual. He also shared a joke about Battus, Caesar's jester, who referred to latecomers as "supper-lovers," suggesting that their love for entertainment meant they wouldn’t want to skip out, even if they had other commitments.
And I said, that Polycharmus, a leading orator at Athens, in his apology for his way of living before the assembly, said: Besides a great many things which I could mention, fellow-citizens, when I was invited to supper, I never came the last man. For this is more democratical; and on the contrary, those that are forced to stay for others that come late are offended at them as uncivil and of an oligarchical temper.
And I said that Polycharmus, a prominent speaker in Athens, in his defense of his lifestyle before the assembly, stated: Besides many other things I could mention, fellow citizens, whenever I was invited to dinner, I never arrived last. This is more democratic; on the other hand, those who have to wait for others who are late are annoyed with them for being rude and having an elitist attitude.
But Soclarus, in defence of my sons, said: Alcaeus (as the story goes) did not call Pittacus a night-supper for supping late, but for delighting in base and scandalous company. Heretofore to eat early was accounted scandalous, and such a meal was called [Greek omitted], from [Greek omitted] INTEMPERANCE.
But Soclarus, defending my sons, said: Alcaeus (or so the story goes) didn’t call Pittacus a late-night eater just for having dinner late, but for enjoying lowly and scandalous company. In the past, eating early was considered shameful, and such a meal was called [Greek omitted], from [Greek omitted] INTEMPERANCE.
Then Theon interrupting him said: Not at all, if we must trust those who have delivered down to us the ancients way of living. For they say that those being used to work, and very temperate in a morning, ate a bit of bread dipped in wine, and nothing else, and that they called that meal [Greek omitted] from the [Greek omitted] (WINE). Their supper they called [Greek omitted], because returning from their business they took it [Greek omitted] (LATE). Upon this we began to inquire whence those two meals [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] took their names. In Homer [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] seem to be the same meal. For he says that Eumaeus provided [Greek omitted] by the break of day; and it is probable that [Greek omitted] was so called from [Greek omitted], because provided in the morning; and [Greek omitted] was so named from [Greek omitted], EASING FROM THEIR LABOR. For men used to take their [Greek omitted] after they had finished their business, or whilst they were about it. And this may be gathered from Homer, when he says,
Then Theon interrupted him, saying: Not at all, if we have to trust those who passed down the ancient way of living. They say that those who worked hard and maintained a disciplined morning routine had a bit of bread dipped in wine, and nothing else, which they called that meal [Greek omitted] from the [Greek omitted] (WINE). Their dinner they called [Greek omitted], because after coming back from their work, they had it [Greek omitted] (LATE). From this, we started to ask where those two meals [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] got their names. In Homer, [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] seem to refer to the same meal. He mentions that Eumaeus provided [Greek omitted] at dawn; and it seems likely that [Greek omitted] was named after [Greek omitted], because it was prepared in the morning; and [Greek omitted] was named from [Greek omitted], EASING FROM THEIR LABOR. Men typically had their [Greek omitted] after they completed their work, or while they were still at it. This can be inferred from Homer, when he says,
Then when the woodman doth his supper dress.
("Iliad," xi. 86.)
Then when the woodworker prepares his dinner.
("Iliad," xi. 86.)But some perhaps will derive [Greek omitted] from [Greek omitted], EASIEST PROVIDED, because that meal is usually made upon what is ready and at hand; and [Greek omitted] from [Greek omitted], LABORED, because of the pains used in dressing it.
But some might take [Greek omitted] from [Greek omitted], EASIEST PROVIDED, since that meal is typically made with what's available and on hand; and [Greek omitted] from [Greek omitted], LABORED, because of the effort put into preparing it.
My brother Lamprias, being of a scoffing, jeering nature, said: Since we are in a trifling humor, I can show that the Latin names of these meals are a thousand times more proper than the Greek; [Greek omitted] SUPPER, they call coena ([Greek omitted]) from community; because they took their [Greek omitted] by themselves, but their coena with their friends. [Greek omitted] DINNER, they call prandium, from the time of the dry; for [Greek omitted] signifies NOON-TIDE, and to rest after dinner is expressed by [Greek omitted]; or else by prandium they denote a bit taken in the morning, [Greek omitted], BEFORE THEY HAVE NEED OF ANY. And not to mention stragula, from [Greek Omitted], vinum from [Greek omitted], oleum from [Greek omitted], mel from [Greek omitted], gustare from [Greek omitted], propinare from [Greek omitted], and a great many more words which they have plainly borrowed from the Greeks,—who can deny but that they have taken their comessatio, BANQUETING, from our [Greek omitted] and miscere, TO MINGLE, from the Greeks too? Thus in Homer,
My brother Lamprias, who has a mocking and sarcastic personality, said: Since we’re feeling a bit playful, I can prove that the Latin terms for these meals are way more fitting than the Greek ones; SUPPER is called coena from community because they shared their [Greek omitted] privately but enjoyed their coena with friends. DINNER is referred to as prandium, from the time of the dry; because [Greek omitted] means NOON, and resting after dinner is expressed by [Greek omitted]; or prandium can also refer to a small bite taken in the morning, [Greek omitted], BEFORE THEY NEED ANYTHING. And not to mention stragula, from [Greek omitted], vinum from [Greek omitted], oleum from [Greek omitted], mel from [Greek omitted], gustare from [Greek omitted], propinare from [Greek omitted], and many other words they’ve clearly borrowed from the Greeks—who can deny that they’ve taken their comessatio, BANQUETING, from our [Greek omitted] and miscere, TO MINGLE, from the Greeks as well? Thus in Homer,
She in a bowl herself mixt ([Greek omitted]) generous wine.
("Odyssey," x. 356.)
She mixed generous wine in a bowl herself.
("Odyssey," x. 356.)They call a table mensam, from [Greek omitted], PLACING IT IN THE MIDDLE; bread, panem, from satisfying [Greek omitted], HUNGER; a garland, coronam, from [Greek omitted], THE HEAD;—and Homer somewhat likens [Greek omitted], a HEAD-PIECE, to a garland;—caedere, TO BEAT, from [Greek omitted]; and dentes, TEETH, from [Greek omitted]; lips they call labra, from [Greek omitted], TAKING OUR VICTUALS WITH THEM. Therefore we must either listen to such fooleries as these without laughing, or not give them so ready entrance by means of words....
They refer to a table as mensam, from [Greek omitted], PLACING IT IN THE MIDDLE; bread is called panem, from satisfying [Greek omitted], HUNGER; a garland is called coronam, from [Greek omitted], THE HEAD;—and Homer somewhat compares [Greek omitted], a HEAD-PIECE, to a garland;—caedere means TO BEAT, from [Greek omitted]; and dentes means TEETH, from [Greek omitted]; they call lips labra, from [Greek omitted], TAKING OUR VICTUALS WITH THEM. So we have to either listen to such nonsense without laughing, or not let them in so easily through words....
QUESTION VII. CONCERNING PYTHAGORAS'S SYMBOLS, IN WHICH HE FORBIDS US TO RECEIVE A SWALLOW INTO OUR HOUSE, AND BIDS US AS SOON AS WE ARE RISEN TO RUFFLE THE BEDCLOTHES.
QUESTION VII. ABOUT PYTHAGORAS'S SYMBOLS, WHERE HE PROHIBITS US FROM LETTING A SWALLOW INTO OUR HOUSE, AND INSTRUCTS US TO SHAKE OUT THE BEDCLOTHES AS SOON AS WE WAKE UP.
SYLLA, LUCIUS, PLUTARCH, PHILINUS.
SYLLA, LUCIUS, PLUTARCH, PHILINUS.
Sylla the Carthaginian, upon my return to Rome after a long absence, gave me a welcoming supper, as the Romans call it, and invited some few other friends, and among the rest, one Lucius an Etrurian, the scholar of Moderatus the Pythagorean. He seeing my friend Philinus ate no flesh, began (as the opportunity was fair) to talk of Pythagoras; and affirmed that he was a Tuscan, not because his father, as others have said, was one, but because he himself was born, bred, and taught in Tuscany. To confirm this, he brought considerable arguments from such symbols as these:—As soon as you are risen, ruffle the bedclothes; leave not the print of the pot in the ashes; receive not a swallow into your house; never step over a besom; nor keep in your house creatures that have hooked claws. For these precepts of the Pythagoreans the Tuscans only, as he said, carefully observe.
Sylla the Carthaginian, when I returned to Rome after a long time away, threw a welcome dinner, as the Romans call it, and invited a few other friends, including a guy named Lucius from Etruria, who was a student of Moderatus the Pythagorean. Noticing that my friend Philinus didn't eat meat, he seized the chance to talk about Pythagoras and claimed that he was from Tuscany, not because his father was one, as some say, but because he was born, raised, and educated in Tuscany. To back this up, he presented several arguments based on symbols like these:—As soon as you get up, smooth out the bedclothes; don’t leave the mark of the pot in the ashes; don’t let a swallow into your house; never step over a broom; and don’t keep animals with hooked claws in your home. According to him, these Pythagorean rules are only followed carefully by the Tuscans.
Lucius, having thus said, that precept about the swallow seemed to be most unaccountable, it being a harmless and kind animal; and therefore it seemed strange that that should be forbid the house, as well as the hooked-clawed animals, which are ravenous, wild, and bloody. Nor did Lucius himself approve that only interpretation of the ancients, who say, this symbol aims directly at backbiters and tale-bearing whisperers. For the swallow whispers not at all; it chatters indeed, and is noisy, but not more than a pie, a partridge, or a hen. What then, said Sylla, is it upon the old fabulous account of killing her son, that they deny the swallow entertainment, by that means showing their dislike to those passions which (as the story goes) made Tereus and Procne and Philomel both act and suffer such wicked and abominable things? And even to this day they call the birds Daulides. And Gorgias the sophister, when a swallow muted upon him, looked upon her and said, Philomel, this was not well done. Or perhaps this is all without foundation; for the nightingale, though concerned in the same tragedy, we willingly receive.
Lucius, having said this, found the rule about swallows puzzling since they are harmless and gentle creatures. It seemed odd that they should be banned from the house along with the predatory animals that are savage and vicious. Lucius also disagreed with the common interpretation of the ancients, who claim this symbol targets backbiters and gossiping whisperers. Swallows don’t whisper at all; they do chatter and make noise, but not more than a magpie, partridge, or hen. So, Sylla asked, is it based on the old myth about killing her son that they refuse to let swallows in, thus showing their disdain for the emotions that, according to the story, led Tereus, Procne, and Philomel to commit such horrific acts? Even now, the birds are called Daulides. Gorgias the sophist, when a swallow landed on him, looked at her and said, “Philomel, that wasn’t very nice.” Or maybe none of this is true at all; after all, we gladly accept the nightingale, even though it is part of the same tragic story.
Perhaps, sir, said I, what you have alleged may be some reason; but pray consider whether first they do not hate the swallow upon the same account that they abhor hook-clawed animals. For the swallow feeds on flesh; and grasshoppers, which are sacred and musical, they chiefly devour and prey upon. And, as Aristotle observes, they fly near the surface of the earth to pick up the little animals. Besides, that alone of all house-animals makes no return for her entertainment. The stork, though she is neither covered, fed, nor defended by us, yet pays for the place where she builds, going about and killing the efts, snakes, and other venomous creatures. But the swallow, though she receives all those several kindnesses from us, yet, as soon as her young are fledged, flies away faithless and ungrateful; and (which is the worst of all) of all house-animals, the fly and the swallow only never grow tame, suffer a man to touch them, keep company with or learn of him. And the fly is so shy because often hurt and driven away; but the swallow naturally hates man, suspects, and dares not trust any that would tame her. And therefore,—if we must not look on the outside of these things, but opening them view the representations of some things in others,—Pythagoras, setting the swallow for an example of a wandering, unthankful man, adviseth us not to take those who come to us for their own need and upon occasion into our familiarity, and let them partake of the most sacred things, our house and fire.
Maybe, sir, I said, what you mentioned could be somewhat true; but please consider if they don't hate the swallow for the same reason they dislike clawed animals. The swallow feeds on flesh and primarily devours grasshoppers, which are considered sacred and melodious. And, as Aristotle points out, they fly close to the ground to catch little creatures. Moreover, out of all domestic animals, it is the only one that doesn't give anything back for its upkeep. The stork, even though she's not sheltered, fed, or protected by us, compensates for her nesting place by going around and killing lizards, snakes, and other harmful creatures. But the swallow, despite receiving all these various kindnesses from us, flies away ungratefully as soon as her chicks are fledged; and what's worse, of all domestic animals, only the fly and the swallow never become tame, do not allow a person to touch them, associate with them, or learn from them. The fly is evasive because it's often hurt and driven away, but the swallow instinctively dislikes humans, is suspicious, and doesn't dare to trust anyone who would try to tame her. Therefore, if we should not just focus on the surface of these matters, but instead look deeper to see the representations of certain traits in others—Pythagoras uses the swallow as an example of a wandering, ungrateful person, advising us not to grow too familiar with those who come to us out of their own necessity and take part in our most sacred things, our home and warmth.
This discourse of mine gave the company encouragement to proceed, so they attempted other symbols, and gave moral interpretations of them. For Philinus said, that the precept of blotting out the print of the pot instructed us not to leave any plain mark of anger, but, as soon as ever the passion hath done boiling, to lay aside all thoughts of malice and revenge. That symbol which adviseth us to ruffle the bedclothes seemed to some to have no secret meaning, but to be in itself very evident; for it is not decent that the mark and (as it were) stamped image should remain to be seen by others, in the place where a man hath lain with his wife. But Sylla thought the symbol was rather intended to prevent men's sleeping in the day-time, all the conveniences for sleeping being taken away in the morning as soon as we are up. For night is the time for sleep, and in the day we should rise and follow our affairs, and not suffer so much as the print of our body in the bed, since a man asleep is of no more use than one dead. And this interpretation seems to be confirmed by that other precept, in which the Pythagoreans advise their followers not to take off any man's burthen from him, but to lay on more, as not countenancing sloth and laziness in any.
My discussion encouraged the group to keep going, so they tried other symbols and offered moral interpretations of them. Philinus explained that the advice to erase the pot's imprint teaches us not to leave behind obvious signs of anger. Instead, as soon as our emotions have settled, we should let go of all thoughts of resentment and revenge. The symbol advising us to mess up the bedclothes seemed obvious to some, as it’s not proper for the imprint and the mark left behind to be visible to others where a man has slept with his wife. However, Sylla believed this symbol was meant to discourage daytime sleeping, since all the comforts for sleeping are removed in the morning as soon as we get up. Night is for rest, and during the day we should rise and take care of our responsibilities, not leaving even the imprint of our body in the bed, because a person asleep is just as useless as a dead one. This interpretation aligns with the other advice from the Pythagoreans, who tell their followers not to lighten anyone's burden but to add to it, as they don’t support laziness and idleness in anyone.
QUESTION VIII. WHY THE PYTHAGOREANS COMMAND FISH NOT TO BE EATEN, MORE STRICTLY THAN OTHER ANIMALS. EMPEDOCLES, SYLLA, LUCIUS, TYNDARES, NESTOR.
QUESTION VIII. WHY THE PYTHAGOREANS STRICTLY PROHIBIT EATING FISH MORE THAN OTHER ANIMALS. EMPEDOCLES, SYLLA, LUCIUS, TYNDARES, NESTOR.
Our former discourse Lucius neither reprehended nor approved, but, sitting silent and musing, gave us the hearing. Then Empedocles addressing his discourse to Sylla, said: If our friend Lucius is displeased with the discourse, it is time for us to leave off; but if these are some of their mysteries which ought to be concealed, yet I think this may be lawfully divulged, that they more cautiously abstain from fish than from other animals. For this is said of the ancient Pythagoreans; and even now I have met with Alexicrates's scholars, who will eat and kill and even sacrifice some of the other animals, but will never taste fish. Tyndares the Spartan said, they spared fish because they had so great a regard for silence, and they called fish [Greek omitted], because they had their voice SHUT UP ([Greek omitted]); and my namesake Empedocles advised one who had been expelled from the school of Pythagoras to shut up his mind like a fish, and they thought silence to be divine, since the gods without any voice reveal their meaning to the wise by their works.
Our previous conversation, Lucius neither criticized nor approved, but sat quietly, thinking, while we spoke. Then Empedocles turned to Sylla and said: If our friend Lucius is unhappy with the discussion, we should stop; but if these are some of their secrets that should stay hidden, I believe it's okay to share this: they tend to avoid eating fish more than other animals. This is something that was said about the ancient Pythagoreans; and even now, I’ve encountered Alexicrates's followers who will eat and kill many other animals but will never touch fish. Tyndares the Spartan mentioned they spared fish out of great respect for silence, and they called fish [Greek omitted], because they had their voices SHUT UP ([Greek omitted]); and my namesake Empedocles advised someone who had been kicked out of Pythagoras's school to keep his mind quiet like a fish, as they believed silence was divine, since the gods, without any words, communicate their meaning to the wise through their actions.
Then Lucius gravely and composedly saying, that perhaps the true reason was obscure and not to be divulged, yet they had liberty to venture upon probable conjectures, Theon the grammarian began thus: To demonstrate that Pythagoras was a Tuscan is a great and no easy task. But it is confessed that he conversed a long time with the wise men of Egypt, and imitated a great many of the rites and institutions of the priests, for instance, that about beans. For Herodotus delivers, that the Egyptians neither set nor eat beans, nay, cannot endure to see them; and we all know, that even now the priests eat no fish; and the stricter sort eat no salt, and refuse all meat that is seasoned with it. Various reasons are offered for this; but the only true reason is hatred to the sea, as being a disagreeable, or rather naturally a destructive element to man. For they do not imagine that the gods, as the Stoics did that the stars, were nourished by it. But, on the contrary, they think that the father and preserver of their country, whom they call the deflux of Osiris, is lost in it; and when they bewail him as born on the left hand, and destroyed in the right-hand parts, they intimate to us the ending and corruption of their Nile by the sea, and therefore they do not believe that its water is wholesome, or that any creature produced or nourished in it can be clean or wholesome food for man, since it breathes not the common air, and feeds not on the same food with him. And the air that nourisheth and preserves all other things is destructive to them, as if their production and life were unnecessary and against Nature; nor should we wonder that they think animals bred in the sea to be disagreeable to their bodies, and not fit to mix with their blood and spirits, since when they meet a pilot they will not speak to him, because he gets his living by the sea.
Then Lucius seriously and calmly said that perhaps the real reason was unclear and shouldn't be shared, but they could freely explore reasonable guesses. Theon the grammarian began: Demonstrating that Pythagoras was a Tuscan is a significant and challenging task. However, it's known that he spent a long time with the wise men of Egypt and adopted many of their rituals and practices, like the one regarding beans. Herodotus states that the Egyptians neither plant nor eat beans and can't even stand to look at them; and we all know that even today, the priests eat no fish, and the stricter ones avoid salt and refuse any meat seasoned with it. Various explanations are suggested for this, but the true reason lies in their aversion to the sea, which they see as unpleasant, or rather, inherently destructive to humans. They don't believe, like the Stoics with the stars, that the gods are sustained by it. Instead, they consider the father and protector of their land, whom they call the deflux of Osiris, to be lost in it; and when they mourn him as being born on the left side and destroyed on the right side, they hint at the ending and corruption of their Nile by the sea. Therefore, they don't think its water is healthy, and any creature that comes from or lives in it can't be clean or healthy food for humans since it doesn't breathe the same air or eat the same food. The air that sustains and maintains everything else is harmful to them as if their life and existence were unnecessary and against Nature. It's no surprise that they find sea creatures unpleasant for their bodies and unsuitable to mix with their blood and spirits, as they won't even speak to a pilot because he earns his living from the sea.
Sylla commended this discourse, and added concerning the Pythagoreans, that they then chiefly tasted flesh when they sacrificed to the gods. Now no fish is ever offered in sacrifice. I, after they had done, said that many, both philosophers and unlearned, considering with how many good things it furnisheth and makes our life more comfortable, take the sea's part against the Egyptians. But that the Pythagoreans should abstain from fish because they are not of the same kind, is ridiculous and absurd; nay, to butcher and feed on other animals, because they bear a nearer relation to us, would be a most inhuman and Cyclopean return. And they say that Pythagoras bought a draught of fishes, and presently commanded the fishers to let them all out of the net; and this shows that, he did not hate or not mind fishes, as things of another kind and destructive to man, but that they were his dearly beloved creatures, since he paid a ransom for their freedom.
Sylla praised this discussion and mentioned that the Pythagoreans mainly consumed meat when they sacrificed to the gods. Fish are never offered as sacrifices. After they finished, I pointed out that many people, both philosophers and the uneducated, recognize how beneficial the sea is and how it enhances our lives, which is why they side with it against the Egyptians. However, the idea that the Pythagoreans avoid fish because they're not similar to us is ridiculous and absurd; in fact, killing and eating other animals, which share a closer relationship to us, would be an inhumane and monstrous act. They say that Pythagoras once bought a catch of fish and immediately told the fishermen to release them all. This indicates that he did not dislike or see fish as merely different and harmful to humans, but rather loved them dearly, as he was willing to pay for their freedom.
Therefore the tenderness and humanity of those philosophers suggest a quite contrary reason, and I am apt to believe that they spare fishes to instruct men, or to accustom themselves to acts of justice; for other creatures generally give men cause to afflict them, but fishes neither do nor are capable of doing us any harm. And it is easy to show, both from the writings and religion of the ancients, that they thought it a great sin not only to eat but to kill an animal that did them no harm. But afterwards, being necessitated by the spreading multitude of men, and commanded (as they say) by the Delphic oracle to prevent the total decay of corn and fruit, they began to sacrifice, yet they were so disturbed and concerned at the action, that they called it [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] (TO DO), as if they did some strange thing in killing an animal; and they are very careful not to kill the beast before the wine has been cast upon his head and he nods in token of consent. So very cautious are they of injustice. And not to mention other considerations, were no chickens (for instance) or hares killed, in a short time they would so increase that there could be no living. And now it would be a very hard matter to put down the eating of flesh, which necessity first introduced, since pleasure and luxury hath espoused it. But the water-animals neither consuming any part of our air or water, or devouring the fruit, but as it were encompassed by another world, and having their own proper bounds, which it is death for them to pass, they afford our belly no pretence at all for their destruction; and therefore to catch or be greedy after fish is plain deliciousness and luxury, which upon no just reason unsettle the sea and dive into the deep. For we cannot call the mullet corn-destroying, the trout grape-eating, nor the barbel or seapike seed-gathering, as we do some land-animals, signifying their hurtfulness by these epithets. Nay, those little mischiefs which we complain of in these house-creatures, a weasel or fly, none can justly lay upon the greatest fish. Therefore the Pythagoreans, confining themselves not only by the law which forbids them to injure men, but also by Nature, which commands them to do violence to nothing, fed on fish very little, or rather not at all. But suppose there were no injustice in this case, yet to delight in fish would argue daintiness and luxury; because they are such costly and unnecessary diet. Therefore Homer doth not only make the Greeks whilst encamped near the Hellespont, eat no fish, but he mentions not any sea-provision that the dissolute Phaeacians or luxurious wooers had, though both islanders. And Ulysses's mates, though they sailed over so much sea, as long as they had any provision left, never let down a hook or net.
So, the kindness and compassion of those philosophers suggest a completely different reason, and I tend to believe that they spare fish to teach humans or to get used to doing just things; other creatures usually give people reason to harm them, but fish neither do nor can harm us. It's easy to see from both the writings and beliefs of the ancients that they viewed it as a serious sin not just to eat, but to kill an animal that posed no threat. Later on, as the population of humans grew and after being told (as the story goes) by the Delphic oracle to prevent a complete collapse of crops and fruit, they started to sacrifice animals. Yet, they were so troubled and distressed by this that they called it [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] (TO DO), as if killing an animal was something strange; they were extremely careful not to kill the animal before pouring wine on its head and having it nod in agreement. They are that cautious about injustice. Not to mention other factors, if no chickens or hares were killed, they would multiply so much in no time that living would be impossible. Now, it's quite difficult to stop the consumption of meat, which necessity first introduced, since pleasure and luxury have taken it on. But water animals do not consume any of our air or water, nor do they eat our crops; they seem to exist in a separate world, having their own boundaries that it is considered death for them to cross, giving us no valid reason to destroy them. Therefore, seeking after fish or being greedy for them is simply a matter of enjoyment and luxury, and there's no good reason for upsetting the sea and diving deep for them. We can't label the mullet as a threat to crops, the trout as a grape-eater, or the barbel or pike as seed-gatherers, as we do with some land animals, using these terms to indicate their harmfulness. In fact, the small nuisances we complain about in household pests like a weasel or a fly can't be justly attributed to even the biggest fish. This is why the Pythagoreans, adhering not only to the law that forbids harming people but also to Nature, which commands them not to inflict violence on anything, consumed fish very little, or not at all. Even assuming there was no injustice involved, enjoying fish would still suggest a level of refinement and luxury, since they are such an expensive and unnecessary food. That's why Homer doesn't only show the Greeks, while camped near the Hellespont, eating no fish, but doesn’t mention any sea food that the decadent Phaeacians or indulgent suitors had, even though they lived on islands. And Ulysses's crew, despite sailing over so much sea, never lowered a hook or net as long as they had any provisions left.
But when the victuals of their ship was spent,
("Odyssey," xii. 329-332.)
But when the food on their ship ran out,
("Odyssey," xii. 329-332.)a little before they fell upon the oxen of the Sun, they caught fish, not to please their wanton appetite, but to satisfy their hunger,—
a little before they came across the oxen of the Sun, they caught fish, not to indulge their greedy cravings, but to satisfy their hunger,—
With crooked hooks, for cruel hunger gnawed.
With bent hooks, as relentless hunger bit.
The same necessity therefore forced them to catch fish and devour the oxen of the Sun. Therefore not only among the Egyptian and Syrians but Greeks too, to abstain from fish was a piece of sanctity, they avoiding (as I think), a superfluous curiosity in diet, as well as being just.
The same necessity pushed them to catch fish and eat the Sun's oxen. So, not just among the Egyptians and Syrians but also the Greeks, avoiding fish became a mark of holiness, as they steered clear of, what I believe, was an unnecessary curiosity in their diet, as well as being just.
To this Nestor subjoining said: But sir, of my citizens as of the Megarians in the proverb, you make no account; although you have heard me often say that our priests of Neptune (whom we call Hieromnemons) never eat fish. For Neptune himself is called the Breeder. And the race of Hellen sacrificed to Neptune as the first father, imagining, as likewise the Syrians did, that man rose from a liquid substance. And therefore they worship a fish as of the same production and breeding with themselves, in this matter being more happy in their philosophy than Anaximander; for he says that fish and men were not produced in the same substances, but that men were first produced in fishes, and, when they were grown up and able to help themselves, were thrown out, and so lived upon the land. Therefore, as the fire devours its parents, that is, the matter out of which it was first kindled, so Anaximander, asserting that fish were our common parents, condemneth our feeding on them.
To this, Nestor added: But sir, you ignore my citizens just like the Megarians in the saying; even though you've often heard me say that our priests of Neptune (whom we call Hieromnemons) never eat fish. For Neptune himself is known as the Breeder. The Hellenic people sacrificed to Neptune as the first father, believing, just like the Syrians, that man originated from a liquid substance. That's why they worship a fish as being of the same origin and breeding as themselves, showing a greater understanding in their beliefs than Anaximander; because he claims that fish and humans weren't made from the same substances, but rather that humans first developed within fish, and when they grew up and were capable of living independently, they were cast out and ended up living on land. Therefore, just as fire consumes its source, that is, the material from which it was initially ignited, Anaximander, by stating that fish are our common ancestors, condemns our eating of them.
QUESTION IX. WHETHER THERE CAN BE NEW DISEASES, AND HOW CAUSED. PHILO, DIOGENIANUS, PLUTARCH.
QUESTION IX. CAN NEW DISEASES EXIST, AND WHAT CAUSES THEM? PHILO, DIOGENIANUS, PLUTARCH.
Philo the physician stoutly affirmed that the elephantiasis was a disease but lately known; since none of the ancient physicians speak one word of it, though they oftentimes enlarge upon little, frivolous and obscure trifles. And I, to confirm it, cited Athenodorus the philosopher, who in his first book of Epidemical Diseases says, that not only that disease, but also the hydrophobia or water-dread (occasioned by the biting of a mad dog), were first discovered in the time of Asclepiades. At this the whole company were amazed, thinking it very strange that such diseases should begin then, and yet as strange that they should not be taken notice of in so long a time; yet most of them leaned to this last opinion, as being most agreeable to man, not in the least daring to imagine that Nature affected novelties, or would in the body of man, as in a city, create new disturbances and tumults.
Philo the physician strongly stated that elephantiasis was a disease only recently identified; none of the ancient physicians mentioned it, even though they often focused on trivial and obscure matters. To support this, I referenced Athenodorus the philosopher, who in his first book on Epidemic Diseases claims that not only was this disease recognized during Asclepiades's time, but also hydrophobia (the fear of water caused by a rabid dog bite). Everyone in the group was astonished, finding it strange that such diseases should emerge then, yet also odd that they hadn't been noticed for such a long time. Most of them leaned towards the latter view, believing it more relatable, not daring to think that Nature would bring about novelties or, like in a city, create new disturbances and upheavals within the human body.
And Diogenianus added, that even the passions and diseases of the mind go on in the same old road that formerly they did; and yet the viciousness of our inclination is exceedingly prone to variety, and our mind is mistress of itself, and can, if it please, easily change and alter. Yet all her inordinate motions have some sort of order, and the soul hath bounds to her passions, as the sea to her overflowings. And there is no sort of vice now among us which was not practised by the ancients. There are a thousand differences of appetites and various motions of fear; the schemes of grief and pleasure are innumerable.
And Diogenianus added that even the passions and ailments of the mind follow the same old path as before; yet our inclination to vice is very prone to change, and our mind is in control of itself, able to easily shift and adapt if it chooses. Still, all its excessive movements have a certain order, and the soul has limits to its passions, just like the sea has limits to its floods. There’s no type of vice among us now that wasn’t already practiced by the ancients. There are countless variations of desires and different fears; the ways of experiencing grief and pleasure are endless.
Yet are not they of late or now produced,
And none can tell from whence they first arose.
(Sophocles, "Antigone," 456.)
Yet are they not produced recently or now, And no one can say where they originally came from. (Sophocles, "Antigone," 456.)
How then should the body be subject to new diseases, since it hath not, like the soul, the principle of its own alteration in itself, but by common causes is joined to Nature, and receives a temperature whose infinite variety of alterations is confined to certain bounds, like a ship moving and tossing in a circle about its anchor. Now there can be no disease without some cause, it being against the laws of Nature that anything should be without a cause. Now it will be very hard to find a new cause, unless we fancy some strange air, water, or food never tasted by the ancients, should out of other worlds or intermundane spaces descend to us. For we contract diseases from those very things which preserve our life; since there are no peculiar seeds of diseases, but the disagreement of their juices to our bodies, or our excess in using them, disturbs Nature. These disturbances have still the very same differences, though now and then called by new names. For names depend on custom, but the passions on Nature; and these being constant and those variable, this error has arisen. As, in the parts of a speech and the syntax of the words, some new sort of barbarism or solecism can suddenly arise; so the temperature of the body hath certain deviations and corruptions into which it may fall, those things which are against and hurtful to Nature being in some sort existent in Nature herself. The mythographers are in this particular very ingenious, for they say that monstrous uncouth animals were produced in the time of the Giants war, the moon being out of its course, and not rising where it used to do. And those who think Nature produces new diseases like monsters, and yet give neither likely nor unlikely reasons of the change, err, as I imagine, my dear Philo, in taking a less or a greater degree of the same disease to be a different disease. The intension or increase of a thing makes it more or greater, but does not make the subject of another kind. Thus the elephantiasis, being an intense scabbiness, is not a new kind; nor is the water-dread distinguished from other melancholic and stomachical affections but only by the degree. And I wonder we did not observe that Homer was acquainted with this disease, for it is evident that he calls a dog rabid from the very same rage with which when men are possessed they are said to be mad.
How should the body be prone to new diseases, since it doesn’t have, like the soul, the ability to change itself? Instead, it is linked to Nature through common causes and receives a range of temperatures, which varies infinitely but is still limited, much like a ship swinging in a circle around its anchor. There can’t be a disease without some cause, as it goes against the laws of Nature for anything to exist without a cause. It would be quite difficult to identify a new cause, unless we imagine some bizarre air, water, or food that has never been tasted by the ancients coming to us from other worlds or dimensions. We catch diseases from the very things that keep us alive, as there are no unique seeds of diseases; rather, it’s the conflict of their juices with our bodies, or our overuse of them, that disrupts Nature. These disruptions share the same fundamental differences, even if they sometimes get new names. Names change based on custom, but the effects are tied to Nature; since the former are variable and the latter constant, this confusion occurs. Just as new forms of incorrect speech can suddenly appear, so can the body’s temperature undergo certain shifts and corruptions into which it may fall, as harmful elements against Nature exist in some sense within Nature itself. Mythologists are quite clever in this regard, claiming that bizarre creatures emerged during the war of the Giants when the moon was out of alignment and not rising as it usually did. Those who believe that Nature creates new diseases like monsters, without providing plausible reasons for the changes, are mistaken, as I believe, my dear Philo, in thinking that different levels of the same disease signify a different disease. The intensity or increase of something makes it more significant but doesn’t create a different type. Thus, elephantiasis, which is an extreme form of scabbiness, isn’t a new kind of disease; nor is fear of water distinct from other melancholic and stomach-related issues, but only differs by degree. I find it surprising that we didn’t notice that Homer was aware of this disease, as it’s clear he refers to a dog as rabid due to the same rage that causes men to be called mad when they are possessed.
Against this discourse of Diogenianus Philo himself made some objections, and desired me to be the old physicians' patron; who must be branded with inadvertency and ignorance, unless it appears that those diseases began since their time. First then Diogenianus, methinks, very precariously desires us to think that the intenseness or remissness of degrees is not a real difference, and does not alter the kind. For, were this true, then we should hold that downright vinegar is not different from pricked wine, nor a bitter from a rough taste, darnel from wheat, nor garden-mint from wild mint. For it is evident that these differences are only the several degrees of the same qualities, in some being more intense, in some more remiss. So we should not venture to affirm that flame is different from a white spirit, sunshine from flame, hoarfrost from dew, or hail from rain; but that the former have only more intense qualities than the latter. Besides, we should say that blindness is of the same kind with short-sightedness, violent vomiting (or cholera) with weakness of the stomach, and that they differ only in degree. Though what they say is nothing to the purpose; for if they allow the increase in intensity and strength, but assert that this came but now of late,—the novelty showing itself in the quantity rather than the quality,—the same difficulties which they urged against the other opinion oppress them. Sophocles says very well concerning those things which are not believed to be now, because they were not heretofore,—
Against what Diogenianus argues, Philo himself raised some objections and asked me to support the old physicians, who would otherwise be seen as careless and ignorant unless we can show that those diseases started during their time. First, it seems to me that Diogenianus precariously suggests that the intensity or lack of intensity of degrees doesn’t represent a real difference, nor does it change the type. If that were true, we would have to say that plain vinegar isn’t different from sour wine, or that a bitter taste isn’t different from a rough one, or that darnel isn’t different from wheat, nor garden mint from wild mint. It’s clear that these differences are just varying degrees of the same qualities, with some being more intense and some being less so. Therefore, we shouldn't claim that flame is different from a white spirit, that sunlight is different from flame, hoarfrost is different from dew, or hail is different from rain; rather, we should see that the former have just more intense qualities than the latter. Furthermore, we should say that blindness is the same as short-sightedness, and severe vomiting is just a stronger form of a weak stomach, claiming that they only differ in degree. Yet, what they argue is irrelevant because if they accept the increase in intensity and strength, while asserting that this only recently emerged, showing itself more in quantity than quality, they face the same problems they pointed out against the other argument. Sophocles puts it well regarding those things that are thought not to exist now because they didn’t exist before,—
Once at the first all things their being had.
Once at the beginning, everything existed.
And it is probable that not all diseases, as in a race, the barrier being let down, started together; but that one rising after another, at some certain time, had its beginning and showed itself. It is rational but afterwards overeating, luxury, and surfeiting, encouraged by ease and plenty, raised bad and superfluous juices, and those brought various new diseases, and their perpetual complications and mixtures still create more new. Whatever is natural is determined and in order; for Nature is order, or the work of order. Disorder, like Pindar's sand, cannot be comprised by number, and that which is beside Nature is straight called indeterminate and infinite. Thus truth is simple, and but one; but falsities innumerable. The exactness of motions and harmony are definite, but the errors either in playing upon the harp, singing, or dancing, who can comprehend? Indeed Phrynichus the tragedian says of himself,
And it's likely that not all diseases started at once, like runners in a race when the barrier drops. Instead, one disease arose after another at specific times. It's reasonable to think that overeating, luxury, and excess, fueled by comfort and abundance, created unhealthy and excessive humors, which led to various new diseases and their ongoing complications still giving rise to more. Everything natural follows a clear order; Nature itself is order, or the result of order. Disorder, like Pindar's sand, can't be counted, and anything outside of Nature is simply called indeterminate and infinite. So, truth is straightforward and singular, while falsehoods are countless. The precision of movements and harmony are clear, but who can grasp the mistakes made in playing the harp, singing, or dancing? Indeed, Phrynichus the tragic playwright says about himself,
As many figures dancing doth propose
As waves roll on the sea when tempests toss.
As many figures dancing suggest
As waves roll on the sea when storms toss.And Chrysippus says that the various complications of ten single axioms amount to 1,000,000. But Hipparchus hath confuted that account, showing that the affirmative contains 101,049 complicated propositions, and the negative 310,952. And Xenocrates says, the number of syllables which the letters will make is 100,200,000. How then is it strange that the body, having so many different powers in itself, and getting new qualities every day from its meat and drink, and using those motions and alterations which are not always in the same time nor in the same order, should upon the various complications of all these be affected with new diseases? Such was the plague at Athens described by Thucydides, who conjectures that it was new because that birds and beasts of prey would not touch the dead carcasses. Those that fell sick about the Red Sea, if we believe Agatharcides, besides other strange and unheard diseases, had little serpents in their legs and arms, which did eat their way out, but when touched shrunk in again, and raised intolerable inflammations in the muscles; and yet this kind of plague, as likewise many others, never afflicted any beside, either before or since. One, after a long stoppage of urine, voided a knotty barley straw. And we know that Ephebus, with whom we lodged at Athens, threw out, together with a great deal of seed, a little hairy, many-footed, nimble animal. And Aristotle tells us, that Timon's nurse in Cilicia every year for two months lay in a cave, without any vital operation besides breathing. And in the Menonian books it is delivered as a symptom of a diseased liver carefully to observe and hunt after mice and rats, which we see now nowhere practised.
And Chrysippus claims that the various complications of ten basic principles add up to 1,000,000. However, Hipparchus refuted that by demonstrating that the affirmative has 101,049 complex propositions, while the negative has 310,952. Xenocrates stated that the number of syllables that the letters can form is 100,200,000. So, it's not surprising that the body, with so many different abilities and constantly acquiring new qualities from the food and drink we consume, and undergoing motions and changes that don’t always happen at the same time or in the same order, would develop new diseases due to all these complications. An example is the plague in Athens described by Thucydides, who speculated that it was new since birds and predatory animals wouldn’t touch the dead bodies. Those who fell ill near the Red Sea, according to Agatharcides, experienced other strange and unheard-of ailments, including tiny serpents in their legs and arms that would burrow their way out but shrink back inside when touched, causing unbearable inflammation in the muscles; yet this type of plague, along with many others, has never affected anyone else, either before or after. One person, after a prolonged inability to urinate, expelled a knotted piece of barley straw. We know that Ephebus, who stayed with us in Athens, expelled not only a considerable amount of seed but also a small hairy, many-legged, nimble creature. Aristotle informs us that Timon's nurse in Cilicia would spend two months each year lying in a cave, with no vital functions aside from breathing. In the Menonian books, it is noted as a symptom of a diseased liver to carefully observe and hunt for mice and rats, which we see isn’t practiced anywhere now.
Therefore let us not wonder if something happens which never was before, or if something doth not appear among us with which the ancients were acquainted; for the cause of those accidents is the nature of our body, whose temperature is subject to be changed. Therefore, if Diogenianus will not introduce a new kind of water or air, we, having no need of it, are very well content. Yet we know some of Democritus's scholars affirm that, other worlds being dissolved, some strange effluvia fall into ours, and are the principle of new plagues and uncommon diseases. But let us not now take notice of the corruption of some parts of this world by earthquake, droughts, and floods, by which both the vapors and fountains rising out of the earth must be necessarily corrupted. Yet we must not pass by that change which must be wrought in the body by our meat, drink, and other exercises in our course of life. For many things which the ancients did not feed on are now accounted dainties; for instance, mead and swine's belly. Heretofore too, as I have heard, they hated the brain of animals so much, that they detested the very name of it; as when Homer says, "I esteem him at a brain's worth." And even now we know some old men, not bearing to taste cucumber, melon, orange, or pepper. Now by these meats and drinks it is probable that the juices of our bodies are much altered, and their temperature changed, new qualities arising from this new sort of diet. And the change of order in our feeding having a great influence on the alteration of our bodies, the cold courses, as they were called formerly, consisting of oysters, polyps, salads, and the like, being (in Plato's phrase) transferred "from tail to mouth," now make the first course, whereas they were formerly the last. Besides, the glass which we usually take before supper is very considerable in this case; for the ancients never drank so much as water before they ate, but now we drink freely before we sit down, and fall to our meat with a full and heated body, using sharp sauces and pickles to provoke appetite, and then we fall greedily on the other meat. But nothing conduceth more to alterations and new diseases in the body than our different baths; for here the flesh, like iron in the fire, grows soft and loose, and is presently constipated and hardened by the cold. For, in my opinion, if any of the last age had looked into our baths, he might have justly said,
Therefore, let’s not be surprised if something happens that’s never happened before, or if something we’re unfamiliar with didn’t exist in ancient times; the reason for these events is the nature of our bodies, which can change in temperature. So, if Diogenianus won’t bring in a new type of water or air, we are perfectly fine without it. Still, some of Democritus’s followers claim that, as other worlds fall apart, some strange substances enter ours and become the cause of new plagues and rare diseases. But let’s not focus on the decay of some parts of the world due to earthquakes, droughts, and floods that inevitably corrupt the vapors and springs rising from the earth. However, we can’t ignore the changes that our food, drink, and lifestyle bring to our bodies. Many things that the ancients didn’t eat are now considered delicacies, like mead and pig’s belly. Previously, I have heard they disliked animal brains so much that they couldn’t stand the very mention of them; as Homer puts it, “I value him at the worth of a brain.” Even today, we know some elderly people who can’t stand to taste cucumbers, melons, oranges, or peppers. It’s likely that these foods and drinks have significantly altered the juices in our bodies and changed their temperatures, introducing new qualities that result from this new kind of diet. The change in our eating habits greatly influences how our bodies transform; cold dishes, which used to include oysters, polyps, salads, and similar items, are now served as the first course instead of last. Moreover, the drinks we usually have before dinner are quite relevant here, as the ancients rarely drank much more than water before eating, while now we drink freely beforehand, starting our meals with full, warm bodies, using spicy sauces and pickles to stimulate our appetites before diving greedily into the main courses. But nothing contributes more to changes and new diseases in our bodies than our different bathing habits; in these baths, the flesh becomes soft and loose like iron heated in fire, only to be quickly tightened and hardened by cold. I believe if anyone from the past had seen our baths, they might have justly said,
There burning Phlegethon meets Acheron.
There, the burning Phlegethon meets Acheron.
For they used such mild gentle baths, that Alexander the Great being feverish slept in one. And the Gauls' wives carry their pots of pulse to eat with their children whilst they are in the bath. But our baths now inflame, vellicate, and distress; and the air which we draw is a mixture of air and water, disturbs the whole body, tosses and displaces every atom, till we quench the fiery particles and allay their heat. Therefore, Diogenianus, you see that this account requires no new strange causes, no intermundane spaces; but the single alteration of our diet is enough to raise new diseases and abolish old.
For they used such gentle, mild baths that Alexander the Great, while feverish, fell asleep in one. The wives of the Gauls bring their pots of food to eat with their children while they’re in the bath. But our baths now inflame, irritate, and distress; and the air we breathe is a mix of air and water, disturbing the whole body, tossing and displacing every atom, until we cool the fiery particles and reduce their heat. Therefore, Diogenianus, you can see that this situation doesn’t require any new strange causes or intermundane spaces; just changing our diet is enough to create new diseases and eliminate old ones.
QUESTION X. WHY WE GIVE LEAST CREDIT TO DREAMS IN AUTUMN. FLORUS, PLUTARCH, PLUTARCH'S SONS, FAVORINUS.
QUESTION X. WHY WE GIVE THE LEAST CREDIT TO DREAMS IN AUTUMN. FLORUS, PLUTARCH, PLUTARCH'S SONS, FAVORINUS.
Florus reading Aristotle's physical problems, which were brought to him to Thermopylae, was himself (as philosophical wits used to be) filled with a great many doubts, and communicated them to others; thereby confirming Aristotle's saying, that much learning raises many doubts. Other topics made our walks every day very pleasant, but the common saying concerning dreams,—that those in autumn are the vainest,—I know not how, whilst Favorinus was engaged in other matters, was started after supper. Your friends and my sons thought Aristotle had given sufficient satisfaction in this point, and that no other cause was to be sought after or allowed but that which he mentions, the fruit. For the fruit, being new and flatulent, raises many disturbing vapors in the body; for it is not likely that only wine ferments, or new oil only makes a noise in the lamp, the heat agitating its vapor; but new corn and all sorts of fruit are plump and distended, till the unconcocted flatulent vapor is broke away. And that some sorts of food disturb dreams they said, was evident from beans and the polypus's head, from which those who would divine by their dreams are commanded to abstain.
Florus was reading Aristotle's physical problems, which had been brought to him at Thermopylae, and like many philosophers, he was full of uncertainties and shared them with others; proving Aristotle's point that extensive knowledge leads to more questions. We enjoyed various topics during our daily walks, but the common saying about dreams—that those in autumn are the most trivial—came up one evening while Favorinus was preoccupied with other matters. Your friends and my sons believed that Aristotle had adequately explained this and that there was no other reason to consider except the one he mentioned: the fruit. Fresh, gassy fruit can cause many disruptions in the body; it’s unlikely that only wine ferments, or that new oil only bubbles in the lamp due to the heat stirring its vapors; new grains and all kinds of fruit are bloated and swollen until the undigested gas is released. They argued that certain foods disturb dreams, which is clear from beans and octopus heads, which those looking to interpret their dreams are advised to avoid.
But Favorinus himself, though in all other things he admires Aristotle exceedingly and thinks the Peripatetic philosophy to be most probable, yet in this case resolved to scour up an old musty opinion of Democritus. He first laid down that known principle of his, that images pass through the pores into the inmost parts of the body, and being carried upward cause dreams; and that these images fly from everything, vessels, garments, plants, but especially from animals, because of their heat and the motion of their spirits; and that these images not only carry the outward shape and likeness of the bodies (as Epicurus thinks, following Democritus so far and no farther), but the very designs, motions, and passions of the soul; and with those entering into the bodies, as if they were living things, discover to those that receive them the thoughts and inclinations of the persons from whom they come, if so be that they preserve their frame and order entire. And that is especially preserved when the air is calm and clear, their passage then being quick and undisturbed. Now the autumnal air, when trees shed their leaves, being very uneven and disturbed, ruffles and disorders the images, and, hindering them in their passage, makes them weak and ineffectual; when, on the contrary, if they rise from warm and vigorous subjects, and are presently applied, the notices which they give and the impressions they make are clear and evident.
But Favorinus himself, while he greatly admires Aristotle in all other respects and believes the Peripatetic philosophy to be the most credible, decided to revisit an old, outdated opinion of Democritus in this case. He first stated his well-known principle that images pass through the pores into the innermost parts of the body, and that, as they rise, they cause dreams. These images come from everything—vessels, clothing, plants—but especially from animals due to their warmth and the motion of their spirits. He argued that these images not only carry the outer shape and likeness of the bodies (as Epicurus thinks, aligning with Democritus up to a point) but also the very designs, motions, and emotions of the soul. When these images enter bodies, almost as if they were living beings, they reveal to those who receive them the thoughts and inclinations of the individuals from whom they originated, provided they maintain their form and order. This preservation is best when the air is calm and clear, allowing for a quick and unobstructed passage. Conversely, the autumn air, with trees losing their leaves, is often uneven and disturbed, which scrambles and disorganizes the images, making their passage weak and ineffective. However, if they arise from warm and vigorous sources and are applied immediately, the information they convey and the impressions they create are clear and distinct.
Then with a smile looking upon Autobulus, he continued: But, sir, I perceive you design to have an airy skirmish with these images, and try the excellence of this old opinion, as you would a picture, by your nail. And Autobulus replied: Pray, sir, do not endeavor to cheat us any longer; for we know very well that you, designing to make Aristotle's opinion appear the better, have used this of Democritus only as its shade. Therefore I shall pass by that, and impugn Aristotle's opinion, which unjustly lays the blame on the new fruit. For both the summer and the early autumn witness in its favor, when, as Antimachus says, the fruit is most fresh and juicy; for then, though we eat the new fruit, yet our dreams are not so vain as at other times. And the months when the leaves fall, being next to winter, so concoct the corn and remaining fruit, that they grow shrivelled and less, and lose all their brisk agitating spirit. As for new wine, those that drink it soonest forbear till February, which is after winter; and the day on which we begin we call the day of the Good Genius, and the Athenians the day of cask-opening. For whilst wine is working, we see that even common, laborers will not venture on it. Therefore no more accusing the gifts of the gods, let us seek after another cause of vain dreams, to which the name of the season will direct us. For it is called LEAF-SHEDDING, because the leaves then fall off by reason of their dryness and coldness; except the leaves of hot and oily trees, as of the olive, the laurel, or the palm; or of the moist, as of the myrtle and the ivy. But the temperature of these preserves them, though not others; because in others the vicious humor that holds the leaves is constipated by the cold, or being weak and little is dried up. Now moisture and heat are necessary for the growth and preservation of plants, but especially of animals; and on the contrary, coldness and dryness are very noxious to both. And therefore Homer elegantly calls men moist and juicy: to rejoice he calls to be warmed; and anything that is grievous and frightful he calls cold and icy. Besides, the words [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] are applied to the dead, those names intimating their extreme dryness. But more, our blood, the principal thing in our whole body, is moist and hot. And old age hath neither of those two qualities. Now the autumn seems to be as it were the old age of the decaying year; for the moisture doth not yet fall, and the heat decays. And its inclining the body to diseases is an evident sign of its cold and dryness. Now it is necessary that the souls should be indisposed with the bodies and that, the subtile spirit being condensed, the divining faculty of the soul, like a glass that is breathed upon, should be sullied; and therefore it cannot represent anything plain, distinct, and clear, as long as it remains thick, dark, and condensed.
Then, with a smile at Autobulus, he continued: But, sir, I see you plan to have a light-hearted debate with these ideas and test the value of this old belief, as if examining a painting with your nail. Autobulus replied: Please, sir, don’t try to fool us any longer; we know very well that you, intending to make Aristotle's view look better, have used Democritus's idea only as a comparison. So I'll skip that and challenge Aristotle's opinion, which unfairly blames the new fruit. Both summer and early autumn support it, when, as Antimachus says, the fruit is at its freshest and juiciest; at that time, even though we eat the new fruit, our dreams aren't as pointless as at other times. During the months when the leaves fall, just before winter, the remaining fruit and grains dry out and shrivel, losing their lively spirit. As for new wine, those who drink it wait until February, which is after winter; the day we begin drinking is called the day of the Good Genius, and in Athens, the day of cask-opening. When wine is fermenting, even ordinary laborers hesitate to drink it. So let’s stop blaming the gifts of the gods and look for another reason for meaningless dreams, and the season’s name will guide us. It’s called LEAF-SHEDDING because the leaves drop off due to the dryness and cold, except for the leaves of warm and oily trees, like the olive, laurel, or palm, or moist ones like the myrtle and ivy. The climate protects these types, unlike others, because in other trees, the harmful substance holding the leaves is constricted by the cold or dried up due to weakness. Moisture and heat are essential for the growth and survival of plants, especially animals; in contrast, cold and dryness are very harmful to both. Hence, Homer describes humans as moist and juicy: to rejoice means to feel warmth; anything distressing or terrifying he describes as cold and icy. Furthermore, the terms [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] refer to the dead, indicating their extreme dryness. Additionally, our blood, which is vital to our body, is both moist and hot. Old age lacks both of these qualities. Autumn seems to be like the old age of the fading year; the moisture hasn’t fallen yet, and the heat is diminishing. Its tendency to make the body more susceptible to illness is a clear sign of its coldness and dryness. It's necessary for the soul to be out of sync with the body, and the subtle spirit, when thickened, clouds the soul’s ability to perceive clearly, like a fogged-up glass; hence it can't represent anything clearly as long as it remains thick, dark, and unclear.
BOOK IX
This ninth book, Sossius Senecio, contains the discourses we held at Athens at the Muses feast, for this number nine is agreeable to the number of the Muses. Nor must you wonder when you find more than ten questions (which number I have observed in my other books) in it; for we ought to give the Muses all that belongs to them, and be as careful of robbing them as of a temple, since we owe them much more and much better things than these.
This ninth book, Sossius Senecio, includes the discussions we had in Athens during the Muses' feast, as this number nine relates to the Muses. And don't be surprised if you find more than ten questions in it (which I’ve noted in my other books); we should give the Muses everything that’s rightfully theirs and be as protective of them as we would be of a sacred place, since we owe them far more and better than just this.
QUESTION I. CONCERNING VERSES SEASONABLY AND UNSEASONABLY APPLIED. AMMONIUS, PLUTARCH, ERATO, CERTAIN SCHOOLMASTERS, AND FRIENDS OF AMMONIUS.
QUESTION I. ABOUT VERSES USED AT THE RIGHT AND WRONG TIMES. AMMONIUS, PLUTARCH, ERATO, SOME TEACHERS, AND AMMONIUS'S FRIENDS.
Ammonius, captain of the militia at Athens, would show Diogenianus the proficiency of those youths that learned grammar, geometry, rhetoric, and music; and invited the chief masters of the town to supper. There were a great many scholars at the feast, and almost all his acquaintance. Achilles invited only the single combatants to his feast, intending (as the story goes) that, if in the heat of the encounter they had conceived any anger or ill-will against one another, they might then lay it aside, being made partakers of one common entertainment. But the contrary happened to Ammonius, for the contentions of the masters increased and grew more sharp midst their cups and merriment; and all was disorder and confused babbling.
Ammonius, the captain of the militia in Athens, wanted to show Diogenianus the skills of the young people who studied grammar, geometry, rhetoric, and music. He invited the top teachers in town to dinner. The gathering was filled with many students and nearly all his friends. Achilles, on the other hand, invited only the fighters to his feast, hoping that if any of them had felt anger or resentment during their battles, they could set it aside while enjoying a common meal together. However, the exact opposite happened with Ammonius—disputes among the teachers escalated and became more intense amid their drinking and laughter, resulting in chaos and confused chatter.
Therefore Ammonius commanded Erato to sing to his harp, and he sang some part of Hesiod's Works beginning thus,
Therefore, Ammonius told Erato to play his harp, and he sang a portion of Hesiod's Works starting like this,
Contention to one sort is not confined;
("Works and Days," 11.)
Contention of one kind isn't limited;
("Works and Days," 11.)and I commended him for choosing so apposite a song. Then he began to discourse about the seasonable use of verse, that it was not only pleasant but profitable. And straight every one's mouth was full of that poet who began Ptolemy's epithalamium (when he married his sister, a wicked and abominable match) thus,
and I praised him for picking such a fitting song. Then he started talking about the timely use of poetry, saying it was not only enjoyable but beneficial. And soon everyone was talking about that poet who started Ptolemy's wedding song (when he married his sister, a gross and terrible match) like this,
Jove Juno called his sister and his wife;
("Iliad," xviii. 356.)
Jove called his sister and his wife, Juno;
("Iliad," xviii. 356.)and another, who refused to sing after supper to Demetrius the king, but after he sent him his young son Philip to be educated sang thus,
and another, who refused to sing after dinner for King Demetrius, but after he sent his young son Philip to be educated, sang this way,
Breed thou the boy as doth become
Both Hercules's race and us;
Raise the boy as suits
Both Hercules's lineage and us;and Anaxarchus who, being pelted with apples by Alexander at supper, rose up and said,
and Anaxarchus, who was being hit with apples by Alexander during dinner, stood up and said,
Some god shall wounded be by mortal hand.
(Euripides, "Orestes," 271.)
Some god will be hurt by a mortal's hand.
(Euripides, "Orestes," 271.)But that Corinthian captive boy excelled all, who, when the city was destroyed, and Mummius, taking a survey of all the free-born children that understood letters, commanded each to write a verse, wrote thus:—
But that Corinthian captive boy stood out above all, who, when the city was destroyed, and Mummius, surveying all the free-born children who could read and write, ordered each to write a verse, wrote this:—
Thrice, four times blest, the happy Greeks that fell.
("Odyssey," v. 306.)
Three times, four times blessed, the fortunate Greeks who fell.
("Odyssey," v. 306.)For they say that Mummius was affected with it, wept and gave all the free-born children that were allied to the boy their liberty. And some mentioned the wife of Theodorus the tragedian, who refused his embraces a little before he contended for the prize; but, when he was conqueror and came in unto her, clasped him and said,
For they say that Mummius was moved by it, cried, and granted freedom to all the free-born children related to the boy. Some also talked about Theodorus the tragedian's wife, who turned down his advances just before he competed for the prize; but when he won and came to her, she embraced him and said,
Now, Agamemnon's son, you freely may
(Sophocles "Electra," 2.)
Now, Agamemnon's son, you are free to
(Sophocles "Electra," 2.)After this a great many sayings were mentioned as unseasonably spoken, it being fit that we should know such and avoid them;—as that to Pompey the Great, to whom, upon his return from a dangerous war, the schoolmaster brought his little daughter, and, to show him what a proficient she was, called for a book, and bade her begin at this line,
After this, a lot of sayings were mentioned as inappropriate to say, and it was important for us to know them and avoid using them. One example is when the schoolmaster brought his little daughter to Pompey the Great after he returned from a dangerous war. To show him how well she had learned, he asked for a book and told her to start reading from this line,
Returned from war; but hadst thou there been slain,
My wish had been complete;
("Iliad," iii. 428.)
You came back from war; but if you had been killed there,
my wish would have been fulfilled;
("Iliad," iii. 428.)and that to Cassius Longinus, to whom a flying report of his son's dying abroad being brought, and he no ways appearing either to know the certain truth or to clear the doubt, an old senator came and said: Longinus, will you not despise the flying uncertain rumor, as if you did not know nor had read this line,
and that to Cassius Longinus, who received a rumor about his son's death abroad but didn't seem to know the full truth or confirm the uncertainty. An older senator came to him and said: Longinus, don’t you want to dismiss this unreliable rumor, as if you hadn't read this line or didn’t know at all?
For no report is wholly false?
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 763.)
For no report is completely false?
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 763.)And he that at Rhodes, to a grammarian demanding a line upon which he might show his skill in the theatre, proposed this,
And the guy at Rhodes, when a grammarian asked for a line to show off his skill in the theater, suggested this,
Fly from the island, worst of all mankind,
("Odyssey," x. 72.)
Fly from the island, worst of all humanity,
("Odyssey," x. 72.)either slyly put a trick upon him, or unwittingly blundered. And this discourse quieted the tumult.
either sneaked in a trick on him, or accidentally messed up. And this conversation calmed the chaos.
QUESTIONS II. AND III. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT ALPHA IS PLACED FIRST IN THE ALPHABET, AND WHAT IS THE PROPORTION BETWEEN THE NUMBER OF VOWELS AND SEMI-VOWELS?
QUESTIONS II. AND III. WHY IS ALPHA FIRST IN THE ALPHABET, AND WHAT IS THE RATIO OF VOWELS TO SEMI-VOWELS?
AMMONIUS, HERMEAS, PROTOGENES, PLUTARCH, ZOPYRION.
AMMONIUS, HERMEAS, PROTOGENES, PLUTARCH, ZOPYRION.
It being the custom of the Muses' feast to draw lots, and those that were matched to propose curious questions to one another, Ammonius, fearing that two of the same profession might be matched together, ordered, without drawing lots, a geometrician to propose questions to a grammarian, and a master of music to a rhetorician.
It was the tradition during the Muses' feast to draw lots, and those paired were to ask each other interesting questions. Ammonius, worried that two people from the same field might end up matched, decided, without drawing lots, that a geometrician should ask questions to a grammarian, and a music master should question a rhetorician.
First, therefore, Hermeas the geometrician demanded of Protogenes the grammarian a reason why Alpha was the first letter of the alphabet. And he returned the common answer of the schools, that it was fit the vowels should be set before the mutes and semi-vowels. And of the vowels, some being long, some short, some both long and short, it is just that the latter should be most esteemed. And of these that are long and short, that is to be set first which is usually placed before the other two, but never after either; and that is Alpha. For that put after either Iota or Upsilon will not be pronounced, will not make one syllable with them, but as it were resenting the affront and angry at the position, seeks the first as its proper place. But if you place Alpha before either of those, they are obedient, and quietly join in one syllable, as in these words, [Greek omitted] and a thousand others. In these three respects therefore, as the conquerors in all the five exercises, it claims the precedence,—that of most other letters by being a vowel, that of other vowels by being dichronous, and lastly, that of these double-timed vowels themselves because it is its nature to go before and never after them.
First, then, Hermeas the geometrician asked Protogenes the grammarian why Alpha was the first letter of the alphabet. Protogenes gave the common answer taught in schools, saying it made sense for vowels to come before mutes and semi-vowels. Among the vowels, some are long, some are short, and some can be both, so it’s only right that the latter should be held in the highest regard. Among those that are long and short, the one usually placed before the other two, but never after either, should be first, and that is Alpha. For if placed after either Iota or Upsilon, it cannot be pronounced and does not form a syllable with them, almost as if it is rejecting the slight and resenting its position, seeking its proper place at the beginning. However, if you place Alpha before either of those, they conform and combine into one syllable, as seen in words like [Greek omitted] and countless others. Therefore, in these three respects, as the victor in all five areas, it claims its precedence—over most other letters by being a vowel, over other vowels by being dichronous, and finally, over these double-timed vowels themselves because it naturally goes before them and never after.
Protogenes making a pause, Ammonius, speaking to me, said: What! have you, being a Boeotian, nothing to say for Cadmus, who (as the story goes) placed Alpha the first in order, because a cow is called Alpha by the Phoenicians, and they account it not the second or third (as Hesiod doth) but the first of their necessary things? Nothing at all, I replied, for it is just that, to the best of my power, I should rather assist my own than Bacchus's grandfather. For Lamprias my grandfather said, that the first articulate sound that is made is Alpha; for the air in the mouth is formed and fashioned by the motion of the lips; now as soon as those are opened, that sound breaks forth, being very plain and simple, not requiring or depending upon the motion of the tongue, but gently breathed forth whilst that lies still. And therefore that is the first sound that children make. Thus [Greek omitted], TO HEAR, [Greek omitted], TO SING, [Greek omitted], TO PIPE, [Greek omitted], TO HOLLOW, begin with the letter Alpha; and I think that [Greek omitted], TO LIFT UP, and [Greek omitted], TO OPEN, were fitly taken from that opening and lifting up of the lips when his voice is uttered. Thus all the names of the mutes besides one have an Alpha, as it were a light to assist their blindness; for Pi alone wants it, and Phi and Chi are only Pi and Kappa with an aspirate.
Protogenes paused, and Ammonius turned to me and said: What! As a Boeotian, you have nothing to say in defense of Cadmus, who (as the story goes) put Alpha first because the Phoenicians call a cow Alpha, and they see it as the first of their essential things, not the second or third (like Hesiod does)? I replied that I had nothing at all to add, as I believed it was only right for me to support my own rather than Bacchus's grandfather. My grandfather Lamprias claimed that the first sound we make is Alpha; it’s the air in the mouth shaped by the movement of the lips. As soon as the lips part, that sound emerges—clear and simple—without needing the tongue’s movement, just gently exhaled while the tongue stays still. That’s why it’s the first sound children make. Thus, [Greek omitted], TO HEAR, [Greek omitted], TO SING, [Greek omitted], TO PIPE, [Greek omitted], TO HOLLOW, all start with the letter Alpha; I believe that [Greek omitted], TO LIFT UP, and [Greek omitted], TO OPEN, also appropriately come from the lifting and parting of the lips when we speak. All the names of the consonants except one contain an Alpha, like a light to guide their darkness; Pi alone lacks it, while Phi and Chi are just Pi and Kappa with an added breath.
Hermeas saying that he approved both reasons, why then (continued I) do not you explain the proportion, if there be any, of the number of the letters; for, in my opinion, there is; and I think so, because the number of mutes and semi-vowels, compared between themselves or with the vowels, doth not seem casual and undesigned, but to be according to the first proportion which you call arithmetical. For their number being nine, eight, and seven, the middle exceeds the last as much as it wants of the first. And the first number being compared with the last, hath the same proportion that the Muses have to Apollo; for nine is appropriated to them, and seven to him. And these two numbers tied together double the middle; and not without reason, since the semi-vowels partake the power of both.
Hermeas said that he agreed with both reasons, so then (I continued) why don’t you explain the ratio, if there is one, of the number of letters? In my view, there is, and I believe this because the number of mutes and semi-vowels, compared to each other or with the vowels, doesn’t seem random or unintentional, but aligns with the first ratio that you call arithmetical. The counts being nine, eight, and seven, the middle one exceeds the last by the same amount that it is short of the first. And when you compare the first number with the last, it has the same proportion that the Muses have to Apollo; for nine is assigned to them, and seven to him. These two numbers combined double the middle one, and not without reason, since semi-vowels share characteristics of both.
And Hermeas replied: It is said that Mercury was the first god that discovered letters in Egypt; and therefore the Egyptians make the figure of an Ibis, a bird dedicated to Mercury, for the first letter. But it is not fit, in my opinion, to place an animal that makes no noise at the head of the letters. Amongst all the numbers the fourth is peculiarly dedicated to Mercury, because, as some say, the god was born on the fourth day of the month. And the first letters called Phoenician from Cadmus are four times four, or sixteen; and of those that were afterward added, Palamedes found four, and Simonides four more. Now amongst numbers, three is the first perfect, as consisting of a first, a middle, and a last; and after that six, as being equal the sum of its own divisors (1+2+3). Of these, six multiplied by four makes twenty-four; and also the first perfect number, three, multiplied by the first cube, eight, make the same.
And Hermeas replied: It's said that Mercury was the first god to discover letters in Egypt; that's why the Egyptians use the figure of an Ibis, a bird dedicated to Mercury, for the first letter. However, I don't think it's appropriate to put an animal that makes no sound at the start of the letters. Among all the numbers, the fourth is especially dedicated to Mercury because, as some say, the god was born on the fourth day of the month. The first letters called Phoenician from Cadmus are four times four, or sixteen; and of those that were added later, Palamedes found four, and Simonides found four more. Among numbers, three is the first perfect number, consisting of a first, middle, and last; and after that comes six, as it equals the sum of its own divisors (1+2+3). Of these, six multiplied by four gives twenty-four; and also, the first perfect number, three, multiplied by the first cube, eight, gives the same result.
Whilst he was discoursing thus, Zopyrion the grammarian sneered and muttered between his teeth; and, as soon as he had done, cried out that he most egregiously trifled; for it was mere chance, and not design, that gave such a number and order to the letters, as it was mere chance that the first and last verses of Homer's Iliads have just as many syllables as the first and last of his Odysseys.
While he was talking like this, Zopyrion the grammarian scoffed and mumbled to himself; and as soon as he finished, he shouted that he was just wasting time; it was pure luck, not intention, that arranged the letters in such a way, just like it was pure luck that the first and last verses of Homer's Iliads have the same number of syllables as the first and last of his Odysseys.
QUESTION IV. WHICH OF VENUS'S HANDS DIOMEDES WOUNDED. HERMEAS, ZOPYRION, MAXIMUS.
QUESTION IV. WHICH OF VENUS'S HANDS DID DIOMEDES WOUND? HERMEAS, ZOPYRION, MAXIMUS.
Hermeas would have replied to Zopyrion, but we desired him to hold; and Maximus the rhetorician proposed to him this far-fetched question out of Homer, Which of Venus's hands Diomedes wounded. And Zopyrion presently asking him again, of which leg was Philip lame?—Maximus replied, It is a different case, for Demosthenes hath left us no foundation upon which we may build our conjecture. But if you confess your ignorance in this matter, others will show how the poet sufficiently intimates to an understanding man which hand it was. Zopyrion being at a stand, we all, since he made no reply, desired Maximus to tell us.
Hermeas would have responded to Zopyrion, but we asked him to wait; and Maximus the rhetorician posed this tricky question from Homer: Which of Venus's hands did Diomedes injure? Zopyrion then asked him again, which leg was Philip injured in?—Maximus replied, That's a different situation, because Demosthenes didn't provide any basis for us to form our guess. However, if you admit you don’t know, others will explain how the poet clearly indicates which hand it was to someone who understands. Zopyrion was momentarily at a loss, so we all encouraged Maximus to tell us.
And he began: The verses running thus
And he started: The lines flow like this
Then Diomedes raised his mighty spear,
And leaping towards her just did graze her hand;
("Iliad," v. 335. It is evident from what follows that
Plutarch interprets [Greek omitted] in this passage HAVING
LEAPED TO ONE SIDE. (G.))
Then Diomedes lifted his powerful spear,
And jumping toward her barely touched her hand;
("Iliad," v. 335. It is clear from what comes next that
Plutarch interprets [Greek omitted] in this passage HAVING
JUMPED TO THE SIDE. (G.))it is evident that, if he designed to wound her left hand, there had been no need of leaping, since her left hand was opposite to his right. Besides, it is probable that he would endeavor to wound the strongest hand, and that with which she drew away Aeneas; and which being wounded, it was likely she would let him go. But more, after she returned to Heaven, Minerva jeeringly said,
it’s clear that if he intended to hurt her left hand, there was really no reason to jump, since her left hand was across from his right. Plus, it makes more sense that he would try to injure her stronger hand, the one she used to pull Aeneas away; if that hand got hurt, she would probably let him go. Moreover, after she went back to Heaven, Minerva taunted her,
No doubt fair Venus won a Grecian dame,
To follow her beloved Trojan youths,
And as she gently stroked her with her hand,
Her golden buckler scratched this petty wound.
("Iliad", v. 422.)
No doubt the beautiful Venus won a Greek woman,
To follow her beloved Trojan heroes,
And as she softly touched her with her hand,
Her golden shield left this small scratch.
("Iliad", v. 422.)And I suppose, you sir, when you stroke any of your scholars, you use your right hand, and not your left; and it is likely that Venus, the most skilful of all the goddesses, soothed the heroines after the same manner.
And I guess, you sir, when you pat any of your students, you use your right hand and not your left; and it’s likely that Venus, the most skilled of all the goddesses, comforted the heroines in the same way.
QUESTION V. WHY PLATO SAYS THAT AJAX'S SOUL CAME TO DRAW HER LOT IN THE TWENTIETH PLACE IN HELL. HYLAS, SOSPIS, AMMONIUS, LAMPRIAS.
QUESTION V. WHY PLATO SAYS THAT AJAX'S SOUL CAME TO DRAW HER LOT IN THE TWENTIETH PLACE IN HELL. HYLAS, SOSPIS, AMMONIUS, LAMPRIAS.
These discourses made all the other company merry; but Sospis the rhetorician, seeing Hylas the grammarian sit silent and discomposed (for he had not been very happy in his exercises), cried out,
These discussions made everyone else in the group cheerful, but Sospis the rhetorician, noticing Hylas the grammarian sitting quietly and looking uneasy (since he hadn't been very successful in his exercises), exclaimed,
But Ajax's soul stood far apart;
But Ajax's spirit was distant;
and raising his voice repeated the rest to him,
and raising his voice repeated the rest to him,
But sit, draw near, and patiently attend,
Hear what I say, and tame, your violent rage.
But sit down, come closer, and listen patiently,
Hear what I’m saying, and calm your fierce anger.To this Hylas, unable to contain, returned a scurvy answer saying that Ajax's soul, taking her lot in the twentieth place in hell, changed her nature, according to Plato, for a lion's; but, for his part, he could not but often think upon the saying of the old comedian,
To this, Hylas couldn't hold back and shot back a nasty reply, saying that Ajax's soul, after landing in the twentieth spot in hell, transformed into a lion's nature, according to Plato. But as for him, he couldn’t help but often reflect on what the old comedian said,
'Tis better far to be an ass than see
Unworthwhile men in greater honor shine
It’s way better to be a fool than to watch unworthy people get more recognition.
At this Sospis, laughing heartily, said: But in the meantime, before we have the pack-saddles on, if you have any regard for Plato, tell us why he makes Ajax's soul, after the lots drawn, to have the twentieth choice. Hylas, with great indignation, refused, thinking that this was a jeering reflection on his former miscarriage. And therefore my brother began thus: What, was not Ajax counted the second for beauty, strength, and courage, and the next to Achilles in the Grecian army? And twenty is the second ten, and ten is the chiefest of numbers, as Achilles of the Greeks. We laughing at this, Ammonius said: Well, Lamprias, let this suffice for a joke upon Hylas; but since you have voluntarily taken upon you to give an account of this matter, leave off jesting, and seriously proceed.
At this, Sospis laughed heartily and said, "But in the meantime, before we start preparing the pack-saddles, if you have any respect for Plato, tell us why he gives Ajax's soul, after the lots are drawn, the twentieth choice." Hylas, feeling quite indignant, refused, thinking that this was a mocking reference to his previous failure. So my brother began: "Wasn't Ajax considered second for beauty, strength, and courage, right after Achilles in the Greek army? And twenty is the second ten, and ten is the most important number, just like Achilles is for the Greeks." We laughed at this, and Ammonius said, "Well, Lamprias, let this be enough of a joke at Hylas' expense; but since you've chosen to explain this matter, stop joking and get serious."
This startled Lamprias a little, but, after a short pause, he continued thus: Plato often tells merry stories under borrowed names, but when he puts any fable into a discourse concerning the soul, he hath some considerable meaning in it. The intelligent nature of the heavens he calls a flying chariot, intimating the harmonious whirl of the world. And here he introduceth one Er, the son of Harmonius, a Pamphylian, to tell what he had seen in hell; intimating that our souls are begotten according to harmony, and are agreeably united to our bodies, and that, when they are separated, they are from all parts carried together into the air, and from thence return to second generations. And what hinders but that [Greek omitted] twentieth should intimate that this was not a true story, but only probable and fictitious [Greek omitted], and that the lot fell casually [Greek omitted]. For Plato always toucheth upon three causes, he being the first and chiefest philosopher that knew how fate accords with fortune, and how our free-will is mixed and complicated with both. And now he hath admirably discovered what influence each hath upon our affairs. The choice of our life he hath left to our free-will, for virtue and vice are free. But that those who have made a good choice should live religiously, and those who have made an ill choice should lead a contrary life, he leaves to the necessity of fate. But the chances of lots thrown at a venture introduce fortune into the several conditions of life in which we are brought up, and which pre-occupates and perverts our own choice. Now consider whether it is not irrational to inquire after a cause of those things that are done by chance. For if the lot seems to be disposed of by design, it ceaseth to be chance and fortune, and becomes fate and providence.
This surprised Lamprias a bit, but after a brief pause, he continued: Plato often shares amusing stories under fake names, but when he includes a fable in a discussion about the soul, there’s a deeper meaning behind it. He refers to the intelligent nature of the heavens as a flying chariot, hinting at the harmonious motion of the universe. Here, he introduces one Er, the son of Harmonius, a Pamphylian, to share what he saw in the afterlife; suggesting that our souls are created in harmony and are pleasantly linked to our bodies, and that, when separated, they are drawn back together into the air before returning to new lives. What’s to stop the idea that a twentieth might imply this wasn’t a true story, but merely likely and fictional, and that the lot fell randomly? Plato always touches on three causes; he’s the first and foremost philosopher who understood how fate aligns with chance, and how our free will is intertwined with both. Now he has brilliantly revealed the impact each has on our lives. He leaves the choice of our life to our free will, since virtue and vice are up to us. But he suggests that those who make good choices should live morally, while those who make poor choices should live in the opposite way, which is left to the necessity of fate. The randomness of lots introduces chance into the various circumstances of life in which we find ourselves, influencing and distorting our own choices. Now, consider whether it’s illogical to seek a cause for things that happen by chance. Because if a lot seems to be arranged deliberately, it stops being chance and fortune, and turns into fate and providence.
Whilst Lamprias was speaking, Marcus the grammarian seemed to be counting to himself, and when he had done, he began thus: Amongst the souls which Homer mentions in his [Greek omitted], Elpenor's is not to be reckoned as mixed with those in hell, but, his body being not buried, as wandering about the banks of the river Styx. Nor is it fit that we should reckon Tiresias's soul amongst the rest,—
While Lamprias was speaking, Marcus the grammarian appeared to be counting to himself, and when he finished, he began like this: Among the souls that Homer mentions in his [Greek omitted], Elpenor's shouldn't be counted as one of those in hell, but rather, since his body wasn't buried, he's wandering around the banks of the river Styx. It's also not appropriate for us to include Tiresias's soul with the others,—
On whom alone, when deep in hell beneath,
Wisdom Proserpina conferred,
On whom alone, when deep in hell below,
Wisdom Proserpina bestowed,to discourse and converse with the living even before he drank the sacrifice's blood. Therefore, Lamprias, if you subtract these two, you will find that Ajax was the twentieth that Ulysses saw, and Plato merrily alludes to that place in Homer's [Greek omitted].
to talk and communicate with the living even before he drank the sacrifice's blood. Therefore, Lamprias, if you take away these two, you will find that Ajax was the twentieth that Ulysses saw, and Plato humorously references that spot in Homer's [Greek omitted].
QUESTION VI. WHAT IS SIGNIFIED BY THE FABLE ABOUT THE DEFEAT OF NEPTUNE? AND ALSO, WHY DO THE ATHENIANS OMIT THE SECOND DAY OF THE MONTH BOEDROMION? MENEPHYLUS, HYLAS, LAMPRIAS.
QUESTION VI. WHAT DOES THE FABLE ABOUT NEPTUNE'S DEFEAT MEAN? AND ALSO, WHY DO THE ATHENIANS SKIP THE SECOND DAY OF THE MONTH BOEDROMION? MENEPHYLUS, HYLAS, LAMPRIAS.
While all were making a disturbance, Menephylus, a Peripatetic philosopher, addressing Hylas: You see, he said, how this investigation is no foolery nor insolence. But leave now, my dear fellow, that obstinate Ajax, whose name is ill-omened, as Sophocles says, and side with Poseidon, whom you yourself are wont to tell has often been overcome, once by Athene here, in Delphi by Apollo, in Argos by Here, in Aegina by Zeus, in Naxos by Bacchus, yet in his misfortunes has always been mild and amiable. Here at least he shares a temple in common with Athene, in which there is an altar dedicated to Lethe. And Hylas, as if he had become better tempered: One thing has escaped you, Menephylus, that we have given up the second day of September, not on account of the moon, but because on that day the gods seemed to have contended for the country. By all means, said Lamprias, by as much as Poseidon was more civilized than Thrasybulus, since not like him a winner but a loser....
While everyone was causing a scene, Menephylus, a Peripatetic philosopher, turned to Hylas and said, "You see, this investigation isn't just nonsense or arrogance. But now, my friend, let go of that stubborn Ajax, whose name is unlucky, as Sophocles puts it, and support Poseidon, who you often mention has been defeated many times—once by Athena here, at Delphi by Apollo, in Argos by Hera, in Aegina by Zeus, and in Naxos by Bacchus. Yet, despite his setbacks, he has always remained gentle and friendly. Here, at least, he shares a temple with Athena, which has an altar dedicated to Lethe." Hylas, seemingly in a better mood, replied, "You’ve overlooked one thing, Menephylus: We stopped observing the second day of September not because of the moon, but because that day seemed to mark when the gods fought for the country." "Absolutely," said Lamprias, "since Poseidon was much more civilized than Thrasybulus, as he was not a victor but a loser..."
(The rest of this book to Question XIII is lost; with the exception of the titles that follow, and the fragment of Question XII.)
(The rest of this book up to Question XIII is missing; except for the titles that follow and the fragment of Question XII.)
QUESTION VII. WHY THE ACCORDS IN MUSIC ARE SEPARATED INTO THREE. QUESTION VIII. WHEREIN THE INTERVALS MELODIOUS DIFFER FROM THOSE THAT ARE HARMONIC. QUESTION IX. WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF ACCORD? AND ALSO, WHY, WHEN TWO ACCORDANT STRINGS ARE TOUCHED TOGETHER, IS THE MELODY ASCRIBED TO THE BASE? QUESTION X. WHY, WHEN THE ECLIPTIC PERIODS OF THE SUN AND THE MOON ARE EQUAL IN NUMBER, THE MOON APPEARS OFTENER ECLIPSED THAN THE SUN. QUESTION XI. THAT WE CONTINUE NOT ALWAYS THE SAME, IN REGARD OF THE DEFLUX OF OUR SUBSTANCE. QUESTION XII. IS IT MORE PROBABLE THAT THE NUMBER OF THE STARS IS EVEN OR ODD?
QUESTION VII. WHY ARE THE CHORDS IN MUSIC DIVIDED INTO THREE? QUESTION VIII. HOW DO MELODIC INTERVALS DIFFER FROM HARMONIC ONES? QUESTION IX. WHAT CAUSES A CHORD? AND ALSO, WHY, WHEN TWO CHORDS ARE PLAYED TOGETHER, IS THE MELODY ATTRIBUTED TO THE BASE? QUESTION X. WHY DOES THE MOON SEEM TO BE ECLIPSED MORE OFTEN THAN THE SUN WHEN THE ECLIPTIC PERIODS OF THE SUN AND MOON ARE EQUAL? QUESTION XI. WE DO NOT ALWAYS REMAIN THE SAME REGARDING THE DRAIN OF OUR SUBSTANCE. QUESTION XII. IS IT MORE LIKELY THAT THE NUMBER OF STARS IS EVEN OR ODD?
Men must be cheated by oaths. And Glaucias said: I have heard this saying used against Polycrates the tyrant; probably too it was said against others: but why do you ask these questions? Because, by Zeus, said Sospis, I see the children playing odd and even with jackstones and the Academics with words. For such tempers as these differ in no way from those who ask whether they hold clutched in their hands odd or even. Then Protogenes stood up and called me by name: What is the matter with us that we allow these rhetoricians to be so conceited, and to laugh down others while they are asked nothing, and contribute nothing in the way of argument,—unless they swear that they have no part in the wine as admirers and disciples of Demosthenes, a man who in his whole life never drank wine. That is not the cause of this, said I; but we have never asked them anything. But unless you have something more useful, I think I can put before them from Homer's poetry a case of antinomy in rhetorical theses.
Men have to be deceived by promises. Glaucias said, "I've heard this saying used against Polycrates the tyrant; it was probably said about others too. But why are you asking these questions?" Sospis replied, "By Zeus, I see the kids playing odd and even with jackstones, and the Academics are just playing with words. Those attitudes are no different from those who wonder if they have odd or even numbers in their hands." Then Protogenes stood up and called me by name: "What's wrong with us that we let these rhetoricians be so arrogant, laughing at others while contributing nothing in terms of arguments—unless they swear they have nothing to do with wine as fans and students of Demosthenes, a man who never drank wine in his entire life?" I said, "That's not the issue; it's that we’ve never asked them anything. But unless you have something more helpful, I think I can present an example of a contradiction in rhetorical topics from Homer's poetry."
QUESTION XIII. A MOOT-POINT OUT OF THE THIRD BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS. PLUTARCH, PROTOGENES, GLAUCIAS, SOSPIS.
QUESTION XIII. A MOOT-POINT OUT OF THE THIRD BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD. PLUTARCH, PROTOGENES, GLAUCIAS, SOSPIS.
What question will you put them, said Protogenes? I will tell you, continued I, and let them carefully attend. Paris makes his challenge in these express words:—
What question will you ask them? Protogenes said. I'll tell you, I replied, and let them listen closely. Paris makes his challenge in these exact words:—
Let me and valiant Menelaus fight
For Helen, and for all the goods she brought;
And he that shall o'ercome, let him enjoy
The goods and woman; let them be his own.
Let me and brave Menelaus fight
For Helen, and for all the belongings she brought;
And whoever wins, let him have
The possessions and the woman; let them be his.And Hector afterwards publicly proclaiming this challenge in these plain words:—
And Hector then publicly announcing this challenge in these simple words:—
He bids the Trojans and the valiant Greeks
To fix their arms upon the fruitful ground;
Let Menelaus and stout Paris fight
For all the goods; and he that beats have all.
He tells the Trojans and the brave Greeks
To set their weapons on the fertile ground;
Let Menelaus and strong Paris fight
For all the spoils; and whoever wins will get it all.Menelaus accepted the challenge, and the conditions were sworn to, Agamemnon dictating thus:—
Menelaus accepted the challenge, and the conditions were sworn to, Agamemnon dictating this:—
If Paris valiant Menelaus kills,
Let him have Helen, and the goods possess;
If youthful Menelaus Paris kills,
The woman and the goods shall all be his.
(See "Iliad," iii. 68, 88, 255, and 281.)
If Paris, brave Menelaus, is killed,
He can take Helen and all the possessions;
If young Menelaus kills Paris,
The woman and the possessions will all be his.
(See "Iliad," iii. 68, 88, 255, and 281.)Now since Menelaus only overcame but did not kill Paris, each party hath somewhat to say for itself, and against the other. The one may demand restitution, because Paris was overcome; the other deny it, because he was not killed. Now how to determine this case and clear the seeming repugnancies doth not belong to philosophers or grammarians, but to rhetoricians, that are well skilled both in grammar and philosophy.
Now that Menelaus defeated but didn't kill Paris, both sides have points to argue against each other. One side can demand restitution since Paris was defeated; the other can deny it because he wasn't killed. Figuring out how to resolve this issue and clear up the apparent contradictions isn't the job of philosophers or grammarians, but of rhetoricians, who are well-versed in both grammar and philosophy.
Then Sospis said: The challenger's word decides; for the challenger proposed the conditions, and when they were accepted, the opposite party had no power to make additions. Now the condition proposed in this challenge was not killing, but overcoming; and there was reason that it should be so, for Helen ought to be the wife of the bravest. Now the bravest is he that overcomes; for it often happens that an excellent soldier might be killed by a coward, as is evident in what happened afterward, when Achilles was shot by Paris. For I do not believe that you will affirm, that Achilles was not so brave a man as Paris because he was killed by him, and that it should be called the victory, and not rather the unjust good fortune, of him that shot him. But Hector was overcome before he was killed by Achilles, because he would not stand, but trembled and fled at his approach. For he that refuseth the combat or flies cannot palliate his defeat, and plainly grants that his adversary is the better man. And therefore Iris tells Helen beforehand,
Then Sospis said: The challenger’s word decides; because the challenger proposed the conditions, and once they were accepted, the other party couldn’t make any changes. Now, the condition proposed in this challenge was not about killing, but about overcoming; and it made sense for it to be that way, as Helen should be the wife of the bravest. The bravest is the one who overcomes; after all, it can happen that a great soldier might be killed by a coward, just like what occurred later when Achilles was shot by Paris. I don’t think you would argue that Achilles wasn’t braver than Paris just because he was killed by him, and it should be called a victory, rather than unjust luck, for the one who shot him. But Hector was defeated before he was killed by Achilles, because he wouldn’t stand his ground, but trembled and fled at his approach. The one who refuses to fight or runs away can’t excuse his defeat and clearly admits that his opponent is the better man. And that’s why Iris tells Helen in advance,
In single combat they shall fight for you,
And you shall be the glorious victor's wife.
(2 Ibid. iii. 137.)
In one-on-one combat, they will fight for you,
And you will be the wife of the glorious victor.
(2 Ibid. iii. 137.)And Jupiter afterwards adjudges the victory to Menelaus in these words:
And Jupiter then awards the victory to Menelaus with these words:
The conquest leans to Menelaus's side.
(3 Ibid. iv. 13.)
The victory favors Menelaus.
(3 Ibid. iv. 13.)For it would be ridiculous to call Menelaus a conqueror when he shot Podes, a man at a great distance, before he thought of or could provide against his danger, and yet not allow him the reward of conquest over him whom he made fly and sneak into the embraces of his wife, and whom he spoiled of his arms whilst he was yet alive, and who had himself offered the challenge, by the articles of which Menelaus now appeared to be the conqueror.
For it would be absurd to call Menelaus a conqueror when he shot Podes, a guy from far away, before he even thought of or could prepare for his own danger. Yet, we wouldn't give him the victory for making the other guy run away and sneak into his wife's arms, and for taking his weapons while he was still alive, especially since that guy had issued the challenge, by the rules of which Menelaus now seemed to be the winner.
Glaucias subjoined: in all laws, decrees, contracts, and promises, those latest made are always accounted more valid than the former. Now the later contract was Agamemnon's, the condition of which was killing, and not only overcoming. Besides the former was mere words, the latter confirmed by oath; and, by the consent of all, those were cursed that broke them; so that this latter was properly the contract, and the other a bare challenge. And this Priam at his going away, after he had sworn to the conditions, confirms by these words:—
Glaucias added that in all laws, decrees, contracts, and promises, the most recent ones are always considered more valid than the earlier ones. Now, the later contract was Agamemnon's, and its condition was killing, not just defeating. Also, the earlier one was just empty words, while the later was backed by an oath; everyone agreed that those who broke them would be cursed. So, the latter was truly the contract, while the former was just a challenge. And as Priam was leaving, after swearing to the conditions, he confirmed this with these words:—
But Jove and other gods alone do know,
Which is designed to see the shades below;
("Iliad," iii. 308.)
But Jupiter and the other gods alone know,
Who is meant to witness the shadows below;
("Iliad," iii. 308.)for he understood that to be the condition of the contract. And therefore a little after Hector says,
for he understood that it was a requirement of the agreement. And so, a little later, Hector says,
But Jove hath undetermined left our oaths,
(Ibid. vii. 69.)
But Jove has left our oaths unresolved,
(Ibid. vii. 69.)for the combat had not its designed and indisputable determination, since neither of them fell. Therefore this question doth not seem to me to contain any contrariety of law, since the former contract is comprised and overruled by the latter; for he that kills certainly overcomes, but he that overcomes doth not always kill. But, in short, Agamemnon did not annul, but only explain the challenge proposed by Hector. He did not change anything, but only added the most principal part, placing victory in killing; for that is a complete conquest, but all others may be evaded or disputed, as this of Menelaus, who neither wounded nor pursued his adversary. Now as, where there are laws really contrary, the judges take that side which is plain and indisputable, and mind not that which is obscure; so in this case, let us admit that contract to be most valid which contained killing, as a known and undeniable evidence of victory. But (which is the greatest argument) he that seems to have had the victory, not being quiet, but running up and down the army, and searching all about,
for the fight didn’t reach its intended and clear conclusion, since neither of them fell. So, this question doesn’t seem to present any contradiction of law because the first agreement is included and overshadowed by the second; for the one who kills definitely wins, but the one who wins doesn’t always kill. In short, Agamemnon didn’t cancel, but just clarified the challenge put forth by Hector. He didn’t change anything, just added the most important part, putting victory in killing; for that is a complete triumph, while all others can be avoided or debated, like with Menelaus, who neither injured nor chased his opponent. Now, when there are actually conflicting laws, judges typically side with the straightforward and clear one, ignoring the ambiguous one; so in this case, let’s accept that the agreement involving killing is the most valid, as it serves as a clear and undeniable proof of victory. But (which is the strongest point) the one who appears to have won, isn’t at rest, but is running around the army, looking everywhere,
To find neat Paris in the busy throng,
(Ibid. iii. 450.)
To find the tidy parts of Paris in the bustling crowd,
(Ibid. iii. 450.)sufficiently testifies that he himself did not imagine that the conquest was perfect and complete. For when Paris had escaped he did not forget his own words:—
sufficiently shows that he didn't think the conquest was perfect and complete. Because when Paris got away, he didn’t forget what he had said:—
And which of us black fate and death design,
Let him be lost; the others cease from war.
(Iliad, iii. 101,)
And whoever among us is destined for a terrible fate and death,
let them be lost; the rest of us should stop fighting.
(Iliad, iii. 101,)Therefore it was necessary for him to seek after Paris, that he might kill him and complete the combat; but since he neither killed nor took him, he had no right to the prize. For he did not conquer him, if we may guess by what he said when he expostulated with Jove and bewailed his unsuccessful attempt:—
Therefore, it was necessary for him to go after Paris so he could kill him and finish the fight; but since he neither killed him nor captured him, he had no claim to the prize. He didn't conquer him, as we can assume from what he said when he pleaded with Jove and lamented his failed attempt:—
Jove, Heaven holds no more spiteful god than thou.
Now would I punish Paris for his crimes;
But oh! my sword is broke, my mighty spear,
Stretched out in vain, flies idly from my hand!
(Ibid. iii, 365.)
Jove, there’s no more vengeful god in Heaven than you.
Now I want to punish Paris for what he did;
But oh! my sword is broken, my powerful spear,
Extended in vain, slips useless from my hand!
(Ibid. iii, 365.)For in these words he confessed that it was to no purpose to pierce the shield or take the head-piece of his adversary, unless he likewise wounded or killed him.
For in these words he admitted that it was pointless to break the shield or remove the helmet of his opponent unless he also harmed or killed him.
QUESTION XIV. SOME OBSERVATIONS ABOUT THE NUMBER OF THE MUSES, NOT COMMONLY KNOWN. HERODES, AMMONIUS, LAMPRIAS, TRYPHON, DIONYSIUS, MENEPHYLUS, PLUTARCH.
QUESTION XIV. SOME OBSERVATIONS ABOUT THE NUMBER OF THE MUSES, NOT COMMONLY KNOWN. HERODES, AMMONIUS, LAMPRIAS, TRYPHON, DIONYSIUS, MENEPHYLUS, PLUTARCH.
This discourse ended, we poured out our offerings to the Muses, and together with a hymn in honor of Apollo, the patron of the Muses, we sung with Erato, who played upon the harp, the generation of the Muses out of Hesiod. After the song was done, Herod the rhetorician said: Pray, sirs, hearken. Those that will not admit Calliope to be ours say that she keeps company with kings, not such, I suppose, as are busied in resolving syllogisms or disputing, but such who do those things that belong to rhetoricians and statesmen. But of the rest of the Muses, Clio abets encomiums, for praises are called [Greek omitted]; and Polymnia history, for her name signifies the remembrance of many things; and it is said that all the Muses were somewhere called Remembrances. And for my part, I think Euterpe hath some relation to us too, if (as Chrysippus says) her lot be agreeableness in discourse and pleasantness in conversation. For it belongs to an orator to converse, as well as plead or give advice; since it is his part to gain the favor of his auditors, and to defend or excuse his client. To praise or dispraise is the commonest theme; and if we manage this artfully, it will turn to considerable account; if unskilfully, we are lost. For that saying,
This discussion concluded, we offered our gifts to the Muses, and along with a hymn in honor of Apollo, the protector of the Muses, we sang with Erato, who played the harp, about the origin of the Muses as told by Hesiod. Once the song ended, Herod the rhetorician said: "Please, gentlemen, listen up. Those who refuse to acknowledge Calliope as ours claim that she associates with kings, not those who focus on resolving syllogisms or debating, but rather those engaged in the activities of rhetoricians and statesmen. As for the other Muses, Clio supports accolades because praises are referred to as [Greek omitted]; and Polymnia brings history to light, as her name signifies the remembrance of many things; it's said that all the Muses were at some point called Remembrances. I believe Euterpe is also connected to us, if (as Chrysippus suggests) her purpose is pleasantness in conversation and agreeableness in discourse. An orator's role includes conversing, as well as pleading or advising, since it's essential to win the favor of the audience and to defend or justify one’s client. Praising or criticizing is the most common topic; if we handle this skillfully, it can yield significant benefits; if clumsily, we are done for. For that saying,
Gods! how he is honored and beloved by all,
("Odyssey," x. 38.)
Wow! Everyone honors and loves him,
("Odyssey," x. 38.)chiefly, in my opinion, belongs to those men who have a pleasing and persuasive faculty in discourse.
primarily, in my view, belongs to those individuals who have an appealing and convincing ability in conversation.
Then said Ammonius to Herod: We have no reason to be angry with you for grasping all the Muses, since the goods that friends have are common, and Jove hath begotten a great many Muses, that every man may be plentifully supplied; for we do not all need skill in hunting, military arts, navigation, or any mechanical trades; but learning and instruction is necessary for every one that
Then Ammonius said to Herod: We have no reason to be upset with you for claiming all the Muses, since the resources that friends have are shared, and Jove has created many Muses, so that everyone can be well provided for; not everyone needs to excel in hunting, military skills, navigation, or any trades; but knowledge and education are essential for everyone who
Consumes the fruits of the spacious earth.
(From Simonides.)
Enjoys the bounty of the vast earth.
(From Simonides.)And therefore Jove made but one Minerva, one Diana, one Vulcan, but many Muses. But why there should be nine, and no more nor less, pray acquaint us; for you, so great a lover of, and so well acquainted with, the Muses, must certainly have considered this matter. What difficulty is there in that? replied Herod. The number nine is in everybody's mouth, as being the first square of the first odd number; and as doubly odd, since it may be divided into three equal odd numbers. Ammonius with a smile subjoined: Boldly said; and pray add, that this number is composed of the two first cubes, one and eight, and according to another composition of two triangles, three and six, each of which is itself perfect. But why should this belong to the Muses more than any other of the gods? For we have nine Muses, but not nine Cereses, nine Minervas or Dianas. For I do not believe that you take it for a good argument, that the Muses must be so many, because their mother's name (Mnemosyne) consists of just so many letters. Herod smiling, and everybody being silent, Ammonius desired our opinions.
And so Jove created one Minerva, one Diana, one Vulcan, but many Muses. But can you explain why there are nine of them, neither more nor less? You, being such a big fan of the Muses and well-versed in them, must have thought about this. What’s so difficult about that? Herod replied. The number nine is well-known, as it's the first square of the first odd number and is uniquely odd because it can be divided into three equal odd numbers. Ammonius added with a smile: Well said! Also, this number is made up of the two first cubes, which are one and eight, and it can also be viewed as a combination of two triangles, three and six, both of which are perfect. But why does this number belong to the Muses more than to any other gods? We have nine Muses, but not nine Cereses, nine Minervas, or nine Dianas. I don't think you would argue that the Muses must come in that number just because their mother’s name (Mnemosyne) has the same number of letters. Herod smiled, and everyone else fell silent while Ammonius asked for our thoughts.
My brother said, that the ancients celebrated but three Muses, and that to bring proofs for this assertion would be pedantic and uncivil in such a company. The reason of this number was (not as some say) the three different sorts of music, the diatonic, the chromatic, and harmonic, nor those stops that make the intervals nete, mese, and hypate, though the Delphians gave the Muses this name erroneously, in my opinion, appropriating it to one science, or rather to a part of one single science, the harmoniac part of music. But, as I think, the ancients, reducing all arts and sciences which are executed and performed by reason or discourse to three heads, philosophy, rhetoric, and mathematics, accounted them the gifts of three gods, and named them the Muses. Afterwards, about Hesiod's time, the sciences being better and more thoroughly looked into, and men subdividing them found that each science contained three different parts. In mathematics are comprehended music, arithmetic, and geometry; in philosophy are logic, ethics, and physics. In rhetoric, they say the first part was demonstrative or encomiastic, the second deliberative, the third judicial. None of all which they believed to be without a god or a Muse or some superior power for its patron, and did not, it is probable, make the Muses equal in number to these divisions, but found them to be so. Now, as you may divide nine into three threes, and each three into as many units; so there is but one rectitude of reason, which is employed about the highest truth, and which belongs to the whole in common, while each of the three kinds of science is assigned three Muses, and each of these has her distinct faculty assigned to her, which she disposes and orders. And I do not think the poets and astrologers will find fault with us for passing over their professions in silence, since they know, as well as we, that astrology is comprehended in geometry, and poetry in music.
My brother said that the ancients celebrated only three Muses and that providing evidence for this claim would be pretentious and rude in such company. The reason for this number wasn’t, as some suggest, because of the three types of music—the diatonic, the chromatic, and the harmonic—nor those stops that create the intervals nete, mese, and hypate, although the Delphians mistakenly assigned this name to the Muses, in my view, limiting it to one field, or rather a part of a single field, the harmonic aspect of music. However, I believe the ancients categorized all arts and sciences that are performed through reason or discourse under three main categories: philosophy, rhetoric, and mathematics. They considered these the gifts of three gods and referred to them as the Muses. Later, around the time of Hesiod, as the sciences were examined more thoroughly, people began to subdivide them and found that each science contained three distinct parts. In mathematics, there are music, arithmetic, and geometry; in philosophy, there are logic, ethics, and physics. In rhetoric, the first part is said to be demonstrative or encomiastic, the second deliberative, and the third judicial. They believed none of these areas existed without a god, Muse, or some higher power as their patron and likely did not deliberately match the number of Muses to these divisions but found them to be so. Just as you can divide nine into three groups of three, with each group containing smaller units, there is only one true rationality, focusing on the highest truth, which is common to all, while each of the three types of science has three Muses assigned to them, and each Muse has her specific faculty that she organizes and governs. I don’t think poets and astrologers will object to us omitting their fields since they know, just like we do, that astrology falls under geometry and poetry comes from music.
As soon as he had said this, Trypho the physician subjoined: How hath our art offended you, that you have shut the Museum against us? And Dionysius of Melite added: Sir, you have a great many that will side with you in the accusation; for we farmers think Thalia to be ours, assigning her the care of springing and budding seeds and plants. But I interposing said: Your accusation is not just; for you have bountiful Ceres, and Bacchus who (as Pindar phraseth it) increaseth the trees, the chaste beauty of the fruits; and we know that Aesculapius is the patron of the Physicians, and they make their address to Apollo as Paean, but never as the Muses' leader. All men (as Homer says) stand in need of the gods, but all stand not in need of all. But I wonder Lamprias did not mind what the Delphians say in this matter; for they affirm that the Muses amongst them were not named so either from the strings or sounds in music; but the universe being divided into three parts, the first portion was of the fixed stars, the second of the planets, the third of those things that are under the concave of the moon; and all these are ordered according to harmonical proportions, and of each portion a Muse takes care; Hypate of the first, Nete of the last, and Mese in the middle, combining as much as possible, and turning about mortal things with the gods and earthly with heavenly. And Plato intimates the same thing under the names of the Fates, calling one Atropos, the other Lachesis, and the other Clotho. For he hath committed the revolutions of the eight spheres to so many Sirens, and not Muses.
As soon as he said this, Trypho the doctor added, "What have we done to offend you, that you've closed the Museum to us?" Dionysius of Melite chimed in, "Sir, many will support your accusation; we farmers consider Thalia to be ours, as we relate her to the nurturing of sprouting seeds and plants." I then interjected, "Your accusation isn’t fair; you have abundant Ceres and Bacchus who, as Pindar puts it, enriches the trees and the pure beauty of fruits. We know that Aesculapius is the patron of physicians, and they call to Apollo as Paean, but never as the leader of the Muses. Everyone, as Homer says, needs the gods, but not everyone needs all of them. I’m surprised Lamprias didn’t take into account what the Delphians say about this; they claim that the Muses were not named after the instruments or sounds in music, but because the universe is divided into three parts—one for the fixed stars, one for the planets, and one for everything beneath the moon—and all are ordered according to harmonious proportions, with a Muse overseeing each part: Hypate for the first, Nete for the last, and Mese in the middle, intertwining mortal affairs with the divine and earthly with heavenly. Plato suggests something similar using the names of the Fates, referring to one as Atropos, another as Lachesis, and the last as Clotho. He has entrusted the movements of the eight spheres to these Sirens, not to Muses.
Then Menephylus the Peripatetic subjoined: The Delphians' opinion hath indeed somewhat of probability in it; but Plato is absurd in committing the eternal and divine revolutions not to the Muses but to the Sirens, Daemons that neither love nor are benevolent to mankind, wholly passing by the Muses, or calling them by the names of the Fates, the daughters of Necessity. For Necessity is averse to the Muses; but Persuasion being more agreeable and better acquainted with them, in my opinion, than the grace of Empedocles,
Then Menephylus the Peripatetic added: The Delphians do have a point; however, Plato is off base for assigning the eternal and divine cycles not to the Muses but to the Sirens, beings that neither love nor care for humanity, completely ignoring the Muses or referring to them as the Fates, the daughters of Necessity. Necessity is opposed to the Muses, while I think Persuasion is more aligned and familiar with them than the charm of Empedocles.
Intolerable Necessity abhors.
Intolerable Necessity hates.
No doubt, said Ammonius, as it is in us a violent and involuntary cause; but in the gods Necessity is not intolerable, uncontrollable, or violent, unless it be to the wicked; as the law in a commonwealth to the best man is its best gift, not to be violated or transgressed, not because they have no power, but because they have no will, to change it. And Homer's Sirens give us no just reason to be afraid; for he in that fable rightly intimates the power of their music not to be hurtful to man, but delightfully charming, and detaining the souls which pass from hence thither and wander after death; working in them a love for heavenly and divine things, and a forgetfulness of everything on earth; and they extremely pleased follow and attend them. And from thence some imperfect sound, and as it were echo of that music, coming to us by the means of reason and good precepts, rouseth our souls, and restores the notice of those things to our minds, the greatest part of which lie encumbered with and entangled in disturbances of the flesh and distracting passions. But the generous soul hears and remembers, and her affection for those pleasures riseth up to the most ardent passion, whilst she eagerly desires but is not able to free herself from the body.
“No doubt,” said Ammonius, “while it’s a violent and involuntary force within us, in the gods, Necessity isn’t unbearable, uncontrollable, or violent—except for the wicked. For the best man in a community, the law is its greatest gift, to be honored and respected, not because they lack the power, but because they lack the will to change it. And Homer’s Sirens don’t give us a valid reason to be afraid; because in that story, he rightly suggests that their music isn’t harmful to people but rather beautifully enchanting, capturing the souls that transition from here to there and drift after death. It inspires love for heavenly and divine things, causing forgetfulness of everything earthly, and they happily follow and attend to them. From there, some imperfect sound, like an echo of that music, reaches us through reason and good teachings, awakening our souls and bringing awareness of those things to our minds, most of which become weighed down and tangled in physical disturbances and distracting passions. But the noble soul hears and remembers, and her longing for those pleasures rises to the most fervent desire, while she eagerly wishes to free herself from the body but remains unable to do so.”
It is true, I do not approve what he says; but Plato seems to me, as he hath strangely and unaccountably called the axes spindles and distaffs, and the stars whirls, so to have named the Muses Sirens, as delivering divine things to the ghosts below, as Ulysses in Sophocles says of the Sirens,
It’s true, I don’t agree with what he says; but Plato seems to me, as he has oddly and inexplicably referred to axes as spindles and distaffs, and the stars as whirls, also to have called the Muses Sirens, because they deliver divine things to the souls below, just like Ulysses mentions about the Sirens in Sophocles.
I next to Phorcus's daughters came,
Who fix the sullen laws below.
I approached Phorcus's daughters,
Who enforce the gloomy rules down below.Eight of the Muses take care of the spheres, and one of all about the earth. The eight who govern the motions of the spheres maintain the agreement of the planets with the fixed stars and one another. But that one who looks after the place betwixt the earth and moon and takes care of mortal things, by means of discourse and song introduceth persuasion, aiding our natural consent to community and agreement, and giveth men as much harmony, grace, and order as is possible for them to take; introducing this persuasion to appease and quiet our disturbances, and as it were to recall our wandering desires out of the wrong way, and to set us in the right path. But, as Pindar says,
Eight of the Muses oversee the celestial spheres, while one oversees everything on Earth. The eight who manage the movements of the spheres ensure that the planets stay in harmony with the fixed stars and with each other. The one who cares for the space between the Earth and the moon looks after human affairs, using conversation and song to inspire agreement and cooperation among us. She provides as much harmony, grace, and order as we can handle, using her influence to soothe our inner turmoil and bring our wandering desires back on track, guiding us towards the right path. But, as Pindar says,
Whom Jove abhors, he starts to hear
The Muses sounding in his ear.
(Pindar, "Pythian," i. 25.)
Whoever Jove dislikes, he begins to hear
The Muses echoing in his ear.
(Pindar, "Pythian," i. 25.)To this discourse Ammonius, as he used to do, subjoined that verse of Xenophanes,
To this conversation, Ammonius, as he often did, added that line from Xenophanes,
This fine discourse seems near allied to truth,
This great discussion seems closely related to the truth,
and desired every one to deliver his opinion. And I after a short silence, said: As Plato thinks by the name, as it were by tracks, to discover the powers of the gods, so let us place in heaven and over heavenly things one of the Muses, Urania. And it is likely that those require no distracting variety of cares to govern them, since they have the same single nature for the cause of all their motions. But where are a great many irregularities and disorders, there we must place the eight Muses, that we may have one to correct each particular irregularity and miscarriage. There are two parts in a man's life, the serious and the merry; and each must be regulated and methodized. The serious role, which instructs us in the knowledge and contemplation of the gods, Calliope, Clio, and Thalia appear chiefly to look after and direct. The other Muses govern our weak part, which changes presently into wantonness and folly; they do not neglect our brutish and violent passions and let them run their own course, but by appropriate dancing, music, song, and orderly motion mixed with reason, bring them down to a moderate temper and condition. For my part, since Plato admits two principles of every action, viz, the natural desire after pleasure, and acquired opinion which covets and wishes for the best, and calls one reason and the other passion, and since each of these is manifold, I think that each requires a considerable and, to speak the truth, a divine direction. For instance, one faculty of our reason is said to be political or imperial, over which Hesiod says Calliope presides; Clio's province is the noble and aspiring; and Polymnia's that faculty of the soul which inclines to attain and keep knowledge (and therefore the Sicyonians call one of their three Muses Polymathia); to Euterpe everybody allows the searches into nature and physical speculations, there being no greater, no sincerer pleasure belonging to any other sort of speculation in the world. The natural desire to meat and drink Thalia reduceth from brutish and uncivil to be sociable and friendly; and therefore we say [Greek omitted] of those that are friendly, merry, and sociable over their cups, and not of those that are quarrelsome and mad. Erato, together with Persuasion, that brings along with it reason and opportunity, presides over marriages; she takes away and extinguisheth all the violent fury of pleasure, and makes it tend to friendship, mutual confidence, and endearment, and not to effeminacy, lust, or discontent. The delight which the eye or ear receives is a sort of pleasure, either appropriate to reason or to passion, or common to them both. This the two other Muses, Terpsichore and Melpomene, so moderate, that the one may only tickle and not charm, the other only please and not bewitch.
and wanted everyone to share their thoughts. After a brief pause, I said: Just as Plato seeks to uncover the powers of the gods by their names, let’s place one of the Muses, Urania, in the heavens overseeing celestial matters. It seems likely that those divine beings don’t need a distracting mix of responsibilities, since they embody a singular essence that drives all their movements. However, where there are numerous irregularities and chaos, we should assign the eight Muses, so that each can address a specific issue or failure. Life has two aspects, the serious and the joyful; both need to be organized and structured. The serious side, which teaches us about the knowledge and contemplation of the gods, is mainly overseen by Calliope, Clio, and Thalia. The other Muses manage our more vulnerable side, which can easily slip into mischief and folly; they don’t ignore our base and intense passions but instead, through the right dance, music, song, and coordinated movement blended with reason, help temper those feelings to a more moderate state. Personally, since Plato acknowledges two driving forces behind all actions—natural desire for pleasure and acquired opinion aiming for the best, referred to as reason and passion—I believe that both need substantial, even divine, guidance. For example, one aspect of our reasoning is political or imperial, which Hesiod claims is overseen by Calliope; Clio is responsible for ambition and nobility; and Polymnia oversees the aspect of the soul that seeks to gain and maintain knowledge (hence the Sicyonians named one of their three Muses Polymathia); Euterpe is recognized for the exploration of nature and physical theories, as there’s no greater or more genuine pleasure than that type of inquiry. Thalia transforms the basic desire for food and drink from being savage and uncivilized to becoming social and friendly; thus, we refer to those who are friendly, happy, and sociable in their drinking contexts, rather than those who are quarrelsome and insane. Erato, along with Persuasion, which brings reason and opportunity, oversees marriages; she eliminates all the extreme urges of pleasure and directs them towards friendship, mutual trust, and affection, rather than toward weakness, lust, or discontent. The joy that the eye or ear experiences is a kind of pleasure, whether it aligns with reason or passion, or is shared by both. The last two Muses, Terpsichore and Melpomene, balance these experiences so that one merely entertains without captivating too deeply, while the other provides enjoyment without ensorceling.
QUESTION XV. THAT THERE ARE THREE PARTS IN DANCING: [Greek omitted], MOTION, [Greek omitted], GESTURE, AND [Greek omitted], REPRESENTATION. WHAT EACH OF THOSE IS AND WHAT IS COMMON TO BOTH POETRY AND DANCING.
QUESTION XV. THAT THERE ARE THREE PARTS IN DANCING: [Greek omitted], MOTION, [Greek omitted], GESTURE, AND [Greek omitted], REPRESENTATION. WHAT EACH OF THESE IS AND WHAT IS COMMON TO BOTH POETRY AND DANCING.
AMMONIUS AND THRASYBULUS.
Ammonius and Thrasybulus.
After this, a match of dancing was proposed, and a cake was the prize. The judges were Meniscus the dancing-master, and my brother Lamprias; for he danced the Pyrrhic very well, and in the Palaestra none could match him for the graceful motion of his hands and arms in dancing. Now a great many dancing with more heat than art, some desired two of the company who seemed to be best skilled and took most care to observe their steps, to dance in the kind called [Greek omitted]. Upon this Thrasybulus, the son of Ammonius, demanded what [Greek omitted] signified, and gave Ammonius occasion to run over most of the parts of dancing.
After this, someone suggested a dance-off, and the prize was a cake. The judges were Meniscus the dance teacher and my brother Lamprias, since he danced the Pyrrhic really well, and no one else at the gym could compete with his elegant hand and arm movements. A lot of people were dancing with more enthusiasm than skill, so some of the group asked two of the best dancers to show their steps in the style called [Greek omitted]. At that, Thrasybulus, the son of Ammonius, asked what [Greek omitted] meant, prompting Ammonius to explain most of the elements of dancing.
He said they were three,—[Greek omitted], [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted]. For dancing is made up of motion and manner [Greek omitted] as a song of sounds and stops; stops are the ends of motion. Now the motions they call [Greek omitted], and the gestures and likeness to which the motions tend, and in which they end, they call [Greek omitted]: as, for instance, when by their own motions they represent the figure of Apollo, Pan, or any of the raging Bacchae. The third is [Greek omitted]; which is not an imitation, but a plain downright indication of the things represented. For as the poets, when they would speak of Achilles, Ulysses, the earth, or heaven, use their proper names, and such as the vulgar usually understand. But for the more lively representation, they use such words as by their very sound express some eminent quality in the thing, or metaphors; as when they say that streams do "babble and flash"; that arrows fly "desirous the flesh to wound"; or when they describe an equal battle by saying "the fight had equal heads." They have likewise a great many significative compositions in their verses. Thus Euripides of Perseus,
He said there were three—[Greek omitted], [Greek omitted], and [Greek omitted]. Dancing is made up of movement and style [Greek omitted], just as a song is made up of sounds and pauses; pauses are the endpoints of movement. The movements are called [Greek omitted], and the gestures and forms they aim toward and conclude in are called [Greek omitted]; for example, when through their movements they represent the figure of Apollo, Pan, or any of the frenzied Bacchae. The third is [Greek omitted]; which isn't an imitation but a straightforward indication of the things being represented. Just like poets, when they refer to Achilles, Ulysses, the earth, or heaven, use their proper names, which the general public usually understands. But for a more vivid representation, they use words that by their very sound express some prominent quality of the thing, or metaphors; for instance, when they say that streams "babble and flash"; that arrows fly "eager to wound the flesh"; or when they describe an evenly matched battle by saying "the fight had equal heads." They also have many significant compositions in their verses. Thus Euripides discusses Perseus,
He that Medusa slew, and flies in air;
He who killed Medusa and now soars through the sky;
and Pindar of a horse,
and Pindar of a horse,
When by the smooth Alpheus's banks
He ran the race, and never felt the spur;
When he ran the race by the gentle banks of Alpheus
He felt no urge to hurry;and Homer of a race,
and Homer of a lineage,
The chariots, overlaid with tin and brass,
By fiery horses drawn ran swiftly on.
(Euripedes, Frag. 975; Pindar, "Olympian," i. 31;
"Iliad," xxiii. 503.)
The chariots, covered in tin and brass,
Pulled by fiery horses, raced swiftly along.
(Euripedes, Frag. 975; Pindar, "Olympian," i. 31;
"Iliad," xxiii. 503.)So in dancing, the [Greek omitted] represents the shape and figure, the [Greek omitted] shows some action, passion, or power; but by the [Greek omitted] are properly and significatively shown the things themselves, for instance, the heaven, earth, or the company. Which, being done in a certain order and method, resembles the proper names used in poetry, decently clothed and attended with suitable epithets. As in these lines,
So in dancing, the [Greek omitted] represents the shape and figure, the [Greek omitted] shows some action, passion, or power; but by the [Greek omitted] are properly and significantly shown the things themselves, for example, heaven, earth, or the group of people. When done in a certain order and method, this resembles the proper names used in poetry, properly dressed and accompanied by suitable descriptions. As in these lines,
Themis the venerable and admired,
And Venus beauteous with her bending brows,
Fair Dione, and June crowned with gold.
(Hesiod, "Theogony," 16.)
Themis, respected and admired,
And beautiful Venus with her graceful brows,
Lovely Dione, and June adorned with gold.
(Hesiod, "Theogony," 16.)And in these,
And in these,
From Hellen kings renowned for giving laws,
Great Dorus and the mighty Xuthus sprang,
And Aeolus, whose chief delight was horse.
From legendary Greek kings known for their laws,
Great Dorus and the powerful Xuthus emerged,
And Aeolus, whose greatest joy was horses. For if poets did not take this liberty, how mean, how grovelling and flat, would be their verse! As suppose they wrote thus,
For if poets didn't take this freedom, how dull, how low, and flat would their poetry be! Imagine if they wrote like this,
From this sprung Hercules, from the other Iphitus.
Her father, husband, and her son were kings,
Her brother and forefathers were the same;
And she in Greece Olympias was called.
From this came Hercules, and from the other Iphitus.
Her father, husband, and son were kings,
Her brother and ancestors were also kings;
And she was known as Olympias in Greece. The same faults may be committed in that sort of dancing called [Greek omitted] unless the representation be lively and graceful, decent and unaffected. And, in short, we may aptly transfer what Simonides said of painting to dancing, and call dancing mute poetry, and poetry speaking dancing; for poesy doth not properly belong to painting, nor painting to poesy, neither do they any way make use of one another. But poesy and dancing share much in common especially in that type of song called Hyporchema, in which is the most lively representation imaginable, dancing doing it by gesture, and poesy by words. So that poesy may bear some resemblance to the colors in painting, while dancing is like the lines which mark out the features. And therefore he who was the most famous writer of Hyporchemes, who here even surpassed himself, sufficiently proveth that these two arts stand in need of one another he shows what tendency poetry hath to dancing; whilst the sound excites the hands and feet, or rather as it were by some cords distends and raiseth every member of the whole body; so that, whilst such songs are recited or sung, they cannot be quiet. But nowadays no sort of exercise hath such bad depraved music applied to it as dancing; and so it suffers that which Ibyeus as to his own concerns was fearful of, as appears by these lines,
The same mistakes can happen in that style of dancing called [Greek omitted] unless the performance is lively and graceful, appropriate and natural. In short, we can apply what Simonides said about painting to dancing, calling dancing silent poetry and poetry expressive dancing; because poetry doesn’t truly belong to painting, nor does painting belong to poetry, and they don’t really use each other. But poetry and dancing have a lot in common, especially in that type of song called Hyporchema, which features the most vibrant representation imaginable, with dancing expressing it through gestures and poetry through words. Thus, poetry can be compared to the colors in painting, while dancing resembles the lines that define the features. Therefore, the most renowned writer of Hyporchemes, who even surpassed himself here, sufficiently proves that these two arts rely on each other; he shows how poetry tends towards dancing since the sound activates the hands and feet, or rather, like some strings, it stretches and lifts every part of the whole body. So, when such songs are recited or sung, it’s impossible to stay still. But nowadays, no form of exercise experiences such poorly executed music as dancing; as a result, it endures what Ibyeus feared for himself, as shown by these lines,
I fear lest, losing fame amongst the gods,
I shall receive respect from men alone.
I'm afraid that, by losing my reputation among the gods,
I'll only gain respect from people.For having associated to itself a mean paltry sort of music, and falling from that divine sort of poetry with which it was formerly acquainted, it rules now and domineers amongst foolish and inconsiderate spectators, like a tyrant, it hath subjected nearly all music, but hath lost all its honor with excellent and wise men.
For connecting itself to a cheap, mediocre kind of music and straying from the divine poetry it once knew, it now rules and dominates among foolish and thoughtless audiences, like a tyrant. It has taken control of nearly all music but has lost all its respect among excellent and wise people.
These, my Sossius Senecio, were almost the last discourses which we had at Ammonius's house during the festival of the Muses.
These, my Sossius Senecio, were almost the last conversations we had at Ammonius's house during the festival of the Muses.
COMMON CONCEPTIONS AGAINST THE STOICS.
LAMPRIAS, DIADUMENUS
LAMPRIAS. You, O Diadumenus, seem not much to care, if any one thinks that you philosophize against the common notions; since you confess that you contemn also the senses, from whence the most part of these notions in a manner proceed, having for their seat and foundation the belief of such things as appear to us. But I beseech you, with what speed you can, either by reasons, incantations, or some other manner of discourse, to cure me, who come to you full, as I seem to myself, of great and strange perturbations; so much have I been shaken, and into such a perplexity of mind have I been brought, by certain Stoics, in other things indeed very good men and my familiar friends, but most bitterly and hostility bent against the Academy. These, for some few words modestly spoken by me, have (for I will tell you no lie) rudely and unkindly reprehended me; angrily censuring and branding the ancient philosophers as Sophists and corrupters of philosophy, and subverters of regular doctrines; and saying things yet more absurd than these, they fell at last upon the conceptions, into which (they contend) the Academics had brought a certain confusion and disturbance. At length one of them said, that he thought it was not by fortune, but by the providence of the gods, that Chrysippus came into the world after Arcesilaus and before Carneades; of which the one was the author of the contumelies and injuries done to custom, and the other flourished most of all the Academics. Chrysippus then, coming between them, by his writings against Arcesilaus, stopped also the way against the eloquence of Carneades, leaving indeed many things to the senses, as provisions against a siege, but wholly taking away the trouble about anticipations and conceptions, directing every one of them and putting it in its proper place; so that they who will again embroil and disquiet matters should gain nothing, but be convinced of being malicious and deceitful Sophists. I, having been this morning set on fire by these discourses, want some cooling remedies to extinguish and take away this doubting, as an inflammation, out of my mind.
LAMPRIAS. You, Diadumenus, don't seem to mind if anyone thinks you're going against common beliefs; you've admitted that you also disregard the senses, which are largely where these beliefs come from, based on what we perceive. But I ask you, as quickly as you can, whether through reasoning, incantations, or any other form of discussion, to help me. I feel overwhelmed by strange and intense feelings; I've been shaken up and brought to a state of confusion by some Stoics, who are otherwise good men and my close friends, but are fiercely opposed to the Academy. For a few modest comments I made, they have, I won't lie, harshly criticized me; angrily denouncing and labeling ancient philosophers as Sophists and corruptors of philosophy, and underminers of established doctrines. They said even more ridiculous things, eventually claiming that the ideas introduced by the Academics caused some confusion and turmoil. Finally, one of them said he believed it wasn’t mere chance but a divine plan that Chrysippus was born after Arcesilaus and before Carneades; the former being the source of insults and attacks on tradition, and the latter being the most prominent of the Academics. Chrysippus, stepping in between them, through his writings against Arcesilaus, also blocked the eloquence of Carneades, leaving many things to the senses as defenses against an attack, but entirely eliminating the anxiety over anticipations and concepts, organizing each of them and placing them correctly. So that those who want to stir things up again would gain nothing but be shown to be malicious and deceptive Sophists. This morning, after hearing their discussions, I feel the need for calming remedies to cool down this doubt, like an inflammation, in my mind.
DIADUMENUS. You perhaps have suffered the same things with some of the vulgar. But if you believe the poets, who say that the ancient city Sipylus was overthrown by the providence of the gods when they punished Tantalus, believe also the companions of the Stoa saying that Nature, not by chance but by divine providence, brought forth Chrysippus, when she had a mind to turn things upside down and alter the course of life; for which purpose never any man was fitter than he. But as Cato said of Caesar, that never any but he came to the management of public affairs sober and considerately resolved on the ruin of the state; so does this man seem to me with the greatest diligence and eloquence to overturn and demolish custom, as those who magnify the man testify, when they dispute against him concerning the sophism called Pseudomenos (or the Liar). For to say, my best friend, that a conclusion drawn from contrary positions is not manifestly false, and again to say that some arguments having true premises and true inductions may yet moreover have the contrary to their conclusions true, what conception of demonstration or what assumption of confidence does it not overthrow? They say, that the polypus in the winter gnaws his own claws; but the logic of Chrysippus, taking away and cutting off its own chiefest parts and principles,—what other notion has it left unsuspected of falsehood? For the superstructures cannot be steady and sure, if the foundations remain not firm but are shaken with so many doubts and troubles. But as those who have dust or dirt upon their bodies, if they touch or rub the filth that is upon them, seem rather to increase than remove it; so some men blame the Academics, and think them guilty of the faults with which they show themselves to be burdened. For who do more subvert the common conceptions than the Stoic school? But if you please, let us leave accusing them, and defend ourselves from the things with which they charge us.
DIADUMENUS. You might have experienced the same issues with some ordinary people. But if you trust the poets, who say that the ancient city of Sipylus was destroyed by the gods when they punished Tantalus, you should also believe the followers of the Stoa who argue that Nature, not by chance but by divine intervention, brought forth Chrysippus when she intended to shake things up and change the course of life; for this purpose, no one was better suited than he. Just as Cato remarked about Caesar that no one else approached public affairs soberly and thoughtfully resolved to ruin the state, this man seems, with utmost diligence and eloquence, to challenge and dismantle tradition, as those who praise him point out when debating the sophism known as Pseudomenos (or the Liar). For to claim, my dear friend, that a conclusion drawn from opposing premises is not obviously false, and to also assert that some arguments with true premises and true inferences can nevertheless have their conclusions contradicted, what sort of understanding of proof or foundation of confidence does that not undermine? They say that the octopus in winter gnaws at its own limbs; however, the logic of Chrysippus, which removes and disables its own crucial parts and principles—what other idea does it leave free from suspicion of falsehood? For the structures cannot be stable and reliable if the foundations are not solid but are shaken by so many doubts and troubles. Just as those covered in dust or dirt seem to only spread it further when they try to wipe it off, some people criticize the Academics and think they are guilty of the problems they expose themselves to. Who more than the Stoic school undermines common beliefs? But if you like, let’s stop blaming them and defend ourselves against the accusations they make against us.
LAMPRIAS. Methinks, Diadumenus, I am this day become a various and unconstant man. For erewhile I came dejected and trembling, as one that wanted an apology; and now I am changed to an accuser, and desire to enjoy the pleasure of revenge, in seeing them all convicted of philosophizing against the common conceptions and presumptions, on which they think chiefly their doctrine is founded, whence they say that it alone agrees with Nature.
LAMPRIAS. I think, Diadumenus, that today I’ve become a complex and unpredictable person. Earlier, I came feeling down and nervous, as if I needed to make an apology; now I’ve turned into an accuser, eager to relish the satisfaction of seeing them all found guilty of philosophizing against the common beliefs and assumptions that they claim their teachings are based on, which they say is the only way that aligns with Nature.
DIADUMENUS. Shall we then first attack those common and celebrated doctrines of theirs which themselves, gently admitting their absurdity, style paradoxes; as that only wise men are kings, that they only are rich and fair, they only citizens and judges? Or shall we send all this to the brokers, as old decayed frippery, and make our inquiry into such things as are most practical and with the greatest earnestness delivered by them?
DIADUMENUS. Should we first challenge their well-known and widely accepted beliefs, which they themselves, while softly acknowledging their absurdity, refer to as paradoxes? Like the idea that only wise men are kings, that they alone are wealthy and attractive, that only they are citizens and judges? Or should we dismiss all of this as outdated nonsense and focus our inquiry on matters that are more practical and taken seriously by them?
LAMPRIAS. I indeed like this best. For who is there that is not already full of the arguments brought against those paradoxes?
LAMPRIAS. I really like this the most. For who isn’t already fed up with the arguments against those paradoxes?
DIADUMENUS. First, then, consider this, whether, according to the common conceptions, they can be said to agree with Nature, who think all natural things indifferent, and esteem neither health, strength of body, beauty, nor strength as desirable, commodious, profitable, or any way contributory to the completing of natural perfection; nor consider that their contraries, as maims, pains, disgraces, and diseases, are hurtful or to be shunned? To the latter of these they themselves say that Nature gives us an abhorrence, and an inclination to the former. Which very thing is not a little repugnant to common understanding, that Nature should incline us to such things as are neither good nor available, and avert us from such as are neither ill nor hurtful, and which is more, that she should render this inclination and this aversion so violent, that they who either possess not the one or fall into the other detest their life with good reason, and withdraw themselves out of it.
DIADUMENUS. First, consider this: can we really say that those who view all natural things as neutral agree with Nature? They don’t see health, physical strength, beauty, or power as valuable or beneficial in any way that contributes to natural perfection. Nor do they think that their opposites—injuries, pain, shame, and illness—are harmful or something to avoid. They claim that Nature gives us a natural dislike for the latter and an attraction to the former. This idea is quite contradictory to common sense—how can Nature lead us to desire things that are neither good nor useful and make us turn away from things that are not bad or harmful? What’s more, why would she make this attraction and aversion so intense that those who lack one or fall into the other find their lives completely unbearable and choose to withdraw from it?
I think also that this is said by them against common sense, that Nature herself is indifferent, and yet that it is good to agree with Nature. For it is not our duty either to follow the law or be persuaded by argument, unless the law and argument be good and honest. And this indeed is the least of their errors. But if, as Chrysippus has written in his First Book concerning Exhortation, a happy life consists only in living according to virtue, other things (as he says) being nothing to us, nor cooperating any ways towards it, Nature is not only indifferent, but foolish also and stupid, in inclining us to such things as belong nothing to us; and we also are fools in thinking felicity to be an agreeing with Nature, which draws us after such things as contribute nothing to happiness. For what can be more agreeable to common sense, than that, as desirable things are requisite to live commodiously, so natural things are necessary that we may live according to Nature? Now these men say not so; but having settled the living according to Nature for their end, do nevertheless hold those things which are according to Nature to be indifferent.
I also think they say this against common sense, that Nature itself is indifferent, yet it's good to align with Nature. It’s not our responsibility to follow the law or be swayed by arguments unless the law and arguments are good and honest. And truly, this is just the least of their mistakes. But if, as Chrysippus wrote in his First Book about Encouragement, a happy life is only about living according to virtue, with other things being irrelevant to us and not contributing to it, then Nature is not only indifferent but also foolish and stupid for leading us towards things that don’t matter to us. And we are also foolish for believing that happiness comes from agreeing with Nature, which pulls us towards things that don’t add to our happiness. What could be more sensible than the idea that just as desirable things are necessary for comfortable living, natural things are needed for us to live in accordance with Nature? But these people don’t see it that way; they’ve decided that living according to Nature is their goal, yet they still consider those things that align with Nature to be indifferent.
Nor is this less repugnant to common sense, that an intelligent and prudent man should not be equally affected to equal good things, but should put no value on some, and be ready to undergo and suffer anything for others, though the things themselves are neither greater nor less one than another. For they say, It is the same thing to abstain from the enjoyment of an old woman that is about to die as to take part in the greatest actions with moderation... since in both cases we do what duty requires. And yet for this, as a great and glorious thing, they should be ready to die; when as to boast of the other would be shameful and ridiculous. And even Chrysippus himself in his commentary concerning Jupiter, and in the Third Book of the Gods, says, that it were a poor, absurd, and impertinent thing to glory in such acts, as proceeding from virtue, as bearing valiantly the stinging of a wasp, or abstaining chastely from an old woman that lies a dying. Do not they then philosophize against the common conception, who profess nothing to be more commendable than those things which yet themselves are ashamed to praise? For how can that be desirable or to be approved, which is worthy neither of praise nor admiration, but the praisers and admirers of which they esteem absurd and ridiculous?
It’s equally absurd to think that a smart and sensible person wouldn’t feel the same way about equally good things, but might undervalue some while being willing to endure anything for others, even though the things themselves aren’t greater or lesser than each other. They say it’s the same to avoid enjoying an old woman who’s about to die as it is to participate moderately in great actions… since in both cases we do what duty demands. And yet for this, they should be ready to die, while boasting about the other would be shameful and ridiculous. Even Chrysippus, in his commentary on Jupiter and in the Third Book of the Gods, mentions that it’s silly, absurd, and inappropriate to take pride in acts that come from virtue, like bravely enduring a wasp sting or chastely avoiding an old woman who’s dying. Don’t those who claim nothing is more commendable than these actions philosophize against common beliefs, since they themselves are embarrassed to praise them? How can something be desirable or worthy of approval if it isn't worthy of praise or admiration, yet those who praise and admire it find it absurd and ridiculous?
And yet this will (I suppose) appear to you more against common sense, that a wise man should take no care whether he enjoys or not enjoys the greatest good things, but should carry himself after the same manner in these things, as in those that are indifferent both in their management and administration. For all of us, "whoever we are that eat the fruit of the broad earth," judge that desirable, good, and profitable, which being present we use, and absent we want and desire. But that which no man thinks worth his concern, either for his profit or delight, is indifferent. For we by no other means distinguish a laborious man from a trifler, who is for the most part also employed in action, but that the one busies himself in useless matters and indifferently, and the other in things commodious and profitable. But these men act quite contrary; for with them, a wise and prudent man, being conversant in many comprehensions and memories of comprehension, esteems few of them to belong to him; and not caring for the rest, he thinks he has neither more or less by remembering that he lately had the comprehension of Dion sneezing or Theon playing at ball. And yet every comprehension in a wise man, and every memory having assurance and firmness, is a great, yea, a very great good. When therefore his health fails, when some organ of his senses is disordered, or when his wealth is lost, is a wise man so careless as to think that none of these things concern him? Or does he, "when sick, give fees to the physicians: for the gaining of riches sail to Leucon, governor in the Bosphorus, or travel to Idanthyrsus, king of the Scythians," as Chrysippus says? And being deprived of some of his senses, does he not become weary even of life? How then do they not acknowledge that they philosophize against the common notions, employing so much care and diligence on things indifferent, and not minding whether they have or have not great good things?
And yet this might seem a bit unreasonable to you, that a wise person wouldn’t care whether they enjoy the greatest good things or not, and would approach these matters in the same way as those that are neither here nor there in terms of management and organization. For all of us, "whoever we are that eat the fruit of the broad earth," consider desirable, good, and beneficial the things we use when they are present, and crave them when they are absent. But what no one considers worth their concern, either for their benefit or enjoyment, is regarded as indifferent. We distinguish a hardworking person from a slacker largely by the fact that the former engages in meaningless tasks in a careless way, while the latter focuses on useful and valuable pursuits. Yet these individuals act quite the opposite; the wise and prudent person, who is skilled in many areas and has a solid understanding, considers only a few of these areas to be their own. Not caring about the rest, they feel neither more nor less by recalling that they recently remembered someone named Dion sneezing or someone named Theon playing ball. But each piece of knowledge a wise person possesses, and every memory that is certain and stable, is a significant—indeed, a very significant—good. So when their health declines, or when one of their senses is impaired, or when their wealth is lost, does a wise person truly not care about these things? Or do they, "when sick, pay doctors' fees to gain riches, sail to Leucon, the governor in the Bosphorus, or travel to Idanthyrsus, the king of the Scythians," as Chrysippus says? And when deprived of some of their senses, do they not become weary of life itself? How can they not recognize that they are philosophizing against common beliefs, putting so much effort and attention into indifferent matters while neglecting the importance of whether they possess great goods or not?
But this is also yet against the common conceptions, that he who is a man should not rejoice when coming from the greatest evils to the greatest goods. Now their wise men suffer this. Being changed from extreme viciousness to the highest virtue, and at the same time escaping a most miserable life and attaining to a most happy one, he shows no sign of joy, nor does this so great change lift him up or yet move him, being delivered from all infelicity and vice, and coming to a certain sure and firm perfection of virtue. This also is repugnant to common sense, to hold that the being immutable in one's judgments and resolutions is the greatest of goods, and yet that he who has attained to the height wants not this, nor cares for it when he has it, nay, many times will not so much as stretch forth a finger for this security and constancy, which nevertheless themselves esteem the sovereign and perfect good. Nor do the Stoics say only these things, but they add also this to them,—that the continuance of time increases not any good thing; but if a man shall be wise but a minute of an hour, he will not be any way inferior in happiness to him who has all his time practised virtue and led his life happily in it. Yet, whilst they thus boldly affirm these things, they on the contrary also say, that a short-lived virtue is nothing worth; "For what advantage would the attainment of wisdom be to him who is immediately to be swallowed up by the waves or tumbled down headlong from a precipice? What would it have benefited Lichas, if being thrown by Hercules, as from a sling into the sea, he had been on a sudden changed from vice to virtue?" These therefore are the positions of men who not only philosophize against the common conceptions but also confound their own, if the having been but a little while endued with virtue is no way short of the highest felicity, and at the same time nothing worth. Nor is this the strangest thing you will find in their doctrine; but their being of opinion that virtue and happiness, when present, are frequently not perceived by him who enjoys them, nor does he discern that, having but a little before been most miserable and foolish, he is of a sudden become wise and happy. For it is not only childish to say that he who is possessed of wisdom is ignorant of this thing alone, that he is wise, and knows not that he is delivered from folly; but, to speak in general, they make goodness to have very little weight or strength, if it does not give so much as a feeling of it when it is present. For according even to them, it is not by nature imperceptible; nay, even Chrysippus in his books of the End expressly says that good is sensible, and demonstrates it also, as he maintains. It remains, then, that by its weakness and littleness it flies the sense, when being present it is unknown and concealed from the possessors. It were moreover absurd to imagine that the sight, perceiving those things which are but a little whitish or inclining to white, should not discern such as are white in perfection; or that the touch, feeling those things which are but warm or moderately hot, should be insensible of those that are hot in the highest degree. And yet more absurd it is, that a man who perceives what is commonly according to Nature—as are health and good constitution of body—should yet be ignorant of virtue when it is present, which themselves hold to be most of all and in the highest degree according to Nature. For how can it but be against sense, to conceive the difference between health and sickness, and yet so little to comprehend that between wisdom and folly as to think the one to be present when it is gone, and possessing the other to be ignorant that one has it? Now because there is from the highest progress a change made to felicity and virtue, one of these two things must of necessity follow; either that this progress is not vice and infelicity, or that virtue is not far distant from vice, nor happiness from misery, but that the difference between good and evil is very small and not to be perceived by sense; for otherwise they who have the one for the other could not be ignorant of it.
But this also goes against common beliefs, that a man shouldn't feel joy when moving from great evils to great goods. Their wise men accept this. When someone transforms from extreme wrongdoing to the highest virtue, while also escaping a miserable life and achieving a happy one, he doesn't show any joy. This significant change doesn't lift him up or even move him, despite being freed from all misfortune and vice and reaching a stable perfection of virtue. It also contradicts common sense to think that being unwavering in one's judgments and decisions is the greatest good, yet a person who has reached the peak doesn't desire that, nor does he care for it when he has it; indeed, often he won't even lift a finger for this security and stability, which nonetheless they themselves consider the ultimate and perfect good. The Stoics not only assert these things, but they also add that the passage of time doesn't enhance any good thing; if a man is wise for just a minute, he is not in any way less happy than someone who has practiced virtue and lived happily for a lifetime. Yet, while they confidently state these things, they also claim that a fleeting virtue is worthless. "What would wisdom benefit a person who is about to be swallowed by waves or thrown off a cliff? What advantage would it have given Lichas if, when thrown by Hercules into the sea, he suddenly changed from vice to virtue?" Therefore, these are the views of people who not only philosophize against common beliefs but also confuse their own, if just a brief experience of virtue is equivalent to the highest happiness and simultaneously worthless. Furthermore, it is not the strangest thing in their teachings; their belief that virtue and happiness, when experienced, are often not recognized by the one enjoying them, nor does he realize that having recently been very miserable and foolish, he has suddenly become wise and happy. It is not just naive to suggest that someone who possesses wisdom is unaware of the fact that he is wise and doesn't recognize that he has been freed from folly; generally speaking, they imply that goodness has very little significance or strength if it doesn't provide even a sense of its presence when it is there. According to them, it is not naturally imperceptible; indeed, even Chrysippus in his writings on the End explicitly states that good is perceptible and demonstrates it too, as he claims. It follows, then, that due to its weakness and insignificance, it escapes perception when it is present and unknown to its owners. Moreover, it would be absurd to think that sight, recognizing things that are slightly white or off-white, wouldn't perceive things that are perfectly white; or that touch, feeling things that are warm or moderately hot, would not sense those that are extremely hot. Even more absurd is the idea that a person who perceives what is commonly natural—such as health and a good physical condition—should be unaware of virtue when it is present, which they themselves claim to be the most natural and prominent. For how can it be against reason to discern the difference between health and sickness, yet to hardly understand the distinction between wisdom and folly, thinking one is present when it is absent, and being unaware of possessing the other? Now, because there is a transition from the highest progress to happiness and virtue, one of these two things must necessarily follow: either this progress is not associated with vice and misfortune, or that virtue is not far from vice, nor happiness from misery, but that the difference between good and evil is minimal and imperceptible; otherwise, those who have one for the other couldn't be unaware of it.
Since, then, they will not depart from any of these contrarieties, but confess and hold them all,—that those who are proceeding towards virtue are fools and vicious, that those who are become good and wise perceive not this change in themselves, and that there is a great difference between folly and wisdom,—they must assuredly seem to you wonderfully to preserve an agreement in their doctrines, and yet more so in their conduct, when affirming all men who are not wise to be equally wicked, unjust, faithless, and fools, they on the other side abhor and detest some of them,—nay, sometimes to such a degree that they refuse even to speak to them when they meet them,—while others of them they trust with their money, choose to offices, and take for husbands to their daughters. Now if they say these things in jest, let them smooth their brows; but if in earnest and as philosophers, it is against the common notions to reprove and blame all men alike in words, and yet to deal with some of them as moderate persons and with others as very wicked; and exceedingly to admire Chrysippus, to deride Alexinus, and yet to think neither of them more or less mad than the other. "'Tis so," say they; "but as he who is not above a cubit under the superficies of the sea is no less drowned than he who is five hundred fathom deep, so they that are coming towards virtue are no less in vice their those that are farther off. And as blind men are still blind, though they shall perhaps a little after recover their sight; so these that have proceeded towards virtue, till such time as they have attained to it, continue foolish and wicked." But that they who are in the way towards virtue resemble not the blind, but such as see less clearly, nor are like to those who are drowned, but—those which swim, and that near the harbor—they themselves testify by their actions. For they would not use counsellors and generals and lawgivers as blind leaders, nor would they imitate the works and actions and words and lives of some, if they saw them all equally drowned in folly and wickedness. But leaving this, wonder at the men in this behalf, that they are not taught by their own examples to give up the doctrine that these men are wise being ignorant of it themselves, and neither knowing nor being sensible that they are recovered from being drowned and see the light, and that being gotten above vice, they fetch breath again.
Since they refuse to part from any of these contradictions and instead acknowledge and hold them all—that those who are pursuing virtue are fools and immoral, that those who have become good and wise don’t recognize this change in themselves, and that there’s a significant difference between foolishness and wisdom—they must surely seem to you to maintain a remarkable consistency in their beliefs, and even more so in their actions. They claim that all people who are not wise are equally wicked, unjust, faithless, and foolish, yet on the other hand, they despise and detest some of them—sometimes to the point that they refuse to even speak to them when they encounter them—while others they trust with their money, nominate for positions, and choose as husbands for their daughters. If they say these things jokingly, let them hide their true feelings; but if they’re serious and consider themselves philosophers, it goes against common sense to criticize and blame all people equally in words while treating some as reasonable individuals and others as very wicked. They greatly admire Chrysippus, mock Alexinus, and yet do not think either is more or less insane than the other. “That’s true,” they say; “but just as someone who is only a foot underwater is no less drowned than someone who is five hundred fathoms deep, those who are moving toward virtue are just as much in vice as those who are further away. And just as blind people remain blind, even if they may eventually regain their sight, those who are progressing toward virtue remain foolish and wicked until they achieve it.” However, those who are on the path to virtue are more like individuals who see less clearly, not like those who are drowning, but rather like those who are swimming near the shore—they demonstrate this through their actions. For they wouldn’t seek guidance from counselors, generals, and lawgivers as if they were blind leaders, nor would they mimic the works, actions, words, and lives of some if they perceived them all to be equally lost in folly and wickedness. But aside from this, it’s astonishing that these men do not learn from their own examples to abandon the idea that these people are wise while being ignorant themselves, not realizing that they have emerged from being drowned and now see the light, and that having risen above vice, they are catching their breath again.
This also is against common sense, that it should be convenient for a man who has all good things, and wants nothing requisite to felicity and happiness, to make away himself; and much more this, that for him who neither has nor ever shall have any good thing, but who is and ever shall be accompanied with all adversities, difficulties, and mishaps, it should not be fitting to quit this life unless some of the indifferent things befall him. These laws are enacted in the Stoa; and by these they incite many wise men to kill themselves, as if they would be thereby more happy; and they prevent many foolish men, as if it were proper for them to live on in misery. Although the wise man is fortunate, blessed, every way happy, secure, and free from danger; but the vicious and foolish man is "full, as I may say, of evils, so that there is not room to put them in"; and yet they think that continuing in life is fit for the latter, and departing out of it for the former. And not without cause, says Chrysippus, for we are not to measure life by good things or evil, but by those that are according to Nature. In this manner do they maintain custom, and philosophize according to the common conceptions. What do you say?—that he who enters upon a deliberation of life and death has no right to consider
This also goes against common sense; it shouldn’t be convenient for someone who has everything good and lacks nothing necessary for happiness to take their own life. Even more so for someone who has nothing good at all and is burdened with constant hardships and misfortunes—it wouldn’t seem right for them to end their life unless something neutral happens to them. These rules are stated in the Stoa, encouraging many wise people to commit suicide, as if that would make them happier; while at the same time, they discourage many foolish people, suggesting that it’s appropriate for them to keep suffering. The wise man is fortunate, blessed, happy in every way, secure, and free from danger. Meanwhile, the vicious and foolish man is "full, I might say, of evils, to the point there's no room for more." Still, they believe it’s appropriate for the latter to keep living and for the former to leave this life. And not without reason, says Chrysippus, as we shouldn’t judge life by good or bad things but by those that align with Nature. This is how they uphold tradition and philosophize based on common beliefs. What do you think?—that someone who is contemplating life and death has no right to consider
What good or ill in his own house there is;
What good or bad there is in his own home;
or to weigh, as in a balance, what things have the greatest sign of serving to felicity or infelicity; but must argue whether he should live or die from those things which are neither profitable nor prejudicial, and follow such principles and sentences as command the choosing of a life full of all things to be avoided, and the shunning of one which wants nothing of all those things that are desirable? For though it is an absurd thing, friend Lamprias, to shun a life in which there is no evil, it is yet more absurd, if any one should leave what is good because he is not possessed of what is indifferent, as these men do who leave present felicity and virtue for want of riches and health which they have not.
or to weigh, like on a scale, what things are most important for happiness or unhappiness; but he has to consider whether he should live or die based on things that are neither beneficial nor harmful, and follow principles that suggest choosing a life full of what should be avoided, and staying away from a life lacking all those desirable things? Because while it’s ridiculous, my friend Lamprias, to avoid a life with no evil, it’s even more ridiculous for someone to leave behind what is good because they don’t have what is neutral, like those who give up current happiness and virtue for the lack of riches and health that they don’t have.
Satumian Jove from Glaucus took his wits,
Satumian Jove from Glaucus took his wits,
when he went about to change his suit of golden armor for a brazen one, and to give what was worth a hundred oxen for that which was worth but nine. And yet the brazen armor was no less useful for fight than the golden; whereas beauty and health of body, as the Stoics say, contribute not the least advantage so far as happiness is concerned. And yet they seek health in exchange for wisdom. For they say, it would well enough have become Heraclitus and Pherecydes to have parted with their virtue and wisdom, if the one of them could have thereby been freed from his lousy disease, and the other from his dropsy; and if Circe had used two sorts of magical drinks, one to make wise men fools, and the other to make fools wise, Ulysses would rather have drunk that of folly, than have changed his shape for the form of a beast, though having with it wisdom, and consequently also happiness. And, they say, wisdom itself dictates to them these things, exhorting them thus: Let me go, and value not my being lost, if I must be carried about in the shape of an ass. But this, some will say, is an ass-like wisdom which teacheth thus; granting that to be wise and enjoy felicity is good, and to wear the shape of an ass is indifferent. They say, there is a nation of the Ethiopians where a dog reigns, is called king, and has all regal honors and services done to him; but men execute the offices of magistrates and governors of cities. Do not the Stoics act in the very same manner? They give the name and appearance of good to virtue, saying that it alone is desirable, profitable, and available; but in the meantime they act these things, they philosophize, they live and die, as at the command of things indifferent. And yet none of the Ethiopians kill that dog; but he sits in state, and is revered by all. But these men destroy and corrupt their virtue, that they may obtain health and riches.
When he decided to swap his golden armor for a bronze one, giving up something worth a hundred oxen for something worth only nine. Yet, the bronze armor was just as effective in battle as the golden. As the Stoics argue, beauty and good health don't really contribute much to happiness. Still, people seek health in exchange for wisdom. They say it would have suited Heraclitus and Pherecydes to give up their virtue and wisdom if it meant one could be rid of his persistent illness and the other of his dropsy. If Circe used two kinds of magical potions—one to turn wise men into fools and another to make fools wise—Ulysses would rather drink the one for folly than change into a beast, even if it came with wisdom and, therefore, happiness. They claim that wisdom itself tells them this: Let me go, and don’t worry about losing me if I have to wander around in the form of a donkey. But some might argue that this is a foolish kind of wisdom, which suggests that being wise and enjoying happiness is good, while taking on the shape of a donkey is just unimportant. They mention a nation of Ethiopians where a dog is crowned king, receiving all the honors and services of royalty, while men take on the roles of magistrates and city governors. Don’t the Stoics do the same thing? They attribute the name and appearance of good to virtue, claiming it’s the only thing worth wanting, benefiting, and being useful. Yet, while they profess these things, they philosophize and live and die as if they’re following the whims of indifferent things. And yet, none of the Ethiopians harm that dog; he sits on his throne, revered by everyone. Meanwhile, these people tarnish and ruin their virtue in order to gain health and wealth.
But the corollary which Chrysippus himself has given for a conclusion to his doctrines seems to free us from the trouble of saying anything more about it. For there being, says he, in Nature some things good, some things bad, and some things between them both, which we call indifferent; there is no man but would rather have the good than the indifferent, and the indifferent than the bad. And of this we call the gods to witness, begging of them by our prayers principally the possession of good things, and if that may not be, deliverance from evil; not desiring that which is neither good nor bad instead of good, but willing to have it instead of evil. But this man, changing Nature and inverting its order, removes the middle out of its own place into the last, and brings back the last into the middle,—not unlike to those tyrants who give the first place to the wicked,—and he gives us a law, first to seek the good, and secondly the evil, and lastly to judge that worst which is neither good nor evil; as if any one should place infernal things next to celestial, thrusting the earth and earthly things into Tartarus,
But the conclusion that Chrysippus himself gives for his teachings seems to save us from having to discuss it further. He says that in Nature, there are some things that are good, some that are bad, and some that are neutral, which we call indifferent. No one would choose the indifferent over the good, or the indifferent over the bad. We call upon the gods to bear witness and mainly ask them through our prayers for good things, and if that's not possible, then for relief from evil; we do not want what is neither good nor bad in place of the good, but we would prefer it over the evil. However, this person distorts Nature and flips its order, moving the neutral out of its rightful place and putting the bad in the middle—not unlike those tyrants who elevate the wicked. He gives us a rule to first seek the good, then the evil, and lastly to consider as the worst that which is neither good nor evil; as if someone were to place hellish things next to heavenly ones, pushing the earth and earthly matters into Tartarus.
Where very far from hence, deep under ground,
Lies a vast gulf.
(Iliad, viii. 14.)
Where very far from here, deep underground,
lies a vast chasm.
(Iliad, viii. 14.)Having therefore said in his Third Book concerning Nature, that it is more expedient for a fool to live than not, though he should never attain to wisdom, he adds these words: "For such are the good things of men, that even evil things do in a manner precede other things that are in the middle place; not that these things themselves really precede, but reason, which makes us choose rather to live, though we were to be fools." Therefore also, though we were to be unjust, wicked, hated of the gods, and unhappy; for none of these things are absent from those that live foolishly. Is it then convenient rather to live miserably than not to live miserably, and better to be hurt than not hurt, to be unjust than not unjust, to break the laws than not to break them? That is, is it convenient to do things that are not convenient, and a duty to live even against duty? Yes indeed, for it is worse to want sense and reason than to be a fool. What then ails them, that they will not confess that to be evil which is worse than evil? Why do they say that folly alone is to be avoided, if it is not less but rather more convenient to shun that disposition which is not capable of folly?
Having said in his Third Book about Nature that it's better for a fool to live than not at all, even if he never gains wisdom, he adds: "The good things in life are such that even bad things somehow come before the things in between; not that these things truly come first, but because reason makes us prefer living, even if it means being foolish." So, even if we are unjust, wicked, hated by the gods, and unhappy; none of these things are absent in those who live foolishly. Is it then better to live a miserable life than not to live at all, to be hurt rather than not hurt, to be unjust rather than just, to break the laws rather than obey them? In other words, is it acceptable to do things that aren't right, and is it a duty to live even when it goes against what is right? Yes, indeed, for it's worse to lack sense and reason than to be a fool. What stops them from admitting that something worse than evil is indeed evil? Why do they say that folly is the only thing to avoid, if it's not less, but rather more, reasonable to avoid that state which cannot even experience folly?
But who can complain of this, that shall remember what he has written in his Second Book of Nature, declaring that vice was not unprofitably made for the universe? But it is meet I should set down his doctrine in his own words, that you may understand in what place those rank vice, and what discourses they hold of it, who accuse Xenocrates and Speusippus for not reckoning health indifferent and riches useless. "Vice," saith he, "has its limit in reference to other accidents. For it is also in some sort according to the reason of Nature, and (as I may so say) is not wholly useless in respect of the universe; for other wise there would not be any good." Is there then no good among the gods, because there is no evil? And when Jupiter, having resolved all matter into himself, shall be alone, other differences being taken away, will there then be no good, because there will be no evil? But is there melody in a choir though none in it sings faultily, and health in the body though no member is sick; and yet cannot virtue have its existence without vice? But as the poison of a serpent or the gall of an hyena is to be mixed with some medicines, was it also of necessity that there must have been some conjunction of the wickedness of Meletus with the justice of Socrates, and the dissolute conduct of Cleon with the probity of Pericles? And could not Jupiter have found a means to bring into the world Hercules and Lycurgus, if he had not also made for us Sardanapalus and Phalaris? It is now time for them to say that the consumption was made for the sound constitution of men's bodies, and the gout for the swiftness of their feet; and that Achilles would not have had a good head of hair if Thersites had not been bald. For what difference is there between such triflers and ravers, and those who say that intemperance was not brought forth unprofitably for continence, nor injustice for justice, so that we must pray to the gods, there may be always wickedness,
But who can complain about this, if they remember what he wrote in his Second Book of Nature, saying that vice wasn’t created without purpose for the universe? It’s only right that I should present his teachings in his own words, so you can understand how those who criticize Xenocrates and Speusippus for not considering health neutral and wealth pointless think about vice. "Vice," he says, "has its limits in relation to other situations. For it has some relevance according to the reasoning of Nature, and I can say it's not completely useless concerning the universe; otherwise, there wouldn’t be any good." Is there then no good among the gods just because there’s no evil? And when Jupiter has resolved everything into himself and stands alone, with all differences removed, will there be no good because there’s no evil? But is there no harmony in a choir if no one sings out of tune, or health in the body if no part is sick? Yet can virtue exist without vice? Just as the poison of a snake or the bile of a hyena must be mixed into certain medicines, was it necessary for there to be a combination of the wrongdoing of Meletus with the justice of Socrates, and the immoral behavior of Cleon with the integrity of Pericles? Couldn’t Jupiter have found a way to bring Hercules and Lycurgus into the world without also creating Sardanapalus and Phalaris for us? Now they say that disease exists for the soundness of men's bodies, and gout exists for the speed of their feet; and that Achilles wouldn’t have had good hair if Thersites hadn’t been bald. For what difference is there between such trivial talkers and those who argue that intemperance wasn’t created without purpose for temperance, nor injustice for justice, so that we must pray to the gods for wickedness to always exist?
Lies, fawning speeches, and deceitful manners,
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 78.)
Lies, flattering speeches, and dishonest behavior,
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 78.)if, when these are taken away, virtue will also vanish and be lost?
if, when these are removed, virtue will also disappear and be lost?
Or do you desire to understand the greatest sweetness of his eloquence and persuasion? "For," says he, "as comedies have in them sometimes ridiculous epigrams, which, though bad in themselves, give nevertheless a certain grace to the whole poem; so, though you may blame vice in itself, yet is it not useless to other things." First, then, to say that vice was made by the providence of God, as a wanton epigram by the will of the poet, transcends in absurdity all imagination. For this being granted, how will the gods be rather givers of good than evil? How will wickedness be displeasing to them, and hated by them? And what shall we have to oppose against these ill-sounding sentences of the poets.—
Or do you want to grasp the immense charm of his speech and persuasion? "For," he says, "just like comedies sometimes have silly epigrams that, although bad in themselves, still add a certain grace to the whole poem; vice, despite being flawed, can still be useful in other contexts." First, saying that vice was created by God's providence, similar to a frivolous epigram crafted by a poet's design, is completely absurd. If this were true, how could the gods be seen as givers of good rather than evil? How could they find wickedness distasteful and abhorrent? And what counterarguments do we have against these harsh lines of the poets?
A cause to men God sends,
When to chastise some house his wrath intends;
(From the "Niobe" of Aeschylus, Frag. 151.)
A reason for men God provides,
When He intends to punish a household with His anger;
(From the "Niobe" of Aeschylus, Frag. 151.)and again,
and again,
What God those seeds of strife 'twixt them did sow?
(Iliad, i. 8.)
What God planted those seeds of conflict between them?
(Iliad, i. 8.)Moreover, a lewd epigram adorns the comedy and contributes to its end, which is to delight the spectators and make them laugh. But Jupiter, who is surnamed fatherly, supreme, just, and (as Pindar has it) the most perfect artist, framing the world, not as a great interlude, full of variety and great learning, but as a common city of Gods and men, living together in concord and happiness with justice and virtue,—what need had he, for the attaining to this excellent end, of thieves, murderers, parricides, and tyrants? For vice entered not as a morris-dance, pleasing and delightful to the Divinity; nor was it brought in amongst the affairs of men, to cause mirth and laughter by its raillery and facetiousness, since there is not to be seen in it so much as a dream of that celebrated agreement with Nature. Besides, that foolish epigram is a very small part of the poem, and takes up but a very little place in the comedy; neither do such things abound in it, nor do they corrupt any of those things which seem to have been well done, or spoil their grace. But all human affairs are replete with vice, and the whole life, from the very prologue and beginning to the end, being disordered, depraved, and disturbed, and having no part of it pure or irreprehensible (as these men say), is the most filthy and most unpleasant of all farces.
Moreover, a crude joke decorates the comedy and helps achieve its purpose, which is to entertain the audience and make them laugh. But Jupiter, who is called fatherly, supreme, just, and (as Pindar puts it) the most perfect creator, shaped the world, not as a grand performance, full of variety and great wisdom, but as a shared city of Gods and humans, living together in harmony and happiness with justice and virtue—what need did he have, to reach this wonderful goal, for thieves, murderers, parricides, and tyrants? For vice didn't enter like a jovial dance, pleasing and enjoyable to the Divine; nor was it introduced among human affairs to create laughter and joy with its mockery and humor, since there is not even a hint of that well-known harmony with Nature in it. Furthermore, that silly joke is just a tiny part of the poem and occupies only a small space in the comedy; such things are not abundant in it, nor do they spoil any of the elements that seem well crafted, or ruin their charm. But all human actions are filled with vice, and the entire life, from the very prologue and beginning to the end, being chaotic, corrupted, and troubled, and without any part being pure or objectionable (as these people claim), is the most disgusting and least enjoyable of all farces.
Wherefore I would willingly ask, in what vice is profitable to the universe. Not surely in respect of heavenly things, and such as are divine by nature. For it would be ridiculous to say, that if there had not arisen, or were not amongst men, malice and covetousness and lying, or that if we did not rob, plunder, slander, and murder one another, the sun would not run his appointed course, the world enjoy its seasons and periods of time, or the earth, which is seated in the midst of the universe, afford the principles of the wind and rain. It remains, then, that the existence of vice must be profitable for us and our affairs; and that perhaps these men mean. Are we more healthy for being vicious, or do we more abound with necessaries? Or does vice contribute anything to our beauty and strength? They say, no. But where on earth is virtue to be met with? Is it then only a base name, and a visionary opinion of night-walking Sophists, and not an actual thing lying conspicuous to all, like vice, so that we cannot partake of anything as profitable,... but least, O ye gods! of virtue, for which we were created? Is it not then absurd, that the utensils of the husbandman, mariner, and charioteer should be serviceable and aiding towards his intended end, whilst that which was by God made for virtue destroys and corrupts virtue? But perhaps it is time now to leave this point, and pass to another.
So I’d like to ask, what vice is actually good for the world? Certainly not when it comes to heavenly matters or things that are inherently divine. It would be absurd to claim that if malice, greed, and deception didn’t exist among people, or if we didn’t steal, attack, slander, and kill each other, the sun wouldn’t follow its path, the world wouldn’t have its seasons and cycles of time, or the earth, which sits at the center of the universe, wouldn’t provide us with wind and rain. Therefore, it seems that vice must somehow benefit us and our circumstances; maybe that’s what these people mean. Are we healthier because of our vices, or do they help us acquire what we need? Does vice add anything to our beauty or strength? They say no. But where can we find virtue on this earth? Is it just a meaningless label, a fanciful idea of wandering philosophers, and not something real that’s as clear to see as vice is, so that we can’t actually partake in anything beneficial... but least of all, O gods! in virtue, for which we were made? Isn’t it ridiculous that the tools of farmers, sailors, and charioteers serve their purposes while what God created for virtue actually undermines and corrupts it? But perhaps it’s time to move on from this topic and address another one.
LAMPRIAS. Not for my sake, my dear friend, I beseech you; for I desire to understand, in what manner these men bring in evil things before the good, and vice before virtue.
LAMPRIAS. Please, not for my sake, my dear friend. I really want to understand how these people introduce bad things before good ones, and wrong before right.
DIADUMENUS. It is indeed, sir, a thing worth knowing. They babble indeed much; but in conclusion they say that prudence, being the knowledge of good and evil, would be wholly taken away if there were no evil. For as, if there are truths, it is impossible but there must be some lies also near to them; so it stands with reason, that if there are good things, there must also be evil things.
DIADUMENUS. It’s definitely worth knowing, sir. They talk a lot, but ultimately they say that prudence, which is knowing right from wrong, would completely disappear if there were no evil. Just as, if there are truths, there must also be some lies nearby; it follows logically that if there are good things, there must also be bad things.
LAMPRIAS. One of these things is not said amiss; and I think also that the other is not unapprehended by me. For I see a difference here: that which is not true must immediately be false; but that is not of necessity evil which is not good; because that between true and false there is no medium, but between good and evil there is the indifferent. Nor is it of necessity that the one must subsist with the other. For Nature may have good without having any need of evil, but only having that which is neither good nor evil. But if there is anything to be said by you to the former reason, let us hear it.
LAMPRIAS. One of these points isn't wrong, and I believe I also grasp the other. I notice a distinction here: what isn't true must be false, but something that's not good isn't necessarily evil; because there’s no middle ground between true and false, but there is an indifferent space between good and evil. It’s also not necessary for one to exist alongside the other. Nature can have good without needing evil, existing only with something that's neither good nor evil. However, if you have something to add regarding the first point, I’m all ears.
DIADUMENUS. Many things indeed are said; but at present we shall make use only of what is most necessary. In the first place, it is a folly to imagine that good and evil have their existence for the sake of prudence. For good and evil being already extant, prudence came afterwards; as the art of physic was invented, there being already things wholesome and unwholesome. For good and evil are not therefore extant that there may be prudence; but the faculty by which we judge good and evil that are already in being is named prudence. As sight is a sense distinguishing white from black; which colors were not therefore made that we might have sight, but we rather wanted sight to discern these things. Secondly, when the world shall be set on fire (as the Stoics hold), there will then no evil be left, but all will then be prudent and wise. There is therefore prudence, though there is no evil; nor is it of necessity for evil to exist that prudence may have a being. But supposing that prudence must always be a knowledge of good and evil, what inconvenience would it be if, evil being taken away, prudence should no longer subsist; but instead of this we should have another virtue, not being the knowledge of good and evil, but of good only? So, if black should be wholly lost from among the colors, and any one should therefore contend that sight is also lost, for that there is no more the sense of discerning black and white, what should hinder us from answering him: It is no prejudice to us, if we have not what you call sight, but in lieu of that have another sense and faculty, by which we apprehend colors that are white and not white. For I indeed think that neither our taste would be lost, if bitter things were wanting, nor our feeling, if pain were taken away, nor prudence, if evil had no being; but that these senses would remain, to apprehend things sweet and grateful and those that are not so, and prudence to be the science of things good and not good. But let those who think otherwise take the name to themselves, leaving us the thing.
DIADUMENUS. A lot has been said, but right now we’ll focus only on what’s essential. First, it's foolish to think that good and evil exist purely for the sake of prudence. Good and evil already exist; prudence came later, just as medicine was developed after there were already healthy and unhealthy things. Good and evil don’t exist so that prudence can exist; rather, the ability to judge the good and evil that are already present is what we call prudence. Just as sight helps us distinguish between white and black—colors that exist independently of our ability to see—they exist whether we have sight or not. Second, when the world is set on fire (as the Stoics believe), there will be no evil left, and everything will then be prudent and wise. Thus, prudence can exist even without evil; it is not necessary for evil to exist for prudence to be present. But suppose prudence has to always involve knowledge of good and evil; what’s the problem if, when evil is gone, prudence ceases to exist? Instead, we might then have another virtue—one focused solely on good, rather than good and evil. If black were entirely lost from the spectrum of colors, and someone argued that sight was also lost because there is no longer a way to distinguish black from white, how could we not respond that we haven’t truly lost sight? Instead, we would have another sense that allows us to perceive white and non-white colors. I believe that neither our sense of taste would vanish without bitter things nor our sense of touch without pain, nor would prudence cease to exist if there were no evil; these faculties would remain to help us recognize sweet and pleasant things, and prudence would still be the understanding of things that are good and those that aren’t. But let those who think otherwise take the name for themselves, while we retain the essence.
Besides all this, what should hinder but there may be an understanding of evil, and an existence of good? As the gods, I believe, enjoy health, but understand the fever and pleurisy. Since even we, who, as they say, have abundance of evils but no good, are not yet destitute of the knowledge what prudence, what goodness, and what happiness is. And this also would be remarkable, that if virtue were absent, there should be those who could teach us what it is and give us a comprehension of it, when if vice were not extant, it should be impossible to have any understanding of it. For see what these men persuade us who philosophize against the conceptions,—that by folly indeed we comprehend prudence, but prudence without folly cannot so much as comprehend folly itself.
Besides all this, what could stop us from understanding evil and recognizing good? I think the gods enjoy good health but are aware of fever and pleurisy. Even we, who supposedly face many evils but lack good, still have some understanding of what wisdom, goodness, and happiness are. It’s also interesting that if virtue were missing, there would still be those who could teach us what it is and help us understand it, whereas if vice didn't exist, it would be impossible to grasp the concept. Look at what those who philosophize against these ideas argue—that through foolishness we understand wisdom, but wisdom alone cannot even comprehend foolishness.
And if Nature had absolutely stood in need of the generation of evil, yet might one or two examples of vice have been sufficient; or if you will, it might have been requisite that ten, a thousand, or ten thousand vicious men should be brought forth, and not that the multitude of vices should be so great as "to exceed in number the sands of the sea, the dust of the earth, and the feathers of all the various kinds of birds in the world," and yet that there should not be so much all this while as a dream of virtue. Those who in Sparta had the charge of the public halls or eating places called Phiditia were wont to bring forth two or three Helots drunken and full of wine, that the young men, seeing what drunkenness was, might learn to keep sobriety. But in human life there are many such examples of vice. For there is not any one sober to virtue; but we all stagger up and down, acting shamefully and living miserably. Thus does reason inebriate us, and with so much trouble and madness does it fill us, that we fall in nothing short of those dogs of whom Aesop says, that seeing certain skins swimming in the water, they endeavored to gulp down the sea, but burst before they could get at them. For reason also, by which we hope to gain reputation and attain to virtue, does, ere we can reach to it, corrupt and destroy us, being before filled with abundance of heady and bitter vice;—if indeed, as these men say, they who are got even to the uppermost step have no ease, cessation, or breathing from folly and infelicity.
And even if Nature really needed the creation of evil, wouldn’t just one or two examples of wrongdoing have been enough? Or, if it were necessary, perhaps it could have been enough to bring forth ten, a thousand, or even ten thousand wicked people, without the overwhelming number of vices being so great that it "outnumbers the sands of the sea, the dust of the earth, and the feathers of all the different kinds of birds in the world," without there being even a hint of virtue. Those in Sparta who managed the public halls or dining places called Phiditia would often bring out two or three Helots who were drunk and filled with wine, so that the young men, by witnessing what drunkenness looked like, could learn to be sober. Yet in human life, there are many such examples of wrongdoing. None of us act in accordance with virtue; instead, we all stumble around, behaving shamefully and living miserably. In this way, reason intoxicates us and fills us with so much turmoil and madness that we’re not much better than the dogs Aesop spoke of, who, upon seeing certain skins floating in the water, tried to gulp down the sea but burst before they could reach them. For reason, which we think will help us gain respect and achieve virtue, actually corrupts and destroys us before we can obtain it, already being filled with a surplus of intoxicating and bitter vices;—if indeed, as these people say, those who reach the highest point have no break, respite, or time to breathe from foolishness and misfortune.
But let us see what manner of thing he shows vice to be who says that it was not brought forth unprofitably, and of what use and what a thing he makes it to be to those who have it, writing in his book of right conduct, that a wicked man wants nothing, has need of nothing, nothing is useful to him, nothing proper, nothing fit for him. How then is vice useful, with which neither health nor abundance of riches nor advancement in virtue is profitable? Who then does not want these things, of which some are "preferable" and "acceptable" and therefore highly useful, and others are "according to Nature," as themselves term them? But (they affirm) no one has need of them, unless he become wise. So the vicious man does not even stand in want of being made wise. Nor are men hungry and thirsty before they become wise. When thirsty, therefore, they have no need of water, nor when hungry, of bread.
But let’s examine what this person shows vice to be, who claims that it wasn't created without purpose. What value and significance does he attribute to it for those who possess it, writing in his guide to proper behavior that a wicked person lacks nothing, needs nothing, finds nothing useful, nothing appropriate, nothing suitable for him? How is vice useful, when it brings neither health, wealth, nor progress in virtue? Who doesn’t desire these things, some of which are "preferable" and "acceptable," and thus very useful, while others are "in accordance with nature," as they like to say? Yet they claim no one needs them unless they become wise. So, the wicked person doesn’t even feel the need to gain wisdom. Besides, people aren’t hungry or thirsty before they gain wisdom. Therefore, when they are thirsty, they have no need for water, and when they are hungry, no need for bread.
Be like to courteous guests, and him
Who asks only fire and shelter:
Be like courteous guests, and to him
Who asks only for warmth and a place to stay:does this man now not need entertainment? Nor had he need of a cloak, who said,
does this man not need entertainment now? Nor did he need a cloak, who said,
Give Hipponax a cloak, for I'm stiff with cold.
Give Hipponax a coat, because I'm freezing.
But will you speak a paradox indeed, both extravagant and singular? Say then that a wise man has need of nothing, that he wants nothing, he is fortunate, he is free from want, he is self-sufficient, blessed, perfect. Now what madness is this, that he to whom nothing is wanting has need of the goods he has, but that the vicious indeed wants many things, and stands in need of nothing. For thus indeed says Chrysippus, that the vicious wants but stands not in need; removing the common notions, like chessmen, backwards and forwards. For all men think that having need precedes wanting, esteeming him who stands in need of things that are not at hand or easy to be got, to want them. For no man wants horns or wings, because no one has need of them. But we say that those want arms and money and clothes who are destitute of them, when they have occasion for them. But these men are so desirous of seeming always to say something against the common notions, that for the love of novelty they often depart from their own opinions, as they do here.
But will you really speak a paradox that’s both extravagant and unique? Then say that a wise person needs nothing, wants nothing, is lucky, free from desire, self-sufficient, blessed, and perfect. Now, what kind of madness is this? The one who lacks nothing has a need for the things he possesses, while the unethical person actually wants many things and doesn’t really need any of them. For Chrysippus says that the unethical person wants but doesn’t need, shifting the common ideas around like chess pieces. Everyone thinks that needing something comes before wanting it, valuing someone who needs things that are out of reach or hard to get as wanting them. No one wants horns or wings because no one needs them. But we say that those who are without arms, money, and clothes want them when they need them. Yet these individuals are so eager to always say something against common ideas that, in their pursuit of novelty, they often stray from their own beliefs, just as they do here.
Recall yourself to the consideration of what has been said a little above. This is one of their assertions against the common conception, that no vicious man receives any utility. And yet many being instructed profit, many being slaves are made free; many being besieged are delivered, being lame are led by the hand, and being sick are cured. "But possessing all these things, they are never the better, neither do receive benefits, nor have they any benefactors, nor do they slight them." Vicious men then are not ungrateful, no more than are wise men. Ingratitude therefore has no being; because the good receiving a benefit fail not to acknowledge it, and the bad are not capable of receiving any. Behold, now, what they say to this,—that benefit is ranked among mean or middle things, and that to give and receive utility belongs only to the wise, but the bad also receive a benefit. Then they who partake of the benefit partake not also of its use; and whither a benefit extends, there is nothing useful or commodious. Now what else is there that makes a kind office a benefit, but that the bestower of it is, in some respect, useful to the needy receiver?
Think about what was mentioned a little earlier. This is one of their claims against the common belief that no immoral person gains anything useful. Yet many people learn and benefit, many slaves are set free, many who are besieged find relief, the lame are helped, and the sick are healed. "But despite having all these things, they don’t improve; they don’t receive benefits, they lack benefactors, and they disregard them." So, immoral people aren't ungrateful, just like wise people aren't either. Ingratitude, therefore, doesn’t exist; because good people who receive help always acknowledge it, and bad people aren’t capable of receiving anything. Now, look at what they argue in response—that benefits are considered mediocre or middle-ground, and giving and receiving advantages is meant only for the wise, while the bad people can also receive benefits. In that case, those who receive benefits don’t also gain from their use; and wherever a benefit extends, there’s nothing valuable or beneficial. So what else turns a kind action into a benefit, except that the person giving it is, in some way, useful to the needy recipient?
LAMPRIAS. But let these things pass. What, I beseech you, is this so highly venerated utility, which preserving as some great and excellent thing for the wise, they permit not so much as the name of it to the vicious?
LAMPRIAS. But let’s move past that. What, I ask you, is this highly regarded usefulness, which is preserved as something great and excellent for the wise, that they won’t even allow the name of it to be known to the wicked?
DIADUMENUS. If (say they) one wise man does but any way prudently stretch out his finger, all the wise men all the world over receive utility by it. This is the work of their amity; in this do the virtues of the wise man terminate by their common utilities. Aristotle then and Xenocrates doted, saving that men receive utility from the gods, from their parents, from their masters, being ignorant of that wonderful utility which wise men receive from one another, being moved according to virtue, though they neither are together nor yet know it. Yet all men esteem, that laying up, keeping, and bestowing are then useful and profitable, when some benefit or profit is recovered by it. The thriving man buys keys, and diligently keeps his stores,
DIADUMENUS. They say that when one wise person makes a well-considered gesture, all wise people around the world benefit from it. This is what their friendship brings about; the wise person's virtues are directed towards their shared benefits. Aristotle and Xenocrates were mistaken, thinking that people get their benefits from the gods, parents, or masters, while they were unaware of the incredible benefits that wise people gain from each other, guided by virtue, even if they are not together or aware of it. However, everyone believes that saving, keeping, and giving are useful and beneficial only when some gain or advantage comes from it. A successful person buys locks and carefully protects their possessions,
With 's hand unlocking wealth's sweet treasury.
(From the "Bellerophontes" of Euripides, Frag. 287, vs. 8.)
With 's hand unlocking wealth's sweet treasury.
(From the "Bellerophontes" of Euripides, Frag. 287, vs. 8.)But to store up and to keep with diligence and labor such things as are for no use is not seemly or honorable, but ridiculous. If Ulysses indeed had tied up with the knot which Circe taught him, not the gifts he had received from Alcinous,—tripods, caldrons, cloths, and gold,—but heaping up trash, stones, and such like trumpery, should have thought his employment about such things, and the possession and keeping of them, a happy and blessed work, would any one have imitated this foolish providence and empty care? Yet this is the beauty, gravity, and happiness of the Stoical consent, being nothing else but a gathering together and keeping of useless and indifferent things. For such are things according to Nature, and more exterior things; if indeed they compare the greatest riches to fringes and golden chamberpots, and sometimes also, as it happens, to oil-cruets. Then, as those who seem proudly to have affronted and railed at some gods or demigods presently changing their note, fall prostrate and sit humbly on the ground, praising and magnifying the Divinity; so these men, having met with punishment of this arrogancy and vanity, again exercise themselves in these indifferent things and such as pertain nothing to them, crying out with a loud voice that there is only one thing good, specious, and honorable, the storing up of these things and the communication of them, and that it is not meet for those to live who have them not, but to despatch out of the way and famish themselves, bidding a long farewell to virtue.
But storing up and carefully keeping things that are useless isn't respectable or honorable; it's actually ridiculous. If Ulysses had tied up not the gifts he got from Alcinous—like tripods, cauldrons, cloth, and gold—but rather trash, stones, and other worthless stuff, and thought that hoarding those things was a happy and blessed activity, would anyone want to imitate such foolishness? Yet, this is what the beauty, seriousness, and happiness of Stoic agreement represent, which is nothing more than collecting and keeping useless and indifferent items. These things, according to nature, are more external; they compare even the greatest riches to fringes and golden chamber pots, and sometimes, as it happens, to oil cruets. Just like those who proudly insulted some gods or demigods but then quickly change their tune and fall flat on the ground, humbly praising the divine; these people, after facing the consequences of their arrogance and vanity, instead focus on these indifferent things that don’t concern them, loudly proclaiming that there is only one thing that is good, valuable, and honorable—the accumulation and sharing of these items—and that those who don’t have them shouldn't live but should be pushed aside and left to starve, bidding a long farewell to virtue.
They esteem indeed Theognis to have been a man altogether of a base and abject spirit, for saying, as one overfearful in regard to poverty, which is an indifferent thing:—
They truly consider Theognis to have been a person with a completely low and despicable character for expressing, out of excessive fear of poverty, which is something unimportant:—
From poverty to fly, into the deep
Throw thyself, Cyrnus, or from rocks so steep.
From poverty to freedom, dive deep
Throw yourself, Cyrnus, or from these steep cliffs.Yet they themselves exhort the same thing in prose, and affirm that a man, to free himself from some great disease or exceedingly acute pain, if he have not at hand sword or hemlock, ought to leap into the sea or throw himself headlong from a precipice; neither of which is hurtful, or evil, or incommodious, or makes them who fall into it miserable.
Yet they themselves argue the same thing in writing, claiming that if a person wants to free themselves from a serious illness or intense pain, and doesn't have a sword or hemlock available, they should jump into the sea or throw themselves off a cliff; neither of which is harmful, evil, inconvenient, or makes those who do it miserable.
With what, then, says he, shall I begin? And what shall I take for the principle of duty and matter of virtue, leaving Nature and that which is according to Nature?
With what, then, he says, should I start? And what should I consider as the basis of duty and the essence of virtue, putting aside Nature and everything that aligns with Nature?
With what, O good sir, do Aristotle and Theophrastus begin? What beginnings do Xenocrates and Polemo take? Does not also Zeno follow these, who hold Nature and that which is according to Nature to be the elements of happiness? But they indeed persisted in these things, as desirable, good, and profitable; and joining to them virtue, which employs them and uses every one of them according to its property, thought to complete and consummate a perfect life and one every way absolute, producing that concord which is truly suitable and consonant to Nature. For these men did not run into confusion, like those who leap up from the ground and presently fall down again upon it, terming the same things acceptable and not desirable, proper and not good, unprofitable and yet useful, nothing to us and yet the principles of duties. But their life was such as their speech, and they exhibited actions suitable and consonant to their sayings. But they who are of the Stoic sect—not unlike to that woman in Archilochus, who deceitfully carried in one hand water, in the other fire—by some doctrines draw Nature to them, and by others drive her from them. Or rather, by their deeds and actions they embrace those things which are according to Nature, as good and desirable, but in words and speeches they reject and contemn them, as indifferent and of no use to virtue for the acquiring felicity.
With what, good sir, do Aristotle and Theophrastus start? What beginnings do Xenocrates and Polemo have? Doesn’t Zeno also follow them, believing that Nature and what aligns with Nature are the keys to happiness? They pursued these things as desirable, good, and beneficial; and by adding virtue, which uses each of these according to its nature, they aimed to achieve a perfect life that is completely fulfilled, creating harmony that truly aligns with Nature. These men didn’t get confused like those who leap up from the ground only to fall back down, calling the same things acceptable yet not desirable, appropriate but not good, unprofitable yet useful, irrelevant to us and yet the basis of our responsibilities. Their life reflected their words, showing actions that were consistent with their beliefs. But those in the Stoic school — not unlike the woman in Archilochus who deceitfully carried water in one hand and fire in the other — express some beliefs that align with Nature while pushing others away. In practice, they embrace what is natural as good and desirable, but in their words, they dismiss and disdain it as indifferent and useless for virtue in attaining happiness.
Now, forasmuch as all men esteem the sovereign good to be joyous, desirable, happy, of the greatest dignity, self-sufficient, and wanting nothing; compare their good, and see how it agrees with this common conception. Does the stretching out a finger prudently produce this joy? Is a prudent torture a thing desirable? Is he happy, who with reason breaks his neck? Is that of the greatest dignity, which reason often chooses to let go for that which is not good? Is that perfect and self-sufficient, by enjoying which, if they possess not too indifferent things, they neither can nor will endure to live? There is also another tenet of the Stoics, by which custom is still more injured, taking and plucking from her genuine notions, which are as her legitimate children, and supposing other bastardly, wild, and illegitimate ones in their room, and necessitating her to nourish and cherish the one instead of the other; and that too in those principles which concern things good and bad, desirable and avoidable, proper and strange, the energy of which ought to be more clearly distinguished than that of hot and cold, black and white. For the imaginations of these things are brought in by the senses from without; but those have their original bred from the good things which we have within us. But these men entering with their logic upon the topic of felicity, as on the sophism called Pseudomenos, or that named Kyrieuon, have removed no ambiguities, but brought in very many.
Now, since everyone considers the ultimate good to be joyful, desirable, happy, of the highest dignity, self-sufficient, and needing nothing, let's compare their idea of good and see how it aligns with this common understanding. Does stretching out a finger in a careful way really create this joy? Is a carefully inflicted torture something desirable? Is someone truly happy if they rationally decide to break their own neck? Is something of the highest dignity if reason often chooses to disregard it for something not good? Can something be perfect and self-sufficient if, without it, they can't or won’t endure to live, even if they have some indifferent things? There's also another belief of the Stoics that further distorts custom, taking away genuine concepts, which are like her legitimate children, and assuming fake, wild, and illegitimate ones in their place, forcing her to nurture one instead of the other; and this is especially true regarding principles concerning what is good and bad, desirable and avoidable, appropriate and strange—these need to be more clearly defined than hot and cold, black and white. The ideas of these concepts come from our senses, while the true essence comes from the good things within us. Yet these individuals, through their logic regarding happiness, like with the sophism called Pseudomenos or Kyrieuon, have not clarified any ambiguities but instead have introduced many more.
Indeed, of two good things, of which the one is the end and the other belongs to the end, none is ignorant that the end is the greater and perfecter good. Chrysippus also acknowledges this difference, as is manifest from his Third Book of Good Things. For he dissents from those who make science the end, and sets it down.... In his Treatise of Justice, however, he does not think that justice can be preserved, if any one makes pleasure to be the end; but allows it may, if pleasure is not said to be the end, but simply a good. Nor do I think that you need now to hear me repeat his words, since his Third Book of Justice is everywhere to be had. When, therefore, O my friend, they elsewhere say that no one good is greater or less than another, and that what is not the end is equal to the end, they contradict not only the common conceptions, but even their own words. Again, if of two evils, the one when it is present renders us worse, and the other hurts us but renders us not worse, it is against reason not to say that the evil which by its presence renders us worse is greater than that which hurts us but renders us not worse. Now Chrysippus indeed confesses, that there are some fears and sorrows and errors which hurt us, but render us not worse. Read his First Book of Justice against Plato; for in respect of other things, it is worth the while to note the babbling of the man in that place, expounding indifferently all matters and doctrines, as well proper to his own sect as foreign to it.
Indeed, of two good things, one being the ultimate goal and the other relating to that goal, it's clear that the ultimate goal is the greater and more complete good. Chrysippus also recognizes this distinction, as shown in his Third Book of Good Things. He disagrees with those who claim that knowledge is the ultimate goal and emphasizes that... In his Treatise of Justice, he argues that justice cannot be upheld if someone considers pleasure to be the ultimate goal; however, he allows that it could be accepted as a good as long as it isn’t labeled as the goal. I don't think you need me to repeat his exact words since his Third Book of Justice is widely available. Therefore, my friend, when they claim that no single good is greater or lesser than another, and assert that what isn’t the ultimate goal is on par with the goal, they contradict not only common understanding but even their own statements. Moreover, if one of two evils makes us worse when present, while the other hurts us but doesn't make us worse, it’s unreasonable to argue that the evil which worsens our condition is not greater than the one that simply causes harm without worsening us. Chrysippus acknowledges that there are certain fears, sorrows, and mistakes that harm us without making us worse. Refer to his First Book of Justice against Plato; it’s noteworthy to observe the way he randomly discusses various issues and doctrines, whether related to his own school or not.
It is likewise against common sense when he says that there may be two ends or scopes proposed of life, and that all the things we do are not to be referred to one; and yet this is more against common sense, to say that there is an end, and yet that every action is to be referred to another. Nevertheless they must of necessity endure one of these. For if those things which are first according to Nature are not eligible for themselves, but the choice and taking of them agreeably to reason is, and if every one therefore does all his actions for the acquiring the first things according to Nature, then all things which are done must have their reference to this, that the principal things according to Nature may be obtained. But they think that they who aim and aspire to get these things do not have the things themselves as the end, but that to which they must make reference, namely, the choice and not the things. For the end indeed is to choose and receive these things prudently. But the things themselves and the enjoying of them are not the end, but the material ground, having its value only from the choice. For it is my opinion that they both use and write this very expression, to show the difference.
It's also not sensible when he claims that there can be two purposes or goals in life, and that not everything we do can be tied to just one of them. However, it's even less reasonable to suggest that there is one goal while claiming that every action points to another. They must ultimately pick one of these views. If the things that are fundamental by nature aren’t valuable in themselves, but the decision to choose and use them wisely is, and if everyone acts to obtain those fundamental things according to nature, then everything we do must be connected to achieving those fundamental natural goods. But they believe that those who strive for these things don’t actually consider the things themselves as the goal; instead, it’s the choice that matters, not the things. The true goal is to choose and enjoy these things wisely. The things themselves and enjoying them aren’t the end goal; they’re just the means to an end, obtaining their importance from the choices we make. I think they both use and mention this idea to highlight the distinction.
LAMPRIAS. You have exactly related both what they say and in what manner they deliver it.
LAMPRIAS. You've accurately described both what they say and how they say it.
DIADUMENUS. But observe how it fares with them, as with those that endeavor to leap over their own shadow; for they do not leave behind, but always carry along with them in their speech some absurdity most remote from common sense. For as, if any one should say that he who shoots does all he can, not that he may hit the mark, but that he may do all he can, such a one would rightly be esteemed to speak enigmatically and prodigiously; so these doting dreamers, who contend that the obtaining of natural things is not the end of aiming after natural things, but the taking and choosing them is, and that the desire and endeavor after health is not in every one terminated in the enjoyment of health, but on the contrary, the enjoyment of health is referred to the desire and endeavor after it, and that certain walkings and contentions of speech and suffering incisions and taking of medicines, so they are done by reason, are the end of health, and not health of them, they, I say, trifle like to those who say, Let us sup, that we may offer sacrifice, that we may bathe. But this rather changes order and custom, and all things which these men say carry with them the total subversion and confusion of affairs. Thus, we do not desire to take a walk in fit time that we may digest our meat; but we digest our meat that we may take a walk in fit time. Has Nature also made health for the sake of hellebore, instead of producing hellebore for the sake of health? For what is wanting to bring them to the highest degree of speaking paradoxes, but the saying of such things? What difference is there between him who says that health was made for the sake of medicines and not medicines for the sake of health, and him who makes the choice of medicines and their composition and use more desirable than health itself?—or rather who esteems health not at all desirable, but placing the end in the negotiation about these things, prefers desire to enjoyment, and not enjoyment to desire? For to desire, forsooth (they affirm), is joined the proceeding wisely and discreetly. It is true indeed, we will say, if respect be had to the end, that is, the enjoyment and possession of the things it pursues; but otherwise, it is wholly void of reason, if it does all things for the obtaining of that the enjoyment of which is neither honorable nor happy.
DIADUMENUS. But look at how it goes for them, like those who try to jump over their own shadow; they don’t leave behind but always bring along with them in their speech some nonsense far removed from common sense. It’s like if someone claims that a shooter does everything he can not to hit the target, but just to do his best; such a person would rightly be seen as speaking in riddles and absurdities. Similarly, these deluded dreamers argue that the purpose of aiming for natural things isn’t to achieve them, but rather to choose and take them, and that the quest for health doesn’t necessarily end in enjoying good health, but rather, enjoying good health serves the pursuit of it. They suggest that walking, discussing, suffering through treatments, and taking medicine, as long as they are done rationally, are the goals of health, not the other way around. They trivialize, like those who say, "Let’s have dinner to make a sacrifice, or to take a bath." This shifts priorities and traditions, and everything these people say brings about complete disruption and chaos. So, we don’t want to walk at the right time just to digest our food; we digest our food so we can walk at the right time. Did Nature create health for the sake of hellebore instead of creating hellebore for the sake of health? What more do they need to reach the highest level of paradoxical speaking than to make such statements? What’s the difference between someone who claims health was made for medicines and not medicines for health, and someone who prefers the selection and use of medicines over health itself? Or even more, who views health as undesirable, placing the goal in the discussions about these matters, and prefers desire over satisfaction, rather than satisfaction over desire? For they assert that desire inherently involves acting wisely and judiciously. It's true, we can say, if we focus on the end goal, which is enjoying and possessing what is pursued; but otherwise, it lacks reason entirely if it does everything to obtain something whose enjoyment is neither honorable nor happy.
Now, since we are fallen upon this discourse, anything may rather be said to agree with common sense, than that those who have neither received nor have any conception of good do nevertheless desire and pursue it. For you see how Chrysippus drives Ariston into this difficulty, that he should understand an indifference in things inclining neither to good nor to bad, before either good or bad is itself understood; for so indifference will appear to have subsisted even before itself, if the understanding of it cannot be perceived unless good be first understood, while the good is nothing else than this very indifference. Understand now and consider this indifference which the Stoa refutes and calls consent, whence and in what manner it gives us the knowledge of good. For if without good the indifference to that which is not good cannot be understood, much less does the knowing of good things give any intelligence of itself to those who had not before some notion of the good. But as there can be no knowledge of the art of things wholesome and unwholesome in those who have not first some knowledge of the things themselves; so they cannot conceive any notion of the science of good and evil who have not some fore-knowledge of good and evil.
Now that we’re discussing this, it’s more sensible to say that those who have neither experienced nor understood the concept of good still desire and pursue it. You can see how Chrysippus puts Ariston in a bind: he must grasp the idea of indifference in things that lean neither towards good nor bad before he can even understand good or bad. If that’s the case, then indifference seems to have existed even before being understood, if its comprehension relies on first grasping good, and good is essentially that very indifference. Now, understand and think about this indifference that the Stoics argue against and describe as consent, from which we gain knowledge of good. If we can’t understand the indifference to what isn’t good without first knowing good, then knowing good things doesn’t provide insight to those who lack any notion of what good is, to begin with. Just as you can’t have knowledge of what is healthy and unhealthy without first understanding these things, similarly, you can’t conceive of the science of good and evil without prior knowledge of what good and evil are.
LAMPRIAS. What then is good? DIADUMENUS. Nothing but prudence. LAMPRIAS. And what is prudence? DIADUMENUS. Nothing but the science of good.
LAMPRIAS. So, what is good? DIADUMENUS. Only wisdom. LAMPRIAS. And what is wisdom? DIADUMENUS. Just the knowledge of what is good.
LAMPRIAS. There is much then of "Jupiter's Corinth" (that is, much begging the question) admitted into their reasoning. For I would have you let alone the saying about the turning of the pestle, lest you should seem to mock them; although an accident like to that has insinuated itself into their discourse. For it seems that, to the understanding of good, one has need to understand prudence, and to seek for prudence in the understanding of good, being forced always to pursue the one by the other, and thus failing of both; since to the understanding of each we have need of that which cannot be known without the other be first understood.
LAMPRIAS. There's a lot of "Jupiter's Corinth" (meaning a lot of assumptions) in their reasoning. I suggest you ignore the comment about the turning of the pestle, so you don't come off as mocking them; though a situation like that has slipped into their discussion. It seems that to grasp what is good, you need to understand wisdom, and to seek wisdom in understanding what is good, always chasing one through the other, and thus missing out on both; because to understand either one, we need what can’t be known without first understanding the other.
DIADUMENUS. But there is yet another way, by which you may perceive not only the perversion but the eversion of their discourse, and the reduction of it entirely to nothing. They hold the essence of good to be the reasonable election of things according to Nature. Now the election is not reasonable which is not directed to some end, as has been said before. What, then, is this end? Nothing else, say they, but to reason rightly in the election of things according to Nature. First, then, the conception of good is lost and gone. For to reason rightly in election is an operation proceeding from an habit of right reasoning, and therefore being constrained to get this from the end; and the end not without this, we fail of understanding either of them. Besides, which is more, this reasonable election ought strictly to be a choice of things good and useful, and cooperating to the end; for how can it be reasonable to choose things which are neither convenient nor honorable nor at all eligible? For be it, as they say, a reasonable election of things having a fitness for the causing felicity; see then to what a beautiful and solemn conclusion their discourse brings them. For the end is (it seems), according to them, to reason rightly in the choice of things which are useful in causing us to reason rightly.
DIADUMENUS. But there’s another way to see not just the distortion but the complete reversal of their argument, reducing it to nothing. They believe that the essence of good is to make reasonable choices based on Nature. However, a choice isn’t reasonable if it isn’t aimed at some goal, as mentioned earlier. So, what is that goal? According to them, it’s simply to reason correctly when choosing things based on Nature. First off, the understanding of good is completely lost. To reason correctly in making choices comes from a habit of right thinking, so we are forced to retrieve this from the goal; without the goal, we can’t grasp either of them. Moreover, this reasonable choice should specifically involve selecting good and useful things that contribute to the goal; how can it be reasonable to choose things that are neither convenient nor honorable nor desirable at all? They argue it’s a reasonable choice of things that are suitable for creating happiness; just look at the absurd conclusion their argument leads to. The goal, it seems, according to them, is to reason correctly in choosing things that help us reason correctly.
LAMPRIAS. When I hear these words, my friend, what is laid down seems to me strangely extravagant; and I farther want to know how this happens.
LAMPRIAS. When I hear these words, my friend, what is stated seems oddly extravagant to me; and I want to understand how this occurs.
DIADUMENUS. You must then be more attentive; for it is not for every one to understand this riddle. Hear therefore and answer. Is not the end, according to them, to reason rightly in the election of things according to Nature?
DIADUMENUS. You need to pay more attention then; it’s not something everyone can figure out. So listen and respond. Isn’t the goal, according to them, to think clearly when choosing things in line with Nature?
LAMPRIAS. So they say.
LAMPRIAS. That's what they say.
DIADUMENUS. And are these things according to Nature chosen as good, or as having some fitness or preferences... either for this end or for something else?
DIADUMENUS. Are these things chosen because they align with Nature, or because they have some suitability or preference... either for this purpose or for something else?
LAMPRIAS. I think not for anything else but for this end.
LAMPRIAS. I think it’s only for this reason.
DIADUMENUS. Now, then, having discovered the matter, see what befalls them. They affirm that the end is to reason rightly in the selection of things which are of value in causing us to reason rightly, for they say that we neither have nor understand any other principle either of good or of felicity but this precious rectitude of reasoning in the election of things that are of worth. But there are some who think that this is spoken against Antipater, and not against the whole sect; for that he, being pressed by Carneades, fell into these fooleries.
DIADUMENUS. Alright then, having figured out the situation, let's see what happens next. They claim that the goal is to think clearly when choosing things that help us think clearly, arguing that we don’t have or understand any other principle for what is good or brings happiness other than this valuable clarity of thought in choosing things that matter. However, some believe this is aimed at Antipater specifically, not at the entire group; they think that under pressure from Carneades, he got caught up in these absurd ideas.
But as for those things that are against the common conceptions taught in the Stoa concerning love, they are all of them concerned in the absurdity. They say youths are deformed who are vicious and foolish, and that the wise are fair; and yet that none of these beautiful ones is either beloved or worthy of being beloved. Nor yet is this the worst; but they add, that those who love the deformed ones cease to do so when they are become fair. Now whoever knew such a love as is kindled and has its being at the sight of the body's deformity joined with that of the soul, and is quenched and decays at the accession of beauty joined with prudence, justice, and temperance? These men are not unlike to those gnats which love to settle on the dregs of wine, or on vinegar, but shun and fly away from potable and pleasant wine. As for that which they call and term an appearance of beauty, saying that it is the inducement of love,—first, it has no probability, for in those who are very foul and highly wicked there cannot be an appearance of beauty, if indeed (as is said) the wickedness of the disposition fills the face with deformity. And secondly, it is absolutely against all common experience for the deformed to be worthy of love because he one day will be fair and expects to have beauty, but that when he has got it and is become fair and good, he is to be beloved of none.
But regarding those views that contradict the common beliefs about love taught by the Stoics, they all seem absurd. They claim that young people with bad behavior and foolishness are unattractive, while wise individuals are beautiful; yet, they argue that none of these beautiful people are loved or deserving of love. That’s not even the worst part; they go on to say that those who love unattractive individuals stop doing so once they become attractive. Who has ever experienced a love that sparks from seeing a person's physical flaws combined with a flawed character, only to fade when that person becomes physically beautiful along with being wise, just, and self-disciplined? These people are like gnats that prefer to settle on the dregs of wine or vinegar, avoiding fresh and enjoyable wine. As for what they call an "appearance of beauty," which they say inspires love—first, it's improbable because those who are extremely ugly and wicked cannot truly exhibit beauty if, as they say, the wickedness in a person's heart distorts their face. Secondly, it's completely contrary to all common experience to believe that an unattractive person deserves love simply because they might one day become beautiful, while when they do achieve beauty and goodness, they won't be loved by anyone.
LAMPRIAS. Love, they say, is a certain hunting after a young person who is as yet indeed undeveloped, but naturally well disposed towards virtue.
LAMPRIAS. They say love is like chasing after a young person who is still growing but naturally inclined toward virtue.
DIADUMENUS. And what do we now else, O my best friend, but demonstrate that their sect perverts and destroys all our common conceptions with improbable things and unusual expressions? For none would hinder the solicitude of these wise men towards young persons, if it were free from all passionate affection, from being named hunting or love of instruction; but they ought to call love what all men and women understand and call by this name, like that which Penelope's suitors in Homer seem to acknowledge,
DIADUMENUS. So what else can we do, my dear friend, but show that their group twists and ruins all our common ideas with strange concepts and odd phrases? No one would stop these wise people from caring about young individuals if their intentions were devoid of any intense emotions, whether described as seeking knowledge or some other pursuit; instead, they should simply call it love, which everyone understands and recognizes by that name, much like the acknowledgment of love by Penelope's suitors in Homer's tale.
Who all desired to lie with her;
("Odyssey," i. 366)
Who all wanted to sleep with her;
("Odyssey," i. 366)or as Jupiter in another place says to Juno,
or as Jupiter says to Juno in another place,
For neither goddess yet nor mortal dame
E'er kindled in my heart so great a flame.
("Iliad." xiv. 315.)
For neither goddess nor mortal woman
Has ever sparked such a fire in my heart.
("Iliad." xiv. 315.)Thus casting moral philosophy into these matters, in which all is
Thus throwing moral philosophy into these topics, where everything is
A mazy whirl, with nothing sound, and all perplexed,
(Euripides, "Andromache," 448.)
A confusing mess, with no clear direction, and everything in disarray,
(Euripides, "Andromache," 448.)they contemn and deride it, as if boasting themselves to be the only men who observe nature and custom as it ought to be, and who at the same time adapted reason to each man by means of aversions, desires, appetites, pursuits, and impulses. But custom has received no good from their logic, but, like the ear diseased by vain sounds, is filled with difficulty and obscurity,—of which, if you think good, we will elsewhere begin a new discourse. But now we will run through the chief and principal heads of their natural philosophy, which no less confounds the common conceptions than that other concerning ends. ============= First, this is altogether absurd and against sense, to say that is which is not, and things which are not are. But above all that is most absurd which they say of the universe. For, putting round about the circumference of the world an infinite vacuum, they say that the universe is neither a body nor bodiless. It follows then from this that the universe has no being, since with them body only has a being. Since therefore it is the part of that which has a being both to do and suffer, and the universe has no being, it follows that the universe will neither do nor suffer. Neither will it be in a place; for that which takes up place is a body, and the universe is not a body, therefore the universe exists nowhere. And since that only rests which continues in one and the same place, the universe rests not, because it takes not up place. Neither yet is it moved, for what is moved must have a place and space in which to move. Moreover, what is moved either moves itself, or suffers motion from another. Now, that which is moved by itself has some bents and inclinations proceeding from its gravity or levity; and gravity and levity are either certain habits or faculties or differences of bodies. But the universe is not a body. It follows then of necessity, that the universe is neither, heavy nor light, and consequently, that it has not in itself any principle of motion. Nor yet will the universe be moved by any other; for there is nothing else besides the universe. Thus are they necessitated to say as they do, that the universe neither rests nor is moved. Lastly since according to their opinion it must not be said that the universe is a body, and yet the heaven, the earth, animals, plants, men, and stones are bodies, it follows that that which is no body will have bodies for its parts, and things which have existence will be parts of that which has no existence, and that which is not heavy will have parts that are heavy, and what is not light will have parts that are light;—than which there cannot be any dreams imagined more repugnant to the common conceptions.
they mock and disdain it, acting like they are the only ones who truly observe nature and tradition as it should be, while also adjusting reasoning for each person through their dislikes, desires, cravings, goals, and instincts. But their logic hasn’t benefited tradition at all; instead, it’s like an ear plagued by meaningless noise, filled with confusion and uncertainty—of which, if you think it’s worthwhile, we can start a new discussion elsewhere. For now, we’ll briefly outline the main points of their natural philosophy, which confounds common beliefs just as much as the other theories about purposes. First, it’s completely absurd and nonsensical to say that what isn’t real is real, and that things that don’t exist actually do. But what’s most ridiculous is what they claim about the universe. They propose that surrounding the circumference of the world is an infinite emptiness, claiming that the universe is neither a body nor non-bodied. This leads to the conclusion that the universe doesn’t exist at all since, for them, only bodies have existence. Since part of what exists is to act and be acted upon, and the universe doesn’t exist, it means the universe can’t act or be acted upon. It also cannot occupy space; since anything that occupies space is a body, and the universe is not a body, it follows that the universe exists nowhere. And because only that which stays in one place rests, the universe does not rest because it doesn’t take up space. Furthermore, it is not in motion since something that moves must have space in which to move. Additionally, something that moves does so either by itself or is moved by something else. Now, what moves itself has certain tendencies or inclinations due to its heaviness or lightness; and heaviness and lightness are either specific qualities or differences of bodies. But since the universe is not a body, it necessarily follows that the universe is neither heavy nor light, and, therefore, it has no principle of motion within itself. Furthermore, the universe cannot be moved by anything else because there is nothing outside the universe. Therefore, they are forced to claim that the universe neither rests nor moves. Lastly, since according to their belief the universe cannot be called a body, yet the heavens, earth, animals, plants, humans, and stones are bodies, it follows that something which is not a body must have bodies as its parts, that which exists must be parts of something that doesn’t exist, and that which is not heavy must have heavy parts, and what is not light must have light parts—there is nothing more contradictory to common understanding than this.
Moreover, there is nothing so evident or so agreeing to common sense as this, that what is not animate is inanimate, and what is not inanimate is animate. And yet they overthrow also this evidence, confessing the universe to be neither animate nor inanimate. Besides this, none thinks the universe, of which there is no part wanting to be imperfect; but they deny the universe to be perfect, saying that what is perfect may be defined, but the universe because of its infiniteness cannot be defined. Therefore, according to them, there is something which is neither perfect nor imperfect. Moreover, the universe is neither a part, since there is nothing greater than it; nor the whole, for the whole (they say) is predicated only of that which is digested into order; but the universe is, through its infiniteness, undetermined and unordered. Moreover, there is no other thing which can be the cause of the universe, there being nothing besides the universe; nor is the universe the cause of other things or even of itself; for its nature suffers it not to act, and a cause is understood by its acting. Suppose, now, one should ask all men what they imagine NOTHING to be, and what notion they have of it. Would they not answer, that it neither is a cause nor has a cause, that it is neither the whole nor a part that it is neither perfect nor imperfect, that it is neither animate nor inanimate, that it neither is moved nor rests nor subsists, that it is neither corporeal nor incorporeal; and that this and no other thing is meant by NOTHING? Since, then, they alone predicate that of the universe which all others do of NOTHING, it seems plain that they make the universe and NOTHING to be the same. Time must then be said to be nothing; the same also must be said of predicate, axiom, junction, conjunction, which terms they use more than any of the other philosophers, yet they say that they have no existence. But farther, to say that what is true has no being or subsistence but is comprehended, and that that is comprehensible and credible which no way partakes of the essence of being,—does not this exceed all absurdity?
Moreover, there’s nothing as obvious or as aligned with common sense as the idea that what is not alive is inanimate, and what is not inanimate is alive. Yet, they also dismiss this clear distinction, claiming that the universe is neither alive nor dead. Besides this, no one believes that the universe, lacking any imperfect parts, is imperfect; but they argue that the universe isn’t perfect, saying that perfection can be defined, but the universe, due to its infinite nature, cannot be defined. So, according to them, there exists something that is neither perfect nor imperfect. Furthermore, the universe isn’t a part of anything, since nothing is greater than it; nor is it the whole, because the whole, they say, is only something that is organized; yet the universe, because of its infinity, is undefined and disordered. Additionally, there’s nothing else that could be the cause of the universe, since nothing exists apart from the universe; nor is the universe the cause of other things or even itself; its nature prevents it from causing anything, and a cause is understood by its action. Now, if someone were to ask all people what they think NOTHING is and what idea they have of it, wouldn’t they reply that it is neither a cause nor has a cause, that it is neither the whole nor a part, that it is neither perfect nor imperfect, that it is neither alive nor dead, that it neither moves nor rests nor exists, that it is neither physical nor non-physical; and that this definition is what is meant by NOTHING? Since they alone apply to the universe what everyone else understands as NOTHING, it seems clear that they equate the universe with NOTHING. Thus, time must also be said to be nothing; the same applies to terms like predicate, axiom, junction, conjunction, which they use more than any other philosophers, yet they claim these terms have no existence. Furthermore, to assert that what is true has no existence or subsistence but is merely understood, and that what is comprehensible and believable does not share in the essence of being—doesn’t this go beyond all absurdity?
But lest these things should seem to have too much of logical difficulty, let us proceed to such as pertain more to natural philosophy. Since, then, as themselves say,
But before these ideas feel too complicated, let's move on to topics that relate more to natural philosophy. Since, as they themselves say,
Jove is of all beginning, midst, and end,
(See "Orphic Fragments," vi. 10 (Herm.).)
Jove is the start, the middle, and the finish,
(See "Orphic Fragments," vi. 10 (Herm.).)they ought chiefly to have applied themselves to remedy, redress, and reduce to the best order the conceptions concerning the gods, if there were in them anything confused or erroneous; or if not, to have left every one in those sentiments which they had from the laws and custom concerning the Divinity:—
they should mainly have focused on fixing, correcting, and organizing the ideas about the gods, if there was anything unclear or incorrect in them; or if not, to have allowed everyone to keep the beliefs they had from the laws and customs regarding the Divinity:—
For neither now nor yesterday But always these things lived,
No one knows from whence they came.
(Sophocles, "Antigone," 456.)
For neither now nor yesterday, but always, these things have existed,
No one knows where they came from.
(Sophocles, "Antigone," 456.)But these men, having begun (as it were) "from Vesta" to disturb the opinions settled and received in every country concerning the gods, have not (to speak sincerely) left anything entire and uncorrupted. For what man is there or ever was, except these, who does not believe the Divinity to be immortal and eternal? Or what in the common anticipations is more unanimously chanted forth concerning the gods than such things as these:—
But these men, starting (so to speak) "from Vesta" to challenge the established beliefs about the gods in every country, have honestly left nothing intact and untouched. For who is there, or has ever been, aside from these individuals, that doesn’t believe in the immortality and eternity of the Divine? Or what is more widely agreed upon in common beliefs about the gods than things like these:—
There the blest gods eternally enjoy
Their sweet delights;
("Odyssey," vi. 46.)
There the blessed gods infinitely savor
Their sweet pleasures;
("Odyssey," vi. 46.)and again,
and again,
Both gods immortal, and earth-dwelling men;
("Iliad," v. 442.)
Both immortal gods and men who live on earth;
("Iliad," v. 442.)and again,
and again,
Exempt from sickness and old age are they,
And free from toil, and have escaped the stream
Of roaring Acheron?
(From Pindar.)
Are they free from sickness and old age,
And free from hard work, having escaped the flow
Of the roaring Acheron?
(From Pindar.)One may perhaps light upon some nations so barbarous and savage as not to think there is a God; but there was never found any man who, believing a God, did not at the same time believe him immortal and eternal. Certainly, those who were called Atheists, like Theodorus, Diagoras, and Hippo, durst not say that the Divinity is corruptible, but they did not believe that there is anything incorruptible; not indeed admitting the subsistence of an incorruptibility, but keeping the notion of a God. But Chrysippus and Cleanthes, having filled (as one may say) heaven, earth, air, and sea with gods, have not yet made any one of all these gods immortal or eternal, except Jupiter alone, in whom they consume all the rest; so that it is no more suitable for him to consume others than to be consumed himself. For it is alike an infirmity to perish by being resolved into another, and to be saved by being nourished by the resolution of others into himself. Now these are not like other of their absurdities, gathered by argument from their suppositions or drawn by consequence from their doctrines; but they themselves proclaim it aloud in their writings concerning the gods, Providence, Fate, and Nature, expressly saying that all the other gods were born, and shall die by the fire, melting away, in their opinion, as if they were of wax or tin. It is indeed as much against common sense that God should be mortal as the man should be immortal; nay, indeed, I do not see what the difference between God and man will be, if God also is a reasonable and corruptible animal. For if they oppose us with this subtle distinction, that man is mortal, and God not mortal but corruptible, see what they get by it. For they will say either that God is at the same time both immortal and corruptible, or else that he neither is mortal nor immortal; the absurdity of which even those cannot exceed who set themselves industriously to devise positions repugnant to common sense. I speak of others; for these men have left no one of the absurdest things unspoken or unattempted.
One might come across some nations that are so barbaric and savage that they don’t believe in God, but there has never been a person who, while believing in God, did not also believe Him to be immortal and eternal. Certainly, those labeled as Atheists, like Theodorus, Diagoras, and Hippo, wouldn’t dare say that divinity can be corrupted, but they didn’t believe that anything is incorruptible; they didn’t acknowledge the existence of anything incorruptible while still holding onto the idea of God. However, Chrysippus and Cleanthes, who seemed to have filled heaven, earth, air, and sea with gods, have not declared any of these gods to be immortal or eternal, except for Jupiter, who encompasses all others; thus, it’s no more fitting for him to consume others than to be consumed himself. Both scenarios indicate a weakness, whether it’s perishing by being changed into something else or being sustained by the transformation of others into himself. These ideas aren’t like their other absurdities, which are gathered from their arguments or derived from their beliefs; they openly declare in their writings about the gods, Providence, Fate, and Nature, stating that all other gods were born and will die by fire, melting away as if they were made of wax or tin. It’s indeed against common sense to think that God could be mortal, just as it would be unreasonable for man to be immortal; in fact, I see no difference between God and man if God is also seen as a rational and corruptible being. If they argue that man is mortal while God is not mortal but corruptible, let’s see what they gain from that. They would either claim that God is both immortal and corruptible at the same time, or that He is neither mortal nor immortal; the absurdity of this exceeds even those who deliberately try to create positions that defy common sense. I refer to others, as these people have left no absurdity unaddressed or unattempted.
To these things Cleanthes, contending for the conflagration of the world, says, that the sun will make the moon and all the other stars like to himself, and will change them into himself. Indeed, if the stars, being gods, should contribute anything to the sun towards their own destruction by adding to its conflagration, it would be very ridiculous for us to make prayers to them for our salvation, and to think them the saviours of men, whose nature it is to accelerate their own corruption and dissolution.
To these points, Cleanthes argues for the world's burning, saying that the sun will turn the moon and all the other stars into himself. In fact, if the stars, being divine, contributed to the sun's destruction by fueling its fire, it would be pretty silly for us to pray to them for our salvation, thinking they are the saviors of humans, while their nature drives them to hasten their own ruin and breakdown.
And yet these men leave nothing unsaid against Epicurus, crying out, Fie, fie upon him, as confounding their presumption concerning God by taking away Providence; for God (they say) is presumed and understood to be not only immortal and happy, but also a lover of men and careful of them and beneficial to them, and herein they say true. Now if they who abolish Providence take away the preconception concerning God, what do they who say that the gods indeed have care of us, but deny them to be helpful to us, and make them not bestowers of good things but of indifferent ones, giving, to wit, not virtue, but wealth, health, children, and such like things, none of which is helpful, profitable, desirable, or available? Or shall we not rather think, that Epicurus does not take away the conceptions concerning the gods; but that these Stoics scoff at the gods and deride them, saying one is a god of fruits, another of marriage, another a physician, and another a diviner, while yet health, issue, and plenty of fruits are not good things, but indifferent things and unprofitable to those who have them?
And yet these men say everything they can against Epicurus, shouting, "Shame, shame on him," because he challenges their assumptions about God by denying Providence. They argue that God is believed to be not only immortal and happy, but also a loving caretaker who looks out for us and does good for us, and they are right about that. Now, if those who dismiss Providence eliminate the common understanding of God, what do those who claim the gods care for us but deny them the ability to help us really suggest? They seem to say the gods provide us with things that don't matter, like wealth, health, and children, rather than what is truly valuable or beneficial. Shouldn't we rather consider that Epicurus isn’t dismissing the ideas about the gods? Instead, it’s these Stoics who mock the gods, claiming one is a god of fruits, another of marriage, another a doctor, and another a fortune-teller, while in reality, health, offspring, and abundant fruits are not truly good things, but rather indifferent and unhelpful to those who possess them?
The third point of the conception concerning the gods is, that the gods do in nothing so much differ from men as in happiness and virtue. But according to Chrysippus, they have not so much as this difference. For he says that Jupiter does not exceed Dion in virtue, but that Jupiter and Dion, being both wise, are equally aided by one another, when one comes into the motion of the other. For this and none else is the good which the gods do to men, and likewise men to the gods when they are wise. For they say, that a man who falls not short in virtue comes not behind them in felicity, and that he who, tormented with diseases and being maimed in the body, makes himself away, is equally happy with Jupiter the Saviour, provided he be but wise. But this man neither is nor ever was upon the earth; but there are infinite millions of men unhappy to the highest degree in the state and government of Jupiter, which is most excellently administered. Now what can be more against sense than that, when Jupiter governs exceedingly well, we should be exceedingly miserable? But if (which it is unlawful even to say) he would desire no longer to be a saviour, nor a deliverer, nor a protector, but the contrary to all these glorious appellations, there can no goodness be added to the things that are, either as to their multitude or magnitude, since, as these men say, all men live to the height miserably and wickedly, neither vice receiving addition, nor unhappiness increase.
The third point regarding the gods is that they differ from humans primarily in happiness and virtue. However, according to Chrysippus, they don’t differ at all in this respect. He argues that Jupiter is no more virtuous than Dion; instead, both being wise, they support each other when one influences the other. This support is the only good that the gods offer to humans, and humans to the gods when they are wise. They claim that a person who is virtuous will not lack happiness compared to the gods, and that someone who, despite suffering from illness and physical disabilities, chooses to end their life is equally happy as Jupiter the Savior, as long as they are wise. However, such a person has never existed on earth, while countless individuals are extremely unhappy under Jupiter’s well-ordered governance. What could be more unreasonable than the idea that while Jupiter governs excellently, we can be profoundly miserable? But if (which is even inappropriate to suggest) he were to wish no longer to be a savior, deliverer, or protector, but rather the opposite of these admirable titles, then no goodness could be added to the existing state of things, whether in terms of quantity or quality. According to these thinkers, all people live at a high level of misery and wickedness, with neither vice increasing nor unhappiness escalating.
Nor is this the worst; but they are angry with Menander for saying upon the stage,
Nor is this the worst; but they are upset with Menander for saying on stage,
The chief beginning of men's miseries
Are things exceeding good;
The main cause of people's troubles
Is when things are too good;for that this is against sense. And yet they make God, who is good, the beginning of evils. "For matter," they contend, "produced not any evil of itself; for it is without quality, and whatever differences it has, it has received them all from that which moves and forms it." But that which moves and forms it is the reason dwelling in it, since matter is not made to move and form itself. So that of necessity evil, if it come by nothing, must have been produced from that which has no being; but if by some moving principle, from God. But if they think that Jupiter has not the command of his parts nor uses every one of them according to his reason, they speak against common sense, and imagine an animal, many of whose parts are not subservient to his will but use their own operations and actions, to which the whole gives no incitation nor begins their motion. For there is nothing which has life so ill compacted as that, against its will, its feet shall go, its tongue speak, its horns push, or its teeth bite. The most of which things God must of necessity suffer, if the wicked, being parts of him, do against his will lie, cheat, rob, and murder one another. But if, as Chrysippus says, the very least part cannot possibly behave itself otherwise than according to Jupiter's pleasure, and if every living thing is so framed by Nature as to rest and move according as he inclines it and as he turns, stays, and disposes it,
for this is simply irrational. Yet, they claim that God, who is good, is the source of all evils. "Matter," they argue, "does not produce any evil on its own; it is without quality, and any differences it has come from what moves and shapes it." But what moves and shapes it is the reason that resides within it, since matter doesn't move or shape itself. Therefore, if evil comes from nothing, it must arise from something that doesn’t exist; but if it comes from some kind of moving principle, then it comes from God. If they believe that Jupiter doesn’t have control over his parts or that he doesn’t use each one according to his reason, they are being unreasonable. They imagine an organism where many of its parts don’t obey his will but instead operate independently, without the whole prompting or initiating their motion. There is nothing more poorly constructed than a living being that, against its will, has its feet move, its tongue speak, its horns push, or its teeth bite. God must endure such things if the wicked, being parts of him, act against his will by lying, cheating, robbing, and murdering each other. But if, as Chrysippus says, even the smallest part cannot possibly act other than according to Jupiter's will, and if every living thing is designed by Nature to rest and move according to his direction,
This saying is more impious than the first.
(See Nauck's "Tragic Fragments," p. 704 (No. 345).)
This saying is more disrespectful than the first.
(See Nauck's "Tragic Fragments," p. 704 (No. 345).)For it were more tolerable to say that many parts of Jupiter are, through his weakness and want of power, hurried on to do many absurd things against his nature and will, than that there is not any intemperance or wickedness of which Jupiter is not the cause. Moreover, since they affirm the world to be a city and the stars citizens, if this be so, there must be also tribes-men and magistrates, the sun must be some consul, and the evening star a praetor or mayor of a city. Now I know not whether any one that shall go about to disprove such things will not show himself more ridiculous than those who assert and affirm them.
For it would be easier to say that many aspects of Jupiter are, due to his weakness and lack of power, forced to act in ways that are contrary to his nature and will, than to claim that there’s any excess or evil that isn’t caused by Jupiter. Furthermore, since they claim that the world is a city and the stars are its citizens, if that’s the case, then there must also be tribes and officials; the sun must be some kind of consul, and the evening star could be seen as a praetor or mayor of the city. Now, I don’t know if anyone who tries to refute such ideas will end up looking more foolish than those who assert and believe them.
Is it not therefore against sense to say that the seed is more and greater than that which is produced of it? For we see that Nature in all animals and plants, even those that are wild, has taken small, slender, and scarce visible things for principles of generation to the greatest. For it does not only from a grain of wheat produce an ear-bearing stalk, or a vine from the stone of a grape; but from a small berry or acorn which has escaped being eaten by the bird, kindling and setting generation on fire (as it were) from a little spark, it sends forth the stock of a bush, or the tall body of an oak, palm, or pine tree. Whence also they say that seed is in Greek called [Greek omitted], as it were, the [Greek omitted] or the WINDING UP of a great mass in a little compass; and that Nature has the name of [Greek omitted], as if it were the INFLATION [Greek omitted] and diffusion of reason and numbers opened and loosened by it. But now, in opposition to this, they hold that fire is the seed of the world, which shall after the conflagration change into seed the world, which will then have a copious nature from a smaller body and bulk, and possess an infinite space of vacuum filled by its increase; and the world being made, the form again recedes and settles, the matter being after the generation gathered and contracted into itself.
Is it not illogical to say that the seed is greater than what comes from it? Nature, in all animals and plants—even wild ones—uses small, slender, and often barely visible things as the starting point for the largest creations. For example, a grain of wheat produces a stalk that bears ears, and a grape seed grows into a vine. From a tiny berry or acorn that escapes a bird’s beak, Nature ignites generation from a small spark and produces a bush or the tall trunk of an oak, palm, or pine tree. It's said that the Greek word for seed signifies the wrapping up of a large mass into a small form, and that Nature is referred to as inflation and dissemination of reason and numbers that it has unleashed. However, in contrast, some believe that fire is the seed of the world, which after a great fire will transform into the seed of the world again, expanding from a smaller body to fill an infinite vacuum as it grows. Once the world is created, the form retracts and settles while the matter, after generation, gathers and contracts back into itself.
You may hear them and read many of their writings, in which they jangle with the Academics, and cry out against them as confounding all things with their paradox of indistinguishable identity, and as vehemently contending that there is but one quality in two substances. And yet there is no man who understands not this, and would not on the contrary think it wonderful and extremely strange if there should not in all time be found one kind of dove exactly and in all respects like to another dove, a bee to a bee, a grain of wheat to a grain of wheat, or (as the proverb has it) one fig to another. But these things are plainly against common sense which the Stoics say and feign,—that there are in one substance two individual qualities, and that the same substance, which has particularly one quality, when another quality is added, receives and equally conserves them both. For if there may be two, there may be also three, four, and five, and even more than you can name, in one and the same substance; I say not in its different parts, but all equally in the whole, though even infinite in number. For Chrysippus says, that Jupiter and the world are like to man, as is also Providence to the soul; when therefore the conflagration shall be, Jupiter, who alone of all the gods is incorruptible, will retire into Providence, and they being together, will both perpetually remain in the one substance of the ether.
You might hear them and read a lot of their writings, where they argue with the Academics and shout against them for mixing everything up with their paradox of indistinguishable identity. They strongly insist that there’s only one quality in two substances. Yet, no one truly believes this; instead, most would find it amazing and extremely strange if, throughout time, there weren't exactly one kind of dove that looked just like another dove, a bee that resembled another bee, a grain of wheat that matched another grain of wheat, or (as the saying goes) one fig being like another. These ideas clearly go against common sense, which the Stoics pretend to uphold—that in one substance, there can be two individual qualities, and that the same substance, with one specific quality, can take on another quality while keeping both intact. If two qualities can exist, then it stands to reason that three, four, five, or even more could also exist in the same substance; I’m not talking about different parts, but all equally in the whole, potentially even infinitely. Chrysippus argues that Jupiter and the world are like man, just as Providence is like the soul; therefore, when the great conflagration happens, Jupiter, who is the only one of all the gods that cannot be corrupted, will retreat into Providence, and together they will always exist in the single substance of the ether.
But leaving now the gods, and beseeching them to give these Stoics common sense and a common understanding, let us look into their doctrines concerning the elements. It is against the common conceptions that one body should be the place of another, or that a body should penetrate through a body, neither of them containing any vacuity, but the full passing into the full, and in which there is no vacuity—but is full and has no place by reason of its continuity—receiving the mixture. But these men, not thrusting one thing into one, nor yet two or three or ten together, but jumbling all the parts of the world, being cut piecemeal, into any one thing which they shall first light on, and saying that the very least which is perceived by sense will contain the greatest that shall come unto it, boldly frame a new doctrine, proving themselves here, as in many other things, to be holding for their suppositions things repugnant to common sense. And presently upon this they are forced to admit into their discourse many monstrous and strange positions, mixing whole bodies with whole; of which this also is one, that three are four. For this others put as an example of those things which cannot be conceived even in thought. But to the Stoics it is a matter of truth, that when one cup of wine is mixed with two of water, if it is not to disappear and if the mixture is to be equalized, it must be spread through the whole and be confounded therewith, so as to make that which was one two by the equalization of the mixture. For the one remains, but is extended as much as two, and thus is equal to the double of itself. Now if it happens in the mixture with two to take the measure of two in the diffusion, this is together the measure both of three and four,—of three because one is mixed with two, and of four because, being mixed with two, it has an equal quantity with those with which it is mixed. Now this fine subtilty is a consequence of their putting bodies into a body, and so likewise is the unintelligibleness of the manner how one is contained in the other. For it is of necessity that, of bodies passing one into another by mixture, the one should not contain and the other be contained, nor the one receive and the other be received within; for this would not be a mixture, but a contiguity and touching of the superficies, the one entering in, and the other enclosing it without, and the rest of the parts remaining unmixed and pure, and so it would be merely many different things. But there being a necessity, according to their axiom of mixture, that the things which are mixed should be mingled one within the other, and that the same things should together be contained by being within, and by receiving contain the other, and that neither of them could possibly exist again as it was before, it comes to pass that both the subjects of the mixture mutually penetrate each other, and that there is not any part of either remaining separate, but that they are necessarily all filled with each other.
But now, putting aside the gods and asking them to give these Stoics some common sense and understanding, let's examine their beliefs about the elements. It's against common belief that one body can hold another, or that one body can pass through another, especially since neither is empty. Instead, it's all about one full thing mixing with another full thing, without any emptiness—everything being continuous and not having a specific place. However, these people aren’t just putting one thing into another, or combining a few different things— they’re mixing all parts of the universe randomly, breaking them down in any way they want, and claiming that the smallest thing sensed will contain the greatest thing that comes to it. They boldly create a new theory, proving themselves to hold onto ideas that go against common sense. Immediately after, they feel the need to include many bizarre and strange points in their discussions, like mixing whole bodies with whole bodies; for example, that three equals four. This idea is a classic example of something that can't even be imagined. Yet for the Stoics, it's completely true that when one cup of wine is mixed with two cups of water, if neither is to vanish and if the mixture is to be equalized, it must be spread throughout entirely and merged together. This creates something that was one now appearing as two due to the equal mixing. The one remains, but it expands to the extent of two, thus it becomes equal to double itself. Now if, when mixed with two, it takes on the measure of two in the blending, this means it is also measuring three and four—three because one is mixed with two, and four because, after mixing with two, it ends up having an equal quantity with those it mixed with. This clever complexity arises because they are trying to fit bodies into bodies, which also explains how confusing it is to understand how one can be contained within another. Necessarily, when bodies mix, one shouldn't contain the other or receive it inside; if that were the case, it wouldn’t be a mixture but rather just the surfaces touching, one going in while the other surrounds it, leaving parts untouched and pure, meaning it would be just various separate things. However, following their principle of mixing, it’s essential that the items mixed should blend into each other, and that the same things should contain each other by being within and receiving one another, and that neither could possibly return to its original state. This means both substances of the mixture penetrate each other mutually, and there’s no part of either left separate; they are all necessarily filled with each other.
Here now that famed leg of Arcesilaus comes in, with much laughter insulting over their absurdities; for if these mixtures are through the whole, what should hinder but that, a leg being cut off and putrefied and cast into the sea and diffused, not only Antigonus's fleet (as Arcesilaus said) might sail through it, but also Xerxes's twelve hundred ships, together with the Grecians' three hundred galleys, might fight in it? For the progress will not henceforth fail, nor the lesser cease to be in the greater; or else the mixture will be at an end, and the extremity of it, touching where it shall end, will not pass through the whole, but will give over being mingled. But if the mixture is through the whole, the leg will not indeed of itself give the Greeks room for the sea-fight, for to this there is need of putrefaction and change; but if one glass or but one drop of wine shall fall from hence into the Aegean or Cretan Sea, it will pass into the Ocean or main Atlantic Sea, not lightly touching its superficies, but being spread quite through it in depth, breadth, and length. And this Chrysippus admits, saying immediately in his First Book of Natural Questions, that there is nothing to hinder one drop of wine from being mixed with the whole sea. And that we may not wonder at this, he says that this one drop will by mixtion extend through the whole world; than which I know not anything that can appear more absurd.
Here comes that famous leg of Arcesilaus, laughing at their ridiculousness; because if these mixtures exist throughout, what would stop a leg from being cut off, rotting, and thrown into the sea, and not only Antigonus's fleet (as Arcesilaus mentioned) sailing through it, but also Xerxes's twelve hundred ships, along with the Greeks' three hundred galleys, fighting in it? The mixing won't stop from now on, nor will the smaller cease to exist in the larger; otherwise, the mixture would end, and the boundary, where it should finish, wouldn't flow through the whole but would cease to be blended. But if the mixture is throughout, the leg alone won't give the Greeks space for the sea battle because that requires putrefaction and change; however, if one glass or even a single drop of wine falls from here into the Aegean or Cretan Sea, it will move into the Ocean or the main Atlantic Sea, not just touching the surface but spreading thoroughly in depth, width, and length. Chrysippus acknowledges this, stating in his First Book of Natural Questions that nothing prevents one drop of wine from mixing with the entire sea. And to not be surprised by this, he argues that this one drop will mix throughout the whole world; and honestly, I can't think of anything more absurd than that.
And this also is against sense, that there is not in the nature of bodies anything either supreme or first or last, in which the magnitude of the body may terminate; but that there is always some phenomenon beyond the body, still going on which carries the subject to infinity and undeterminateness. For one body cannot be imagined greater or less than another, if both of them may by their parts proceed IN INFINITUM; but the nature of inequality is taken away. For of things that are esteemed unequal, the one falls short in its last parts, and the other goes on and exceeds. Now if there is no inequality, it follows that there is no unevenness nor roughness of bodies; for unevenness is the inequality of the same superficies with itself, and roughness is an unevenness joined with hardness; neither of which is left us by those who terminate no body in its last part, but extend them all by the multitude of their parts unto an infinity. And yet is it not evident that a man consists of more parts than a finger, and the world of more than a man? This indeed all men know and understand, unless they become Stoics; but if they are once Stoics, they on the contrary say and think that a man has no more parts than a finger, nor the world than a man. For division reduces bodies to an infinity; and of infinites neither is more or less or exceeds in multitude, or the parts of the remainder will cease to be divided and to afford a multitude of themselves.
And this also doesn’t make sense, that in the nature of physical objects, there’s nothing that can be considered supreme, primary, or final, where the size of the object could end; instead, there’s always some phenomenon beyond the object that keeps extending to infinity and uncertainty. One object cannot be imagined as being larger or smaller than another if both can have their parts extend infinitely; this removes the nature of inequality. For things that are thought to be unequal, one falls short in its last parts, while the other continues and exceeds it. Now, if there is no inequality, then there’s no unevenness or roughness in objects; unevenness is the inequality of the same surface with itself, and roughness is unevenness combined with hardness; neither of these exists for those who don’t define any object by its last part but extend them all infinitely with their many parts. Yet, it is clear that a person consists of more parts than a finger, and the world has more parts than a person. This is something everyone knows and understands unless they become Stoics; but if they do become Stoics, they claim and believe that a person has no more parts than a finger, nor the world more than a person. Because division breaks down objects into infinity; and amongst infinities, nothing is more or less or exceeds in quantity, or the parts of the remainder would stop being divided and would cease to create a multitude of themselves.
LAMPRIAS. How then do they extricate themselves out of these difficulties?
LAMPRIAS. So how do they get themselves out of these problems?
DIADUMENUS. Surely with very great cunning and courage. For Chrysippus says: "If we are asked, if we have any parts, and how many, and of what and how many parts they consist, we are to use a distinction, making it a position that the whole body is compacted of the head, trunk, and legs, as if that were all which is inquired and doubted of. But if they extend their interrogation to the last parts, no such thing is to be undertaken, but we are to say that they consist not of any certain parts, nor yet of so many, nor of infinite, nor of finite." And I seem to myself to have used his very words, that you may perceive how he maintains the common notions, forbidding us to think of what or how many parts every body is compacted, and whether of infinite or finite. For if there were any medium between finite and infinite, as the indifferent is between good and evil, he should, by telling us what that is, have solved the difficulty. But if—as that which is not equal is presently understood to be unequal, and that which is not mortal to be immortal—we also understand that which is not finite to be immediately infinite, to say that a body consists of parts neither finite nor infinite is, in my opinion, the same thing as to affirm that an argument is compacted of positions neither true nor false....
DIADUMENUS. Certainly with a lot of cleverness and bravery. For Chrysippus says: "If we are asked whether we have any parts, how many, and what kinds they are, we should make a distinction, stating that the whole body is made up of the head, trunk, and legs, as if that's all that is being inquired about. But if they extend their questioning to the smallest parts, we shouldn't try to tackle that, and instead we should say that they are not made up of any specific parts, nor a certain number, nor an infinite number, nor a finite one." And I believe I've used his exact words, so you can see how he upholds common ideas, telling us not to consider how many parts make up any body, and whether they are infinite or finite. For if there were any middle ground between finite and infinite, like the indifferent is between good and evil, he should have clarified what that is to resolve the issue. But if—just as what is not equal is understood to be unequal, and what is not mortal is seen as immortal—we also understand that what is not finite is simply infinite, then to say that a body consists of parts that are neither finite nor infinite is, in my view, the same as claiming that an argument is made up of statements that are neither true nor false....
To this he with a certain youthful rashness adds, that in a pyramid consisting of triangles, the sides inclining to the juncture are unequal, and yet do not exceed one another in that they are greater. Thus does he keep the common notions. For if there is anything greater and not exceeding, there will be also something less and not deficient, and so also something unequal which neither exceeds nor is deficient; that is, there will be an unequal thing equal, a greater not greater, and a less not less. See it yet farther, in what manner he answered Democritus, inquiring philosophically and to the point, if a cone is divided by a plane parallel with its base, what is to be thought of the superficies of its segments, whether they are equal or unequal; for if they are unequal, they will render the cone uneven, receiving many steplike incisions and roughnesses; but if they are equal, the sections will be equal, and the cone will seem to have the same qualities as the cylinder, to wit, to be composed not of unequal but of equal circles; which is most absurd. Here, that he may convince Democritus of ignorance, he says, that the superficies are neither equal or unequal, but that the bodies are unequal, because the superficies are neither equal nor unequal. Indeed to assert this for a law, that bodies are unequal while the superficies are not unequal, is the part of a man who takes to himself a wonderful liberty of writing whatever comes into his head. For reason and manifest evidence, on the contrary, give us to understand, that the superficies of unequal bodies are unequal, and that the bigger the body is, the greater also is the superficies, unless the excess, by which it is the greater, is void of a superficies. For if the superficies of the greater bodies do not exceed those of the less, but sooner fail, a part of that body which has an end will be without an end and infinite. For if he says that he is compelled to this. For those rabbeted incisions, which he suspects in a cone, are made by the inequality of the body, and not of the superficies. It is ridiculous therefore not to reckon the superficies, and to leave the inequality in the bodies themselves. But to persist still in this matter, what is more repugnant to sense than the imagining of such things? For if we admit that one superficies is neither equal nor unequal to another, we may say also of magnitude and of number, that one is neither equal nor unequal to another; and this, not having anything that we can call or think to be a neuter or medium between equal and unequal. Besides, if there are superficies neither equal nor unequal, what hinders but there may be also circles neither equal nor unequal? For indeed these superficies of conic sections are circles. And if circles, why may not also their diameters be neither equal nor unequal? And if so, why not also angles, triangles, parallelograms, parallelopipeds, and bodies? For if the longitudes are neither equal nor unequal to one another, so will the weight, percussion, and bodies be neither equal nor unequal. How then dare these men inveigh against those who introduce vacuums, and suppose that there are indivisible atoms, and who say that motion and rest are not incompatible with each other, when they themselves affirm such axioms as these to be false: If any things are not equal to one another, they are unequal to one another; and the same things are not equal and unequal to one another? But when he says that there is something greater and yet not exceeding, it were worth the while to ask, whether these things quadrate with one another. For if they quadrate, how is either the greater? And if they do not quadrate, how can it be but the one must exceed and the other fall short? For if neither of these are true, the other both will and will not quadrate with the greater. For those who keep not the common conceptions must of necessity fall into such perplexities.
To this, he adds with a bit of youthful boldness that in a pyramid made of triangles, the sides that meet at the apex are unequal, yet don't surpass each other in being greater. Thus, he maintains conventional ideas. If something is greater and not excessive, there must also be something lesser that’s not lacking, and there will also be something unequal that neither exceeds nor is deficient; in other words, there will be an unequal thing like an equal, something greater that's not really greater, and something lesser that’s not less. Look further at how he responded to Democritus, asking thoughtfully if a cone is sliced by a plane parallel to its base, are the surfaces of the sections equal or unequal. If they are unequal, the cone would be uneven, having many step-like cuts and rough edges; but if they are equal, then the sections will be equal, and the cone will seem to share the same characteristics as a cylinder, which means it would be made of equal circles, and that would be absurd. To prove Democritus wrong, he claims that the surfaces are neither equal nor unequal, but the bodies are unequal because the surfaces themselves are neither equal nor unequal. To assert this as a rule, that bodies are unequal while the surfaces are not unequal, shows a person who feels free to write whatever comes to mind. Common sense and clear evidence, on the contrary, suggest that the surfaces of unequal bodies are indeed unequal, and that the bigger the body, the greater the surface area, unless the excess that makes it greater has no surface. If the surfaces of bigger bodies don't exceed those of smaller ones but instead fall short, then a part of that body, which is supposed to have an end, would be without an end and infinite. If he insists he's forced to this conclusion, those indented cuts he suspects in a cone are caused by the body's inequality, not the surfaces. It's ridiculous to disregard the surfaces and leave the inequality to the bodies themselves. Continuing this line of thought, what's more nonsensical than imagining such concepts? If we accept that one surface is neither equal nor unequal to another, we can also say the same about size and number, even though there's nothing we can identify as neutral or in-between equal and unequal. Additionally, if there are surfaces that are neither equal nor unequal, what prevents the existence of circles that are neither equal nor unequal? After all, these surfaces of conic sections are circles. And if circles can be neither equal nor unequal, what about their diameters? And if that's the case, what about angles, triangles, parallelograms, parallelepipeds, and other bodies? If lengths are neither equal nor unequal to one another, then their weight, impact, and the bodies themselves would also be neither equal nor unequal. So how can these people criticize those who propose vacuums, think there are indivisible atoms, and claim that motion and rest aren't incompatible, while they uphold such absurd principles as being true? If things aren't equal to one another, they must be unequal, right? How can the same things be equal and unequal to each other? When he states that something is greater but not exceeding, it begs the question: do these ideas fit together? If they do fit, how is one greater? And if they don't fit, how can one be greater and the other lesser? If neither statement holds true, they will both fit and won't fit with the greater. Those who ignore common conceptions will inevitably end up in such confusion.
It is moreover against sense to say that nothing touches another; nor is this less absurd, that bodies touch one another, but touch by nothing. For they are necessitated to admit these things, who allow not the least parts of a body, but assume something before that which appears to touch, and never ceases to proceed still farther. What, therefore, these men principally object to the patrons of those indivisible bodies called atoms is this, that there is neither a touching of the whole by the whole, nor of the parts by the parts; for that the one makes not a touching but a mixture, and that the other is not possible, these individuals having no parts. How then do not they themselves fall into the same inconvenience, leaving no first or last part, whilst they say, that whole bodies mutually touch one another by a term or extremity and not by a part? But this term is not a body; therefore one body shall touch one another by that which is incorporeal, and again shall not touch, that which is incorporeal coming between them. And if it shall touch, the body shall both do and suffer something by that which is incorporeal. For it is the nature of bodies mutually to do and suffer, and to touch. But if the body has a touching by that which is incorporeal, it will have also a contact, and a mixture, and a coalition. Again, in these contacts and mixtures the extremities of the bodies must either remain, or not remain but be corrupted. Now both of these are against sense. For neither do they themselves admit corruptions and generations of incorporeal things; nor can there be a mixture and coalition of bodies retaining their own extremities. For the extremity determines and constitutes the nature of the body; and mixtions, unless the mutual laying of parts by parts are thereby understood, wholly confound all those that are mixed. And, as these men say, we must admit the corruption of extremities in mixtures, and their generation again in the separation of them. But this none can easily understand. Now by what bodies mutually touch each other, by the same they press, thrust, and crush each other. Now that this should be done or take place in things that are incorporeal, is impossible and not so much as to be imagined. But yet this they would constrain us to conceive. For if a sphere touch a plane by a point, it is manifest that it may be also drawn over the plane upon a point; and if the superficies of it is painted with vermilion, it will imprint a red line on the plane; and if it is fiery hot, it will burn the plane. Now for an incorporeal thing to color, or a body to be burned by that which is incorporeal, is against sense. But if we should imagine an earthen or glassy sphere to fall from on high upon a plane of stone, it were against reason to think it would not be broken, being struck against that which is hard and solid; but it would be more absurd that it should be broken, falling upon an extremity or point that is incorporeal. So that the presumptions concerning things incorporeal and corporeal are wholly disturbed, or rather taken away, by their joining to them many impossibilities.
It’s also nonsensical to claim that nothing can touch something else; it’s equally ridiculous to suggest that objects can touch each other, but not touch anything at all. Those who believe this have to accept something smaller than a body—that is, they take something that seems to be touching and never stop looking for something even smaller. So what these people mainly argue against the supporters of indivisible bodies called atoms is that there is neither a whole touching the whole nor parts touching parts; one results in a mixture, and the other isn’t possible since these individuals have no parts. How can they not see that they are falling into the same issue, claiming that whole bodies touch each other at a point or edge rather than at a part? But that point isn’t a body; therefore, one body touches another only through something non-physical and, in turn, does not touch, as that non-physical thing comes between them. And if it does touch, the body will do and feel something because of that non-physical thing. It’s in the nature of bodies to act upon and feel each other, and to touch. But if touching happens through something non-physical, there will also be contact, a mixture, and a coming together. In these contacts and mixtures, the edges of the bodies must either remain intact or not stay intact but be corrupted. Both of these options defy logic. For they don’t accept the corruption and creation of non-physical things; nor can there be a mixture of bodies while keeping their own edges. The edge defines and constitutes the nature of the body, and mixtures, unless it’s understood as the mutual arrangement of parts, completely confuse everything that’s mixed. As these people say, we must accept the corruption of edges in mixtures and their regeneration when separating them. But this is hard for anyone to wrap their head around. Now, whatever bodies touch each other, those same bodies press, push, and crush against each other. It’s impossible to conceive of this happening with non-physical things. Yet they want us to believe it. For if a sphere touches a flat surface at a point, it’s clear that you could also roll it over the surface at that point; if its surface is painted red, it will leave a red mark on the flat surface; and if it’s very hot, it will burn the surface. To say that a non-physical thing can leave a color, or that a body can be burned by something non-physical, defies logic. But if we imagine a clay or glass sphere falling from above onto a stone surface, it’s unreasonable to think it wouldn’t break when hitting something hard and solid; it’s even more absurd to think it would break when falling onto a non-physical point. Thus, the assumptions about physical and non-physical things are completely disrupted, or rather eliminated, by adding so many impossibilities to their arguments.
It is also against common sense, that there should be a time future and past, but no time present; and that EREWHILE and LATELY subsist, but NOW is nothing at all. Yet this often befalls the Stoics, who admit not the least time between, nor will allow the present to be indivisible; but whatsoever any one thinks to take and understand as present, one part of that they say to be future, and the other part past; so that there is no part remaining or left of the present time: but of that which is said to be present, one part is distributed to the future, the other to the past. Therefore one of these two things follows: either that, holding there was a time and there will be a time, we must deny there is a time; or we must hold that there is a time present, part of which has already been and part will be, and say that of that which now is, one part is future and the other past; and that of NOW, one part is before and the other behind; and that now is that which is neither yet now nor any longer NOW; for that which is past is no longer now, and that which is to come is not yet NOW. And dividing thus the present, they must needs say of the year and of the day, that part of it was of the year or day past, and part will be of the year or day to come; and that of what is together, there is a part before and a part after. For no less are they perplexed, confounding together these terms, NOT YET and ALREADY and NO LONGER and NOW and NOT NOW. But all other men suppose, esteem, and think EREWHILE and AWHILE HENCE to be different parts of time from NOW, which is followed by the one and preceded by the other. But Archedemus, saying that now is the beginning and juncture of that which is past and that which is near at hand, has (as it seems) without perceiving it thereby destroyeth all time. For if NOW is no time, but only a term or extremity of time, and if every part of time is such as now, all time seems to have no parts, but to be wholly dissolved into terms, joints, and beginnings. But Chrysippus, desiring to show more artifice in his division, in his book of Vacuity and some others, says, that the past and future time are not, but have subsisted (or will subsist), and that the present only is; but in his third, fourth, and fifth books concerning Parts, he asserts, that of the present time one part is past, the other to come. Thus it comes to pass, that he divides subsisting time into non-subsisting parts of a subsisting total, or rather leaves nothing at all of time subsisting, if the present has no part but what is either future or past.
It's also illogical to think that there’s a future and a past but no present; that "once" and "recently" exist, but "now" is nothing at all. Yet this often happens with the Stoics, who don’t accept any time in between, nor do they allow the present to be indivisible. They claim that whatever anyone considers as present has a part that is future and another part that is past, resulting in no remaining part of the present time. They argue that what’s said to be present is divided: part of it goes to the future and the other part goes to the past. So, one of two conclusions must follow: either if we accept there was a time and there will be a time, we must deny there is a time; or we must acknowledge that there is a present time, some of which has already occurred and some will occur, suggesting that of what is now, one part is future and the other past; and that what’s now consists of one part that is before and the other that is after; meaning "now" is something that is neither exclusively now nor has it come to an end, because what is past is no longer now, and what is to come isn’t yet now. By dividing the present in this way, they have to say that part of the year or day belongs to the past and part will belong to the future; and among what exists together, there’s a part before and a part after. They are just as confused, mixing up these terms: "not yet," "already," "no longer," "now," and "not now." However, everyone else believes that "once" and "awhile hence" are different points in time from "now," which is followed by one and preceded by the other. But Archedemus, stating that now is the point where the past and the near future meet, seemingly undermines the concept of time itself. If now isn’t a time but just a limit of time, and if every part of time is like now, all time appears to lack parts, dissolving into limits, joints, and beginnings. Meanwhile, Chrysippus, wanting to demonstrate more complexity in his division in his book on Vacuity and others, argues that past and future times do not exist, but have existed (or will exist), and that only the present exists; yet in his third, fourth, and fifth books regarding Parts, he claims that one part of the present is past, the other is future. Thus, he ends up dividing existing time into non-existing parts of an existing whole, or rather leaves no time remaining at all if the present has no part except what is either future or past.
These men's conception therefore of time is not unlike the grasping of water, which, the harder it is held, all the more slides and runs away. As to actions and motions, all evidence is utterly confounded. For if NOW is divided into past and future, it is of necessity that what is now moved partly has been moved and partly shall be moved, that the end and beginning of motion have been taken away, that nothing of any work has been done first, nor shall anything be last, the actions being distributed with time. For as they say that of present time, part is past and part to come; so of that which is doing, it will be said that part is done and part shall be done. When therefore had TO DINE, TO WRITE, TO WALK, a beginning, and when shall they have an end, if every one who is dining has dined and shall dine, and every one who is walking has walked and shall walk? But this is, as it is said, of all absurdities the most absurd, that if he who now lives has already lived and shall live, then to live neither had beginning nor shall have end; but every one of us, as it seems, was born without commencing to live, and shall die without ceasing to live. For if there is no last part, but he who lives has something of the present still remaining for the future, to say "Socrates shall live" will never be false so long as it shall be true to say "Socrates lives"; and so long also will it be false to say "Socrates is dead." So that, if "Socrates shall live" is true in infinite parts of time, it will in no part of time be true to say "Socrates is dead." And verily what end will there be of a work, and where will you terminate an action, if, as often as it is true to say "This is doing," it is likewise true to say "This shall be doing"? For he will lie who shall say, there will be an end of Plato's writing and disputing; since Plato will never give over writing and disputing, if it is never false to say of him who disputes that he shall dispute, and of him who writes that he shall write. Moreover, there will be no part of that which now is, but either has been or is to be, and is either past or future; but of what has been and is to be, of past and future, there is no sense; wherefore there is absolutely no sense of anything. For we neither see what is past and future, nor do we hear or have any other sense of what has been or is to be. Nothing, then, even what is present, is to be perceived by sense, if of the present, part is always future and part past,—if part has been and part is to be.
These men's understanding of time is like trying to hold water; the harder you grip it, the more it slips away. When it comes to actions and movements, everything gets completely mixed up. If we split NOW into past and future, it means that what is happening now is partly something that has already happened and partly something that will happen. The start and end of any action become meaningless, so nothing was ever truly first, and nothing will ever truly be last; actions happen over time. Just like they say present time has parts that are past and parts that are yet to come, the same goes for actions — it can be said that part of what is being done is done and part still needs to be done. When did TO DINE, TO WRITE, or TO WALK have a beginning, and when will they have an end, if everyone who is dining has dined and will dine again, and everyone walking has walked and will walk? But this is, as they say, the most absurd of all absurdities: if someone who is alive has already lived and will live again, then living has neither a beginning nor an end; it seems we were all born without truly starting to live and will die without stopping. If there's no final part, but someone alive still has parts of the present left for the future, saying "Socrates will live" can never be false as long as it’s true to say "Socrates lives"; and it'll also be false to say "Socrates is dead." So, if "Socrates will live" is true for endless time, it can never be true to say "Socrates is dead." Moreover, what is the conclusion of any action, and where do we find the endpoint, if every time it's true to say "This is happening," it's also true to say "This will happen"? Whoever says there will be an end to Plato's writing and debating is mistaken; Plato will never stop debating and writing, as it’s never false to say about him that he will debate, and of him that he will write. Besides, nothing that exists now is just present; it has either been or will be, and it’s either past or future; but there's no real meaning in what has been or will be. Therefore, there is absolutely no meaning to anything. We neither see what is past or future, nor do we hear or sense anything that has been or is to come. So, nothing, not even what is present, can be perceived through our senses, if the present is always partly future and partly past—if part has happened and part is still to happen.
Now they indeed say, that Epicurus does intolerable things and violates the conceptions, in moving all bodies with equal celerity, and admitting none of them to be swifter than another. And yet it is much more intolerable and farther remote from sense, that nothing can be overtaken by another:—
Now they actually say that Epicurus does outrageous things by claiming that all bodies move at the same speed and that none are faster than the others. And yet, it's even more outrageous and further from reality to suggest that nothing can catch up to anything else:—
Not though Adrastus's swift-footed steed
Should chase the tortoise slow,
Not even if Adrastus's swift-footed horse
Should chase the slow tortoise,as the proverb has it. Now this must of necessity fall out, if things move according to PRIUS and POSTERIUS, and the intervals through which they pass are (as these men's tenet is) divisible IN INFINITUM; for if the tortoise is but a furlong before the horse, they who divide this furlong in infinitum, and move them both according to PRIUS and POSTERIUS, will never bring the swiftest to the slowest; the slower always adding some interval divisible into infinite spaces. Now to affirm that, water being poured from a bowl or cup, it will never be all poured out, is it not both against common sense, and a consequence of what these men say? For no man can understand the motion according to PRIUS of things infinitely divisible to be consummated; but leaving always somewhat divisible, it will make all the effusion, all the running and flux of a liquid, motion of a solid, and fall of an heavy thing imperfect.
as the saying goes. Now, this must naturally happen if things move according to PRIOR and AFTER, and the intervals they go through are (as these men believe) divisible to infinity; because if the tortoise is just a furlong ahead of the horse, those who divide this furlong into infinity and move them both according to PRIOR and AFTER will never catch up the swiftest to the slowest; the slower always adding some interval that can be divided into infinite spaces. Now, to claim that when water is poured from a bowl or cup, it will never be completely poured out, isn’t that both unreasonable and a result of what these men propose? Because no one can truly understand the movement according to PRIOR of infinitely divisible things as being completed; it always leaves something that can be divided, which makes all the pouring, all the flowing and movement of a liquid, the motion of a solid, and the fall of a heavy object incomplete.
I pass by many absurdities of theirs, touching only such as are against sense. The dispute concerning increase is indeed ancient; for the question, as Chrysippus says, was put by Epicharmus. Now, whereas those of the Academy think that the doubt is not very easy and ready all of a sudden to be cleared, these men have mightily exclaimed against them, and accused them of taking away the fixed ideas, and yet themselves are so far from preserving the common notions, that they pervert even sense itself. For the discourse is simple, and these men grant the suppositions,—that all particular substances flow and are carried, some of them emitting forth somewhat from themselves, and others receiving things coming from elsewhere; and that the things to which there is made an accession or from which there is a decession by numbers and multitudes, do not remain the same, but become others by the said accessions, the substance receiving a change; and that these changes are not rightly called by custom increasings or diminutions, but it is fitter they should be styled generations and corruptions, because they drive by force from one state to another, whereas to increase and be diminished are passions of a body that is subject and permanent. These things being thus in a manner said and delivered, what would these defenders of evidence and canonical masters of common conceptions have? Every one of us (they say) is double, twin-like, and composed of a double nature; not as the poets feigned of the Molionidae, that they in some parts grow together and in some parts are separated,—but every one of us has two bodies, having the same color, the same figure, the same weight and place.... These things were never before seen by any man; but these men alone have discerned this composition, doubleness, and ambiguity, how every one of us is two subjects, the one substance, the other quality; and the one is in perpetual flux and motion, neither increasing nor being diminished nor remaining altogether; the other remains and increases and is diminished, and suffers all things contrary to the former, with which it is so concorporated, conjoined, and confounded, that it exhibits not any difference to be perceived by sense. Indeed, Lynceus is said to have penetrated stones and oaks with his sight; and a certain man sitting on a watch-tower in Sicily beheld the ships of the Carthaginians setting forth from their harbor, which was a day and a night's sail from thence. Callicrates and Myrmecides are said to have made chariots that might be covered with the wings of a fly, and to have engraved verses of Homer on a sesame seed. But none ever discerned or discovered this diversity in us; nor have we perceived ourselves to be double, in one part always flowing, and in the other remaining the same from our birth even to our death. But I make the discourse more simple, since they make four subjects in every one, or rather every one of us to be four. But two are sufficient to show their absurdity. For if, when we hear Pentheus in the tragedy affirm that he sees two suns and two cities of Thebes, (Euripides, "Bacchae," 918.) we say that he does not see, but that his sight is dazzled, he being transported and troubled in his head; why do we not bid those farewell, who assert not one city alone, but all men and animals, and all trees, vessels, instruments, and clothes, to be double and composed of two, as men who constrain us to dote rather than to understand? But this feigning other natures of subjects must perhaps be pardoned them; for there appears no other invention by which they can maintain and uphold the augmentations of which they are so fond.
I overlook many of their absurdities, only addressing those that contradict common sense. The debate about increase is indeed old; as Chrysippus notes, Epicharmus raised the question. While the Academics believe this doubt isn’t easily resolved, these individuals have loudly criticized them, accusing them of dismissing fixed ideas, even though they themselves distort basic perceptions. The discussion is straightforward; they agree on the premises—that all individual substances are in a state of flow and change. Some release something from themselves, while others acquire things from elsewhere; and that when things either gain or lose elements in numbers, they don’t stay the same but transform into something else through these additions, changing their substance. These changes shouldn’t be referred to as increases or decreases by convention but should be termed generations and corruptions because they force a transition from one state to another, while increase and decrease suggest properties of a stable, enduring body. With that said, what do these champions of obviousness and essential masters of common concepts want? They claim that each of us is dual, similar to twins, made up of two natures; not as the poets imagined the Molionidae, who are joined in some ways and separated in others—but rather, each of us has two bodies that share the same color, shape, weight, and position... No one has ever observed this before; only these individuals have detected this duality, this complexity, how each of us exists as two subjects, one substance and one quality. The substance is constantly changing and moving, neither increasing nor decreasing nor remaining entirely; the quality remains, increases, decreases, and experiences everything contrary to the former, so closely combined, joined, and blended that it shows no difference perceptible to our senses. Indeed, Lynceus is said to have seen through stones and oaks; and a man on a watchtower in Sicily spotted the Carthaginian ships departing their harbor, which was a day and a night’s sail away. Callicrates and Myrmecides are said to have made chariots covered with fly wings and to have inscribed Homer’s verses on a sesame seed. But no one has ever perceived or identified this diversity within us; we haven’t realized we are dual, one part always changing, and the other remaining constant from birth to death. However, I simplify the discussion, as they suggest each of us is made up of four substances, or rather each of us is four. But two suffices to show their absurdity. For, if we hear Pentheus in tragedy claiming he sees two suns and two Theban cities, we say he does not truly see, but is confused and disturbed in his mind; why then don’t we dismiss those who claim not one city but all humans and animals, all trees, vessels, instruments, and clothes are dual and made up of two, as if they’re trying to make us foolish rather than wise? Yet perhaps we can excuse their imagining other natures for the subjects, as it seems there’s no other way for them to justify and support the increases they are so enchanted by.
But by what cause moved, or for the adorning of what other suppositions, they frame in a manner innumerable differences and forms of bodies in the soul, there is none can say, unless it be that they remove, or rather wholly abdicate and destroy, the common and usual notions, to introduce other foreign and strange ones. For it is very absurd that, making all virtues and vices—and with them all arts, memories, fancies, passions, impulses, and assents—to be bodies, they should affirm that they neither lie nor subsist in any subject, leaving them for a place one only hole, like a prick in the heart, where they crowd the principal part of the soul, enclosed with so many bodies, that a very great number of them lie hid even from those who think they can spare and distinguish them one from another. Nay that they should not only make them bodies, but also intelligent beings, and even a swarm of such creatures, not friendly or mild, but a multitude rebellious and having a hostile mind, and should so make of each one of us a park or menagerie or Trojan horse, or whatever else we may call their inventions,—this is the very height of contempt and contradiction to evidence and custom. But they say, that not only the virtues and vices, not only the passions, as anger, envy, grief, and maliciousness, not only comprehensions, fancies, and ignorances, not only arts, as shoemaking and working in brass, are animals; but besides these, also they make even the operations bodies and animals, saying that walking is an animal, as also dancing, supposing, saluting, and railing. The consequence of this is that laughing and weeping are also animals; and if so, then also are coughing, sneezing, groaning, spitting, blowing the nose, and other such like things sufficiently known. Neither have they any cause to take it ill that they are by reason, proceeding leisurely, reduced to this, if they shall call to mind how Chrysippus, in his First Book of Natural Questions, argues thus: "Is not night a body? And are not then the evening, dawning, and midnight bodies? Or is not a day a body? Is not then the first day of the month a body? And the tenth, the fifteenth, and the thirtieth, are they not bodies? Is not a month a body? Summer, autumn, and the year, are they not bodies?"
But what prompts them, or for what other reasons they create countless differences and forms of bodies in the soul, no one can say, unless it's that they discard, or rather completely abandon and eliminate, the common and usual ideas to introduce other strange and foreign ones. It’s quite ridiculous that, by defining all virtues and vices—and with them all skills, memories, imaginations, emotions, impulses, and agreements—as bodies, they assert that these qualities neither reside nor exist in any underlying subject, leaving only one single hole for them to occupy, like a puncture in the heart, where they cram the main part of the soul, surrounded by so many bodies that a huge number of them remain hidden even from those who think they can separate and identify them. Moreover, they don't just make them bodies; they also declare them to be intelligent beings, even a swarm of these entities, which are neither friendly nor gentle, but rather a multitude that is rebellious and hostile, effectively turning each one of us into a park, a zoo, or a Trojan horse—whatever we may call their inventions—this is truly the height of disdain and contradiction to reason and custom. Yet they argue that not only are virtues and vices, not to mention passions like anger, envy, sorrow, and malice, not only ideas, concepts, and ignorance, not only skills like shoemaking and metalworking, considered animals; but they even claim that actions are bodies and animals, stating that walking is an animal, just like dancing, thinking, greeting, and cursing. The implication of this is that laughing and crying are also considered animals; and if so, then coughing, sneezing, groaning, spitting, blowing one's nose, and other similar well-known actions are also animals. They shouldn't be surprised that they are, by reasoned argument, inevitably led to this conclusion, if they remember how Chrysippus, in his First Book of Natural Questions, argues: "Isn't night a body? And aren't evening, dawn, and midnight bodies? Or isn't a day a body? Isn't the first day of the month a body? And the tenth, the fifteenth, and the thirtieth, aren't they bodies? Isn't a month a body? Summer, autumn, and the year, aren’t they bodies?"
These things they maintain against the common conceptions; but those which follow they hold also against their own, engendering that which is most hot by refrigeration, and that which is most subtile by condensation. For the soul, to wit, is a substance most hot and most subtile. But this they make by the refrigeration and condensation of the body, changing, as it were, by induration the spirit, which of vegetative is made animal. Moreover, they say that the sun became animated, his moisture changing into intellectual fire. Behold how the sun is imagined to be engendered by refrigeration! Xenophanes indeed, when one told him that he had seen eels living in hot water, answered, We will boil them then in cold. But if these men engender heat by refrigeration and lightness by condensation, it follows, they must also generate cold things by heat, thick things by dissolution, and heavy things by rarefaction, that so they may keep some proportion in their absurdity.
These ideas go against common beliefs; however, the following points challenge even their own views, creating what is hottest through cooling and what is most subtle through condensation. The soul, for instance, is considered a substance that is both very hot and very subtle. Yet they claim this comes from the cooling and condensation of the body, transforming the spirit, which shifts from vegetative to animal. Furthermore, they suggest that the sun became animated as its moisture turned into intellectual fire. Look at how they imagine the sun is created through cooling! When someone told Xenophanes that he had seen eels living in hot water, he replied, "Then let's boil them in cold." If these individuals can generate heat through cooling and lightness through condensation, then logically, they must also create cold through heat, density through dissolution, and heaviness through rarefaction, in order to maintain some balance in their nonsense.
And do they not also determine the substance and generation of conception itself, even against the common conceptions? For conception is a certain imagination, and imagination an impression in the soul. Now the nature of the soul is an exhalation, in which it is difficult for an impression to be made because of its tenuity, and for which it is impossible to keep an impression it may have received. For its nutriment and generation, consisting of moist things, have continual accession and consumption. And the mixture of respiration with the air always makes some new exhalation which is altered and changed by the flux of the air coming from abroad and again going out. For one may more easily imagine that a stream of running water can retain figures, impressions, and images, than that a spirit can be carried in vapors and humors, and continually mingled with another idle and strange breath from without. But these men so far forget themselves, that, having defined the conceptions to be certain stored-up intelligences, and memoirs to be constant and habitual impressions, and having wholly fixed the sciences, as having stability and firmness, they presently place under them a basis and seat of a slippery substance, easy to be dissipated and in perpetual flux and motion.
And don’t they also define the nature and process of conception itself, even against common beliefs? Because conception is a kind of imagination, and imagination is an impression in the soul. The soul’s nature is a vapor, making it hard for any impression to take hold because of its delicacy, and it can't hold onto any impressions it might have received. Its nourishment and growth consist of moist substances, which are constantly being added and consumed. The mixing of breathing with air creates a new vapor that is always altered and changed by the flow of outside air coming in and going out. It's easier to imagine that a stream of running water can hold onto shapes, impressions, and images than to believe that a spirit can be carried in vapors and fluids, constantly mixed with strange and idle breaths from the outside. But these individuals lose sight of this so much that, after defining conceptions as certain stored knowledge and memories as consistent and habitual impressions, and firmly establishing the sciences as stable and solid, they then place beneath them a foundation made of a slippery substance that is easily dissipated and always in motion.
Now the common conception of an element and principle, naturally imprinted in almost all men, is this, that it is simple, unmixed, and uncompounded. For that is not an element or principle which is mixed; but those things are so of which it is mixed. But these men, making God, who is the principle of all things, to be an intellectual body and a mind seated in matter, pronounce him to be neither simple nor uncompounded, but to be composed of and by another; matter being of itself indeed without reason and void of quality, and yet having simplicity and the propertv of a principle. If, then, God is not incorporeal and immaterial, he participates of matter as a principle. For if matter and reason are one and the same thing, they have not rightly defined matter to be reasonless; but if they are different things, then is God constituted of them both, and is not a simple but compound thing, having to the intellectual taken the corporeal from matter.
Now, the common idea of an element and principle, which is naturally ingrained in almost everyone, is that it is simple, pure, and not made up of anything else. An element or principle cannot be mixed; those things are what it is made of. However, these people, by imagining God—who is the foundation of everything—as an intellectual body and a mind located in matter, claim that He is neither simple nor pure but instead composed of something else. Matter itself is indeed without reason and lacks quality, yet it has simplicity and the characteristics of a principle. Therefore, if God is not incorporeal and immaterial, He is influenced by matter as a principle. If matter and reason are the same, then they haven't correctly defined matter as being without reason; but if they are different, then God is made of both, and He is not simple but a compound entity, with the intellectual aspect deriving the physical from matter.
Moreover, calling these four bodies, earth, water, air, and fire, the first elements, they do (I know not how) make some of them simple and pure, and others compound and mixed. For they maintain that earth and water hold together neither themselves nor other things, but preserve their unity by the participation of air and force of fire; but that air and fire do both fortify themselves by their own strength, or being mixed with the other two, give them force, permanence, and subsistence. How, then, is either earth or water an element, if neither of them is either simple, or first or self-sufficient, but if each one wants somewhat from without to contain and keep it in its being? For they have not left so much as a thought of their substance; but this discourse concerning the earth has much confusion and uncertainty, when they say that it subsists of itself; for if the earth is of itself, how has it need of the air to fix and contain it? But neither the earth nor water can any more be said to be of itself; but the air, drawing together and thickening the matter, has made the earth, and again dissolving and mollifying it, has produced the water. Neither of these then is an element, since something else has contributed being and generation to them both.
Furthermore, when referring to these four substances—earth, water, air, and fire—as the primary elements, they somehow classify some as simple and pure, while others are seen as compound and mixed. They argue that earth and water don’t maintain their own existence or that of other things, but rather keep their unity through the influence of air and the power of fire; in contrast, air and fire strengthen themselves through their own properties, or when combined with the other two, provide them with stability and existence. So, how can either earth or water be considered an element if neither is simple, primary, or self-sufficient, but instead each relies on something external to exist and sustain itself? They even lack a clear understanding of their substance; the discussion around earth is filled with confusion and ambiguity when they claim it exists on its own. If earth can stand alone, why does it need air to hold and define it? Thus, neither earth nor water can be regarded as self-sufficient. Rather, air, by compacting and solidifying the material, has formed the earth, and by breaking down and softening it, has created water. Therefore, neither can truly be called an element since something else has played a role in their existence and creation.
Moreover, they say that subsistence and matter are subject to qualities, and do so in a manner define them; and again, they make the qualities to be also bodies. But these things have much perplexity. For if qualities have a peculiar substance, for which they both are and are called bodies, they need no other substance; for they have one of their own. But if they have under them in common only that which the Stoic school calls essence and matter, it is manifest they do but participate of the body; for they are not bodies. But the subject and recipient must of necessity differ from those things which it receives and to which it is subject. But these men see by halves; for they say indeed that matter is void of quality, but they will not call qualities immaterial. Now how can they make a body without quality, who understand no quality without a body? For the reason which joins a body to all quality suffers not the understanding to comprehend any body without some quality. Either, therefore, he who oppugns incorporeal quality seems also to oppugn unqualified matter; or separating the one from the other, he mutually parts them both. As for the reason which some pretend, that matter is called unqualified not because it is void of all quality, but because it has all qualities, it is most of all against sense. For no man calls that unqualified which is capable of every quality, nor that impassible which is by nature always apt to suffer all things, nor that immovable which is moved every way. And this doubt is not solved, that, however matter is always understood with quality, yet it is understood to be another thing and differing from quality.
Moreover, they claim that substance and matter have qualities, defining them in a specific way; they also consider qualities to be bodies. However, this leads to much confusion. If qualities have a unique substance, which makes them both exist and be called bodies, then they don't need any other substance since they have their own. But if they only share what the Stoics refer to as essence and matter, it is clear that they simply participate in the body because they are not bodies themselves. The subject and recipient must necessarily be different from those things they receive and to which they are subject. However, these individuals have a limited understanding; they assert that matter is devoid of quality but refuse to label qualities as immaterial. How can they create a body without qualities if they can't conceive of any quality without a body? The reasoning that connects a body to all qualities prevents the understanding of any body without some quality. Therefore, the one who opposes incorporeal qualities seems to also oppose unqualified matter; or by separating one from the other, they end up separating both. Regarding the argument that matter is called unqualified not because it lacks all qualities, but because it possesses all qualities, this is contrary to common sense. No one calls something unqualified that is capable of every quality, nor calls something impassive which is naturally able to endure all experiences, nor calls something immovable that can be moved in every direction. This dilemma remains unresolved: while matter is always understood with quality, it is also recognized as something distinct and different from quality.
CONTRADICTIONS OF THE STOICS.
I first lay this down for an axiom, that there ought to be seen in men's lives an agreement with their doctrines. For it is not so necessary that the pleader (as Aeschines has it) and the law speak one and the same thing, as that the life of a philosopher be consonant to his speech. For the speech of a philosopher is a law of his own and voluntarily imposed on himself, unless they esteem philosophy to be a game, or an acuteness in disputing invented for the gaining of applause, and not—what it really is—a thing deserving our greatest study.
I first state this as a fundamental principle: there should be a consistency between what people say and how they live. It's not as crucial for the speaker (as Aeschines puts it) and the law to say the same thing as it is for a philosopher's life to match his words. A philosopher's words are a personal law that he has freely chosen, unless people view philosophy as just a game or a clever way to debate for attention, rather than what it truly is—a subject worthy of our deepest focus.
Since, then, there are in their discourses many things written by Zeno himself, many by Cleanthes, and most of all by Chrysippus, concerning policy, governing, and being governed, concerning judging and pleading, and yet there is not to be found in any of their lives either leading of armies, making of laws, going to parliament, pleading before the judges, fighting for their country, travelling on embassies, or making of public gifts, but they have all, feeding (if I may so say) on rest as on the lotus, led their whole lives, and those not short but very long ones, in foreign countries, amongst disputations, books, and walkings; it is manifest that they have lived rather according to the writings and sayings of others than their own professions, having spent all their days in that repose which Epicurus and Hieronymus so much commend.
Since there are many things written in their teachings by Zeno, numerous works by Cleanthes, and most notably by Chrysippus, about government, ruling, and being ruled, as well as about judging and arguing, there is no record of any of them leading armies, creating laws, attending parliament, arguing in court, fighting for their country, going on diplomatic missions, or making public contributions. Instead, they all seem to have spent their lives resting, like they were living off the lotus, leading very long lives in foreign lands, immersed in debates, books, and strolls. It’s clear that they lived more according to the writings and sayings of others rather than their own beliefs, having devoted all their days to the kind of peace that Epicurus and Hieronymus praised so highly.
Chrysippus indeed himself, in his Fourth Book of Lives, thinks there is no difference between a scholastic life and a voluptuous one. I will set down here his very words: "They who are of opinion that a scholastic life is from the very beginning most suitable to philosophers seem to me to be in an error, thinking that men ought to follow this for the sake of some recreation or some other thing like to it, and in that manner to spin out the whole course of their life; that is, if it may be explained, to live at ease. For this opinion of theirs is not to be concealed, many of them delivering it clearly, and not a few more obscurely." Who therefore did more grow old in this scholastic life than Chrysippus, Cleanthes, Diogenes, Zeno, and Antipater, who left their countries not out of any discontent but that they might quietly enjoy their delight, studying, and disputing at their leisure. To verify which, Aristocreon, the disciple and intimate friend of Chrysippus, having erected his statue of brass upon a pillar, engraved on it these verses:—
Chrysippus himself, in his Fourth Book of Lives, believes there’s no difference between a scholarly life and a life of pleasure. I'll quote his exact words: "Those who think that a scholarly life is inherently the best fit for philosophers are mistaken. They believe people should pursue this for some kind of relaxation or similar reason, and in doing so, end up stretching their entire life into a pursuit of comfort. This belief is widespread, with many expressing it clearly, and others more ambiguously." So, who spent more time in this scholarly life than Chrysippus, Cleanthes, Diogenes, Zeno, and Antipater? They left their homelands not out of dissatisfaction but so they could peacefully enjoy their passion for studying and debating at their own pace. To confirm this, Aristocreon, a disciple and close friend of Chrysippus, had a brass statue of him erected on a pillar, and he engraved these verses on it:—
This brazen statue Aristocreon
To's friend Chrysippus newly here has put,
Whose sharp-edged wit, like sword of champion,
Did Academic knots in sunder cut.
This bold statue of Aristocreon
Has recently been placed here by his friend Chrysippus,
Whose sharp wit, like a champion's sword,
Cut through the tangled complexities of academia.Such a one then was Chrysippus, an old man, a philosopher, one who praised the regal and civil life, and thought there was no difference between a scholastic and voluptuous one.
Such a person was Chrysippus, an elderly man and a philosopher, who valued both a royal and civic life, believing there was no difference between an academic and a pleasurable one.
But those others of them who intermeddle in state affairs act yet more contradictorily to their own doctrines. For they govern, judge, consult, make laws, punish, and honor, as if those were indeed cities in the government of which they concern themselves, those truly counsellors and judges who are at any time allotted to such offices, those generals who are chosen by suffrages, and those laws which were made by Clisthenes, Lycurgus, and Solon, whom they affirm to have been vicious men and fools. Thus even over the management of state affairs are they at variance with themselves.
But those others among them who interfere in political matters act even more contradictorily to their own beliefs. They govern, judge, consult, make laws, punish, and honor, as if those were genuinely cities in the management of which they are involved; those truly are the counselors and judges who are assigned to such roles, the generals who are elected by votes, and the laws established by Clisthenes, Lycurgus, and Solon, whom they claim were corrupt and foolish. Thus, even in handling state affairs, they are at odds with themselves.
Indeed Antipater, in his writings concerning the difference between Cleanthes and Chrysippus, has related that Zeno and Cleanthes would not be made citizens of Athens, lest they might seem to injure their own countries. I shall not much insist upon it, that, if they did well, Chrysippus acted amiss in suffering himself to be enrolled as a member of that city. But this is very contradictory and absurd, that, removing their persons and their lives so far off amongst strangers, they reserved their names for their countries; which is the same thing as if a man, leaving his wife, and cohabiting and bedding with another, and getting children on her, should yet refuse to contract marriage with the second, lest he might seem to wrong the former.
Indeed, Antipater, in his writings about the difference between Cleanthes and Chrysippus, said that Zeno and Cleanthes wouldn’t become citizens of Athens because they didn’t want to seem like they were betraying their own countries. I won’t dwell too much on it, but if they did the right thing, then Chrysippus was wrong to allow himself to be registered as a member of that city. However, it’s really contradictory and absurd that, while they removed themselves and their lives far away among strangers, they still kept their names tied to their countries; it’s like a man who leaves his wife, lives with and sleeps with another woman, and has children with her, yet refuses to marry the second one out of fear of disrespecting the first.
Again, Chrysippus, writing in his treatise of Rhetoric, that a wise man will so plead and so act in the management of a commonwealth, as if riches, glory, and health were really good, confesses that his speeches are inextricable and impolitic, and his doctrines unsuitable for the uses and actions of human life.
Again, Chrysippus, in his work on Rhetoric, suggests that a wise person will argue and behave in the management of a society as if wealth, fame, and well-being were genuinely good. He acknowledges that his speeches are complicated and inappropriate, and his teachings are not suitable for the purposes and actions of human life.
It is moreover a doctrine of Zeno's, that temples are not to be built to the gods; for that a temple is neither a thing of much value nor holy; since no work of carpenters and handicrafts-men can be of much value. And yet they who praise these things as well and wisely said are initiated in the sacred mysteries, go up to the Citadel (where Minerva's temple stands), adore the shrines, and adorn with garlands the sacraries, being the works of carpenters and mechanical persons. Again, they think that the Epicureans, who sacrifice to the gods and yet deny them to meddle with the government of the world, do thereby refute themselves; whereas they themselves are more contrary to themselves, sacrificing on altars and in temples, which they affirm ought not to stand nor to have been built.
Zeno's teaching also states that temples should not be built for the gods because a temple is neither very valuable nor sacred; no creation of carpenters and craftsmen can hold much worth. Yet, those who admire these things and claim to understand them go to the Citadel (where Minerva's temple is located), worship at the shrines, and decorate the altars with garlands, all of which are the work of carpenters and manual laborers. Furthermore, they believe that the Epicureans, who sacrifice to the gods but deny that they interfere with the world’s governance, contradict themselves. In reality, they are more inconsistent, making sacrifices on altars and in temples that they insist shouldn't exist or shouldn't have been built.
Moreover, Zeno admits (as Plato does) several virtues having various distinctions—to wit, prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice—as being indeed inseparable, but yet divers and different from one another. But again, defining every one of them, he says that fortitude is prudence in executing, justice prudence in distributing, as being one and the same virtue, but seeming to differ in its relation to different affairs when it comes to action. Nor does Zeno alone seem to contradict himself in these matters; but Chrysippus also, who blames Ariston for saying that the other virtues are different habits of one and the same virtue, and yet defends Zeno, who in this manner defines every one of the virtues. And Cleanthes, having in his Commentaries concerning Nature said, that vigor is the striking of fire, which, if it is sufficient in the soul to perform the duties presented to it, is called force and strength; subjoins these very words: "Now this force and strength, when it is in things apparent and to be persisted in, is continence; when in things to be endured, it is fortitude; when about worthiness, it is justice; and when about choosing or refusing, it is temperance." Against him, who said,
Moreover, Zeno acknowledges (like Plato) several virtues that have various distinctions—including prudence, courage, temperance, and justice—that are indeed inseparable but still different from one another. He also explains that courage is prudence in action, while justice is prudence in distributing, suggesting they are essentially the same virtue but appear to differ based on their roles in different situations. Zeno isn't the only one who seems to contradict himself on this; Chrysippus criticizes Ariston for claiming that the other virtues are merely different expressions of one single virtue, yet he supports Zeno, who defines each virtue in this way. Cleanthes, in his Commentaries on Nature, states that vigor is like striking a spark, which, when sufficient in the soul to fulfill its duties, is called force and strength. He adds these very words: "Now this force and strength, when it's evident and requires persistence, is called temperance; when it involves enduring, it is courage; when it concerns worthiness, it is justice; and when it involves choosing or rejecting, it is temperance." In response to him, who said,
Give not thy judgment till both sides are heard,
(In the "Pseudo-Phocylidea," vs. 87 (Bergk).)
Don't make your judgment until both sides have been heard,
(In the "Pseudo-Phocylidea," vs. 87 (Bergk).)Zeno on the contrary made use of such an argument as this: "If he who spake first has plainly proved his cause, the second is not to be heard, for the question is at an end; and if he has not proved it, it is the same case as if being cited he did not appear, or appearing did nothing but wrangle; so that, whether he has proved or not proved his cause, the second is not to be heard." And yet he who made this dilemma has written against Plato's Commonweal, dissolved sophisms, and exhorted his scholars to learn logic, as enabling them to do the same. Now Plato has either proved or not proved those things which he writ in his Commonweal; but in neither case was it necessary to write against him, but wholly superfluous and vain. The same may be said concerning sophisms.
Zeno, on the other hand, argued like this: "If the first speaker has clearly proven their point, then the second person shouldn't be heard, because the discussion is over; and if they haven't proven it, it's the same as if they didn't show up when called or only argued without making a point; so, whether they proved their case or not, the second speaker shouldn't be heard." Yet, the person who created this dilemma has written against Plato's Republic, exposed fallacies, and encouraged his students to study logic, which helps them do the same. Now, Plato has either proven or not proven the ideas in his Republic; but in either case, it wasn't necessary to argue against him, which is completely pointless and trivial. The same applies to fallacies.
Chrysippus is of opinion, that young students should first learn logic, secondly, ethics, and after these, physics, and likewise in this to meddle last of all with the disputes concerning the gods. Now these things having been often said by him, it will suffice to set down what is found in his Fourth Book of Lives, being thus word for word: "First, then, it seems to me, according as it has been rightly said by the ancients, that there are three kinds of philosophical speculations, logical, ethical, and physical, and that of these, the logical ought to be placed first, the ethical second, and the physical third, and that of the physical, the discourse concerning the gods ought to be the last; wherefore also the traditions concerning this have been styled [Greek omitted], or the ENDINGS." But that very discourse concerning the gods, which he says ought to be placed the last, he usually places first and sets before every moral question. For he is seen not to say anything concerning the ends, or concerning justice, or concerning good and evil, or concerning marriage and the education of children, or concerning the law and the commonwealth; but, as those who propose decrees to states set before them the words To Good Fortune, so he also premises something of Jupiter, Fate, Providence, and of the world's being one and finite and maintained by one power. None of which any one can be persuaded to believe, who has not penetrated deeply into the discourses of natural philosophy. Hear what he says of this in his Third Book of the Gods: "For there is not to be found any other beginning or any other generation of Justice, but what is from Jupiter and common Nature. From thence must every such thing have its beginning, if we will say anything concerning good and evil." And again, in his Natural Positions he says: "For one cannot otherwise or more properly come to the discourse of good and evil, to the virtues, or to felicity, than from common Nature and the administration of the world." And going farther on, he adds: "For to these we must annex the discourse concerning good and evil, there being no other better beginning or relation thereof, and the speculation of Nature being learned for nothing else, but to understand the difference between good and evil." According to Chrysippus, therefore, the natural science is both before and after the moral; or rather, it is an inversion of order altogether absurd, if this must be put after those things none of which can be comprehended without this; and his contradicting himself is manifest, when he asserts the discourse of Nature to be the beginning of that concerning good and evil, and yet commands it to be delivered, not before, but after it.
Chrysippus believes that young students should first learn logic, then ethics, and finally physics, leaving discussions about the gods for last. He has often expressed these ideas, but it suffices to quote directly from his Fourth Book of Lives: "First, it seems to me, as the ancients have rightly said, that there are three kinds of philosophical inquiries: logical, ethical, and physical. Of these, logic should come first, ethics second, and physics third, with discussions about the gods being last; that is why these teachings have been labeled [Greek omitted], or the ENDINGS." However, the very discussion about the gods, which he claims should be last, he often places at the forefront, ahead of every moral question. He doesn't discuss ends, justice, good and evil, marriage, child-rearing, law, or society. Instead, he introduces topics like Jupiter, Fate, Providence, and the concept of the universe being one, finite, and governed by a single power. It’s hard for anyone who hasn't deeply engaged with natural philosophy to accept any of this. Listen to what he says in his Third Book of the Gods: "There is no other source or generation of Justice except from Jupiter and common Nature. Everything must begin there if we are to talk about good and evil." He also states in his Natural Positions: "One cannot approach discussions of good and evil, virtues, or happiness, except through common Nature and the management of the world." Moreover, he adds: "We must connect discussions of good and evil because there is no better starting point or relation, and learning about Nature is solely to understand the difference between good and evil." Therefore, according to Chrysippus, natural science comes both before and after moral discussions; it’s absurd to put it after topics that can’t be understood without it. His contradiction becomes evident when he claims that the discourse on Nature is the foundation for discussions on good and evil, yet insists that it should be addressed after those discussions.
Now, if any one shall say that Chrysippus in his book concerning the Use of Speech has written, that he who applies himself to logic first needs not absolutely to abstain from the rest, but should take as much of them as shall fall in his way, he will indeed say the truth, but will withal confirm the fault. For he oppugns himself, one while commanding that the science concerning God should be taken last and for a conclusion, as being therefore also called [Greek omitted], and again, another while saying that this is to be learned together with the very first. For order is at an end, if all things must be used at all times. But this is more, that having made the science concerning the gods the beginning of that concerning good and evil, he bids not those who apply themselves to the ethics to begin with that; but learning these, to take of that also as it shall come in their way, and then to go from these to that, without which, he says, there is no beginning or entrance upon these.
Now, if anyone claims that Chrysippus, in his book about the Use of Speech, has written that someone studying logic doesn't need to completely avoid everything else, but should take in whatever comes their way, they would be telling the truth but also highlighting a flaw. He contradicts himself by first insisting that the study of God should come last and be a conclusion, since it is also called [Greek omitted], and then saying it should be learned from the very beginning. The order is lost if everything must be engaged with at all times. What's more, after making the study of the gods the foundation for understanding good and evil, he does not instruct those studying ethics to start with that. Instead, he tells them to learn these concepts and take in what comes from the study of the gods as they encounter it, and then to progress from these to that study, which he claims is essential for any beginning or entrance into these topics.
As for disputing on both sides, he says, that he does not universally reject it, but exhorts us to use it with caution, as is done in pleadings, not with the aim really to disprove, but to dissolve their probability. "For to those," says he, "who endeavor a suspension of assent concerning all things, it is convenient to do this, and it co-operates to what they desire; but as for those who would work and constitute in us a certain science according to which we shall professedly live, they ought, on the contrary, to state the first principles, and to direct their novices who are entered from the beginning to the end; and where there is occasion to make mention of contrary discourses, to dissolve their probability, as is done in pleadings." For this he hath said in express words. Now that it is absurd for philosophers to think that they ought to set down the contrary opinion, not with all its reasons, but like pleaders, disabling it, as if they contended not for truth but victory, we have elsewhere spoken against him. But that he himself has, not in one or two places in his disputations, but frequently, confirmed the discourses which are contrary to his own opinions, and that stoutly, and with so much earnestness and contention that it was not for every one to understand what he liked,—the Stoics themselves affirm, who admire the man's acuteness, and think that Carneades said nothing of his own, but that catching hold of those arguments which Chrysippus alleged for the contrary opinion, he assaulted with them his positions, and often cried out,
As for arguing from both sides, he says he doesn’t completely dismiss it, but advises us to approach it cautiously, similar to how it’s done in legal arguments, not to really disprove the other side, but to undermine their plausibility. "For those," he says, "who try to suspend judgment on everything, it’s appropriate to do this, and it works toward what they want; but for those who aim to create and establish a certain science by which we will live, they should instead lay out the fundamental principles and guide their beginners from start to finish; and when there’s a need to reference opposing views, they should weaken their plausibility, just like in legal arguments." This he has stated explicitly. Now, it’s unreasonable for philosophers to think they should present the opposing view without all its arguments, but rather like lawyers, trying to win instead of seeking the truth; we have criticized this elsewhere. But he himself has, not just once or twice, but frequently in his discussions, affirmed the arguments against his own views convincingly and with such fervor that it wasn’t easy for everyone to grasp what he actually favored—the Stoics themselves agree, praising his sharpness, and believe that Carneades didn’t present any arguments of his own, but rather took the points made by Chrysippus for the opposing view and challenged his own positions with them, often exclaiming,
Wretch, thy own strength will thee undo,
("Iliad", vi. 407.)
Wretch, your own strength will be your downfall,
("Iliad", vi. 407.)as if Chrysippus had given great advantages against himself to those who would disturb and calumniate his doctrines.
as if Chrysippus had given major advantages to those who would disrupt and slander his teachings.
But of those things which he has written against Custom they are so proud and boastful, that they fear not to affirm, that all the sayings of all the Academics together, if they were collected into one body, are not comparable to what Chrysippus has writ in disparagement of the senses. Which is an evident sign of the ignorance or self-love of the speakers; but this indeed is true, that being afterwards desirous to defend custom and the senses, he was inferior to himself, and the latter treatise was much weaker than the former. So that he contradicts himself; for having always directed the proposing of an adversary's opinions not with approbation, but with a demonstration of their falsity, he has showed himself more acute in opposing than defending his own doctrines; and having admonished others to take heed of contrary arguments, as withdrawing comprehension, he has been more sedulous in framing such proofs as take away comprehension, than such as confirm it. And yet he plainly shows that he himself feared this, writing thus in his Fourth Book of Lives: "Repugnant arguments and probabilities on the contrary side are not rashly to be proposed, but with caution, lest the hearers distracted by them should let go their conceptions, not being able sufficiently to apprehend the solutions, but so weakly that their comprehensions may easily be shaken. For even those who have, according to custom, preconceived both sensible phenomena and other things depending on the senses quickly forego them, being distracted by Megarian interrogatories and by others more numerous and forcible." I would willingly therefore ask the Stoics, whether they think these Megarian interrogatories to be more forcible than those which Chrysippus has written in six books against custom; or rather this should be asked of Chrysippus himself. For observe what he has written about the Megarian reason, in his book concerning the Use of Speech, thus: "Some such things fell out in the discourse of Stilpo and Menedemus; for, whereas they were renowned for wisdom, their disputing has turned to their reproach, their arguments being part clumsy, and the rest plainly sophistical." And yet, good sir, you fear lest those arguments which you deride and term the disgrace of their proposers, as having a manifest faultiness, should divert some from comprehension. And did not you yourself, writing so many books against custom, in which you have added whatever you could invent, ambitiously striving to exceed Arcesilaus, expect that you should perplex some of your readers? For neither does he use slender arguments against custom; but as if he were pleading, he with some passion in himself stirs up the affections of others, telling his opponent that he talks foolishly and labors in vain. And that he may leave no room to deny his speaking of contradictions, he has in his Natural Positions written thus: "It may be lawful for those who comprehend a thing to argue on the contrary side, applying to it that kind of defence which the subject itself affords; and sometimes, when they comprehend neither, to discourse what is alleged for either." And having said in his book concerning the Use of Speech, that we ought no more to use the force of reason than of arms for such things as are not fitting, he subjoins this: "For they are to be employed for the finding out of truths and for the alliance of them, and not for the contrary, though many men do it." By "many" perhaps he means those who withhold their assent. But these teachers, understanding neither, dispute on both sides, believing that, if anything is comprehensible, thus only or chiefly does truth afford a comprehension of itself. But you, who accuse them, and do yourself write contrary to those things which you understood concerning custom, and exhort others under your authority to do the same, confess that you wantonly use the faculty of disputing, out of vain ambition, even on useless and hurtful things.
But regarding the things he has written against custom, they are so arrogant and boastful that they are not afraid to claim that all the sayings of all the Academics combined are nothing compared to what Chrysippus has written against the senses. This clearly shows the ignorance or arrogance of the speakers. However, it is true that when he later sought to defend custom and the senses, he fell short of his own standards, and his later work was much weaker than his earlier one. This means he contradicts himself; having always aimed to present an opponent's arguments not with approval but by demonstrating their falsehood, he has shown himself to be sharper in opposing than in defending his own beliefs. Despite warning others to be cautious of conflicting arguments as they can hinder understanding, he has put more effort into presenting arguments that confuse understanding than those that support it. Yet, he shows he is aware of this by writing in his Fourth Book of Lives: "Contradictory arguments and probabilities on the opposing side should not be rashly presented, but with caution, so that listeners, distracted by them, do not abandon their ideas, struggling to grasp the solutions weakly enough that their understanding can be easily shaken. Even those who, based on custom, have preconceived both sensory phenomena and other things dependent on the senses quickly abandon them, distracted by Megarian questions and by others that are even more numerous and powerful." Therefore, I would like to ask the Stoics whether they believe these Megarian questions are more powerful than those which Chrysippus wrote in six books against custom; or rather, this question should be directed at Chrysippus himself. Consider what he has written about the Megarian reasoning in his book on the Use of Speech: "Some such things occurred in the discussions of Stilpo and Menedemus; for although they were renowned for their wisdom, their arguments have turned into a source of shame for them, as some were clumsy, and the rest clearly sophistical." And yet, good sir, you fear that the arguments you mock and label as a disgrace to their proposers, which have obvious faults, might distract some from understanding. And did you not yourself, writing so many books against custom, in which you included whatever you could think of, striving to surpass Arcesilaus, expect to confuse some of your readers? For he does not use weak arguments against custom; rather, as if he is pleading, he passionately stirs the feelings of others, telling his opponent that they are speaking foolishly and laboring in vain. To leave no room for denying his discussions of contradictions, he has written in his Natural Positions: "It may be permissible for those who comprehend something to argue on the contrary side, applying the kind of defense that the subject matter allows; and sometimes, when they understand neither side, to discuss the arguments presented for either." And having stated in his book on the Use of Speech that we should not use the power of reason any more than force inappropriately, he adds: "For they are to be used for discovering truths and for their association, not for the contrary, even though many people do this." By "many," he likely refers to those who withhold their agreement. But these individuals, understanding neither side, debate on both sides, believing that if anything is understandable, truth only primarily allows comprehension in that way. But you, who accuse them while writing contrary to what you understood regarding custom and encouraging others under your authority to do the same, confess that you recklessly use the ability to dispute out of vain ambition, even on matters that are useless and harmful.
They say, that a good deed is the command, and sin the prohibition of the law; and therefore that the law forbids the wicked many things, but commands them nothing, because they cannot do a good deed. But who is ignorant that he who cannot do a good deed cannot also sin? Therefore they make the law to contradict itself, commanding men those things which they cannot perform, and forbidding them those things from which they cannot abstain. For a man who cannot be temperate cannot but act intemperately; and he who cannot be wise cannot but act foolishly. And they themselves affirm, that those who forbid say one thing, forbid another and command another. For he who says "Thou shalt not steal" at the same time that he says these words, "Thou shalt not steal, forbids also to steal and directs not to steal. The law therefor bids the wicked nothing, unless it also commands them something. And they say, that the physician bids his disciple to cut and cauterize, omitting to add these words, 'seasonably and moderately'; and the musician commands his scholar to play on the harp and sing, omitting 'tunably' and 'keeping time'." Wherefore also they punish those who do these things unskilfully and faultily; for that they were commanded to do them well, and they have done them ill. If therefore a wise man commands his servant to say or do something, and punishes him for doing it unseasonably or not as he ought, is it not manifest that he commanded him to do a good action and not an indifferent one? But if wise men command wicked ones indifferent things, what hinders but the commands of the law may be also such? Moreover, the impulse (called [Greek omitted]) is, according to him, the reason of a man commanding him to do something, as he has written in his book of the law. Is not therefore also the aversion (called [Greek omitted]) a prohibiting reason, and a disinclination, a disinclination agreeable to reason? Caution therefore is also reason prohibiting a w cautious is proper only to the wise, and not to the wicked. If, then, the reason of a wise man is one thing and the law another, wise men have caution contrary to the law; but if the law is nothing else but the reason of a wise man, the law is found to forbid wise men the doing of those things of which they are cautious.
They say that doing a good deed is what the law commands, while sinning is what the law prohibits; therefore, the law forbids the wicked from many things but doesn't command them to do anything because they can't perform a good deed. But who doesn’t realize that someone who can’t do a good deed also can’t sin? So, they make the law contradict itself by commanding people to do things they can’t actually do and forbidding them from things they can’t avoid. A person who can't be self-controlled can only act without self-control; and someone who can’t be wise will naturally act foolishly. They even admit that those who impose laws say one thing, forbid another, and command something else. For instance, when someone says "You shall not steal," they're also imposing a command not to steal while concurrently forbidding it. Therefore, the law doesn’t give any commands to the wicked unless it also instructs them on something. They say that a doctor tells his apprentice to cut and cauterize without adding “in a timely and moderate manner,” and a musician directs their student to play the harp and sing without mentioning “in tune” and “on time.” That’s why they punish those who carry out these actions poorly; it's because they were told to do them correctly, and they did them wrong. So, if a wise person tells their servant to say or do something and punishes them for doing it at the wrong time or not properly, isn’t it clear that they commanded him to perform a good action rather than something trivial? But if wise people instruct wicked people in trivial matters, what’s to stop the law’s commands from being similar? Furthermore, the drive (called [Greek omitted]) is, according to him, the reason for a man telling him to do something, as he wrote in his book of the law. Isn’t the aversion (called [Greek omitted]) also a reason for prohibition, aligned with reason? Thus, caution is also a reason that prohibits; caution is appropriate only to the wise and not to the wicked. If, then, the reasoning of a wise person differs from the law’s reasoning, wise people have caution that goes against the law. But if the law is simply the reasoning of a wise person, then the law turns out to prohibit wise people from doing what they are cautious about.
Chrysippus says, that nothing is profitable to the wicked, that the wicked have neither use nor need of anything. Having said this in his First Book of Good Deeds, he says again, that both commodiousness and grace pertain to mean or indifferent things, none of which according to them, is profitable. In the same place he affirms, that there is nothing proper, nothing convenient for a vicious man, in these words: "On the same principle we declare that there is nothing foreign or strange to the good man, and nothing proper or rightfully belonging to the bad man, since the one is good and the other bad." Why, then, does he break our heads, writing particularly in every one of his books, as well natural as moral, that as soon as we are born we are appropriated to ourselves, our parts, and our offspring? And why in his First Book of Justice does he say that the very brutes, proportionably to the necessity of their young, are appropriated to them, except fishes, whose young are nourished by themselves? For neither have they sense who have nothing sensible, nor they appropriation who have nothing proper; for appropriation seems to be the sense and perception of what is proper.
Chrysippus argues that nothing benefits wicked people, and that they have no use or need for anything. In his First Book of Good Deeds, he states that both usefulness and beauty apply to ordinary or neutral things, none of which, according to him, is beneficial. He also claims that there is nothing appropriate or suitable for a morally corrupt person, saying, "Similarly, we assert that there is nothing foreign or strange to a good person, and nothing appropriate or rightly belonging to a bad person, since one is good and the other is bad." So, why does he insist on stating in every one of his books, both natural and moral, that as soon as we are born, we belong to ourselves, our roles, and our descendants? And why does he say in his First Book of Justice that even animals, based on the needs of their young, belong to them, except for fish, whose young take care of themselves? For those who lack senses have nothing perceivable, and those without ownership have nothing suitable for appropriation; for appropriation seems to be the understanding and awareness of what is fitting.
And this opinion is consequent to their principal ones. It is moreover manifest that Chrysippus, though he has also written many things to the contrary, lays this for a position, that there is not any vice greater or any sin more grievous than another, nor any virtue more excellent or any good deed better than another; so that he says in his Third Book of Nature: "As it well beseems Jupiter to glory in himself and his life, to magnify himself, and (if we may so say) to bear up his head, have an high conceit of himself, and speak big, for that he leads a life worthy of lofty speech; so the same things do not misbeseem all good men, since they are in nothing exceeded by Jupiter." And yet himself, in his Third Book of Justice, says, that they who make pleasure the end destroy justice, but they who say it is only a good do not destroy it. These are his very words: "For perhaps, if we leave this to pleasure, that it is a good but not the end, and that honesty is one of those things which are eligible for themselves, we may preserve justice, making the honest and the just a greater good than pleasure." But if that only is good which is honest, he who affirms pleasure to be a good is in an error, but he errs less than he who makes it also the end; for the one destroys justice, the other preserves it; and by the one human society is overthrown, but the other leaves a place to goodness and humanity. Now I let pass his saying farther in his book concerning Jupiter, that the virtues increase and go on, lest I may seem to catch at words; though Chrysippus is indeed in this kind very sharp upon Plato and others. But when he forbids the praising of everything that is done according to virtue, he shows that there is some difference between good deeds. Now he says thus in his book concerning Jupiter: "For since each virtue has its own proper effects, there are some of these that are to be praised more highly than others; for he would show himself to be very frigid, that should undertake to praise and extol any man for holding out the finger stoutly, for abstaining continently from an old woman ready to drop into the grave, and patiently hearing it said that three are not exactly four." What he says in his Third Book of the Gods is not unlike to this: "For I moreover think that the praises of such things as to abstain from an old woman who has one foot in the grave, and to endure the sting of a fly, though proceeding from virtue, would be very impertinent." What other reprehender of his doctrines does this man then expect? For if he who praises such things is frigid, he who asserts every one of them to be a great—nay, a very great good deed—is much more frigid. For if to endure a fly is equal to being valiant, and to abstain from an old woman now at the edge of the grave is equal to being temperate, there is, I think, no difference whether a virtuous man is prized for these or for those. Moreover, in his Second Book of Friendship, teaching that friendships are not for every fault to be dissolved, he has these very expressions: "For it is meet that some faults should be wholly passed by, others lightly reprehended, others more severely, and others deemed worthy a total dissolution of friendship." And which is more, he says in the same book, that we will converse with some more and some less, so that some shall be more and some less friends; and this diversity extending very far, some are worthy of such an amity, others of a greater; and these will deserve to be so far trusted, those not so far, and the like. For what else has he done in these places, but shown the great diversity there is between these things? Moreover, in his book concerning Honesty, to demonstrate that only to be good which is honest, he uses these words: "What is good is eligible; what is eligible is acceptable; what is acceptable is laudable; and what is laudable is honest." And again: "What is good is joyous; what is joyous is venerable; what is venerable is honest." But these speeches are repugnant to himself; for either all good is commendable, and then the abstaining chastely from an old woman is also commendable; or all good is neither venerable nor joyous, and his reasoning falls to the ground. For how can it possibly be frigid in others to praise any for such things, and not ridiculous for him to rejoice and glory in them?
And this opinion follows their main beliefs. It’s also clear that Chrysippus, despite having written many things to the contrary, asserts that there is no vice worse than another, no sin more serious, no virtue greater, or any good deed better than another. He states in his Third Book of Nature: "Just as it’s fitting for Jupiter to take pride in himself and his life, to boast, and, if I may say so, hold his head high, think highly of himself, and speak grandly, since he lives a life worthy of such grand expressions; similarly, these traits are not inappropriate for all good men, as they are not surpassed by Jupiter in any way." Yet, in his Third Book of Justice, he claims that those who make pleasure the ultimate goal undermine justice, while those who view it as merely a good do not. His exact words are: "For perhaps, if we consider pleasure to be a good but not the ultimate goal, and that honesty is one of those things that are worthwhile in themselves, we can preserve justice, making honesty and justice a greater good than pleasure." But if only what is honest is good, then someone who considers pleasure to be good is mistaken, though not as much as someone who also claims it’s the ultimate goal; for the former undermines justice, while the latter preserves it; and with the former, human society collapses, whereas the latter allows for goodness and humanity. I will not delve further into his remarks about Jupiter, so as not to seem overly focused on semantics; although Chrysippus does have sharp critiques of Plato and others in this regard. However, when he discourages praising everything done in accordance with virtue, he indicates that there is some difference between good deeds. In his book concerning Jupiter, he states this: "Since each virtue has its own specific effects, some of these deserve higher praise than others; for it would be quite absurd to commend someone for having a firm grip, for refraining from an old woman who is nearly on her deathbed, and for patiently enduring the comment that three doesn’t really equal four." What he expresses in his Third Book of the Gods is similar: "I also think that praising things like avoiding an old woman at death’s door and tolerating a fly, though they stem from virtue, would be extremely pointless." What other critic of his teachings could he expect then? For if someone who praises such actions is considered absurd, then someone who claims each of these is a significant—indeed a very significant—good deed is even more so. If tolerating a fly is equated with being brave, and avoiding an old woman at death's door is seen as being temperate, then there seems to be no real difference in whether a virtuous person is valued for these actions or those. Additionally, in his Second Book of Friendship, he teaches that friendships shouldn't be dissolved over every fault, and he uses these expressions: "Some faults should be entirely overlooked, some lightly criticized, some more seriously, and some should lead to a complete end of friendship." Furthermore, he states in the same book that we will connect with some friends more than others, so some will be closer friends, and some will be less so; and this diversity runs deep, as some deserve a certain type of friendship while others deserve a greater one; these will be worthy of more trust, while those won't be as trusted, and so on. For what has he done in these instances other than show the significant differences that exist between these situations? In his book about Honesty, to argue that only what is honest is good, he states: "What is good is desirable; what is desirable is accepted; what is accepted is praiseworthy; and what is praiseworthy is honest." He also states: "What is good brings joy; what brings joy is honorable; what is honorable is honest." But these statements contradict each other; for either all good is commendable, and then refraining from an old woman is also commendable; or all good is neither honorable nor joyful, and his argument collapses. How can it be unreasonable for others to praise someone for such actions, yet not ridiculous for him to take joy in and boast about them?
Such indeed he frequently is; but in his disputations against others he takes not the least care of speaking things contrary and dissonant to himself. For in his books of Exhorting, reprehending Plato, who said, that to him who has neither learned nor knows how to live it is profitable not to live, he speaks in this manner: "For this speech is both repugnant to itself, and not at all conclusive. For first insinuating that it is best for us not to live, and in a sort counselling us to die, he will excite us rather to anything else than to be philosophers; for neither can he who does not live philosophize, nor he who shall live long wickedly and ignorantly become wise." And going on, he says that it is convenient for the wicked also to continue in life. And afterwards thus, word for word: "First, as virtue, barely taken, has nothing towards our living, so neither has vice anything to oblige us to depart." Nor is it necessary to turn over other books, that we may show Chrysippus's contradictoriness to himself; but in these same, he sometimes with commendation brings forth this saying of Antisthenes, that either understanding or a halter is to be provided, as also that of Tyrtaeus,
He often is; but when arguing with others, he doesn’t bother to speak in a way that’s consistent with himself. In his books on Encouragement, he criticizes Plato, who stated that for someone who hasn’t learned or doesn’t know how to live, it’s better not to live at all. He says: "This statement contradicts itself and isn’t convincing. First, by suggesting that it’s better for us not to live and almost advising us to die, he encourages us to do anything but become philosophers; because someone who doesn’t live can’t philosophize, and someone who lives a long life filled with wickedness and ignorance won’t become wise." He further argues that it’s also fitting for the wicked to continue living. Then he states, word for word: "Just as virtue, taken on its own, doesn’t compel us to live, vice doesn’t obligate us to leave this life either." There’s no need to look at other books to show Chrysippus’s contradictions; in these same works, he occasionally praises the saying of Antisthenes, that we either need understanding or a noose, as well as that of Tyrtaeus,
Come nigh the bounds of virtue or of death.
Approach the limits of virtue or of death.
Now what else will this show, but that to wicked men and fools not to live is more profitable than to live? And sometimes correcting Theognis, he says, that the poet should not have written,
Now what else does this show, but that for wicked people and fools, not living is more beneficial than living? And sometimes correcting Theognis, he says that the poet shouldn’t have written,
From poverty to fly;—
From poverty to richness;—
but rather thus,
but instead,
From wickedness to fly, into the deep
Throw thyself, Cyrnus, or from rocks so steep.
(See "Theognis," vs. 175.)
To escape from wrongdoing, dive deep,
Throw yourself in, Cyrnus, or leap from these high cliffs.
(See "Theognis," vs. 175.)What therefore else does he seem to do, but to set down himself those things and doctrines which, when others write them, he expunges; condemning, indeed, Plato for showing that not to live is better than to live viciously and ignorantly; and yet advising Theognis to let a man break his neck or throw himself into the sea, that he may avoid vice? For having praised Antisthenes for directing fools to an halter, he again blames him, saying that vice has nothing that should oblige us to depart out of life.
What else does he seem to do but write down his own thoughts and beliefs, while he deletes those of others? He criticizes Plato for arguing that it’s better not to live than to live a wicked and ignorant life; yet he tells Theognis that it’s okay for a man to break his neck or jump into the sea to escape vice. After praising Antisthenes for guiding fools to a noose, he then criticizes him, claiming that vice doesn't have anything that should force us to leave life.
Moreover, in his books against the same Plato, concerning Justice, he immediately at the very beginning leaps into a discourse touching the gods, and says, that Cephalus did not rightly avert men from injustice by the fear of the gods, and that his teaching is easily refuted, and that it affords to the contrary many arguments and probabilities impugning the discourse concerning divine punishments, as nothing differing from the tales of Acco and Alphito (or Raw-Head and Bloody-Bones), with which women are wont to frighten little children from their unlucky pranks. Having thus traduced Plato, he in other places again praises him, and often alleges this saying of Euripides:—
Moreover, in his books against the same Plato about Justice, he immediately jumps into a discussion about the gods and argues that Cephalus didn’t properly deter people from wrongdoing through fear of the gods. He claims that Cephalus's teachings can be easily challenged and that they offer many counterarguments against the idea of divine punishment, which he compares to the scary stories of Acco and Alphito (or Raw-Head and Bloody-Bones) that women use to scare little kids away from mischief. After criticizing Plato in this way, he later praises him in other places and often references this saying from Euripides:—
Howe'er you may deride it, there's a Jove,
With other gods, who sees men's ills above.
However you may mock it, there’s a God,
Along with other deities, who sees the troubles of mankind from above.And likewise, in his First Book of Justice citing these verses of Hesiod,
And similarly, in his First Book of Justice, referencing these lines from Hesiod,
Then Jove from heaven punishments did send,
And plague and famine brought them to their end,
("Works and Days," 242.)
Then Jove sent down punishments from heaven,
and plague and famine brought them to their end,
("Works and Days," 242.)he says, the gods do these things, that the wicked being punished, others admonished by these examples may less dare to attempt the doing of such things.
he says that the gods do these things so that the wicked are punished and others, warned by these examples, might think twice about doing such things.
Again, in his book of Justice, subjoining, that it is possible for those who make pleasure a good but not the end to preserve also justice, he said in express terms: "For perhaps if we leave this to pleasure, that it is a good but not the end, and that honesty is one of those things which are eligible for themselves, we may preserve justice, making the honest and the just a greater good than pleasure." So much he says in this place concerning pleasure. But in his book against Plato, accus temperance, and all the other virtues will be taken away, if we make pleasure, health, or anything else which is not honest, to be a good. What therefore is to be said for Plato, we have elsewhere written against him. But here his contradicting himself is manifest, when he says in one place, that if a man supposes that with honesty pleasure also is a good, justice is preserved, and in another, accuses those who make anything besides honesty to be a good of taking away all the virtues. But that he may not leave any means of making an apology for his contradictions, writing against Aristotle concerning justice, he affirms him not to have spoken rightly when he said, that pleasure being made the end, justice is taken away, and together with justice, every one also of the other virtues. For justice (he says) will indeed be taken away; but there is nothing to hinder the other virtues from remaining and being, though not eligible for themselves, yet good and virtues. Then he reckons up every one of them by name. But it will be better to set down his own words. "For pleasure," says he, "appearing according to this discourse to be made the end, yet all this seems not to me to be contained in it. Wherefore we must say, that neither any of the virtues is eligible nor any of the vices to be avoided for itself, but that all these things are to be referred to the proposed scope. Yet nothing, according to their opinion, will hinder but that fortitude, prudence, continence, and patience may be good, and their contraries to be avoided." Has there ever then been any man more peevish in his disputes than he, who has blamed two of the principal philosophers, the one for taking away all virtue, by not making that only to be good which is honest, and the other for not thinking all the virtues except justice to be preserved, though pleasure is made the end? For it is a wonderful licentiousness that, discoursing of the same matters, he should when accusing Plato take away again those very things which himself sets down when reprehending Aristotle. Moreover, in his demonstrations concerning justice, he says expressly, that every good deed is both a lawful action and a just operation; but that everything which is done according to continence, patience, prudence, or fortitude is a good deed, and therefore also a just operation. Why, then, does he not also leave justice to them to whom he leaves prudence, fortitude, and continence; since whatever they do well according to the said virtue, they do also justly?
Again, in his book on Justice, he adds that it’s possible for those who view pleasure as a good but not the ultimate goal to also uphold justice. He states clearly: "For if we consider pleasure to be a good but not the final goal, and that honesty is one of those things that are desirable for its own sake, we may uphold justice, making what is honest and just a greater good than pleasure." He discusses pleasure in this way here. However, in his book against Plato, he argues that temperance and all the other virtues would be eliminated if we consider pleasure, health, or anything else that isn't honest to be a good. What can be said in favor of Plato has been addressed elsewhere. But here, his self-contradiction is evident when he claims in one context that if someone thinks that along with honesty, pleasure is also a good, justice is maintained, and in another, he criticizes those who consider anything besides honesty as a good for undermining all virtues. To ensure he has no way to justify his contradictions, he writes against Aristotle about justice, claiming Aristotle was wrong to say that if pleasure is regarded as the ultimate goal, justice is lost, along with all other virtues. He argues that while justice will indeed be lost, nothing stops the other virtues from existing and being considered good, even if they are not desirable for their own sake. He lists each of them by name. But it would be better to quote his own words. "For pleasure," he says, "appearing from this discussion as the end, still does not seem to encompass everything. Therefore, we must conclude that neither any of the virtues is desired for its own sake nor any of the vices are to be avoided for that reason, but rather all these things should be viewed in light of the proposed goal. Yet nothing prevents courage, wisdom, self-control, and patience from being good, while their opposites should be avoided." Has there ever been someone more irritable in debates than he, who criticizes two leading philosophers? One for eliminating all virtue by not recognizing only what is honest as good, and the other for believing that all virtues except justice cannot be upheld, even if pleasure is seen as the end? It’s astonishing that while discussing the same topics, he dismisses those very things he himself affirms when condemning Aristotle. Furthermore, in his arguments about justice, he clearly states that every good deed is both a lawful action and a just act; that everything done in accordance with self-control, patience, wisdom, or courage is a good deed and thus also a just action. So why doesn't he also assign justice to those he assigns self-control, wisdom, and courage, since whatever they do well according to those virtues, they also do justly?
Moreover, Plato having said, that injustice, as being the corruption and sedition of the soul, loses not its power even in those who have it within them, but sets the wicked man against himself, and molests and disturbs him; Chrysippus, blaming this, affirms that it is absurdly said, "A man injures himself"; for that injustice is to another, and not to one's self. But forgetting this, he again says, in his demonstrations concerning justice, that the unjust man is injured by himself and injures himself when he injures another, becoming to himself the cause of transgressing, and undeservedly hurting himself. In his books indeed against Plato, contending that we cannot talk of injustice against one's self, but as concerns another, he has these words: "For men cannot be unjust by themselves; injustice requires several on different sides, speaking contrary one unto another and the injustice must be taken in different ways. But no such thing extends to one alone, except inasmuch as he is affected towards his neighbor." But in his demonstrations he has such discourses as these, concerning the unjust man's being injurious also to himself: "The law forbids the being any way the author of transgression, and to act unjustly will be transgression. He therefore who is to himself the author of acting unjustly transgresses against himself. Now he that transgresses against any one also injures him; therefore he who is injurious to any one whomsoever is injurious also to himself." Again: "Sin is a hurt, and every one who sins sins against himself; every one therefore who sins hurts himself undeservedly, and if so, is also unjust to himself." And farther thus: "He who is hurt by another hurts himself, and that undeservedly. Now that is to be unjust. Every one therefore that is injured, by whomsoever it is, is unjust also to himself."
Moreover, Plato stated that injustice, being the corruption and turmoil of the soul, doesn't lose its power even in those who possess it; instead, it turns the wicked person against themselves, causing them distress and unrest. Chrysippus, criticizing this idea, argues that it's absurd to say, "A man injures himself," because injustice pertains to others, not oneself. However, he later claims in his discussions about justice that the unjust person is harmed by themselves and harms themselves when they harm another, becoming the reason for their own wrongdoing and unjustly hurting themselves. In his writings against Plato, he argues that we cannot consider injustice towards oneself, but only in relation to others, stating, "Men cannot be unjust by themselves; injustice requires multiple people on different sides, speaking against one another, and it must be understood in different contexts. No such thing applies to one person alone, except as it relates to how they affect their neighbor." Yet, in his discussions, he makes observations like these about the unjust person's self-harm: "The law prohibits being the cause of wrongdoing in any way, and acting unjustly is wrongdoing. Therefore, anyone who is the cause of their own unjust actions transgresses against themselves. Now, anyone who transgresses against another also harms them; thus, anyone who harms anyone else also harms themselves.” Again: "Sin is a harm, and everyone who sins harms themselves; therefore, anyone who sins unjustly hurts themselves, and if so, is also unjust to themselves." Furthermore: "The person harmed by another also harms themselves, and that is undeserved. This is what it means to be unjust. Therefore, everyone who is injured, no matter by whom, is also unjust to themselves."
He says, that the doctrine concerning good and evil which himself introduces and approves is most agreeable to life, and does most of all reach the inbred prenotions; for this he has affirmed in his Third Book of Exhortations. But in his First Book he says, that this doctrine takes a man off from all other things, as being nothing to us, nor co-operating anything towards felicity. See, now, how consonant he is to himself, when he asserts a doctrine which takes us off from life, health, indolence, and integrity of the senses, and says that those things we beg of the gods are nothing to us, though most agreeable to life and to the common presumptions. But that there may be no denial of his speaking contradictions, in his Third Book of Justice he has said thus: "Wherefore also, from the excellence of their greatness and beauty, we seem to speak things like to fictions, and not according to man or human nature." Is it then possible that any one can more plainly confess his speaking things contrary to himself than this man does, who affirms those things which (he says) for their excellency seem to be fictions and to be spoken above man and human nature, to be agreeable to life, and most of all to reach the inbred prenotions?
He says that the ideas about good and evil that he introduces and supports are very much in line with life and resonate with our inherent beliefs; he claims this in his Third Book of Exhortations. However, in his First Book, he states that this doctrine distracts a person from everything else, saying they are irrelevant to us and don’t contribute to happiness. Look at how inconsistent he is when he promotes a doctrine that pulls us away from life, health, ease, and the clarity of our senses, while claiming that the things we ask of the gods are meaningless, even though they align with life and common beliefs. To show that he contradicts himself, in his Third Book of Justice, he states: "Because of their greatness and beauty, our words seem like fictions, not in line with man or human nature." Is it possible for anyone to admit their contradictory statements more clearly than this man does, who claims that things, which he says seem like fictions and are beyond human nature, are also in harmony with life and align with our inherent beliefs?
In every one of his natural and ethical books, he asserts vice to be the very essence of unhappiness; writing and contending that to live viciously is the same thing as to live unhappily. But in his Third Book of Nature, having said that it is profitable for a fool to live rather than to die, though he is never to become wise, he subjoins: "For such is the nature of good things among mortals, that evil things are in some sort chosen before indifferent ones." I let pass therefore, that having elsewhere said that nothing is profitable to fools, he here says that to live foolishly is profitable to them. Now those things being by them called indifferent which are neither bad nor good, when he says that bad things precede them, he says nothing else but that evil things precede those that are not evil, and that to be unhappy is more profitable than not to be unhappy; and if so, he esteems not to be unhappy to be more unprofitable—and if more unprofitable, more hurtful—than to be unhappy. Desiring therefore to mitigate this absurdity, he adds concerning evils: "But it is not these evils that have precedence, but reason; with which it is more convenient to live, though we shall be fools." First therefore he says that vice and things participating of vice are evil, and that nothing else is so. Now vice is something reasonable, or rather depraved reason. For those therefore who are fools to live with reason, is nothing else but to live with vice. Thence to live being fools is to live being unhappy. In what then is this to be preferred to indifferent things? For he surely will not say that with regard to happiness unhappiness is to be preferred. But neither, say they, does Chrysippus altogether think that the remaining in life is to be reckoned amongst good things, or the going out of it amongst bad; but both of them amongst indifferent ones, according to Nature. Wherefore also it sometimes becomes meet for the happy to make themselves away, and again for the unhappy to continue in life. Now what greater repugnance can there be than this in the choice and avoiding of things, if it is convenient for those who are in the highest degree happy to forsake those good things that are present, for the want of some one indifferent thing? And yet they esteem none of the indifferent things either desirable or to be avoided; but only good desirable, and only evil to be avoided. So that it comes to pass, according to them, that the reasoning about actions regards neither things desirable nor things refusable; but that aiming at other things, which they neither shun nor choose, they make life and death to depend on these.
In all of his natural and ethical writings, he claims that vice is the core of unhappiness, arguing that living immorally is the same as living unhappily. Yet, in his Third Book of Nature, after stating that it's better for a fool to live rather than to die, even if the fool never becomes wise, he adds: "For such is the nature of good things among humans, that bad things are often preferred over neutral ones." I’ll overlook that he has previously said nothing is beneficial for fools, while here he claims that living foolishly is advantageous for them. Now, when they label things as indifferent, meaning neither good nor bad, he essentially states that bad things come before those that aren’t bad, indicating that being unhappy is more beneficial than not being unhappy; and if that’s the case, then not being unhappy is considered less beneficial—and if it’s less beneficial, it’s more harmful—than being unhappy. To reduce this contradiction, he adds about evils: "But it’s not these evils that come first, but reason; with which it’s better to live, even if we’re fools." So he first argues that vice and things related to vice are bad, and nothing else fits this description. Now, vice is a kind of reason, or more accurately, twisted reason. So for those who are foolish to live reasonably is really just to live with vice. Thus, living as fools means living unhappily. What, then, makes this preferable to indifferent things? Certainly, he wouldn’t claim that unhappiness is better in terms of happiness. But they also argue that Chrysippus doesn’t fully believe that simply staying alive is a good thing, or that dying is a bad thing; both are seen as indifferent according to nature. Therefore, it can sometimes be fitting for the happy to end their lives, and for the unhappy to continue living. Now, what greater contradiction could there be regarding choices if it’s right for those who are most happy to give up the good things they have out of a desire for some indifferent thing? Yet, they don’t regard any of the indifferent things as desirable or something to avoid; only good things are seen as desirable, and only bad things are to be avoided. This leads them to conclude that reasoning about actions considers neither desirable nor undesirable things; instead, aiming for other things, which they neither reject nor seek, they set the course of life and death based on these.
Chrysippus confesses that good things are totally different from bad; and it must of necessity be so, if these make them with whom they are present miserable to the very utmost point, and those render their possessors in the highest degree happy. Now he says, that good and evil things are sensible, writing thus in his First Book of the End: "That good and evil things are perceptible by sense, we are by these reasons forced to say; for not only the passions, with their species, as sorrow, fear, and such others, are sensible; but we may also have a sense of theft, adultery, and the like, and generally, of folly, cowardice, and other vices not a few; and again, not only of joy, beneficence, and many other dependences on good deeds, but also of prudence, fortitude, and the other virtues." Let us pass by the other absurdities of these things; but that they are repugnant to those things which are delivered by him concerning "the wise man that knows nothing of his being so," who does not confess? For good, when present, being sensible and having a great difference from evil, is it not most absurd, that he who is of bad become good should be ignorant of it, and not perceive virtue when present, but think that vice is still within him? For either none who has all virtues can be ignorant and doubt of his having them; or the difference of virtue from vice, of happiness from misery, and of a most honest life from a most shameful one, is little and altogether difficult to be discerned, if he who has taken the one in exchange for the other does not perceive it.
Chrysippus admits that good things are completely different from bad ones; and it has to be that way, since the former make those who experience them extremely happy, while the latter make them as miserable as possible. He argues that good and bad things can be sensed, stating in his First Book of the End: "We have to say that good and evil things are perceptible by our senses; because not only are emotions like sorrow and fear perceptible, but we can also sense theft, adultery, and other wrongdoings, as well as general vices like foolishness and cowardice. On the other side, we also sense joy, kindness, and many other positive experiences associated with good actions, as well as qualities like wisdom, courage, and the other virtues." Let's overlook the other absurdities, but isn't it contradictory to the idea he presents about "the wise man who doesn't realize he is wise"? For if good is present and clearly different from evil, isn’t it absurd that someone who has become good would be unaware of it and not recognize virtue when it is present, believing instead that vice still resides within him? Either someone who possesses all virtues must know and not doubt that he has them, or the distinction between virtue and vice, happiness and misery, and a truly honorable life versus a disgraceful one is very slight and hard to recognize, if someone who has exchanged one for the other doesn’t perceive it.
He has written one volume of lives divided into four books; in the fourth of these he says, that a wise man meddles with no business but his own, and is employed about his own affairs. His words are these: "For I am of opinion, that a prudent man shuns affairs, meddles little, and at the same time minds his own occasions; civil persons being both minders of their own affairs and meddlers with little else." He has said almost the same in his book of Things eligible for Themselves, in these very words: "For indeed a quiet life seems to have in it a certain security and freedom from danger, though there are not very many who can comprehend it." It is manifest that he does not much dissent from Epicurus, who takes away Providence that he may leave God in repose. But the same Chrysippus in his First Book of Lives says, that a wise man willingly takes upon him a kingdom, making his profit by it; and if he cannot reign himself, will dwell with a king, and go to the wars with a king like Hydanthyrsus the Scythian or Leucon the Pontic. But I will here also set down his very discourse, that we may see whether, as from the treble and the base strings there arises a symphony in music, so the life of a man who chooses quietness and meddling with little accords with him who, upon any necessity, rides along with the Scythians and manages the affairs of the tyrants in the Bosphorus: "For that a wise man will both go to the wars and live with potentates, we will again consider this hereafter; some indeed upon the like arguments not so much as suspecting this, and we for semblable reasons admitting it." And a little after: "Not only with those who have proceeded well, and are become proficients in discipline and good manners, as with Leucon and Hydanthyrsus."
He has written a book of lives divided into four parts; in the fourth part, he states that a wise person only focuses on their own business and takes care of their own matters. His words are: "I believe that a sensible person avoids unnecessary involvement, engages little, and primarily attends to their own needs, as civilized individuals are both attentive to their own matters and interfere little with others." He expresses a similar idea in his book about things that are good in themselves, saying, "A peaceful life seems to carry a certain security and freedom from danger, although not many people truly understand it." It's clear that he doesn't disagree much with Epicurus, who dismisses Providence to allow God to rest. However, Chrysippus, in his First Book of Lives, says that a wise person is willing to take on a kingdom for profit; if they cannot rule themselves, they will associate with a king and join them in battle, like Hydanthyrsus the Scythian or Leucon the Pontic. I'll also include his exact words so we can see if, like the harmony created by treble and bass instruments in music, the life of someone who seeks tranquility and avoids involvement aligns with that of someone who, when necessary, rides with the Scythians and manages the affairs of tyrants in the Bosphorus: "We will further consider that a wise person will both go to war and associate with powerful people; some may not even suspect this based on similar arguments, and we accept it for comparable reasons." And a bit later: "Not only with those who have done well and excelled in discipline and good manners, as with Leucon and Hydanthyrsus."
Some there are who blame Callisthenes for sailing to Alexander in hopes to obtain the rebuilding of Olynthus, as Aristotle had procured that of Stagira; and commend Ephorus, Xenocrates, and Menedemus, who rejected Alexander's solicitation. But Chrysippus thrusts his wise man headforwards for the sake of gain, as far as Panticapaeum and the desert of the Scythians. And that he does this for the sake of profit and gain, he has showed before, supposing three ways of gaining most suitable for a wise man,—the first by a kingdom, the second by his friends, and the third, besides these, by teaching philosophy. And yet he frequently even tires us with his praises of this saying:—
Some people blame Callisthenes for sailing to meet Alexander, hoping to get Olynthus rebuilt like Aristotle did with Stagira. They praise Ephorus, Xenocrates, and Menedemus for turning down Alexander's request. But Chrysippus boldly goes after profit, reaching as far as Panticapaeum and the Scythian desert. He clearly shows that he's doing this for money, suggesting three ways a wise person can gain: first through a kingdom, second through friends, and third—beyond those—by teaching philosophy. Yet, he often overwhelms us with his admiration for this idea:—
What need have men of more than these two things?
What do men need more than these two things?
And in his books of Nature he says, that a wise man, if he has lost the greatest wealth imaginable, seems to have lost but a single groat. But having there thus elevated and puffed him up, he again here throws him down to mercenariness and sophistry; nay, to asking money and even to receiving it beforehand, sometimes at the very entrance of his scholar, and otherwhiles after some time past. The last, he says indeed, is the more polite, but to receive beforehand the more sure; delay allowing of injuries. Now he says thus: "All who are well advised do not require their salary in the same manner, but differently; a multitude of them, as opportunity offers, not promising to make their scholars good men, and that within a year, but to do this, as far as in them lies, within a time agreed on." And again going on, he says: "But he will know his opportunity, whether he ought to receive his recompense presently at the very entrance (as many have done), or to give them time, this manner being more liable to injuries, but withal, seeming the more courteous." And how is the wise man a contemner of wealth, who upon a contract delivers virtue for money, and if he has not delivered it, yet requires his reward, as having done what is in him? Or how is he above being endamaged, when he is so cautious lest he be wronged of his recompense? For no man is wronged who is not endamaged. Therefore, though he has elsewhere asserted that a wise man cannot be injured, he here says, that this manner of dealing is liable to injury.
And in his books about Nature, he says that a wise man, even if he loses the greatest wealth imaginable, seems to have lost only a small coin. But after boosting his ego like this, he quickly brings him down to mercenarism and trickery; indeed, he even talks about asking for money and sometimes even getting it upfront, either right at the door of his student or after some time has passed. He says that the latter is certainly more polite, but getting it upfront is more secure, as delays can lead to harm. He states: "All who are sensible don’t demand their payment in the same way; many of them do so as opportunities arise, without promising to make their students good men in a year, but to do their best within an agreed timeframe." He continues, saying: "But he will know his opportunity, whether he should take his payment right at the door (like many have done), or give them some time, as this approach is more prone to harm, but appears more courteous." And how is the wise man a despiser of wealth, who, through a contract, sells virtue for money, and if he hasn’t delivered it, still expects his reward, having fulfilled his side of the deal? Or how is he above being harmed when he is so careful to ensure he isn’t shortchanged on his payment? Because no one is harmed if they aren’t damaged. Therefore, even though he has stated elsewhere that a wise man cannot be wronged, he here says that this way of dealing is prone to harm.
In his book of a Commonweal he says, that his citizens will neither act nor prepare anything for the sake of pleasure, and praises Euripides for having uttered this sentence:—
In his book on a Commonweal, he states that his citizens will neither take action nor prepare anything for the sake of pleasure, and he praises Euripides for expressing this idea:—
What need have men of more than these two things,
The fruits of Ceres, and thirst-quenching springs?
What do people need more than these two things,
The harvest from the earth and fresh water to drink?And yet a little after this, going on, he commends Diogenes, who forced his nature to pass from himself in public, and said to those that were present: I wish I could in the same manner drive hunger also out of my belly. What reason then is there to praise in the same books him who rejects all pleasure, and withal, him who for the sake of pleasure does such things, and proceeds to such a degree of filthiness? Moreover, having in his book of Nature written, that Nature has produced many creatures for the sake of beauty, delighting in pulchritude and pleasing herself with variety, and having added a most absurd expression, that the peacock was made for the sake of his tail and for the beauty of it; he has, in his treatise of a Commonweal, sharply reprehended those who bred peacocks and nightingales, as if he were making laws contrary to the lawgiver of the world, and deriding Nature for pleasing herself in the beauty of animals to which a wise man would not give a place in his city. For how can it but be absurd to blame those who nourish these creatures, if he commends Providence which created them? In his Fifth Book of Nature, having said, that bugs profitably awaken us out of our sleep, that mice make us cautious not to lay up everything negligently, and that it is probable that Nature, rejoicing in variety, takes delight in the production of fair creatures, he adds these words: "The evidence of this is chiefly shown in the peacock's tail; for here she manifests that this animal was made for the sake of his tail, and not the contrary; so, the male being made, the female follows." In his book of a Commonweal, having said that we are ready to paint even dunghills, a little after he adds, that some beautify their cornfields with vines climbing up trees, and myrtles set in rows, and keep peacocks, doves, and partridges, that they may hear them cry and coo, and nightingales. Now I would gladly ask him, what he thinks of bees and honey? For it was of consequence, that he who said bugs were created profitably should also say that bees were created unprofitably. But if he allows these a place in his city, why does he drive away his citizens from things that are pleasing and delight the ear? To be brief,—as he would be very absurd who should blame the guests for eating sweetmeats and other delicacies and drinking of wine, and at the same time commend him who invited them and prepared such things for them; so he that praises Providence, which has afforded fishes, birds, honey, and wine, and at the same time finds fault with those who reject not these things, nor content themselves with
And yet a little later, he praises Diogenes, who forced himself to publicly overcome his nature and said to those present: "I wish I could do the same and drive hunger out of my belly." So, what sense does it make to praise both someone who rejects all pleasure and someone who indulges in pleasure to the point of being filthy? Furthermore, in his book on Nature, he writes that Nature has produced many creatures for beauty, enjoying aesthetics and finding joy in variety, adding an absurd statement that the peacock was created for its tail and its beauty. Yet in his treatise on a Commonwealth, he harshly criticizes those who raise peacocks and nightingales, as if he’s opposing the laws of the universe and mocking Nature for enjoying the beauty of animals that a wise person wouldn’t allow in their city. How can it not be ridiculous to blame those who nurture these creatures if he admires the Providence that created them? In his Fifth Book on Nature, he says that bugs help wake us from sleep, that mice teach us not to carelessly store our belongings, and that it's likely Nature, loving variety, delights in producing beautiful creatures. He adds: "The proof of this is most evident in the peacock's tail; it shows that this animal was made for its tail, not the other way around; thus, the male comes first, followed by the female." In his book on a Commonwealth, after saying we are willing to beautify even dung heaps, he later mentions that some people enhance their fields with climbing vines and myrtles in rows, and keep peacocks, doves, and partridges to hear their calls and coos, along with nightingales. Now, I would like to ask him what he thinks about bees and honey. It matters that the one who said bugs were created for a purpose should also claim that bees were created without purpose. But if he allows bees into his city, why does he reject his citizens from enjoying pleasing things that delight the senses? In short, it would be very illogical for someone to criticize guests for enjoying sweets and fine foods while praising the person who invited them and prepared these treats for them; likewise, he who praises Providence, which has provided fish, birds, honey, and wine, at the same time finds fault with those who don’t reject these delights.
The fruits of Ceres and thirst-quenching springs,
The fruits of Ceres and refreshing springs,
which are present and sufficient to nourish us, seems to make no scruple of speaking things contradictory to himself.
which are available and enough to sustain us, seems to have no hesitation in saying things that contradict himself.
Moreover, having said in his book of Exhortations, that the having carnal commerce with our mothers, daughters, or sisters, the eating forbidden food, and the going from a woman's bed or a dead carcass to the temple, have been without reason blamed, he affirms, that we ought for these things to have a regard to the brute beasts, and from what is done by them conclude that none of these is absurd or contrary to Nature; for that the comparisons of other animals are fitly made for this purpose, to show that neither their coupling, bringing-forth, nor dying in the temples pollutes the Divinity. Yet he again in his Fifth Book of Nature says, that Hesiod rightly forbids urinating into rivers and fountains, and that we should rather abstain from doing this against any altar, or statue of the gods; and that it is not to be admitted for an argument, that dogs, asses, and young children do it, who have no discretion or consideration of such things. It is therefore absurd to say in one place, that the savage example of irrational animals is fit to be considered, and in another, that it is unreasonable to allege it.
Moreover, in his book of Exhortations, he mentions that having sexual relations with our mothers, daughters, or sisters, eating forbidden foods, and going from a woman’s bed or a dead body to the temple have been unfairly criticized. He argues that we should consider the behavior of animals and infer that none of these actions are absurd or against Nature; the behaviors of other animals serve this purpose, demonstrating that their mating, giving birth, and dying in temples do not pollute the Divine. However, in his Fifth Book of Nature, he also states that Hesiod correctly warns against urinating in rivers and fountains, and we should avoid doing this near any altar or statue of the gods as well. He argues that the actions of dogs, donkeys, and small children, who lack the understanding of such matters, should not be used as justification. Thus, it is contradictory to state at one point that we should consider the wild examples of irrational animals and at another that it is unreasonable to reference them.
To give a solution to the inclinations, when a man seems to be necessitated by exterior causes, some philosophers place in the principal faculty of the soul a certain adventitious motion, which is chiefly manifested in things differing in no way from one another. For when, with two things altogether alike and of equal importance, there is a necessity to choose the one, there being no cause inclining to either, for that neither of them differs from the other, this adventitious power of the soul, seizing on its inclination, determines the doubt. Chrysippus, discoursing against these men, as offering violence to Nature by imagining an effect without a cause, in many places alleges the die and the balance, and several other things, which cannot fall or incline either one way or the other without some cause or difference, either wholly within them or coming to them from without; for that what is causeless (he says) is wholly insubsistent, as also what is fortuitous; and in those motions devised by some and called adventitious, there occur certain obscure causes, which, being concealed from us, move our inclinations to one side or other. These are some of those things which are most evidently known to have been frequently said by him; but what he has said contrary to this, not lying so exposed to every one's sight, I will set down in his own words. For in his book of Judging, having supposed two running for a wager to have exactly finished their race together, he examines what is fit for the judge in this case to do. "Whether," says he, "may the judge give the palm to which of them he will, since they both happen to be so familiar to him, that he would in some sort appear to bestow on them somewhat of his own? Or rather, since the palm is common to both, may it be, as if lots had been cast, given to either, according to the inclination he chances to have? I say the inclination he chances to have, as when two groats, every way else alike, being presented to us, we incline to one of them and take it." And in his Sixth Book of Duties, having said that there are some things not worthy of much study or attention, he thinks we ought, as if we had cast lots, to commit the choice of those things to the casual inclination of the mind: "As if," says he, "of those who try the same two drams in a certain time, some should approve this and others that, and there being no more cause for the taking of one than the other, we should leave off making any farther investigation and take that which chances to come first; thus casting the lot (as it were) according to some uncertain principle, and being in danger of choosing the worse of them." For in these passages, the casting of lots and the casual inclining of the mind, which is without any cause, introduce the choice of indifferent things.
To address the question of choice when a person seems compelled by outside factors, some philosophers argue that the main part of the soul has a certain random motion, which is especially evident in situations where options are not different from one another. When faced with two identical things of equal importance, and there's a need to choose one without any preference for either, this random aspect of the soul takes hold of the inclination and resolves the uncertainty. Chrysippus, arguing against these philosophers for imposing on Nature by suggesting an effect without a cause, references the die and the balance, among other examples, which cannot tip or lean one way or the other without some reason or distinction—either entirely within them or coming from the outside. He states that anything without a cause is completely ineffective, as is anything random; and in those motions described by some as random, there are certain hidden causes that influence our inclinations one way or the other. These are some of the ideas he has frequently expressed; however, what he has said that contradicts this, which is not as obvious, I will quote in his own words. In his book on Judging, when considering two runners finishing a race at the same time, he discusses what the judge should do in this scenario. "Can the judge award the prize to whichever runner he likes, since they both happen to be well-known to him, potentially giving the impression that he is favoring one over the other? Or since the prize is shared between them, should it be awarded randomly, as if by chance, depending on his current preference? I reference his current preference in the way that, when presented with two identical coins, we tend to choose one and take it." In his Sixth Book of Duties, he suggests that some matters aren't worth much thought or attention, and that we should, as if by chance, leave the decision to the random inclination of the mind: "For instance, if some people taste the same two dishes at a given time, and some prefer one and others the other, with no stronger reason to choose one over the other, we should stop analyzing further and just take whichever one comes first; essentially casting lots based on some unpredictable principle, which might lead us to choose the worse option." In these discussions, the idea of casting lots and the random direction of the mind, which lacks a cause, introduce the choice between neutral options.
In his Third Book of Dialectics, having said that Plato, Aristotle, and those who came after them, even to Polemon and Straton, but especially Socrates, diligently studied dialectics, and having cried out that one would even choose to err with such and so great men as these, he brings in these words: "For if they had spoken of these things cursorily, one might perhaps have cavilled at this place; but having treated of dialectic skill as one of the greatest and most necessary faculties, it is not probable they should have been so much mistaken, having been such in all the parts of philosophy as we esteem them." Why, then (might some one say to him), do you never cease to oppose and argue against such and so great men, as if you thought them to err in the principal and greatest matters? For it is not probable that they writ seriously of dialectics, and only transitorily and in sport of the beginning, end, gods, and justice, in which you affirm their discourse to be blind and contradictory to itself, and to have a thousand other faults.
In his Third Book of Dialectics, after stating that Plato, Aristotle, and those who followed them, even Polemon and Straton, but especially Socrates, thoroughly studied dialectics, and expressing that one might even prefer to be wrong alongside such great thinkers, he includes these words: "For if they had talked about these topics in a superficial way, one might have taken issue with that; but since they treated dialectical skill as one of the most significant and essential abilities, it seems unlikely they would have made such errors, given their esteemed positions in all areas of philosophy." So, one might ask him, why do you continuously challenge and debate such prominent thinkers, as if you believe they are wrong on fundamental and significant issues? It seems unlikely that they wrote seriously about dialectics while only casually discussing topics like beginnings, endings, gods, and justice, in which you claim their views are confused and self-contradictory, and have countless other flaws.
In one place he says, that the vice called [Greek omitted], or the rejoicing at other men's harms, has no being; since no good man ever rejoiced at another's evils. But in his Second Book of Good, having declared envy to be a sorrow at other men's good,—to wit, in such as desire the depression of their neighbors that themselves may excel, he joins to it this rejoicing at other men's harms, saying thus: "To this is contiguous the rejoicing at other men's harms, in such as for like causes desire to have their neighbors low; but in those that are turned according to other natural motions, is engendered mercy." For he manifestly admits the joy at other men's harms to be subsistent, as well as envy and mercy; though in other places he affirms it to have no subsistence; as he does also the hatred of wickedness, and the desire of dishonest gain.
In one place, he states that the vice called [Greek omitted], or the delight in others' misfortunes, does not exist; since no good person ever takes joy in the suffering of others. However, in his Second Book of Good, after declaring envy to be a sadness at others' success—specifically, in those who want to see their neighbors brought low so they can shine—he connects this to the delight in others' misfortunes, saying: "To this is related the joy in others' hardships, in those who, for similar reasons, wish to see their neighbors diminished; but in those who are driven by different natural impulses, compassion arises." He clearly acknowledges that the pleasure derived from others' misfortunes exists, just like envy and compassion; although in other parts he claims it does not exist, just as he does with the hatred of wrongdoing and the desire for dishonest gain.
Having in many places said, that those who have a long time been happy are nothing more so, but equally and in like manner with those who have but a moment been partakers of felicity, he has again in many other places affirmed, that it is not fit to stretch out so much as a finger for the obtaining momentary prudence, which flies away like a flash of lightning. It will be sufficient to set down what is to this purpose written by him in his Sixth Book of Moral Questions. For having said, that neither does every good thing equally cause joy, nor every good deed the like glorying, he subjoins these words: "For if a man should have wisdom only for a moment of time or the final minute of life, he ought not so much as to stretch out his finger for such a shortlived prudence." And yet men are neither more happy for being longer so, nor is eternal felicity more eligible than that which lasts but a moment. If he had indeed held prudence to be a good, producing felicity, as Epicurus thought, one should have blamed only the absurdity and the paradoxicalness of this opinion; but since prudence of itself is not another thing differing from felicity, but felicity itself, how is it not a contradiction to say, that momentary happiness is equally desirable with eternal, and yet that momentary happiness is nothing worth?
In many places, it's been said that those who have been happy for a long time are no better off than those who have only experienced happiness for a brief moment. He has also stated that it's not worth even trying to attain fleeting wisdom, which disappears in an instant. It's enough to note what he writes on this topic in his Sixth Book of Moral Questions. He argues that not every good thing brings equal joy, nor does every good deed result in similar glory. He adds, "If a person has wisdom only for a brief moment or in the final minute of life, he shouldn't even bother to reach out his finger for such short-lived wisdom." Yet, people are no happier for being happy longer, nor is eternal happiness more desirable than happiness that lasts only for a moment. If he actually believed that wisdom was a good that brings happiness, as Epicurus thought, one could criticize the absurdity and paradox of that view. However, since wisdom itself is not separate from happiness but happiness itself, how can it not be a contradiction to say that momentary happiness is just as desirable as eternal happiness, yet also claim that momentary happiness is worthless?
Chrysippus also says, that the virtues follow one another, and that not only he who has one has all, but also that he who acts according to any one of them acts according to them all; and he affirms, that there is not any man perfect who is not possessed of all the virtues, nor any action perfect to the doing of which all the virtues do not concur. But yet in his Sixth Book of Moral Questions he says, that a good man does not always act valiantly, nor a vicious man always fearfully; for certain objects being presented to the fancies, the one must persist in his judgments, and the other depart from them; and he says that it is not probable a wicked man should be always indulging his lust. If then to act valiantly is the same thing as to use fortitude; and to act timorously as to yield to fear, they cannot but speak contradictions who say, that he who is possessed of either virtue or vice acts at she same time according to all the virtues or all the vices, and yet that a valiant man does not always act valiantly nor a vicious man timorously.
Chrysippus also says that virtues follow each other, and that not only does someone who has one virtue possess them all, but also that anyone who acts according to any one of them acts according to all of them. He asserts that there is no person who is perfect without having all the virtues, nor is there any action perfect if it doesn’t involve all the virtues. However, in his Sixth Book of Moral Questions, he states that a good person doesn’t always act bravely, nor does a bad person always act cowardly; because when certain situations arise, the former must stick to his judgments while the latter may stray from theirs. He mentions that it’s unlikely for a wicked person to constantly indulge in their desires. Therefore, if acting bravely is the same as showing courage, and if acting fearfully means succumbing to fear, those who claim that a person possessed of either a virtue or a vice acts according to all virtues or all vices are contradicting themselves by saying that a brave person doesn’t always act bravely, nor does a wicked person always act fearfully.
He defines Rhetoric to be an art concerning the ornament and the ordering of a discourse that is pronounced. And farther in his First Book he has written thus: "And I am of opinion not only that a regard ought to be had to a liberal and simple adorning of words, but also that care is to be taken for proper delivery, as regards the right elevation of the voice and the compositions of the countenance and hands." Yet he, who is in this place so curious and exact, again in the same book, speaking of the collision of the vowels, says: "We ought not only to let these things pass, minding somewhat that is better, but also to neglect certain obscurities and defects, nay, solecisms also, of which others, and those not a few, would be ashamed." Certainly, in one place to allow those who would speak eloquently so carefully to dispose their speech as even to observe a decorum in the very composition of their mouth and hands, and in another place to forbid the taking care of defects and inelegancies, and the being ashamed even of committing solecisms, is the property of a man who little cares what he says, but rashly utters whatever comes first into his mouth.
He defines rhetoric as an art focused on the decoration and arrangement of spoken discourse. Furthermore, in his First Book, he states: "I believe that we should not only consider a stylish and simple way of dressing up words but also pay attention to proper delivery, including the right tone of voice and the expressions of our face and hands." Yet, in the same book, when discussing the clash of vowels, he says: "We shouldn't just let these things slide, thinking of something better, but we should also overlook certain ambiguities and flaws, even mistakes that others, many of whom would be embarrassed by them, would avoid." It's inconsistent to allow those who want to speak eloquently to carefully shape their speech, even concerning the way they move their mouth and hands, while at the same time discourage attention to defects and clumsiness and be ashamed of making mistakes. This reflects a person who doesn't care much about what they say and speaks impulsively without thinking.
Moreover, in his Natural Positions having warned us not to trouble ourselves but to be at quiet about such things as require experience and scientific investigation, he says: "Let us not think after the same manner with Plato, that liquid nourishment is conveyed to the lungs, and dry to the stomach; nor let us embrace other errors like to these." Now it is my opinion, that to reprehend others, and then not to keep one's self from falling into those things which one has reprehended, is the greatest of contradictions and shamefullest of errors. But he says, that the connections made by ten axioms amount to above a million in number, having neither searched diligently into it by himself nor attained to the truth by men experienced in it. Yet Plato had to testify for him the most renowned of the physicians, Hippocrates, Philistion, and Dioxippus the disciple of Hippocrates; and of the poets, Euripides, Aleaeus, Eupolis, and Eratosthenes, who all say that the drink passes through the lungs. But all the arithmeticians refute Chrysippus, amongst whom also is Hipparchus, demonstrating that the error of his computation is very great; since the affirmative makes of the ten axioms one hundred and three thousand forty and nine connections, and the negative three hundred and ten thousand nine hundred fifty and two.
Moreover, in his Natural Positions, after cautioning us not to worry but to remain calm about matters that require experience and scientific study, he states: "Let us not think like Plato, that liquid nourishment reaches the lungs, while dry food goes to the stomach; nor should we adopt other similar mistakes." I believe that criticizing others while failing to avoid the same mistakes one has criticized is the height of contradiction and the most shameful error. However, he claims that the relationships formed by ten axioms lead to over a million possibilities, without having researched it thoroughly himself or learned the truth from those with experience. Yet, Plato had the most renowned physicians, Hippocrates, Philistion, and Dioxippus, a student of Hippocrates, to vouch for him; as well as poets like Euripides, Aleaeus, Eupolis, and Eratosthenes, all of whom assert that the drink flows through the lungs. But all the mathematicians counter Chrysippus, including Hipparchus, proving that his calculations are very flawed; since the affirmative creates one hundred three thousand forty-nine connections from the ten axioms, while the negative creates three hundred ten thousand nine hundred fifty-two.
Some of the ancients have said, that the same befell Zeno which befalls him who has sour wine which he can sell neither for vinegar nor wine; for his "things preferable," as he called them, cannot be disposed of, either as good or as indifferent. But Chrysippus has made the matter yet far more intricate; for he sometimes says, that they are mad who make no account of riches, health, freedom from pain, and integrity of the body, nor take any care to attain them; and having cited that sentence of Hesiod,
Some of the ancients said that Zeno experienced what happens to someone with sour wine that they can't sell as either vinegar or wine; his "things preferable," as he called them, can't be sold as either good or average. But Chrysippus complicated things even more; he sometimes claims that those who don’t value wealth, health, freedom from pain, and physical integrity, and don't make an effort to achieve them, are mad. He even quoted that line from Hesiod,
Work hard, O God-born Perses,
("Works and Days," 299.)
Work hard, O child of the gods,
("Works and Days," 299.)he cries out, that it would be a madness to advise the contrary and say,
he cries out that it would be crazy to suggest otherwise and say,
Work not, O God-born Perses.
Don't work, O God-born Perses.
And in his book of Lives he affirms, that a wise man will for the sake of gain live with kings, and teach for money, receiving from some of his scholars his reward beforehand, and making contract with others of them; and in his Seventh Book of Duties he says, that he will not scruple to turn his heels thrice over his head, if for so doing he may have a talent. In his First Book of Good Things, he yields and grants to those that desire it to call these preferable things good and their contraries evil, in these very words: "Any one who likes, according to these permutations, may call one thing good and another evil, if he has a regard to the things themselves, not wandering elsewhere, not failing in the understanding of the thing signified, and in the rest accommodating himself to custom in the denomination." Having thus in this place set his things preferable so near to good, and mixed them therewith, he again says, that none of these things belongs at all to us, but that reason withdraws and averts us from all such things; for he has written thus in his First Book of Exhortations. And in his Third Book of Nature he says, that some esteem those happy who reign and are rich, which is all one as if those should be reputed happy who make water in golden chamber-pots and wear golden fringes; but to a good man the losing of his whole estate is but as the losing of one groat, and the being sick no more than if he had stumbled. Wherefore he has not filled virtue only, but Providence also, with these contradictions. For virtue would seem to the utmost degree sordid and foolish, if it should busy itself about such matters, and enjoin a wise man for their sake to sail to Bosphorus or tumble with his heels over his head. And Jupiter would be very ridiculous to be styled Ctesius, Epicarpius, and Charitodotes, because forsooth he gives the wicked golden chamber-pots and golden fringes, and the good such things as are hardly worth a groat, when through Jupiter's providence they become rich. And yet much more ridiculous is Apollo, if he sits to give oracles concerning golden fringes and chamber-pots and the recovering of a stumble.
And in his book of Lives, he states that a wise person will live alongside kings for the sake of profit and teach for money, receiving payment from some of his students in advance and making agreements with others. In his Seventh Book of Duties, he mentions that he wouldn't hesitate to turn his heels over his head three times if it meant gaining a talent. In his First Book of Good Things, he concedes that those who want to can call these preferred things good and their opposites evil, saying: "Anyone who wants, according to these changes, may call one thing good and another evil, as long as they focus on the things themselves without getting distracted, and understand what the term refers to, while also following the common naming practices." Having positioned his preferred things so close to good and intertwined them, he again states that none of these things truly belong to us, but that reason pulls us away from all such matters; he has written this in his First Book of Exhortations. Additionally, in his Third Book of Nature, he says that some consider those who rule and are wealthy to be happy, which is similar to saying that those who urinate in golden chamber pots and wear golden fringes are happy; but to a good person, losing their entire fortune is like losing just a small coin, and being sick is no more significant than stumbling. Therefore, he fills both virtue and Providence with these contradictions. Virtue would seem utterly base and foolish if it focused on such things and required a wise person to travel to Bosporus or tumble over their heels for their sake. And it would be ridiculous for Jupiter to be called Ctesius, Epicarpius, and Charitodotes simply because he gives the wicked golden chamber pots and fringes, while the good receive things worth hardly a penny, even when they become wealthy through Jupiter's providence. Even more absurd is Apollo if he provides oracles about golden fringes, chamber pots, and recovering from a stumble.
But they make this repugnancy yet more evident by their demonstration. For they say, that what may be used both well and ill, the same is neither good nor bad; but fools make an ill use of riches, health, and strength of body; therefore none of these is good. If therefore God gives not virtue to men,—but honesty is eligible of itself,—and yet bestows on them riches and health without virtue, he confers them on those who can use them not well but ill, that is hurtfully, shamefully, and perniciously. Now, if the gods can bestow virtue and do not, they are not good; but if they cannot make men good, neither can they help them, for outside of virtue nothing is good and advantageous. Now to judge those who are otherwise made good according to virtue and strength... is nothing to the purpose, for good men also judge the gods according to virtue and strength; so that they do no more aid men than they are aided by them.
But they make this repulsion even more clear through their argument. They claim that things that can be used for both good and bad purposes are neither inherently good nor bad; however, fools misuse wealth, health, and physical strength, so none of these can be considered good. If God does not give virtue to people—and honesty is inherently good—then when He gives them wealth and health without virtue, He is giving them to those who can only misuse these gifts, causing harm, embarrassment, and destruction. Now, if the gods have the ability to grant virtue and choose not to, they are not good; but if they cannot make people good, they can’t really help them because without virtue, nothing is truly good or beneficial. Judging those who are otherwise good based on virtue and strength is irrelevant because good people also judge the gods based on virtue and strength, meaning they don’t assist people any more than they are helped by them.
Now Chrysippus neither professes himself nor any one of his disciples and teachers to be virtuous. What then do they think of others, but those things which they say,—that they are all mad fools, impious, transgressors of laws, and in the most degree of misery and unhappiness? And yet they say that our affairs, though we act thus miserably, are governed by the providence of the gods. Now if the gods, changing their minds, should desire to hurt, afflict, overthrow, and quite crush us, they could not put us in a worse condition than we already are; as Chrysippus demonstrates that life can admit only one degree either of misery or of unhappiness; so that if it had a voice, it would pronounce these words of Hercules:
Now Chrysippus and his followers don’t claim to be virtuous. So, what do they think of others? They say everyone is just a bunch of crazy fools, impious, lawbreakers, and the most miserable and unhappy people imaginable. Yet they insist that despite our miserable actions, our lives are controlled by the gods’ providence. If the gods decided to hurt, afflict, overturn, and completely crush us, they couldn’t put us in a worse situation than we’re already in. Chrysippus argues that life can only have one level of misery or unhappiness; if it could speak, it would echo Hercules' words:
I am so full of miseries, there is
No place to stow them in.
(Euripides, "Hercules Furens," 1245.)
I am so overwhelmed by my hardships, there's
No place to hide them.
(Euripides, "Hercules Furens," 1245.)Now who can imagine any assertions more repugnant to one another than chat of Chrysippus concerning the gods and that concerning men; when he says, that the gods do in the best manner possible provide for men, and yet men are in the worst condition imaginable?
Now, who can picture any statements more contradictory than what Chrysippus says about the gods and about humans? He claims that the gods provide for humans in the best way possible, yet humans are in the worst situation imaginable.
Some of the Pythagoreans blame him for having in his book of Justice written concerning cocks, that they are usefully procreated, because they awaken us from our sleep, hunt out scorpions, and animate us to battle, breeding in us a certain emulation to show courage; and yet that we must eat them, lest the number of chickens should be greater than were expedient. But he so derides those who blame him for this, that he has written thus concerning Jupiter the Saviour and Creator, the father of justice, equity, and peace, in his Third Book of the Gods: "As cities overcharged with too great a number of citizens send forth colonies into other places and make war upon some, so does God give the beginnings of corruption." And he brings in Euripides for a witness, with others who say that the Trojan war was caused by the gods, to exhaust the multitude of men.
Some of the Pythagoreans criticize him for saying in his book on Justice that roosters are beneficial because they wake us up, chase away scorpions, and motivate us to fight, instilling in us a desire to show bravery. However, he argues that we must eat them, so the number of chickens doesn’t exceed what is practical. He mocks those who call him out for this, writing about Jupiter the Savior and Creator, the father of justice, fairness, and peace, in his Third Book of the Gods: "Just as cities overwhelmed by too many citizens send out colonies and wage war, so God allows the beginnings of corruption." He also cites Euripides and others who claim that the gods caused the Trojan War to reduce the population of men.
But letting pass their other absurdities (for our design is not to inquire what they have said amiss, but only what they have said dissonantly to themselves), consider how he always attributes to the gods specious and kind appellations, but at the same time cruel, barbarous, and Galatian deeds. For those so great slaughters and earnages, as were the productions of the Trojan war and again of the Persian and Peloponnesian, were no way like to colonies unless these men know of some cities built in hell and under the earth. But Chrysippus makes God like to Deiotarus, the Galatian king, who having many sons, and being desirous to leave his kingdom and house to one of them, killed all the rest; as he that cuts and prunes away all the other branches from the vine, that one which he leaves remaining may grow strong and great. And yet the vine-dresser does this, the sprigs being slender and weak; and we, to favor a bitch, take from her many of her new-born puppies, whilst they are yet blind. But Jupiter, having not only suffered and seen men to grow up, but having also both created and increased them, plagues them afterwards, devising occasions of their destruction and corruption; whereas he should rather not have given them any causes and beginnings of generation.
But if we set aside their other absurdities (since our point isn't to question what they've said wrong, but only what they've said inconsistently), let's look at how he always assigns the gods attractive yet at the same time cruel, barbaric, and Galatian actions. The massive deaths and destruction from the Trojan War, and from the Persian and Peloponnesian wars, couldn't possibly be compared to founding colonies unless these people know of some cities built in hell and underground. But Chrysippus compares God to Deiotarus, the Galatian king, who, having many sons and wanting to leave his kingdom and home to one of them, killed all the others; just like someone who trims off all the other branches from a vine so that the one they leave can grow strong and large. Yet, the vine dresser does this with slender and weak shoots; meanwhile, we, to benefit one dog, take away many of her newborn puppies while they're still blind. But Jupiter, who has not only allowed and seen humans grow but has also created and nurtured them, then punishes them, creating circumstances for their destruction and downfall; when he could have simply chosen not to give them any reasons or beginnings for existence.
However, this is but a small matter; but that which follows is greater. For there is no war amongst men without vice. But sometimes the love of pleasure, sometimes the love of money, and sometimes the love of glory and rule is the cause of it. If therefore God is the author of wars, he must be also of sins, provoking and perverting men. And yet himself says in his treatise of Judgment and his Second Book of the Gods, that it is no way rational to say that the Divinity is in any respect the cause of dishonesty. For as the law can in no way be the cause of transgression, so neither can the gods of being impious; therefore neither is it rational that they should be the causes of anything that is filthy. What therefore can be more filthy to men than the mutual killing of one another?—to which Chrysippus says that God gives beginnings. But some one perhaps will say, that he elsewhere praises Euripides for saying,
However, this is just a minor issue; what comes next is more significant. For there’s no conflict among people without wrongdoing. Sometimes it’s the desire for pleasure, other times it’s the pursuit of money, and sometimes it’s the quest for fame and power that drives it. If God is the source of wars, then he must also be the source of sins, inciting and corrupting people. Yet, he himself states in his work on Judgment and in his Second Book of the Gods that it doesn’t make sense to claim that the divine is in any way the cause of dishonesty. Just as the law cannot be the cause of wrongdoing, neither can the gods be the reason for impiety; therefore, it doesn’t make sense for them to cause anything foul. What could be more disgusting to humanity than killing each other?—to which Chrysippus contends that God initiates. But someone might argue that he praises Euripides elsewhere for saying,
If gods do aught dishonest, they're no gods;
If gods do anything dishonest, they're not gods;
and again,
and again,
'Tis a most easy thing t' accuse the gods;
(From the "Bellerophontes" of Euripides, Frag. 294;
and the "Archelaus," Frag. 256.)
'Tis a very simple thing to blame the gods; (From the "Bellerophontes" of Euripides, Frag. 294; and the "Archelaus," Frag. 256.)
as if we were now doing anything else than setting down such words and sentences of his as are repugnant to one another. Yet that very thing which is now praised may be objected, not once or twice or thrice, but even ten thousand times, against Chrysippus:—
as if we were now doing anything other than writing down his words and sentences that contradict each other. Yet that very thing that is now praised can be challenged, not just once, twice, or three times, but even ten thousand times, against Chrysippus:—
'Tis a most easy thing t' accuse the gods.
It's really easy to blame the gods.
For first having in his book of Nature compared the eternity of motion to a drink made of divers species confusedly mixed together, turning and jumbling the things that are made, some this way, others that way, he goes on thus: "Now the administration of the universe proceeding in this manner, it is of necessity we should be in the condition we are, whether contrary to our own nature we are sick or maimed, or whether we are grammarians or musicians." And again a little after, "According to this reason we shall say the like of our virtue and vice, and generally of arts or the ignorance of arts, as I have said." And a little after, taking away all ambiguity, he says: "For no particular thing, not even the least, can be otherwise than according to common Nature and its reason." But that common Nature and the common reason of Nature are with him Fate and Providence and Jupiter, is not unknown even to the antipodes. For these things are everywhere inculcated in the Stoic system; and Chrysippus affirms that Homer said very well,
For starting his book on Nature by comparing the eternity of motion to a drink made from various mixed ingredients, swirling and jumbling the things that exist—some this way, others that way—he continues: "Now, since the universe operates like this, it’s inevitable that we find ourselves in the state we are in, whether we’re sick or disabled, or whether we’re grammarians or musicians." Then, a bit later, he adds, "Based on this reasoning, we can make similar statements about our virtues and vices, and generally about skills or the lack of skills, as I’ve mentioned." Further clarifying, he states, "No specific thing, not even the smallest, can exist otherwise than according to common Nature and its reasoning." However, it’s well-known, even to those on the opposite side of the world, that this common Nature and reasoning is what he refers to as Fate, Providence, and Jupiter. These concepts are universally emphasized in the Stoic philosophy, and Chrysippus claims that Homer expressed this very well.
Jove's purposes were ripening,
("Iliad," i. 5.)
Jupiter's plans were coming to fruition,
("Iliad," i. 5.)having respect to Fate and the Nature of the universe, according to which everything is governed. How then do these agree, both that God is no way the cause of any dishonest thing, and again, that not even the least thing imaginable can be otherwise done than according to common Nature and its reason? For amongst all things that are done, there must of necessity be also evil things attributed to the gods. And though Epicurus indeed turns himself every way, and studies artifices, devising how to deliver and set loose our voluntary free will from this eternal motion, that he may not leave vice irreprehensible; yet Chrysippus gives vice a most absolute liberty, as being done not only of necessity or according to Fate, but also according to the reason of God and best Nature. And these things are yet farther seen in what he says afterwards, being thus word for word: "For common Nature extending to all things, it will be of necessity that everything, howsoever done in the whole or in any one soever of its parts, must be done according to this common Nature and its reason, proceeding on regularly without any impediment. For there is nothing without that can hinder the administration, nor is there any of the parts that can be moved or habituated otherwise than according to common Nature." What, then, are these habits and motions of the parts? It is manifest, that the habits are vices and diseases, covetousness, luxury, ambition, cowardice, injustice; and that the motions are adulteries, thefts, treasons, murders, parricides. Of these Chrysippus thinks, that no one, either little or great, is contrary to the reason of Jupiter, or to his law, justice, and providence; so neither is the transgressing of the law done against the law, nor the acting unjustly against justice, nor the committing of sin against Providence.
Considering Fate and the nature of the universe, which governs everything, how do these ideas come together that God is not the cause of any wrongdoing, while even the smallest actions cannot happen outside of common nature and its rationality? Among everything that happens, there must also be wrongs attributed to the gods. Even though Epicurus tries to find ways to free our voluntary will from this eternal cycle, aiming to avoid leaving vice unaccountable, Chrysippus grants vice complete freedom, claiming it happens not only by necessity or fate but also according to God’s reasoning and the best nature. These ideas are further illustrated in what he states shortly after, word for word: "Since common nature encompasses all things, it follows that everything done, whether in totality or in any of its parts, must occur according to this common nature and its reasoning, proceeding regularly without any obstacles. There is nothing external that can disrupt this process, nor can any of the parts behave or be conditioned in ways other than according to common nature." So, what are these habits and motions of the parts? It is clear that the habits refer to vices and illnesses, such as greed, indulgence, ambition, cowardice, and injustice; while the motions refer to adulteries, thefts, treasons, murders, and parricides. Chrysippus believes that none of these actions, big or small, are against Jupiter’s reasoning, law, justice, or providence; thus, breaking the law does not contradict the law, acting unjustly does not go against justice, and committing sin does not oppose providence.
And yet he says, that God punishes vice, and does many things for the chastising of the wicked. And in his Second Book of the Gods he says, that many adversities sometimes befall the good, not as they do the wicked, for punishment, but according to another dispensation, as it is in cities. And again in these words: "First we are to understand of evils in like manner as has been said before: then that these things are distributed according to the reason of Jupiter, whether for punishment, or according to some other dispensation, having in some sort respect to the universe." This therefore is indeed severe, that wickedness is both done and punished according to the reason of Jupiter. But he aggravates this contradiction in his Second Book of Nature, writing thus: "Vice in reference to grievous accidents, has a certain reason of its own. For it is also in some sort according to the reason of Nature, and, as I may so say, is not wholly useless in respect of the universe. For otherwise also there would not be any good." Thus does he reprehend those that dispute indifferently on both sides, who, out of a desire to say something wholly singular and more exquisite concerning everything, affirms, that men do not unprofitably cut purses, calumniate, and play madmen, and that it is not unprofitable there should be unprofitable, hurtful, and unhappy persons. What manner of god then is Jupiter,—I mean Chrysippus's Jupiter,—who punishes an act done neither willingly nor unprofitably? For vice is indeed, according to Chrysippus's discourse, wholly reprehensible; but Jupiter is to be blamed, whether he has made vice which is an unprofitable thing, or, having made it not unprofitable, punishes it.
And yet he says that God punishes wrongdoing and does many things to discipline the wicked. In his Second Book of the Gods, he mentions that many troubles sometimes befall the good—not like they do the wicked, as punishment, but according to a different plan, similar to what happens in cities. He also states: "First, we need to understand the nature of evils as previously mentioned; then, these situations are distributed according to Jupiter's reasoning, whether as punishment or based on some other plan, with some consideration for the universe." It is indeed severe that wrongdoing is both committed and punished based on Jupiter's reasoning. He emphasizes this contradiction in his Second Book of Nature, writing: "Wrongdoing, when related to serious misfortunes, has its own kind of reasoning. It also aligns somewhat with the reasoning of Nature, and, so to speak, is not entirely useless concerning the universe. For otherwise, there would be no good." Thus, he criticizes those who argue carelessly from both perspectives, who, eager to make unique and more refined statements about everything, claim that people do not harmfully rob, slander, and act irrationally, and that it is not unhelpful for there to be unhelpful, harmful, and unhappy people. What kind of god is Jupiter—specifically Chrysippus's Jupiter—who punishes an act done neither willingly nor unprofitably? For wrongdoing is indeed, according to Chrysippus's argument, entirely blameworthy; yet Jupiter should be criticized, whether he created wrongdoing, which is an unhelpful thing, or, having made it not entirely unhelpful, punishes it.
Again, in his First Book of Justice, having spoken of the gods as resisting the injustices of some, he says: "But wholly to take away vice is neither possible nor expedient." Whether it were not better that law-breaking, injustice, and folly should be taken away, is not the design of this present discourse to inquire. But he himself, as much as in him lies, by his philosophy taking away vice, which it is not expedient to take away, does something repugnant both to reason and God. Besides this, saying that God resists some injustices, he again makes plain the impiety of sins.
Again, in his First Book of Justice, after discussing how the gods oppose the injustices of some, he states: "But completely eliminating vice is neither possible nor practical." Whether it would be better for law-breaking, injustice, and foolishness to be removed is not the focus of this discussion. However, he himself, through his philosophy, attempts to eliminate vice, which it is not practical to remove, doing something that contradicts both reason and God. In addition to this, by stating that God opposes certain injustices, he further clarifies the seriousness of sins.
Having often written that there is nothing reprehensible, nothing to be complained of in the world, all things being finished according to a most excellent nature, he again elsewhere leaves certain negligences to be reprehended, and those not concerning small or base matters. For having in his Third Book of Substance related that some such things befall honest and good men, he says: "May it not be that some things are not regarded, as in great families some bran—yea, and some grains of corn also—are scattered, the generality being nevertheless well ordered; or maybe there are evil Genii set over those things in which there are real and faulty negligence?" And he also affirms that there is much necessity intermixed. I let pass, how inconsiderate it is to compare such accidents befalling honest and good men, as were the condemnation of Socrates, the burning of Pythagoras, whilst he was yet living, by the Cyloneans, the putting to death—and that with torture—of Zeno by the tyrant Demylus, and of Antiphon by Dionysius, with the letting of bran fall. But that there should be evil Genii placed by Providence over such charges,—how can it but be a reproach to God, as it would be to a king, to commit the administration of his provinces to evil and rash governors and captains, and suffer the best of his subjects to be despised and ill-treated by them? And furthermore, if there is much necessity mixed amongst affairs, then God has not power over them all, nor are they all administered according to his reason.
Having often written that there's nothing wrong or to complain about in the world, everything being made according to a perfect nature, he also points out certain oversights that deserve criticism, and these aren't about trivial matters. In his Third Book of Substance, he mentions that some unfortunate things happen to honest and good people, saying: "Could it be that some things go unnoticed, just as in large households some bran—and even some grains of corn—get scattered, while everything else remains well organized? Or perhaps there are evil spirits in charge of those areas where there's real and significant negligence?" He also claims that necessity plays a big role in all this. I won't even address how unreasonable it is to compare the unfortunate events that happened to honest and good people, like the condemnation of Socrates, the burning of Pythagoras while he was still alive by the Cyloneans, or the torturous deaths of Zeno at the hands of the tyrant Demylus and Antiphon by Dionysius, with the mere scattering of bran. But the idea that there are evil spirits set by Providence over such matters—how can that not be a slur against God? Just as it would be for a king to hand over his provinces to reckless and corrupt governors and allow his best subjects to be disrespected and mistreated by them? Furthermore, if necessity is so mixed up in these affairs, then God doesn’t have control over everything, nor are all things governed by His reasoning.
He contends much against Epicurus and those that take away providence from the conceptions we have of the gods, whom we esteem beneficial and gracious to men. And these things being frequently said by them, there is no necessity of setting down the words. Yet all do not conceive the gods to be good and favorable to us. For see what the Jews and Syrians think of the gods; consider also with how much superstition the poets are filled. But there is not any one, in a manner to speak of, that imagines God to be corruptible or to have been born. And to omit all others, Antipater the Tarsian, in his book of the gods writes thus, word for word: "At the opening of our discourse we will briefly repeat the opinion we have concerning God. We understand therefore God to be an animal, blessed and incorruptible, and beneficial to men." And then expounding every one of these terms he says: "And indeed all men esteem the gods to be incorruptible." Chrysippus therefore is, according to Antipater, not one of "all men"; for he thinks none of the gods, except Fire, to be incorruptible, but that they all equally were born and will die. These things are, in a manner, everywhere said by him. But I will set down his words out of his Third Book of the Gods: "It is otherwise with the gods. For some of them are born and corruptible, but others not born. And to demonstrate these things from the beginning will be more fit for a treatise of Nature. For the Sun, the Moon, and other gods who are of a like nature, were begotten; but Jupiter is eternal." And again going on: "But the like will be said concerning dying and being born, both concerning the other gods and Jupiter. For they indeed are corruptible, but his past incorruptible." With these I compare a few of the things said by Antipater: "Whosoever they are that take away from the gods beneficence, they affect in some part our conception of them; and according to the same reason they also do this, who think they participate of generation and corruption." If, then, he who esteems the gods corruptible is equally absurd with him who thinks them not to be provident and gracious to men, Chrysippus is no less in an error than Epicurus. For one of them deprives the gods of beneficence, the other of incorruptibility. ============ And moreover, Chrysippus, in his Third Book of the Gods treating of the other gods being nourished, says thus: "The other gods indeed use nourishment, being equally sustained by it; but Jupiter and the World are maintained after another manner from those who are consumed and were engendered by fire." Here indeed he declares, that all the other gods are nourished except the World and Jupiter; but in his First Book of Providence he says: "Jupiter increases till he has consumed all things into himself. For since death is the separation of the soul from the body, and the soul of the World is not indeed separated, but increases continually till it has consumed all matter into itself, it is not to be said that the World dies." Who can therefore appear to speak things more contradictory to himself than he who says that the same god is now nourished and again not nourished? Nor is there any need of gathering this by argument: for himself has plainly written in the same place: "But the World alone is said to be self-sufficient, because it alone has in itself all things it stands in need of, and is nourished and augmented of itself, the other parts being mutually changed into one another." He is then repugnant to himself, not only by declaring in one place that all the gods are nourished except the World and Jupiter, and saying in another, that the World also is nourished; but much more, when he affirms that the World increases by nourishing itself. Now the contrary had been much more probable, to wit, that the World alone does not increase, having its own destruction for its food; but that addition and increase are incident to the other gods, who are nourished from without, and the World is rather consumed into them, if so it is that the World feeds on itself, and they always receive something and are nourished from that.
He argues strongly against Epicurus and those who remove the idea of providence from our understanding of the gods, whom we consider to be good and kind to humanity. While these ideas are often stated by them, there’s no need to repeat their words. Still, not everyone believes the gods are good and favorable to us. Just look at what the Jews and Syrians think about their gods; consider how full of superstition the poets are. However, there's almost no one who imagines God to be corruptible or born. Excluding others, Antipater the Tarsian writes in his book about the gods: "At the start of our discussion, we'll briefly summarize our view of God. We understand God to be a blessed, incorruptible being that is beneficial to humans." He then clarifies each of these terms, saying, "Indeed, all people consider the gods to be incorruptible." Therefore, according to Antipater, Chrysippus is not part of "all people," as he believes that none of the gods, except Fire, are incorruptible; instead, he thinks they were all born and will die. He often expresses these views. However, I’ll quote his words from his Third Book of the Gods: "The situation is different for the gods. Some of them are born and corruptible, while others are not born. Explaining these points from the beginning would be more appropriate for a treatise on Nature. The Sun, the Moon, and other gods of a similar kind were begotten; however, Jupiter is eternal." He continues: "Similar statements can be made about dying and being born for both the other gods and Jupiter. They are indeed corruptible, but he was always incorruptible." With this, I compare a few of Antipater's statements: "Whoever removes beneficence from the gods affects how we view them; similarly, those who think the gods are subject to birth and decay also influence this view." Therefore, if someone considers the gods to be corruptible, they are just as misguided as someone who believes they lack providence and kindness toward humanity. Chrysippus is just as mistaken as Epicurus since one robs the gods of beneficence while the other claims they aren’t incorruptible. ============ Additionally, Chrysippus, in his Third Book of the Gods, discussing how other gods receive nourishment, states: "The other gods do use nourishment, being sustained by it; however, Jupiter and the World are maintained in a different way than those who were created and are consumed by fire." Here he implies that all the other gods are nourished except for the World and Jupiter; but in his First Book of Providence, he states: "Jupiter grows until he has absorbed all things into himself. Since death is the separation of the soul from the body, and the World’s soul is not separated but continually grows until it has consumed all matter, it cannot be said that the World dies." Who can seem to speak more contradictorily than someone who claims that the same god is both nourished and not nourished? There’s no need to argue this point: he has clearly written in the same section: "Only the World is considered self-sufficient, as it alone has everything it needs within itself, being nourished and grown by itself, while other parts interchange among one another." He contradicts himself not only by stating in one instance that all the gods are nourished except the World and Jupiter, but also by claiming elsewhere that the World is nourished too; even more so when he asserts that the World grows by sustaining itself. It would be much more reasonable to argue that the World does not grow, as it consumes its own destruction for sustenance; while addition and growth apply to the other gods, who are nourished externally, and the World rather depletes into them, if indeed the World feeds on itself, while they continuously receive nourishment from it.
Secondly, the conception of the gods contains in it felicity, blessedness, and self-perfection. Wherefore also Euripides is commanded for saying:—
Secondly, the idea of the gods includes happiness, blessedness, and self-improvement. That’s why Euripides is criticized for saying:—
For God, if truly God, does nothing want,
So all these speeches are the poets' cant.
("Hercules Furens," 1345.)
For God, if He truly exists, wants nothing,
So all these words are just the poets' nonsense.
("Hercules Furens," 1345.)But Chrysippus in the places I have alleged says, that the World only is self-sufficient, because this alone has in itself all things it needs. What then follows from this, that the World alone is self-sufficient? That neither the Sun, Moon, nor any other of the gods is self-sufficient, and not being self-sufficient, they cannot be happy or blessed.
But Chrysippus, in the sections I've mentioned, argues that the World is the only thing that is self-sufficient, as it contains everything it needs within itself. So, what does this mean for the World being the only self-sufficient entity? It means that neither the Sun, Moon, nor any of the other gods are self-sufficient, and since they aren't self-sufficient, they cannot be happy or blessed.
He says, that the infant in the womb is nourished by Nature, like a plant; but when it is brought forth, being cooled and hardened by the air, it changes its spirit and becomes an animal; whence the soul is not unfitly named Psyche because of this refrigeration [Greek omitted]. But again he esteems the soul the more subtile and fine spirit of Nature, therein contradicting himself; for how can a subtile thing be made of a gross one, and be rarefied by refrigeration and condensation? And what is more, how does he, declaring an animal to be made by refrigeration, think the sun to be animated, which is of fire and made of an exhalation changed into fire? For he says in his Third Book of Nature: "Now the change of fire is such, that it is turned by the air into water; and the earth subsiding from this, the air exhales; the air being subtilized, the ether is produced round about it; and the stars are, with the sun, kindled from the sea." Now what is more contrary to kindling than refrigeration, or to rarefaction than condensation? For the one makes water and earth of fire and air, and the other changes that which is moist and earthy into fire and air. But yet in one place he makes kindling, in another cooling, to be the beginning of animation. And he moreover says, that when the inflammation is throughout, it lives and is an animal, but being again extinct and thickened, it is turned into water and earth and corporeity. Now in his First Book of Providence he says: "For the world, indeed, being wholly set on fire, is presently also the soul and guide of itself; but when it is changed into moisture, and has altered the soul remaining within it by some method into a body and soul, so as to consist of these two it exists then after another manner." Here, forsooth, he plainly says, that the inanimate parts of the world are by inflammation turned into an animated thing, and that again by extinction the soul is relaxed and moistened, being changed into corporeity. He seems therefore very absurd, one while by refrigeration making animals of senseless things, and again, by the same changing the greatest part of the world's soul into senseless and inanimate things.
He says that a baby in the womb is nourished by Nature, like a plant; but once it’s born, it cools and hardens in the air, changing its spirit and becoming an animal. This is why the soul is aptly named Psyche because of this cooling. Yet, he also views the soul as the more subtle and refined spirit of Nature, which contradicts him because how can something subtle be created from something coarse, and be refined by cooling and condensing? Moreover, how does he, while claiming that an animal is made through cooling, believe the sun is animated, which is made of fire and arises from an exhalation turned into fire? In his Third Book of Nature, he states: "Now the change of fire is such that it is turned by the air into water; and the earth subsiding from this, the air exhales; as the air becomes more refined, ether is produced around it; and the stars, along with the sun, are ignited from the sea." What is more opposite to igniting than cooling, or to refining than condensing? One process produces water and earth from fire and air, while the other transforms moist and earthy materials back into fire and air. Yet, in one place, he attributes igniting as the source of animation, and in another, cooling. He also claims that when inflammation is complete, it lives and is an animal, but when it’s extinguished and thickens, it turns back into water and earth and corporeality. In his First Book of Providence, he says: "For the world, indeed, being entirely set on fire, is immediately the soul and guide of itself; but when it changes into moisture, and alters the soul remaining within it in a way that it becomes both body and soul, it then exists differently." Here, he clearly states that the inanimate parts of the world are transformed into living beings by inflammation, and that again, by extinction, the soul is relaxed and moistened, turning into corporeality. He seems quite contradictory, at one moment making animals from lifeless things through cooling, and then, through the same process, changing the majority of the world's soul into lifeless and inanimate substances.
But besides this, his discourse concerning the generation of the soul has a demonstration contrary to his own opinion; or he says, that the soul is generated when the infant is already brought forth, the spirit being changed by refrigeration, as by hardening. Now for the soul's being engendered, and that after the birth, he chiefly uses this demonstration, that the children are for the most part in manners and inclinations like to their parents. Now the repugnancy of these things is evident. For it is not possible that the soul, which is not generated till after the birth, should have its inclination before the birth; or it will fall out that the soul is like before it is generated; that is, it will be in likeness, and yet not be, because it is not yet generated. But if any one says that, the likeness being bred in the tempers of the bodies, the souls are changed when they are generated, he destroys the argument of the soul's being generated. For thus it may come to pass, that the soul, though not generated, may at its entrance into the body be changed by the mixture of likeness.
But besides this, his discussion about how the soul is created contradicts his own view; he claims that the soul is formed only after the infant is born, with the spirit being altered by cooling, like how something hardens. To argue that the soul is created after birth, he primarily uses the point that children often resemble their parents in behavior and tendencies. However, the inconsistency here is clear. It’s impossible for the soul, which isn’t formed until after birth, to have its traits before birth; otherwise, it would mean the soul resembles something before it exists, which doesn’t make sense since it hasn’t been created yet. If someone argues that the resemblance is developed in the body’s characteristics and that the souls are altered upon formation, they undermine the argument about the soul's creation. This way, it could happen that the soul, even if not yet formed, might change upon entering the body due to this resemblance.
He says sometimes, that the air is light and mounts upwards, and sometimes, that it is neither heavy nor light. For in his Second Book of Motion he says, that the fire, being without gravity, ascends upwards, and the air like to that; the water approaching more to the earth, and the air to the fire. But in his Physical Arts he inclines to the other opinion, that the air of itself has neither gravity nor levity.
He sometimes says that the air is light and rises, and other times claims it is neither heavy nor light. In his Second Book of Motion, he states that fire, having no weight, rises upward, and the air does the same; while water is closer to the earth and air is closer to fire. However, in his Physical Arts, he leans towards a different view, suggesting that air doesn't have its own weight or lightness.
He says that the air is by nature dark, and uses this as an argument of its being also the first cold; for that its darkness is opposite to the brightness, and its coldness to the heat of fire. Moving this in his First Book of Natural Questions, he again in his treatise of Habits says, that habits are nothing else but airs; for bodies are contained by these, and the cause that every one of the bodies contained in any habit is such as it is, is the containing air, which they call in iron hardness, in stone solidness, in silver whiteness. These words have in them much absurdity and contradiction. For if the air remains such as it is of its own nature, how comes black, in that which is not white, to be made whiteness; and soft, in that which is not hard, to be made hardness; and rare, in that which is not thick, to be made thickness? But if, being mixed with these, it is altered and made like to them, how is it a habit or power or cause of these things by which it is subdued? For such a change, by which it loses its own qualities, is the property of a patient, not of an agent, and not of a thing containing, but of a thing languishing. Yet they everywhere affirm, that matter, being of its own nature idle and motionless, is subjected to qualities, and that the qualities are spirits, which, being also aerial tensions, give a form and figure to every part of matter to which they adhere. These things they cannot rationally say, supposing the air to be such as they affirm it. For if it is a habit and tension, it will assimilate every body to itself, so that it shall be black and soft. But if by the mixture with these things it receives forms contrary to those it has, it will be in some sort the matter, and not the cause or power of matter.
He argues that air is naturally dark, using this to claim that it is also the first cold element; its darkness contrasts with brightness, and its coldness contrasts with the heat of fire. In his First Book of Natural Questions, he goes on to say in his treatise on Habits that habits are essentially airs; bodies are shaped by these airs, and the reason each body in a habit is the way it is comes from the air that contains it, which is referred to as hardness in iron, solidity in stone, and whiteness in silver. These statements are filled with absurdity and contradictions. If air remains unchanged by its nature, how can blackness, which isn’t white, be turned into whiteness; and how can softness, which isn’t hard, turn into hardness; and rarity, which isn’t thick, become thickness? But if it changes when mixed with these substances and becomes like them, how can it still be a habit, power, or cause of these things that it influences? Such a transformation, where it loses its own qualities, is a characteristic of something affected, not something acting upon others, and of something that is suffering rather than something that contains. Yet, they insist that matter, being naturally inactive and motionless, is subject to qualities, and that these qualities are spirits, which, being also aerial tensions, give form and shape to every part of matter they cling to. They cannot logically maintain this if air is as they claim. If it is a habit and tension, it would cause every body to become like itself, resulting in blackness and softness. But if, through mixing with these, it acquires qualities opposing those it already has, it would be more like matter itself, rather than the cause or power of matter.
It is often said by Chrysippus, that there is without the world an infinite vacuum, and that this infinity has neither beginning, middle, nor end. And by this the Stoics chiefly refute that spontaneous motion of the atoms downward, which is taught by Epicurus; there not being in infinity any difference according to which one thing is thought to be above, another below. But in his Fourth Book of Things Possible, having supposed a certain middle place and middle region, he says that the world is situated there. The words are these: "Wherefore, if it is to be said of the world that it is corruptible, this seems to want proof; yet nevertheless it rather appears to me to be so. However, its occupation of the place wherein it stands cooperates very much towards its immunity from corruption, because it is in the midst; since if it were conceived to be anywhere else, corruption would absolutely happen to it." And again, a little after: "For so also in a manner has essence happened eternally to possess the middle place, being immediately from the beginning such as it is; so that both by another manner and through this chance it admits not any corruption, and is therefore eternal." These words have one apparent and visible contradiction, to wit, his admitting a certain middle place and middle region infinity. They have also a second, more obscure indeed, but withal more absurd than this. For thinking that the world would not have remained incorruptible if its situation had happened to have been in any other part of the vacuum, he manifestly appears to have feared lest, the parts of essence moving towards the middle, there should be a dissolution and corruption of the world. Now this he would not have feared, had he not thought that bodies do by nature tend from every place towards the middle, not of essence, but of the region containing essence; of which also he has frequently spoken, as of a thing impossible and contrary to Nature; for that (as he says) there is not in the vacuum any difference by which bodies are drawn rather this way than that way, but the construction of the world is the cause of motion, bodies inclining and being carried from every side to the centre and middle of it. It is sufficient to this purpose, to set down the text out of his Second Book of Motion; for having discoursed, that the world indeed is a perfect body, but that the parts of the world are not perfect, because they have in some sort respect to the whole and are not of themselves; and going forward concerning its motion, as having been framed by Nature to be moved by all its parts towards compaction and cohesion, and not towards dissolution and breaking, he says thus: "But the universe thus tending and being moved to the same point, and the arts having the same motion from the nature of the body, it is probable that all bodies have this first motion according to Nature towards the centre of the world,—the world being thus moved as concerns itself, and the parts being moved as being its parts." What, then, ailed you, good sir (might some one say to him), that you have so far forgotten those words, as to affirm that the world, if it had not casually possessed the middle place, would have been dissoluble and corruptible? For if it is by nature so framed as always to incline towards the middle, and its parts from every side tend to the same, into what place soever of the vacuum it should have been transposed,—thus containing and (as it were) embracing itself,—it would have remained incorruptible and without danger of breaking. For things that are broken and dissipated suffer this by the separation and dissolution of their parts, every one of them hasting to its own place from that which it had contrary to Nature. But you, being of opinion that, if the world should have been seated in any other place of the vacuum, it would have been wholly liable to corruption, and affirming the same, and therefore asserting a middle in that which naturally can have no middle,—to wit, in that which is infinite,—have indeed dismissed these tensions, coherences, and inclinations, as having nothing available to its preservation, and attributed all the cause of its permanency to the possession of place. And, as if you were ambitious to confute yourself, to the things you have said before you join this also: "In whatsoever manner every one of the parts moves, being coherent to the rest, it is agreeable to reason that in the same also the whole should move by itself; yea, though we should, for argument's sake, imagine and suppose it to be in some vacuity of this world; for as, being kept in on every side, it would move towards the middle, so it would continue in the same motion, though by way of disputation we should admit that there were on a sudden a vacuum round about it." No part then whatsoever, though encompassed by a vacuum, loses its inclination moving it towards the middle of the world; but the world itself, if chance had not prepared it a place in the middle, would have lost its containing vigor, the parts of its essence being carried some one way, some another.
Chrysippus often said that outside of the world, there's an infinite vacuum, and this infinity has no beginning, middle, or end. The Stoics use this idea to challenge the notion of spontaneous downward motion of atoms proposed by Epicurus, arguing that in infinity, there is no distinction that makes one thing above and another below. However, in his Fourth Book of Things Possible, he suggests there is a certain middle space where the world is located. He states, "If we say the world is corruptible, that seems questionable; yet, I tend to believe it might be. However, the fact that it occupies its current place greatly contributes to its immunity from corruption, as it is in the middle. If it were anywhere else, it would surely become corrupt." Later, he adds, "In a way, essence has always occupied the middle position, existing from the very beginning as it is; thus, by another means and chance, it does not admit any corruption and is therefore eternal." These statements present a clear contradiction: namely, the acceptance of a middle place within infinity. There’s also a second contradiction that's less obvious but more absurd—he seems to fear that the world wouldn't remain incorruptible if its position were anywhere else in the vacuum. He appears to believe that parts of essence inherently move toward the middle, but not the essence itself, only the region that contains it. He discusses this frequently, claiming it to be impossible and contrary to nature, asserting that in the vacuum, there's no reason for bodies to be drawn any particular way. The construction of the world causes movement, pulling bodies from every direction toward its center. It suffices to refer to his Second Book of Motion, where he argues that the universe is a perfect body, while its parts are imperfect since they relate to the whole and are not complete on their own. He claims that because the universe is structured to have all its parts move toward cohesion, not dissolution, "the universe moves towards the same point, and given that bodies share this inherent motion, it's likely all bodies move toward the center of the world." Then, one might ask him, "What were you thinking, good sir, when you claimed that if the world hadn’t randomly occupied the middle, it would be subject to dissolution and corruption? If it's naturally designed to always lean toward the middle, and its parts tend to do the same, then no matter where it was placed in the vacuum—containing and embracing itself—it would remain incorruptible and unthreatened. Things break and scatter only when their parts separate and rush to their natural locations. You believe that if the world were seated anywhere else in the vacuum, it would be prone to corruption and insist on a middle where there naturally can't be one—in infinity. You dismissed these tendencies, cohesions, and inclinations as irrelevant to its preservation and attributed its permanence solely to its central position. And as if you aimed to contradict yourself, you add, "In any case, however each part moves while connected to the others, it makes sense for the whole to move on its own; even if we hypothetically placed it in a vacuity, it would still move toward the middle, persisting in that motion even if we suddenly imagined a vacuum surrounding it." So, no part, even while encircled by a vacuum, loses its inclination to move toward the middle of the world; however, if the world hadn't found its place in the middle, it would have lost this containing strength, with its parts being drawn in every direction.
And these things indeed contain great contradictions to natural reason; but this is also repugnant to the doctrine concerning God and Providence, that assigning to them the least causes, he takes from them the most principal and greatest. For what is more principal than the permanency of the world, or that its essence, united in its parts, is contained in itself? But this, as Chrysippus says, fell out casually. For if the possession of place is the cause of incorruptibility, and this was the production of chance, it is manifest that the preservation of the universe is a work of chance, and not of Fate and Providence.
And these things really contain major contradictions to natural reasoning; however, this also goes against the beliefs about God and Providence, because by attributing the smallest causes to them, it takes away the most important and significant ones. What could be more fundamental than the permanence of the world, or the idea that its essence, unified in its parts, exists within itself? But, as Chrysippus mentions, this happened by chance. If the existence of a place is the reason for incorruptibility, and this came about through randomness, it’s clear that the preservation of the universe is a result of chance, not of Fate and Providence.
Now, as for his doctrine of possibles, how can it but be repugnant to his doctrine of Fate? For if that is not possible which either is true or shall be true, as Diodorus has it, but everything which is capable of being, though it never shall be, is possible, there will be many things possible which will never be according to invincible, inviolable, and all-conquering Fate. And thus either Fate will lose its power; or if that, as Chrysippus thinks, has existence, that which is susceptible of being will often fall out to be impossible. And everything indeed which is true will be necessary, being comprehended by the principal of all necessities; and everything that is false will be impossible, having the greatest cause to oppose its ever being true. For how is it possible that he should be susceptible of dying on the land, who is destined to die at sea? And how is it possible for him who is at Megara to come to Athens, if he is prohibited by Fate?
Now, regarding his theory of possibilities, how can it not conflict with his theory of Fate? If what is true or will be true isn't possible, as Diodorus states, but everything that could exist, even if it never does, is possible, then there will be many things that are possible but will never happen due to unstoppable, unbreakable, and all-powerful Fate. So either Fate will lose its power; or if, as Chrysippus believes, it does exist, then what can happen will often turn out to be impossible. Everything that is true will indeed be necessary, being covered by the principle of all necessities; and everything that is false will be impossible, having the strongest reasons against it ever being true. For how can someone who is destined to die at sea be able to die on land? And how can someone in Megara reach Athens if Fate prohibits him from doing so?
But moreover, the things that are boldly asserted by him concerning fantasies or imaginations are very opposite to Fate. For desiring to show that fantasy is not of itself a perfect cause of consent, he says, that the Sages will prejudice us by imprinting false imaginations in our minds, if fantasies do of themselves absolutely cause consent; for wise men often make use of falsity against the wicked, representing a probable imagination,—which is yet not the cause of consent, for then it would be also a cause of false apprehension and error. Any one therefore, transferring these things from the wise man to Fate, may say, that consents are not caused by Fate; for if they were, false consents and opinions and deceptions would also be by Fate. Thus the reason which exempts the wise man from doing hurt also demonstrates at the same time that Fate is not the cause of all things. For if men neither opine nor are prejudiced by Fate, it is manifest also that they neither act rightly nor are wise nor remain firm in their sentiments nor have utility by Fate, but that there is an end of Fate's being the cause of all things. Now if any one shall say that Chrysippus makes not Fate the absolute cause of all things, but only a PROCATARCLICAL (or antecedent) one, he will again show that he is contradictory to himself, since he excessively praises Homer for saying of Jupiter,
But also, the things he boldly claims about fantasies or imaginations are completely opposed to Fate. He wants to show that fantasy isn't, on its own, a perfect cause of consent. He argues that wise people will mislead us by implanting false imaginations in our minds if fantasies by themselves truly caused consent. Wise individuals often use lies against the wicked, presenting a plausible imagination—which is still not the cause of consent. If it were, it would also be a cause of false perceptions and mistakes. Therefore, anyone who applies this reasoning from the wise person to Fate could argue that consents aren't caused by Fate; because if they were, false consents, opinions, and deceptions would also originate from Fate. Thus, the reasoning that frees the wise person from causing harm also shows that Fate isn't the cause of everything. If people don't form opinions or are misled by Fate, it's clear that they also don't act correctly, aren’t wise, don’t maintain their beliefs, or find usefulness through Fate, indicating that Fate isn't the cause of everything. Now, if someone says that Chrysippus doesn't make Fate the absolute cause of all things, but only a PROCATARCLICAL (or preceding) one, they will again demonstrate that he contradicts himself since he excessively praises Homer for saying about Jupiter,
Receive whatever good or ill
He sends to each of you;
Accept whatever good or bad
He gives to each of you;as also Euripides for these words,
as also Euripides for these words,
O Jove, how can I say that wretched we,
Poor mortals, aught do understand? On thee
We all depend, and nothing can transact,
But as thy sacred wisdom shall enact.
(Euripides, "Suppliants," 734.)
O Jupiter, how can I say that we, the unfortunate,
Poor humans, understand anything at all? We
Rely on you, and nothing can happen
Except as your sacred wisdom decides.
(Euripides, "Suppliants," 734.)And himself writes many things agreeable to these. In fine, he says that nothing, be it never so little, either rests or is moved otherwise than according to the reason of Jupiter, which is the same thing with Fate. Moreover, the antecedent cause is weaker than the absolute one, and attains not to its effect when it is subdued by others that rise up against it. But he himself declaring Fate to be an invincible, unimpeachable, and inflexible cause, calls it Atropos, (That is, Unchangeable.) Adrasteia, (That is, Unavoidable.) Necessity, and Pepromene (as putting a limit to all things). Whether then shall we say, that neither consents nor virtues nor vices nor doing well nor doing ill is in our power? Or shall we affirm, that Fate is deficient, that terminating destiny is unable to determine, and that the motions and habits of Jupiter cannot be effective? For the one of these two consequences will follow from Fate's being an absolute, the other from its being only an antecedent cause. For if it is an absolute cause, it takes away our free will and leaves nothing in our control; and if it is only antecedent, it loses its being unimpeachable and effectual. For not once or ten times, but everywhere, especially in his Physics, he has written, that there are many obstacles and impediments to particular natures and motions, but none to that of the universe. And how can the motion of the universe, extending as it does to particular ones, be undisturbed and unimpeached, if these are stopped and hindered? For neither can the nature of man be free from impediment, if that of the foot or hand is not so; nor can the motion of a ship but be hindered, if there are any obstacles about the sails or the operation of the oars.
And he himself writes many things that align with these ideas. In short, he says that nothing, no matter how small, either rests or moves except according to Jupiter's reasoning, which is the same as Fate. Additionally, the prior cause is weaker than the absolute one and fails to achieve its effect when challenged by others. However, he states that Fate is an unstoppable, unquestionable, and rigid cause, referring to it as Atropos (which means Unchangeable), Adrasteia (meaning Unavoidable), Necessity, and Pepromene (as it limits all things). Should we then say that neither consent, virtues, nor vices, nor doing good or bad is within our control? Or should we argue that Fate is lacking, meaning that fixed destiny cannot determine anything, and that Jupiter's motions and habits are ultimately ineffective? Because one of these two outcomes will result from Fate being absolute, while the other comes from it being merely a prior cause. If it is an absolute cause, it takes away our free will and leaves nothing in our control; but if it is only a prior cause, it loses its status as unquestionable and effective. For not just once or ten times, but repeatedly, especially in his Physics, he has written that there are many obstacles and impediments to particular natures and motions, but none to that of the universe. And how can the universe's motion, which encompasses particular motions, remain undisturbed and unquestioned if they are being stopped and hindered? For neither can human nature be free from impediment if the movement of a foot or hand is not; nor can a ship's movement be unimpeded if there are obstacles affecting the sails or the operation of the oars.
Besides all this, if the fantasies are not according to Fate, neither are they causes of consents; but if, because it imprints fantasies leading to consent, the consents are said to be according to Fate, how is it not contrary to itself, imprinting in the greatest matters different imaginations and such as draw the understanding contrary ways? For (they say) those who adhere to one of them, and withhold not their consent, do amiss: if they yield to obscure things, they stumble; if to false, they are deceived; if to such as are not commonly comprehended, they opine. And yet one of these three is of necessity,—either that every fantasy is not the work of Fate, or that every receipt and consent of fantasy is faultless, or that Fate itself is not irreprehensible. For I do not know how it can be blameless, proposing to us such fantasies that not the resisting or going against them, but the following and yielding to them, is blamable. Moreover, both Chrysippus and Antipater, in their disputes against the Academics, take not a little pains to prove that we neither act nor are incited without consent, saying, that they build on fictions and false suppositions who think that, a proper fantasy being presented, we are presently incited, without having either yielded or consented. Again, Chrysippus says, that God imprints in us false imaginations, as does also the wise man; not that they would have us consent or yield to them, but only that we should act and be incited with regard to that which appears; but we, being evil, do through infirmity consent to such fantasies. Now, the perplexity and discrepancy of these discourses among themselves are not very difficult to be discerned. For he that would not have men consent but only act according to the fantasies which he offers unto them—whether he be God or a wise man—knows that the fantasies are sufficient for acting, and that consents are superfluous. For if, knowing that the imagination gives us not an instinct to work without consent, he ministers to us false and probable fantasies, he is the voluntary cause of our falling and erring by assenting to incomprehensible things.
Besides all this, if the fantasies aren't aligned with Fate, then they're not causes for consent. But if, because they create fantasies that lead to consent, these consents are considered to align with Fate, how can that not contradict itself by giving rise to different imaginings in the most significant matters that pull understanding in different directions? People say that those who cling to one of these fantasies and do not hold back their consent are in the wrong: if they give in to unclear things, they trip up; if to falsehoods, they're deceived; if to things that aren't widely understood, they judge poorly. And yet one of these three must be true—either not every fantasy is the work of Fate, or every perception and consent to fantasy is flawless, or Fate itself is not without blame. I don’t see how it can be blameless when it presents us with such fantasies that make resisting or opposing them blameworthy, while following and yielding to them is what's criticized. Furthermore, both Chrysippus and Antipater, in their arguments against the Academics, work hard to show that we neither act nor are driven to act without consent, claiming those who believe that a proper fantasy arises and we’re immediately compelled without having yielded or consented are relying on fictions and false assumptions. Again, Chrysippus states that God instills false imaginations in us, just like the wise man does; not that they want us to consent or yield to them, but only that we should act and be motivated by what appears before us. However, we, being flawed, unfortunately consent to such fantasies due to our weaknesses. The confusion and contradictions in these discussions are not too hard to identify. For someone who does not want people to consent but only to act based on the fantasies presented to them—whether that person is God or a wise man—understands that the fantasies are enough for action, and that consent is unnecessary. If they know that imagination does not drive us to act without consent, yet they present us with false and likely fantasies, then they are the voluntary cause of our failures and errors by leading us to agree to incomprehensible things.
THE EATING OF FLESH.
TRACT I. You ask of me then for what reason it was that Pythagoras abstained from eating of flesh. I for my part do much wonder in what humor, with what soul or reason, the first man with his mouth touched slaughter, and reached to his lips the flesh of a dead animal, and having set before people courses of ghastly corpses and ghosts, could give those parts the names of meat and victuals, that but a little before lowed, cried, moved, and saw; how his sight could endure the blood of slaughtered, flayed, and mangled bodies; how his smell could bear their scent; and how the very nastiness happened not to offend the taste, while it chewed the sores of others, and participated of the saps and juices of deadly wounds.
TRACT I. So, you want to know why Pythagoras chose not to eat meat. Honestly, I’m amazed at how the first person ever decided to take a bite of flesh. How could someone bring the meat of a dead animal to their lips and serve others dishes made from gruesome corpses, calling them food and meals, when not long before, those animals were alive, mooing, crying, moving, and seeing? How could they stand the sight of blood from slaughtered, skinned, and mutilated bodies? How could they tolerate the smell? And how did the disgusting nature of it all not bother their taste, while they chewed on the wounds of others and consumed the fluids from fatal injuries?
Crept the raw hides, and with a bellowing sound
Roared the dead limbs; the burning entrails groaned.
("Odyssey," xii. 395.)
The raw hides crept, and with a loud roar
The dead limbs echoed; the burning guts groaned.
("Odyssey," xii. 395.)This indeed is but a fiction and fancy; but the fare itself is truly monstrous and prodigious,—that a man should have a stomach to creatures while they yet bellow, and that he should be giving directions which of things yet alive and speaking is fittest to make food of, and ordering the several kinds of the seasoning and dressing them and serving them up to tables. You ought rather, in my opinion, to have inquired who first began this practice, than who of late times left it off.
This is definitely just a fiction and a fantasy; however, the act itself is truly shocking and incredible—that a person should have the stomach to eat creatures while they are still alive, and that they should be deciding which of the living and vocal beings is best suited for food, and organizing the different types of seasoning, preparing them, and serving them at tables. In my opinion, you should have asked who first started this practice instead of who recently stopped it.
And truly, as for those people who first ventured upon eating of flesh, it is very probable that the whole reason of their so doing was scarcity and want of other food; for it is not likely that their living together in lawless and extravagant lusts, or their growing wanton and capricious through the excessive variety of provisions then among them, brought them to such unsociable pleasures as these, against Nature. Yea, had they at this instant but their sense and voice restored to them, I am persuaded they would express themselves to this purpose:
And really, for those people who first started eating meat, it's very likely that the main reason was a shortage and lack of other food; it's not probable that their living together in chaotic and excessive desires, or becoming overly indulgent and unpredictable because of the wide variety of food available to them, led them to such unsocial pleasures as these, which go against nature. Yes, if they could just regain their sense and voice right now, I'm sure they would say something like this:
"Oh! happy you, and highly favored of the gods, who now live! Into what an age of the world are you fallen, who share and enjoy among you a plentiful portion of good things! What abundance of things spring up for your use! What fruitful vineyards you enjoy! What wealth you gather from the fields! What delicacies from trees and plants, which you may gather! You may glut and fill yourselves without being polluted. As for us, we fell upon the most dismal and affrighting part of time, in which we were exposed by our production to manifold and inextricable wants and necessities. As yet the thickened air concealed the heaven from our view, and the stars were as yet confused with a disorderly huddle of fire and moisture and violent fluxions of winds. As yet the sun was not fixed to a regular and certain course, so as to separate morning and evening, nor did the seasons return in order crowned with wreaths from the fruitful harvest. The land was also spoiled by the inundations of disorderly rivers; and a great part of it was deformed with marshes, and utterly wild by reason of deep quagmires, unfertile forests, and woods. There was then no production of tame fruits, nor any instruments of art or invention of wit. And hunger gave no time, nor did seed-time then stay for the yearly season. What wonder is it if we made use of the flesh of beasts contrary to Nature, when mud was eaten and the bark of wood, and when it was thought a happy thing to find either a sprouting grass or a root of any plant! But when they had by chance tasted of or eaten an acorn, they danced for very joy about some oak or esculus, calling it by the names of life-giver, mother, and nourisher. And this was the only festival that those times were acquainted with; upon all other occasions, all things were full of anguish and dismal sadness. But whence is it that a certain ravenousness and frenzy drives you in these happy days to pollute yourselves with blood, since you have such an abundance of things necessary for your subsistence? Why do you belie the earth as unable to maintain you? Why do you profane the lawgiver Ceres, and shame the mild and gentle Bacchus, as not furnishing you with sufficiency? Are you not ashamed to mix tame fruits with blood and slaughter? You are indeed wont to call serpents, leopards, and lions savage creatures; but yet yourselves are defiled with blood, and come nothing behind them in cruelty. What they kill is their ordinary nourishment, but what you kill is your better fare."
"Oh! Happy you, and favored by the gods, who live in this time! What an era you’ve come into, sharing and enjoying a wealth of good things! Look at all the resources at your disposal! What beautiful vineyards you have! What riches you gather from the fields! What delicious fruits you can pick from trees and plants! You can indulge and fill yourselves without guilt. As for us, we fell into the darkest and most frightening time, where we faced countless struggles and needs due to our existence. The thick air hid the sky from our sight, and the stars were lost in a chaotic mix of fire, moisture, and fierce winds. The sun did not yet follow a regular path to mark morning and evening, nor did the seasons return in order, crowned with the fruits of harvest. The land was damaged by unpredictable floods; large areas were ruined by marshes and left wild due to deep swamps, unproductive forests, and tangled woods. There were no farmed fruits, nor tools or inventions. Hunger didn’t wait, and planting didn’t adhere to the yearly rhythm. Is it any wonder we resorted to eating animal flesh against Nature, when we ate mud and tree bark, and finding even a sprouting grass or a root was considered a stroke of luck? Yet when they accidentally tasted an acorn, they danced in joy around an oak or chestnut tree, calling it names like life-giver, mother, and nourisher. That was the only celebration known to those times; at all other moments, everything was filled with pain and despair. But why does a certain greed and frenzy push you in these blessed days to taint yourselves with blood, when you have so much to sustain you? Why do you claim the earth cannot provide for you? Why do you disgrace the lawgiver Ceres, and embarrass the gentle Bacchus, as if they don’t offer enough? Shouldn’t you be ashamed to mix fruits with blood and slaughter? You call serpents, leopards, and lions savage creatures; yet you are corrupted by blood, matching them in cruelty. What they kill is their usual food; what you kill is your delicacy."
For we eat not lions and wolves by way of revenge; but we let those go, and catch the harmless and tame sort, and such as have neither stings nor teeth to bite with, and slay them; which, so may Jove help us, Nature seems to us to have produced for their beauty and comeliness only. [Just as if one seeing the river Nilus overflowing its banks, and thereby filling the whole country with genial and fertile moisture, should not at all admire that secret power in it that produces plants and plenteousness of most sweet and useful fruits, but beholding somewhere a crocodile swimming in it, or an asp crawling along, or mice (savage and filthy creatures), should presently affirm these to be the occasion of all that is amiss, or of any want or defect that may happen. Or as if indeed one contemplating this land or ground, how full it is of tame fruits, and how heavy with ears of corn, should afterwards espy somewhere in these same cornfields an ear of darnel or a wild vetch, and thereupon neglect to reap and gather in the corn, and fall a complaining of these. Such another thing it would be, if one—listening to the harangue of some advocate at some bar or pleading, swelling and enlarging and hastening towards the relief of some impending danger, or else, by Jupiter, in the impeaching and charging of certain audacious villanies or indictments, flowing and rolling along, and that not in a simple and poor strain, but with many sorts of passions all at once, or rather indeed with all sorts, in one and the same manner, into the many and various and differing minds of either hearers or judges that he is either to turn and change, or else, by Jupiter, to soften, appease, and quiet—should overlook all this business, and never consider or reckon upon the labor or struggle he had undergone, but pick up certain loose expressions, which the rapid motion of the discourse had carried along with it, as by the current of its course, and so had slipped and escaped the rest of the oration, and, hereupon undervalue the orator.]
For we don’t eat lions and wolves out of revenge; instead, we let them go and catch the harmless, tame ones—those without stings or teeth to bite with—and kill them; which, as Jove is my witness, Nature seems to have created solely for their beauty and charm. [It’s like someone seeing the Nile overflowing its banks, filling the whole land with rich, fertile moisture, yet failing to appreciate the hidden power that produces plants and an abundance of delightful, useful fruits. Instead, they see a crocodile swimming by, or a snake slithering along, or filthy mice, and immediately declare these to be the source of everything that goes wrong, or any shortage or problem that arises. Or consider someone looking at this land filled with domestic fruits and heavy with ripening grain, and then spotting a weed or wild vetch in the cornfield, and deciding to ignore the harvest, complaining about these nuisances instead. It would be the same if someone—listening to a lawyer speaking passionately in court, building up to prevent some serious threat or, by Jupiter, accusing someone of flagrant crimes, flowing and building their argument not in a simple way, but with a mix of emotions all at once, or even all at the same time—were to overlook all that effort and struggle, and focus instead on a few loose words that the fast-paced speech carried along, which had slipped away from the rest of the argument, and thus undervalue the speaker.]
But we are nothing put out of countenance, either by the beauteous gayety of the colors, or by the charmingness of the musical voices, or by the rare sagacity of the intellects, or by the cleanliness and neatness of diet, or by the rare discretion and prudence of these poor unfortunate animals; but for the sake of some little mouthful of flesh, we deprive a soul of the sun and light, and of that proportion of life and time it had been born into the world to enjoy. And then we fancy that the voices it utters and screams forth to us are nothing else but certain inarticulate sounds and noises, and not the several deprecations, entreaties, and pleadings of each of them, as it were saying thus to us: "I deprecate not thy necessity (if such there be), but thy wantonness. Kill me for thy feeding, but do not take me off for thy better feeding." O horrible cruelty! It is truly an affecting sight to see the very table of rich people laid before them, who keep them cooks and caterers to furnish them with dead corpses for their daily fare; but it is yet more affecting to see it taken away, for the mammocks remaining are more than that which was eaten. These therefore were slain to no purpose. Others there are, who are so offended by what is set before them that they will not suffer it to be cut or sliced; thus abstaining from them when dead, while they would not spare them when alive.
But we are nothing but a mess, whether it's because of the beautiful colors, the lovely sounds of music, the incredible sharpness of these minds, the cleanliness and tidiness of their meals, or the rare sense and caution of these poor unfortunate creatures. Yet, just for a small piece of meat, we take away a soul's sunshine and the time it was meant to enjoy. Then we convince ourselves that the sounds it makes and the screams it emits are just meaningless noises, not the desperate pleas and requests each creature expresses, as if saying: "I'm not against your need (if that's what it is), but your cruelty. You can kill me to eat, but don't take me just for your pleasure." Oh, the horror of it! It's truly heartbreaking to see a rich person's table set with cooks and caterers providing them with dead bodies for their every meal; but it's even more heartbreaking to see the leftovers, which are often more than what was eaten. These creatures were killed for no reason. Others are so disgusted by what's served to them that they won't allow it to be cut or sliced; they refrain from touching the dead while showing no mercy when they were alive.
Well, then, we understand that that sort of men are used to say, that in eating of flesh they follow the conduct and direction of Nature. But that it is not natural to mankind to feed on flesh, we first of all demonstrate from the very shape and figure of the body. For a human body no ways resembles those that were born for ravenousness; it hath no hawk's bill, no sharp talon, no roughness of teeth, no such strength of stomach or heat of digestion, as can be sufficient to convert or alter such heavy and fleshy fare. But even from hence, that is, from the smoothness of the tongue, and the slowness of the stomach to digest, Nature seems to disclaim all pretence to fleshy victuals. But if you will contend that yourself was born to an inclination to such food as you have now a mind to eat, do you then yourself kill what you would eat. But do it yourself, without the help of a chopping-knife, mallet, or axe,—as wolves, bears, and lions do, who kill and eat at once. Rend an ox with thy teeth, worry a hog with thy mouth, tear a lamb or a hare in pieces, and fall on and eat it alive as they do. But if thou hadst rather stay until what thou greatest is become dead, and if thou art loath to force a soul out of its body, why then dost thou against Nature eat an animate thing? Nay, there is nobody that is willing to eat even a lifeless and a dead thing as it is; but they boil it, and roast it, and alter it by fire and medicines, as it were, changing and quenching the slaughtered gore with thousands of sweet sauces, that the palate being thereby deceived may admit of such uncouth fare. It was indeed a witty expression of a Lacedaemonian, who, having purchased a small fish in a certain inn, delivered it to his landlord to be dressed; and as he demanded cheese, and vinegar, and oil to make sauce, he replied, if I had had those, I would not have bought the fish. But we are grown so wanton in our bloody luxury, that we have bestowed upon flesh the name of meat [Greek omitted], and then require another seasoning [Greek omitted], to this same flesh, mixing oil, wine, honey, pickle, and vinegar, with Syrian and Arabian spices, as though we really meant to embalm it after its disease. Indeed when things are dissolved and made thus tender and soft, and are as it were turned into a sort of a carrionly corruption, it must needs be a great difficulty for concoction to master them, and when it hath mastered them, they must needs cause grievous oppressions and qualmy indigestions.
Well, we get that some people say that eating meat is following Nature's way. But we can show that it’s not natural for humans to eat meat, starting with our body shape. The human body doesn't resemble those designed for being carnivores; we don’t have a hawk's beak, sharp claws, rough teeth, or the strong stomach and digestion needed to handle heavy, meaty meals. Even the smoothness of our tongue and the slow digestion process suggests that Nature doesn’t support the idea of eating flesh. But if you argue that you have an instinct for the types of food you want to eat, then go ahead and kill what you want to eat yourself. Do it without a knife, mallet, or axe—like wolves, bears, and lions do, who hunt and eat at the same time. Tear an ox apart with your teeth, attack a pig with your mouth, rip apart a lamb or a hare, and eat it while it’s still alive, just like they do. But if you'd rather wait until what you want to eat is dead and you’re reluctant to take a life, then why do you eat something that’s still alive against Nature? In fact, no one really wants to eat a lifeless, dead thing as it is; we boil it, roast it, and cook it with fire and other things, changing the slaughtered flesh with sweet sauces so that our taste buds can accept such unusual food. It was indeed a clever remark by a Spartan who, after buying a small fish at an inn, asked his landlord to cook it for him; when he asked for cheese, vinegar, and oil for sauce, the Spartan replied, "If I had those, I wouldn't have bought the fish." We’ve become so indulgent in our bloody habits that we call meat "food" and then require additional seasoning for it, mixing oil, wine, honey, pickles, and vinegar, along with Syrian and Arabian spices, as if we truly meant to preserve it after its death. When food is broken down and turned soft and mushy, as if it has started to rot, it's a challenge for digestion to handle it, and even once it’s digested, it often leads to serious discomfort and indigestion.
Diogenes ventured once to eat a raw pourcontrel, that he might disuse himself from meat dressed by fire; and as several priests and other people stood round him, he wrapped his head in his cassock, and so putting the fish to his mouth, he thus said unto them: It is for your sake, sirs, that I undergo this danger, and run this risk. A noble and gallant risk, by Jupiter! For far otherwise than as Pelopidas ventured his life for the liberty of the Thebans, and Harmodius and Aristogiton for that of the Athenians, did this philosopher encounter with a raw pourcontrel, to the end he might make human life more brutish. Moreover, these same flesh-eatings not only are preternatural to men's bodies, but also by clogging and cloying them, they render their very minds and intellects gross. For it is well known to most, that wine and much flesh-eating make the body indeed strong and lusty, but the mind weak and feeble. And that I may not offend the wrestlers, I will make use of examples out of my own country. The Athenians are wont to call us Boeotians gross, senseless, and stupid fellows, for no other reason but our over-much eating; by Pindar we are called hogs, for the same reason. Menander the comedian calls us "fellows with long jaws." It is observed also that, according to the saying of Heraclitus, "the wisest soul is like a dry light." Earthen jars, if you strike them, will sound; but if they be full, they perceive not the strokes that are given them. Copper vessels also that are thin communicate the sound round about them, unless some one stop and dull the ambient stroke with his fingers. Moreover, the eye, when seized with an over-great plenitude of humors, grows dim and feeble for its ordinary work. When we behold the sun through a humid air and a great quantity of gross and indigested vapors, we see it not clear and bright, but obscure and cloudy, and with glimmering beams. Just so in a muddy and clogged body, that is swagged down with heavy and unnatural nourishments; it must needs happen that the gayety and splendor of the mind be confused and dulled, and that it ramble and roll after little and scarce discernible objects, since it wants clearness and vigor for higher things.
Diogenes once tried to eat a raw pourcontrel to toughen himself against cooked food. As several priests and others stood around him, he wrapped his head in his cloak and brought the fish to his mouth, saying to them, "I'm taking this risk for your sake, gentlemen. What a noble and brave risk, by Jupiter! Unlike Pelopidas, who risked his life for the freedom of the Thebans, or Harmodius and Aristogiton for the Athenians, this philosopher faced a raw pourcontrel to make human life more bestial. Moreover, these flesh-eaters not only wreak havoc on people's bodies but also, by overwhelming them, make their minds dull. It's well known that wine and excessive meat consumption may strengthen the body but weaken the mind. To avoid offending the wrestlers, I'll use examples from my own country. The Athenians often call us Boeotians gross, senseless, and stupid, primarily because we overeat; Pindar refers to us as hogs for the same reason. Menander the comedian calls us "fellow with long jaws." It's also noted, according to Heraclitus, that "the wisest soul is like a dry light." If you strike earthen jars, they will resonate; but if they're full, they won't respond to the blows. Thin copper vessels also transmit sound unless someone dampens the impact with their fingers. Furthermore, when the eye is overwhelmed with too many humors, it becomes dim and weak in its usual function. When we look at the sun through humid air filled with thick, undigested vapors, it appears unclear and cloudy with faint rays. Similarly, in a muddy and heavy body weighed down by unnatural foods, the joy and brightness of the mind are bound to be muddied and dulled, causing it to chase after trivial and barely noticeable things since it lacks clarity and energy for greater pursuits.
But to pass by these considerations, is not accustoming one's self to mildness and a human temper of mind an admirable thing? For who would wrong or injure a man that is so sweetly and humanly disposed with respect to the ills of strangers that are not of his kind? I remember that three days ago, as I was discoursing, I made mention of a saying of Xenocrates, and how the Athenians gave judgment upon a certain person who had flayed a living ram. For my part I cannot think him a worse criminal that torments a poor creature while living, than a man that shall take away its life and murder it. But (as it seems) we are more sensible of what is done against custom than against Nature. There, however, I discussed these matters in a more popular style. But as for that grand and mysterious principle which (as Plato speaks) is incredible to base minds and to such as affect only mortal things, I as little care to move it in this discourse as a pilot doth a ship in a storm, or a comedian his machine while the scenes are moving; but perhaps it would not be amiss, by way of introduction and preface, to repeat certain verses of Empedocles.... For in these, by way of allegory, he hints at men's souls, as that they are tied to mortal bodies, to be punished for murders, eating of flesh and of one another, although this doctrine seems much, ancienter than his time. For the fables that are storied and related about the discerption of Bacchus, and the attempts of the Titans upon him, and of their tasting of his slain body, and of their several punishments and fulminations afterwards, are but a representation of the regeneration. For what in us is unreasonable, disorderly, and boisterous, being not divine but demoniac, the ancients termed Titans, that is, TORMENTED and PUNISHED (from [Greek omitted])....
But setting aside these thoughts, isn't it admirable to cultivate a gentle and humane mindset? Who would harm or hurt someone who is so kind and compassionate towards the sufferings of others who aren't like him? I remember that three days ago, while I was talking, I mentioned a saying from Xenocrates about how the Athenians judged a person who had skinned a living ram. Personally, I can't see that person as a worse criminal for torturing a helpless creature while it's alive than one who kills it outright. Yet, it seems we are more sensitive to violations of custom than to those against Nature. Anyway, I discussed these topics in a more relatable way back then. As for that profound and mysterious idea that Plato says is unbelievable to those who are base-minded and only focus on worldly things, I’d rather avoid it in this discussion, much like a pilot wouldn't steer a ship in a storm, or a comedian wouldn't mess with his props while performing. However, it might be helpful to start with certain verses from Empedocles.... In these verses, he metaphorically suggests that human souls are bound to mortal bodies as a punishment for violence, eating meat, and consuming one another, even though this idea seems much older than his time. The myths about the dismemberment of Bacchus, the Titans' attempts against him, their tasting of his slain body, and their various punishments afterward, are merely representations of regeneration. What is unreasonable, chaotic, and unruly in us, being more demonic than divine, the ancients called Titans, meaning TORMENTED and PUNISHED (from [Greek omitted])....
TRACT II. Reason persuades us now to return with fresh cogitations and dispositions to what we left cold yesterday of our discourse about flesh-eating. It is indeed a hard and a difficult task to undertake (as Cato once said) to dispute with men's bellies, that have no ears; since most have already drunk that draught of custom, which is like that of Ciree,
TRACT II. Reason encourages us to come back with new thoughts and attitudes to what we left unresolved yesterday in our discussion about eating meat. It’s truly a tough and challenging job (as Cato once said) to argue with people’s appetites, which don’t listen; since most have already indulged in that habit, which is like that of Ciree,
Of groans and frauds and sorcery replete.
("Odyssey," x. 234.)
Of groans, deceit, and magic in abundance.
("Odyssey," x. 234.)And it is no easy task to pull out the hook of flesh-eating from the jaws of such as have gorged themselves with luxury and are (as it were) nailed down with it. It would indeed be a good action, if as the Egyptians draw out the stomach of a dead body, and cut it open and expose it to the sun, as the only cause of all its evil actions, so we could, by cutting out our gluttony and blood-shedding, purify and cleanse the remainder of our lives. For the stomach itself is not guilty of bloodshed, but is involuntarily polluted by our intemperance. But if this may not be, and we are ashamed by reason of custom to live unblamably, let us at least sin with discretion. Let us eat flesh; but let it be for hunger and not for wantonness. Let us kill an animal; but let us do it with sorrow and pity, and not abusing and tormenting it, as many nowadays are used to do, while some run red-hot spits through the bodies of swine, that by the tincture of the quenched iron the blood may be to that degree mortified, that it may sweeten and soften the flesh in its circulation; others jump and stamp upon the udders of sows that are ready to pig, that so they may crush into one mass (O Piacular Jupiter!) in the very pangs of delivery, blood, milk, and the corruption of the mashed and mangled young ones, and so eat the most inflamed part of the animal; others sew up the eyes of cranes and swans, and so shut them up in darkness to be fattened, and then souse up their flesh with certain monstrous mixtures and pickles.
And it's not an easy task to remove the hook of gluttony from those who have indulged themselves in luxury and are, so to speak, stuck in it. It would really be a good thing if we could, like the Egyptians who pull out the stomach of a dead body, open it up and expose it to the sun as the source of all its wrongdoings—if we could cut out our gluttony and cruelty to cleanse the rest of our lives. The stomach itself isn't guilty of violence; it's tainted by our lack of self-control. But if we can't do that, and we're embarrassed by society to live righteously, let's at least sin wisely. Let’s eat meat, but for hunger, not for pleasure. Let’s kill an animal, but do it with sorrow and compassion, not by abusing and tormenting it, like many people do these days. Some skewer pigs with red-hot spikes to make the blood congeal, thinking it will make the meat tastier and softer; others jump on the udders of pregnant sows to crush the blood, milk, and remains of the unborn in their suffering; and some blind cranes and swans to fatten them in darkness, then soak their meat in strange mixtures and pickles.
By all which it is most manifest, that it is not for nourishment, or want, or any necessity, but for mere gluttony, wantonness, and expensiveness, that they make a pleasure of villany. Just as it happens in persons who cannot satiate their passion upon women, and having made trial of everything else and falling into vagaries, at last attempt things not to be mentioned; even so inordinateness in feeding, when it hath once passed the bounds of nature and necessity, studies at last to diversify the lusts of its intemperate appetite by cruelty and villany. For the senses, when they once quit their natural measures, sympathize with each other in their distempers, and are enticed by each other to the same consent and intemperance. Thus a distempered ear first debauched music, the soft and effeminate notes of which provoke immodest touches and lascivious tickling. These things first taught the eye not to delight in Pyrrhic dances, gesticulations of hands, or elegant pantomimes, nor in statues and fine paintings; but to reckon the slaughtering and death of mankind and wounds and duels the most sumptuous of shows and spectacles. Thus unlawful tables are accompanied with intemperate copulations, with unmusicianlike balls, and theatres become monstrous through shameful songs and rehearsals; and barbarous and brutish shows are again accompanied with an unrelenting temper and savage cruelty towards mankind. Hence it was that the divine Lycurgus in his Three Books of Laws gave orders that the doors and ridges of men's houses should be made with a saw and an axe, and that no other instrument should so much as be brought to any house. Not that he did hereby intend to declare war against augers and planes and other instruments of finer work; but because he very well knew that with such tools as these you will never bring into your house a gilded couch, and that you will never attempt to bring into a slender cottage either silver tables, purple carpets, or costly stones; but that a plain supper and a homely dinner must accompany such a house, couch table, and cup. The beginning of a vicious diet is presently followed by all sorts of luxury and expensiveness,
By all this, it’s clear that they seek pleasure not from necessity, but simply out of gluttony, indulgence, and extravagance, turning to villainy for enjoyment. This is like people who can't satisfy their desires with women and, after trying everything else and spiraling into strange behaviors, end up pursuing unspeakable things. Similarly, once eating goes beyond natural limits and needs, it eventually seeks to satisfy its excessive cravings through cruelty and wickedness. The senses, when they disregard their natural boundaries, affect each other in their disturbances and lure one another into the same indulgences. Thus, an unchecked ear first corrupts music, as its soft and delicate notes encourage inappropriate touches and lewd sensations. These things teach the eye to find no joy in graceful dances, hand gestures, or elegant performances—nor in statues and beautiful paintings—but rather in the slaughter and death of people, along with wounds and duels as the most extravagant displays. Consequently, immoral feasts are accompanied by excessive sexual behavior, unmusical dances, and theaters become grotesque with shameful songs and performances; barbaric and savage spectacles are also paired with a relentless attitude and brutal cruelty toward humanity. This is why the wise Lycurgus, in his Three Books of Laws, ordered that the doors and beams of people's houses be made with a saw and axe, and that no other tools should be allowed in any home. He didn’t intend to wage war against augers and planes or other finer tools; it was because he understood well that with such tools, you would never bring a gilded couch into your house, nor would you attempt to fit silver tables, purple carpets, or precious stones into a modest cottage. Instead, such a house, couch, table, and cup must be accompanied by a simple meal. The start of a bad diet quickly leads to all kinds of luxury and extravagance.
Ev'n as a mare is by her thirsty colt.
Even as a mare is by her thirsty colt.
And what meal is not expensive? One for which no animal is put to death. Shall we reckon a soul to be a small expense? I will not say perhaps of a mother, or a father, or of some friend, or child, as Empedocles did; but one participating of feeling, of seeing, of hearing, of imagination, and of intellection; which each animal hath received from Nature for the acquiring of what is agreeable to it, and the avoiding what is disagreeable. Do but consider this with yourself now, which sort of philosophers render us most tame and civil, they who bid people to feed on their children, friends, fathers, and wives, when they are dead; or Pythagoras and Empedocles, that accustom men to be just towards even the other members of the creation. You laugh at a man that will not eat a sheep: but we (they will say again)—when we see you cutting off the parts of your dead father or mother, and sending it to your absent friends, and calling upon and inviting your present friends to eat the rest freely and heartily—shall we not smile? Nay, peradventure we offend at this instant time while we touch these books, without having first cleansed our hands, eyes, feet, and ears; if it be not (by Jupiter) a sufficient purgation of them to have discoursed of these matters in potable and fresh language (as Plato speaketh), thereby washing off the brackishness of hearing. Now if a man should set these books and discourses in opposition to each other, he will find that the philosophy of the one sort suits with the Seythians, Sogdians, and Melanchlaenians, of whom Herodotus's relation is scarce believed; but the sentiments of Pythagoras and Empedocles were the laws and customs of the ancients Grecians.
And what meal isn’t costly? One that doesn’t result in the death of an animal. Should we consider a life to be a minor expense? I won't imply, like Empedocles did, that it could be just a mother, father, friend, or child; but rather, a being with feelings, sight, hearing, imagination, and thought, which every animal has received from nature to pursue what it finds pleasurable and to steer clear of what it finds unpleasant. Think about this for a moment: which philosophers make us more tame and civilized? Those who suggest that people should eat their children, friends, fathers, and wives after they die? Or Pythagoras and Empedocles, who encourage people to be just toward all living things? You might laugh at someone who won’t eat a sheep, but we might say—when we see you cutting pieces off your dead father or mother and sending them to distant friends while inviting your close friends to eat the rest freely and heartily—shouldn’t we smile? Indeed, we might even feel offended right now as we touch these books without first cleansing our hands, eyes, feet, and ears; unless (by Jupiter) simply discussing these topics in clear and fresh language (as Plato says) is enough to cleanse us of the unpleasantness of hearing them. If someone were to compare these books and discussions, they would find that the philosophy of some aligns with the Scythians, Sogdians, and Melanchlaenians, whose stories Herodotus barely gets believed; while the teachings of Pythagoras and Empedocles were the laws and customs of ancient Greeks.
Who, then, were the first authors of this opinion, that we owe no justice to dumb animals?
Who were the first people to suggest that we don't owe any justice to animals that can't speak?
Who first beat out accursed steel,
And made the lab'ring ox a knife to feel.
Who first forged the cursed steel,
And made the hard-working ox feel the knife.In the very same manner oppressors and tyrants begin first to shed blood. For example, the first man that the Athenians ever put to death was one of the basest of all knaves, who had the reputation of deserving it; after him they put to death a second and a third. After this, being now accustomed to blood, they patiently saw Niceratus the son of Nicias, and their own general Theramenes, and Polemarchus the philosopher suffer death. Even so, in the beginning, some wild and mischievous beast was killed and eaten, and then some little bird or fish was entrapped. And the desire of slaughter, being first experimented and exercised in these, at last passed even to the laboring ox, and the sheep that clothes us, and to the poor cock that keeps the house; until by little and little, unsatiableness, being strengthened by use, men came to the slaughter of men, to bloodshed and wars. Now even if one cannot demonstrate and make out, that souls in their regenerations make a promiscuous use of all bodies, and that that which is now rational will at another time be irrational, and that again tame which is now wild,—for that Nature changes and transmutes everything,
In the same way, oppressors and tyrants start by spilling blood. For instance, the first person the Athenians executed was one of the lowest scoundrels, who was considered to deserve it; after him, they executed a second and a third. After a while, having become used to bloodshed, they calmly watched as Niceratus, the son of Nicias, their general Theramenes, and the philosopher Polemarchus were put to death. It's similar to how, in the beginning, some wild and troublesome animal was hunted and consumed, followed by smaller birds or fish. The urge to kill, initially tested on these creatures, eventually extended to working oxen, the sheep that provide us with clothing, and even the poor rooster that watches over the home; until gradually, as this insatiable desire grew stronger through habit, people progressed to killing one another, leading to bloodshed and wars. Even if one cannot prove that souls, in their reincarnations, make a general use of all bodies, and that what is now rational may become irrational, and what is now tame might turn wild again—because Nature changes and transforms everything,
With different fleshy coats new clothing all,—
With different fleshy coats of new clothing all,—
this thing should be sufficient to change and show men, that it is a savage and intemperate habit, that it brings sickness and heaviness upon the body, and that it inclines the mind the more brutishly to bloodshed and destruction, when we have once accustomed ourselves neither to entertain a guest nor keep a wedding nor to treat our friends without blood and slaughter.
this should be enough to change and show people that it's a savage and excessive habit, that it brings illness and heaviness to the body, and that it leads the mind more brutishly towards violence and destruction when we’ve become used to not hosting a guest, not celebrating a wedding, or not treating our friends without bloodshed and slaughter.
And if what is argued about the return of souls into bodies is not of force enough to beget faith, yet methinks the very uncertainty of the thing should fill us with apprehension and fear. Suppose, for instance, one should in some night-engagement run on with his drawn sword upon one that had fallen down and covered his body with his arms, and should in the meantime hear one say, that he was not very sure, but that he fancied and believed, that the party lying there was his own son, brother, father, or tent-companion; which were more advisable, think you,—to hearken to a false suggestion, and so to let go an enemy under the notion of a friend, or to slight an authority not sufficient to beget faith, and to slay a friend instead of a foe? This you will all say would be insupportable. Do but consider the famous Merope in the tragedy, who taking up a hatchet, and lifting it at her son's head, whom she took for her son's murderer, speaks thus as she was ready to give the fatal blow,
And even if the arguments about souls returning to bodies aren't strong enough to create belief, I think the uncertainty itself should make us feel anxious and afraid. Imagine, for example, someone in the dark charging at a person who has collapsed and is protecting their head with their arms. During this chaos, they hear someone mention that they aren’t completely sure, but they think and believe that the person lying there is their own son, brother, father, or companion. What do you think is the better choice: to trust a false idea and accidentally let an enemy go, thinking they are a friend, or to dismiss an insufficient authority and end up killing a friend instead of a foe? I'm sure you all agree this would be unbearable. Just think about the famous Merope in the tragedy, who, raising an axe over her son—whom she believes to be his murderer—speaks these words as she prepares to deliver the deadly strike,
Villain, this holy blow shall cleave thy head;
(Euripides, "Cresphontes," Frag. 457.)
Villain, this sacred strike will split your head;
(Euripides, "Cresphontes," Frag. 457.)what a bustle she raises in the whole theatre while she raises herself to give the blow, and what a fear they are all in, lest she should prevent the old man that comes to stop her hand, and should wound the youth. Now if another old man should stand by her and say, "Strike, it is thy enemy," and this, "Hold, it is thy son"; which, think you, would be the greater injustice, to omit the punishing of an enemy for the sake of one's child, or to suffer one's self to be so carried away with anger at an enemy as to slay one's child? Since then neither hatred nor wrath nor any revenge nor fear for ourselves carries us to the slaughter of a beast, but the poor sacrifice stands with an inclined neck, only to satisfy thy lust and pleasure, and then one philosopher stands by and tells thee, "Cut him down, it is but an unreasonable animal," and another cries, "Hold, what if there should be the soul of some kinsman or god enclosed in him?"—good gods! is there the like danger if I refuse to eat flesh, as if I for want of faith murder my child or some other friend?
What a commotion she creates in the entire theater as she prepares to strike, and how terrified everyone is that she might thwart the old man trying to stop her and end up hurting the young man. Now, if another old man stood by her and said, "Go ahead, it's your enemy," and another said, "Wait, it's your son," which do you think would be the greater injustice? To forgo punishing an enemy for the sake of one's child, or to let anger at an enemy lead you to kill your own child? Since neither hatred, nor wrath, nor any desire for revenge, nor fear for ourselves drives us to slaughter a beast; rather, the poor creature stands there with its neck bent, merely to satisfy your cravings and desires. Then one philosopher might say, "Just cut it down, it's just an unreasonable animal," while another might shout, "Wait, what if it's harboring the soul of a relative or a god?"—good gods! Is there really such danger in not eating meat, as if I were to kill my child or some other loved one out of disbelief?
The Stoics' way of reasoning upon this subject of flesh-eating is no way equal nor consonant with themselves. Who is this that hath so many mouths for his belly and the kitchen? Whence comes it to pass, that they so very much womanize and reproach pleasure, as a thing that they will not allow to be either good or preferable, or so much as agreeable, and yet all on a sudden become so zealous advocates for pleasures? It were indeed but a reasonable consequence of their doctrine, that, since they banish perfumes and cakes from their banquets, they should be much more averse to blood and to flesh. But now, just as if they would reduce their philosophy to their account-books, they lessen the expenses of their suppers in certain unnecessary and needless matters, but the untamed and murderous part of their expense they nothing boggle at. "Well! What then?" say they. "We have nothing to do with brute beasts." Nor have you any with perfumes, nor with foreign sauces, may some one answer; therefore leave these out of your banquets, if you are driving out everything that is both useless and needless.
The Stoics' reasoning on the topic of eating meat is inconsistent and contradictory. Who is it that has so many mouths for their stomach and the kitchen? How is it that they criticize and scorn pleasure, claiming it's not good, preferable, or even agreeable, yet suddenly become strong supporters of pleasures? It would make sense according to their teachings that, since they reject perfumes and sweets from their feasts, they should be even more against blood and flesh. But instead, it's as if they're trying to balance their philosophy with their budgets; they cut back on unnecessary costs for their dinners but have no issue with the more savage and violent aspects of their spending. "Well! So what?" they say. "We have nothing to do with animals." Nor do you have anything to do with perfumes or exotic sauces, someone might respond; so why not remove those from your meals if you're trying to eliminate everything that's useless and unnecessary?
Let us therefore in the next place consider, whether we owe any justice to the brute beasts. Neither shall we handle this point artificially, or like subtle sophisters, but by casting our eye into our own breasts, and conversing with ourselves as men, we will weigh and examine the whole matter....
Let’s consider next whether we owe any justice to animals. We won’t approach this point artificially or like clever debaters, but by looking into our own hearts and having an honest conversation with ourselves as human beings, we will reflect on and examine the whole issue....
CONCERNING FATE.
("This little Treatise is so pitiously torne, maimed, and dismembred thorowout, that a man may sooner divine and guess thereat (as I have done) than translate it."—HOLLAND.)
("This little Treatise is so sadly torn, damaged, and broken throughout, that a person may be able to guess its meaning (as I have) rather than translate it."—HOLLAND.)
I will endeavor, my dearest Piso, to send you my opinion concerning Fate, written with all the clearness and compendiousness I am capable of; since you, who are not ignorant how cautious I am of writing, have thought fit to make it the subject of your request.
I will try, my dearest Piso, to share my thoughts about Fate, written as clearly and concisely as I can; since you, who know how careful I am about writing, have chosen to make it the topic of your request.
You are first, then, to know that this word Fate is spoken and understood two manner of ways; the one as it is an energy, the other as it is a substance. First, therefore, as it is an action, Plato (See Plato, "Phaedrus," p. 248 C; "Timaeus," p.41 E; "Republic," x. p.617 D.) has under a type described it, saying thus in his dialogue entitled Phaedrus: "And this is a sanction of Adrastea (or an inevitable ordinance), that whatever soul being an attendant on God," &c. And in his treatise called Timaeus: "The laws which God in the nature of the universe has established for immortal souls." And in his book of a Commonweal he entitles Fate "the speech of the virgin Lachesis, who is the daughter of Necessity." By which sentences he not tragically but theologically shows us what his sentiments are in this matter. Now if any one, paraphrasing the fore-cited passages, would have them expressed in more familiar terms, the description in Phaedrus may be thus explained: That Fate is a divine sentence, intransgressible since its cause cannot be divested or hindered. And according to what he has said in his Timaeus, it is a law ensuing on the nature of the universe, according to which all things that are done are transacted. For this does Lachesis effect, who is indeed the daughter of Necessity,—as we have both already related, and shall yet better understand by that which will be said in the progress of our discourse. Thus you see what Fate is, when it is taken for an action.
You should first know that the term Fate is understood in two ways: one as a force and the other as a thing. First, as a force, Plato (See Plato, "Phaedrus," p. 248 C; "Timaeus," p.41 E; "Republic," x. p.617 D.) describes it in a way that suggests its impact, stating in his dialogue called Phaedrus: "And this is a decree of Adrastea (or an unavoidable law), that any soul connected to God," etc. Then in his work Timaeus: "The laws established by God in the universe's nature for immortal souls." In his book on the Republic, he refers to Fate as "the voice of the virgin Lachesis, the daughter of Necessity." Through these statements, he conveys his views not in a tragic sense but rather from a theological perspective. If someone were to restate these passages in simpler terms, the description in Phaedrus can be understood as: Fate is a divine decree that cannot be violated, as its cause can neither be removed nor obstructed. According to what he states in Timaeus, it is a law that follows the universe's nature, according to which everything occurs. This is what Lachesis brings about, who is indeed the daughter of Necessity—as we have already noted and will understand even better as our discussion continues. So, you can see what Fate is when regarded as a force.
But as it is a substance, it seems to be the universal soul of the world, and admits of a threefold distribution; the first destiny being that which errs not; the second, that which is thought to err; and the third that which, being under the heaven, is conversant about the earth. Of these, the highest is called Clotho, the next Atropos, and the lowest, Lachesis; who, receiving the celestial influences and efficacies of her sisters, transmits and fastens them to the terrestrial things which are under her government. Thus have we declared briefly what is to be said of Fate, taken as a substance; what it is, what are its parts, after what manner it is, how it is ordained, and how it stands, both in respect to itself and to us. But as to the particularities of these things, there is another fable in his Commonweal, by which they are in some measure covertly insinuated, and we ourselves have, in the best manner we can, endeavored to explain them to you.
But as it is a substance, it appears to be the universal soul of the world and can be divided into three parts; the first destiny is infallible, the second is believed to make mistakes, and the third, which is influenced by heaven, interacts with the earth. Of these, the highest is called Clotho, the next Atropos, and the lowest is Lachesis; she takes the celestial influences and powers from her sisters and connects them to the earthly things under her control. Thus, we have briefly explained what Fate is when viewed as a substance, including what it consists of, how it operates, how it is determined, and how it relates to itself and to us. For more details on these matters, there is another story in his Commonweal, which subtly alludes to them, and we have tried our best to clarify them for you.
But we now once again turn our discourse to Fate, as it is an energy. For concerning this it is that there are so many natural, moral, and logical questions. Having therefore already in some sort sufficiently defined what it is, we are now in the next place to say something of its quality, although it may to many seem absurd. I say then that Fate, though comprehending as it were in a circle the infinity of all those things which are and have been from infinite times and shall be to infinite ages, is not in itself infinite, but determinate and finite; for neither law, reason, nor any other divine thing can be infinite. And this you will the better understand, if you consider the total revolution and the total time in which the revolutions of the eight circles (that is, of the eight spheres of the fixed stars, sun, moon, and five planets), having (as Timaeus (Plato, "Timaeus," p.39 D.) says) finished their course, return to one and the same point, being measured by the circle of the Same, which goes always after one manner. For in this order, which is finite and determinate, shall all things (which, as well in heaven as in earth, consist by necessity from above) be reduced to the same situation, and restored again to their first beginning. Wherefore the habitude of heaven alone, being thus ordained in all things, as well in regard of itself as of the earth and all terrestrial matters, shall again (after long revolutions) one day return; and those things that in order follow after, and being linked together in a continuity are maintained in their course, shall follow, every one of them by necessity bringing what is its own. But for the better clearing of this matter, let us understand that whatever is in us or about us is not wrought by the course of the heavens and heavenly influences, as being entirely the efficient cause both of my writing what I now write, and of your doing also what you at present do, and in the same manner as you do it. Hereafter, then, when the same cause shall return, we shall do the same things we now do and in the same manner, and shall again become the same men; and so it will be with all others. And that which follows after shall also happen by the following cause; and in brief, all things that shall happen in the whole and in every one of these universal revolutions shall again become the same. By this it appears (as we have said before) that Fate, being in some sort infinite, is nevertheless determinate and finite; and it may be also in some sort seen and comprehended, as we have farther said, that it is as it were a circle. For as a motion of a circle is a circle, and the time that measures it is also a circle; so the order of things which are done and happen in a circle may be justly esteemed and called a circle.
But now we turn our discussion back to Fate as an energy. This topic raises many natural, moral, and logical questions. Having somewhat defined what it is, we will now discuss its qualities, even if it may seem absurd to some. I say that Fate, while encompassing a circle of all things that exist or have existed and will exist through infinite time, is not infinite in itself but is determinate and finite; for no law, reason, or divine matter can be infinite. You will better understand this if you consider the complete revolution and total time in which the eight circles (meaning the eight spheres of fixed stars, the sun, the moon, and the five planets) finish their courses and return to a single point, as Timaeus (Plato, "Timaeus," p.39 D.) mentions, measured by the circle of the Same, which consistently follows one way. In this finite and determinate order, all things—both in heaven and on earth, which are necessarily established from above—will return to the same condition, restored to their original beginning. Thus, the nature of the heavens, being organized in this way concerning itself and earthly matters, will one day return after many revolutions; and things that follow in order, connected in continuity, will proceed, each necessitating its own contribution. To clarify this further, let us recognize that whatever exists in us or around us isn't solely influenced by the course of the heavens and celestial forces, but is entirely the cause of both my writing this and your actions as you currently perform them. In the future, when the same cause returns, we will do the same things we are currently doing and in the same way, becoming the same individuals again; this will apply to everyone else too. What follows will also occur by the subsequent cause; to sum up, all things that happen in totality and in every one of these universal revolutions will repeat themselves. Thus, as we previously stated, while Fate appears somewhat infinite, it is nonetheless determinate and finite; it can also be seen and understood in some sense as a circle. Just as the motion of a circle is a circle and the time that measures it is also a circle, the order of things that happen in a circle can rightly be regarded and referred to as a circle.
This, therefore, though there should be nothing else, almost shows us what sort of thing Fate is; but not particularly or in every respect. What kind of thing then is it in its own form? It is, as far as one can compare it, like to the civil or politic law. For first it orders the most part of things at least, if not all, conditionally; and then it comprises (as far as is possible for it) all things that belong to the public in general; and the better to make you understand both the one and the other, we must specify them by an example. The civil law speaks and ordains in general of a valiant man, and also of a deserter and a coward; and in the same manner of others. Now this is not to make the law speak of this or that man in particular, but principally to propose such things as are universal or general, and consequently such as fall under them. For we may very well say, that it is legal to reward this from his colors; because the law has virtually—though not in express terms and particularly yet in such general ones as they are comprehended under,—so determined of them. As the law (if I may so speak) of physicians and masters of corporal exercises potentially comprehends particular and special things within the general; so the law of Nature, determining first and principally general matters, secondarily and subordinately determines such as are particular. Thus, general things being decreed by Fate, particular and individual things may also in some sort be said to be so, because they are so by consequence with the general. But perhaps some one of those who more accurately examine and more subtly search into these things may say, on the contrary, that particular and individual things precede the composition of general things, and that the general exist only for the particular, since that for which another thing is always goes before that which is for it. Nevertheless, this is not the proper place to treat of this difficulty, but it is to be remitted to another. However, that Fate comprehends not all things clearly and expressly, but only such as are universal and general, let it pass for resolved on at present, as well for what we have already said a little before, as for what we shall say hereafter. For that which is finite and determinate, agreeing properly with divine Providence, is seen more in universal and general things than in particular; such therefore is the divine law, and also the civil; but infinity consists in particulars and individuals.
This, then, even if there’s nothing else, almost shows us what Fate is like; but not specifically or in every respect. So what is it really, in its true form? It’s, as much as one can compare, similar to civil or political law. First, it tends to order most things, if not all, conditionally; and then it includes, as much as possible, everything that relates to the public in general. To help you understand both concepts better, we should clarify with an example. The civil law speaks about a brave person, as well as a deserter and a coward; and it applies similarly to others. This doesn’t mean the law is speaking about this specific person or that one, but it primarily aims to address universal or general matters, and thus encompasses those individuals. We can reasonably say that it’s lawful to punish someone for abandoning their post; because the law has essentially determined that, even if it hasn't spelled it out in specific terms, it’s still conveyed in the general ideas that are included. Just as the laws (if I can put it this way) of doctors and trainers can cover specific cases under the broader category, so too does the law of Nature, first addressing general matters, and then addressing specifics in a secondary manner. In this way, once general matters are decreed by Fate, individual matters can also be somewhat considered as determined, because they follow from the general. However, someone who examines these issues more closely might argue the opposite, suggesting that individual matters come before the formation of general ones, and that general concepts exist only to serve particular cases, since that which is for something else always comes after that for which it is intended. Still, this isn’t the right time to discuss that complexity; we should save it for later. For now, it’s established that Fate doesn’t address everything clearly and explicitly, but only universal and general concepts, based on what we’ve already discussed and will discuss further. What is finite and defined, which aligns closely with divine Providence, is more evident in general and universal aspects than in particular ones; thus, both divine and civil law reflect this, while infinity resides in particulars and individuals.
After this we are to declare what this term "conditionally" means; for it is to be thought that Fate is also some such thing. That, then, is said to be conditionally, which is supposed to exist not of itself or absolutely, but as really dependent upon and joined to another; which signifies a suit and consequence. "And this is the sanction of Adrastea (or an inevitable ordinance), that whatever soul, being an attendant on God, shall see anything of truth, shall till another revolution be exempt from punishment; and if it is ever able to do the same, it shall never suffer any damage." This is said both conditionally and also universally. Now that Fate is some such thing is clearly manifest, as well from its substance as from its name. For it is called [Greek omitted] as being [Greek omitted], that is, dependent and linked; and it is a sanction or law, because things are therein ordained and disposed consequentially, as is usual in civil government.
After this, we need to explain what the term "conditionally" means; because it should be considered that Fate is something similar. So, what is said to be conditional is thought to exist not on its own or absolutely, but rather as truly dependent on and connected to another; which indicates a suit and consequence. "This is the decree of Adrastea (or an unavoidable ordinance), that any soul that serves God and sees any truth shall be exempt from punishment until another cycle; and if it ever can do the same, it will never experience any harm." This is said both conditionally and universally. Now, it’s clear that Fate is something like this, evident from its nature as well as its name. It is referred to as [Greek omitted] because it is [Greek omitted], that is, dependent and connected; and it is a decree or law because things within it are arranged and ordered consequentially, just as is common in civil governance.
We ought in the next place to consider and treat of mutual relation and affection; that is, what reference and respect Fate has to divine Providence, what to Fortune, what also to "that which is in our power," what to contingent and other such like things; and furthermore we are to determine, how far and in what it is true or false that all things happen and are done by and according to Fate. For if the meaning is, that all things are comprehended and contained in Fate, it must be granted that this proposition is true; and if any would farther have it so understood, that all things which are done amongst men, on earth, and in heaven are placed in Fate, let this also pass as granted for the present. But if (as the expression seems rather to imply) the "being done according to Fate" signifies not all things, but only that which is a direct consequent of Fate, then it must not be said that all things happen and are done by and according to Fate, though all things are so according to Fate as to be comprised in it. For all things that the law comprehends and of which it speaks are not legal or according to law; for it comprehends treason, it treats of the cowardly running away from one's colors in time of battle, of adultery, and many other such like things, of which it cannot be said that any one of them is lawful. Neither indeed can I affirm of the performing a valorous act in war, the killing of a tyrant, or the doing any other virtuous deed, that it is legal; because that only is proper to be called legal, which is commanded by the law. Now if the law commands these things, how can they avoid being rebels against the law and transgressors of it, who neither perform valiant feats of arms, kill tyrants, nor do any other such remarkable acts of virtue? And if they are transgressors of the law, why is it not just they should be punished? But if this is not reasonable, it must then be also confessed that these things are not legal or according to law; but that legal and according to law is only that which is particularly prescribed and expressly commanded by the law, in any action whatsoever. In like manner, those things only are fatal and according to Fate, which are the consequences of causes preceding in the divine disposition. So that Fate indeed comprehends all things which are done; yet many of those things that are comprehended in it, and almost all that precede, should not (to speak properly) be pronounced to be fatal or according to Fate.
We should next consider and discuss the mutual relationships and affections; that is, how Fate relates to divine Providence, how it relates to Fortune, how it relates to "what we can control," and how it relates to contingent and other similar things. Furthermore, we need to determine how far it is true or false that everything happens and is done based on Fate. If the idea is that everything is included and contained within Fate, we must agree that this statement is true; and if anyone wishes to further interpret it as meaning that everything that happens among humans, on Earth, and in the heavens is included in Fate, let that be accepted for now. However, if (as the wording suggests) "being done according to Fate" does not signify everything but only what directly follows from Fate, then it cannot be said that everything happens and is done by and according to Fate, though everything can be seen as included in Fate. Not all things included in the law are legal or according to the law; for example, the law includes treason, cowardly retreat in battle, adultery, and many other such acts, none of which can be claimed as lawful. Likewise, I cannot say that performing a brave act in war, killing a tyrant, or doing any other virtuous deed is legal; because only what is commanded by the law can be considered legal. Now, if the law commands these acts, how can those who do not engage in brave deeds, kill tyrants, or perform other acts of virtue avoid being rebels and lawbreakers? And if they are lawbreakers, why is it not fair for them to be punished? But if this reasoning is flawed, we must also admit that these actions are not legal or according to law; rather, what is legal and according to law is only what is specifically stated and explicitly commanded by the law in any given action. Similarly, only those things that result from causes established by divine will are fatal and according to Fate. Thus, Fate indeed includes everything that is done; yet many of those things included in it, and almost all that precede, should not be accurately described as fatal or according to Fate.
These things being so, we are next in order to show, how "that which is in our power" (or free will), Fortune, possible, contingent, and other like things which are placed among the antecedent causes, can consist with Fate, and Fate with them; for Fate, as it seems, comprehends all things, and yet all these things will not happen by necessity, but every one of them according to the principle of its nature. Now the nature of the possible is to presubsist, as the genus, and to go before the contingent; and the contingent, as the matter and subject, is to be in the sphere of free will; and our free will ought as a master to make use of the contingent; and Fortune comes in by the side of free will, through the property of the contingent of inclining to either part. Now you will more easily apprehend what has been said, if you shall consider that everything which is generated, and the generation itself, is not done without a generative faculty or power, and the power is not without a substance. As for example, neither the generation of man, nor that which is generated, is without a power; but this power is about man, and man himself is the substance. Now the power or faculty is between the substance, which is the powerful, and the generation and the thing generated, which are both possibles. There being then these three things, the power, the powerful, and the possible; before the power can exist, the powerful must of necessity be presupposed as its subject, and the power must also necessarily subsist before the possible. By this deduction then may in some measure be understood what is meant by possible; which may be grossly defined as "that which power is able to produce;" or yet more exactly, if to this same there be added, "provided there be nothing from without to hinder or obstruct it." Now of possible things there are some which can never be hindered, as are those in heaven, to wit, the rising and setting of the stars, and the like to these; but others may indeed be hindered, as are the most part of human things, and many also of those which are done in the air. The first, as being done by necessity, are called necessary; the others, which may fall one way or other, are called contingent; and they may both thus be described. The necessary possible is that whose contrary is impossible; and the contingent possible is that whose contrary is also possible. For that the sun should set is a thing both necessary and possible, forasmuch as it is contrary to this that the sun should not set, which is impossible; but that, when the sun is set, there should be rain or not rain, both the one and the other is possible and contingent. And then again of things contingent, some happen oftener, others rarely and not so often, others fall out equally or indifferently, as well the one way as the other, even as it happens. Now it is manifest that those are contrary to one another,—to wit, those which fall out oftener and those which happen but seldom,—and they both for the most part are dependent on Nature; but that which happens equally, as much one way as another, depends on ourselves. For that under the Dog it should be either hot or cold, the one oftener, the other seldomer, are both things subject to Nature; but to walk and not to walk, and all such things of which both the one and the other are submitted to the free will of man, are said to be in us and our election; but rather more generally to be in us. For there are two sorts of this "being in our power"; the one of which proceeds from some sudden passion and motion of the mind, as from anger or pleasure; the other from the discourse and judgment of reason, which may properly be said to be in our election. And some reason there is to hold that this possible and contingent is the same thing with that which is said to be in our power and according to our free will, although named differently. For in respect to the future, it is called possible and contingent; and in respect of the present, it is named "in our power" and "in our free choice." These things may thus be defined: The contingent is that which is itself—as well as its contrary—possible; and "that which is in our power" is one part of the contingent, to wit, that which now takes place according to our choice. Thus have we in a manner declared, that the possible in the order of Nature precedes the contingent, and that the contingent exists before free will; as also what each of them is, whence they are so named, and what are the qualities adjoined or appertaining to them.
Given these points, we next need to explain how “that which is in our power” (or free will), fortune, potential, contingent events, and similar concepts that fall under antecedent causes can coexist with fate, and fate can coexist with them. Fate seems to encompass everything, yet these events do not occur out of necessity; instead, each one happens according to its own nature. The nature of the possible is to exist beforehand, as a general concept, and to precede the contingent; the contingent, as the matter and subject, falls within the realm of free will. Our free will should act like a master to utilize the contingent, and fortune aligns with free will through the tendency of the contingent to lean toward either outcome. You will grasp what has been said more easily if you consider that everything created, and the act of creation itself, requires a generative power, and this power cannot exist without a substance. For example, neither the creation of a human nor what is created lacks this power; however, this power is related to humans, and humans themselves constitute the substance. The power or ability exists between the substance, which is the entity with power, and both the creation and the created, which are potential. Thus, with these three elements—the power, the powerful, and the possible—before the power can exist, the powerful must necessarily be acknowledged as its subject, and the power must also exist prior to the possible. This reasoning helps us understand what is meant by possible; it can be generally defined as “that which power can produce,” or more precisely, “as long as there’s nothing external to prevent it.” Among possible things, some can never be hindered, like celestial events such as the rising and setting of stars, while many aspects of human affairs and many things happening in the air can indeed be obstructed. The former, being necessary, are termed necessary; the latter, which can go either way, are termed contingent, and both can be described in this way. The necessary possibility is that which cannot have its opposite, while the contingent possibility can also have its opposite. For instance, the sun setting is both necessary and possible, since its opposite— the sun not setting—is impossible; yet, once the sun has set, whether it rains or does not rain are both possible and contingent. Again, among contingent events, some occur more frequently, others rarely, and still others happen with equal likelihood, depending on circumstances. It is clear that those events that occur more frequently oppose those that happen less often, and both are generally influenced by nature, while events that have equal chances depend on us. For instance, whether it’s hot or cold under the Dog Star—one occurring more often than the other—are matters subject to nature; but whether to walk or not, and other similar choices belong to human free will and are thus considered ours and within our control. There are two types of what is “in our power”: one arises from sudden emotions or thoughts, like anger or pleasure; the other comes from reasoned judgment, which can truly be described as our choice. There’s reason to believe that the concepts of possible and contingent align with what’s termed as being in our power and according to our free will, although referred to differently. As it relates to the future, it’s termed possible and contingent; in the context of the present, it is called “in our power” and “in our choice.” These can be defined: the contingent is what is itself possible as well as its contrary; and “that which is in our power” is part of the contingent—specifically, that which currently occurs based on our choice. Therefore, we have clarified that in terms of nature, the possible precedes the contingent, and the contingent exists before free will, including what each term means, why they are named as such, and the qualities associated with them.
It now remains, that we treat of Fortune and casual adventure, and whatever else is to be considered with them. It is therefore certain that Fortune is a cause. Now of causes, some are causes by themselves, and others by accident. Thus for example, the proper cause by itself of an house or a ship is the art of the mason, the carpenter, or the shipwright; but accidental causes are music, geometry, and whatever else may happen to be joined with the art of building houses or ships, in respect either of the body, the soul, or any exterior thing. Whence it appears, that the cause by itself must needs be determinate and one; but the causes by accident are never one and the same, but infinite and undetermined. For many—nay, infinite—accidents, wholly different one from the other, may be in one and the same subject. Now the cause by accident, when it is found in a thing which not only is done for some end but has in it free will and election, is then called Fortune; as is the finding a treasure while one is digging a hole to plant a tree, or the doing or suffering some extraordinary thing whilst one is flying, following, or otherwise walking, or only turning about, provided it be not for the sake of that which happens, but for some other intention. Hence it is, that some of the ancients have declared Fortune to be a cause unknown that cannot be foreseen by the human reason. But according to the Platonics, who have approached yet nearer to the true reason of it, it is thus defined: Fortune is a cause by accident, in those things which are done for some end, and which are of our election. And afterwards they add, that it is unforeseen and unknown to the human reason; although that which is rare and strange appears also by the same means to be in this kind of cause by accident. But what this is, if it is not sufficiently evidenced by the oppositions and disputations made against it, will at least most clearly be seen by what is written in Plato's Phaedo, where you will find these words:—
It remains for us to discuss Fortune and random chance, along with anything else related to them. It's clear that Fortune is a cause. Some causes are self-sufficient, while others are accidental. For instance, the main cause of a house or a ship is the skill of the mason, carpenter, or shipbuilder; however, accidental causes include music, geometry, and anything else that might be associated with the art of constructing houses or ships, whether it's related to the body, the soul, or anything external. This shows that the primary cause must be distinct and singular, whereas accidental causes are never the same and are instead infinite and undefined. Many, even countless, differing accidents can occur within a single subject. Now, the accidental cause, when found in something that is done not only for a purpose but also involves free will and choice, is referred to as Fortune; such as finding treasure while digging a hole to plant a tree, or experiencing something extraordinary while flying, chasing, or simply walking or turning around—provided it's not for the sake of what happens, but for some other intention. This leads some ancient thinkers to claim that Fortune is an unknown cause that cannot be predicted by human reason. However, according to the Platonists, who come closer to understanding its true nature, it is defined as an accidental cause in actions done for a purpose and of our own choosing. They also add that it is unforeseen and unknown to human reason, even though what is rare and unusual can also be seen in this type of accidental cause. What this is, if it's not sufficiently clarified by the objections and arguments against it, will at least be evident by what is written in Plato's Phaedo, where you will find these words:—
PHAED. Have you not heard how and in what manner the judgment passed? ECH. Yes indeed; for there came one and told us of it. At which we wondered very much that, the judgment having been given long before, it seems that he died a great while after. And what, Phaedo, might be the cause of it? PHAED. It was a fortune which happened to him, Echecrates. For it chanced that, the day before the judgment, the prow of the galley which the Athenians send every year to the isle of Delos was crowned. (Plato, "Phaedo," p.58 A.)
PHAED. Haven't you heard about the judgment and how it happened? ECH. Yes, we did; someone came and told us about it. We were really surprised that, although the judgment was given a long time ago, it seems he died quite some time after that. What do you think, Phaedo, could have caused this? PHAED. It was a situation that occurred with him, Echecrates. It just so happened that, the day before the judgment, the prow of the ship that the Athenians send every year to the island of Delos was decorated. (Plato, "Phaedo," p.58 A.)
In which discourse it is to be observed, that the expression HAPPENED TO HIM is not simply to be understood by WAS DONE or CAME TO PASS, but it much rather regards what befell him through the concurrence of many causes together, one being done in connection with another. For the priest crowned the ship and adorned it with garlands for another end and intention, and not for the sake of Socrates; and the judges also had for some other cause condemned him. But the event was contrary to experience, and of such a nature that it might seem to have been effected by the foresight of some human creature, or rather of the superior powers. And so much may suffice to show with what Fortune must of necessity subsist, and that there must subsist first such things as are in our free will: what it effects is, like itself called Fortune. ============== But chance or casual adventure is of a larger extent than Fortune; which it comprehends, and also several other things which may of their own nature happen sometimes one way, sometimes another. And this, as it appears by the derivation of the word, which is in Greek [Greek omitted] CHANCE, is that which happens of itself, when that which is ordinary happens not, but another thing in its place; such as cold in the dog-days seems to be; for it is sometimes then cold.... Once for all, as "that which is in our power" is a part of the contingent, so Fortune is a part of chance or casual adventure; and both the two events are conjoined and dependent on the one and the other, to wit, chance on contingent, and Fortune on "that which is in our choice,"—and yet not on all, but on what is in our election, as we have already said. Wherefore chance is common to things inanimate, as well as to those which are animated; whereas Fortune is proper to man only, who has his actions voluntary. And an argument of this is, that to be fortunate and to be happy are thought to be one and the same thing. Now happiness is a certain well-doing, and well-doing is proper only to man, and to him perfect.
In this discussion, it's important to note that the phrase HAPPENED TO HIM shouldn't simply be understood as WAS DONE or CAME TO PASS; it actually relates to what happened to him due to the combination of many different factors working together, where one action is linked to another. The priest crowned the ship and decorated it with garlands for a different purpose, not for Socrates; and the judges condemned him for another reason. However, the outcome was surprising and seemed like it could have been influenced by the foresight of a human or, more likely, by higher powers. This demonstrates that Fortune must necessarily rely on certain elements that are within our control: what it influences is, like itself, referred to as Fortune. ============== But chance or random occurrence is broader than Fortune; it includes it and several other things that can happen in various ways. This is clear from the word's origin in Greek, which means CHANCE — it refers to things that happen on their own when usual events do not take place, replaced by other occurrences; for instance, experiencing cold during the dog days: it can actually get cold then. In summary, just as "what is within our power" is part of the contingent, so Fortune is a part of chance or random occurrence; and the two are interconnected and dependent on each other: chance on what's contingent, and Fortune on "what we can choose," — and not on everything, but on what we choose, as we’ve stated before. Thus, chance applies to both inanimate and animate objects, while Fortune is specific to humans, who have voluntary actions. An indication of this is that being fortunate and being happy are often considered the same. Happiness is essentially doing well, and doing well is unique to humans and particularly to those who achieve it fully.
These, then, are the things which are comprised in Fate, to wit, contingent, possible, election, "that which is in our power," Fortune, chance, and their adjuncts, as are the things signified by the words perhaps and peradventure; all which indeed are contained in Fate. Yet none Of them is fatal. It now remains, that we discourse of divine Providence, and show how it comprehends even Fate itself.
These are the things included in fate: contingencies, possibilities, choices, "what's in our control," fortune, chance, and their related concepts, such as the ideas expressed by the words maybe and perhaps. All of these are part of fate, but none of them are predetermined. Now, we should discuss divine providence and explain how it includes even fate itself.
The supreme therefore and first Providence is the understanding or (if you had rather) the will of the first and sovereign God, doing good to everything that is in the world, by which all divine things have universally and throughout been most excellently and most wisely ordained and disposed. The second Providence is that of the second gods, who go through the heaven, by which temporal and mortal things are orderly and regularly generated, and which pertains to the continuation and preservation of every kind. The third may probably be called the Providence and procuration of the Daemons, which, being placed on the earth, are the guardians and overseers of human actions. This threefold Providence therefore being seen, of which the first and supreme is chiefly and principally so named, we shall not be afraid to say, although we may in this seem to contradict the sentiments of some philosophers, that all things are done by Fate and by Providence, but not also by Nature. But some are done according to Providence, these according to one, those according to another,—and some according to Fate; and Fate is altogether according to Providence, while Providence is in no wise according to Fate. But let this discourse be understood of the first and supreme Providence. Now that which is done according to another, whatever it is, is always posterior to that according to which it is done; as that which is according to the law is after the law, and that which is according to Nature is after Nature, so that which is according to Fate is after Fate, and must consequently be more new and modern. Wherefore supreme Providence is the most ancient of all things, except him whose will or understanding it is, to wit, the sovereign author, maker, and father of all things. "Let us therefore," says Timaeus, "discourse for what cause the Creator made and framed this machine of the universe. He was good, and in him that is good there can never be imprinted or engendered any envy against anything. Being therefore wholly free from this, he desired that all things should, as far as it is possible, resemble himself. He, therefore, who admits this to have been chiefly the principal original of the generation and creation of the world, as it has been delivered to us by wise men, receives that which is most right. For God, who desired that all things should be good, and nothing, as far as possibly might be, evil, taking thus all that was visible,—restless as it was, and moving rashly and confusedly,—reduced it from disorder to order, esteeming the one to be altogether better than the other. For it neither was nor is convenient for him who is in all perfection good, to make anything that should not be very excellent and beautiful." (Plato, "Timaeus," p.29 D.) This, therefore, and all that follows, even to his disputation concerning human souls, is to be understood of the first Providence, which in the beginning constituted all things. Afterwards he speaks thus: "Having framed the universe, he ordained souls equal in number to the stars, and distributed to each of them one; and having set them, as it were, in a chariot, showed the nature of the universe, and appointed them the laws of Fate." (Ibid. p.41 D.) Who, then, will not believe, that by these words he expressly and manifestly declares Fate to be, as it were, a foundation and political constitution of laws, fitted for the souls of men? Of which he afterwards renders the cause.
The highest and first Providence is the understanding or, if you prefer, the will of the first and sovereign God, who brings good to everything in the world. Through this, all divine things have been wonderfully and wisely arranged. The second Providence is that of the second gods, who traverse the heavens and ensure that temporal and mortal things are generated in an orderly and regular manner, which relates to the continuation and preservation of all kinds. The third could be called the Providence and care of the Daemons, who are placed on earth as guardians and overseers of human actions. So, looking at this threefold Providence, of which the first and supreme is mainly emphasized, we can confidently say, even if it may contradict some philosophers' views, that everything happens by Fate and Providence, but not necessarily by Nature. Some things occur according to Providence, some according to one principle or another, and some according to Fate; and Fate is entirely based on Providence, while Providence does not depend on Fate. This discussion should focus on the first and supreme Providence. Anything done according to other principles is always subsequent to what it is based on; just as what aligns with law follows the law, and what aligns with Nature follows Nature, so what is according to Fate follows Fate, and therefore is newer and more recent. Hence, supreme Providence is the oldest of all things, except for the one whose will or understanding it is, namely, the sovereign creator, maker, and father of all things. "So let us," Timaeus says, "discuss the reason why the Creator made and shaped this universe. He was good, and in him that is good, there can never be any envy toward anything. Being completely free from this, he wished for all things to resemble him as much as possible. Therefore, whoever acknowledges this as the main origin of the world's creation, as wise men have conveyed to us, accepts what is most right. For God, who wanted all things to be good and nothing to be evil as much as possible, took all that was visible—chaotic and moving hastily and confusedly—and brought it from disorder to order, believing that order is far better. For it is neither fitting nor right for one who is entirely good to create anything that isn’t excellent and beautiful." (Plato, "Timaeus," p.29 D.) This understanding, therefore, and all that follows, even regarding his discussion about human souls, refers to the first Providence that established all things from the beginning. He then states: "After shaping the universe, he assigned souls equal in number to the stars and distributed one to each. He placed them in a chariot, revealing the nature of the universe, and assigned them the laws of Fate." (Ibid. p.41 D.) Who would doubt that these words clearly express that Fate serves as a foundational and political framework of laws applicable to human souls? He further explains the reasons for this.
As for the second Providence, he thus in a manner explains it, saying: "Having prescribed them all these laws, to the end that, if there should afterwards happen any fault, he might be exempt from being the cause of any of their evil, he dispersed some of them upon the earth, some into the moon, and some into the other instruments of time. And after this dispersion, he gave in charge to the young gods the making of human bodies, and the making up and adding whatever was wanting and deficient in human souls; and after they had perfected whatever is adherent and consequent to this, they should rule and govern, in the best manner they possibly could, this mortal creature, so far as it might not be the cause of its own evils." (Ibid. p.42 D.) For by these words, "that he might be exempt from being the cause of any of their evil," he most clearly signifies the cause of Fate; and the order and office of the young gods manifests the second Providence; and it seems also in some sort to have touched a little upon the third, if he therefore established laws and ordinances that he might be exempt from being the cause of any of their evil. For God, who is free from all evil, has no need of laws or Fate; but every one of these petty gods, drawn on by the providence of him who has engendered them, performs what belongs to his office. Now that this is true and agreeable to the opinion of Plato, these words of the lawgiver, spoken by him in his Book of Laws, seems to me to give sufficient testimony: "If there were any man so sufficient by Nature, being by divine Fortune happily engendered and born, that he could comprehend this, he would have no need of laws to command him. For there is not any law or ordinance more worthy and powerful than knowledge; nor is it suitable that Mind, provided it be truly and really free by Nature, should be a subject or slave to any one, but it ought to command all." (Plato, "Laws," ix. p.875 C.)
As for the second Providence, he explains it this way, saying: "After setting all these laws, so that if any faults come up, he wouldn't be responsible for any of their wrongdoing, he scattered some of them across the earth, some to the moon, and some to other aspects of time. After this scattering, he entrusted the young gods with creating human bodies and addressing any shortcomings in human souls; and once they completed everything related to this, they should manage and govern this mortal being as best as they could, as long as it wouldn't cause its own problems." (Ibid. p.42 D.) By saying "that he might be exempt from being the cause of any of their evil," he clearly indicates the reason behind Fate; and the role and duties of the young gods show the second Providence; and it seems to touch upon the third Providence as well, if he established laws and rules to avoid being the cause of any of their evil. For God, who is free from all evil, has no need for laws or Fate; but each of these lesser gods, compelled by the will of the one who created them, fulfills their duties. It's true and aligns with Plato's views, as his words in the Book of Laws provide ample evidence: "If there were a person inherently capable, wonderfully and divinely born, who could grasp this, they would have no need for laws to guide them. There is no law or ordinance more worthy and powerful than knowledge; nor is it fitting for a Mind, truly and genuinely free by Nature, to be subject or enslaved to anyone, but it should command all." (Plato, "Laws," ix. p.875 C.)
I therefore do for mine own part thus understand and interpret this sentence of Plato. There being a threefold Providence, the first, as having engendered Fate, does in some sort comprehend it; the second, having been engendered with Fate, is with it totally comprehended and embraced by the first; the third, as having been engendered after Fate, is comprehended by it in the same manner as are free choice and Fortune, as we have already said. "For they whom the assistance of a Daemon's power does help in their intercourse" says Socrates, declaring to Theages what is the almost settled ordinance of Adrastea "are those whom you also mean; for they advance quickly." (Plato, "Theages", p.129 E.) In which words, what he says of a Daemon's aiding some is to be ascribed to the third Providence, and the growing and coming forward with speed to Fate. In brief, it is not obscure or doubtful but that this also is a kind of Fate. And perhaps it may be found much more probable that the second Providence is also comprehended under Fate, and indeed all things that are done; since Fate, as a substance, has been rightly divided by us into three parts, and the simile of the chain comprehends the revolutions of the heavens in the number and rank of those things which happen conditionally. But concerning these things I will not much contend, to wit, whether they should be called conditional, or rather conjoined with Fate, the precedent cause and commander of Fate being also fatal.
I understand and interpret this sentence of Plato as follows. There are three types of Providence: the first, which gives rise to Fate, somehow encompasses it; the second, which comes into existence with Fate, is completely included and embraced by the first; the third, which arises after Fate, is understood in the same way as free will and Fortune, as we have already mentioned. "Those who are aided by the power of a Daemon in their interactions," says Socrates, explaining to Theages what is the almost established rule of Adrastea, "are the ones you mean; for they progress quickly." (Plato, "Theages", p.129 E.) In these words, Socrates attributes the help from a Daemon to the third Providence, while the swift advancement relates to Fate. In short, it is clear and not uncertain that this too is a kind of Fate. It might also be more likely that the second Providence is included under Fate, as well as everything that happens; since we have correctly divided Fate as a substance into three parts, and the metaphor of the chain includes the movements of the heavens along with the number and order of things that occur conditionally. However, I will not argue much about whether these should be termed conditional or rather linked to Fate, since the prior cause and ruler of Fate is also fated.
Our opinion, then, to speak briefly, is such. But the contrary sentiment not only places all things in Fate, but affirms them all to be done by Fate. It agrees indeed in all things to the other (the Stoic) doctrine; and that which accords to another thing, 'tis clear, is the same with it. In this discourse therefore we have first spoken of the contingent; secondly, of "that which is in our power"; thirdly, of Fortune and chance, and whatever depends on them; fourthly, of praise, blame, and whatever depends on them; the fifth and last of all may be said to be prayers to the gods, with their services and ceremonies.
Our opinion, to put it simply, is as follows. However, the opposing view not only says that everything is determined by Fate but also insists that everything happens because of Fate. It does agree with the Stoic belief in all things; and what aligns with another thing is clearly the same as it. In this discussion, we have first talked about what is contingent; second, about "what is within our control"; third, about Fortune and chance, and everything that relies on them; fourth, about praise, blame, and everything that follows from them; and the fifth and final topic can be said to be prayers to the gods, along with their rituals and ceremonies.
For the rest, as to those which are called idle and cropping arguments, and that which is named the argument against destiny, they are indeed but vain subtleties and captious sophisms, according to this discourse. But according to the contrary opinion, the first and principal conclusion seems to be, that there is nothing done without a cause, but that all things depend upon antecedent causes; the second, that the world is governed by Nature, and that it conspires, consents, and is compatible with itself; the third seems rather to be testimonies,—of which the first is divination, approved by all sorts of people, as being truly in God; the second is the equanimity and patience of wise men, who take mildly and bear patiently whatever befalls, as happening by divine ordinance and as it ought; the third is the speech so common and usual in every one's mouth, to wit, that every proposition is true or false. Thus have we contracted this discourse into a small number of short articles, that we might in few words comprehend the whole matter of Fate; into which a scrutiny ought to be made, and the reasons of both opinions to be weighed with a most exact balance. But we shall come to discuss particulars later.
For the rest, regarding what are called idle and trivial arguments, as well as the argument against destiny, they are really just empty subtleties and tricky reasoning, according to this discussion. However, from the opposing viewpoint, the main conclusions seem to be: first, that nothing happens without a cause, and that everything relies on prior causes; second, that the world is governed by Nature, which works together, agrees, and is consistent with itself; and third, that there are testimonies— the first being divination, recognized by all kinds of people as truly from God; the second being the calmness and patience of wise people, who accept and endure whatever comes their way, believing it occurs by divine will and as it should; and the third being the common saying that every statement is either true or false. We've condensed this discussion into a few simple points so we can grasp the whole topic of Fate in just a few words; therefore, a thorough examination should be conducted, weighing the reasons for both perspectives with great care. We'll discuss the specifics later.
AGAINST COLOTES, THE DISCIPLE AND FAVORITE OF EPICURUS.
COLOTES, whom Epicurus was wont diminutively and by way of familiarity or fondness to call Colotaras and Colotarion, composed, O Saturninus, and published a little book which he entitled, "That according to the opinions of the other philosophers one cannot so much as live." This was dedicated to King Ptolemy. Now I suppose that it will not be unpleasant for you to read, when set down in writing, what came into my mind to speak against this Colotes, since I know you to be a lover of all elegant and honest treatises, and particularly of such as regard the science of antiquity, and to esteem the bearing in memory and having (as much as possible may be) in hand the discourses of the ancient sages to be the most royal of all studies and exercises.
COLOTES, whom Epicurus used to affectionately call Colotaras and Colotarion, wrote and published a small book titled, "According to the Opinions of Other Philosophers, One Cannot Even Live." This was dedicated to King Ptolemy. I think you’ll find it enjoyable to read what I thought to say against this Colotes, especially since I know you appreciate all well-written and honest works, particularly those related to ancient knowledge. You value remembering and keeping, as much as possible, the teachings of the ancient sages as the most enriching pursuit of all.
Not long since, therefore, as this book was being read, Aristodemus of Aegium, a familiar friend of ours (whom you well know to be one of the Academy, and not a mere thyrsus-bearer, but one of the most frantic celebrators of Plato's name), did, I know not how, keep himself contrary to his custom very still all the while, and patiently gave ear to it even to the end. But the reading was scarce well over when he said: Well, then, whom shall we cause to rise up and fight against this man, in defence of the philosophers? For I am not of Nestor's opinion, who, when the most valiant of those nine warriors that presented themselves to enter into combat was to be chosen, committed the election to the fortune of a lot.
Not long ago, while this book was being read, Aristodemus from Aegium, a close friend of ours (whom you know well as part of the Academy and not just a follower, but one of the most passionate advocates of Plato's ideas), surprisingly managed to stay quiet the entire time and listened patiently until the end. But just as the reading finished, he said: So, who should we get to rise up and defend this man, in support of the philosophers? Because I'm not in agreement with Nestor, who, when the bravest of the nine warriors was to be chosen for battle, left the decision to chance.
Yet, answered I, you see he so disposed himself in reference to the lot, that the choice might pass according to the arbitrament of the wisest man;
Yet, I replied, you see he arranged things in such a way regarding the lot, that the choice could be made by the judgment of the wisest man;
And th' lot drawn from the helmet, as they wished,
On Ajax fell.
And the lot drawn from the helmet, as they wanted,
fell on Ajax.But yet since you command me to make the election,
But since you’re asking me to make the choice,
How can I think a better choice to make
Than the divine Ulysses?
("Iliad," vii. 182; x. 243.)
How can I think of a better choice to make
than the great Ulysses?
("Iliad," vii. 182; x. 243.)Consider therefore, and be well advised, in what manner you will chastise this man.
Consider this carefully, and think about how you will punish this man.
But you know, replied Aristodemus, that Plato, when highly offended with his boy that waited on him, would not himself beat him, but requested Speusippus to do it for him, saying that he himself was angry. As much therefore may I say to you; Take this fellow to you, and treat him as you please; for I am in a fit of choler.
But you know, Aristodemus replied, that when Plato was really upset with his servant, he wouldn’t hit him himself but asked Speusippus to do it instead, saying that he was the one who was angry. So I can say the same to you: Take this guy and handle him however you want; I'm in a bad mood.
When therefore all the rest of the company desired me to undertake this office; I must then, said I, speak, since it is your pleasure. But I am afraid that I also shall seem more vehemently transported than is fitting against this book, in the defending and maintaining Socrates against the rudeness, scurrility, and insolence of this man; who, because Socrates affirmed himself to know nothing certainly, instead of bread (as one would say) present him hay, as if he were a beast, and asks him why he puts meat into his mouth and not into his ear. And yet perhaps some would make but a laughing matter of this, considering the mildness and gentleness of Socrates; "but for the whole host of the Greeks," that is, of the other philosophers, amongst which are Democritus, Plato, Stilpo, Empedocles, Parmenides, and Melissus, who have been basely traduced and reviled by him, it were not only a shame to be silent, but even a sacrilege in the least point to forbear or recede from freedom of speech in their behalf, who have advanced philosophy to that honor and reputation it has gotten.
When everyone else in the group urged me to take on this role, I said I would speak since that's what you want. But I'm worried I might come off as overly passionate when defending Socrates against this man’s rudeness, disrespect, and arrogance. This man, because Socrates claimed he knew nothing for sure, serves him hay instead of bread, as if he were an animal, and questions why he puts food in his mouth and not in his ear. Some might laugh at this, given Socrates' mild and gentle nature; but for all the Greek philosophers—like Democritus, Plato, Stilpo, Empedocles, Parmenides, and Melissus—who have been unjustly attacked and slandered by him, it would not only be shameful to stay silent but even a sacrilege to hold back and refrain from speaking out on their behalf; these philosophers have elevated philosophy to the honor and respect it has today.
And our parents indeed have, with the assistance of the gods, given us our life; but to live well comes to us from reason, which we have learned from the philosophers, which favors law and justice, and restrains our concupiscence. Now to live well is to live sociably, friendly, temperately, and justly; of all which conditions they leave us not one, who cry out that man's sovereign good lies in his belly, and that they would not purchase all the virtues together at the expense of a cracked farthing, if pleasure were totally and on every side removed from them. And in their discourses concerning the soul and the gods, they hold that the soul perishes when it is separated from the body, and that the gods concern not themselves in our affairs. Thus the Epicureans reproach the other philosophers, that by their wisdom they bereave man of his life; whilst the others on the contrary accuse them of teaching men to live degenerately and like beasts.
And our parents have definitely, with the help of the gods, given us our lives; but living well comes from reason, which we’ve learned from philosophers, who support law and justice and keep our desires in check. Living well means living socially, kindly, moderately, and fairly; they don’t leave out any of these aspects, even as those who claim that life's greatest good is physical pleasure insist they wouldn’t trade all the virtues for a broken penny if it meant losing pleasure entirely. In their discussions about the soul and the gods, they believe that the soul dies when it separates from the body and that the gods don’t get involved in our lives. So, the Epicureans criticize other philosophers for using their wisdom to take life away from people, while the others accuse them of teaching people to live like animals.
Now these things are scattered here and there in the writings of Epicurus, and dispersed through all his philosophy. But this Colotes, by having extracted from them certain pieces and fragments of discourses, destitute of any arguments whatever to render them credible and intelligible, has composed his book, being like a shop or cabinet of monsters and prodigies; as you better know than any one else, because you have always in your hands the works of the ancients. But he seems to me, like the Lydian, to open not only one gate against himself, but to involve Epicurus also in many and those the greatest doubts and difficulties. For he begins with Democritus, who receives of him an excellent and worthy reward for his instruction; it being certain that Epicurus for a long time called himself a Democritean, which as well others affirm, as Leonteus, a principal disciple of Epicurus, who in a letter which he writ to Lycophron says, that Epicurus honored Democritus, because he first attained, though a little at a distance, the right and sound understanding of the truth, and that in general all the treatise concerning natural things was called Democritean, because Democritus was the first who happened upon the principles and met with the primitive foundations of Nature. And Metrodorus says openly of philosophy, If Democritus had not gone before and taught the way, Epicurus had never attained to wisdom. Now if it be true, as Colotes holds, that to live according to the opinions of Democritus is not to live, Epicurus was then a fool in following Democritus, who led him to a doctrine which taught him not to live.
Now these ideas are scattered throughout the writings of Epicurus and spread across all his philosophy. However, Colotes has taken certain pieces and fragments of these discussions, lacking any arguments to make them believable or clear, and has put together his book, which is like a collection of strange and bizarre things; as you know better than anyone else, because you always have the works of the ancients at your fingertips. But it seems to me, like the Lydian, that he not only opens one gate against himself but also involves Epicurus in many serious doubts and challenges. He starts with Democritus, who deserves high praise for his teachings; it's clear that Epicurus called himself a Democritean for a long time, as others confirm, including Leonteus, a key disciple of Epicurus, who in a letter to Lycophron states that Epicurus respected Democritus because he was the first, even if just a bit off, to grasp the truth correctly, and that in general, all writings about natural matters were referred to as Democritean, since Democritus was the first to discover the principles and fundamental laws of Nature. Metrodorus openly declares about philosophy that if Democritus hadn't paved the way and taught the path, Epicurus would never have achieved wisdom. Now, if Colotes is correct that living by Democritus's views means not really living, then Epicurus was foolish for following Democritus, who led him to a doctrine that essentially taught him not to live.
Now the first thing he lays to his charge is, that, by supposing everything to be no more individual than another, he wholly confounds human life. But Democritus was so far from having been of this opinion, that he opposed Protagoras the philosopher who asserted it, and writ many excellent arguments concluding against him, which this fine fellow Colotes never saw nor read, nor yet so much as dreamed of; but deceived himself by misunderstanding a passage which is in his works, where he determines that [Greek omitted] is no more than [Greek omitted], naming in that place the body by [Greek omitted], and the void by [Greek omitted], and meaning that the void has its own proper nature and subsistence, as well as the body.
Now, the first thing he accuses him of is that by believing everything is just as significant as anything else, he completely confuses human life. But Democritus was far from holding this view; he actually challenged Protagoras the philosopher who claimed it and wrote many strong arguments against him, which this clever guy Colotes never saw or read, or even thought about; he misled himself by misinterpreting a passage in his works, where he states that [Greek omitted] is no different from [Greek omitted], referring in that context to the body as [Greek omitted] and the void as [Greek omitted], meaning that the void has its own distinct nature and existence, just like the body.
But he who is of opinion that nothing has more of one nature than another makes use of a sentence of Epicurus, in which he says that all the apprehensions and imaginations given us by the senses are true. For if of two saying, the one, that the wine is sour, and the other, that it is sweet, neither of them shall be deceived by his sensation, how shall the wine be more sour than sweet? And we may often see that some men using one and the same bath find it to be hot, and others find it to be cold; because those order cold water to be put into it, as these do hot. It is said that, a certain lady going to visit Berenice, wife to King Deiotarus, as soon as ever they approached each other, they both immediately turned their backs, the one, as it seemed, not being able to bear the smell of perfume, nor the other of butter. If, then, the sense of one is no truer than the sense of another, it is also probable, that water is no more cold than hot, nor sweet ointment or butter better or worse scented one than the other. For if any one shall say that it seems the one to one, and the other to another, he will, before he is aware, affirm that they are both the one and the other.
But someone who thinks that nothing has more of one nature than another uses a quote from Epicurus, who says that all the perceptions and ideas we get from our senses are true. If one person says that the wine is sour and another says it's sweet, and neither is deceived by their sensation, how can the wine be more sour than sweet? We often see that some people using the same bath feel it to be hot while others find it cold; this happens because some add cold water while others add hot water. It's said that when a certain lady went to visit Berenice, the wife of King Deiotarus, as soon as they got close, they both turned away, one unable to stand the smell of perfume and the other the smell of butter. If one person's sense is not more accurate than another's, it’s also likely that water is neither more cold than hot, nor is one scented ointment or butter any better or worse than another. Because if someone claims one seems like this to one person and that to another, they will, before they know it, be claiming that both are true in different ways.
And as for these symmetries and proportions of the pores, or little passages in the organs of the senses, about which they talk so much, and those different mixtures of seeds, which, they say, being dispersed through all savors, odors, and colors, move the senses of different persons to perceive different qualities, do they not manifestly drive them to this, that things are no more of one nature than another? For to pacify those who think the sense is deceived and lies because they see contrary events and passions in such as use the same objects, and to solve this objection, they teach,—that when almost everything was confused and mixed up together, since it has been arranged by Nature that one thing shall fit another thing, it was not the contact or the apprehension of the same quality nor were all parts affected in the same way by what was influencing them. But those only coalesced with anything to which they had a characteristic, symmetrical in a corresponding proportion; so that they are in error so obstinately to insist that a thing is either good or bad, white or not white, thinking to establish their own senses by destroying those of others; whereas they ought neither to combat the senses,—because they all touch some quality, each one drawing from this confused mixture, as from a living and large fountain, what is suitable and convenient,—nor to pronounce of the whole, by touching only the parts, nor to think that all ought to be affected after one and the same manner by the same thing, seeing that one is affected by one quality and faculty of it, and another by another. Let us investigate who those men are which bring in this opinion that things are not more of one quality than another, if they are not those who affirm that every sensible object is a mixture, compounded of all sorts of qualities, like a mixture of new wine fermenting, and who confess that all their rules are lost and their faculty of judging quite gone, if they admit any sensible object that is pure and simple, and do not make each one thing to be many?
And about these symmetries and proportions of the pores, or the small passages in the sensory organs that everyone talks about, and those different combinations of seeds which, they say, when spread out through all tastes, smells, and colors, lead different people to perceive different qualities—don’t they clearly suggest that things aren’t just one thing or another? To calm those who believe that the senses are misled and deceived because they see opposite reactions and feelings in people using the same objects, they teach that when nearly everything was jumbled together, it was arranged by Nature so that one thing fits with another. It wasn't that the contact or understanding involved the same quality, nor that all parts felt the influence in the same way. Only those that shared a characteristic, corresponding in proportion, came together; thus, it’s misguided to stubbornly argue that something is either good or bad, white or not white, thinking they validate their senses by invalidating others. Instead, they shouldn't challenge the senses—since each one engages with some quality, drawing from this mixed source, like a large, living fountain, what is appropriate and useful—nor should they judge the whole based on parts, nor assume that everything should react the same way to the same thing, as one might be influenced by one quality, while another responds to a different one. Let's look into who these people are that claim things aren’t more one quality than another—are they not those who argue that every sensory object is a blend of various qualities, like fermenting new wine, and who admit that all their principles are lost and their ability to judge completely gone if they accept any sensory object as pure and simple rather than breaking each one into many?
See now to this purpose, what discourse and debate Epicurus makes Polyaenus to have with him in his Banquet concerning the heat of wine. For when he asked, "Do you, Epicurus, say, that wine does not heat?" some one answered, "It is not universally to be affirmed that wine heats." And a little after: "For wine seems not to be universally a heater; but such a quantity may be said to heat such a person." And again subjoining the cause, to wit, the compressions and disseminations of the atoms, and having alleged their commixtures and conjunctions with others when the wine comes to be mingled in the body, he adds this conclusion: "It is not universally to be said that wine is endued with a faculty of heating; but that such a quantity may heat such a nature and one so disposed, while such a quantity to such a nature is cooling. For in such a mass there are such natures and complexions of which cold might be composed, and which, united with others in proper measure, would yield a refrigerative virtue. Wherefore some are deceived, who say that wine is universally a heater; and others, who say that it is universally a cooler." He then who says that most men are deceived and err, in holding that which is hot to be heating and that which is cold to be cooling, is himself in an error, unless he should allow that his assertion ends in the doctrine that one thing is not more of one nature than another. He farther adds afterwards that oftentimes wine entering into a body brings with it thither neither a calefying nor refrigerating virtue, but, the mass of the body being agitated and disturbed, and a transposition made of the parts, the heat-effecting atoms being assembled together do by their multitude cause a heat and inflammation in the body, and sometimes on the contrary disassembling themselves cause a refrigeration.
Check out this conversation that Epicurus has with Polyaenus in his Banquet about the effects of wine. When Polyaenus asks, "Epicurus, do you really think wine doesn't heat you?" someone responds, "You can't just say wine always heats." Later on, it’s added, "Wine doesn’t always heat; it depends on the amount and the person consuming it." They discuss the reasons behind this, mentioning how atoms compress and spread out, and how the mixture of wine interacts in the body. Epicurus concludes, "You can’t say wine always has a heating effect; certain amounts might warm a specific person, while the same amount could cool another person. Different bodies have varied natures and properties that might respond differently, and when combined properly, would actually have a cooling effect. Therefore, those who claim that wine universally heats and those who say it always cools are mistaken." He points out that anyone who claims that most people are wrong for thinking hot things heat and cold things cool is also making a mistake unless they accept that the nature of one thing isn’t inherently more than another. He notes that often, when wine enters the body, it doesn’t really bring either heating or cooling effects; instead, as the body is stirred and its parts shift, the atoms that cause heat come together and create warmth and inflammation, while in some cases, they can separate and lead to cooling.
But it is moreover wholly evident, that we may employ this argument to all those things which are called and esteemed bitter, sweet, purging, dormitive, and luminous, not any one of them having an entire and perfect quality to produce such effects, nor to act rather than to be acted on when they are in the bodies, but being there susceptible, of various temperatures and differences. For Epicurus himself, in his Second Book against Theophrastus, affirming that colors are not connatural to bodies, but are engendered there according to certain situations and positions with respect to the sight of man, says: "For this reason a body is no more colored than destitute of color." And a little above he writes thus, word for word: "But apart from this, I know not how a man may say that those bodies which are in the dark have color; although very often, an air equally dark being spread about them, some distinguish diversities of colors, others perceive them not through the weakness of their sight. And moreover, going into a dark house or room, we at our first entrance see no color, but after we have stayed there awhile, we do. Wherefore we are to say that every body is not more colored than not colored. Now, if color is relative and has its being in regard to something else, so also then is white, and so likewise blue; and if colors are so, so also are sweet and bitter. So that it may truly be affirmed of every quality, that it cannot more properly be said to exist than not to exist. For to those who are in a certain manner disposed, they will be; but to those who are not so disposed, they will not be." Colotes therefore has bedashed and bespattered himself and his master with that dirt, in which he says those lie who maintain that things are not more of one quality than another.
But it's completely clear that we can apply this argument to everything that is considered bitter, sweet, purging, sleep-inducing, and bright. None of these things has a complete and perfect quality to produce those effects, nor do they act rather than being acted upon when they are in substances; they are instead subject to various temperatures and differences. For Epicurus himself, in his Second Book against Theophrastus, claims that colors aren’t inherent to objects but arise based on specific situations and orientations in relation to human sight. He states, "For this reason, a body is no more colored than it is colorless." A little further on, he writes exactly: "But apart from this, I don't see how anyone can claim that those objects in the dark have color; even though often, in an equally dark atmosphere around them, some can distinguish different colors while others can’t due to their weak eyesight. Moreover, when we enter a dark house or room, we initially see no color, but after we stay for a while, we do. Therefore, we should say that every object is no more colored than it is uncolored. Now, if color is relative and exists in relation to something else, then the same goes for white and blue; and if colors are like this, then so are sweet and bitter. So it can truly be said of every quality that it cannot be more accurately described as existing than as not existing. For those who are inclined in a certain way, they will be perceived, but for those who are not so inclined, they will not be." Colotes, therefore, has covered himself and his master with the dirt in which he says those who argue that things are not more one quality than another lie.
But is it in this alone, that this excellent man shows himself—
But is this the only way this amazing man reveals himself—
To others a physician, whilst himself
Is full of ulcers?
(Euripides, Frag. 1071.)
To others, a doctor, while he himself
Is full of sores?
(Euripides, Frag. 1071.)No indeed; but yet much farther in his second reprehension, without any way minding it, he drives Epicurus and Democritus out of this life. For he affirms that the statement of Democritus—that the atoms are to the senses color by a certain human law or ordinance, that they are by the same law sweetness, and by the same law concretion—is at war with our senses, and that he who uses this reason and persists in this opinion cannot himself imagine whether he is living or dead. I know not how to contradict this discourse; but this I can boldly affirm, that this is as inseparable from the sentences and doctrines of Epicurus as they say figure and weight are from atoms. For what is it that Democritus says? "There are substances, in number infinite, called atoms (because they cannot be divided), without difference, without quality, and passibility, which move, being dispersed here and there, in the infinite voidness; and that when they approach one another, or meet and are conjoined, of such masses thus heaped together, one appears water, another fire, another a plant, another a man; and that all things are thus properly atoms (as he called them), and nothing else; for there is no generation from what does not exist; and of those things which are nothing can be generated, because these atoms are so firm, that they can neither change, alter, nor suffer; wherefore there cannot be made color of those things which are without color, nor nature or soul of those things which are without quality and impassible." Democritus then is to be blamed, not for confessing those things that happen upon his principles, but for supposing principles upon which such things happen. For he should not have supposed immutable principles; or having supposed them, he should have seen that the generation of all quality is taken away; but having seen the absurdity, to deny it is most impudent. But Epicurus says, that he supposes the same principles with Democritus, but that he says not that color, sweet, white, and other qualities, are by law and ordinance. If therefore NOT TO SAY is the same as NOT TO CONFESS, he does merely what he is wont to do. For it is as when, taking away divine Providence, he nevertheless says that he leaves piety and devotion towards the gods; and when, choosing friendship for the sake of pleasure, that he suffers most grievous pains for his friends; and supposing the universe to be infinite, that he nevertheless takes not away high and low.... Indeed having taken the cup, one may drink what he pleases, and return the rest. But in reasoning one ought chiefly to remember this wise apothegm, that where the principles are not necessary, the ends and consequences are necessary. It was not then necessary for him to suppose or (to say better) to steal from Democritus, that atoms are the principles of the universe; but having supposed this doctrine, and having pleased and glorified himself in the first probable and specious appearances of it, he must afterwards also swallow that which is troublesome in it, or must show how bodies which have not any quality can bring all sorts of qualities to others only by their meetings and joining together. As—to take that which comes next neither had heat when they came, nor are become hot after their being joined together? For the one presupposes that they had some quality, and the other that they were fit to receive it. And you affirm, that neither the one nor the other must be said to be congruous to atoms, because they are incorruptible.
No, not at all; but even further in his second criticism, without intending to, he drives Epicurus and Democritus out of this life. He claims that Democritus's statement—that atoms have color according to a certain human law or rule, that they are sweetness by the same rule, and that they are substance by that same law—is in conflict with our senses, and that anyone who relies on this reasoning and sticks to this belief can't even know whether they are alive or dead. I don’t know how to argue against this point; however, I can confidently say that this is as inseparable from the beliefs and teachings of Epicurus as they say figure and weight are from atoms. So what does Democritus say? "There are substances, infinitely many, called atoms (because they can't be divided), identical, without quality, and unchanging, which move and are scattered here and there in the infinite void; and when they come close together or collide and join, the resulting masses appear as water, fire, plants, or humans; and everything consists solely of these atoms (as he referred to them), and nothing else; for nothing comes from what doesn’t exist; and from those things which are nothing, nothing can be produced, because these atoms are so stable that they can't change, alter, or suffer; therefore, you can't have color from things that lack color, nor nature or soul from things that lack quality and are unchanging." Democritus should be criticized not for admitting the consequences of his principles, but for assuming principles that lead to such consequences. He should not have assumed unchangeable principles; or if he did, he should have recognized that this eliminates the generation of all qualities; and upon realizing the absurdity, to deny it is truly shameless. Yet Epicurus claims that he accepts the same principles as Democritus, but he doesn’t argue that color, sweetness, whiteness, and other qualities come from law and rule. So if NOT SAYING is the same as NOT CONFESSING, he merely does what he usually does. It’s like when he removes divine Providence but claims he still maintains piety and devotion towards the gods; and when, opting for friendship for the sake of pleasure, he endures terrible pains for his friends; and while believing the universe is infinite, he still acknowledges high and low... Indeed, once you’ve taken the cup, you can drink what you like and leave the rest. But when reasoning, one should primarily remember this wise saying: where the principles are not necessary, the ends and consequences are. It wasn't necessary for him to assume or (to phrase it better) to borrow from Democritus that atoms are the principles of the universe; but having adopted this doctrine and indulged in the initial likely and appealing aspects of it, he must later also accept the troublesome parts, or he must explain how bodies lacking any quality can impart all sorts of qualities to others merely through their collisions and unions. For instance—taking the next example—neither had heat when they came together, nor do they become hot after being joined? Because the one assumption suggests that they had some quality, and the other assumes they were able to receive it. And you argue that neither must be applicable to atoms, because they are unchanging.
How then? Do not Plato, Aristotle, and Xenocrates produce gold from that which is not gold, and stone from that which is not stone, and many other things from the four simple first bodies? Yes indeed; but with those bodies immediately concur also the principles for the generation of everything, bringing with them great contributions, that is, the first qualities which are in them; then, when they come to assemble and join in one the dry with the moist, the cold with the hot, and the solid with the soft,—that is, active bodies with such as are fit to suffer and receive every alteration and change,—then is generation wrought by passing from one temperature to another. Whereas the atom, being alone, is alone, is deprived and destitute of all quality and generative faculty, and when it comes to meet with the others, it can make only a noise and sound because of its hardness and firmness, but nothing more. For they always strike and are stricken, not being able by this means to compose or make an animal, a soul, or a nature, nay, not so much as a mass or heap of themselves; for that as they beat upon one another, so they fly back again asunder.
How is that possible? Don't Plato, Aristotle, and Xenocrates create gold from things that aren’t gold, stone from things that aren’t stone, and many other substances from the four basic elements? Yes, they do; but alongside those elements, there are also the principles necessary for creating everything, which bring with them key qualities inherent in them. When these elements come together and combine the dry with the moist, the cold with the hot, and the solid with the soft—that is, active substances with those that can take on and endure every change—then generation happens by transitioning from one state to another. Meanwhile, the atom, existing on its own, is alone, lacking all qualities and the ability to create. When it encounters other atoms, it can only make noise because of its hardness and density, but nothing more. They continuously strike each other and bounce apart, unable to form or create an organism, a soul, or a nature—not even a simple mass or pile of themselves; as they collide, they simply fly apart again.
But Colotes, as if he were speaking to some ignorant and unlettered king, again attacks Empedocles for expressing the same thought:—
But Colotes, as if he were talking to some clueless and uneducated king, once again criticizes Empedocles for expressing the same idea:—
I've one thing more to say. 'Mongst mortals there
No Nature is; nor that grim thing men fear
So much, called death. There only happens first
A mixture, and mixt things asunder burst
Again, when them disunion does befall.
And this is that which men do Nature call.
I have one more thing to say. Among humans, there is no true Nature; nor is there that scary thing we fear so much, called death. What really happens first is a mixture, and when mixed things fall apart again, that’s when disunion occurs. And this is what people refer to as Nature.
For my part, I do not see how this is repugnant and contrary to life or living, especially amongst those who hold that there is no generation of that which is not, nor corruption of that which is, but that the assembling and union of the things which are is called generation, and their dissolution and disunion named corruption and death. For that he took Nature for generation, and that this is his meaning, he has himself declared, when he opposed Nature to death. And if they neither live nor can live who place generation in union and death in disunion, what else do these Epicureans? Yet Empedocles, gluing, (as it were) and conjoining the elements together by heats, softnesses, and humidifies, gives them in some sort a mixtion and unitive composition; but these men who hunt and drive together the atoms, which they affirm to be immutable and impassible, compose nothing proceeding from them, but indeed make many and continual percussions of them.
For my part, I don't see how this is disgusting and opposed to life or living, especially among those who believe that nothing can come from what doesn’t exist and nothing can fall apart from what does exist. They claim that the gathering and joining of existing things is called creation, while their separation and disconnection are referred to as destruction and death. He considered Nature to be responsible for creation, and he made this clear when he contrasted Nature with death. And if those who define creation as joining and death as separation are neither alive nor able to live, then what are these Epicureans really doing? Meanwhile, Empedocles, by bringing the elements together through heat, softness, and moisture, creates a mix and a sense of unity. But these folks who gather and drive together the atoms—which they say are unchangeable and unaffected—don't actually create anything from them; instead, they simply cause continuous collisions among them.
For the interlacement, hindering the dissolution, more and more augments the collision and concussion; so that there is neither mixtion nor adhesion and conglutination, but only a discord and combat, which according to them is called generation. And if the atoms do now recoil for a moment by reason of the shock they have given, and then return again after the blow is past, they are above double the time absent from one another, without either touching or approaching, so as nothing can be made of them, not even so much as a body without a soul. But as for sense, soul, understanding, and prudence, there is not any man who can in the least conceive or imagine how it is possible they should be made in a voidness, and atoms which neither when separate and apart have any quality, nor any passion or alteration when they are assembled and joined together, especially seeing this their meeting together is not an incorporation or congress, making a mixture or coalition, but rather percussions and repercussions. So that, according to the doctrine of these people, life is taken away, and the existence of an animal denied, since they posit principles void, impassible, godless, and soulless, and such as cannot allow or receive any mixture or commingling whatever.
For the intertwining, which prevents disintegration, increasingly intensifies the clash and impact; so that there is neither mixing nor sticking together, but only discord and conflict, which they refer to as generation. And if the atoms briefly bounce back because of the shock they’ve caused, they then separate for more than double the time without touching or getting close, so nothing can be formed from them—not even a body without a soul. As for sensation, soul, understanding, and wisdom, no one can even begin to grasp how these could arise from emptiness, where atoms, when alone, have no qualities, and exhibit neither passion nor change when gathered together, especially since their coming together doesn’t create a mixture or union, but rather impacts and rebounds. Thus, according to their theory, life is eliminated, and the existence of an animal is denied, as they claim principles that are empty, unfeeling, godless, and soulless, and that cannot permit any mixing or merging at all.
How then is it, that they admit and allow Nature, soul, and living creature? Even in the same manner as they do an oath, prayer, and sacrifice, and the adoration of the gods. Thus they adore by word and mouth, only naming and feigning that which by their principles they totally take away and abolish. If now they call that which is born Nature, and that which is engendered generation,—as those who are accustomed to call wood wood-work and the voices that accord and sound together symphony,—whence came it into his mind to object these words against Empedocles? "Why," says he, "do we tire ourselves in taking such care of ourselves, in desiring and longing after certain things, and shunning and avoiding others? For we neither are ourselves, nor do we live by making use of others." But be of good cheer, my dear little Colotes, may one perhaps say to him: there is none who hinders you from taking care of yourself by teaching that the nature of Colotes is nothing else but Colotes himself, or who forbids you to make use of things (now things with you are pleasures) by showing that there is no nature of tarts and marchpanes, of sweet odors, or of venereal delights, but that there are tarts, marchpanes, perfumes, and women. For neither does the grammarian who says that the "strength of Hercules" is Hercules himself deny the being of Hercules; nor do those who say that symphonies and roofings are but absolute derivations affirm that there are neither sounds nor timbers; since also there are some who, taking away the soul and intelligence, do not yet seem to take away either living or being intelligent.
How is it that they accept and embrace Nature, the soul, and living beings? They treat them the same way they do with oaths, prayers, sacrifices, and the worship of gods. They show their devotion verbally and outwardly, merely naming and pretending to acknowledge what, by their beliefs, they completely disregard and eliminate. If they refer to what is born as Nature and what is produced as generation—similar to how some refer to wood as woodworking or harmonious sounds as symphony—how did he even come to challenge these terms in the first place? "
And when Epicurus says that the nature of things is to be found in bodies and their place, do we so comprehend him as if he meant that Nature were something else than the things which are, or as if he insinuated that it is merely the things which are, and nothing else?—as, to wit, he is wont to call voidness itself the nature of voidness, and the universe, by Jupiter, the nature of the universe. And if any one should thus question him; What sayst thou, Epicurus, that this is voidness, and that the nature of voidness? No, by Jupiter, would he answer; but this transference of names is in use by law and custom. I grant it is. Now what has Empedocles done else, but taught that Nature is nothing else save that which is born, and death no other thing but that which dies? But as the poets very often, forming as it were an image, say thus in figurative language,
And when Epicurus says that the essence of things is found in physical bodies and their location, do we understand him as if he meant that Nature is something different from the things that exist, or does he imply that it is just those things and nothing more?—for example, he often refers to emptiness itself as the essence of emptiness, and the universe, by Jupiter, as the essence of the universe. And if someone were to question him, "What do you mean, Epicurus, when you say this is emptiness, and that it is the essence of emptiness?" he would reply, "No, by Jupiter, that is not what I mean; this shift in names is based on law and custom." I agree it is. Now, what did Empedocles teach other than that Nature is nothing but what is born, and death is nothing but what dies? But just as poets often create a figurative image, they express it in symbolic language,
Strife, tumult, noise, placed by some angry god,
Mischief, and malice there had their abode;
("Iliad," xvii. 525.)
Conflict, chaos, and noise, caused by some angry god,
Trouble and spite made their home there;
("Iliad," xvii. 525.)so do some authors attribute generation and corruption to things that are contracted together and dissolved. But so far has he been from stirring and taking away that which is, or contradicting that which evidently appears, that he casts not so much as one single word out of the accustomed use; but taking away all figurative fraud that might hurt or endamage things, he again restored the ordinary and useful signification to words in these verses:—
so some authors link generation and corruption to things that come together and break apart. But he is so far from disrupting or negating what exists, or contradicting what is clearly seen, that he doesn't even remove a single word from its usual context; instead, by eliminating any misleading imagery that could be harmful or damaging, he restores the normal and practical meaning of words in these lines:—
When from mixed elements we sometimes see
A man produced, sometimes a beast, a tree,
Or bird, this birth and geniture we name;
But death, when this so well compacted frame
And juncture is dissolved.
When we sometimes see a man, a beast, a tree,
Or a bird created from mixed elements,
We call this birth and origin;
But death is when this well-formed body
And connection come apart.And yet I myself say that Colotes, though he alleged these verses, did not understand that Empedocles took not away men, beasts, trees, or birds, which he affirmed to be composed of the elements mixed together; and that, by teaching how much they are deceived who call this composition Nature and life, and this dissolution unhappy destruction and miserable death, he did not abrogate the using of the customary expressions in this respect.
And yet I say that Colotes, even though he quoted these lines, didn't realize that Empedocles didn't claim that people, animals, trees, or birds were taken away, which he said were made up of mixed elements. By explaining how wrong it is for people to call this mix Nature and life, and this breakdown unfortunate destruction and miserable death, he didn't eliminate the use of the usual terms in this context.
And it seems to me, indeed, that Empedocles did not aim in this place at the disturbing the common manner of expression, but that he really, as it has been said, had a controversy about generation from things that have no being, which some call Nature. Which he manifestly shows by these verses:—
And it seems to me that Empedocles wasn’t trying to disrupt the usual way of speaking here; instead, he genuinely had a debate about creation from things that don’t exist, which some refer to as Nature. He clearly illustrates this with these verses:—
Fools, and of little thought, we well may deem
Those, who so silly are as to esteem
That what ne'er was may now engendered be,
And that what is may perish utterly.
Fools, and not very thoughtful, we can rightly consider
Those who are so foolish as to believe
That what never existed can now come to be,
And that what exists can completely be destroyed.For these are the words of one who cries loud enough to those which have ears, that he takes not away generation, but procreation from nothing; nor corruption, but total destruction that is, reduction to nothing. For to him who would not so savagely and foolishly but more gently calumniate, the following verses might give a colorable occasion of charging Empedocles with the contrary, when he says:—
For these are the words of someone who shouts loud enough for those who can hear, that he doesn’t take away life, but brings forth creation from nothing; nor does he bring about corruption, but total destruction, which means reduction to nothing. For anyone who wouldn’t so wildly and foolishly but more gently criticize, the following verses might provide a plausible reason to accuse Empedocles of the opposite when he says:—
No prudent man can e'er into his mind
Admit that, whilst men living here on earth
(Which only life they call) both fortunes find,
They being have, but that before the birth
They nothing were, nor shall be when once dead.
No sensible person can ever believe
That, while people living here on earth
(Which they only call life) find both good and bad luck,
They have been, but that before birth
They were nothing, nor will they be anything once dead.For these are not the expressions of a man who denies those that are born to be, but rather of him who holds those to be that are not yet born or that are already dead. And Colotes also does not altogether accuse him of this, but says that according to his opinion we shall never be sick, never wounded. But how is it possible, that he who affirms men to have being both before their life and after their death, and during their life to find both fortunes (or to be accompanied both by good and evil), should not leave them the power to suffer? Who then are they, O Colotes, that are endued with this privilege never to be wounded, never to be sick? Even you yourselves, who are composed of atoms and voidness, neither of which, you say, has any sense. Now there is no great hurt in this; but the worst is, you have nothing left that can cause you pleasure, seeing an atom is not capable to receive those things which are to effect it, and voidness cannot be affected by them.
For these are not the words of someone who denies those who are meant to exist, but rather of someone who believes in those who are not yet born or who are already gone. Colotes also doesn’t completely blame him for this, but claims that in his view we will never be sick or hurt. But how is it possible that someone who asserts that people exist both before their life and after their death, and during their life experience both good and bad, would not allow them the ability to suffer? So who are they, Colotes, that possess this privilege of never being hurt or sick? Even you, who are made of atoms and emptiness, neither of which you say has any sensation. Now, this isn’t a big issue; but the worst part is, you have nothing left that can bring you joy, since an atom cannot receive the things that affect it, and emptiness cannot be influenced by them.
But because Colotes would, immediately after Democritus, seem to inter and bury Parmenides, and I have passed over and a little postponed his defence, to bring in between them that of Empedocles, as seeming to be more coherent and consequent to the first reprehensions, let us now return to Parmenides. Him, then, does Colotes accuse of having broached and set abroad certain shameful and villanous sophistries; and yet by these his sophisms he has neither rendered friendship less honorable, nor voluptuousness or the desire of pleasures more audacious and unbridled. He has not taken from honesty its attractive property or its being venerable or recommendable of itself, nor has he disturbed the opinions we ought to have of the gods. And I do not see how, by saying that the All (or the universe) is one, he hinders or obstructs our living. For when Epicurus himself says that the All is infinite, that it is neither engendered nor perishable, that it can neither increase nor be diminished, he speaks of the universe as of one only thing. And having in the beginning of his treatise concerning this matter said, that the nature of those things which have being consists of bodies and of vacuum, he makes a division (as it were) of one thing into two parts, one of which has in reality no subsistence, being, as you yourselves term it, impalpable, void, and incorporeal; so that by this means, even with you also, all comes to be one; unless you desire, in speaking of voidness, to use words void of sense, and to combat the ancients, as if you were fighting against a shadow.
But because Colotes would, right after Democritus, seem to bury Parmenides, and I’ve skipped over his defense for now to discuss Empedocles, which I think fits better with the initial criticisms, let’s now go back to Parmenides. Colotes accuses him of promoting some shameful and wicked arguments; however, his arguments have not made friendship any less honorable, nor have they made the pursuit of pleasure more reckless and unrestrained. He hasn't taken away the appeal of honesty or its inherent respectability, nor has he upset our views about the gods. I don’t see how saying that everything (or the universe) is one limits our ability to live. When Epicurus himself says that everything is infinite, not created or perishable, and cannot increase or decrease, he’s referring to the universe as a single entity. At the start of his discussion on this topic, he states that the nature of things that exist consists of bodies and empty space, creating a division (kind of) of one thing into two parts, with one having no actual existence since it’s, as you all say, intangible, void, and incorporeal; therefore, even for you, it all becomes one unless you want to talk about emptiness using nonsensical terms and argue against the ancients as if you’re fighting a shadow.
But these atomical bodies, you will say, are, according to the opinion of Epicurus, infinite in number, and everything which appears to us is composed of them. See now, therefore, what principles of generation you suppose, infinity and voidness; one of which, to wit, voidness, is inactive, impassible, and incorporeal; the other, to wit, infinity, is disorderly, unreasonable, and unintelligible, dissolving and confounding itself, because it cannot for its multitude be contained, circumscribed, or limited. But Parmenides has neither taken away fire, nor water, nor precipices, nor yet cities (as Colotes says) which are inhabited as well in Europe as in Asia; since he has both constructed an order of the world, and mixing the elements, to wit, light and dark, does of them and by them arrange and finish all things that appear in the world. For he has written very largely of the earth, heaven, sun, moon, and stars, and has spoken of the generation of man; and being, as he was, an ancient author in physiology, and one who in writing sought to save his own and not to destroy another's doctrine, he has overlooked none of the essential things in Nature. Moreover, Plato, and before him Socrates himself, understood that in Nature there is one part subject to opinion, and another subject to intelligence. As for that which is subject to opinion, it is always unconstant, wandering, and carried away with several passions and changes, liable to diminution and increase, and to be variously disposed to various men, and not always appearing after one manner even to the same individual. But as to the intelligible part, it is quite of another kind,
But these atomic bodies, you might say, are, according to Epicurus, infinite in number, and everything we see is made up of them. Now, consider what principles of generation you assume: infinity and emptiness; emptiness, that is, is inactive, unchanging, and non-physical; while infinity is chaotic, unreasonable, and confusing, dissolving and blurring itself because its vastness cannot be contained, defined, or limited. However, Parmenides hasn't removed fire, water, cliffs, or cities (as Colotes claims) that exist both in Europe and Asia; he has instead organized the world, mixing the elements of light and darkness to create and finalize all that appears in life. He has written extensively about the earth, sky, sun, moon, and stars, and has discussed the origin of humanity; being an ancient expert in physiology and a writer who aimed to preserve his own ideas rather than destroy others', he has not neglected any of the fundamental aspects of Nature. Furthermore, Plato, and before him Socrates, understood that in Nature there are two aspects: one that is based on opinion and another that is based on intelligence. The aspect based on opinion is always inconsistent, fluctuating, and influenced by various emotions and changes, subject to increase and decrease, and can be perceived differently by different people, not always appearing the same even to the same person. But the intelligible aspect is entirely different,
Constant, entire, and still engenerable,
Constant, whole, and still manageable,
as himself says, always like to itself, and perdurable in its being.
as himself says, always true to itself, and enduring in its existence.
Here Colotes, sycophant-like, catching at his expressions and drawing the discourse from things to words, flatly affirms that Parmenides in one word destroys the existence of all things by supposing ENS (or that which is) to be one. But, on the contrary, he takes away neither the one nor the other part of Nature; but rendering to each of them what belongs to it and is convenient for it, he places the intelligible in the idea of one and of "that which is," calling it ENS because it is eternal and incorruptible, and one because it is always like itself and admits no diversity. And as for that part which is sensible, he places it in the rank of uncertain, disorderly, and always moving. Of which two parts, we may see the distinct judgment:—
Here, Colotes, acting like a sycophant, seizes on his phrases and shifts the conversation from ideas to words, outright claims that Parmenides, in one statement, denies the existence of everything by suggesting that ENS (or that which is) is one. However, on the contrary, he doesn't eliminate either part of Nature; instead, by giving each its due and what's appropriate, he places the intelligible in the concept of one and "that which is," referring to it as ENS because it is eternal and unchanging, and one because it is always itself and allows for no variation. As for the sensible part, he categorizes it as uncertain, chaotic, and constantly in motion. From these two parts, we can see the clear distinction in judgment:—
One certain truth and sincere knowledge is,
One undeniable truth and genuine understanding is,
as regarding that which is intelligible, and always alike and of the same sort;
as for what is understandable, and always the same and of the same kind;
The other does on men's opinions rest,
Which breed no true belief within our breast,
The other relies on what men think,
Which creates no genuine belief in our hearts,because it is conversant in things which receive all sorts of changes, passions, and inequalities. Now how he could have left sense and opinion, if he had not also left any sensible and opinable object, it is impossible for any man to say. But because to that which truly IS it appertains to continue in its being, and because sensible things sometimes are, sometimes are not, continually passing from one being to another and perpetually changing their state, he thought they required some other name than that of ENTIA, or things which always are. This speech therefore concerning ENS (or that which is), that it should be but one, is not to take away the plurality of sensible things, but to show how they differ from that which is intelligible. Which difference Plato in his discussion of Ideas more fully declaring, has thereby afforded Colotes an opportunity of cavilling.
because it deals with things that undergo all kinds of changes, emotions, and inequalities. Now, how he could have left behind sense and opinion if he had also left behind any object that could be sensed or thought about is impossible for anyone to determine. However, since what truly IS must continue to exist, and because sensory things sometimes exist and sometimes do not, constantly shifting from one state to another and continually changing, he thought they needed a different name than ENTIA, or things that always exist. Therefore, this discussion about ENS (or that which is) being singular does not aim to deny the existence of many sensory things, but rather to illustrate how they are different from what is intelligible. Plato, in his exploration of Ideas, clarifies this difference more thoroughly, giving Colotes a chance to nitpick.
Therefore it seems not unfitting to me to take next into our consideration, as it were all in a train, what he has also said against him. But first let us contemplate a little the diligence—together with the manifold and profound knowledge—of this our philosopher, who says, that Aristotle, Xenocrates, Theophrastus, and all the Peripateties have followed these doctrines of Plato. For in what corner of the uninhabitable world have you, O Colotes, written your book, that, composing all these accusations against such personages, you never have lighted upon their works, nor have taken into your hands the books of Aristotle concerning Heaven and the Soul, nor those of Theophrastus against the Naturalists, nor the Zoroaster of Heraclides, nor his books of Hell, nor that of Natural Doubts and Difficulties, nor the book of Dicaearchus concerning the Soul; in all which books they are in the highest degree contradictory and repugnant to Plato about the principal and greatest points of natural philosophy? Nay, Strato himself, the very head and prince of the other Peripatetics, agrees not in many things with Aristotle, and holds opinions altogether contrary to Plato, concerning motion, the understanding, the soul, and generation. In fine, he says that the world is not an animal, and that what is according to Nature follows what is according to Fortune; for that Chance gave the beginning, and so every one of the natural effects was afterwards finished.
So it doesn’t seem inappropriate to me to next consider what he has said against himself, as if all of this were part of a sequence. But first, let’s take a moment to reflect on the hard work—along with the diverse and deep knowledge—of our philosopher, who claims that Aristotle, Xenocrates, Theophrastus, and all the Peripatetics have followed Plato’s teachings. For in which remote corner of the uninhabitable world have you, O Colotes, written your book, that in putting together all these accusations against such figures, you have never come across their works, nor have you looked at Aristotle’s writings on Heaven and the Soul, nor those of Theophrastus against the Naturalists, nor Heraclides’ Zoroaster or his writings on Hell, nor the text on Natural Doubts and Difficulties, nor Dicaearchus’ discussion about the Soul? In all of these works, they strongly disagree with Plato on the most significant points of natural philosophy. Furthermore, Strato himself, the leader of the other Peripatetics, does not agree with Aristotle on many issues and holds views completely opposite to Plato regarding motion, understanding, the soul, and generation. Ultimately, he argues that the world is not a living being and that what happens according to Nature follows what happens by Fortune; for Chance initiated everything, and thus each natural effect was subsequently completed.
Now as to the ideas,—for which he quarrels with Plato,—Aristotle, by moving this matter at every turn, and alleging all manner of doubts concerning them, in his Ethics, in his Physics, and in his Exoterical Dialogues seems to some rather obstinately than philosophically to have disputed against these doctrines, as having proposed to himself the debasing and undervaluing of Plato's philosophy; so far he was from following it. What an impudent rashness then is this, that having neither seen nor understood what these persons have written and what were their opinions, he should go and devise such things as they never imagined; and persuading himself that he reprehends and refutes others, he should produce a proof, written with his own hand, arguing and convincing himself of ignorance, licentiousness, and shameful impudence, in saying that those who contradict Plato agree with him, and that those who oppose him follow him.
Now about the ideas that he argues against Plato—Aristotle, by constantly bringing this up and expressing all sorts of doubts about them in his Ethics, his Physics, and his Exoteric Dialogues, seems to some to dispute these doctrines more stubbornly than thoughtfully, as if he aimed to undermine and devalue Plato's philosophy; he was far from actually following it. How incredibly bold is it that, having neither seen nor understood what those thinkers have written and what their views were, he creates concepts they never even imagined? While convincing himself that he is critiquing and disproving others, he ends up providing proof, written by his own hand, demonstrating his ignorance, recklessness, and outrageous arrogance by claiming that those who disagree with Plato actually agree with him, and that those who oppose him are actually following him.
Plato, says he, writes that horses are in vain by us considered horses, and men men. And in which of Plato's commentaries has he found this hidden? For as to us, we read in all his books, that horses are horses, that men are men, and that fire is by him esteemed fire, because he holds that every one of these things is sensible and subject to opinion. But this Colotes, as if he were not a hair's breadth distance from wisdom, takes it to be one and the same thing to say, "Man is not" and "Man is a NON ENS."
Plato claims that horses are seen as horses by us for no reason, and that men are just men. In which of Plato's writings has he found this hidden idea? Because in all his works, we read that horses are indeed horses, men are men, and fire is considered fire, as he believes that each of these things is perceivable and open to interpretation. However, this Colotes, as if he were not even slightly close to wisdom, thinks that saying "Man is not" is the same as saying "Man is a NON ENS."
Now to Plato there seems to be a wonderful great difference between not being at all and being a NON ENS; because the first imports an annihilation and abolishment of all substance, and the other shows the diversity there is between that which is participated and that which participates. Which diversity those who came after distinguished only into the difference of genus and species, and certain common and proper qualities or accidents, as they are called, but ascended no higher, falling into more logical doubts and difficulties. Now there is the same proportion between that which is participated and that which participates, as there is between the cause and the matter, the original and the image, the faculty and the result. Wherein that which is by itself and always the same principally differs from that which is by another and never remains in one and the same manner; because the one never was nor ever shall be non-existent, and is therefore totally and essentially an ENS; but to the other that very being, which it has not of itself but happens to take by participation from another, does not remain firm and constant, but it goes out of it by its imbecility,—the matter always gliding and sliding about the form, and receiving several functions and changes in the image of the substance, so that it is continually moving and shaking. As therefore he who says that the image of Plato is not Plato takes not away the sense and substance of the image, but shows the difference of that which is of itself from that which is only in regard to some other, so neither do they take away the nature, use, or sense of men, who affirm that every one of us, by participating in a certain common substratum, that is, in the idea, is become the image of that which afforded the likeness for our generation. For neither does he who says that a red-hot iron is not fire, or that the moon is not the sun, but, as Parmenides has it,
Now, for Plato, there seems to be a significant difference between not existing at all and being a NON ENS; because the first implies complete destruction and removal of all substance, while the latter reveals the distinction between what is participated in and what participates. Those who followed only categorized this distinction into differences of genus and species, along with certain common and specific qualities or accidents, but did not explore any deeper, falling into more logical confusion and challenges. There is a similar relationship between what is participated in and what participates, as there is between cause and matter, the original and the image, the faculty and the outcome. Here, what exists by itself and remains unchanged fundamentally differs from what exists through another and never stays the same; the former has never been and will never be non-existent, and is therefore entirely and essentially an ENS. In contrast, the latter defines its being not from itself but by participating in another, which does not remain stable and constant, but instead loses it due to its weakness—the matter continuously shifting around the form, undergoing various functions and changes in the likeness of the substance, causing it to be in constant motion and fluctuation. Therefore, someone who claims that Plato's image is not Plato does not negate the meaning and essence of the image, but rather highlights the difference between what is self-existent and what is merely dependent on something else. Similarly, those who assert that each of us, by participating in a certain common substratum, meaning the idea, become the image of that which provided the likeness for our creation, do not diminish the nature, use, or sense of humanity. For neither does someone who states that a red-hot iron is not fire, nor that the moon is not the sun, but, as Parmenides puts it,
A torch which round the earth by night
Does bear about a borrowed light,
A torch that travels around the earth at night
Carries with it a borrowed light,take away therefore the use of iron, or the nature of the moon. But if he should deny it to be a body, or affirm that it is not illuminated, he would then contradict the senses, as one who admitted neither body, animal, generation, nor sense. But he who by his opinion imagines that these things subsist only by participation, and reflects how far remote and distant they are from that which always is and which communicates to them their being, does not reject the sensible, but affirms that the intelligible is; nor does he take away and abolish the results which are wrought and appear in us; but he shows to those who follow him that there are other things, firmer and more stable than these in respect of their essence, because they are neither engendered, nor perish, nor suffer anything; and he teaches them, more purely touching the difference, to express it by names, calling these [Greek omitted] or [Greek omitted] (THINGS THAT HAVE BEING), and those [Greek omitted] or FIENTIA (THINGS ENGENDERED). And the same also usually befalls the moderns; for they deprive many—and those great things—of the appellation of ENS or BEING; such as are voidness, time, place, and simply the entire genus of things spoken, in which are comprised all things true. For these things, they say, are not ENTIA but SOME THINGS; and they perpetually treat of them in their lives and in their philosophy, as of things having subsistence and existence.
Take away the use of iron or the nature of the moon. But if someone denies it’s a physical entity or claims it’s not illuminated, they contradict the senses, like someone who acknowledges neither body, living things, generation, nor perception. However, the person who believes these things only exist through participation and contemplates how far removed they are from what always exists and what gives them their being doesn’t reject the sensory world but confirms that the intelligible world does exist. They don’t eliminate the results that manifest within us; instead, they show others that there are more solid and stable realities in terms of essence, because they are neither created nor destroyed nor affected in any way. They teach a clearer distinction, using terms to differentiate the two: labeling these (Greek omitted) or (Greek omitted) (THINGS THAT HAVE BEING) and those (Greek omitted) or FIENTIA (THINGS ENGENDERED). The same often happens with modern thinkers; they strip many significant concepts of the title ENS or BEING, such as emptiness, time, space, and the whole category of spoken things, which includes all truths. They argue that these are not ENTIA but SOME THINGS; yet they continuously engage with them in their lives and philosophy as if they possess existence and substance.
But I would willingly ask this our fault-finder, whether themselves do not in their affairs perceive this difference, by which some things are permanent and immutable in their substances,—as they say of their atoms, that they are at all times and continually after one and the same manner, because of their impassibility and hardness,—but that all compound things are fluxible, changeable, generated, and perishing; forasmuch as infinite images are always departing and going from them, and infinite others as it is probable, repair to them from the ambient air, filling up what was diminished from the mass, which is much diversified and transvasated, as it were, by this change, since those atoms which are in the very bottom of the said mass can never cease stirring and reciprocally beating upon one another; as they themselves affirm. There is then in things such a diversity of substance. But Epicurus is in this wiser and more learned than Plato, that he calls them all equally ENTIA,—to wit, the impalable voidness, the solid and resisting body, the principles, and the things composed of them,—and thinks that the eternal participates of the common substance with that which is generated, the immortal with the corruptible, and the natures that are impassible, perdurable, unchangeable, and that can never fall from their being, with those which have their essence in suffering and changing, and can never continue in one and the same state. But though Plato had with all the justness imaginable deserved to be condemned for having offended in this, yet should he have been sentenced by these gentlemen, who use Greek more elegantly and discourse more correctly than he, only as having confounded the terms, and not as having taken away the things and driven life from us, because he named them FIENTIA (or things engendered), and not ENTIA (things that have being), as these men do.
But I would gladly ask this critic if they don’t see the same difference in their own lives, where some things are permanent and unchanging in their essence—like their atoms, which they say are always the same due to their unchanging and solid nature—while all compound things are fluid, variable, generated, and perishable. This is because countless images are constantly leaving them, and countless others likely come to them from the surrounding air, replenishing what's lost from the whole, which is greatly varied and transformed by this change, as those atoms at the very core of that mass never stop moving and colliding with each other, as they themselves acknowledge. There is, therefore, a such diversity of substance in things. But Epicurus is smarter and more knowledgeable than Plato here, as he refers to them all equally as ENTIA—namely, the imperceptible void, the solid and resistant body, the principles, and the things made from them—and believes that the eternal shares the same substance with what is generated, the immortal with the corruptible, and the unchanging nature that can never lose its existence with those whose essence lies in suffering and change, which can never remain in one state. However, even though Plato truly deserved to be criticized for this, he should have been judged by those who speak Greek more elegantly and reason more accurately than he does, merely for mixing up the terms, and not for taking away the essence and life from us because he called them FIENTIA (or generated things) instead of ENTIA (things that exist) like these others do.
But because we have passed over Socrates, who should have come next after Parmenides, we must now turn back our discourse to him. Him therefore has Colotes begun at the very first to remove, as the common proverb has it, from the sacred line; and having mentioned how Chaerephon brought from Delphi an oracle, well known to us all, concerning Socrates, he says thus: "Now as to this narration of Chaerephon's, because it is odious and entirely sophistical, we will overpass it." Plato, then, that we may say nothing of others, is also odious, who has committed it to writing; and the Lacedaemonians are yet more odious, who keep the oracle of Lycurgus amongst their most ancient and most authentic inscriptions. The oracle also of Themistocles, by which he persuaded the Athenians to quit their town, and in a naval fight defeated the barbarous Xerxes, was a sophistical fiction. Odious also were all the ancient legislators and founders of Greece who established the most part of their temples, sacrifices, and solemn festivals by the answer of the Pythian Oracle. But if the oracle brought from Delphi concerning Socrates, a man ravished with a divine zeal to virtue, by which he is styled and declared wise, is odious, fictitious, and sophistical, by what name shall we call your cries, noises, and shouts, your applauses, adorations and canonizations, with which you extol and celebrate him who incites and exhorts you to frequent and continual pleasures? For thus has he written in his epistle to Anaxarchus: "I for my part incite and call you to continual pleasures, and not to vain and empty virtues, which have nothing but turbulent hopes of uncertain fruits." And yet Metrodorus, writing to Timarchus, says: "Let us do some extraordinarily excellent thing, not suffering ourselves to be plunged in reciprocal affections, but retiring from this low and terrestrial life, and elevating ourselves to the truly holy and divinely revealed ceremonies and mysteries of Epicurus." And even Colotes himself, hearing one day Epicurus discoursing of natural things, fell suddenly at his feet and embraced his knees, as Epicurus himself, glorying in it, thus writes: "For as if you had adored what we were then saying, you were suddenly taken with a desire, proceeding not from any natural cause, to come to us, prostrate yourself on the ground, embrace our knees, and use all those gestures to us which are ordinarily practised by those who adore and pray to the gods. So that you made us also," says he, "reciprocally sanctify and adore you." Those, by Jupiter, well deserve to be pardoned, who say, they would willingly give any money for a picture in which should be presented to the life this fine story of one lying prostrate at the knees and embracing the legs of another, who mutually again adores him and makes his devout prayers to him. Nevertheless this devout service, how well soever it was ordered and composed by Colotes, received not the condign fruit he expected; for he was not declared wise; but it was only said to him: Go they ways, and walk immortal; and understand that we also are in like manner immortal.
But since we've skipped over Socrates, who should have come right after Parmenides, we need to go back to him now. Colotes has decided to leave him out, as the saying goes, from the sacred discussion; and after mentioning how Chaerephon brought back a well-known oracle about Socrates from Delphi, he says this: "As for Chaerephon's account, since it is disgraceful and completely deceitful, we'll skip it." So, Plato—just to name one—also comes off badly for writing it down; and the Spartans are even worse for keeping Lycurgus’s oracle among their oldest and most genuine inscriptions. The oracle of Themistocles, which convinced the Athenians to abandon their city and helped him win against the barbarous Xerxes in naval battle, was a crafted lie too. All the ancient lawmakers and founders of Greece were also disreputable for establishing their temples, sacrifices, and grand festivals by the word of the Pythian Oracle. But if the oracle from Delphi concerning Socrates—a man driven by a divine passion for virtue, who is called wise—is viewed as disgraceful, fictitious, and deceitful, then what should we call your cries, noises, and cheers, your worship, adoration, and praises for someone who encourages you to seek constant pleasure? For in his letter to Anaxarchus, he wrote: "I urge you to pursue ongoing pleasures, rather than empty and meaningless virtues, which have nothing but chaotic hopes of uncertain outcomes." Yet Metrodorus, writing to Timarchus, says: "Let's do something truly remarkable, not getting caught up in mutual affections, but withdrawing from this low and earthly life, and raising ourselves up to the genuinely holy and divinely revealed practices and mysteries of Epicurus." Even Colotes, one day, when he heard Epicurus discussing natural things, suddenly fell at his feet and embraced his knees. Epicurus himself proudly wrote: "It was as if you were worshipping what we were saying at that moment, suddenly overcome by a desire, not caused by anything natural, to approach us, fall to the ground, hug our knees, and perform all the gestures that those who worship and pray to the gods usually do. So you also made us," he said, "reciprocally honor and worship you." Those who wish they could pay to see a painting capturing this beautiful scene of one person lying prostrate and embracing another's legs, who in turn worships him and offers devout prayers, certainly deserve some sympathy. However, this devout act, no matter how well organized and composed by Colotes, didn’t yield the recognition he hoped for; he wasn't declared wise. Instead, he was told: "Go your way, and walk immortal; and know that we too are similarly immortal."
These men, knowing well in their consciences that they have used such foolish speeches, have had such motions, and such passions, dare nevertheless call others odious. And Colotes, having shown us these fine first-fruits and wise positions touching the natural senses,—that we eat meat, and not hay or forage; and that when rivers are deep and great, we pass them in boats, but when shallow and easily fordable, on foot,—cries out, "You use vain and arrogant speeches, O Socrates; you say one thing to those who come to discourse with you, and practise another." Now I would fain know what these vain and arrogant speeches of Socrates were, since he ordinarily said that he knew nothing, that he was always learning, and that he went inquiring and searching after the truth. But if, O Colotes, you had happened on such expressions of Socrates as are those which Epicurus writ to Idomeneus, "Send me then the first-fruits for the entertainment of our sacred body, for ourself and for our children: for so it comes upon me to speak;" what more arrogant and insolent words could you have used? And yet that Socrates spake otherwise than he lived, you have wonderful proofs in his gests at Delium, at Potidaea, in his behavior during the time of the Thirty Tyrants, towards Archelaus, towards the people of Athens, in his poverty, and in his death. For are not these things beseeming and answerable to the doctrine of Socrates? They would indeed, good sir, have been indubitable testimonies to show that he acted otherwise than he taught, if, having proposed pleasure for the end of life, he had led such a life as this.
These men, fully aware in their hearts that they have used such silly words, had such feelings and such passions, still dare to call others disgusting. And Colotes, having presented these fine initial ideas and wise points about the natural instincts—like the fact that we eat meat instead of hay or fodder; and that when rivers are deep and wide, we cross them in boats, but when shallow and easy to cross, we walk—shouts, "You speak empty and arrogant words, Socrates; you say one thing to those who come to talk to you and do another." Now I'd really like to know what these empty and arrogant words of Socrates were, considering he usually claimed to know nothing, that he was always learning, and that he was always searching for the truth. But if, oh Colotes, you had stumbled upon statements from Socrates like those Epicurus wrote to Idomeneus, "Then send me the initial offerings for the banquet of our sacred group, for myself and my children: for that's how I feel compelled to speak;" what more arrogant and insolent words could you have chosen? And yet, you have ample evidence that Socrates spoke differently than he lived in his actions at Delium, at Potidaea, in his behavior during the time of the Thirty Tyrants, towards Archelaus, towards the people of Athens, in his poverty, and in his death. For aren't these actions consistent and reflective of Socrates' teachings? They would indeed, dear sir, have been undeniable evidence showing that he acted differently from what he taught, if he had promoted pleasure as the goal of life while leading such a life as this.
Thus much for the calumnies he has uttered against Socrates. Colotes besides perceives not that he is himself found guilty of the same offences in regard to theory and practice which he objects against Socrates. For this is one of the sentences and propositions of Epicurus, that none but the wise man ought irrevocably and unchangeably to be persuaded of anything. Since then Colotes, even after those adorations he performed to Epicurus, became not one of the sages, let him first make these questions and interrogatories his own: How is it that being hungry he eats meat and not hay, and that he puts a robe about his body and not about a pillar, since he is not indubitably persuaded either that a robe is a robe or that meat is meat? But if he not only does these things, but also passes not over rivers, when they are great and high, on foot, and flies from wolves and serpents, not being irrevocably persuaded that any of these things is such as it seems, but yet doing everything according to what appears to him; so likewise the opinion of Socrates concerning the senses was no obstacle to him, but that he might in like manner make use of things as they appeared to him. For it is not likely that bread appeared bread and hay hay to Colotes, because he had read those holy rules of Epicurus which came down from heaven, while Socrates on account of his vanity imagined that hay was bread and bread hay. For these wise men use better opinions and reasons than we; but to have sense, and to receive an impression from objects as they appear, is common as well to the ignorant as to the wise, as proceeding from causes where there needs not the discourse of reason. And the proposition which affirms that the natural senses are not perfect, nor certain enough to cause an entire belief, hinders not that everything may appear to us; but leaving us to make use of our senses in our actions according to that which appears, it permits us not so to give credit to them as if they were exactly true and without error. For it is sufficient that in what is necessary and commodious for use there is nothing better. But as for the science and knowledge which the soul of a philosopher desires to have concerning everything, the senses have it not.
So much for the slanders he’s made against Socrates. Colotes also fails to realize that he is guilty of the same issues in theory and practice that he accuses Socrates of. One of Epicurus' teachings is that only a wise person should be fully and unchangeably convinced of anything. Since Colotes, despite his efforts to worship Epicurus, still isn’t one of the wise, he should first consider these questions: How is it that when he’s hungry, he eats meat instead of hay, and that he wraps a robe around himself and not around a post, since he doesn’t have absolute certainty that a robe is a robe or that meat is meat? But if he not only does these things but also doesn’t cross deep rivers on foot and runs from wolves and snakes, not being irrevocably convinced of their nature, yet acting based on how things seem to him, then Socrates' views on the senses should not prevent him from using things as they appear. It’s unlikely that Colotes truly thinks bread is bread and hay is hay just because he read Epicurus’ divine rules, while Socrates, due to his arrogance, believed hay was bread and bread was hay. These wise individuals have better opinions and reasoning than we do, but having senses and responding to the way things appear is something shared by both the ignorant and the wise, stemming from causes that don’t require logical reasoning. The idea that our natural senses aren’t perfect or reliable enough for total belief doesn’t stop us from perceiving everything; it allows us to act based on what we see but doesn’t suggest we should trust our perceptions as if they were completely accurate. What’s necessary and useful doesn’t have a better alternative. However, in terms of the understanding and knowledge that a philosopher’s soul seeks about everything, senses fall short.
But as to this, Colotes will farther give us occasion to speak of it hereafter, for he brings this objection against several others. Furthermore, whereas he profusely derides and despises Socrates for asking what man is, and in a youthful bravery (as he terms it) affirming that he was ignorant of it, it is manifest that he himself, who scoffs at it, never so much as thought of this matter; but Heraclitus on the contrary, as having done some great and worthy thing, said, I have been seeking myself. And of the sentences that were written in Apollo's temple at Delphi, the most excellent and most divine seems to have been this, Know thyself. And this it was which gave Socrates an occasion and beginning of doubting and inquiring into it, as Aristotle says in his Platonics. And yet this appears to Colotes ridiculous and fit to be scoffed at. And I wonder that he derides not also his master himself, who does as much whenever he writes concerning the substance of the soul and the creation of man. For if that which is compounded of both, as they themselves hold,—of the body, to wit, and the soul,—is man, he who searches into the nature of the soul consequently also searches into the nature of man, beginning from his chiefest principle. Now that the soul is very difficult to be comprehended by reason, and altogether incomprehensible by the exterior senses, let us not learn from Socrates, who is a vainglorious and sophistical disputer, but let us take it from these wise men, who, having forged and framed the substance of the soul of somewhat hot, spiritual, and aerial, as far as to the faculties of the flesh, by which she gives heat, softness and strength to the body, proceed not to that which is the principal, but give over faint and tired by the way. For that by which she judges, remembers, loves, hates,—in a word, that which is prudent and rational, is,—say they, made afterwards of I know not what nameless quality. Now we well know, that this nameless thing is a confession of their shameful ignorance, whilst they pretend they cannot name what they are not able to understand or comprehend. But let this, as they say, be pardoned them. For it seems not to be a light and easy matter, which every one can at the first attempt find out and attain to, but has retired itself to the bottom of some very remote place, and there lies obscurely concealed. So that there is not, amongst so many words and terms as are in use, any one that can explain or show it. Socrates therefore was not a fool or blockhead for seeking and searching what himself was; but they are rather to be thought shallow coxcombs, who inquire after any other thing before this, the knowledge of which is so necessary and so hard to find. For how could he expect to gain the knowledge of other things, who has not been able to comprehend the principal element even of himself?
But regarding this, Colotes will give us reason to discuss it further later, as he raises this objection against several others. Moreover, while he mocks and looks down on Socrates for asking what a man is, and claiming (in what he calls youthful bravado) that he doesn’t know, it’s clear that he himself, who scorns this question, has never even considered it; unlike Heraclitus, who claimed to have done something great by stating, "I have been seeking myself." Of the inscriptions written at Apollo's temple in Delphi, the most excellent and divine seems to be "Know thyself." This is what prompted Socrates to begin doubting and inquiring into such matters, as Aristotle mentions in his writings on Plato. Yet, Colotes finds this ridiculous and worthy of mockery. I’m surprised he doesn’t also mock his own teacher, who does the same whenever he writes about the essence of the soul and the creation of man. If, as they believe, man is a combination of both body and soul, then anyone who investigates the nature of the soul is also exploring what it means to be human, starting from that primary principle. It’s clear that understanding the soul is very difficult through reason and completely incomprehensible through our external senses. We shouldn’t learn this from Socrates, whom they view as a vain and sophistical debater, but rather from these wise men. They have shaped the essence of the soul from something warm, spiritual, and airy, down to the faculties of the flesh, which provide heat, softness, and strength to the body, yet they don’t reach the essential nature and instead tire out along the way. They claim that the part of the soul responsible for judgment, memory, love, and hate—that which is wise and rational—is made of some unknown quality. We know well that this unnamed quality is merely an admission of their shameful ignorance, as they pretend they cannot name what they do not understand. But let’s excuse this, as they say, because it doesn’t seem to be a simple matter that anyone can figure out on their first try; it seems to have retreated to some very remote depth and lies hidden away. So among all the words and terms in use, there isn’t one that can explain or reveal it. Therefore, Socrates was not a fool for seeking to know what he himself was; rather, those who inquire about anything else before this essential knowledge—so necessary and yet so hard to find—should be considered shallow and foolish. For how can one expect to understand anything else if they haven’t grasped the fundamental aspect of their own being?
But granting a little to Colotes, that there is nothing so vain, useless, and odious as the seeking into one's self, let us ask him, what confession of human life is in this, and how it is that a man cannot continue to live, when he comes once thus to reason and discourse in himself: "Go to now, what am I? Am I a composition, made up of soul and body; or rather a soul, serving itself and making use of the body, as an horseman using his horse is not a subject composed of horse and man? Or is every one of us the principal part of the soul, by which we understand, infer, and act; and are all the other parts, both of soul and body, only organs and utensils of this power? Or, to conclude, is there no proper substance of the soul at all apart, but is only the temperature and complexion of the body so disposed, that it has force and power to understand and live?" But Socrates does not by these questions overthrow human life, since all natural philosophers treat of the same matter. But those perhaps are the monstrous questions and inquiries that turn everything upside down, which are in Phaedrus, (Plato, "Phaedrus," p. 230 A.) where he says, that every one ought to examine and consider himself, whether he is a savage beast, more cautelous, outrageous, and furious than ever was the monster Typhon; or on the contrary, an animal more mild and gentle, partaking by Nature of a certain divine portion, and such as is free from pride. Now by these discourses and reasonings he overturns not the life of man, but drives from it presumption and arrogance, and those haughty and extravagant opinions and conceits he has of himself. For this is that monster Typhon, which your teacher and master has made to be so great in you by his warring against the gods and divine men.
But giving a bit of credit to Colotes, who claims that there's nothing so foolish, pointless, and repulsive as introspection, let’s ask him: what insight about human life does this provide, and how can a person keep going when they start to think and reason internally: "So, what am I? Am I just a mix of soul and body? Or am I more like a soul that uses the body, like a rider using a horse, without being just a combination of both? Or is each of us the main part of the soul, which allows us to understand, infer, and act; with all the other parts—both soul and body—merely tools and instruments of this ability? Or, ultimately, is there no true essence of the soul apart from the physical body, which is simply arranged in such a way that it can think and live?" But Socrates doesn't destroy human life with these questions, since all natural philosophers discuss similar topics. However, perhaps it’s the shocking questions and inquiries found in Phaedrus (Plato, "Phaedrus," p. 230 A.) that really turn everything upside down, where he suggests that everyone should examine and consider themselves, asking if they’re a wild beast, more cautious, raging, and violent than the monster Typhon; or on the flip side, a more gentle and mild creature, naturally possessing some divine essence and free of arrogance. With these discussions and arguments, he doesn’t undermine human life; instead, he dispels hubris and those lofty and extravagant views we have of ourselves. For this is the monster Typhon, which your teacher and master has made so prominent in you by his war against gods and divine men.
Having done with Socrates and Plato, he next attacks Stilpo. Now as for those his true doctrines and good discourses, by which he managed and governed himself, his country, his friends, and such kings and princes as loved him and esteemed him, he has not written a word; nor yet what prudence and magnanimity was in his heart, accompanied with meekness, moderation, and modesty. But having made mention of one of those little sentences he was wont in mirth and raillery to object against the sophisters, he does, without alleging any reason against it or solving the subtlety of the objection, stir up a terrible tragedy against Stilpo, saying that the life of man is subverted by him, inasmuch as he affirms that one thing cannot be predicated of another. "For how," says he, "shall we live, if we cannot style a man good, nor a man a captain, but must separately name a man a man, good good, and a captain a captain; nor can say ten thousand horsemen, or a fortified town, but only call horsemen horsemen, and ten thousand ten thousand, and so of the rest?" Now what man ever was there that lived the worse for this? Or who is there that, hearing this discourse, does not immediately perceive and understand it to be the speech of a man who rallies gallantly, and proposes to others this logical question for the exercise of their wits? It is not, O Colotes, a great and dangerous scandal not to call any man good, or not to say ten thousand horsemen; but not to call God God, and not to believe him to be God,—as you and the rest do, who will not confess that there is a Jupiter presiding over generation, or a Ceres giving laws, or a Neptune nourishing the plants,—it is this separation of names that is pernicious, and fills our life with audaciousness and an atheistical contempt of the gods. When you pluck from the gods the names and appellations that are tied to them, you abolish also the sacrifices, mysteries, processions, and feasts. For to whom shall we offer the sacrifices preceding the tilling of the ground? To whom those for the obtaining of preservation? How shall we celebrate the Phosphoria or torch-festivals, the Bacchanals, and the ceremonies that go before marriage, if we admit neither Bacchantes, gods of light, gods who protect the sown field, nor preservers of the state? For this it is that touches the principal and greatest points, being an error in things,—not in words, in the structure of propositions, or use of terms.
Having finished with Socrates and Plato, he next goes after Stilpo. As for those true beliefs and wise talks that helped him manage himself, his country, his friends, and the kings and princes who admired and respected him, he hasn’t written a thing about them. Nor has he mentioned the wisdom and generosity in his heart, which were balanced with kindness, self-control, and humility. But after bringing up one of those short sayings he used to jokingly challenge the sophists, he stirs up a huge controversy against Stilpo without providing any reasoning against it or addressing the complexity of the objection, claiming that Stilpo disrupts human life by saying that one thing cannot be said of another. “For how,” he asks, “are we supposed to live if we can’t call a man good or a man a captain, but have to say a man is a man, good is good, and a captain is a captain separately? And we can’t say ten thousand horsemen or a fortified town, but only call horsemen horsemen, and ten thousand ten thousand, and so on with the rest?” Now, who has ever lived worse because of this? Or who, hearing this argument, doesn’t immediately realize it’s from someone who is playfully teasing and challenging others to think critically? It’s not, oh Colotes, a big and dangerous problem to not call anyone good or to not say ten thousand horsemen; but to not call God God and to not believe that He is God—like you and the others who refuse to acknowledge that there’s a Jupiter ruling creation, a Ceres giving laws, or a Neptune nurturing the plants—this separation of names is harmful, leading to recklessness and a disrespectful attitude towards the gods. When you strip the gods of their names and titles, you also eliminate the sacrifices, rituals, processions, and celebrations. To whom will we offer the sacrifices before farming the fields? To whom do we turn for protection? How can we celebrate the Phosphoria or torch festivals, the Bacchanals, and the ceremonies before marriage if we don’t recognize Bacchantes, gods of light, gods who safeguard the harvest, or protectors of the state? Because this gets to the core of the most crucial issues, which is an error in reality—not in words, the structure of arguments, or the use of terms.
Now if these are the things that disturb and subvert human life, who are there that more offend in speech than you? For you take utterly away the whole category of namable things, which constitute the substance of language; and leave only words and their accidental objects, while you take away in the meantime the things particularly signfied by them, by which are wrought disciplines, doctrines, preconceptions, intelligences, inclination, and assent, which you hold to be nothing at all.
Now, if these are the things that disrupt and undermine human existence, who offends in speech more than you? You completely remove the entire category of identifiable things that make up the essence of language, leaving only words and their random associations. In the process, you strip away the very things those words are meant to signify, which give rise to disciplines, doctrines, beliefs, understanding, preferences, and agreement—things you dismiss as meaningless.
But as for Stilpo, thus his reasoning proceeds. "If of a man we predicate good, and of an horse running, the predicate or thing predicated is not the same with the subject or that of which it is predicated, but the essential definition of man is one, and of good another. And again, to be a horse differs from to be running. For being asked the definition of the one and of the other, we do not give the same for them both; and therefore those err who predicate the one of the other. For if good is the same with man, and to run the same with a horse, how is good affirmed also of food and medicine, and again (by Jupiter) to run of a lion and a dog? But if the predicate is different, then we do not rightly say that a man is good, and a horse runs." Now if Stilpo is in this exorbitant and grossly mistaken, not admitting any copulation of such things as are in the subject, or affirmed of the subject, with the subject itself; but holding that every one of them, if it is not absolutely one and the same thing with that to which it happens or of which it is spoken, ought not to be spoken or affirmed of it,—no, not even as an accident; it is nevertheless manifest, that he was only offended with some words, and opposed the usual and accustomed manner of speaking, and not that he overthrew man's life, and turned his affairs upside down.
But as for Stilpo, his reasoning goes like this: "When we say something is good about a person and that a horse is running, the qualities we attribute aren't the same as the subjects themselves. The essential definition of a person is one thing, while the definition of good is another. Similarly, being a horse is different from running. If we’re asked for the definitions of both, we won't give the same answer for them. Those who mix these up are mistaken. If good is the same as a person, and running is the same as a horse, then how can we also say that good applies to food and medicine, or that running can refer to a lion or a dog? But if the quality is different, we cannot correctly say a person is good and that a horse runs." Now, if Stilpo is grossly mistaken by not allowing any connection between what is affirmed and the subjects themselves and believes that if attributes aren’t completely identical to what they refer to, they shouldn’t even be mentioned as an accident, it’s clear he was just bothered by certain terms and opposed the usual way of speaking, without completely upending human life or disrupting daily affairs.
Colotes, then, having got rid of the old philosophers, turns to those of his own time, but without naming any of them; though he would have done better either to have reproved by name these moderns, as he did the ancients, or else to have named neither of them. But he who has so often employed his pen against Socrates, Plato, and Parmenides, evidently demonstrates that it is through cowardice he dares not attack the living, and not for any modesty or reverence, of which he showed not the least sign to those who were far more excellent than these. But his meaning is, as I suspect, to assault the Cyrenaics first, and afterwards the Academics, who are followers of Arcesilaus. For it was these who doubted of all things; but those, placing the passions and imaginations in themselves, were of opinion that the belief proceeding from them is not sufficient for the assuring and affirming of things but, as if it were in the siege of a town, abandoning what is without, they have shut themselves up in the passions, using only it seems, and not asserting it is, of things without. And therefore they cannot, as Colotes says of them, live or have the use of things. And then speaking comically of them, he adds: "These deny that there is a man, a horse, a wall; but say that they themselves (as it were) become walls, horses, men," or "take on the images of walls, horses, or men." In which he first maliciously abuses the terms, as caluminators are usually wont to do. For though these things follow from the sayings of the Cyrenaics, yet he ought to have declared the fact as they themselves teach it. For they affirm that things then become sweet, bitter, lightsome, or dark, when each thing has in itself the natural unobstructed operation of one of these impressions. But if honey is said to be sweet, an olive-branch bitter, hail cold, wine hot, and the nocturnal air dark, there are many beasts, things, and men that testify the contrary. For some have an aversion for honey, others feed on the branches of the olive-tree; some are scorched by hail, others cooled with wine; and there are some whose sight is dim in the sun but who see well by night. Wherefore opinion, containing itself within these sensations, remains safe and free from error; but when it goes forth and attempts to be curious in judging and pronouncing concerning exterior things, it often deceives itself, and opposes others, who from the same objects receive contrary sensations and different imaginations.
Colotes, having dismissed the old philosophers, shifts his focus to those of his own time without naming anyone. However, it would have been better for him to either criticize these modern philosophers by name, as he did with the ancients, or to refrain from naming anyone at all. His frequent attacks on Socrates, Plato, and Parmenides clearly show that it is out of cowardice that he avoids confronting the living, rather than any humility or respect, as he demonstrated none of that towards those who were far superior to the ones he critiques. I suspect his intention is to first target the Cyrenaics and then the Academics, followers of Arcesilaus. These are the ones who doubt everything, while the others believe that passions and imaginations come from within; they think that beliefs arising from them aren't enough to affirm the reality of things. They, like someone besieging a city, lock themselves away in their own emotions, focusing only on those feelings without claiming to know what exists outside. Therefore, as Colotes claims, they can't truly live or interact with the world. He then comically remarks: "These deny the existence of a man, a horse, or a wall; instead, they say they themselves become walls, horses, and men," or "they take on the forms of walls, horses, or men." In doing this, he maliciously misrepresents their views, as slanderers are known to do. Though these ideas can be inferred from the Cyrenaics' teachings, he should have conveyed their perspective as they understand it. They assert that things are considered sweet, bitter, light, or dark when they naturally and unobstructedly reflect those sensations. But when someone calls honey sweet, an olive branch bitter, hail cold, wine hot, and nighttime air dark, there are many animals, objects, and people that experience the opposite. Some dislike honey, others eat olive branches; some are hurt by hail, while others find relief in wine; and there are those whose vision is weak in sunlight but who can see clearly at night. Therefore, opinions that stay within these sensations remain safe and free from error; but when one ventures out to judge and make claims about external things, they often deceive themselves and conflict with others who receive different sensations and imaginations from the same objects.
And Colotes seems properly to resemble those young children who are but beginning to learn their letters. For, being accustomed to learn them where they see them in their own horn-books and primers, when they see them written anywhere else, they doubt and are troubled; so those very discourses, which he praises and approves in the writings of Epicurus, he neither understands nor knows again, when they are spoken by others. For those who say that the sense is truly informed and moulded when there is presented one image round and another broken, but nevertheless permit us not to pronounce that the tower is round and the oar broken, confirm their own sensations and imaginations, but they will not acknowledge and confess that the things without are so affected. But as the Cyrenaics must say that they are imprinted with the figure of a horse or of a wall, but refuse to speak of the horse or the wall; so also it is necessary to say that the sight is imprinted with a figure round or with three unequal sides, and not that the tower is in that manner triangular or round. For the image by which the sight is affected is broken; but the oar whence that image proceeds is not broken. Since, then, there is a difference between the sensation and the external subject, the belief must either remain in the sensation, or else—if it maintains the being in addition to the appearing—be reproved and convinced of untruth. And whereas they cry out and are offended in behalf of the sense, because the Cyrenaics say not that the thing without is hot, but that the effect made on the sense is such; is it not the same with what is said touching the taste, when they say that the thing without is not sweet, but that some function and motion about the sense is such? And for him who says that he has received the apprehension of an human form, but perceives not whether it is a man, whence has he taken occasion so to say? Is it not from those who affirm that they receive an apprehension of a bowed figure and form, but that the sight pronounces not that the thing which was seen is bowed or round, but that a certain image of it is such? Yes, by Jupiter, will some one say; but I, going near the tower or touching the oar, will pronounce and affirm that the one is straight and the other has many angles and faces; but he, when he comes near it, will confess that it seems and appears so to him, and no more. Yes, certainly, good sir, and more than this, when he sees and observes the consequence, that every imagination is equally worthy of belief for itself, and none for another; but that they are all in like condition. But this your opinion is quite lost, that all the imaginations are true and none false or to be disbelieved, if you think that these ought to pronounce positively of that which is without, but those you credit no farther than that they are so affected. For if they are in equal condition as to their being believed, when they are near or when they are far off, it is just that either upon all of them, or else not upon these, should follow the judgment pronouncing that a thing is. But if there is a difference in the being affected between those that are near and those that are far off, it is then false that one sense and imagination is not more express and evident than another. Therefore those they call attestations and counter-attestations are nothing to the sense, but are concerned only with opinion. So, if they would have us following these to pronounce concerning exterior things, making being a judgment of opinion, and what appears an affection of sense, they transfer the judicature from which is totally true to that which often fails.
And Colotes really resembles young children who are just starting to learn their letters. Since they’re used to seeing letters in their own workbooks and primers, when they find them written somewhere else, they doubt and get confused. Similarly, the ideas he praises and supports in Epicurus's writings are ones he neither understands nor recognizes when they’re expressed by others. Those who claim that perception is properly informed when one sees a complete image or a fragmented one but still don’t allow us to say that the tower is round and the oar is broken are just affirming their own sensations and imaginations. They won’t admit that external things are affected in that way. Just like the Cyrenaics have to say they imprint the shape of a horse or a wall but refuse to tell us what a horse or wall actually is, it’s necessary to say that what we see impresses us with a shape that’s round or has three unequal sides, rather than saying that the tower is triangular or round. This is because the image affecting our sight is broken; however, the oar from which that image comes isn’t broken. Since there’s a difference between perception and the external object, our belief must either focus on the perception itself or—if it supports existence in addition to appearance—be proven wrong. And while they react and get offended for the sake of perception, because the Cyrenaics say the external object isn’t hot but that the effect on perception is, isn’t it the same with taste when they say the thing isn’t sweet, but that some function or action relating to perception is? As for someone who says they’ve grasped the concept of a human form but can’t tell if it’s a man, what makes them say that? Isn’t it based on those who claim they perceive a bent shape and figure but that perception doesn’t declare the seen thing as bent or round, just that a certain image of it is? Yes, someone might say; but when I get close to the tower or touch the oar, I’ll state and affirm that one is straight and the other has many angles and faces; yet he will admit that it only seems that way to him when he gets close. Yes, indeed, good sir, and moreover, when he notices that every imagination deserves equal belief for itself, but not for another; they’re all in the same situation. Your argument completely breaks down if you believe all images are true and none are false or untrustworthy, especially if you think that some should definitely state what the external thing is, while others should only be trusted as they appear. Because if they’re equally credible whether close or far away, it’s fair that judgment should apply to all of them, or not to these at all, calling something into existence. If, however, there’s a difference in how we’re affected when we’re close compared to when we’re far away, then it’s false to say that one perception or imagination isn’t clearer or more distinct than another. Therefore, those things they call attestations and counter-attestations don’t relate to perception at all; they are only about opinion. So if they want us to use these to make statements about external things, turning existence into a matter of opinion, and appearance into a matter of perception, they are shifting judgment from what is completely true to what often fails.
But how full of trouble and contradictions in respect of one another these things are, what need is there to say at present? But the reputation of Arcesilaus, who was the best beloved and most esteemed of all the philosophers in his time, seems to have been no small eyesore to Epicurus; who says of him that delivering nothing peculiar to himself or of his own invention, he imprinted in illiterate men the opinion and esteem of his being very knowing and learned. Now Arcesilaus was so far from desiring any glory by being a bringer-in of new opinions, and from arrogating to himself those of the ancients, that the sophisters of that time blamed him for attributing to Socrates, Plato, Parmenides, and Heraclitus the doctrines concerning the retention of assent, and the incomprehensibility of things; having no need so to do, but only that he might strengthen them and render them recommendable by ascribing them such illustrious personages. For this, therefore, thanks to Colotes, and to every one who declares that the academic doctrine was from a higher times derived to Arcesilaus. Now as for retention of assent and the doubting of all things, not even those who have much labored in the manner, and strained themselves to compose great books and large treatises concerning it, were ever able to stir it; but bringing at last out of the Stoa itself the cessation from all actions, as the Gorgon to frighten away the objections that came against them, they were at last quite tired and gave over. For they could not, what attempts and stirs soever they made, obtain so much from the instinct by which the appetite is moved to act, as to suffer itself to be called an assent, or to acknowledge sense for the origin and principle of its propension, but it appeared of its own accord to present itself to act, as having no need to be joined with anything else. For against such adversaries the combat and dispute is lawful and just. And
But how full of trouble and contradictions these things are with respect to each other is unnecessary to discuss right now. However, the reputation of Arcesilaus, who was the most beloved and respected philosopher of his time, seems to have been quite a sore spot for Epicurus. Epicurus claims that Arcesilaus, without offering anything original or invented by himself, made illiterate people think he was very knowledgeable and learned. Arcesilaus was far from wanting any glory for introducing new ideas or claiming the ideas of the ancients as his own. Rather, the sophists of his time criticized him for ascribing the doctrines about holding onto beliefs and the incomprehensibility of things to Socrates, Plato, Parmenides, and Heraclitus. He didn't need to do this except to strengthen those ideas and make them more attractive by associating them with such renowned figures. For this, we owe thanks to Colotes and everyone else who asserts that the academic doctrine was passed down to Arcesilaus from ancient times. As for the idea of holding onto beliefs and questioning everything, even those who heavily labored over it, writing extensive books and large essays, were never able to clarify it; ultimately, they resorted to withdrawing from all actions, like a Gorgon used to scare away opposing arguments, and finally became exhausted and gave up. They could not, despite all their efforts, extract anything from the instinct that drives the appetite to act, so much so that it could be considered an assent, or acknowledge that sensory perception was the starting point and principle of its inclination. Instead, action arose on its own, as if there were no need to be connected to anything else. Thus, against such opponents, it is both lawful and just to engage in combat and debate.
Such words as you have spoke, the like you may
Expect to hear.
("Iliad," xx. 250.)
The words you've spoken are exactly what you can
expect to hear.
("Iliad," xx. 250.)For to speak to Colotes of instinct and consent is, I suppose, all one as to play on the harp before an ass. But to those who can give ear and conceive, it is said that there are in the soul three sorts of motions,—the imaginative, the appetitive, and the consenting. As to the imaginative or the apprehension, it cannot be taken away, though one would. For one cannot, when things approach, avoid being informed and (as it were) moulded by them, and receiving an impression from them. The appetite, being stirred up by the imaginative, effectually moves man to that which is proper and agreeable to his nature, just as when there is made a propension and inclination in the principal and reasonable part. Now those who withhold their assent and doubt of all things take not away this, but make use of the appetition or instinct naturally conducting every man to that which seems convenient for him. What, then, is the only thing that they shun? That in which is bred falsehood and deceit,—that is, opining, and haste in giving consent,—which is a yielding through weakness to that which appears, and has not any true utility. For action stands in need of two things, to wit, the apprehension or imagination of what is agreeable to Nature, and the instinct or appetition driving to that which is so imagined; of which, neither the one nor the other is repugnant to the retention of assent. For reason withdraws us from opinion, and not from appetition or imagination. When, therefore, that which is delectable seems to us to be proper for us, there is no need of opinion to move and carry us to it, but appetition immediately exerts itself, which is nothing else but the motion and inclination of the soul.
Talking to Colotes about instinct and consent feels like playing the harp in front of a donkey, I guess. But for those who can listen and understand, it’s said that there are three types of movement in the soul: imaginative, appetitive, and consenting. The imaginative part, or our understanding, can’t be taken away, even if we want it to be. We can’t avoid being impacted and shaped by the things around us when they come near. The appetite, stirred up by the imaginative, effectively drives a person toward what is right and enjoyable for their nature, just like a natural inclination arises in the rational part of the mind. Those who reserve their judgment and doubt everything don’t eliminate these movements but instead use the natural instinct that guides everyone toward what seems right for them. So, what exactly do they avoid? They steer clear of falsehood and deceit—specifically, forming opinions and rushing to agree—yielding to weakness toward what seems appealing but lacks true value. Action requires two things: the understanding or imagination of what is agreeable to nature, and the instinct or appetite pushing us toward that imagined idea; neither of these conflicts with holding onto assent. Reason keeps us away from mere opinion, not from appetite or imagination. Therefore, when something pleasurable seems suitable for us, we don’t need an opinion to drive us toward it; appetite takes over immediately, which is simply the movement and inclination of the soul.
It is their own axiom, that a man must only have sense and be flesh and blood and pleasure will appear to be good. Wherefore also it will seem good to him who withholds his assent. For he also participates of sense, and is made of flesh and blood, and as soon as he has conceived an imagination of good, desires it and does all things that it may not escape from him; but as much as possibly he can, he will keep himself with that which is agreeable to his nature, being drawn by natural and not by geometrical constraints. For these goodly, gentle, and tickling motions of the flesh are, without any teacher, attractive enough of themselves—even as these men forget not to say—to draw even him who will not in the least acknowledge and confess that he is softened and rendered pliable by them. "But how comes it to pass," perhaps you will say, "that he who is thus doubtful and withholds his assent hastens not away to the mountain, instead of going to the bath? Or that, rising up to go forth into the market-place, he runs not his head against the wall, but takes his way directly to the door?" Do you ask this, who hold all the senses to be infallible, and the apprehensions of the imagination certain and true? It is because the bath appears to him not a mountain, but a bath; and the door seems not a wall, but a door; and the same is to be said of every other thing. For the doctrine of retention does not pervert the sense, nor by absurd passions and motions work in it an alteration disturbing the imaginative faculty; but it only takes away opinions, and for the rest, makes use of other things according to their nature.
It’s their belief that a person just needs to have common sense and be human, and then pleasure will seem good. So, to someone who holds back their agreement, it will also seem good. They too have the ability to sense, and they are made of flesh and blood. As soon as they imagine something good, they desire it and do everything they can to not let it slip away; but as much as possible, they will stick to what feels right to them, guided by natural impulses rather than logical constraints. Those pleasurable, gentle sensations of the body are naturally appealing—even as people often say—drawing in even those who won’t admit that they are affected and made more flexible by them. "But why," you might wonder, "does the indecisive person not run off to the mountain instead of going to the bath? Or when they stand up to leave for the marketplace, why don’t they run into the wall, but instead head right for the door?" Are you really asking this, you who believe all the senses are foolproof and the perceptions of the imagination are accurate? It’s because the bath seems to them like a bath, not a mountain; and the door doesn’t appear as a wall, but as a door. The same applies to everything else. The idea of holding back doesn’t distort the sense or change the imaginative capability with irrational feelings and movements; it just removes certain opinions, while still using other things as they are meant to be.
But it is impossible, you will say, not to consent to things that are evident; for to deny such things as are believed is more absurd than neither to deny nor affirm. Who then are they that call in question things believed, and contend against things that are evident? They who overthrow and take away divination, who say that there is not any government of Divine Providence, who deny the sun and the moon—to whom all men offer sacrifices and whom they honor and adore—to be animated. And do not you take away that which is apparent to all the world, that the young are contained in the nature of their parents? Do you not, contrary to the sense of all men, affirm that there is no medium between pleasure and pain, saying that not to be in pain is to be in the fruition of pleasure, that not to do is to suffer, and that not to rejoice is to be grieved?
But it’s impossible, you’ll say, not to agree with things that are obvious; because denying things that are widely believed is more ridiculous than neither denying nor affirming them. So who are the ones questioning accepted beliefs and arguing against clear truths? They are the ones who reject and dismiss divination, those who claim there’s no divine guidance, who deny the existence of the sun and the moon—those to whom everyone makes sacrifices and whom they honor and worship—as if they were lifeless. And do you not also dismiss what is clear to the whole world, that the young are a part of the nature of their parents? Do you not, against the understanding of everyone, insist that there’s nothing between pleasure and pain, claiming that not feeling pain means being in a state of pleasure, that not acting means suffering, and that not being joyful means being sad?
But to let pass all the rest, what is more evident and more generally believed by all men, than that those who are seized with melancholy distempers, and whose brain is troubled and whose wits are distracted, do, when the fit is on them and their understanding altered and transported, imagine that they see and hear things which they neither see nor hear? Whence they frequently cry out:—
But to skip everything else, what is more obvious and widely accepted by everyone than that those who suffer from depression and whose minds are disturbed and distracted often, when they're in the midst of it and their judgment is altered, believe they see and hear things that aren't actually there? That's why they often shout out:—
Women in black arrayed bear in their hands,
To burn mine eyes, torches and fiery brands.
Women in black are lined up, holding in their hands,
Torches and blazing brands that burn my eyes.And again:—
And again:—
See, in her arms she holds my mother dear.
(Euripides, "Iphigenia in Tauris," 289.)
See, in her arms she holds my beloved mother.
(Euripides, "Iphigenia in Tauris," 289.)These, and many other illusions more strange and tragical than these,—resembling those mormos and bugbears which they themselves laugh at and deride, as they are described by Empedocles to be, "with sinuous feet and undeveloped hands, bodied like ox and faced like man,"—with certain other prodigious and unnatural phantoms, these men have gathered together out of dreams and the alienations of distracted minds, and affirm that none of them is a deception of the sight, a falsity, or inconsistence; but that all these imaginations are true, being bodies and figures that come from the ambient air. What thing then is there so impossible in Nature as to be doubted of, if it is possible to believe such reveries as these? For these men, supposing that such things as never any mask-maker, potter, designer of wonderful images, or skilful and all-daring painter durst join together, to deceive or make sport for the beholders, are seriously and in good earnest existent,—nay, which is more, affirming that, if they are not really so, all firmness of belief, all certainty of judgment and truth, is forever gone,—do by these their suppositions and affirmations cast all things into obscurity, and bring fears into our judgments, and suspicions into our actions,—if the things which we apprehend, do, are familiarly acquainted with, and have at hand are grounded on the same imagination and belief with these furious, absurd, and extravagant fancies. For the equality which they suppose to be in all apprehensions rather derogates from the credit of such as are usual and rational, than adds any belief to those that are unusual and repugnant to reason. Wherefore we know many philosophers who would rather and more willingly grant that no imagination is true than that all are so, and that would rather simply disbelieve all the men they never had conversed with, all the things they had not experimented, and all the speeches they had not heard with their own ears, than persuade themselves that any one of these imaginations, conceived by these frantic, fanatical, and dreaming persons, is true. Since then there are some imaginations which may, and others which may not be rejected, it is lawful for us to retain our assent concerning them, though there were no other cause but this discordance, which is sufficient to work in us a suspicion of things, as having nothing certain and assured, but being altogether full of obscurity and perturbation. For in the disputes about the infinity of worlds and the nature of atoms and individuums and their inclinations, although they trouble and disturb very many, there is yet this comfort, that none of all these things that are in question is near us, but rather every one of them is far remote from sense. But as to this diffidence, perplexity, and ignorance concerning sensible things and imaginations, found even in our eyes, our ears, and our hands, what opinion does it not shock? What consent does it not turn upside down? For if men neither drunk, intoxicated, nor otherwise disturbed in their senses, but sober, sound in mind, and professedly writing of the truth and of the canons and rules by which to judge it, do in the most evident passions and motions of the senses set down either that which has no existence for true, or that which is existent for false, it is not strange that a man should be silent about all things, but rather that he assent to anything; nor is it incredible that he should have no judgment about things which appear, but rather that he should have contrary judgments. For it is less to be wondered, that a man should neither affirm the one nor the other but keep himself in a mean between two opposite things, than that he should set down things repugnant and contrary to one another. For he that neither affirms nor denies, but keeps himself quiet, is less repugnant to him who affirms an opinion than he who denies it, and to him who denies an opinion than he who affirms it. Now if it is possible to withhold one's assent concerning these things, it is not impossible also concerning others, at least according to your opinion, who say that one sense does not exceed another, nor one imagination another.
These, and many other strange and tragic illusions, like the monsters and bogeymen that people laugh at and mock, as described by Empedocles—"with winding feet and underdeveloped hands, shaped like an ox and with a face like a man"—along with other bizarre and unnatural phantoms, these individuals have pieced together from dreams and the distractions of disturbed minds, and assert that none of them is an optical illusion, a falsehood, or inconsistency; but that all these imaginations are real, being forms and figures that come from the surrounding air. What then is so impossible in Nature that it should be doubted, if one can believe such fantasies? For these people, assuming that things which no mask-maker, potter, designer of extraordinary images, or skilled and adventurous painter would dare combine to deceive or entertain the viewers, seriously and genuinely claim that they exist—and more than that, they assert that if they aren’t real, then all certainty of belief, all confidence in judgment and truth is forever lost—they create obscurity in our understanding and introduce fears into our judgments, and doubts into our actions—if the things we perceive, are familiar with, and have at hand are based on the same imagination and belief as these wild, absurd, and extravagant fancies. The equality they assume in all perceptions actually undermines the credibility of what is common and rational rather than adding any legitimacy to what is unusual and unreasonable. Therefore, we know many philosophers who would prefer to admit that no imagination is true rather than all are, and who would rather simply disbelieve everyone they've never interacted with, everything they haven't experienced, and all the words they haven't heard with their own ears than convince themselves that any one of these fantasies, created by these frenzied, fanatical, and dreaming individuals, is true. Since there are some imaginations that can be accepted and others that cannot, it is permissible for us to keep our agreement regarding them, even if the only reason is this disagreement, which is enough to instill in us a doubt about things, as being devoid of anything certain and assured, instead filled with obscurity and confusion. For in the debates about the infinity of worlds and the nature of atoms and individual entities and their tendencies, even though they trouble and disturb many, there is still this comfort: none of these matters in question are close to us, but rather each one is far removed from our senses. However, regarding this doubt, confusion, and ignorance about tangible things and imaginations that we find even in our own eyes, ears, and hands—what opinion does it not disturb? What agreement does it not turn upside down? For if people, neither drunk, intoxicated, nor disturbed in their senses, but sober, sound of mind, and deliberately writing about the truth and the principles and rules by which to judge it, record either that which doesn't exist as true, or that which does exist as false in the most evident passions and movements of the senses, it isn’t surprising that someone might remain silent about everything, rather than agree to anything; nor is it incredible that they may have no judgment about visible things, but rather conflicting judgments. It is less surprising that a person neither affirms nor denies, but rather keeps a middle ground between two opposing views, than that they would state things that are contradictory to each other. For someone who neither asserts nor denies, but remains neutral, is less in conflict with someone who affirms an opinion than with someone who denies it, and with someone who denies an opinion than with someone who affirms it. Now, if it is possible to withhold one’s agreement regarding these matters, it is not impossible also regarding others, at least according to your view, who claim that one sense does not surpass another, nor one imagination another.
The doctrine then of retaining the assent is not, as Colotes thinks, a fable or an invention of rash and light-headed young men who please themselves in babbling and prating; but a certain habit and disposition of men who desire to keep themselves from falling into error, not leaving the judgment at a venture to such suspected and inconstant senses, nor suffering themselves to be deceived by those who hold that in doubtful matters things which do not appear to the senses are credible and ought to be believed, when they see so great obscurity and uncertainty in things which do appear. But the infinity you assert is a fable, and so indeed are the images you dream of: and he breeds in young men rashness and self-conceitedness who writ of Pythocles, not yet eighteen years of age, that there was not in all Greece a better or more excellent nature, that he admirably well expressed his convictions, and that he was in other respects behaved like a women,—praying that all these extraordinary endowments of the young man might not work him hatred and envy. But these are sophists and arrogant, who write so impudently and proudly against great and excellent personages. I confess indeed, that Plato, Aristotle, Theophrastus and Democritus contradicted those who went before them; but never durst any man besides Colotes set forth with such an insolent title as this against all at once.
The idea of holding back agreement is not, as Colotes believes, just a story or a creation of reckless and superficial young people who enjoy chatting and boasting; rather, it’s a mindset and approach of those who want to avoid falling into mistakes, refusing to leave their judgment to unstable and dubious senses, and not allowing themselves to be misled by those who claim that in uncertain matters, things that aren’t perceptible through the senses are believable and should be accepted, especially when they recognize so much ambiguity and doubt regarding things that are visible. But the infinity you claim is just a myth, and so are the visions you fantasize about. It fosters recklessness and arrogance in young people when someone writes about Pythocles, who isn’t yet eighteen, claiming that there was no better or more outstanding character in all of Greece, that he articulately communicated his beliefs, and that he otherwise behaved like a woman—hoping that all these exceptional qualities of the young man wouldn't provoke hatred and jealousy. But these are merely sophists and arrogant individuals who write so shamelessly and pridefully against great and admirable figures. I do admit that Plato, Aristotle, Theophrastus, and Democritus challenged their predecessors, but no one besides Colotes has been bold enough to make such a disrespectful statement against all at once.
Whence it comes to pass that, like to such as have offended some Divinity, confessing his fault, he says thus towards the end of His book: "Those who have established laws and ordinances and instituted monarchies and other governments in towns and cities, have placed human life in great repose and security and delivered it from many troubles; and if any one should go about to take this away, we should lead the life of savage beasts, and should be every one ready to eat up one another as we meet." For these are the very words of Colotes, though neither justly nor truly spoken. For if any one, taking away the laws, should leave us nevertheless the doctrines of Parmenides, Socrates, Plato, and Heraclitus, we should be far from mutually devouring one another and leading the life of beasts. For we should fear dishonest things, and should for honesty alone venerate justice, the gods our superiors, and magistrates, believing that we have spirits and daemons who are the guardians and superintendents of human life, esteeming all the gold that is upon and within the earth not to be equivalent to virtue; and doing that willingly by reason, as Xenocrates says, which we now do by force and through fear of the law. When then will our life become savage, uncivilized, and bestial? When, the laws being taken away, there shall be left doctrines inciting men to pleasure; when the world shall bethought not to be ruled and governed by Divine Providence; when those men shall be esteemed wise who spit at honesty if it is not joined with pleasure; and when such discourses and sentences as these shall be scoffed at and derided:—
Whence it comes to pass that, like to those who have offended some Divinity, confessing his fault, he says this towards the end of His book: "Those who have created laws and regulations and established monarchies and other forms of government in towns and cities have placed human life in great peace and security, freeing it from many troubles; and if anyone tries to take this away, we would live like wild animals, ready to consume one another as we pass." For these are the very words of Colotes, though neither justly nor truly spoken. For if anyone were to remove the laws but still leave us with the teachings of Parmenides, Socrates, Plato, and Heraclitus, we would be far from tearing each other apart and living like beasts. Instead, we would fear dishonest acts and honor justice, our superiors, and magistrates for the sake of honesty, believing that spirits and daemons are the guardians of human life, valuing virtue above all the gold found in the earth. We would willingly act according to reason, as Xenocrates says, instead of being forced to comply out of fear of the law. When then will our lives become savage, uncivilized, and beast-like? When, with the laws gone, doctrines urging people toward pleasure remain; when the world is thought not to be governed by Divine Providence; when those who mock honesty in the absence of pleasure are deemed wise; and when discussions and ideas like these are ridiculed and dismissed:—
For Justice has an eye which all things sees;
For Justice has an eye that sees everything;
and again:—
and again:—
God near us stands, and views whate'er we do;
God is close by and sees everything we do;
and once more: "God, as antiquity has delivered to holding the beginning, middle, and end of the universe, makes a direct line, walking according to Nature. After him follows Justice, a punisher of those who have been deficient in their duties by transgressing the divine law."
and once more: "God, as ancient teachings have shown, holds the beginning, middle, and end of the universe, moving in a direct line, following Nature. After Him comes Justice, punishing those who have failed in their responsibilities by breaking divine law."
For they who contemn these things as if they were fables, and think that the sovereign good of man consists about the belly, and in those other passages by which pleasure is admitted, are such as stand in need of the law, and fear, and stripes, and some king, prince, or magistrate, having in his hand the sword of justice; to the end that they may not devour their neighbors through their gluttony, rendered confident by their atheistical impiety. For this is the life of brutes, because brute beasts know nothing better nor more honest than pleasure, understand not the justice of the gods, nor revere the beauty of virtue; but if Nature has bestowed on them any point of courage, subtlety, or activity, they make use of it for the satisfaction of their fleshly pleasure and the accomplishment of their lusts. And the sapient Metrodorus believes that this should be so, for he says: "All the fine, subtle, and ingenious inventions of the soul have been found out for the pleasure and delight of the flesh, or for the hopes of attaining to it and enjoying it, and every act which tends not to this end is vain and unprofitable." The laws being by such discourses and philosophical reasons as these taken away, there wants nothing to a beast-like life but lions' paws, wolves' teeth, oxen's paunches, and camels' necks; and these passions and doctrines do the beasts themselves, for want of speech and letters, express by their bellowings, neighings, and brayings, all their voice being for their belly and the pleasure of their flesh, which they embrace and rejoice in either present or future; unless it be perhaps some animal which naturally takes delight in chattering and garrulity.
For those who dismiss these ideas as if they were just stories, thinking that true happiness for humans is all about satisfying their desires and bodily pleasures, they are the ones who need laws, fear, and punishment, as well as someone like a king, prince, or official wielding the sword of justice, so they don’t end up consuming their neighbors due to their excessive gluttony, fueled by their lack of belief. This is the lifestyle of animals, as they only seek pleasure, lacking any understanding of divine justice or admiration for the beauty of virtue. If nature has given them any courage, cleverness, or agility, they use it solely for their physical satisfaction and desires. The wise Metrodorus believes this is how it should be, stating: "All the clever and creative ideas of the mind have been developed for the pleasure and enjoyment of the body, or for the hope of achieving and enjoying these pleasures, and any action that doesn’t aim for this is pointless and useless." If we removed laws based on such arguments and philosophical reasoning, all that would be left for a life like that of beasts would be the strength of lions, the teeth of wolves, the stomachs of oxen, and the necks of camels; and these instincts and beliefs are what animals express through their sounds—all their voices aimed at their hunger and the pleasures of their bodies, which they cherish and find joy in, whether in the moment or anticipated for the future; with the exception, perhaps, of some creatures that naturally enjoy chattering and talking.
No sufficient praise therefore or equivalent to their deserts can be given those who, for the restraining of such bestial passions, have set down laws, established policy and government of state, instituted magistrates and ordained good and wholesome laws. But who are they that utterly confound and abolish this? Are they not those who withdraw themselves and their followers from all part in the government? Are they not those who say that the garland of tranquillity and a reposed life are far more valuable than all the kingdoms and principalities in the world? Are they not those who declare that reigning and being a king is a mistaking the path and straying from the right way of felicity? And they write in express terms: "We are to treat how a man may best keep and preserve the end of Nature, and how he may from the very beginning avoid entering of his own free will and voluntarily upon offices of magistracy, and government over the people." And yet again, these other words are theirs: "There is no need at all that a man should tire out his mind and body to preserve the Greeks, and to obtain from them a crown of wisdom; but to eat and drink well, O Timocrates, without prejudicing, but rather pleasing the flesh." And yet in the constitution of laws and policy, which Colotes so much praises, the first and most important article is the belief and persuasion of the gods. Wherefore also Lycurgus heretofore consecrated the Lacedaemonians, Numa the Romans, the ancient Ion the Athenians, and Deucalion universally all the Greeks, through prayers, oaths, oracles, and omens, making them devout and affectionate to the gods by means of hopes and fears at once. And if you will take the pains to travel through the world, you may find towns and cities without walls, without letters, without kings, without houses, without wealth, without money, without theatres and places of exercise; but there was never seen nor shall be seen by man any city without temples and gods, or without making use of prayers, oaths, auguries, and sacrifices for the obtaining of blessings and benefits, and the averting of curses and calamities. Nay, I am of opinion, that a city might sooner be built without any ground to fix it on, than a commonweal be constituted altogether void of any religion and opinion of the gods,—or being constituted, be preserved. But this, which is the foundation and ground of all laws, do these men, not going circularly about, nor secretly and by enigmatical speeches, but attacking it with the first of their most principal opinions directly subvert and overthrow; and then afterwards, as if they were haunted by the Furies, they come and confess that they have grievously offended in thus taking away the laws, and confounding the ordinances of justice and policy, that they may not be capable of pardon. For to err in opinion, though it be not the part of wise men, is at least human; but to impute to others the errors and offences they commit themselves, how can any one declare what it is, if he forbears to give it the name it deserves?
No amount of praise can truly match the worth of those who have put in place laws, established policies and governments, appointed officials, and created good and meaningful laws to control such primal urges. But who are the ones that completely undermine all of this? Are they not those who separate themselves and their followers from any role in the government? Aren't they the ones who claim that a peaceful and tranquil life is far more valuable than all the kingdoms and powers in the world? Aren't they the ones who assert that ruling and being a king is wandering off the path and away from true happiness? And they explicitly state: "We will discuss how a person can best maintain the purpose of Nature, and how from the very start, they can voluntarily avoid taking on leadership roles and governing the people." Yet again, they say: "There’s no need for a person to tire themselves out to protect the Greeks and earn a crown of wisdom; instead, focus on eating and drinking well, O Timocrates, without harming but rather satisfying the body." However, in the constitution of laws and policies that Colotes praises so highly, the first and most essential principle is belief in the gods. This is why Lycurgus once consecrated the Spartans, Numa did the same for the Romans, the ancient Ion for the Athenians, and Deucalion for all the Greeks, through prayers, oaths, oracles, and signs, instilling piety and love for the gods through hope and fear. If you take the time to explore the world, you'll find towns and cities without walls, without written language, without kings, without homes, without wealth, without money, and lacking theaters and recreation areas; but you have never seen, and will never see, a city without temples and gods, or without the use of prayers, oaths, omens, and sacrifices to gain blessings and benefits and to prevent curses and disasters. In my opinion, a city could be built without any land to support it, sooner than a society could exist completely devoid of any religion and beliefs about the gods—or, if such a society could be established, it wouldn’t last. But the very foundation of all laws—this is what these men directly attack and aim to dismantle, without any indirect approaches or cryptic language; and then, as if tormented by guilt, they come to confess that they have seriously wronged by removing the laws and mixing up the principles of justice and governance, rendering themselves beyond forgiveness. For while it isn’t wise to err in judgment, it's at least human; but to attribute the mistakes and wrongs one commits to others—how can anyone describe what that is if they refuse to call it by its true name?
For if, in writing against Antidorus or Bion the sophister, he had made mention of laws, policy, order, and justice, might not either of them have said to him, as Electra did to her mad brother Orestes:—
For if, in writing against Antidorus or Bion the sophist, he had mentioned laws, politics, order, and justice, either of them might have said to him, just like Electra did to her disturbed brother Orestes:—
Lie still at ease, poor wretch; keep in thy bed,
(Euripides, "Orestes," 258.)
Lie still and relax, poor soul; stay in your bed,
(Euripides, "Orestes," 258.)and there cherish thy bit of body, leaving those to expostulate and find fault with me who have themselves lived the life of a citizen and householder? Now such are all those whom Colotes has reviled and railed at in his book. Amongst whom, Democritus in his writings advises and exhorts to the learning of the science of politics, as being the greatest of all, and to the accustoming one's self to bear fatigues, by which men attain to great wealth and honor. And as for Parmenides, he beautified and adorned his native country with most excellent laws which he there established, so that even to this day the officers every year, when they enter first on the exercise of their charges, are obliged to swear that they will observe the laws and ordinances of Parmenides. Empedocles brought to justice some of the principal of his city, and caused them to be condemned for their insolent behavior and embezzling of the public treasure, and also delivered his country from sterility and the plague—to which calamities it was before subject—by immuring and stopping up the holes of certain mountains, whence there issued an hot south wind, which overspread all the plain country and blasted it. And Socrates, after he was condemned, when his friends offered him, if he pleased, an opportunity of making his escape, absolutely refused to make use of it, that he might maintain the authority of the laws, choosing rather to die unjustly than to save himself by disobeying the laws of his country. Melissus, being captain general of his country, vanquished the Athenians in a battle at sea. Plato left in his writings excellent discourses concerning the laws, government, and policy of a commonweal; and yet he imprinted much better in the hearts and minds of his disciples and familiars, which caused Sicily to be freed by Dion, and Thrace to be set at liberty by Pytho and Heraclides, who slew Cotys. Chabrias also and Phocion, those two great generals of the Athenians, came out of the Academy.
and there value your own body, letting those who have lived as citizens and homeowners criticize and complain about me? Such are all the people whom Colotes has insulted and denounced in his book. Among them, Democritus, in his writings, encourages and urges the study of politics as the most important of all sciences, and to train oneself to endure hardships, through which people gain great wealth and honor. Parmenides beautified and improved his homeland with excellent laws that he established, so that even today, the officials are required each year, when they first take up their duties, to swear that they will uphold the laws and ordinances of Parmenides. Empedocles brought some of the leading citizens to justice, having them condemned for their arrogant behavior and misappropriation of public funds, and he also saved his country from drought and disease—previously, it had suffered from such calamities—by sealing the openings of certain mountains, which released a hot southern wind that scorched the entire plain. Socrates, after being sentenced, when his friends offered him a chance to escape, firmly refused to take it, wanting to uphold the authority of the laws, choosing to die unjustly rather than save himself by violating the laws of his country. Melissus, the general of his state, defeated the Athenians in a naval battle. Plato left behind great writings on laws, government, and the policy of a republic; however, he made an even greater impact in the hearts and minds of his students and associates, which led to Sicily being liberated by Dion, and Thrace being freed by Pytho and Heraclides, who killed Cotys. Chabrias and Phocion, the two great generals of the Athenians, also came from the Academy.
As for Epicurus, he indeed sent certain persons into Asia to chide Timocrates, and caused him to be removed out of the king's palace, because he had offended his brother Metrodorus; and this is written in their own books. But Plato sent of his disciples and friends, Aristonymus to the Arcadians, to set in order their commonweal, Phormio to the Eleans, and Menedemus to the Pyrrhaeans. Eudoxus gave laws to the Cnidians, and Aristotle to the Stagirites, who were both of them the intimates of Plato. And Alexander the Great demanded of Xenocrates rules and precepts for reigning well. And he who was sent to the same Alexander by the Grecians dwelling in Asia, and who most of all inflamed and stimulated him to embrace and undertake the war against the barbarian king of Persia, was Delius the Ephesian, one of Plato's familiars. Zeno, the disciple of Parmenides, having attempted to kill the tyrant Demylus, and failing in his design, maintained the doctrine of Parmenides, like pure and fine gold tried in the fire, that there is nothing which a magnanimous man ought to dread but dishonor, and that there are none but children and women, or effeminate and women-hearted men, who fear pain. For, having with his own teeth bitten off his tongue, he spit it in the tyrant's face.
As for Epicurus, he actually sent some people to Asia to confront Timocrates and had him removed from the king's palace because he had upset his brother Metrodorus; this is documented in their own writings. Plato sent some of his students and friends, like Aristonymus to the Arcadians to help organize their government, Phormio to the Eleans, and Menedemus to the Pyrrhaeans. Eudoxus established laws for the Cnidians, and Aristotle did the same for the Stagirites, both of whom were close to Plato. Alexander the Great sought guidance from Xenocrates on how to rule effectively. The person sent to Alexander by the Greeks living in Asia, who really encouraged him to wage war against the Persian king, was Delius the Ephesian, a friend of Plato. Zeno, a student of Parmenides, attempted to kill the tyrant Demylus, but when that failed, he passionately defended Parmenides’ philosophy, insisting that the only thing a noble person should fear is dishonor, and that only children, women, or cowardly men fear pain. In fact, he bit off his own tongue with his teeth and spat it in the tyrant's face.
But out of the school of Epicurus, and from among those who follow his doctrine, I will not ask what tyrant-killer has proceeded, nor yet what man valiant and victorious in feats of arms, what lawgiver, what prince, what counsellor, or what governor of the people; neither will I demand, who of them has been tormented or has died for supporting right and justice. But which of all these sages has for the benefit and service of his country undertaken so much as one voyage at sea, gone of an embassy, or expended a sum of money? What record is there extant of one civil action in matter of government, performed by any of you? And yet, because Metrodorus went down one day from the city as far as the haven of Piraeus, taking a journey of forty stadia to assist Mithres a Syrian, one of the king of Persia's court who had been arrested and taken prisoner, he writ of it to every one and in all his letters, Epicurus also highly magnifying and extolling this wonderful voyage. What value then, think you, would they have put upon it, if they had done such an act as Aristotle did, who procured the restoration and rebuilding of Stagira, the town of his nativity, after it had been destroyed by King Philip? Or as Theophrastus, who twice delivered his city, when possessed and held by tyrants? Would not the river Nile sooner have given over to bear the paper-reed, than they have been weary of writing their brave exploits?
But from the school of Epicurus and among those who follow his teachings, I won’t ask about any tyrant-killers, nor about brave warriors, lawmakers, princes, advisors, or leaders of the people; I also won’t question who among them has suffered or died for upholding what’s right and just. Instead, I want to know which of these wise individuals has done even a single voyage at sea for the good of their country, gone on a diplomatic mission, or spent any money? What record exists of any civic action taken by any of you in terms of governance? Yet, because Metrodorus traveled one day from the city to the port of Piraeus, a journey of about five miles to help Mithres, a Syrian from the king of Persia's court who had been arrested, he wrote about it to everyone in all his letters, and Epicurus praised and celebrated this remarkable journey. So, how valuable do you think it would have been if they had accomplished something like Aristotle did, who worked to restore and rebuild Stagira, his hometown, after it was destroyed by King Philip? Or like Theophrastus, who rescued his city not once but twice from tyrants? Wouldn't the Nile have tired of bearing the papyrus before they would tire of writing about their heroic deeds?
And it is not the greatest dishonor, that, of so many sects of philosophers as have existed, they alone should enjoy the benefits that are in cities, without having ever contributed to them anything of their own; but far more serious is it that, while there are not even any tragical or comical poets who do not always endeavor to do or say some good thing or other in defence of the laws and policy these men, if peradventure they write, write of policy, that we may not concern ourselves in the government of the commonweal,—of rhetoric, that we may not perform an act of eloquence,—and of royalty, that we may shun the living and conversing with kings. Nor do they ever name any of those great personages who have intermeddled in civil affairs, but only to scoff at them and abolish their glory. Thus they say that Epaminondas had something of good, but that infinitesimal, or [Greek omitted], for that is the very word they use. They moreover call him iron-hearted, and ask what ailed him that he went marching his army through all Peloponnesus, and why he did not rather keep himself quiet at home with a garland on his head, employed only in cherishing and making much of his body. But methinks I ought not in this place to omit what Metrodorus writ in his book of Philosophy, when, utterly abjuring all meddling in the management of the state, he said thus: "Some, through an excess of vanity and arrogance, have so deep a comprehension into the business of it, that in discussing the precepts of good life and virtue, they allow themselves to be carried away with the very same desires as were Lycurgus and Solon." What is this? Was it then vanity and abundance of vanity, to set free the city of Athens, to render Sparta well-policied and governed by wholesome laws, that young men might do nothing licentiously, nor get children upon common courtesans and whores, and that riches, delights, intemperance, and dissolution might no longer bear sway and have command in cities, but law and justice? For these were the desires of Solon. To this Metrodorus, by way of scorn and contumely, adds this conclusion: "It is then very well beseeming a native born gentleman to laugh heartily, as at other men, so especially at these Solons and Lycurguses." But such a one, O Metrodorus, is not a gentleman, but a servile and dissolute person, and deserves to be scourged, not with that whip which is for free-born persons, but with that scourge made with ankle-bones, with which those eunuch sacrificers called Galli were wont to be chastised, when they failed of performing their duty in the ceremonies and sacrifices of the Goddess Cybele, the great Mother of the Gods.
And it’s not the biggest shame that out of all the different groups of philosophers that have existed, these particular ones get to enjoy the benefits of city life without giving anything back. What’s much worse is that, while even tragic or comedic poets always try to do or say something good in support of the laws and governance, these philosophers—if they write at all—only focus on politics to keep us from getting involved in the governance of the community, on rhetoric so we don’t practice eloquence, and on royalty so we avoid interacting with kings. They never mention any of the great figures who have taken part in political affairs except to mock them and diminish their accomplishments. They might say that Epaminondas had some good qualities, but they consider these to be minimal, or Greek omitted, which is precisely the term they use. They call him cold-hearted and question why he chose to march his army through all of Peloponnesus instead of staying home, relaxing with a crown on his head, and focusing on nurturing his own body. However, I don’t think I should skip over what Metrodorus wrote in his book on Philosophy. He completely rejected involvement in state affairs and said this: "Some, driven by excessive vanity and arrogance, have such deep insights into the matter that when discussing the principles of a good life and virtue, they get swept up in the same desires as Lycurgus and Solon." What is this? Was it vanity and excessive pride to liberate the city of Athens, to establish a well-governed Sparta with sound laws, so that young people wouldn't act recklessly or father children with common prostitutes, and so that wealth, pleasure, excess, and chaos wouldn’t rule cities anymore, but rather law and justice? Because those were the goals of Solon. To this, Metrodorus adds sarcastically: "It’s quite fitting for a gentleman to laugh heartily, at others as well as especially at these Solons and Lycurguses." But someone like that, Metrodorus, isn't a gentleman; he's a base and immoral person who deserves to be punished, not with the whip meant for free men but with the scourge made of ankle bones, like those eunuch priests called Galli were punished when they failed in their duties during the ceremonies and sacrifices to the Goddess Cybele, the great Mother of the Gods.
But that they made war not against the lawgivers but against the laws themselves, one may hear and understand from Epicurus. For in his questions, he asks himself, whether a wise man, being assured that it will not be known, will do anything that the laws forbid. To which he answers: "That is not so easy to settle simply,"—that is "I will do it indeed, but I am not willing to confess it." And again, I suppose writing to Idomeneus, he exorts him not to make his life a slave to the laws or to the options of men, unless it be to avoid the trouble they prepare, by the scourge and chastisement, so near at hand. If those who abolish laws, governments, and polices of men subvert and destroy human life, and if Metrodorus and Epicurus do this, by dehorting and withdrawing their friends from concerning themselves in public affairs, by hating those who intermeddle in them, by reviling the first most wise lawgivers, and by advising contempt of the laws provided there is no fear and danger of the whip punishment. I do not see that Colotes has brought so many false accusations against the other philosophers as he has alleged and advanced true ones against the writings and doctrines of Epicurus.
But they waged war not against the lawgivers but against the laws themselves, as you can hear and understand from Epicurus. In his questions, he asks himself whether a wise person, knowing it won't be discovered, would do anything that the laws forbid. To which he responds: "That's not so easy to figure out simply,"—meaning, "I will do it, but I'm not willing to admit it." Again, I think in writing to Idomeneus, he encourages him not to let his life be a slave to the laws or to the choices of others, unless it's to avoid the trouble they cause, which is so close at hand, by punishment and discipline. If those who abolish laws, governments, and the rules of men subvert and destroy human life, and if Metrodorus and Epicurus do this by dissuading and pulling their friends away from getting involved in public matters, by disparaging those who do engage in them, by criticizing the first wise lawgivers, and by advising contempt for the laws as long as there’s no fear of punishment, I don't see that Colotes has made as many false accusations against the other philosophers as he has made true ones against the writings and teachings of Epicurus.
PLATONIC QUESTIONS.
QUESTION I. WHY DID GOD COMMAND SOCRATES TO ACT THE MIDWIFE'S PART TO OTHERS, BUT CHARGED HIMSELF NOT TO GENERATE; AS HE AFFIRMS IN THEAETETUS? (See Plato, "Theaetetus," p. 149 B.)
QUESTION I. WHY DID GOD ASK SOCRATES TO PLAY THE ROLE OF A MIDWIFE FOR OTHERS, BUT TOLD HIMSELF NOT TO CREATE; AS HE STATES IN THEAETETUS? (See Plato, "Theaetetus," p. 149 B.)
For he would never have used the name of God in such a merry, jesting manner, though Plato in that book makes Socrates several times to talk with great boasting and arrogance, as he does now. "There are many, dear friend, so affected towards me, that they are ready even to snap at me, when I offer to cure them of the least madness. For they will not be persuaded that I do it out of goodwill, because they are ignorant that no god bears ill-will to man, and that therefore I wish ill to no man; but I cannot allow myself either to stand in a lie or to stifle the truth." (Ibid. p. 151 C.) Whether therefore did he style his own nature, which was of a very strong and pregnant wit, by the name of God,—as Menander says, "For our mind is God," and as Heraclitus, "Man's genius is a Deity"? Or did some divine cause or some daemon or other impart this way of philosophizing to Socrates, whereby constantly interrogating others, he cleared them of pride, error, and ignorance, and of being troublesome both to themselves and to others? For about that time there happened to be in Greece several sophists; to these some young men paid great sums of money, for which they purchased a strong opinion of learning and wisdom, and of being stout disputants; but this sort of disputation spent much time in trifling squabblings, which were of no credit or profit. Now Socrates, using an argumentative discourse by way of a purgative remedy procured belief and authority to what he said, because in refuting others he himself affirmed nothing; and he the sooner gained upon people, because he seemed rather to be inquisitive after the truth as well as they, than to maintain his own opinion.
For he would never have used God's name in such a light, joking way, even though Plato often portrays Socrates in that book as boasting and acting arrogantly, just like he does now. "There are many, dear friend, who feel so strongly about me that they are ready to snap at me when I try to help them with even the slightest bit of madness. They won't believe that I'm doing it out of goodwill because they don't understand that no god holds malice against humanity, and therefore I wish no harm to anyone; but I can't allow myself to lie or hide the truth." (Ibid. p. 151 C.) Did he then refer to his own nature, which was full of sharp and insightful wit, as God—like Menander said, "For our mind is God," and as Heraclitus said, "Man's genius is a Deity"? Or did some divine reason or spirit inspire this way of thinking in Socrates, who by constantly questioning others helped them shed pride, errors, and ignorance, relieving both themselves and others of their troubles? Around that time, there were many sophists in Greece; some young men paid them large sums of money to acquire a false sense of learning and wisdom, and to be seen as strong debaters. However, this form of debate mostly resulted in pointless arguments that held no real value. Socrates, on the other hand, used reasoning as a sort of cleansing remedy that gave weight and authority to what he said because, in refuting others, he did not assert anything himself; and he won people over more quickly because he seemed to genuinely seek the truth alongside them, rather than just push his own opinions.
Now, however useful a thing judgment is, it is mightily infected By the begetting of a man's own fancies. For the lover is blinded with the thing loved; and nothing of a man's own is so beloved as is the opinion and discourse he has begotten. And the distribution of children said to be the justest, in respect of discourses is the unjustest; for there a man must take his own, but here a man must choose the best, though it be another man's. Therefore he that has children of his own, is a worse judge of other men's; it being true, as the sophister said well, "The Eleans would be the most proper judges of the Olympic games, were no Eleans gamesters." So he that would judge of disputations cannot be just, if he either seeks the bays for himself, or is himself antagonist to either of the antagonists. For as the Grecian captains, when they were to settle by their suffrages who had behaved himself the best, every man of them voted for himself; so there is not a philosopher of them all but would do the like, besides those that acknowledge, like Socrates, that they can say nothing that is their own; and these only are the pure uncorrupt judges of the truth. For as the air in the ears, unless it be still and void of noise in itself, without any sound or humming, does not exactly take sounds so the philosophical judgment in disputations, if it be disturbed and obstreperous within, is hardly comprehensive of what is said without. For our familiar and inbred opinion will not allow that which disagrees with itself, as the number of sects and parties shows, of which philosophy—if she deals with them in the best manner—must maintain one to be right, and all the others to be contrary to the truth in their positions.
Now, no matter how useful judgment is, it’s heavily influenced by a person’s own ideas. A lover is blinded by their affection for the beloved; nothing is more cherished than the opinions and thoughts one creates. When it comes to how children are distributed, what seems to be the fairest is actually the most unfair; a person must accept their own, but in this situation, a person should choose the best, even if it belongs to someone else. Therefore, someone with their own kids is often a worse judge of others’ children; it’s true, as one clever thinker pointed out, that “the Eleans would be the best judges of the Olympic games if no Eleans were competing.” Similarly, one who judges debates can’t be fair if they seek the glory for themselves or are against one of the debaters. Just like the Greek leaders who, when voting for who had performed best, all picked themselves, every philosopher would likely do the same, except for those who admit, like Socrates, that they have nothing truly their own to claim; these are the only genuine impartial judges of the truth. Just as air needs to be still and free of noise to accurately transmit sounds, philosophical judgment in debates struggles to grasp what’s being said if it’s troubled by inner chaos. Our ingrained opinions resist anything that contradicts them, as demonstrated by the multitude of sects and factions, which philosophy—if handled appropriately—must argue that one is correct while all others are wrong in their beliefs.
Furthermore, if men can comprehend and know nothing, God did justly interdict Socrates the procreation of false and unstable discourses, which are like wind-eggs, and did him convince others who were of any other opinion. And reasoning, which rids us of the greatest of evils, error and vanity of mind, is none of the least benefit to us; "For God has not granted this to the Esculapians." (Theognis, vs. 432,) Nor did Socrates give physic to the body; indeed he purged the mind of secret corruption. But if there be any knowledge of the truth, and if the truth be one, he has as much that learns it of him that invented it, as the inventor himself. Now he the most easily attains the truth, that is persuaded he has it not; and he chooses best, just as he that has no children of his own adopts the best. Mark this well, that poetry, mathematics, oratory, and sophistry, which are the things the Deity forbade Socrates to generate, are of no value; and that of the sole wisdom about what is divine and intelligible (which Socrates called amiable and eligible for itself), there is neither generation nor invention by man, but reminiscence. Wherefore Socrates taught nothing, but suggesting principles of doubt, as birth-pains, to young men, he excited and at the same time confirmed the innate notions. This he called his Art of Midwifery, which did not (as others professed) extrinsically confer intelligence upon his auditors; but demonstrated it to be innate, yet imperfect and confused, and in want of a nurse to feed and fortify it.
Moreover, if people can understand and know nothing, God rightly prevented Socrates from creating false and unstable ideas, which are as empty as wind-eggs, and persuaded others who held different views. Reasoning, which frees us from the worst evils, like ignorance and vanity, is one of our greatest benefits; "For God has not granted this to the Esculapians." (Theognis, vs. 432.) Socrates didn’t heal the body; he actually cleansed the mind of hidden corruption. But if there is any knowledge of the truth, and if the truth is singular, then the person who learns it has as much as the one who created it. The person who is most likely to find the truth is the one who believes they don’t have it; they make the best choices, similar to someone who adopts the best child when they have none of their own. It’s important to note that poetry, mathematics, oratory, and sophistry—things that the Deity forbade Socrates from creating—hold little value; and the only wisdom regarding the divine and intelligible (which Socrates described as admirable and desirable for its own sake) is not created or invented by humans, but remembered. Thus, Socrates didn’t teach anything; instead, by introducing principles of doubt, like the pains of childbirth, he stirred up and affirmed innate ideas in young people. He referred to this as his Art of Midwifery, which, unlike what others claimed, did not externally give knowledge to his listeners, but revealed it as something inherent, though imperfect and confused, and in need of nurturing to grow and strengthen it.
QUESTION II. WHY DOES HE CALL THE SUPREME GOD FATHER AND MAKER OF ALL THINGS? (Plato, "Timaeus," p. 28 C.)
QUESTION II. WHY DOES HE CALL THE SUPREME GOD FATHER AND CREATOR OF ALL THINGS? (Plato, "Timaeus," p. 28 C.)
Is it because he is (as Homer calls him) of created gods and men the Father, and of brutes and things that have no soul the maker? If Chrysippus may be believed, he is not properly styled the father of the afterbirth who supplied the seed, although it arose from the seed. Or has Plato figuratively called the maker of the world the father of it? In his Convivium he calls Phaedrus the father of the amatorious discourse which he had commenced; and so in his Phaedrus ("Phaedrus," p. 261 A.) he calls him "father of noble children," when he had been the occasion of many pre-eminent discourses about philosophical questions. Or is there any difference between a father and a maker? Or between procreation and making? For as what is procreated is also made, but not the contrary recreated did also make, for the procreation of an animal is the making of it. Now the work of a maker—as of a builder, a weaver, a musical-instrument maker, or a statuary—is altogether apart and separate from its author; but the principle and power of the procreator is implanted in the progeny, and contains his nature, the progeny being a piece pulled off the procreator. Since therefore the world is neither like a piece of potter's work nor joiner's work, but there is a great share of life and divinity in it, which God from himself communicated to and mixed with matter, God may properly be called Father of the world—since it has life in it—and also the maker of it.
Is it because he is (as Homer calls him) the Father of created gods and men, and the maker of beasts and soulless things? If we can trust Chrysippus, he shouldn't be called the father of the afterbirth who provided the seed, even if it came from that seed. Or did Plato metaphorically refer to the maker of the world as its father? In his *Convivium*, he calls Phaedrus the father of the amorous discussion he started, and in his *Phaedrus* ("Phaedrus," p. 261 A.) he refers to him as "father of noble children," because he sparked many significant talks about philosophical issues. Is there a difference between a father and a maker? Or between procreation and creation? Because while what is procreated is also made, the reverse isn’t true; the act of creating an animal involves bringing it into existence. The work of a maker—like a builder, a weaver, a musical instrument maker, or a sculptor—is entirely separate from its creator; however, the essence and power of the procreator are embedded in the offspring, which carries its nature, being a piece taken from the procreator. So, since the world is not like a simple piece of pottery or carpentry but contains a significant amount of life and divinity, mixed with matter that God imparted to it, it’s fitting to call God the Father of the world—because it has life within it—and also its maker.
And since these things come very near to Plato's opinion, consider, I pray, whether there may not be some probability in them. Whereas the world consists of two parts, body and soul, God indeed made not the body; but matter being at hand, he formed and fitted it, binding up and confirming what was infinite within proper limits and figures. But the soul, partaking of mind, reason, and harmony, was not only the work of God, but part of him not only made by him, but begot by him.
And since these ideas are quite similar to Plato's views, please think about whether there might be some truth to them. The world is made up of two parts: body and soul. God didn’t create the body, but with matter available, He shaped and organized it, bringing order to what was limitless into defined forms. However, the soul, which includes mind, reason, and harmony, was not just created by God; it is a part of Him, not only made by Him but also born from Him.
QUESTION III. In the Republic, ("Republic," vi. pp. 509 D-511 E.) he assumes the universe, as one line to be cut into two unequal parts; again he cuts each of these parts in two after the same manner, and supposes the two sections first made to form the two genera of things sensible and things intelligible. The first stands for the genus of intelligibles, comprehending in the first subdivision the primitive forms, in the second the mathematics. Of sensibles, the first subdivision comprehends solid bodies, the second comprehends the images and representations of them. Moreover, to every one of these four he has assigned its proper criterion;—to the first reason; to the mathematics, the understanding; to sensibles, belief; to images and likenesses, conjecture.
QUESTION III. In the Republic, ("Republic," vi. pp. 509 D-511 E.) he sees the universe as a single line divided into two unequal parts. Then he divides each of those parts in the same way and suggests that the first two sections represent the two categories of what can be perceived: things that can be sensed and things that can be understood. The first category represents intelligible things, which includes the basic forms in the first subdivision and mathematics in the second. For the category of sensible things, the first subdivision includes solid objects, while the second includes their images and representations. Additionally, he has assigned a specific standard for each of these four: reason for the first, understanding for mathematics, belief for sensible things, and conjecture for images and likenesses.
BUT WHAT DOES HE MEAN BY DIVIDING THE UNIVERSE INTO UNEQUAL PARTS? AND WHICH OF THE SECTIONS, THE INTELLIGIBLE OR THE SENSIBLE, IS THE GREATER? FOR IN THIS HE HAS NOT EXPLAINED HIMSELF.
BUT WHAT DOES HE MEAN BY DIVIDING THE UNIVERSE INTO UNEQUAL PARTS? AND WHICH OF THE SECTIONS, THE INTELLIGIBLE OR THE SENSIBLE, IS LARGER? FOR IN THIS HE HAS NOT CLARIFIED.
At first glance it will appear that the sensible is the greater portion. For the essence of intelligibles being indivisible, and in the same respect ever the same, is contracted into a little, and pure; but an essence divisible and running through bodies constitutes the sensible part. Now what is immaterial is limited; but body in respect of matter is infinite and unlimited, and it becomes sensible only when it is limited by partaking of the intelligible. Besides, as every sensible has many images, shadows, and representations, and from one and the same original several copies may be taken both by nature and art; so the latter must surpass the former in number, according to Plato, who makes things of the intellect to be patterns or ideas of things sensible, as if the last were images and reflections. Further, Plato derives the knowledge of ideas by abstraction and cutting away of body, leading us by mathematical discipline from arithmetic to geometry, thence to astronomy, and placing harmony above them all. For things become geometrical by the accession of magnitude to quantity; solid, by the accession of profundity to magnitude; astronomical, by the accession of motion to solidity; harmonical, by the accession of sound to motion. Take then sound from moving bodies, motion from solids, profundity from superficies, magnitude from quantity, we then reach pure intelligible ideas, which have no difference among themselves as regards the one single intelligible essence. For unity makes no number unless joined by the infinite binary; then it makes a number. And thence we proceed to points, thence to lines, from them to superficies, and solids, and bodies, and to the qualities of the bodies so and so affected. Now the reason is the only criterion of intelligibles; and the understanding is the reason in the mathematics, where intelligibles appear as if in mirrors. But as to the knowledge of bodies, because of their multitude, Nature has given us five powers or distinctions of senses; nor are all bodies discerned by them, many escaping sense by reason of their smallness. And though every one of us consists of a body and soul, yet the hegemonic and intellectual faculty is small, being hid in the huge mass of flesh. And the case is the same in the universe, as to sensible and intelligible. For intelligibles are the principles of bodily things, but everything is greater than the principle whence it came.
At first glance, it may seem like the sensible world is the larger part. The essence of intelligibles is indivisible and always the same, distilled into something small and pure, while the essence that is divisible and exists in physical bodies makes up the sensible part. What is immaterial is limited, but the body, in terms of matter, is infinite and unbounded; it becomes sensible only when it is defined by participating in the intelligible. Furthermore, since every sensible has many images, shadows, and representations—and from one original, several copies can be made by both nature and art—the latter must exceed the former in number. According to Plato, the things of intellect are patterns or ideas of sensible things, suggesting the latter are mere images and reflections. Additionally, Plato teaches that we gain knowledge of ideas through abstraction and removing the body, guiding us through mathematical disciplines from arithmetic to geometry, then to astronomy, and placing harmony above them all. Things become geometrical when magnitude is added to quantity; solid when depth is added to magnitude; astronomical when motion is added to solidity; and harmonical when sound is added to motion. If we remove sound from moving bodies, motion from solids, depth from surfaces, and magnitude from quantity, we arrive at pure intelligible ideas, which have no differences among themselves concerning the singular intelligible essence. Unity does not create a number unless it is joined with an infinite binary; then it forms a number. From there, we move to points, then to lines, from lines to surfaces, and solids, bodies, and the qualities of those bodies. Reason is the only criterion for intelligibles; understanding acts as reason in mathematics, where intelligibles appear as if in mirrors. However, regarding the knowledge of bodies, because of their vastness, nature has provided us with five senses; not all bodies can be perceived by them, as many remain unnoticed due to their small size. Although each of us is made of body and soul, the dominant intellectual faculty is small, hidden within the large mass of flesh. The same is true in the universe concerning sensible and intelligible forms. Intelligibles are the principles of bodily things, yet everything is greater than the principle from which it originates.
Yet, on the contrary, some will say that, by comparing sensibles with intelligibles, we match things mortal with divine, in some measure; for God is in intelligibles. Besides, the thing contained is ever less than the containing, and the nature of the universe contains the sensible in the intelligible. For God, having placed the soul in the middle, hath extended it through all, and hath covered it all round with bodies. The soul is invisible, and cannot be perceived by any of the senses, as Plato says in his Book of Laws; therefore every man must die, but the world shall never die. For mortality and dissolution surround every one of our vital faculties. The case is quite otherwise in the world; for the corporeal part, contained in the middle by the more noble and unalterable principle, is ever preserved. And a body is said to be without parts and indivisible for its minuteness; but what is incorporeal and intelligible is so, as being simple and sincere, and void of all firmness and difference. Besides, it were folly to think to judge of incorporeal things by corporeal. The present, or now, is said to be without parts and indivisible, since it is everywhere and no part of the world is void of it. But all affections and actions, and all corruptions and generations in the world, are contained by this same now. But the mind is judge only of what is intelligible, as the sight is of light, by reason of its simplicity and similitude. But bodies, having several differences and diversities, are comprehended, some by one judicatory function, others by another, as by several organs. Yet they do not well who despise the discriminative faculty in us; for being great, it comprehends all sensibles, and attains to things divine. The chief thing he himself teaches in his Banquet, where he shows us how we should use amatorious matters, turning our minds from sensible goods to things discernible only by the mind, that we ought not to be enslaved by the beauty of any body, study, or learning, but laying aside such weakness, should turn to the vast ocean of beauty. (See Plato's "Symposium," p. 210 D.)
Yet, some will argue that by comparing what we can perceive with what we can understand, we connect the mortal with the divine to some extent, because God exists in the realm of the intelligible. Moreover, the thing that is contained is always less than that which contains it, and the nature of the universe includes the sensible within the intelligible. God has placed the soul in the middle and spread it through everything, surrounding it with physical forms. The soul is invisible and can’t be sensed, as Plato mentions in his Book of Laws; thus, every person must eventually die, but the universe will never perish. Mortality and decay affect all our vital faculties. In the case of the universe, however, the physical part, which is contained by the more noble and unchanging principle, is always preserved. A body is said to be without parts and indivisible because of its smallness; however, what is incorporeal and intelligible is so because it is simple, sincere, and lacks all solidity and difference. Furthermore, it’s foolish to judge incorporeal things by corporeal ones. The present moment is described as without parts and indivisible, as it exists everywhere and no part of the world is without it. Yet all feelings, actions, corruptions, and creations in the world are contained within this same present moment. The mind judges only what is intelligible, just as sight judges light, due to its simplicity and similarity. However, bodies, with their many differences and varieties, are understood by various judging faculties, as through different senses. Yet, those who dismiss our ability to discriminate are misguided; it is significant and encompasses all sensory experiences, allowing us to grasp divine matters. The main lesson he teaches in his Banquet is to guide us on how to approach matters of love, shifting our focus from physical beauty to things that can only be discerned by the mind. We should not be enslaved by the beauty of any physical form, studies, or knowledge, but instead, set aside such weakness and turn to the vast ocean of beauty. (See Plato's "Symposium," p. 210 D.)
QUESTION IV. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT, THOUGH PLATO ALWAYS SAYS THAT THE SOUL IS ANCIENTER THAN THE BODY, AND THAT IT IS THE CAUSE AND PRINCIPLE OF ITS RISE, YET HE LIKEWISE SAYS, THAT NEITHER COULD THE SOUL EXIST WITHOUT THE BODY, NOR THE REASON WITHOUT THE SOUL, BUT THE SOUL IN THE BODY AND THE REASON IN THE SOUL? FOR 80 THE BODY WILL SEEM TO BE AND NOT TO BE, BECAUSE IT BOTH EXISTS WITH THE SOUL, AND IS BEGOT BY THE SOUL.
QUESTION IV. WHAT IS THE REASON THAT, EVEN THOUGH PLATO ALWAYS STATES THAT THE SOUL IS OLDER THAN THE BODY AND THAT IT IS THE CAUSE AND PRINCIPLE OF ITS EMERGENCE, HE ALSO SAYS THAT NEITHER CAN THE SOUL EXIST WITHOUT THE BODY, NOR CAN REASON EXIST WITHOUT THE SOUL, BUT RATHER THE SOUL IN THE BODY AND REASON IN THE SOUL? BECAUSE THE BODY WILL SEEM TO BOTH EXIST AND NOT EXIST, AS IT BOTH EXISTS WITH THE SOUL AND IS BROUGHT INTO BEING BY THE SOUL.
Perhaps what we have often said is true; viz., that the soul without reason and the body without form did mutually ever coexist, and neither of them had generation or beginning. But after the soul did partake of reason and harmony, and being through consent made wise, it wrought a change in matter, and being stronger than the other's motions, it drew and converted these motions to itself. So the body of the world drew its original from the soul, and became conformable and like to it. For the soul did not make the nature of the body out of itself, or out of nothing; but it wrought an orderly and pliable body out of one disorderly and formless. Just as if a man should say that the virtue of the seed is with the body, and yet that the body of the fig-tree or olive-tree was made of the seed, he would not be much out; for the body, its innate motion and mutation proceeding from the seed, grew up and became what it is. So, when formless and indefinite matter was once formed by the inbeing soul, it received such a form and disposition.
Maybe what we’ve often said is true; that the soul without reason and the body without form always existed together, and neither had origin or beginning. But after the soul gained reason and harmony, and through agreement became wise, it caused a change in matter, and being more powerful than the motions of the body, it attracted and transformed those motions to itself. Thus, the body of the world derived its essence from the soul and became similar to it. The soul didn’t create the body’s nature out of itself or out of nothing; it molded an orderly and adaptable body from one that was chaotic and formless. If someone were to say that the potential of the seed is within the body, yet the body of the fig tree or olive tree was made from the seed, that wouldn’t be entirely wrong; for the body, with its inherent motion and change coming from the seed, grew up and became what it is. So, when formless and undefined matter was shaped by the soul within it, it took on a specific form and arrangement.
QUESTION V. WHY, SINCE BODIES AND FIGURES ARE CONTAINED PARTLY BY RECTILINEARS AND PARTLY BY CIRCLES, DOES HE MAKE ISOSCELES TRIANGLES AND TRIANGLES OF UNEQUAL SIDES THE PRINCIPLES OF RECTILINEARS; OF WHICH THE ISOSCELES TRIANGLE CONSTITUTES THE CUBE, THE ELEMENT OF THE EARTH; AND A SCALENE TRIANGLE FORMS THE PYRAMID, THE OCTAHEDRON THE SEED OF FIRE, AIR AND WATER RESPECTIVELY, AND THE ICOSAHEDRON;—WHILE HE PASSES OVER CIRCULARS, THOUGH HE DOES MENTION THE GLOBE, WHERE HE SAYS THAT EACH OF THE AFORE-RECKONED FIGURES DIVIDES A ROUND BODY THAT CIRCUMSCRIBES IT INTO EQUAL PARTS. (See "Timaeus," pp. 53-56.)
QUESTION V. WHY, SINCE BODIES AND SHAPES ARE PARTLY BOUNDED BY STRAIGHT LINES AND PARTLY BY CIRCLES, DOES HE MAKE ISOSCELES TRIANGLES AND TRIANGLES WITH UNEQUAL SIDES THE FOUNDATIONS OF STRAIGHT LINES; WITH THE ISOSCELES TRIANGLE REPRESENTING THE CUBE, THE ELEMENT OF EARTH; AND A SCALENE TRIANGLE FORMING THE PYRAMID, AND THE OCTAHEDRON REPRESENTING THE ELEMENTS OF FIRE, AIR, AND WATER RESPECTIVELY, AND THE ICOSAHEDRON;—WHILE HE IGNORES CIRCLES, EVEN THOUGH HE MENTIONS THE SPHERE, WHERE HE STATES THAT EACH OF THE ABOVE FIGURES DIVIDES A ROUND BODY THAT SURROUNDS IT INTO EQUAL PARTS. (See "Timaeus," pp. 53-56.)
Is their opinion true who think that he ascribed a dodecahedron to the globe, when he says that God made use of it in delineating the universe? For upon account of the multitude of its bases and the obtuseness of its angles, avoiding all rectitude, it is flexible, and by circumtension, like globes made of twelve skins, it becomes circular and comprehensive. For it has twenty solid angles, each of which is contained by three obtuse planes, and each of these contains one and the fifth part of a right angle. Now it is made up of twelve equilateral and equangular quinquangles (or pentagons), each of which consists of thirty of the first scalene triangles. Therefore it seems to resemble both the Zodiac and the year, it being divided into the same number of parts as these.
Is it true what some people say, that he compared a dodecahedron to the globe when he mentioned that God used it to map out the universe? Because of its many faces and the sharpness of its angles, which avoids all straight lines, it is flexible. When stretched out, like globes made from twelve skins, it takes on a circular and complete form. It has twenty solid angles, each made up of three obtuse planes, and each of those contains one and one-fifth of a right angle. It's constructed from twelve equilateral and equiangular pentagons, each of which is made up of thirty of the simplest scalene triangles. So, it appears to be similar to both the Zodiac and the year, as it is divided into the same number of parts as they are.
Or is a right line in Nature prior to circumference; or is circumference but an accident of rectilinear? For a right line is said to bend; and a circle is described by a centre and distance, which is the place of a right line from which a circumference is measured, this being everywhere equally distant from the middle. And a cone and a cylinder are made by rectilinears; a cone by keeping one side of a triangle fixed and carrying another round with the base,—a cylinder, by doing the like with a parallelogram. Further, that is nearest to principle which is less; but a right is the least of all lines, as it is simple; whereas in a circumference one part is convex without, another concave within. Besides, numbers are before figures, as unity is before a point, which is unity in position. But indeed unity is triangular; for every triangular number (Triangular numbers are those of which equilateral triangles can be formed in this way:
Or is a straight line in nature more fundamental than a curve; or is a curve just a result of straight lines? A straight line is described as bending, while a circle is defined by a center and a distance, which indicates how far the line extends from the center, maintaining an equal distance from the middle at all points. Cones and cylinders are created using straight lines; a cone is formed by fixing one side of a triangle and rotating another around the base, while a cylinder is made by doing the same with a parallelogram. Furthermore, what is closest to the origin is that which is simpler; a straight line is the simplest of all lines because it is uncomplicated, while a circle has one part that is outwardly curved and another that is inwardly curved. Additionally, numbers come before shapes, as unity precedes a point, which represents unity in location. However, unity is also triangular; because every triangular number (Triangular numbers are those from which equilateral triangles can be formed in this way:
.
. ..
. .. ...
. .. ... .... ..............
.
. ..
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. .. ... .... .............. Such are: 3, 6, 10, 15, 21, 28, 36, 45, etc.; that is, numbers formed by adding the digits in regular order. (G.)) taken eight times, by adding unity, becomes quadrate; and this happens to unity. Therefore a triangle is before a circle, whence a right line is before a circumference. Besides, no element is divided into things compounded of itself; indeed there is a dissolution of all other things into the elements. Now a triangle is divided into no circumference, but two diameters cut a circle into four triangles; therefore a rectilinear figure is before a circular, and has more of the nature of an element. And Plato himself shows that a rectilinear is in the first place, and a circular is only consequential and accidental. For when he says the earth consists of cubes, each of which is contained with rectilinear superficies, he says the earth is spherical and round. Therefore there was no need of making a peculiar element for round things, since rectilinears, fitted after a certain manner among themselves, do make up this figure.
Here are the numbers: 3, 6, 10, 15, 21, 28, 36, 45, etc.; that is, numbers created by adding the digits in order. (G.) When taken eight times and adding one, it results in a square; this also happens with one itself. So, a triangle comes before a circle, which means a straight line comes before a circumference. Furthermore, no element can be broken down into things made from itself; instead, everything else dissolves into the elements. A triangle doesn't form a circumference, but two diameters can divide a circle into four triangles; therefore, a straight shape comes before a circular one and has more of the nature of a basic element. Plato himself indicates that straight forms are primary and circular forms are merely subsequent and incidental. When he says that the earth is made of cubes, each with flat surfaces, he describes the earth as spherical and round. Thus, there was no need to create a special element for round shapes since straight forms, when arranged in a certain way, can create this shape.
Besides, a right line, whether great or little, preserves the same rectitude; but as to the circumference of a circle, the less it is, the crookeder it is; the larger, the straighter. Therefore if a convex surface stands on a plane, it sometimes touches the under plane in a point, sometimes in a line. So that a man may imagine that a circumference is made up of little right lines.
Besides, a straight line, whether long or short, maintains the same straightness; but with the circumference of a circle, the smaller it is, the more curved it becomes; the larger it is, the straighter it looks. So, if a curved surface sits on a flat plane, it can touch the flat surface at a point sometimes, and at a line other times. This leads one to think that a circumference is made up of tiny straight lines.
But observe whether this be not true, that no circle or sphere in this world is exactly drawn; but since by the tension and circumtension of the straight lines, or by the minuteness of the parts, the difference is hidden, the figure seems circular and round. Therefore no corruptible body moves circularly, but altogether in a right line. To be truly spherical is not in a sensible body, but is the element of the soul and mind, to which he has given circular motion, as being agreeable to their nature.
But notice if this isn't true: no circle or sphere in this world is perfectly drawn. However, because of the tension and curvature of the straight lines, or because the parts are so small, the difference is concealed, making the shape appear circular and round. So, no physical body moves in a circle; it only moves in a straight line. To be truly spherical doesn’t exist in a physical body, but is a characteristic of the soul and mind, which have been given circular motion because it suits their nature.
QUESTION VI. HOW COMES IT TO PASS THAT IN PHAEDRUS IT IS SAID, THAT THE NATURE OF A WING, BY WHICH ANYTHING THAT IS HEAVY IS CARRIED UPWARDS, PARTICIPATES MOST OF THE BODY OF GOD? (See "Phaedrus," p. 246 D.)
QUESTION VI. HOW DOES IT HAPPEN THAT IN PHAEDRUS IT IS STATED THAT THE NATURE OF A WING, BY WHICH ANYTHING HEAVY IS LIFTED UP, MOST CLOSELY REFLECTS THE ESSENCE OF GOD? (See "Phaedrus," p. 246 D.)
Is it because the discourse is of love, and love is of beauty inherent in a body? Now beauty, by similitude to things divine, moves and reminds the soul. Or it may be (without too much curiosity) he may be understood in plain meaning, to wit, that the several faculties of the soul being employed about bodies, the power of reasoning and understanding partakes most about divine and heavenly things; which he did not improperly call a wing, it raising the soul from mean and mortal things to things above.
Is it because the discussion is about love, and love is connected to the beauty found in a body? Now, beauty, similar to divine things, inspires and awakens the soul. Or it might simply mean that, without overthinking it, we can understand that when the different parts of the soul focus on bodies, the ability to reason and understand is most engaged with divine and heavenly matters; which he aptly referred to as a wing, as it lifts the soul from ordinary and mortal concerns to higher things.
QUESTION VII. IN WHAT SENSE DOES PLATO SAY, THAT THE ANTIPERISTASIS (OR REACTION) OF MOTION—BY REASON THERE IS NO VACUUM—IS THE CAUSE OF THE PHENOMENA IN PHYSICIANS' CUPPING-GLASSES, IN SWALLOWING, IN CASTING WEIGHTS, IN THE RUNNING OF WATER, IN THUNDER, IN THE ATTRACTION OF THE LOADSTONE, AND IN THE HARMONY OF SOUNDS? (See "Timaeus," pp. 79-81.)
QUESTION VII. HOW DOES PLATO MEAN THAT THE ANTIPERISTASIS (OR REACTION) OF MOTION—BECAUSE THERE'S NO VACUUM—IS BEHIND THE PHENOMENA IN DOCTORS' CUPPING GLASSES, IN SWALLOWING, IN THROWING WEIGHTS, IN WATER FLOW, IN THUNDER, IN THE ATTRACTION OF MAGNETS, AND IN THE HARMONY OF SOUNDS? (See "Timaeus," pp. 79-81.)
For it seems unreasonable to ascribe the reason of such different effects to the selfsame cause.
For it seems unreasonable to attribute such different effects to the same cause.
How respiration is made by the reaction of the air, he has sufficiently shown. But the others, he says, seem to be effected miraculously, but really the bodies force each other aside and change places with one another; while he has left for us to discover how each is particularly done.
How respiration occurs through the reaction with air is clearly demonstrated. However, he claims that the others seem to happen miraculously, when in fact, the bodies push each other aside and swap places; he has left it to us to figure out how each specific process works.
As to cupping-glasses, the case is thus: the air next to the flesh being comprehended and inflamed by the heat, and being made more rare than the pores of the brass, does not go into a vacuum (for there is no such thing), but into the air that is without the cupping-glass, and has an impulse upon it. This air drives that before it; and each, as it gives way, strives to succeed into the place which was vacuated by the cession of the first. And so the air approaching the flesh comprehended by the cupping-glass, and attracting it, draws the humors into the cupping-glass.
As for cupping glasses, here’s the situation: the air next to the skin gets heated and inflamed, becoming less dense than the pores of the cup, which doesn't create a vacuum (since that doesn't exist), but allows air from outside the cup to come in and push against it. This outside air moves in, and as it does, each bit of air tries to fill the space left by the first. As a result, the air that’s close to the skin, contained in the cupping glass, pulls the fluids into the cup.
Swallowing takes place in the same way. For the cavities about the mouth and stomach are full of air; when therefore the meat is squeezed down by the tongue and tonsils, the elided air follows what gives way, and also forces down the meat.
Swallowing happens in the same way. The spaces in the mouth and stomach are filled with air; so when the tongue and throat push the food down, the expelled air follows what gives way and also helps push the food down.
Weights also thrown cleave the air and dissipate it, as they fall with force; the air recoiling back, according to its proper tendency to rush in and fill the vacuum, follows the impulse, and accelerates the motion.
Weights thrown into the air cut through it and push it away as they fall with force; the air, responding to its natural tendency to rush in and fill the empty space, follows the momentum and speeds up the motion.
The fall also of thunderbolts is like to darting anything. For by the blow in the cloud, the fiery matter exploded breaks into the air; and it being broken gives way, and again being contracted above, by main force it presses the thunderbolt downwards contrary to Nature.
The falling of thunderbolts is similar to something being shot through the air. When the impact occurs in the cloud, the fiery material bursts and spreads through the air; and as it breaks apart, it creates space, then, being pushed together again above, it forcefully presses the thunderbolt downward against the natural order.
And neither amber nor the loadstone draws anything to it which is near, nor does anything spontaneously approach them. But this stone emits strong exhalations, by which the surrounding air being impelled forceth that which is before it; and this being drawn round in the circle, and returning into the vacuated place, forcibly draws the iron in the same movement. In amber there is a flammeous and spirituous nature, and this by rubbing on the surface is emitted by recluse passages, and does the same that the loadstone does. It also draws the lightest and driest of adjacent bodies, by reason of their tenuity and weakness; for it is not so strong nor so endued with weight and strength as to force much air and to act with violence and to have power over great bodies, as the magnet has. But what is the reason the air never draws a stone, nor wood, but iron only, to the loadstone? This is a common question both by those who think the coition of these bodies is made by the attraction of the loadstone, and by such as think it done by the incitement of the iron. Iron is neither so rare as wood, nor altogether so solid as gold or a stone; but has certain pores and asperities, which as far as inequality is concerned are proportionable to the air; and the air being received in certain positions, and having (as it were) certain stays to hang to, does not slip off; but when it is carried up to the stone and is forced against it, it draws the iron by force along with it to the stone. Such then may be the reason of this.
And neither amber nor the loadstone attracts anything nearby, nor does anything come close to them on its own. But this stone gives off strong exhalations, which push the surrounding air, forcing what’s in front of it to move. This air then circles back and returns to the empty space, pulling the iron along with it in the same motion. Amber has a fiery and spirit-like quality, and when it’s rubbed on the surface, it releases this in small amounts, doing the same thing as the loadstone. It also attracts the lightest and driest nearby objects because of their thinness and fragility; it isn’t powerful or heavy enough to force a lot of air and act violently, nor can it control large objects like a magnet can. But why does the air never attract stone or wood, only iron, to the loadstone? This is a common question among those who believe that the attraction of the loadstone draws these bodies together and those who think it’s due to the iron's pull. Iron isn’t as rare as wood, nor as solid as gold or stone; it has certain pores and roughness that, in terms of inequality, are comparable to air. When positioned correctly, the air has certain places to cling to, allowing it not to slip off. But when it’s pushed against the stone, it pulls the iron along with it toward the stone. This could be the explanation for it.
But the manner of the waters running over the earth is not so evident. But it is observable that the waters of lakes and ponds stand immovable, because the air about them stagnates immovable and admits of no vacuity. For the water on the surface of lakes and seas is troubled and fluctuates as the air is moved, it following the motion of the air, and moving as it is moved. For the force from below causes the hollowness of the wave, and from above the swelling thereof; until the air ambient and containing the water is still. Therefore the flux of such waters as follow the motion of the receding air, and are impelled by that which presses behind, is continued without end. And this is the reason that the stream increases with the waters, and is slow where the water is weak, the air not giving way, and therefore enduring less reaction. So the water of fountains must needs go upwards, the extrinsic air succeeding into the vacuity and throwing the water out. In a close house, that keeps in the air and wind, the floor sprinkled with water causes an air or wind, because, as the sprinkled water falls, the air gives way. For it is so provided by Nature that air and water force one another and give way to one another; because there is no vacuity in which one can be fixed without experiencing the change and alteration in the other.
But the way water flows over the earth isn't as clear. However, it's noticeable that the water in lakes and ponds stays still because the air around them is stagnant and doesn't allow for any empty space. The water's surface in lakes and seas becomes disturbed and moves as the air shifts, following its movement. The force from below creates the hollowness of waves, while the swelling comes from above, until the surrounding air, which holds the water, is calm. Therefore, the flow of water that follows the air's motion and is pushed by what’s behind it can go on indefinitely. This explains why streams increase with water flow and are sluggish where water is weak, as the air holds firm and allows for less reaction. Hence, the water from fountains must rise, as the outside air fills the space and pushes the water out. In a sealed room that traps air and wind, water sprinkled on the floor creates airflow because, as the water falls, the air has to move. Nature has designed it so that air and water push against each other and allow for movement; because there isn’t any empty space where one can settle without affecting the other.
Concerning symphony, he shows how sounds harmonize. A quick sound is acute, a slow is grave. Therefore acute sounds move the senses the quicker; and these dying and grave sounds supervening, what arises from the contemperation of one with the other causes pleasure to the ear, which we call harmony. And by what has been said, it may easily be understood that air is the instrument of these things. For sound is the stroke upon the sense of the hearer, caused by the air; and the air strikes as it is struck by the thing moving,—if violent, acutely,—if languid, softly. The violent stroke comes quick to the ear; then the circumambient air receiving a slower, it affects and carries the sense along with it.
Regarding symphony, he illustrates how sounds come together. A quick sound is high-pitched, while a slow sound is low-pitched. Therefore, high-pitched sounds stimulate the senses more rapidly; when these softer, low-pitched sounds follow, the combination of the two results in what we enjoy as harmony. From what has been explained, it's clear that air is the medium for all this. Sound is the impact on a listener's sense, which is created by the air; and the air vibrates based on what strikes it—if it's forceful, it sounds high, and if it's gentle, it sounds low. The sharp impact reaches the ear quickly; then the surrounding air, receiving a slower disturbance, carries the sensation along with it.
QUESTION VIII. WHAT MEANS TIMAEUS (See "Timaeus," p. 42 D.) WHEN HE SAYS THAT SOULS ARE DISPERSED INTO THE EARTH, THE MOON, AND INTO OTHER INSTRUMENTS OF TIME?
QUESTION VIII. WHAT DOES TIMAEUS MEAN (See "Timaeus," p. 42 D.) WHEN HE SAYS THAT SOULS ARE SPREAD OUT INTO THE EARTH, THE MOON, AND OTHER TIMEKEEPING INSTRUMENTS?
Does the earth move like the sun, moon, and five planets, which for their motions he calls organs or instruments of time? Or is the earth fixed to the axis of the universe; yet not so built as to remain immovable, but to turn and wheel about, as Aristarchus and Seleucus have shown since; Aristarchus only supposing it, Seleucus positively asserting it? Theophrastus writes how that Plato, when he grew old, repented him that he had placed the earth in the middle of the universe, which was not its place.
Does the earth move like the sun, moon, and five planets, which he refers to as the organs or instruments of time? Or is the earth fixed to the axis of the universe; not designed to stay still, but to rotate and revolve, as Aristarchus and Seleucus have demonstrated since; Aristarchus only suggesting it, while Seleucus firmly asserting it? Theophrastus writes that Plato, when he grew older, regretted placing the earth at the center of the universe, which wasn’t its true position.
Or is this contradictory to Plato's opinion elsewhere, and in the Greek instead of [Greek omitted] should it be written [Greek omitted], taking the dative case instead of the genitive, so that the stars will not be said to be instruments, but the bodies of animals? So Aristotle has defined the soul to be "the actualization of a natural organic body, having the power of life." The sense then must be this, that souls are dispersed into meet organical bodies in time. But this is far besides his opinion. For it is not once, but several times, that he calls the stars instruments of time; as when he says, the sun was made, as well as other planets, for the distinction and conservation of the numbers of time.
Or is this a contradiction to Plato's views expressed elsewhere? Should it be written in Greek as [Greek omitted] instead of [Greek omitted], using the dative case instead of the genitive, so that the stars aren't described as instruments, but rather as the bodies of animals? Aristotle defines the soul as "the actualization of a natural organic body that has the power of life." This suggests that souls are spread into suitable organic bodies over time. However, this is quite different from his opinion. He repeatedly refers to the stars as instruments of time; for example, he states that the sun, along with other planets, was created for the purpose of distinguishing and maintaining the cycles of time.
It is therefore most proper to understand the earth to be here an instrument of time; not that the earth is moved, as the stars are; but that, they being carried about it, it standing still makes sunset and sunrising, by which the first measures of time, nights and days, are circumscribed. Wherefore he called it the infallible guard and artificer of night and day. For the gnomons of dials are instruments and measures of time, not in being moved with the shadows, but in standing still; they being like the earth in closing out the light of the sun when it is down,—as Empedocles says that the earth makes night by intercepting light. This therefore may be Plato's meaning.
It makes sense to see the earth as a tool for keeping time; it doesn't move like the stars do. Instead, as the stars move around it, the earth stays still, creating sunsets and sunrises, which define our basic measures of time—nights and days. That's why it's described as the reliable protector and creator of night and day. The gnomons of sundials are also tools for measuring time; they don’t move with the shadows but remain still, much like the earth, blocking sunlight when it sets—just as Empedocles suggested that the earth creates night by cutting off the light. This could be what Plato meant.
And so much the rather might we consider whether the sun is not absurdly and without probability said to be made for the distinction of time, with the moon and the rest of the planets. For as in other respects the dignity of the sun is great; so by Plato in his Republic (Plato, "Republic." vi. pp. 508, 509.) the sun is called the king and lord of the whole sensible nature, as the Chief Good is of the intelligible. For it is said to be the offspring of Good, it supplying both generation and appearance to things visible; as it is from Good that things intelligible both are and are understood. But that this God, having such a nature and so great power, should be only an instrument of time, and a sure measure of the difference that happens among the eight orbs, as they are slow or swift in motion, seems neither decent nor highly rational. It must therefore be said to such as are startled at these things, that it is their ignorance to think that time is the measure of motion in respect of sooner or later, as Aristotle calls it; or quantity in motion, as Speusippus; or an interval of motion and nothing else, as some of the Stoics define it, by an accident, not comprehending its essence and power, which Pindar has not ineptly expressed in these words: Time, who surpasses all in the seats of the blest. Pythagoras also, when he was asked what time was, answered, it was the soul of the universe. For time is no affection or accident of motion, but the cause, power, and principle of that symmetry and order that confines all created beings, by which the animated nature of the universe is moved. Or rather, this order and symmetry itself—so far as it is motion—is called time. For this,
And so we might wonder if it's a bit silly to say that the sun exists just to mark time, along with the moon and other planets. While the sun is significant in many ways, Plato in his Republic (Plato, "Republic." vi. pp. 508, 509.) refers to it as the king and master of all visible nature, just as the Chief Good is of the intelligible. The sun is said to be the child of Good, providing both creation and visibility to things we can see; similarly, it's from Good that intelligible things exist and are understood. But it seems unreasonable and not very dignified to suggest that such a powerful God is merely a tool for measuring time or a reliable indicator of the variations among the eight celestial bodies, depending on their speed. So, for those who are confused by this, it should be pointed out that it's their misunderstanding to think of time merely as a measure of motion, whether in terms of earlier or later, as Aristotle described; or as a quantity of motion, like Speusippus suggested; or just a gap in motion, as some Stoics define it, without grasping its true essence and power. Pindar captures this idea well when he says: Time, who surpasses all in the seats of the blessed. Pythagoras, when asked what time is, replied that it is the soul of the universe. Time isn't just a characteristic or byproduct of motion; it's the cause, force, and principle of the order and harmony that governs all created beings, driving the living essence of the universe. In fact, this order and harmony itself, as it relates to motion, is referred to as time. For this,
Walking by still and silent ways,
Mortal things with justice leads.
(Euripides, "Troades," 887.)
Walking along quiet and peaceful paths,
Human matters are guided by fairness.
(Euripides, "Troades," 887.)According to the ancients, the principle of the soul is a number moving itself. Therefore Plato says that time and heaven were coexistent, but that motion was before heaven had being. But time was not. For then there neither was order, nor measure, nor determination; but indefinite motion, as it were, the formless and rude matter of time.... But when matter was informed with figures, and motion with circuitions, from that came the world, from this time. Both are representations of God; the world, of his essence; time, of his eternity in the sphere of motion, as the world is God in creation. Therefore they say heaven and motion, being bred together, will perish together, if ever they do perish. For nothing is generated without time, nor is anything intelligible without eternity; if this is to endure forever, and that never to die when once bred. Time, therefore, having a necessary connection and affinity with heaven, cannot be called simple motion, but (as it were) motion in order having terms and periods; whereof since the sun is prefect and overseer, to determine, moderate, produce, and observe changes and seasons, which (according to Heraclitus) produce all things, he is coadjutor to the governing and chief God, not in trivial things, but in the greatest and most momentous affairs.
According to ancient beliefs, the essence of the soul is a number that moves itself. Plato stated that time and heaven existed together, but motion came before heaven was created. However, time did not exist then. At that point, there was neither order, nor measure, nor definition; just an endless movement, like the formless and raw material of time... But when matter took on shapes, and movement became circular, the world emerged from this time. Both represent God; the world reflects His essence, while time reflects His eternity within the realm of motion, just as the world shows God in creation. Therefore, it is said that heaven and motion, being born together, will perish together, if they ever do perish. Nothing can exist without time, and nothing is understandable without eternity; this is meant to last forever, while that never dies once it comes into being. Time, then, has an essential connection and relationship with heaven and cannot simply be called motion, but rather, motion that is ordered with limits and cycles; and since the sun is perfect and oversees this, determining, moderating, producing, and observing changes and seasons—which, according to Heraclitus, generate all things—he assists the governing and supreme God not in trivial matters, but in the most significant and important affairs.
QUESTION IX. Since Plato in his Commonwealth, discoursing of the faculties of the soul, has very well compared the symphony of reason and of the irascible and the concupiscent faculties to the harmony of the middle, lowest, and highest chord, (See "Republic," iv. p. 443.) some men may properly inquire:—
QUESTION IX. Since Plato in his Republic discusses the functions of the soul and effectively compares the interplay of reason with the passionate and appetitive parts to the harmony of the middle, lowest, and highest chords, (See "Republic," iv. p. 443.) some people might reasonably ask:—
DID PLATO PLACE THE RATIONAL OR THE IRASCIBLE FACULTY IN THE MIDDLE? FOR HE IS NOT CLEAR IN THE POINT.
DID PLATO PLACE THE RATIONAL OR THE IRASCIBLE FACULTY IN THE MIDDLE? FOR HE IS NOT CLEAR ON THIS POINT.
Indeed, according to the natural system of the parts, the place of the irascible faculty must be in the middle, and of the rational in the highest, which the Greeks call hypate. For they of old called the chief and supreme [Greek omitted]. So Xenocrates calls Jove, in respect of immutable things, [Greek omitted] (or HIGHEST), in respect of sublunary things [Greek omitted] (or LOWEST). And long before him, Homer calls the chief God [Greek omitted], HIGHEST OF RULERS. And Nature has of due given the highest place to what is most excellent, having placed reason as a steersman in the head, and the appetitive faculty at a distance, last of all and lowest. And the lowest place they call [Greek omitted], as the names of the dead, [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], do show. And some say, that the south wind, inasmuch as it blows from a low and obscure place, is called [Greek omitted]. Now since the appetitive faculty stands in the same opposition to reason in which the lowest stands to the highest and the last to the first, it is not possible for the reason to be uppermost and first, and yet for any other part to be the one called [Greek omitted] (or HIGHEST). For they that ascribe the power of the middle to it, as the ruling power, are ignorant how they deprive it of a higher power, namely, of the highest, which is compatible neither to the irascible nor to the concupiscent faculty; since it is the nature of them both to be governed by and obsequious to reason, and the nature of neither of them to govern and lead it. And the most natural place of the irascible faculty seems to be in the middle of the other two. For it is the nature of reason to govern, and of the irascible faculty both to govern and be governed, since it is obsequious to reason, and commands the appetitive faculty when this is disobedient to reason. And as in letters the semi-vowels are middling between mutes and vowels, having something more than those and less than these; so in the soul of man, the irascible faculty is not purely passive, but hath often an imagination of good mixed with the irrational appetite of revenge. Plato himself, after he had compared the soul to a pair of horses and a charioteer, likened (as every one knows) the rational faculty to the charioteer, and the concupiscent to one of the horses, which was resty and unmanageable altogether, bristly about the ears, deaf and disobedient both to whip and spur; and the irascible he makes for the most part very obsequious to the bridle of reason, and assistant to it. As therefore in a chariot, the middling one in virtue and power is not the charioteer, but that one of the horses which is worse than his guider and yet better than his fellow; so in the soul, Plato gives the middle place not to the principal part, but to that faculty which has less of reason than the principal part and more than the third. This order also keeps the analogy of the symphonies, i.e. the proportion of the irascible to the rational (which is placed as hypate) making the diatessaron (or fourth), that of the irascible to the concupiscent (or nete) making the diapente (or fifth), and that of the rational to the concupiscent (as hypate to nete) making an octave or diapason. But should you place the rational in the middle, you would make the irascible farther from the concupiscent; though some of the philosophers have taken the irascible and the concupiscent faculty for the selfsame, by reason of their likeness.
Indeed, according to the natural system of the parts, the irascible faculty should be in the middle, and the rational should be at the top, which the Greeks call hypate. In ancient times, they referred to the chief and supreme as [Greek omitted]. Xenocrates calls Jove, regarding immutable things, [Greek omitted] (or HIGHEST), and in relation to sublunary things [Greek omitted] (or LOWEST). Long before him, Homer referred to the chief God as [Greek omitted], HIGHEST OF RULERS. Nature has rightly positioned the most excellent at the highest, placing reason as the guide in the head, and the appetitive faculty at a distance, last and lowest. They refer to the lowest position as [Greek omitted], as shown by the names of the dead, [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted]. Some say that the south wind, because it blows from a low and obscure place, is called [Greek omitted]. Since the appetitive faculty stands in the same relation to reason as the lowest stands to the highest and the last to the first, it’s impossible for reason to be at the top and for any other part to hold the title of [Greek omitted] (or HIGHEST). Those who assign the power of the middle to it, as the ruling power, fail to realize that they diminish its higher power, which is the highest, incompatible with both the irascible and the appetitive faculties; as both are meant to be governed by and submissive to reason, and neither is meant to govern reason. The most natural position for the irascible faculty seems to be in the middle of the other two. It’s the nature of reason to govern, while the irascible faculty both governs and is governed since it obeys reason and directs the appetitive faculty when it disobeys. Just as semi-vowels in letters sit between consonants and vowels, having more than consonants but less than vowels; in the human soul, the irascible faculty isn’t purely passive but often has a mixed notion of good along with the irrational desire for revenge. Plato himself compared the soul to a pair of horses and a charioteer, likening the rational faculty to the charioteer and the appetitive faculty to one of the horses, which was stubborn, bristly around the ears, and deaf and disobedient to both whip and spur; he generally depicts the irascible as very obedient to the reins of reason and supportive of it. Therefore, in a chariot, the middle one in virtue and power isn’t the charioteer but the horse that is worse than its driver yet better than the other horse; likewise, in the soul, Plato assigns the middle position not to the main part, but to the faculty that possesses less reason than the main part and more than the last. This structure also maintains the analogy of symphonies, with the proportion of the irascible to the rational (which is placed as hypate) creating the diatessaron (or fourth), that of the irascible to the appetitive (or nete) creating the diapente (or fifth), and that of the rational to the appetitive (as hypate to nete) creating an octave or diapason. But if you placed the rational in the middle, you would distance the irascible from the appetitive; although some philosophers have considered the irascible and the appetitive faculties to be the same due to their similarities.
But it may be ridiculous to describe the first, middle, and last by their place; since we see hypate highest in the harp, lowest in the pipe; and wheresoever you place the mese in the harp, provided it is tunable, it sounds more acute than hypate, and more grave than nete. Nor does the eye possess the same place in all animals; but whereever it is placed, it is natural for it to see. So a pedagogue, though he goes not foremost but follows behind, is said to lead ([Greek omitted]), as the general of the Trojan army,
But it might be silly to describe the first, middle, and last by their position; since we see hypate at the highest position in the harp and the lowest in the pipe; and no matter where you position the mese in the harp, as long as it's in tune, it sounds higher than hypate and lower than nete. The eye also doesn't occupy the same position in all animals; but wherever it is located, it naturally functions to see. Similarly, a teacher, even though he may not be at the front but follows behind, is still said to lead, like the general of the Trojan army.
Now in the front, now in the rear was seen,
And kept command;
("Iliad," xi. 64.)
Now at the front, now at the back was seen,
And held command;
("Iliad," xi. 64.)but wherever he was, he was first and chief in power. So the faculties of the soul are not to be ranged by mere force in order of place or name, but according to their power and analogy. For that in the body of man reason is in the highest place, is accidental. But it holds the chief and highest power, as mese to hypate, in respect of the concupiscent; as mese to nete, in respect of the irascible; insomuch as it depresses and heightens,—and in fine makes a harmony,—by abating what is too much and by not suffering them to flatten and grow dull. For what is moderate and symmetrous is defined by mediocrity. Still more is it the end of the rational faculty to bring the passions to moderation, which is called sacred, as making a harmony of the extremes with reason, and through reason with each other. For in chariots the best of the team is not in the middle; nor is the skill of driving to be placed as an extreme, but it is a mean between the inequality of the swiftness and the slowness of the horses. So the force of reason takes up the passions irrationally moved, and reducing them to measure, constitutes a mean betwixt too much and too little.
but wherever he was, he was first and foremost in power. So the faculties of the soul shouldn't be ranked just by their position or name, but by their power and relation to one another. Reason being at the top in the human body is coincidental. However, it holds the greatest power, like mese to hypate, in relation to desire; like mese to nete, in relation to anger; as it elevates and lowers—ultimately creating harmony—by reducing excess and preventing dullness. What is moderate and balanced is defined by moderation. Furthermore, the ultimate goal of rational thought is to bring the emotions to a balanced state, which is considered sacred, as it harmonizes extremes with reason, and, through reason, with one another. In chariots, the best horse isn't in the middle; nor is skilled driving an extreme, but rather a balance between the speed and slowness of the horses. Thus, the power of reason takes irrational emotions and moderates them, creating a balance between too much and too little.
QUESTION X. WHY SAID PLATO, THAT SPEECH WAS COMPOSED OF NOUNS AND VERBS? (Plato's "Sophist," p. 262 A.)
QUESTION X. WHY DID PLATO SAY THAT SPEECH WAS MADE UP OF NOUNS AND VERBS? (Plato's "Sophist," p. 262 A.)
For he seems to make no other parts of speech but them. But Homer in a playful humor has comprehended them all in one verse:—
For he doesn’t seem to use any other parts of speech besides those. But Homer, in a playful mood, has captured them all in one line:—
[Greek omitted] ("Iliad", i. 185.)
[Greek omitted] ("Iliad", i. 185.)
For in it there is pronoun, participle, noun, preposition, article, conjunction, adverb, and verb, the particle—[Greek omitted] being put instead of the preposition [Greek omitted]; for [Greek omitted], TO THE TENT, is said in the same sense as [Greek omitted], TO ATHENS. What then shall we say for Plato?
For in it, there are pronouns, participles, nouns, prepositions, articles, conjunctions, adverbs, and verbs, with the particle—[Greek omitted] used instead of the preposition [Greek omitted]; for [Greek omitted], TO THE TENT, is expressed in the same way as [Greek omitted], TO ATHENS. So what should we say about Plato?
Is it that at first the ancients called that [Greek omitted], or speech, which once was called protasis and now is called axiom or proposition,—which as soon as a man speaks, he speaks either true or false? This consists of a noun and verb, which logicians call the subject and predicate. For when we hear this said, "Socrates philosphizeth" or "Socrates is changed," requiring nothing more, we say the one is true, the other false. For very likely in the beginning men wanted speech and articulate voice, to enable them to express clearly at once the passions and the patients, the actions and the agents. Now, since actions and affections are adequately expressed by verbs, and they that act and are affected by nouns, as he says, these seem to signify. And one may say, the rest signify not. For instance, the groans and shrieks of stage players, and even their smiles and silence, make their discourse more emphatic. But they have no absolute power to signify anything, as a noun and verb have, but only an ascititious power to vary speech; just as they vary letters who mark spirits and quantities upon letters, these being the accidents and differences of letters. This the ancients have made manifest, whom sixteen letters sufficed to speak and write anything.
Is it that at first the ancients called that [Greek omitted], or speech, which was once called protasis and is now called axiom or proposition—meaning that as soon as a person speaks, they either speak truthfully or falsely? This consists of a noun and a verb, which logicians refer to as the subject and predicate. So when we hear, "Socrates is philosophizing" or "Socrates has changed," needing nothing more, we say that one is true and the other is false. It’s likely that in the beginning, people needed speech and clear sounds to express their feelings and experiences, the actions and the agents. Now, since actions and feelings can be adequately expressed by verbs, and those who act and are affected are captured by nouns, as he mentions, these seem to signify well. One could say that the rest do not signify. For example, the groans and screams of actors on stage, and even their smiles and silence, make their conversations more impactful. But they don’t have the inherent power to signify anything like a noun and verb do; they only have a secondary ability to vary speech, similar to how marks change letters in terms of spirit and quantity, these being the accidents and differences of letters. This has been made clear by the ancients, for whom sixteen letters were enough to speak and write anything.
Besides, we must not fail to observe, that Plato says that speech is composed OF these, not BY these; nor must we find fault with Plato for omitting conjunctions, prepositions, and the rest, any more than we should criticise a man who should say such a medicine is composed of wax and galbanum, because fire and utensils are omitted, without which it cannot be produced. For speech is not composed of these; yet by their means, and not without them, speech must be composed. As, if a man says BEATS or IS BEATEN, and adds Socrates and Pythagoras to the same, he gives us something to conceive and understand. But if a man pronounce INDEED or FOR or ABOUT and no more, none can conceive any notion of a body or matter; and unless such words as these be uttered with verbs and nouns, they are but empty noise and chattering. For neither alone nor joined one with another do they signify anything. And join and confound together conjunctions, articles, and prepositions, supposing you would make something of them; yet you will be taken to babble, and not to speak sense. But when there is a verb in construction with a noun, the result is speech and sense. Therefore some do with justice make only these two parts of speech; and perhaps Homer is willing to declare himself of this mind, when he says so often,
Besides, we should note that Plato states that speech is made UP of these, not MADE FROM these; we shouldn’t criticize Plato for leaving out conjunctions, prepositions, and the like any more than we should fault someone for saying that a certain medicine is made of wax and galbanum just because fire and tools are not mentioned, which are necessary for its creation. Speech is not made from these; instead, it must be constructed through them and not without them. For instance, if someone says BEATS or IS BEATEN and adds Socrates and Pythagoras, they provide something for us to think about and understand. But if someone says INDEED or FOR or ABOUT and nothing else, nobody can grasp any concept of a body or substance; and unless these kinds of words are spoken alongside verbs and nouns, they are just empty sounds and chatter. For neither alone nor together do they convey anything meaningful. And if you combine and jumble together conjunctions, articles, and prepositions, thinking you could create something from them, you will just sound foolish, not make any sense. However, when a verb pairs with a noun, that's when we have speech and meaning. Therefore, some rightly consider these to be the only two parts of speech; and perhaps Homer expresses this idea when he says so often,
[Greek omitted]
[Greek omitted]
For by [Greek omitted] he usually means a verb, as in these verses.
For by [Greek omitted] he usually means a verb, as in these verses.
[Greek omitted],
[Greek omitted]
and,
and,
[Greek omitted] ("Odyssey," xxiii. 183; viii. 408.)
[Greek omitted] ("Odyssey," xxiii. 183; viii. 408.)For neither conjunction, article, nor preposition could be said to be [Greek omitted] (TERRIBLE) or [Greek omitted] (SOUL GRIEVING), but only a verb signifying a base action or a foolish passion of the mind. Therefore, when we would praise or dispraise poets or writers, we are wont to say, such a man uses Attic nouns and good verbs, or else common nouns and verbs; but none can say that Thucydides or Euripides used Attic or common articles.
For no conjunction, article, or preposition can be described as [Greek omitted] (TERRIBLE) or [Greek omitted] (SOUL GRIEVING), but only a verb that indicates a basic action or a foolish emotion of the mind. So, when we praise or criticize poets or writers, we often say that a person uses Attic nouns and good verbs, or just ordinary nouns and verbs; but no one can claim that Thucydides or Euripides used Attic or common articles.
What then? May some say, do the rest of the parts conduce nothing to speech? I answer, They conduce, as salt does to victuals; or water to barley cakes. And Euenus calls fire the best sauce. Though sometimes there is neither occasion for fire to boil, nor for salt to season our food, which we have always occasion for. Nor has speech always occasion for articles. I think I may say this of the Latin tongue, which is now the universal language; for it has taken away all prepositions, saving a few, nor does it use any articles, but its nouns are (as it were) without skirts and borders. Nor is it any wonder, since Homer, who in fineness of epic surpasses all men, has put articles only to a few nouns, like handles to cans, or crests to helmets. Therefore these verses are remarkable wherein the articles are suppressed.—
What then? Some might ask, do the other parts contribute anything to speech? I reply, they do, just like salt does to food or water to barley cakes. And Euenus calls fire the best seasoning. Although sometimes there’s no need to boil with fire or to season our food with salt, we always need it. Similarly, speech doesn't always require articles. I think I can say this about the Latin language, which is now universal; it has removed most prepositions, leaving only a few, and it doesn’t use any articles, making its nouns feel like they lack edges or borders. It’s not surprising, since Homer, who in epic quality surpasses all, only uses articles with a few nouns, like handles on cans or crests on helmets. Therefore, these verses are noteworthy where the articles are omitted.
[Greek omitted] ("Iliad," xiv. 459.)
[Greek omitted] ("Iliad," xiv. 459.)and,
and,
[Greek omitted] (Ibid. xx. 147.)
(Ibid. xx. 147.)
and some few besides. But in a thousand others, the omission of the articles hinders neither perspicuity nor elegance of phrase.
and a few others as well. But in a thousand other cases, leaving out the articles doesn’t interfere with clarity or elegance of expression.
Now neither an animal nor an instrument nor arms nor anything else is more fine, efficacious, or pleasanter, for the loss of a part. Yet speech, by taking away conjunctions, often becomes more persuasive, as here:—
Now, there’s nothing—neither an animal, a tool, weapons, nor anything else—that is more refined, effective, or enjoyable than when losing a part. However, speech, by omitting conjunctions, often becomes more convincing, as seen here:—
One rear'd a dagger at a captive's breast;
One held a living foe, that freshly bled
With new-made wounds, another dragg'd a dead.
(Ibid. xviii. 536.)
One brandished a dagger at a captive's chest;
One held a living enemy, still bleeding
From fresh wounds, while another dragged a dead body.
(Ibid. xviii. 536.)And this of Demosthenes:—
And this about Demosthenes:—
"A bully in an assault may do much which his victim cannot even report to another person,—by his attitude, his look, his voice,—when he insults, when he attacks as an enemy, when he smites with his fist, when he strikes a blow on the face. These rouse a man; these make a man beside himself who is unused to such foul abuse."
"A bully in an attack can do a lot that their victim can't even tell someone else about—through their attitude, their glare, their tone—when they insult, when they come at you like an enemy, when they hit you with their fist, when they strike you in the face. These actions provoke a person; they drive someone insane who isn't used to such horrible mistreatment."
And again:—
And again:—
"Not so with Midias; but from the very day, he talks, he abuses, he shouts. Is there an election of magistrates? Midias the Anagyrrasian is nominated. He is the advocate of Plutarchus; he knows state secrets; the city cannot contain him." ("Demosthenes against Midias," p. 537,25, and p. 578, 29.)
"Not so with Midias; from the very day he starts talking, he abuses and shouts. Is there an election for officials? Midias the Anagyrrasian is nominated. He is Plutarchus's advocate; he knows state secrets; the city can’t handle him." ("Demosthenes against Midias," p. 537,25, and p. 578, 29.)
Therefore the figure asyndeton, whereby conjunctions are omitted, is highly commended by writers of rhetoric. But such as keep overstrict to the law, and (according to custom) omit not a conjunction, rhetoricians blame for using a dull, flat, tedious style, without any variety in it. And inasmuch as logicians mightily want conjunctions for the joining together their axioms, as much as charioteers want yokes, and Ulysses wanted withs to tie Cyclop's sheep; this shows they are not parts of speech, but a conjunctive instrument thereof, as the word conjunction imports. Nor do conjunctions join all, but only such as are not spoken simply; unless you will make a cord part of the burthen, glue a part of a book, or distribution of money part of the government. For Demades says, that money which is given to the people out of the exchequer for public shows is the glue of a democracy. Now what conjunction does so of several propositions make one, by fitting and joining them together, as marble joins iron that is incited with it in the fire? Yet the marble neither is nor is said to be part of the iron; although in this case the substances compose the mixture and are melted together, so as to make a common substance from several and to be mutually affected. But there be some who think that conjunctions do not make anything one, but that this kind of speech is merely an enumeration, as when magistrates or days are reckoned in order.
Therefore, the figure asyndeton, where conjunctions are left out, is highly praised by writers of rhetoric. However, those who strictly adhere to the rules and, as is customary, do not omit any conjunctions are criticized by rhetoricians for having a dull, flat, and tedious style, lacking any variety. Just as logicians greatly need conjunctions to connect their axioms, as much as charioteers need yokes, and Ulysses needed ropes to tie Cyclops's sheep, this shows that conjunctions are not parts of speech themselves, but rather a joining tool for them, as the word "conjunction" suggests. Conjunctions don't connect everything, but only those that aren't stated simply; unless you want to consider a rope part of a load, glue part of a book, or a distribution of money part of the government. Demades says that money given to the people from the treasury for public spectacles is the adhesive of a democracy. Now, what conjunction, among various propositions, creates a single unit by linking them together, like how marble bonds with iron when heated? Yet, marble is neither a part of nor designated as part of the iron; although in this scenario, the substances blend and melt together to create a combined entity, affecting one another. But some believe that conjunctions do not unify anything, and that this type of expression is merely a list, like when magistrates or days are counted in order.
Moreover, as to the other parts of speech, a pronoun is manifestly a sort of noun; not only because it has cases, but because some pronouns, when they are used of objects already defined, by their mere utterance give the most distinct designation of them. Nor do I know whether he that says SOCRATES or he that says THIS ONE does more by name declare the person.
Moreover, regarding the other parts of speech, a pronoun is clearly a type of noun; not only because it has cases, but also because some pronouns, when used to refer to already defined objects, by their very use provide the clearest identification of them. I also wonder if the person who says SOCRATES or the one who says THIS ONE is more clearly naming the individual.
The thing we call a participle, being a mixture of a verb and noun is nothing of itself, as are not the common names of male and female qualities (i.e, adjectives), but in construction it is put with others, in regard of tenses belonging to verbs, in regard of cases to nouns. Logicians call them [Greek omitted], (i.e., REFLECTED),—as [Greek omitted], comes from [Greek omitted], and from [Greek omitted],—having the force both of nouns and appellatives.
The participle, which combines aspects of both verbs and nouns, stands alone as nothing significant, similar to adjectives that describe male and female traits. However, when used in sentences, it connects with other words based on the tenses of verbs and the cases of nouns. Logicians refer to them as [Greek omitted], meaning REFLECTED, since [Greek omitted] derives from [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], carrying the function of both nouns and descriptors.
And prepositions are like to the crests of a helmet, or footstools and pedestals, which (one may rather say) do belong to words than are words themselves. See whether they rather be not pieces and scraps of words, as they that are in haste write but dashes and points for letters. For it is plain that [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] are abbreviations of the whole words [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted]. As undoubtedly for haste and brevity's sake, instead of [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] men first said [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted].
And prepositions are like the tops of a helmet, or footstools and pedestals, which are more like extensions of words rather than being words themselves. Consider whether they are not just fragments and bits of words, much like how people in a hurry write dashes and dots instead of letters. It's clear that [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted] are short forms of the full words [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted]. Indeed, for the sake of speed and brevity, instead of saying [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], people initially said [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted].
Therefore every one of these is of some use in speech; but nothing is a part or element of speech (as has been said) except a noun and a verb, which make the first juncture allowing of truth or falsehood, which some call a proposition or protasis, others an axiom, and which Plato called speech.
Therefore, each of these is somewhat useful in speech; however, nothing is actually a part or element of speech (as mentioned) except a noun and a verb, which form the initial connection that allows for truth or falsehood, which some refer to as a proposition or protasis, others as an axiom, and which Plato called speech.
LITERARY ESSAYS.
THE LIFE AND POETRY OF HOMER
(Homeric quotations are almost all taken from Lord Derby's "Iliad" and Butcher and Long's "Odyssey." The first is indicated by the letter I, the second by O.)
(Homeric quotations are mostly from Lord Derby's "Iliad" and Butcher and Long's "Odyssey." The first is marked with the letter I, the second with O.)
Homer, who was in time first among most poets and by his power first of all poets, we justly read first, thereby gaining the greatest advantages for our language, for our intellect, and for practical knowledge. Let us speak of his poetry, first having shortly recalled his origin.
Homer, who was ultimately the earliest of most poets and, by his influence, the foremost of all poets, is rightly the first we read. This gives us the greatest benefits for our language, our intellect, and our practical knowledge. Let's discuss his poetry, first briefly noting his background.
Homer, Pindar says, was a Chian and of Smyrnae; Simonides says a Chian; Antimachus and Nicander, a Colophonion; but the philosopher Aristotle says he was of Iete; the historian Ephorus says he was from Kyme. Some do not hesitate to say he was from Salamis in Cyprus; some, an Argive. Aristarchus and Dionysius the Thracian say that he was an Athenian. By some he is spoken of as the son of Maeon and Kritheus; by others, (a son) of the river-god Meles.
Homer, according to Pindar, was from Chios and Smyrna; Simonides agrees he was from Chios; Antimachus and Nicander say he was from Colophon; but the philosopher Aristotle claims he was from Iete; the historian Ephorus states he was from Kyme. Some even argue he was from Salamis in Cyprus; others say he was an Argive. Aristarchus and Dionysius the Thracian assert that he was Athenian. Some refer to him as the son of Maeon and Kritheus; others say he was the son of the river god Meles.
Just as there is a difficulty about his origin, so there is about the time in which he flourished. Aristarchus says he lived about the period of the Ionian emigration; this happened sixty years after the return of the Heraclidae. But the affair of the Heraclidae took place eighty years after the destruction of Troy. Crates reports that he lived before the return of the Heraclidae, so he was not altogether eighty years distant from the Trojan War. But by very many it is believed that he was born one hundred years after the Trojan War, not much before the foundation of the Olympic games, from which the time according to the Olympics is reckoned.
Just as there's uncertainty about his origins, there's also confusion about the time he lived in. Aristarchus claims he lived around the time of the Ionian migration, which happened sixty years after the Heraclidae returned. However, the return of the Heraclidae occurred eighty years after the fall of Troy. Crates suggests that he lived before the Heraclidae returned, so he wasn't exactly eighty years removed from the Trojan War. Many people believe he was actually born one hundred years after the Trojan War, not long before the founding of the Olympic Games, which is used to track time according to the Olympic calendar.
There are two poems of his, the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey," both, of which are arranged according to the number of letters in the alphabet, not by the poet himself, but by Aristarchus, the grammarian. Of these, the "Iliad" records the deeds of the Greeks and Barbarians in Ilium on account of the rape of Helen, and particularly the valor displayed in the war by Achilles. In the "Odyssey" are described the return of Ulysses home after the Trojan War, and his experiences in his wanderings, and how he took vengeance on those who plotted against his house. From this it is evident that Homer sets before us, through the "Iliad," bodily courage; in the "Odyssey," nobility of soul.
There are two of his poems, the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey," both arranged by the number of letters in the alphabet, not by the poet himself, but by Aristarchus, the grammarian. The "Iliad" tells the story of the Greeks and Trojans in Ilium because of Helen's abduction, focusing on the bravery shown in the war by Achilles. The "Odyssey" describes Ulysses' journey home after the Trojan War, his adventures along the way, and how he got revenge on those who conspired against his household. From this, it's clear that Homer presents, through the "Iliad," physical bravery; and through the "Odyssey," the nobility of spirit.
But the poet is not to be blamed because in his poetry he sets forth not only the virtues but the evils of the soul, its sadness and its joys, its fears and desires; for being a poet, it is necessary for him to imitate not only good but evil characters. For without these the deeds would not get the admiration of the hearer, who must pick out the better characters. And he has made the gods associating with men not only for the sake of interest and entertainment, but that he might declare by this that the gods care for and do not neglect men.
But the poet shouldn't be blamed because in his poetry he presents not just the good but also the bad aspects of the soul, its sorrows and its joys, its fears and its desires. It's essential for him as a poet to portray both virtuous and villainous characters. Without these, the actions wouldn’t capture the listener's admiration, who needs to discern the better characters. He has made the gods interact with humans not just for interest and entertainment, but to show that the gods care for and do not ignore humans.
To sum up, an extraordinary and mythical narration of events is employed in order to stir his readers with wonder and to make his hearers strongly impressed. Whence he seems to have said some things contrary to what is likely. For the persuasive always follows where the remarkable and elevated are previously conjoined. Therefore he not only elevates actions, and turns them from their customary course, but words as well. That he always handles novel things and things out of the common sphere, and leads on his hearers, is evident to every one. And indeed in these fabulous narratives, if one reads not unattentively but carefully each element of what is said, Homer appears to have been at home in the whole sphere and art of logic, and to have supplied many incentives, and as it were seeds of all kinds of thought and action to his posterity, not to poets alone, but to the authors of historical and scientific works. Let us first look at his varied form of speech, and afterward at his sound knowledge on matters of fact. All poetry grips the hearer by definite order of coordinated expressions, by rhythm and metre, since the smooth and flowing, by becoming at the same time grave and sweet, forces the attention by its action on the senses. Whence it comes to pass also that it delights not only by the striking and attractive parts, but easily persuades by the parts tending to virtue.
To sum up, an amazing and mythical storytelling style is used to inspire wonder in his readers and leave a strong impression on his listeners. As a result, he sometimes says things that seem unlikely. The persuasive always follows where the remarkable and impressive are combined first. Therefore, he elevates not only actions, changing them from their usual path, but also words. It’s clear to everyone that he consistently tackles new and unconventional ideas, guiding his listeners along. In fact, in these fantastic narratives, if one reads carefully and pays attention to every detail, Homer seems to have mastered the entire realm and art of logic, providing many insights and, in a way, seeds of various thoughts and actions for future generations, not just for poets but for writers of history and science as well. Let's first examine his diverse way of speaking and then look at his solid grasp of factual matters. All poetry captivates the audience through a structured arrangement of coordinated phrases, rhythm, and meter, as the smooth and flowing language, while being both serious and sweet, captures attention through its impact on the senses. As a result, it delights not only with its striking and appealing parts but also easily persuades with sections that promote virtue.
The poems of Homer have the most perfect metre, the hexameter, which is also called heroic. It is called hexameter because each line has six feet: one of these is of two long syllables, called spondee; the other, of three syllables, one long and two short, which is called dactyl. Both are isochronic. These in interchangeable order fill out the hexameter verse. It is called heroic because in it the deeds of the heroes are recounted.
The poems of Homer have the most perfect meter, the hexameter, which is also known as heroic. It's called hexameter because each line has six feet: one of these consists of two long syllables, called a spondee; the other consists of three syllables, one long and two short, known as a dactyl. Both are isochronic. These interchangeable patterns complete the hexameter verse. It’s called heroic because it recounts the exploits of heroes.
He makes use of a sound diction, combining the characteristics of every Greek dialect, from which it is plain that he travelled over the whole of Greece and among every people in it. He uses the ellipse of the Dorians, due to their practice of shortening their speech, saying for [Greek omitted], as (O. i. 392): "Immediately a beautiful horse ([Greek omitted]) was his," and for [Greek omitted] he uses [Greek omitted], as (O. xix. 543): "Because ([Greek omitted]) an eagle killed my geese"; and for [Greek omitted], "back," [Greek omitted], changing the o into a, the [Greek letter omitted] and the [Greek letter omitted] into its related letter. And [Greek omitted] he changes to [Greek omitted](I. xiv. 249): "For before at another time ([Greek omitted]) your precepts made me modest," and similar cases. Likewise, dropping the middle syllable, he says for [Greek omitted], "of like hair," and [Greek omitted], "of the same years," [Greek omitted]; and for [Greek omitted], that is, "of the same father," [Greek omitted]; for [Greek omitted]; "to tremble," [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "I honour," [Greek omitted]. It is a characteristic of the Dorians also to transpose letters, as when they say for [Greek omitted], [Greek omitted].
He uses clear language, mixing elements from all the Greek dialects, showing that he traveled throughout Greece and interacted with its people. He employs the Dorian ellipsis, which comes from their tendency to shorten words, saying for [Greek omitted], as in (O. i. 392): "Right away a beautiful horse ([Greek omitted]) was his," and for [Greek omitted] he uses [Greek omitted], as in (O. xix. 543): "Because ([Greek omitted]) an eagle killed my geese"; and for [Greek omitted], "back," [Greek omitted], changing the o to a, and the [Greek letter omitted] and the [Greek letter omitted] to their corresponding letters. He also changes [Greek omitted] to [Greek omitted] (I. xiv. 249): "For before at another time ([Greek omitted]) your teachings made me modest," and similar instances. Similarly, by dropping the middle syllable, he says for [Greek omitted], "of like hair," and [Greek omitted], "of the same years," [Greek omitted]; and for [Greek omitted], that is, "of the same father," [Greek omitted]; for [Greek omitted]; "to tremble," [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "I honor," [Greek omitted]. Dorians also have a habit of switching letters, as when they say for [Greek omitted], [Greek omitted].
In composite words he makes use of the syncope of the Aeolians, saying [Greek omitted] instead of [Greek omitted], "they went to sleep," and [Greek omitted], for [Greek omitted], "to subject."
In compound words, he uses the Aeolian syncope, saying [Greek omitted] instead of [Greek omitted], "they fell asleep," and [Greek omitted], for [Greek omitted], "to subdue."
Then when the third person of the imperfect among other Greek peoples ends in the diphthong [Greek letter], the Eolians end in [Greek letter], as when they say for [Greek omitted], "he was loving," [Greek omitted], and for [Greek omitted], "he was thinking," [Greek omitted]. This custom Homer followed, saying (I. xi. 105): "He bound ([Greek omitted]) in tender twigs," instead of [Greek omitted], and (O. v. 478): "Which neither any humid power of the wind penetrates" [Greek omitted]. Besides this they change [Greek letter] into [Greek letter], as they say [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "odor," and [Greek Omitted] for [Greek omitted], "we knew."
Then, when the third person in the imperfect tense among other Greek peoples ends with the diphthong [Greek letter], the Eolians use [Greek letter]. For example, they say [Greek omitted] for "he was loving," and [Greek omitted] for "he was thinking," [Greek omitted]. Homer followed this practice, stating (I. xi. 105): "He bound ([Greek omitted]) in tender twigs," instead of [Greek omitted], and (O. v. 478): "Which neither any humid force of the wind penetrates" [Greek omitted]. Additionally, they change [Greek letter] into [Greek letter], as they say [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "odor," and [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "we knew."
Besides, they use pleonasm in some expressions, as when they put for [Greek omitted], "calm," [Greek omitted], [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "but," [Greek omitted] got [Greek omitted], "having cried." And when to the second person of verbs they add [Greek omitted], for [Greek omitted] "thou speakest," [Greek omitted], and for [Greek omitted], "thou hast spoken," [Greek omitted]. Some attribute the doubling of the consonant to the Dorians, some to the Aeolians. Such as we find in I. v. 83: "Black death laid hold on [Greek omitted] him," [Greek omitted]; for [Greek omitted] as I. iii. 321: "Each did these deeds."
Besides, they use redundancy in some phrases, like when they say for [Greek omitted], "calm," [Greek omitted], [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "but," [Greek omitted] got [Greek omitted], "having cried." And when they add [Greek omitted] to the second person of verbs, for [Greek omitted], "you speak," [Greek omitted], and for [Greek omitted], "you have spoken," [Greek omitted]. Some say the repetition of the consonant comes from the Dorians, while others attribute it to the Aeolians. For example, in I. v. 83: "Black death laid hold on [Greek omitted] him," [Greek omitted]; as seen in I. iii. 321: "Each did these deeds."
He preserves the peculiarity of the Ionians for the preterite tenses of verbs the aphaeresis, as where he says [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted]. So in past tenses they are want to begin with the same letter as in present tenses and to leave off the [Greek letter] in the word [Greek omitted], "priest" and [Greek omitted], "hawk." Besides, they add [Greek letter] to the third persons of the subjunctive mood, as when they say for [Greek omitted] "may have come," [Greek omitted], and for [Greek omitted], "may have taken," [Greek omitted]. This participle they add to the dative, [Greek omitted], "to the gates," "to the woods." Besides, they say [Greek omitted] for "name", and [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "disease" and [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "empty," and [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "black." And then they change long [Greek letter] into [Greek letter], as[Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "Juno," and for [Greek omitted], Minerva. And sometimes they change [Greek letter] into [Greek letter], saying for [Greek omitted], "having forgotten." Moreover, they write in full by diaeresis words which are circumflexed, for [Greek omitted], "intelligent," [Greek omitted]. In the same way they lengthen genitive singulars in [Greek omitted], as [Greek omitted], and genitive feminines in [Greek omitted], as [Greek omitted], "of gates," [Greek omitted], "of nymphs," and finally regular plurals of nouns in the neuter gender ending in [Greek letter] as [Greek omitted], [Greek omitted], "breasts," "darts," and their genitives likewise. They say in their way [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted].
He keeps the unique characteristics of the Ionians for the past tenses of verbs with aphaeresis, such as saying [Greek omitted] instead of [Greek omitted]. So, in past tenses, they tend to start with the same letter as in present tenses and drop the [Greek letter] in the word [Greek omitted], "priest," and [Greek omitted], "hawk." Additionally, they add [Greek letter] to the third persons of the subjunctive mood when they say for [Greek omitted], "may have come," [Greek omitted], and for [Greek omitted], "may have taken," [Greek omitted]. They also attach this participle to the dative, as in [Greek omitted], "to the gates," "to the woods." They use [Greek omitted] for "name," and [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "disease," and [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "empty," and [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "black." They also change long [Greek letter] into [Greek letter], as [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "Juno," and for [Greek omitted], Minerva. Sometimes they change [Greek letter] into [Greek letter], saying for [Greek omitted], "having forgotten." Moreover, they write out fully by diaeresis words that are circumflexed, like [Greek omitted], "intelligent," [Greek omitted]. In the same way, they lengthen genitive singulars in [Greek omitted], such as [Greek omitted], and genitive feminines in [Greek omitted], like [Greek omitted], "of gates," [Greek omitted], "of nymphs," and finally regular plurals of nouns in the neuter gender that end in [Greek letter], as in [Greek omitted], [Greek omitted], "breasts," "darts," along with their genitives. They say in their way [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted].
But he most largely used the Attic dialect for it was combined with others. For just as in Attic they say [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "people," so he did, as [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], "debt." It is a custom with them sometimes to use contractions and to put one syllable for two, as for [Greek omitted], "word," [Greek omitted], and for [Greek omitted], "clothes," [Greek omitted]. Related to these is that Homeric expression, "the Trojans in crowds bent over" [Greek omitted], and another case, "fields bearing the lotos" [Greek omitted], instead of [Greek omitted]. Besides they take [Greek letter] from that type of optative, saying for [Greek omitted], "it might seem good to thee," [Greek omitted], for [Greek omitted], "mightiest thou be honored," [Greek omitted]. There is also an Atticism [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted] in his verse (I. iii. 102):—
But he mainly used the Attic dialect because it mixed with others. Just as in Attic they say [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted], "people," he also did, as with [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], "debt." They sometimes have a custom of using contractions, shortening one syllable into two, like for [Greek omitted], "word," [Greek omitted], and for [Greek omitted], "clothes," [Greek omitted]. This relates to that Homeric expression, "the Trojans in crowds bent over" [Greek omitted], and another example, "fields bearing the lotos" [Greek omitted], instead of [Greek omitted]. Additionally, they take [Greek letter] from that type of optative, saying for [Greek omitted], "it might seem good to you," [Greek omitted], for [Greek omitted], "mightiest you be honored," [Greek omitted]. There is also an Atticism [Greek omitted] for [Greek omitted] in his verse (I. iii. 102):—
But you others discerned most quickly.
But you all figured it out the fastest.
Likewise this, too, is Attic, "the more were worse [Greek omitted], the few better [Greek omitted], than their fathers;" we say [Greek omitted] or [Greek omitted]. And they do not prolong these by diaeresis, [Greek omitted], as "oxen [Greek omitted] falling down," and, "fishes [Greek omitted] and birds." And that, too, is said in the Attic fashion (O. xii. 331):—
Likewise, this is also Attic: "the more were worse [Greek omitted], the few better [Greek omitted], than their fathers;" we say [Greek omitted] or [Greek omitted]. They do not prolong these with diaeresis, [Greek omitted], as in "oxen [Greek omitted] falling down," and "fishes [Greek omitted] and birds." And that is also expressed in the Attic way (O. xii. 331):—
Nor flowing do they break ([Greek omitted] for
[Greek omitted]) by their violence.
Nor do they break with their violence ([Greek omitted] for
[Greek omitted]).In the same way as [Greek omitted], [Greek omitted].
In the same way as [Greek omitted], [Greek omitted].
And the taking away short vowels is Attic: [Greek omitted], "he is washed," [Greek omitted], "I think," [Greek omitted]; in the same way for [Greek omitted], "he is loosed," he says [Greek omitted]. The Attics say [Greek omitted], adding an unnecessary [Greek letter], whence also comes [Greek omitted], "he was pouring out wine." They contract the iota in words of this sort, as for [Greek omitted], "shores," [Greek omitted], "shores," and for [Greek omitted], [Greek omitted]. So also (I. xi. 782):—
And removing short vowels is characteristic of Attic: [Greek omitted], "he is washed," [Greek omitted], "I think," [Greek omitted]; similarly for [Greek omitted], "he is released," he says [Greek omitted]. The Attics say [Greek omitted], adding an unnecessary [Greek letter], which also leads to [Greek omitted], "he was pouring out wine." They shorten the iota in words like this, such as [Greek omitted], "shores," [Greek omitted], "shores," and for [Greek omitted], [Greek omitted]. Likewise (I. xi. 782):—
You two [Greek omitted] wished it very much.
You two really wanted it a lot.
Finally in datives ending in pure iota with a penultimate of alpha the same is done, as [Greek omitted], "horn," [Greek omitted], "old age," [Greek omitted], "ray." And this, too, is Attic, where it is said [Greek omitted], "let them be," and [Greek omitted], "let them follow," for [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted]. The use of the dual which Homer repeatedly employs is of the same type. Also with feminine substantives he joins masculine articles, participles, and adjectives, as [Greek omitted]. This is a practice with Plato, as when he uses [Greek omitted] "pillaging," and [Greek omitted], "the wise just woman." So, too, Homer (I. viii. 455), speaking of Here and Athene, says:—
Finally, with datives ending in pure iota and a penultimate of alpha, the same is done, as [Greek omitted], "horn," [Greek omitted], "old age," [Greek omitted], "ray." And this is also in Attic, where it's said [Greek omitted], "let them be," and [Greek omitted], "let them follow," for [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted]. The use of the dual that Homer frequently uses is of the same type. He also pairs masculine articles, participles, and adjectives with feminine nouns, as in [Greek omitted]. This practice is also found in Plato, for example when he uses [Greek omitted], "pillaging," and [Greek omitted], "the wise just woman." Likewise, Homer (I. viii. 455), discussing Here and Athene, says:—
In vain smitten [Greek omitted] with a thunderbolt on
our chariots,—
In vain struck [Greek omitted] by a thunderbolt on our chariots,—
and (I. iv. 22):—
and (I. iv. 22):—
Athene was indeed unwilling [Greek omitted],—
Athene was truly hesitant [Greek omitted],—
and (I. ii. 742):—
and (I. ii. 742):—
Famous [Greek omitted] Hippodamea.
Famous Hippodamia.
Moreover the dialects have many peculiarities of construction. When the poet says (I. iv. 100):—
Moreover, the dialects have many unique features in their structure. When the poet says (I. iv. 100):—
But seek with your javelins of divine Menelaos,—
But search with your javelins of divine Menelaos,—
instead of the accusative, he presents an Attic usage. But when he says (I. ii. 186):—
instead of the accusative, he presents an Attic usage. But when he says (I. ii. 186):—
He took for him the sceptre and he took the cup for
fair-cheeked Themis—
He took the scepter for himself and he took the cup for beautiful-cheeked Themis—
instead of "from him" and "from Themis," he is employing a Dorian usage.
instead of "from him" and "from Themis," he is using a Dorian expression.
Accordingly it appears how he makes his diction varied by throwing together words of all the Greek dialects, and sometimes he makes use of foreign words as are the aforesaid, sometimes archaic words, as when he says [Greek omitted], "falchion," and [Greek omitted], "sword," sometimes common and ordinary words, as when he says [Greek omitted], "sword and shield"; one might wonder how well common words in his poetry preserve dignity of speech.
Accordingly, it’s clear how he varies his language by mixing words from all the Greek dialects. Sometimes he uses foreign words, as mentioned earlier, and sometimes he uses archaic words, like when he says [Greek omitted], "falchion," and [Greek omitted], "sword." Other times, he uses simple, everyday words, such as when he says [Greek omitted], "sword and shield." It’s interesting to consider how well these common words maintain the dignity of his speech in his poetry.
But an artificially wrought style cultivates variation from the customary, by which it becomes clever, more dignified, and altogether more attractive. The turn of expression is called a Trope, and change of construction is called a Schema. The forms of these are described in technical treatises. Let us examine if any of these is omitted by Homer or whether anything else was discovered by his successors which he himself did not use first.
But an artificially created style encourages a departure from the usual, making it cleverer, more dignified, and much more appealing. The way of expressing something is called a Trope, and a change in structure is called a Schema. The forms of these are detailed in technical manuals. Let's see if Homer missed any of these or if his later successors discovered anything he didn't use first.
Among Tropes, Onomatopoeia is very common. For he knew the early origin of words. The first who gave names to things called many of them from what had taken place, and therefore introduced inarticulate sounds into writing. As when they said [Greek omitted], "to blow," [Greek omitted], "to cut," [Greek omitted], "to woo," [Greek omitted], "to thunder," and others like these. Whence he himself created certain words not previously existing, copying the things they signified, as [Greek omitted], "sound," and other things also indicating sounds, [Greek omitted], and others of the same kind. None could be found more significant. And again where some words pertaining to certain things he attributes to others, as when he says (I. xxi. 337):—
Among literary devices, onomatopoeia is very common. He understood the early origins of words. The first people to give names to things based many of them on what happened, using inarticulate sounds in writing. For example, they used terms like “to blow,” “to cut,” “to woo,” “to thunder,” and others like these. From this, he created certain words that didn't exist before, mimicking the things they referred to, like “sound,” and other words that also indicate sounds, and others of a similar nature. No one could find anything more significant. And again, for some words related to specific things, he attributes them to others, as he says (I. xxi. 337):—
Bearing an evil fire,—
Bearing a wicked fire,—
which signifies its power in burning, and "fever" he uses for "fire." Like these is the expression (I. xix. 25):—
which signifies its power in burning, and "fever" he uses for "fire." Like these is the expression (I. xix. 25):—
Brass striking wounds,—
Brass striking injuries,—
he writes to express wounds inflicted by brass. And to sum up he uses much novelty of speech, with great freedom, changing some from their customary use, giving distinction to others for the sake of infusing in his language beauty and grandeur.
He writes to express the pain caused by harshness. In summary, he uses a lot of fresh language, doing so freely, altering some words from their usual meanings, and highlighting others to bring beauty and grandeur to his writing.
He has also much fertility in epithets; these being fitted to their objects properly and naturally have the force of proper names, as when he gives to the several gods each some proper designation, so he calls Zeus the "all-wise and high thundering," and the Sun, Hyperion, "advancing aloft," and Apollo, Phoebus, that is, shining. But after the Onomatopoeia let us examine other Tropes.
He also has a lot of creativity in his use of descriptive names; these names are well-suited to their subjects and have the impact of proper names. For example, he gives specific titles to various gods, referring to Zeus as "all-wise and high thundering," the Sun as Hyperion, meaning "soaring above," and Apollo as Phoebus, which means "shining." But after discussing onomatopoeia, let's look at other figures of speech.
Catechresis, which changes a word from a customary signification to another not recognized. This is to be found in the poet when he says golden chain [Greek omitted], but [Greek omitted] properly means a rope, and when he says a goat helmet [Greek omitted]; now a helmet is [Greek omitted] in Homer, because it used to be made of dog's skin, not of goat's skin.
Catechresis is when a word is given a meaning that’s different from its usual one. This can be seen in the poet's phrase "golden chain," where the word technically means "rope." Similarly, when he refers to a "goat helmet"; in Homer's work, a helmet is typically made of dog skin, not goat skin.
Metaphor, so-called because it transfers a thing from its proper significance to another with an analogous likeness to both, occurs in many and varied forms in verse, as is the line (O. ix. 481):—
Metaphor, named for its ability to shift a concept from its proper meaning to another with a similar resemblance to both, appears in many different forms in poetry, as seen in the line (O. ix. 481):—
He comes, having broken off the crown of a great mountain,—
He arrives, having broken off the peak of a massive mountain,—
and (O. x. 195):
and (O. x. 195):
An island which the sea laves and crowns.
An island that the sea washes and adorns.
For the relation a crown has to him whom it encircles, the same the sea has to an island. By making use of related but not usual words he makes his speech not only more beautiful but more picturesque.
For the relationship a crown has with the person it surrounds, the same goes for the sea and an island. By using related but uncommon words, he makes his speech not only more beautiful but also more vivid.
There are in Homer various kinds of metaphors; some applied from animate things to animate, as, "the driver of the caerulean ship spoke" instead of the sailor, and "he went to Agamemnon the son of Atreus, the shepherd of the people" instead of king. Some are applied from animate to inanimate, as (I. ii. 824):—
There are various types of metaphors in Homer; some are drawn from living things to living things, like "the driver of the blue ship spoke" instead of referring to the sailor, and "he went to Agamemnon, the son of Atreus, the shepherd of the people" instead of saying king. Some are drawn from living things to non-living things, as (I. ii. 824):—
Under the extreme foot of Ida,—
Under the extreme foot of Ida,—
that is, the rising ground. Also (I. ix. 141):—
that is, the elevated ground. Also (I. ix. 141):—
The breast of the field,—
The heart of the field,—
that is, the fertility. Others, on the contrary, from inanimate to animate, as (I. xxiv. 205):—
that is, the fertility. Others, on the other hand, from inanimate to animate, as (I. xxiv. 205):—
The iron breast.
The metal breast.
From inanimate to animate, as (O. v. 490):—
From lifeless to alive, as (O. v. 490):—
Preserving the seed of fire,—
Keeping the spark alive,—
instead of the generating origin. Then he has metaphors of verbs as well as substantives (I. xvii. 265):—
instead of the generating origin. Then he has metaphors of verbs as well as nouns (I. xvii. 265):—
As the shores bellow with the smiting salt and gale,—
As the shores echo with the crashing waves and strong winds,—
instead of "resound."
instead of "echo."
Another Trope which is called Metalepsis, signifying a different thing by a synonym (O. xv. 299):—
Another trope called Metalepsis, which means representing a different thing using a synonym (O. xv. 299):—
I beached the ship in the sharp islands,—
I beached the ship on the rocky islands,—
for he wishes to signify islands properly called jagged. Both words in Greek are synonyms. For in Greek sharp not only signifies swiftness of motion, but also in a figure that which rises into a slender shape. Such is the quotation (O. ix. 327):—
for he wants to indicate islands that are properly called jagged. Both words in Greek are synonyms. In Greek, sharp not only means quickness of movement, but also, in a figurative sense, something that rises into a slender shape. Such is the quotation (O. ix. 327):—
accompanied him and sharpened my pace.
accompanied him and quickened my pace.
Another Trope is named Synecdoche, called from this reason; that from what is properly meant, another of the like kind is understood. This Trope has also many varieties. For either we perceive the part from the whole, as (I. xii. 137):—
Another Trope is called Synecdoche, named for this reason: that from what is literally meant, another of a similar kind is understood. This Trope also has many variations. For instance, we can perceive the part from the whole, as (I. xii. 137):—
They advanced straight to the walls the burning bulls,—
They charged straight at the walls with the flaming bulls,—
for he wishes to indicate by the appellation "bulls" the leather out of which shields are wont to be made. Or from a part the whole (O. i. 343):—
for he wants to show by the name "bulls" the leather that is typically used to make shields. Or from a part the whole (O. i. 343):—
I long for such a head,—
I long for such a mindset,—
for from the head he signifies the man. And when for beautiful he says "endowed with beautiful cheeks," and for well armed he says "well greaved." Or from one the many, as when he speaks of Odysseus (O. i. 2):—
for from the head he signifies the man. And when he says "endowed with beautiful cheeks" for beautiful, and "well greaved" for well armed. Or from one the many, as when he speaks of Odysseus (O. i. 2):—
When he wasted the sacred citadel of Troy.
When he destroyed the sacred fortress of Troy.
Not he by himself took Troy, but along with the rest of the Greeks. From the many one, as (I. iii. 397), "happy breasts," i.e. breast. From the species the genus, as (I. xii. 380):—
Not he alone captured Troy, but with the rest of the Greeks. From the many, one, as (I. iii. 397), "happy hearts," i.e. heart. From the species, the genus, as (I. xii. 380):—
Casting on the hard marble,—
Casting on the hard stone,—
for marble is a species of rock. From the genus the species (O. ii. 159).—
for marble is a type of rock. From the genus the species (O. ii. 159).—
To know the birds and to say many fitting things.
To recognize the birds and to express many suitable thoughts.
He wishes to say not all birds, but only the birds of auspices. From the instruments the action, as (I. ii. 827):—
He wants to say that it’s not all birds, but only the birds of good omens. From the instruments, the action, as (I. ii. 827):—
Pandorus to whom he gave the bow of Apollo.
Pandorus to whom he gave Apollo's bow.
By the bow he indicates the skill in using it. And (O. xii. 172):—
By the bow, he shows his skill in using it. And (O. xii. 172):—
Sitting they made the water white,—
Sitting, they made the water white—
and (O. iii. 486):—
and (O. iii. 486):—
Now others moved the whole day the thong of their sandal.
Now others spent the whole day adjusting the thong of their sandal.
This comes from an accidental feature; in the first case "they were rowing," in the next "they were running," is to be implied. Besides there is the consequent to the precedent, as (O. xi. 245):—
This comes from an accidental feature; in the first case "they were rowing," in the next "they were running," is to be implied. Besides, there is the consequent to the precedent, as (O. xi. 245):—
She loosed the virgin zone.
She freed the virgin zone.
It follows that she defiled it. From the consequent the precedent, as when instead of saying "to kill" he says "to disarm," that is, to spoil.
It follows that she ruined it. From the result comes the cause, just like when instead of saying "to kill," he says "to disarm," which means to spoil.
There is another Trope called Metonymy, i.e. when an expression applied properly to one thing indicates another related to it, such as (I. ii. 426):—
There is another trope called metonymy, which is when an expression that properly refers to one thing indicates another related to it, such as (I. ii. 426):—
But the young men proceed to grind Demeter,—
But the young men go on to work at Demeter, —
for he means the crop of grain named from its inventor, Demeter. And when he says (O. xix. 28):—
for he means the grain crop named after its creator, Demeter. And when he says (O. xix. 28):—
They held the transfixed entrails over Hephaestus.
They held the mesmerized insides over Hephaestus.
By the name Hephaestus he signifies fire. Like what has previously been mentioned is this (I. i. 223).—
By the name Hephaestus, he represents fire. This is similar to what has been mentioned before (I. i. 223).—
Whoever shall touch my choenix,—
Whoever touches my choenix,—
for what is contained in the choenix is intended.
for what is contained in the choenix is intended.
There is besides another Trope, Autonomasia, when an epithet or co-title is used for a proper name, as in this example (I. viii. 39):—
There is also another trope, Autonomasia, when an epithet or co-title is used instead of a proper name, as in this example (I. viii. 39):—
The son of Peleus again attacked the son of Atreus
with petulant words.
The son of Peleus once more confronted the son of Atreus with sarcastic remarks.
By this he indicates Achilles and Agamemnon respectively. And again (I. xxii. 183):—
By this, he refers to Achilles and Agamemnon. And again (I. xxii. 183):—
Be of good cheer, Tritonia, dear daughter,—
Be cheerful, Tritonia, my dear daughter,—
and in other places (I. xx. 39):—
and in other places (I. xx. 39):—
Shorn Phoebus.
Shaved Apollo.
In the one case he means Athene and in the other Apollo.
In one case, he means Athena, and in the other, he means Apollo.
There is, too, Antiphrasis, or an expression signifying the opposite from what it appears to do (I. i. 330):—
There is also Antiphrasis, which refers to an expression that means the opposite of what it seems to convey (I. i. 330):—
Seeing these Achilles did not rejoice.
Seeing these, Achilles did not feel happy.
He wishes to say the contrary, that seeing them he was disgusted.
He wants to say the opposite, that seeing them made him feel disgusted.
There is also Emphasis, which through reflection adds vigor to what is said (O. xi. 523):—
There is also Emphasis, which, through reflection, adds strength to what is said (O. xi. 523):—
But descending into the home which Epeus constructed.
But going down into the home that Epeus built.
In the word "descending" he reveals the great size of the house. Of the same kind is the line (I. xvi. 333):—
In the word "descending," he shows just how big the house is. A similar idea can be found in this line (I. xvi. 333):—
The whole sand was hot with blood,—
The entire sand was warm with blood,—
for in this he furnishes a more intense description, as if the sand was so bathed with blood that it was hot. These kind of Tropes were invented by Homer first of all.
for in this he provides a more vivid description, as if the sand was so soaked with blood that it was hot. These kinds of tropes were first invented by Homer.
Let us look at the changes of construction which are called figures to see if Homer also first invented these. Figure is a method of expression divergent from ordinary custom for the sake of ornament or utility, altered by a kind of fiction. For beauty is added to narrative by variety and change of expression, and these make the style more impressive. They are also useful because they exalt and intensify innate qualities and powers.
Let’s explore the changes in construction known as figures to determine if Homer was the first to create them. A figure is a way of expressing something that differs from the usual approach for the sake of decoration or practicality, modified through a kind of imagination. Beauty enhances storytelling through variety and changes in expression, making the style more impactful. They are also helpful because they elevate and strengthen inherent qualities and abilities.
Among the figures Pleonasm is sometimes used for the sake of the metre; as in (I. xix. 247):—
Among the figures, Pleonasm is sometimes used for the sake of the meter; as in (I. xix. 247):—
Odysseus adding all ten talents of gold,—
Odysseus adding all ten talents of gold,—
for the word "all" is added without contributing to the sense. It is done for the sake of ornament, cf. (I. xviii. 12).—
for the word "all" is added without adding to the meaning. It's done for decorative purposes, see (I. xviii. 12).—
Certainly the strenuous son of Menoetius is quite dead,—
Certainly the hardworking son of Menoetius is definitely dead,—
for the word "quite" is pleonastic after the Attic fashion.
for the word "quite" is redundant in the Attic style.
Sometimes by several forms of speech he unfolds his meaning. This is called Periphrasis. As when he says "Sons of the Achaeans" for Achaeans, and the "Herculean might" for Hercules.
Sometimes, he expresses his meaning in different ways. This is called Periphrasis. For example, he says "Sons of the Achaeans" to mean Achaeans, and "Herculean might" to refer to Hercules.
Things are said figuratively by Mutation when the ordinary order is inverted. But he puts in an expression in the midst which is called Hyperbaton, as in this (I. xvii. 542):—
Things are expressed figuratively by Mutation when the usual order is reversed. But he includes a term in the middle known as Hyperbaton, as in this (I. xvii. 542):—
Just as a lion feeds on an eaten bull,—
Just like a lion feeds on a killed bull,—
instead of saying the lion eats up the bull. And so he passes the limits of the sentence (I. ii. 333):—
instead of saying the lion eats the bull. And so he goes beyond the limits of the sentence (I. ii. 333):—
He said, and loudly cheered the Greeks—and loud
From all the hollow ships came back the cheers—
In admiration of Ulysses' speech.
He said, and the Greeks cheered loudly—and loud
From all the empty ships came back the cheers—
In admiration of Ulysses' speech.The order is the Argives applauded with a great shout the speech of divine Odysseus.
The Argives loudly applauded the speech of the divine Odysseus.
Of the same kind is the figure called Parembole, or interposition, when something outside having nothing to do with the subject is introduced. If it is removed, the construction is not affected (I. i. 234):—
Of the same kind is the figure called Parembole, or interposition, when something unrelated to the subject is introduced. If it is taken out, the structure isn’t affected (I. i. 234):—
By this I say and with an oath confirm
By this my royal staff, which never more
Shall put forth leaf nor spray, since first it left
Upon the mountain side its parent stem
Nor blossom more; since all around the axe
Hath lopped both leaf and bark—...
By this I say and with an oath confirm
By this my royal staff, which will never again
Put forth leaf or sprout, since it first left
Its parent stem on the mountainside
Nor will it bloom again; since all around the axe
Has chopped off both leaf and bark—...and the rest as much as he has said about the sceptre, then joining what follows with the beginning (I. i. 340):—
and everything else he mentioned about the scepter, then connecting what comes next with the beginning (I. i. 340):—
The time shall come when all the sons of Greece
Shall mourn Achilles' loss.
The time will come when all the sons of Greece
Will mourn Achilles' loss.He uses also Palillogia—that is the repetition of some part of a sentence, or several parts are repeated. This figure is called Reduplication, such as (I. xx. 371):—
He also uses Palillogia—that is, the repetition of some part of a sentence, or several parts are repeated. This figure is called Reduplication, such as (I. xx. 371):—
Encounter him well! Though his hands were hands of fire,
Of fire, his hands, his strength as burnished steel.
Encounter him well! Though his hands were like fire,
Like fire, his hands, his strength like polished steel.Sometimes certain insertions are made and they are repeated, as in (O. i. 22):—
Sometimes certain insertions are made, and they are repeated, as in (O. i. 22):—
Howbeit Poseidon had now departed for the distant Ethiopians,
the Ethiopians that are sundered in twain, the uttermost
of men.
However, Poseidon had now left for the far-off Ethiopians,
the Ethiopians who are divided in two, the farthest
of men.This is a figure revealing the feeling of the speaker and at the same time affecting the hearer.
This is an image showing the speaker's emotions while also influencing the listener.
Of the same kind is Relation; when at the commencement of several members of a sentence the same part is repeated. An example of this from the poet is (I. ii. 671):—
Of the same kind is Relation; when at the start of several parts of a sentence the same section is repeated. An example of this from the poet is (I. ii. 671):—
Nireus three well-trimmed ships from Syme brought.
Nireus to Charops whom Aglaia bore.
Nireus the goodliest man of all the Greeks.
Nireus brought three nicely kept ships from Syme.
Nireus to Charops, whom Aglaia gave birth to.
Nireus, the finest man among all the Greeks.This figure is likewise adapted to excite the emotions and give sweetness to the expression.
This figure is also designed to evoke emotions and add sweetness to the expression.
He has also Regression. This is when one puts forward two names of objects. When the sense is not yet complete, the poet returns to both of the names, completing what is lacking in the sense, as (I. v. 518).—
He also has Regression. This is when someone presents two names of objects. When the meaning isn't fully formed yet, the poet goes back to both names, filling in what's missing in the meaning, as (I. v. 518).—
Followed the thronging bands of Troy, by Mars and fierce
Bellona led: she by the hand wild uproar held; while Mars
a giant spear brandished aloft.
Followed the crowded groups of Troy, led by Mars and fierce
Bellona: she held wild chaos by the hand; while Mars
brandished a giant spear high above.The characteristic of this figure is variety and perspicuity.
The main traits of this figure are diversity and clarity.
He has also the figure called Homoioteleuton in which the parts of the sentence have endings similar in sound and have the same syllables at the end (O. xv. 74):—
He also has the figure called Homoioteleuton, where the parts of the sentence have similar-sounding endings and the same syllables at the end (O. xv. 74):—
Men should love a guest while he is with them, and send
him on his way when he would depart,—
Men should treat a guest well while he’s with them and let him go when he’s ready to leave,—
and in the following (O. vi. 42):—
and in the following (O. vi. 42):—
And she departed to Olympus, where they say is the seat of the gods that standeth fast forever. Not by the wind is it shaken nor ever wet with rain nor doth the snow come nigh thereto, but most clear air is spread about it cloudless and the white light floats over it.
And she went to Olympus, which is said to be the eternal home of the gods. It isn’t shaken by the wind, doesn’t get wet with rain, and snow doesn’t come near it. Instead, there’s a clear, cloudless sky surrounding it, and a bright light shines above it.
When periods or their members end in nouns which are of the same declension this is properly called Homoioptolon, as the following (I. ii. 87):—
When periods or their members end in nouns that belong to the same declension, this is correctly referred to as Homoioptolon, as seen in the following (I. ii. 87):—
[Greek omitted]
As swarms of bees, that pour in ceaseless stream
From out the crevice of some hollow rock.
[Greek omitted]
Like swarms of bees that flow in an endless stream
From the crevice of a hollow rock.The above and others like them add grace and attractiveness to the narrative.
The ones above and others like them add charm and appeal to the story.
As a proof of his care in composition we often see he employs two figures in the same verses, as Epanaphora and Homoioteleuton (I. ii. 382):—
As proof of his attention to detail in writing, we often notice that he uses two figures in the same verses, like Epanaphora and Homoioteleuton (I. ii. 382):—
Each sharpen well his spear, his shield prepare
Each to his fiery steeds their forage give.
Each sharpens his spear well and prepares his shield.
Each gives their fiery steeds their feed.Belonging to these is the figure called Parison, which is formed out of two or more numbers having an equal number of words (I. vii. 93):—
Belonging to these is the figure called Parison, which is made up of two or more phrases that have the same number of words (I. vii. 93):—
Shamed to refuse, but fearful to accept.—
Shamed to say no but scared to say yes.—
and again (I. xvi. 282):—
and again (I. xvi. 282):—
Had cast away difference, had resumed friendship,—
Had set aside differences, had renewed friendship,—
That this figure gives much ornament of style is very clear.
It's clear that this figure adds a lot of style.
The like grace comes from Paranomasia, when besides the name in question another similar one is added at a slight interval (I. vi. 130):—
The same grace comes from Paranomasia, when, alongside the name in question, another similar one is added with a slight gap (I. vi. 130):—
Not long did Dryas' son, Lycurgus brave,—
Not long after, Dryas' son, brave Lycurgus,—
and in another (I. ii. 758):—
and in another (I. ii. 758):—
Swift-footed Protheus led.
Protheus led swiftly.
But the above examples are arranged either by Pleonasm or by some such like artifice. But there is another due to absence of a word. Of thes omitted the sense is plain from what has gone before, as in the following (I. ix. 328):—
But the examples above are organized either by pleonasm or by some similar technique. However, there is another case related to the absence of a word. In these omissions, the meaning is clear from what has been stated earlier, as in the following (I. ix. 328):—
Twelve cities have I taken with my ships,
Eleven more by land on Trojan soil,—
I've captured twelve cities with my ships,
Eleven more on Trojan land, —where the words "have I taken" are wanting in last line, but are supplied from the preceding one. This is said to be by Ellipse (I. xii. 243):—
where the words "have I taken" are missing in the last line, but are provided from the previous one. This is referred to as Ellipsis (I. xii. 243):—
One bird best to defend the fatherland,—
One bird is best to defend the fatherland,—
where the word "is" is lacking. And (I. xx. 293):—
where the word "is" is missing. And (I. xx. 293):—
Alas I the grief to me of great-hearted Aeneas,—
Alas, I feel the grief of great-hearted Aeneas,—
when the words "is present," "comes," or something of the kind, are understood.
when the words "is present," "comes," or something like that are understood.
There are many kinds of Ellipses in Homer; the effect of the figure is quickness.
There are many types of ellipses in Homer; the effect of this figure is speed.
Of this sort is Asyndeton when the conjunctions uniting sentences are removed. This is done not only for the sake of celerity, but also of the sake of emotional emphasis. Such as is the following (O. x. 251):—
Of this type is Asyndeton when the conjunctions connecting sentences are removed. This is done not just for speed, but also for emotional emphasis. An example is the following (O. x. 251):—
We went on our way, noble Odysseus, up through the coppice
even as thou didst command; we found within the forest glades
the fair halls builded of polished stone of Circe.
We made our way, noble Odysseus, through the thicket just as you instructed; we discovered within the forest clearings the beautiful halls made of polished stone belonging to Circe.
In these the conjunction is dropped since the speaker seeks the quickest method of expressing his message. There is among the figures what is called the Incongruous or the Variation. It is used when the ordinary arrangement is made different. And the variety is due either to impressing grace and elegance to the words; the ordinary movements not seeming to be followed, but the alteration has an arrangement of its own.
In these cases, the conjunction is left out because the speaker wants to express their message as quickly as possible. Among the figures, there is something known as the Incongruous or the Variation. This is used when the usual order is changed. The variety comes from either adding grace and elegance to the words or from not following the usual patterns, but the change has its own unique arrangement.
It often takes place when the genders of nouns are changed as [Greek omitted] instead of [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted]. It was not unusual for the ancients, and especially among the people of Attica, to use masculine for feminine as superior and more vigorous. Nor did they do this without rhyme and reason, but when they made use of a word, as an epithet apart from the body which was spoken of. For the words concerned with the body are "great, beautiful," those not connected with it, "glorious, fortunate." Besides, they are ambiguous on account of their composition. For in general all compound things are common to either gender. And wherever a verb or participle is used with a masculine and feminine noun, the masculine prevails (I. vi. 567):—
It often happens when the genders of nouns are switched, using [Greek omitted] instead of [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted]. It was common among the ancients, particularly in Attica, to use masculine terms for feminine ones, viewing them as superior and more vigorous. They didn't do this randomly; it occurred when they used a word as an epithet separate from the subject being discussed. The words related to the body are "great" and "beautiful," while the ones that aren't are "glorious" and "fortunate." Additionally, these terms can be ambiguous due to their composition. In general, all compound terms can apply to either gender. And whenever a verb or participle is paired with both a masculine and a feminine noun, the masculine form tends to dominate (I. vi. 567):—
The virgins and the youths minding childish things,—
The young women and the boys focused on childish things,—
where the participle is masculine.
where the participle is male.
Certain things, owing to the peculiarity of the dialect or the custom of that time, are said differently, [Greek omitted] feminine instead of [Greek omitted] (O. i. 53):—
Certain things, due to the unique nature of the dialect or the customs of that time, are expressed differently, [Greek omitted] feminine instead of [Greek omitted] (O. i. 53):—
And himself upholds the tall pillars which keep earth
and sky asunder.
And he supports the tall pillars that separate earth
and sky.Often as the narrative proceeds he changes the genders, as in (O, xv. 125):—
Often as the story goes on, he changes the genders, as in (O, xv. 125):—
I give to you the gift, my dear son.
I give you this gift, my dear son.
Son is a neuter substantive to which the adjective agrees; the poet refers it to the person. Of the same kind is that which is said by Dione to Venus (I. v. 382):—
Son is a neutral noun that the adjective matches; the poet connects it to the person. Similarly, this is what Dione says to Venus (I. v. 382):—
Have patience, dearest child; though much enforced.
Have patience, my dear child; even though it's hard.
Analogous to it is that (O. xi. 90):—
Analogous to it is that (O. xi. 90):—
Anon came the soul of Theban Teiresias, with a golden sceptre
in his hand,—
Anon came the spirit of Theban Teiresias, holding a golden scepter—
for he made the participle [Greek omitted] agree not with the gender of soul [Greek omitted], but the gender of the body, that is, Teiresias. For often he looks not to the word but to the sense, as in this passage (I. xvi. 280):—
for he made the participle [Greek omitted] agree not with the gender of soul [Greek omitted], but the gender of the body, that is, Teiresias. For often he looks not to the word but to the sense, as in this passage (I. xvi. 280):—
In all their spirit stirred, and the phalanxes moved hoping
for the idle son of Peleus from the ships,—
In all their spirit stirred, and the troops moved hoping
for the idle son of Peleus from the ships,—for the participle [Greek omitted] does not agree with the word "phalanxes," but with the men composing them.
for the participle [Greek omitted] does not agree with the word "phalanxes," but with the men who make them up.
In another way he changes genders, as when he says (O. xii. 75):—
In another way, he switches genders, like when he says (O. xii. 75):—
And a dark cloud encompasses it; this never streams away,—
And a dark cloud surrounds it; this never drifts away,—
since [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], "cloud," are synonyms, using first [Greek omitted] he afterward makes his adjectives agree with [Greek omitted] understood. Like this are these verses (I. ii. 459):—
since [Greek omitted] and [Greek omitted], "cloud," are synonyms, using first [Greek omitted] he afterward makes his adjectives agree with [Greek omitted] understood. Like this are these verses (I. ii. 459):—
As various tribes of winged fowl or geese
Or cranes or long necked swans
Besides Coysters stream, now here, now there,
Disporting, ply their wings.
As different groups of birds like geese
Or cranes or long-necked swans
Near Coysters stream, now here, now there,
Play around, flapping their wings.For having first set down generically the kinds of birds, which are neuter, then after speaking of the species in the masculine he comes back again to the neuter—settling down with a noise giving the proper agreement to the general word of the species.
For first categorizing the types of birds, which are neutral, and then discussing the species in the masculine, he returns to the neutral—concluding with a sound that aligns with the general term for the species.
The poet often changes the number as well as the gender (I. xv. 305):—
The poet often changes both the number and the gender (I. xv. 305):—
The crowd approach the ships of the Achaeans.
The crowd approaches the ships of the Achaeans.
First comes a singular then a plural verb, plainly looking to the sense, for although the word "crowd" is called singular, yet it embraces many individuals.
First comes a singular then a plural verb, clearly based on the meaning, for even though the word "crowd" is considered singular, it actually includes many individuals.
Like it in the opposite way is when the plural precedes the singular follows (I. xvi. 264):—
Like it in the opposite way is when the plural comes before the singular follows (I. xvi. 264):—
They having a martial heart each one rushes on.
They all have a fierce spirit and charge ahead.
The word [Greek omitted] is singular, being applied to a multitude has the same effect as all ([Greek omitted]). The same kind of figure is the following (O. iii. 4):—
The word [Greek omitted] is singular, but when applied to a large group, it has the same effect as all ([Greek omitted]). The same type of figure appears in the following (O. iii. 4):—
And they reached Pylas, the stablished castle of Neleus, and
the people were doing sacrifice on the seashore.
And they arrived at Pylas, the established castle of Neleus, and the people were sacrificing on the beach.
The people of Pylas are meant.
The people of Pylas are intended.
He has changes of cases, the nominative and the vocative being interchanged in the following verse (I. ii. 107):—
He has changes in cases, with the nominative and vocative swapped in the following verse (I. ii. 107):—
To Agamemnon last Thyestis left it,—
To Agamemnon last Thyestis left it,—
and (I. i. 411):—
and (I. i. 411):—
Cloud-compelling Zeus,—
Cloud-loving Zeus,—
and (0. xvii. 415):—
and (0. xvii. 415):—
Friend [Greek omitted] give me for thou dost not seem to me
to be the worst of the Greeks.
Friend [Greek omitted], give me a chance because you don't seem to be the worst of the Greeks.
The genitive and dative are changed in the next example (I. iii. 16):—
The genitive and dative are changed in the next example (I. iii. 16):—
Godlike Paris fights in front for the Trojans,—
Godlike Paris fights in front for the Trojans,—
instead of "in front of." And the contrary in the next (O. v. 68):—
instead of "in front of." And the opposite in the next (O. v. 68):—
There about the hollow cave trailed a gadding vine.
There around the empty cave trailed a wandering vine.
Where in the original the Greek word "cave" is in the genitive case, not as it should be, dative. And the cause of the mutation is that the nominative accusative and vocative seem to have a certain relation to one another. On which account nouns of the neuter gender and many masculine and feminine ones have these three cases alike. Likewise the genitive has a certain affinity with the dative. This is found in the dual number of all words. Hence the cases are changed contrary to what is usual. Sometimes it is possible to discover the reason for the change, as in the expression (I. v. 222):—
Where in the original the Greek word "cave" is in the genitive case, it should actually be in the dative. The reason for this change is that the nominative, accusative, and vocative cases seem to relate to each other in a certain way. Because of this, neuter nouns and many masculine and feminine nouns have these three cases the same. Similarly, the genitive is somewhat related to the dative. This connection is seen in the dual number of all words. Therefore, the cases are altered in an unusual way. Sometimes it’s possible to find out why the change occurs, as in the expression (I. v. 222):—
Understanding of the field,—
Field understanding,—
and (I. ii. 785):—
and (I. ii. 785):—
They crossed the field,—
They crossed the field—
just as if he had used the preposition "through."
just like if he had used the preposition "through."
A fine example of change of case is found in the beginning of both his poems:—
A great example of a change of perspective is found at the start of both his poems:—
Sing, O Muse, the vengeance, etc., whence to Greece unnumbered
ills arose.
Tell me, Muse, of that man, of many a shift and many the woes
he suffered.
Sing, O Muse, about the vengeance, etc., that brought countless troubles to Greece.
Tell me, Muse, about that man, who faced many challenges and endured many sorrows.Sometimes after the genitive he brings in the nominative, as in this (I. i. 272):—
Sometimes after the genitive, he uses the nominative, like in this (I. i. 272):—
Of others who are now mortal.
Of others who are now human.
He arranges many things in figures in various ways, as the following passage (I. ii. 350):—
He organizes many things into figures in different ways, as shown in the following passage (I. ii. 350):—
For well I ween, that on the day when first
We Grecians hitherward our course address'd
To Troy the messengers of blood and death
Th' o'erruling son of Saturn, on our right
His lightning flashing, with auspicious sign
Assur'd us of his favor.
For I know that on the day when we Greeks first
Set our course towards Troy,
The messengers of blood and death,
The ruling son of Saturn, on our right,
Flashing his lightning as a good omen,
Assured us of his favor.And the following is not unlike it (I. vi. 510):—
And the following is similar to it (I. vi. 510):—
His bright arms flashing like the gorgeous sun
Hasten'd with boastful mien and rapid step.
His shining arms glimmered like the brilliant sun
Rushed forward with a proud attitude and quick pace.And these things, according to the ancient fashion, he exalts not unreasonably. If any one changes the participles into verbs, he will discover the sequence, for the word "lightning" has the same value as "when it was lightning," and "relying" "since he relied." Like these cases are the following (O. xii. 73):—
And these things, following the old style, he raises not without reason. If anyone changes the participles into verbs, they'll see the connection, because the word "lightning" has the same meaning as "when it was lightning," and "relying" has the same meaning as "since he relied." The following examples are similar (O. xii. 73):—
There are two crags, one reaches the broad sky,
There are two cliffs, one stretches up to the wide sky,
and (I. vii. 306):—
and (I. vii. 306):—
They parted: Ajax to the Grecian camp
And Hector to the ranks of Troy returned.
They went their separate ways: Ajax headed to the Greek camp
And Hector returned to the Trojans' ranks.And others of the same kind. For it is reasonable when one is about to speak of two individuals to put first what is common to the two, keeping the nominative in both cases. It is plain that this common use displays much grace. Sometimes employing a common case he signifies only one, as in the following (I. iii. 211):—
And others like them. It makes sense that when talking about two people, you should mention what they have in common first, keeping the subject consistent for both. This common structure clearly shows a lot of elegance. Sometimes, using a shared case, he refers to just one, as in the following (I. iii. 211):—
Both sat down, Ulysses was the higher in honor.
Both sat down, with Ulysses holding the higher honor.
The form of words he often changes, sometimes putting the comparative instead of the absolute (I. i. 32):—
The way he often phrases things changes, sometimes using the comparative instead of the absolute (I. i. 32):—
That you may return a more sane being.
That you may return a more rational person.
Sometimes the superlative for the positive, as (I. xi. 832);—
Sometimes the superlative for the positive, as (I. xi. 832);—
Most just of Centaurs.
Mostly just Centaurs.
Such is the change in nouns. But in verbs there is a change in moods, as when the infinitive is used for the imperative, as (I. v. 124):—
Such is the change in nouns. But in verbs, there is a shift in moods, as when the infinitive is used in place of the imperative, as (I. v. 124):—
Go fearless onward, Diomed, to meet the Trojan darts,—
Go forward without fear, Diomed, to face the Trojan arrows,—
where the imperative "meet" might be expected.
where the command "meet" might be expected.
Or the indicative in place of the optative, as (I. ii. 488):—
Or the indicative instead of the optative, as (I. ii. 488):—
The crowd I shall not relate nor name,—
The crowd I won't describe or name,—
where one would expect "I could not relate nor name." And, on the contrary, the optative for the indicative, as (I. v. 388):—
where one would expect "I couldn't relate or name." And, on the contrary, the optative for the indicative, as (I. v. 388):—
Mars would then be lost,—for "was lost."
Mars would then be lost,—for "was lost."
There is a variation of tenses when the present is used for the future (I. l. 29)—
There is a variation of tenses when the present is used for the future (I. l. 29)—
Her I release not till her youth be fled,—
Her I won't let go until her youth has passed,—
instead of "shall flee." Or for the imperfect (O. vi. 86):—
instead of "will flee." Or for the imperfect (O. vi. 86):—
Where truly were the unfailing cisterns, and bright water
wells up free from beneath,—
Where were the reliable cisterns, and the clear water wells up freely from below,—
instead of "welled up." And the future for the present (O. i. 24):—
instead of "welled up." And the future for the present (O. i. 24):—
Abiding some, where Hyperion will sink; and some, where
he rises.
Some places where Hyperion will set, and some where he will rise.
Or in place of the past (O. v. 300):—
Or instead of the past (O. v. 300):—
I fear that indeed the goddess may spake all things truly.
I worry that the goddess might actually speak the truth about everything.
And the voices are often changed. Instead of the active, the passive and middle are often used, as (I. i. 194):—
And the voices are often switched up. Instead of using the active voice, the passive and middle voices are often used, as (I. i. 194):—
A great sword is drawn from its sheath,—
A great sword is pulled from its sheath,—
instead of "he drew." And (I. xiii. 4):—
instead of "he drew." And (I. xiii. 4):—
His keen glance turning to view,—instead of "seeing."
His sharp gaze shifting to look—instead of "seeing."
And, on the other hand, the active instead of the passive:—
And, on the other hand, the active instead of the passive:—
I shall give a tripod with a golden handle,—instead of
"shall be given."
I'll give a tripod with a golden handle,—instead of
"will be given."It can be seen how he changes numbers, putting the plural for the singular as often happens in common speech when one speaks of himself as if of several, as in the following (O. i. 10):—
It can be seen how he changes numbers, using the plural for the singular as is common in everyday speech when someone refers to themselves as if they are multiple, as in the following (O. i. 10):—
Of these things, goddess daughter of Zeus, from whatsoever
source thou wilt declare even to us,—
Of these things, goddess daughter of Zeus, from whatever source you choose to tell us, —
instead of "to me."
instead of "for me."
We find with him a change of persons of one sort, as (I. v. 877):—
We see a change in characters in a specific way, as (I. v. 877):—
The other gods, who in Olympus dwell,
Are to thee obedient and we are submissive.
The other gods, who live on Olympus,
Are obedient to you, and we are submissive.For since there are many gods, among whom is the person speaking, both classes are well indicated by saying, "they are obedient" and "we are submissive." In another way leaving the person who is spoken of, he changes from one to another. This is called specifically Apostrophe, and affects us by its emotional character and stimulates the hearer, as in the following stanza (I. xv. 346):—
For since there are many gods, including the one speaking, both groups are well described by saying, "they are obedient" and "we are submissive." In another way, shifting the focus from the one being talked about, he moves from one to another. This is specifically called Apostrophe, and it impacts us with its emotional tone and motivates the listener, as seen in the following stanza (I. xv. 346):—
While loudly Hector to the Trojans called
To assail the ships and leave the bloody spoils
Whom I elsewhere and from the ships aloof
Shall find,—
While loudly Hector called to the Trojans
To attack the ships and leave the bloody spoils
Whom I will find elsewhere and away from the ships,—changing from the narrative to direct discourse. In the narration itself he often uses Apostrophe (I. xx. 2.):
changing from the narrative to direct speech. In the narration itself he often uses Apostrophe (I. xx. 2.):
Round thee eager for the fray stood the sons of Greece.
Standing eager for the battle were the sons of Greece.
But he makes use of direct narrative and change of persons, as in the following passage (I. ii. 337):—
But he uses direct narrative and shifts in perspective, as seen in the following passage (I. ii. 337):—
Like children, Grecian warriors, ye debate
Like babes to whom unknown are feats of arms.
Atrides thou, as is thy wont, maintain
Unchang'd thy counsel; for the stubborn fight
Array the Greeks.
Like children, Greek warriors, you argue
Like babies who don't know what it takes to fight.
Atrides, as you usually do, stick to your plan;
Stand firm for the stubborn battle
Prepare the Greeks.There is another kind of this Apostrophe (I. ii. 344):—
There is another type of this Apostrophe (I. ii. 344):—
Thou wouldst not know to whom Tydides may join himself,—
You wouldn't know to whom Tydides might join himself, —
instead of "no one can know."
instead of "no one can know."
And again (O. ix. 210):—
And again (O. ix. 210):—
And a marvellous sweet smell went up from the mixing bowl:
then truly it was no pleasure to refrain.
And a wonderful sweet smell rose from the mixing bowl:
then it was really hard to resist.58. He uses participles in the place of verbs, as in these words (I. viii. 306):—
58. He uses participles instead of verbs, as in these words (I. viii. 306):—
Weighed down in a garden by this fruit,—
Weighed down in a garden by this fruit,—
instead of "it is weighed," and (O. xiii. 113):—
instead of "it is weighed," and (O. xiii. 113):—
Thither they as having knowledge of that place drive
their ships,—
There they, knowing the area, steer their ships, —
instead of "before they knew."
"before they realized."
And articles he often changes, setting demonstrative instead of relatives (I. xvi. 150):—
And he often changes articles, using demonstrative instead of relative ones (I. xvi. 150):—
Whom Podarge, swift of foot, to Zephyr bore,—and the contrary
(I. xvii. 460):—
And breastplate: for his own his faithful friend hath lost.
Whom Podarge, quick on her feet, brought to Zephyr,—and the opposite
(I. xvii. 460):—
And breastplate: for his own his loyal friend has lost.So he was wont to change prepositions (I. i. 424):—
So he often changed prepositions (I. i. 424):—
Yesterday he went through the banquet,—instead of "to the banquet."
Yesterday he went through the banquet,—instead of "to the banquet."
And (I. i. 10):—
And (I. i. 10):—
And he stirred up an evil plague through the army.
And he caused a terrible plague to spread through the army.
Likewise he joins with a preposition a noun improperly, as in the verse (I. x. 101):—
Likewise, he incorrectly connects a noun with a preposition, as seen in the verse (I. x. 101):—
Lest perchance they wish to decide the contest in the night,—
Lest they want to settle the contest at night,—
where the preposition is followed by, the accusative, not the genitive. And as to other prepositions, some he changes, some he omits (I. ii. 696):—
where the preposition is followed by the accusative, not the genitive. And regarding other prepositions, some he changes, some he leaves out (I. ii. 696):—
Of whom he lies lamenting,—instead of "concerning whom."
Of whom he is lying and lamenting,—instead of "about whom."
And (O. xxiii. 91):—
And (O. xxiii. 91):—
Expecting whether he would bespeak him,—instead of
"speak to him."
Expecting whether he would talk to him—instead of "speak to him."
And other prepositions he in the same fashion changes or leaves out. And adverbs he changes, using indifferently motion towards, rest in, and motion from a place (I. xx. 151):—
And he changes or leaves out other prepositions in the same way. He alters adverbs too, using interchangeably "moving towards," "resting in," and "moving from a place" (I. xx. 151):—
His grandchildren were setting down from elsewhere,—instead of
"elsewhere" (I. vii. 219):—
And Ajax came from near,—instead of "near."
His grandchildren were coming from somewhere else,—instead of
"elsewhere" (I. vii. 219):—
And Ajax came from close by,—instead of "near."Finally he has changes of conjunctions, as (O. i. 433):—
Finally, he has variations in conjunctions, as (O. i. 433):—
He never lay with her and he shunned the wrath of his lady,—
instead of "for he shunned," etc. And these are the figures of
speech which not only all poets but the writers of prose have
employed.
He never slept with her and he avoided the anger of his lady,—
instead of "for he avoided," etc. And these are the figures of
speech that not only all poets but also prose writers have used.But significance is given by him in many ways. One of which is Proanaphonesis, which is used when any one in the midst of a narration uses an order proper to other things, as in the following line (O. xxi, 98):—
But he gives significance in many ways. One of these is Proanaphonesis, which is used when someone in the middle of a narration uses an order appropriate to other things, as in the following line (O. xxi, 98):—
He was to be the first that should taste the arrow,—
and Epiphonesis (I. xvii. 32):—
After the event may e'en a fool be wise.
He was meant to be the first to feel the arrow,—
and Epiphonesis (I. xvii. 32):—
After the event, even a fool can be wise.The use of Prosopopoiia is frequent and varied with him. For he introduces many different people speaking together, to whom he attributes various characteristics. Sometimes he re-creates characters no longer living, as when he says (I. vii. 125):—
The use of Prosopopoeia is common and diverse with him. He brings many different people into conversation, giving them various traits. Sometimes he brings back characters who are no longer alive, as when he says (I. vii. 125):—
What grief would fill the aged Pellus's soul.
What grief would fill the heart of old Pellus.
There is, too, Diatyposis, which is the working out of things coming into being or actually existent or that have come to pass, brought in to make what is said clearer, as in the following (I. ix. 593):—
There is also Diatyposis, which is the elaboration of things that are coming into existence, actually exist, or have occurred, introduced to clarify what is being said, as shown in the following (I. ix. 593):—
The slaughtered men, the city burnt with fire,
The helpless children and deep-bosomed dames.
The slain men, the city consumed by flames,
The defenseless children and nurturing women.Or, to produce pity (I. xxii. 60):—
Or, to create sympathy (I. xxii. 60):—
Look, too, on me with pity: me on whom
E'en on the threshold of mine age, hath Jove
A bitter burthen cast, condemned to see
My sons struck down, my daughters dragged away
In servile bonds: our chamber's sanctity
Invaded; and our babes by hostile hands
Dashed to the ground.
Look at me with pity: I, who even at the threshold of my old age, have been burdened by Jove, forced to witness my sons being killed, my daughters taken away in bondage. Our sacred space has been invaded, and our babies have been violently thrown to the ground by enemy hands.
There is also to be found in him Irony, i.e. an expression revealing the opposite of what is said with a certain ethical artifice; as in the speech of Achilles (I. ix. 391):—
There is also found in him Irony, meaning an expression that reveals the opposite of what is said with a certain ethical skill; as in the speech of Achilles (I. ix. 391):—
Let him choose among the Greeks a fitter King.
Let him choose a more suitable King from among the Greeks.
For he hints that he would not find one of more royal temper. And this is the same Trope used when one speaks about himself in extenuation and gives a judgment contrary to one's own. There is another form when any one pretends to praise another and really censures him. As the verse in Homer, put in the mouth of Telemachus (O. xvii. 397):—
For he suggests that he wouldn’t find anyone with a more royal temperament. This is the same device used when someone talks about themselves in a way that downplays their actions and delivers a judgment that contradicts their own. There’s another version where someone pretends to praise another but is actually criticizing them. As the verse in Homer states, spoken by Telemachus (O. xvii. 397):—
Antinous—verily thou hast good care of me, as it were a
father for his son.
Antinous—truly, you take great care of me, like a father does for his son.
For he says to an enemy that he cares as a father for his son, and, again, when any one by way of jest extolls his neighbor, as the suitors (O. ii. 325):—
For he tells an enemy that he cares for them like a father does for his son, and, again, when someone jokingly praises their neighbor, like the suitors do (O. ii. 325):—
In my truth Telemachus planneth our destruction. He will
bring a rescue either from sandy Pylos, or it may be from
Sparta, so terribly is he set on slaying us.
In my opinion, Telemachus is planning our downfall. He will either get help from sandy Pylos or from Sparta, as he is so determined to kill us.
Sarcasm is a species of Irony used when any one jibes at another with a pretence of smiling. As Achilles, in the following passage (I. ix. 335):—
Sarcasm is a type of irony used when someone mocks another while pretending to be pleasant. As Achilles says in the following passage (I. ix. 335):—
He meted out
Their several portions, and they hold them still.
From me, from me alone of all the Greeks,
He bore away and keeps my cherished wife.
Well! let him keep her, solace of his bed.
He gave them their separate shares, and they still hold onto them.
From me, and me alone among all the Greeks,
He took and keeps my beloved wife.
Fine! Let him keep her, comfort of his bed.Like this in kind is Allegory, which exhibits one thing by another, as in the following (O. xxii. 195):—
Like this in kind is Allegory, which shows one thing by another, as in the following (O. xxii. 195):—
Now in good truth Melanthiusi shalt thou watch all night,
lying on, a soft bed as beseems thee.
Now, in all honesty, Melanthiusi, you will watch all night, lying on a soft bed, as befits you.
For being in chains and hanging, he says he can rest on a soft bed.
For being in chains and hanging, he says he can relax on a comfy bed.
Often, too, he makes use of Hyperbole, which, by exaggerating the truth, indicates emphasis, as (I. x. 437):—
Often, he also uses Hyperbole, which, by exaggerating the truth, shows emphasis, as (I. x. 437):—
These surpass in brilliancy the snow, in speed the eagle.
These outshine the snow in brightness and are swifter than the eagle.
Homer used Tropes and figures of this sort and handed them down to posterity, and justly obtains glory beyond all others.
Homer used tropes and figures like these and passed them down to future generations, earning glory greater than anyone else.
Since there are also Characters of speech called Forms, of which one is Copiousness, the other Gracefulness, and the third Restraint, let us see if Homer has all these separate classes, on which poets and orators have worked after him. There are examples of these—copiousness in Thucydides, gracefulness in Lysias, restraint in Demosthenes. That is copious which by combination of words and sentences has great emphasis. An example of this is (O. v. 291):—
Since there are also types of speech called Forms, one of which is Copiousness, another is Gracefulness, and the third is Restraint, let’s examine if Homer includes all these distinct categories, which poets and speakers have developed since then. There are examples of these—copiousness in Thucydides, gracefulness in Lysias, and restraint in Demosthenes. Copiousness means using a combination of words and sentences to create strong emphasis. An example of this is (O. v. 291):—
With that he gathered the clouds and troubled the waters of
the deep, rasping his trident in his hands: and he roused all
storms of all manner of winds and shrouded in clouds the land
and sea: and down sped night from heaven.
With that, he gathered the clouds and stirred the deep waters, gripping his trident: he unleashed all kinds of storms and covered the land and sea with clouds: and night descended quickly from the sky.
The graceful is delicate by the character of the matter. It is drawn out by the way it is expressed (I. vi. 466).—
The graceful is delicate due to the nature of the subject. It comes through in the way it is expressed (I. vi. 466).—
Thus he spake, great Hector stretch'd his arms
To take the child: but back the infant shrank,
Crying, and sought his nurse's sheltering breast,
Scar'd by the brazen helm and horse-hair plume.
So he spoke, great Hector reached out his arms
To take the child: but the infant recoiled,
Crying, and sought refuge in his nurse's embrace,
Frightened by the bronze helmet and horse-hair plume.The restrained is between the two, the copious and the graceful, as (O. xxii. 291):—
The restrained is positioned between the abundant and the elegant, as (O. xxii. 291):—
Then Odysseus, rich in counsel, stripped him of his rags and
leaped on the great threshold with his bow and quiver full of
arrows, and poured forth all the swift shafts there before his
feet, and spake among the wooers.
Then Odysseus, full of clever ideas, took off his rags and jumped onto the big threshold with his bow and quiver full of arrows, and scattered all the quick arrows there at his feet, and spoke to the suitors.
But the florid style of speech, which has beauty and capacity for creating delight and pleasure, like a flower, is frequent in our poet; his poetry is full of such examples. The kinds of phrasing have much novelty in Homer, as we shall go on to show, by giving a few examples from which the rest may be gathered.
But the elaborate way of speaking, which has beauty and the ability to create joy and enjoyment, like a flower, happens often in our poet; his poetry is full of such examples. The types of phrases are very innovative in Homer, as we will demonstrate by providing a few examples from which the rest can be understood.
Every type of style practised among men is either historical, theoretic, or political. Let us examine whether the beginnings of these are to be found in him. Historical style contains a narration of facts. The elements of such a narration are character, cause, place, time, instrument, action, feeling, manner. There is no historical narration without some of these. So it is with our poet, who relates many things in their development and happening. Sometimes in single passages can be found relations of this kind.
Every type of style practiced by people falls into one of three categories: historical, theoretical, or political. Let's explore whether the origins of these can be found in him. Historical style involves telling a story of events. The key elements of such storytelling are character, cause, place, time, instrument, action, feeling, and manner. There is no historical narrative without one or more of these elements. This is also true for our poet, who describes many things in terms of their development and occurrence. Sometimes, in individual sections, you can find connections of this kind.
Of character, as the following (I. v. 9):—
Of character, as the following (I. v. 9):—
There was one Dores 'mid the Trojan host,
The priest of Vulcan, rich, of blameless life;
Two gallant sons he had, Idaeus named
And Phegeus, skilled in all the points of war.
There was one Dores among the Trojan army,
the priest of Vulcan, wealthy and of spotless character;
he had two brave sons, one named Idaeus
and the other Phegeus, both experts in every aspect of battle.He describes features, also, as in the case of Thersites (I. ii. 217):—
He also describes features, as with Thersites (I. ii. 217):—
With squinting eyes, and one distorted foot,
His shoulders round, and buried in his breast
His narrow head, with scanty growth of hair.
With squinting eyes and one crooked foot,
His shoulders hunched, and sunk into his chest
His narrow head, with little hair.And many other things, in which he often pictures the type or appearance or character, or action or fortune of a person, as in this verse (I. xx. 215):—
And many other things, where he often illustrates the type, appearance, character, actions, or fate of a person, as in this line (I. xx. 215):—
Dardanus first, cloud-compelling
Zeus begot,—and the rest.
Dardanus, first born of Zeus, who controls the clouds—and the rest.
There is in his poetry description of locality; where he speaks about the island near that of the Cyclops, in which he describes the look of the place, its size, its quality, and the things in it, and what is near it. Also, when he describes the things adjacent to the island of Calypso (O. v. 63):—
There’s a description of a specific place in his poetry; he talks about the island near the Cyclops, detailing the appearance of the location, its size, its qualities, what’s in it, and what’s nearby. He also describes things around the island of Calypso (O. v. 63):—
And round about the cave there was a wood-blossoming alder
and poplar, and sweet-smelling cypress.
And around the cave, there were flowering alder and poplar trees, and fragrant cypress.
And what follows. And innumerable other things of the same kind.
And what comes next. And countless other things just like that.
Time narratives are found as follows (I. ii. 134):—
Time narratives are found as follows (I. ii. 134):—
Already now nine weary years have passed.
Already now nine exhausting years have passed.
And (I. ii. 303):—
And (I. ii. 303):—
Not long ago, when ships of Greece were met at Aulis charged
with evil freight for Troy.
Not long ago, when Greek ships arrived at Aulis loaded with a terrible burden for Troy.
Then there are the causes, in which he shows why something is coming to pass or has come to pass. Such are the things said at the beginning of the "Iliad" (I. i. 8):—
Then there are the causes, where he explains why something is happening or has happened. These are the points made at the beginning of the "Iliad" (I. i. 8):—
Say then, what god the fatal strife provoked
Jove's and Latona's son; he filled with wrath
Against the King, with deadly pestilence
The Camp afflicted—and the people died
For Chryses' sake, his priest, whom Atreus' son
With scorn dismissed,
So tell me, which god sparked the deadly conflict
between Jove and Latona's son; he was filled with anger
against the King, and sent a deadly plague
upon the Camp—and people died
because of Chryses, his priest, whom Atreus' son
dismissed scornfully,—and the rest. In this passage he says the cause of the difference between Achilles and Agamemnon was the plague; but the plague was caused by Apollo, and his wrath was due to the insult put upon his priest.
—and the rest. In this passage, he states that the reason for the conflict between Achilles and Agamemnon was the plague; however, the plague was caused by Apollo, and his anger was a result of the disrespect shown to his priest.
Description of the instrument he gives, as when he tells of the shield made by Vulcan for Achilles. And there is a briefer one on the spear of Hector (I. viii. 493):—
Description of the instrument he gives, like when he talks about the shield made by Vulcan for Achilles. There's also a shorter one about Hector's spear (I. viii. 493):—
In his hand
His massive spear he held twelve cubits long,
Whose glittering point flash'd bright with hoop of gold
Encircled round.
In his hand
He held a massive spear, twelve feet long,
With a shining tip that sparkled brightly, surrounded
By a gold rim.Narrations of fact are of several kinds, some like the following (I. vii. 60):—
Narrations of fact come in various types, some like the following (I. vii. 60):—
When in the midst they met, together rush'd
Bucklers and lances, and the furious might
Of mail-clad warriors; bossy shield on shield
Clattered in conflict; loud the clamor rose.
When they met in the middle, shields and lances rushed together, and the furious strength of armored warriors clashed; shields banged against shields in battle; the noise grew louder.
The emotional narrative is where the incident is connected with some personal cause or energy, as when he speaks about things arising from anger or fear or sorrow, or when people are wounded, killed, or any other such thing happens to them. As a specimen of cause, take the following (I. i. 103):—
The emotional narrative is where the incident links to a personal reason or feeling, like when he talks about things that come from anger, fear, or sadness, or when people get hurt, killed, or anything else like that happens to them. As an example of cause, consider the following (I. i. 103):—
His dark soul filled with fury, and his eyes
Flashed like flames of fire.
His angry soul was full of rage, and his eyes
glinted like flames.Of an action (I. xvii. 51):—
Of an action (I. xvii. 51):—
Those locks, that with the Graces hair might vie,
Those tresses bright, with gold and silver bound,
Were dabbled all with blood.
Those locks, that could compete with the Graces' hair,
Those bright tresses, wrapped in gold and silver,
Were all stained with blood.A Trope is constructive of action, or experience, or form, according as one acts in a special way or is acted upon. He follows the whole scene in this sort of narrative. An example of it would be as follows (O. xxii. 15):—
A Trope shapes action, experience, or form depending on how one acts or is affected. He depicts the entire scene in this type of narrative. An example of it would be as follows (O. xxii. 15):—
But Odysseus aimed and smote him with the arrow in his throat,
and the point passed clean out through his delicate neck and
he fell back, and the cup dropped from his hand as he was
smitten, and at once through his nostrils there came up a
thick jet of slain man's blood.
But Odysseus took aim and shot him with the arrow in his throat, and the tip went straight through his delicate neck. He fell back, and the cup fell from his hand as he was hit, and immediately a thick spray of blood gushed from his nostrils.
There is also in Homer narration which has for the most part copious expression, a method of working in full, fitting the subject. Sometimes, however, it is concise, as in the following (I. xviii. 20):—
There is also in Homer storytelling that is mostly rich in expression, a way of thoroughly covering the topic. Sometimes, though, it is brief, as in the following (I. xviii. 20):—
Patroclus lies in death,
And o'er his body now the war is waged,
His naked body, for his arms are now
The prize of Hector of the glancing helmet.
Patroclus lies dead,
And now the battle is fought over his body,
His bare body, since his armor is now
The trophy of Hector with the shining helmet.This type is often useful, for the quickness of the words make the reader and speaker more intent, and he immediately takes in the subject.
This style is often helpful because the fast-paced words keep both the reader and the speaker focused, allowing them to quickly grasp the topic.
Sometimes he tells his story lightly; sometimes by an image or likeness or simile. An image, as when he says (O. xix. 53):—
Sometimes he shares his story casually; other times, he uses an image, comparison, or simile. An image, as when he says (O. xix. 53):—
Now forth from her chamber came the wise Penelope like
Artemis or golden Aphrodite.
Now out of her room came the wise Penelope like Artemis or golden Aphrodite.
A likeness as (I. iii. 196):—
A likeness as (I. iii. 196):—
He like a goat crossed the serried lines first.
He, like a goat, was the first to cross the packed lines.
A simile, when he makes a comparison of closely related things that has a connection with subject narrated. There are in Homer various kinds of similes. Constantly and in many ways he compares the behavior and nature of animals to the arts and habits of men.
A simile is a comparison between closely related things that connects to the subject being discussed. In Homer's work, there are various types of similes. He frequently compares the behavior and nature of animals to the skills and habits of humans in many different ways.
Sometimes he takes a similitude from very small things, not considering the size of the body, but the nature of each; whence he likens boldness to a fly (I. xvii. 570):—
Sometimes he draws comparisons from very small things, not focusing on the size of the object, but on the characteristics of each; for instance, he compares boldness to a fly (I. xvii. 570):—
And she breathed in his breast the courage of the fly.
And she took in his strength like a fly finding its wings.
And he compares assiduity to the same creature (I. ii. 469):—
And he compares diligence to the same creature (I. ii. 469):—
As the many generations of numberless flies.
As the countless generations of flies.
The packing together and orderly moving crowd to bees (I. ii. 87):—
The organized crowd moving together like bees (I. ii. 87):—
As are the crowds of countless bees.
Just like the swarms of countless bees.
So he shows anger and irritation (I. xvi. 259):—
So he expresses anger and irritation (I. xvi. 259):—
Like skilful wasps.
Like skilled wasps.
And he adds in the same place "when boys are wont to tease," in order that he might heighten their passionate temper by being stirred up by children. Of a continuous sound, he says (I. iii. 151):—
And he adds in the same place "when boys often tease," to emphasize their passionate nature by being provoked by children. Regarding a continuous sound, he states (I. iii. 151):—
Abundant as the cricket.
As plentiful as the cricket.
For it is a most chattering creature and incessant in it.
For it is a very talkative creature and never stops.
But those that produce with no order all kinds of sounds, he likens to (I. iii. 3):—
But those that create all sorts of sounds without any structure, he compares to (I. iii. 3):—
Just as the clamor of geese strikes to heaven.
Just like the noise of geese reaches the heavens.
But the multitudes resting in order, he likens to birds settling down (I. ii. 493):—
But the crowds resting in an orderly manner, he compares to birds settling down (I. ii. 493):—
Sitting down with clamor.
Sitting down with noise.
Sharpness of sight and act he sometimes likens to the falcon (I. xv. 238):—
Sharpness of sight and action, he sometimes compares to a falcon (I. xv. 238):—
Like to a falcon, swooping on a dove, swiftest of birds.
Like a falcon, diving on a dove, the fastest of birds.
But sometimes to an eagle (I. xvii. 676):—
But sometimes to an eagle (I. xvii. 676):—
Like to an eagle, famed of sharpest sight
Of all that fly beneath the vault of Heav'n
Whom, soaring in the clouds, the crouching dove
Eludes not.
Like an eagle, known for its keen sight
Of all that flies under the sky
Who, soaring in the clouds, cannot escape
The lurking dove.He declares its sharpness by its seeing from afar off; its swiftness, by its seizing a very active animal. A man, overcome by the sight of an enemy he compares to one who sees a snake, for he does not hesitate to take examples from reptiles (I. iii. 33):—
He shows its sharpness by being able to see from a distance; its speed by catching a very quick animal. A man, overwhelmed by the sight of an enemy, is compared to someone who sees a snake, as he doesn’t hesitate to draw examples from reptiles (I. iii. 33):—
As when some traveller spies, could in his path upon the
mountain side, a deadly snake.
Just like when a traveler spots a deadly snake in his path on the mountainside.
From the other animals he takes examples; of timidity from the hare and also from the stag (I. iv. 243):—
From the other animals, he draws examples of fearfulness from the hare and also from the stag (I. iv. 243):—
Why stand ye thus like timid fawns?
Why are you standing there like scared deer?
From dogs sometimes he takes daring (I. x. 360):—
From dogs, he sometimes takes risks (I. x. 360):—
And as the hounds, well practis'd in the chase.
And as the hounds, well-trained in the hunt.
Sometimes love for their offspring (I. x. 14):—
Sometimes love for their children (I. x. 14):—
As a dog loves and defends its pups.
Just like a dog loves and protects its puppies.
But sometimes their readiness in watching (I. x. 183):—
But sometimes their eagerness to watch (I. x. 183):—
As round a sheepfold keep their anxious watch
The dogs.
As round a sheepfold keep their anxious watch
The dogs.A capture done with passion and boldness he is wont to compare to wolves (I. xvi. 352):—
A capture made with passion and bravery, he often compares to wolves (I. xvi. 352):—
As rav'ning wolves that lambs or kids assail.
As fierce wolves attack lambs or kids.
Bravery and constancy he shows by wild boars, panthers, and lions, dividing to each one what belongs to its nature. From boars, the onslaught they have, in fighting, making it irresistible (I. iv. 253):—
Bravery and consistency he displays with wild boars, panthers, and lions, giving each one what is suitable to its nature. From boars, their fierce charge in battle makes them unstoppable (I. iv. 253):—
Idomeneus of courage stubborn as the forest boar.
Idomeneus, as brave and stubborn as a wild boar in the woods.
From panthers, inexhaustible daring (I. xxi. 577):—
From panthers, boundless bravery (I. xxi. 577):—
As when a panther by the spear transfixed does not remit
her rage.
Just like when a panther is pierced by a spear, she doesn't reduce her fury.
From lions, hesitation, finally bravery, as (I. xx. 171):—
From lions, hesitation, finally bravery, as (I. xx. 171):—
And with his tail he lashes both his flanks and limbs.
And with his tail, he strikes both his sides and legs.
Again the rush of a valiant man he likens to a horse which has had a full meal (I. vi. 506):—
Again, he compares the rush of a brave man to a horse that has just eaten its fill (I. vi. 506):—
As some proud steed, at well-fill'd manger fed.
Like a proud horse, fed at a full trough.
And, on the contrary, one slow to move; but in endurance not easily overcome, he shows in this way (I. xi. 558):—
And, on the other hand, one who is slow to act; but in terms of endurance, not easily defeated, he demonstrates this in this way (I. xi. 558):—
As near a field of corn, a stubborn ass o'powers his
boyish guides.
As close as a cornfield, a stubborn donkey overpowers his young guides.
The kingly temper and dignity he expresses in the following (I. ii. 480):—
The royal attitude and dignity he shows in the following (I. ii. 480):—
As 'mid the thronging heifers in a herd
Stands, proudly eminent, the lordly bull.
As among the crowded heifers in a herd
Stands, proudly prominent, the noble bull.He does not omit similes taken from marine creatures, the perseverance of a polypus and the difficulty of removing it from a rock (O. v. 432):—
He includes comparisons from sea creatures, like the persistence of an octopus and the challenge of getting it off a rock (O. v. 432):—
As when the cuttlefish is dragged forth from his chamber.
As when the cuttlefish is pulled out from its hiding place.
The leadership and prominence of the dolphin over the rest (I. xxi. 22):—
The leadership and prominence of the dolphin over the rest (I. xxi. 22):—
As fishes flying from a dolphin.
Like fish fleeing from a dolphin.
Oftentimes things made by men he compares to others similarly made, as in this (I. xi. 67):—
Oftentimes things made by humans are compared to other similar creations, as in this (I. xi. 67):—
The rival bands of reapers mow the swathe.
The competing groups of reapers cut through the field.
Showing the resistance and bravery of men. But one lamenting ignobly, he blames in a clear comparison (I. xvi. 7):—
Showing the resistance and bravery of men. But one lamenting shamefully, he blames in a clear comparison (I. xvi. 7):—
Why weeps Patroelus like an infant girl?
Why does Patroclus weep like a little girl?
He dared to compare human actions to the elements of nature, as in the following passage (I. ii. 394):—
He had the audacity to compare human actions to the forces of nature, as shown in the following passage (I. ii. 394):—
From th' applauding ranks of Greece
Rose a loud sound, as when the ocean wave,
Driv'n by the south wind on some lofty beach,
Dashes against a prominent crag expos'd
To blasts from every storm that wars around.
From the cheering crowds of Greece
Came a loud noise, like when the ocean wave,
Driven by the south wind onto a high beach,
Crashes against a prominent cliff exposed
To blasts from every storm that rages around. In these it is plain he used Hyperbola and Amplification, for he was not satisfied with comparing the clamor to the sound of the wind, but to the waves beating on a craggy shore, where the high sea makes the noise greater. Nor is the tempest an ordinary one, but it comes from the south, which especially stirs up the billows, and it is driven against a projecting crag stretching out into the sea, and surrounded by it, and it has the sea over it constantly, and from every side the winds blow and fall upon it. Such things as these are worked out by him in his descriptions. From a few examples we can become acquainted with many.
In these, it's clear he used Hyperbole and Amplification. He wasn't just content with comparing the clamor to the sound of the wind; he compared it to the waves crashing against a rocky shore, where the rough seas amplify the noise. The storm isn't just an ordinary one; it comes from the south, which particularly stirs up the waves. It's driven against a rocky outcrop that juts out into the sea and is surrounded by water, with the ocean constantly above it. Winds blow from every direction and hit it hard. He illustrates such concepts in his descriptions. From a few examples, we can learn a lot.
Let us see if the other forms of narrative are to be found in our author and how he took cognizance of them and clearly prepared them. We will give a few examples and so facilitate acquaintance with the rest.
Let’s explore if our author includes other narrative styles and how he acknowledged and developed them. We’ll provide a few examples to help introduce the others.
There is the theoretic style, which embraces what is called speculative matter, which is a knowledge of the truth conceived in art. By these it is possible to know the nature of reality, both divine and human things, and to discriminate virtues and vices in morals and to learn how to attain truth by logical skill. These things are the province of those who are occupied in philosophy, which is divided into natural, ethical, and dialectical. If we find out Homer supplying the beginnings and the seeds of all these, is he not, beyond all others, worthy of admiration? Because he shows matters of intelligence by dark sayings and mythical expressions, it ought not to be considered strange. The reason is to be found in poetic art and ancient custom. So those who desired to learn, being led by a certain intellectual pleasure, might the easier seek and find the truth, and that the unlearned might not despise what they are not able to understand. For what is indicated indirectly is stimulating, while what is said clearly is valued more moderately.
There's the theoretical style, which includes what we call speculative matter, a kind of knowledge rooted in the truth conveyed through art. Through this, we can understand the nature of reality, both divine and human, distinguish between virtues and vices in morals, and learn to reach the truth through logical skills. These topics belong to those engaged in philosophy, which breaks down into natural, ethical, and dialectical branches. If we find that Homer provides the beginnings and foundations of all this, isn't he, more than anyone else, worthy of admiration? Because he presents complex ideas through obscure sayings and mythical expressions, this shouldn't be seen as odd. The explanation lies in poetic art and ancient traditions. Thus, those who want to learn, motivated by a certain intellectual pleasure, might more easily seek and discover the truth, while the uneducated shouldn't look down on what they can't understand. What is suggested indirectly is more engaging, while what is clearly stated is valued less highly.
Let us begin with the beginning and creation of the whole universe, which Thales the Milesian refers to the substance water, and let us see whether Homer first discovered this when he said (I. xiv. 246):—
Let’s start with the beginning and the creation of the entire universe, which Thales the Milesian describes as the substance water, and let’s see if Homer found this out first when he said (I. xiv. 246):—
Even to the stream of old Oceanus Prime origin of all.
Even to the flow of the ancient Oceanus, the source of everything.
After him Xenophanes of Colophon, laying down that the first elements were water and land, seems to have taken this conception from the Homeric poems (I. vii. 99):—
After him, Xenophanes of Colophon, stating that the primary elements were water and land, appears to have drawn this idea from the Homeric poems (I. vii. 99):—
To dust and water turn all ye who here inglorious sit.
To dust and water return all of you who sit here without glory.
For he indicates their dissolution into the original elements of the universe. But the most likely opinion makes four elements,—fire, air, water, earth. These Homer shows he knows, as in many places he makes mention of them.
For he shows their breakdown into the fundamental elements of the universe. However, the most common view identifies four elements—fire, air, water, and earth. Homer demonstrates his awareness of these elements, as he references them in many places.
He knew, too, the order of their arrangement. We shall see that the land is the lowest of them all, for as the world is spherical, the sky, which contains all things, can reasonably be said to have the highest position. The earth being in the midst everywhere is below what surrounds it. This the poet declares chiefly in the lines where he says if Zeus let a chain down from Olympus, he could turn over the land and sea so that everything would be in the air (I. viii. 23):—
He also understood how they were arranged. We'll see that the land is the lowest of them all because the world is round, and the sky, which holds everything, can rightly be considered the highest point. The earth, being in the middle everywhere, is below everything that surrounds it. The poet expresses this mainly in the lines where he says that if Zeus dropped a chain from Olympus, he could lift the land and sea so that everything would be in the air (I. viii. 23):—
But if I choose to make my pow'r be known,
The earth itself and ocean I could raise,
And binding round Olympus' ridge the cord
Leave them suspended so in middle air.
But if I decide to show my power,
I could lift the earth and the ocean,
And tying a cord around Olympus' peak
Leave them hanging there in mid-air.Although the air is around the earth, he says the ether is higher in the following lines (I. xiv. 287):—
Although the air surrounds the Earth, he states that the ether is higher in the following lines (I. xiv. 287):—
And going up on a lofty pine, which then grew on the summit
of Ida and through the air reached into the ether.
And climbing up a tall pine tree, which grew on the top of Ida and stretched into the sky.
But higher than the ether is heaven (I. xvii. 424):—
But higher than the atmosphere is heaven (I. xvii. 424):—
And thus they fought: the iron clangor pierc'd
The airless ether and brazen vault of Heaven.
And so they fought: the loud sound of metal pierced
the empty sky and the golden dome of Heaven.And, besides, in the following (I. i. 497):—
And, besides, in the following (I. i. 497):—
The vapor ascended to the great heaven and to Olympus.
The vapor rose up to the sky and to Olympus.
The top part of the air is finer and more distant from the earth and its exhalations. Therefore it is said Olympus is called "wholly shining." Where the poet says Hera is the wife of Zeus, although she is his sister, he seems to speak in an allegory, since Hera stands for the air, which is a humid substance. Therefore he says (I. xxi. 6):—
The upper atmosphere is lighter and farther from the earth and its emissions. That's why Olympus is described as "completely shining." When the poet refers to Hera as Zeus's wife, even though she is also his sister, he seems to be speaking metaphorically, as Hera represents the air, which is a moist substance. Hence, he states (I. xxi. 6):—
Hera spread before their path clouds of thick darkness.
Hera placed thick clouds of darkness in their way.
By Zeus is signified the ether, that is the fiery and heated substance (I. xv. 192):—
By Zeus, the ether is meant, which is the fiery and heated substance (I. xv. 192):—
Broad Heav'n amid the sky and clouds, to Jove.
Broad Heaven in the sky and clouds, to Jupiter.
They seem brother and sister on account of a certain likeness and relationship, because both are light and mobile; they dwell together and are intimate, because from their intercourse all things are generated. Therefore they meet in Ida, and the land produces for them plants and flowers.
They seem like brother and sister because they have a certain similarity and connection; both are light and agile. They live together and are close because their interaction creates all things. That’s why they gather on Ida, and the land grows plants and flowers for them.
The same explanation have those words in which Zeus says he will, hang Hera and fasten two weights to her feet, namely, the land and the sea. He works out especially the principles of the elements in what Poseidon says to him (I. xv. 187):—
The same explanation applies to the words where Zeus says he will hang Hera and tie two weights to her feet, specifically, the land and the sea. He particularly elaborates on the principles of the elements in what Poseidon says to him (I. xv. 187):—
We were brethren, all of Rhaea born
To Saturn: Jove and I and Pluto third,
Who o'er the nether regions holds his sway,
We were brothers, all born of Rhaea
To Saturn: Jove and I, and Pluto third,
Who rules over the underworld,and (I. xv. 189):—
and (I. xv. 189):—
Threefold was our partition: each obtain'd
His meed of honor due.
Three ways we divided it: each received his due share of honor.
And in the division of the whole, Zeus obtained the element fire, Poseidon water, and Hades that of air. Him he also calls "aerial darkness," because the air has no proper light, but is lightened by the sun, moon, and other planets.
And in the division of everything, Zeus got fire, Poseidon got water, and Hades got air. He also refers to it as "aerial darkness" because air doesn’t have its own light but is illuminated by the sun, moon, and other planets.
The fourth part was left common to all, for the primal essence of the three elements is always in motion. The earth alone remains unmoved, to which he added also Olympus; it may have been because it is a mountain, being a part of the earth. If it belongs to heaven, as being the most brilliant and purest part of it, this may be the fifth essence in the elements, as certain distinguished philosophers think. So he, with reason, has conjectured it was common, the lowest part belonging to the earth by its weight, and the top parts to Olympus by their lightness. The natures between the two are borne upward to the one and downward to the other.
The fourth part was shared by everyone because the fundamental nature of the three elements is always in flux. The earth only stays still, and he included Olympus as well; perhaps because it's a mountain, making it part of the earth. If it belongs to the heavens as the brightest and purest part, it might be considered the fifth essence among the elements, as some notable philosophers believe. So, he rightly speculated that it was common, with the lower part belonging to the earth due to its weight, and the upper parts belonging to Olympus because of their lightness. The natures in between ascend toward one and descend toward the other.
Since the nature of the elements is a combination of contraries, of dryness and moisture, hot and cold, and since by their relation and combination all things are constructed and undergo partial changes,—the whole not admitting of dissolution,—Empedocles says all things exist in this manner: "Sometimes in love all things meeting together in one. Sometimes, again, each being carried away by animosity of hate." The concord and unity of the elements he calls love, their opposition, hate.
Since the elements are made up of opposites—like dryness and moisture, heat and cold—and because their interactions and combinations create everything and allow for gradual changes, with nothing truly dissolving, Empedocles suggests that everything exists in this way: "Sometimes all things come together in unity through love. Other times, each is pulled apart by the hostility of hate." He calls the harmony and unity of the elements love, and their conflict, hate.
Before his time Homer foreshadowed love and hate in what he says in his poetry (I. xiv. 200):—
Before his time, Homer hinted at love and hate in his poetry (I. xiv. 200):—
I go to visit old Oceanus
The sire of gods, and Tethys,
I go to visit them and reconcile a lengthen'd feud.
I’m going to visit old Oceanus,
the father of the gods, and Tethys,
I’m going to see them and settle a long-standing feud.A similar meaning has the myth about, Aphrodite and Ares, the one having the same force as Empedocles's love, the other his hate. When they sometimes come together, and again separate, the sun reveals them, Hephaestus binds them, and Poseidon releases them. Whence it is evident that the warm and dry essence, and the contrary of these, the cold and wet, sometimes combine all things and again dissolve them.
A similar meaning can be found in the myth of Aphrodite and Ares. One embodies the same power as Empedocles's love, while the other represents his hate. When they occasionally come together and then separate again, the sun exposes them, Hephaestus ties them up, and Poseidon sets them free. This shows that the warm, dry essence and its opposite, the cold, wet essence, sometimes come together to create things and then break them apart again.
Related to these is what is said by other poets that by the intercourse of Ares and Aphrodite arises Harmony; a combination of contraries grave and acute analogously accommodating themselves to one another. By which arrangement things which are endowed with a contrary nature are all mutually opposed. The poet seems to have signified this enigmatically in the conflict of the gods, in which he makes some help the Greeks and some the Trojans, showing allegorically the character of each. And he set over against Poseidon Phoebus, the cold and wet against the hot and dry: Athene to Ares, the rational to the irrational, that is, the good to the bad. Hera to Artemis, that is, the air to the moon, because the one is stable and the other unstable. Hermes to Latona, because speech investigates and remembers, but oblivion is contrary to these. Hephaestus to the River God, for the same reason that the sun is opposed to the sea. The spectator of the fight was the primary god, and he is made taking joy in it.
Related to this is what other poets say: that the union of Ares and Aphrodite creates Harmony; a mix of opposites, serious and playful, that find a way to work together. In this setup, things with opposing natures are all in conflict with each other. The poet seems to hint at this mysteriously in the battle of the gods, showing some aiding the Greeks and others supporting the Trojans, symbolizing their characteristics. He contrasts Poseidon with Phoebus, the cold and wet against the hot and dry; Athene with Ares, the rational with the irrational, that is, the good with the bad. He matches Hera with Artemis, representing the stable air against the unstable moon. Hermes faces Latona, since speech seeks knowledge and remembrance, while forgetfulness opposes this. Hephaestus is paired with the River God, mirroring the contrast between the sun and the sea. The main god watching the fight is portrayed as taking pleasure in it.
From the afore-mentioned matter Homer seems to show this: that the world is one and finite. For if it had been infinite, it would never have been divided in a number having a limit. By the name "all" he signifies the collective whole. For in many other cases he uses the plural for the singular. He signifies the same thing more clearly in saying (I. xiv. 200):—
From the previously mentioned topic, Homer appears to suggest this: that the world is one and finite. If it were infinite, it would never have been divided into a count that has a limit. By using the term "all," he refers to the collective whole. In many other instances, he uses the plural form to indicate the singular. He expresses this idea more clearly when he states (I. xiv. 200):—
The ends of the earth,—and again where he says (I. vii. 478):—
Nor should I care
Though thou wert thrust beneath the lowest deep
Of earth and ocean,—and in
On the very top of many-peaked Olympus where there is a top,
there, too, is a limit.
The ends of the earth,—and again where he says (I. vii. 478):—
I wouldn’t even care
If you were pushed down into the deepest part
Of the earth and ocean,—and in
On the highest point of many-peaked Olympus where there is a peak,
there, too, is a limit.His opinions about the sun are plain. That it has an orbicular energy sometimes appearing over the earth, sometimes going under it, this he makes evident by saying (O. x. 190):—
His views on the sun are straightforward. It has a round energy that sometimes rises above the earth and sometimes dips below it. He makes this clear by saying (O. x. 190):—
My friends, lo we know not where is the place of darkness or
of dawning, nor where the sun that gives light to men goes
beneath the earth, nor where he rises.
My friends, we don’t know where the place of darkness or dawn is, nor where the sun that lights up the world goes down beneath the earth, nor where it rises.
And that he is always preceding over us and on this account is called Hyperion by our poet; that he makes the sun rising from the water which surrounds the earth the ocean, that the sun descends into it, is clearly expressed. First, as to the rising (O. iii. l):—
And that he is always in charge of us and for this reason is called Hyperion by our poet; that he makes the sun rise from the ocean that surrounds the earth, and that the sun sets into it, is clearly stated. First, regarding the rising (O. iii. l):—
Now the sun arose and left the lovely mere speeding to the
brazen heaven, to give light to the immortals and to mortal
men on the earth.
Now the sun rose and sent its warm light over the beautiful lake, illuminating the bright sky to shine down on both the immortal beings and the people on earth.
Its setting (I. vii. 486):—
Its setting (I. vii. 486):—
The sun, now sunk beneath the ocean wave,
Drew o'er the teeming earth the veil of night.
The sun, now set below the ocean wave,
Cast the veil of night over the busy earth.And he declares its form (O. xix. 234):—
And he describes its shape (O. xix. 234):—
He was brilliant as the sun,
He was as brilliant as the sun,
and its size (I. xi. 735):—
and its size (I. xi. 735):—
We as sunlight overspread the earth.
We cover the earth like sunlight.
and more in the following (O. iv. 400):—
and more in the following (O. iv. 400):—
So often as the sun in his course has reached the
mid-heaven,—and its power (O. ii. log):—
Of Helios, who overseeth all and ordereth all things.
Whenever the sun in its path has reached the
highest point in the sky,—and its power (O. ii. log):—
Of Helios, who oversees everything and organizes all things.Finally that it has a soul, and in its movement is guided by choice in certain menaces it makes (O. xii. 383):—
Finally that it has a soul, and in its movement is guided by choice in certain threats it makes (O. xii. 383):—
I will go down to Hades and shine among the dead.
I will go down to Hades and stand out among the dead.
And on this thus Zeus exhorts him:—
And with this, Zeus encourages him: —
Helios, see that thou shine on amidst the deathless gods amid
mortal men upon the earth, the grain giver.
Helios, make sure to shine on among the immortal gods and mortal people on the earth, the giver of grain.
From which it is plain that the sun is not a fire, but some more potent being, as Aristotle conjectured. Assuredly, fire is borne aloft, is without a soul, is easily quenchable and corruptible; but the sun is orbicular and animate, eternal and imperishable.
From this, it's clear that the sun isn't just a fire but something much more powerful, as Aristotle suggested. Certainly, fire rises, has no soul, and can be easily extinguished and destroyed; but the sun is round, alive, eternal, and indestructible.
And as to the other planets scattered through the heavens, that Homer is not ignorant is evident in his poems (I. xviii. 480):—
And as for the other planets spread across the sky, it's clear that Homer knows about them, as shown in his poems (I. xviii. 480):—
Pleiads and Hyads and Orions might.
Pleiades, Hyades, and Orion may.
The Bear which always encircles the North Pole is visible to us. By reason of its height it never touches the horizon, because in an equal time, the smallest circle in which the Bear is, and the largest in which Orion is, revolves in the periphery of the world. And Bootes, slowly sinking because it makes a frequent setting, has that kind of position, that is carried along in a straight line. It sinks with the four signs of Zodiac, there being six zodiacal signs divided in the whole night. That he has not gone through all observations of the stars, as Aratus or some of the others, need be surprising to no one. For this was not his purpose.
The Bear, which always surrounds the North Pole, can be seen by us. Because of its height, it never touches the horizon, since the smallest circle containing the Bear and the largest circle containing Orion both rotate around the edge of the world at the same time. Bootes, slowly sinking because it sets often, is positioned in such a way that it moves in a straight line. It sets along with the four signs of the Zodiac, with six zodiac signs visible throughout the night. It shouldn’t be surprising that he hasn't recorded all the stars like Aratus or some others, since that wasn’t his goal.
He is not ignorant of the causes of disturbances to the elements as earthquakes and eclipses, since the whole earth shares in itself air, fire, and water, by which it is surrounded. Reasonably, in its depths are found vapors full of spirit, which they say being borne outward move the air; when they are restrained, they swell up and break violently forth. That the spirit is held within the earth they consider is caused by the sea, which sometimes obstructs the channels going outward, and sometimes by withdrawing, overturns parts of the earth. This Homer knew, laying the cause of earthquakes on Poseidon, calling him Earth Container and Earth Shaker.
He understands the reasons behind disturbances like earthquakes and eclipses, since the entire earth is made up of air, fire, and water, which surround it. Deep within the earth, there are vapors filled with spirit that, when released, move through the air; when they're trapped, they rise and erupt violently. They believe that the spirit is held inside the earth due to the sea, which sometimes blocks the channels that allow it to escape, and at other times, when it recedes, it causes shifts in the earth. Homer recognized this, attributing earthquakes to Poseidon, whom he called the Earth Container and Earth Shaker.
Now, then, when these volatile movements are kept within the earth, the winds cease to blow, then arises the darkness and obscurity of the sun. Let us see whether he was aware also of this. He made Poseidon moving the earth after Achilles issued forth to fight. For he had previously mentioned on the day before what the state of the air was. In the incident of Sarpedon (I. xvi. 567):—
Now, when these wild movements are contained within the earth, the winds stop blowing, and darkness covers the sun. Let's find out if he realized this too. He depicted Poseidon shaking the earth after Achilles stepped into battle. He had already mentioned the condition of the air the day before. In the case of Sarpedon (I. xvi. 567):—
Zeus extended opaque shadows over the fight,—
Zeus cast dark shadows over the fight,—
and again in the case of Patroclus (I. xvii. 366):—
and again in the case of Patroclus (I. xvii. 366):—
Now might ye deem the glorious sun himself nor moon was safe,
for darkest clouds of night overspread the warriors.
Now you might think that neither the glorious sun nor the moon was safe,
for the darkest clouds of night covered the warriors.And a little while afterward Ajax prays (I. xvii. 645):—
And a little while later, Ajax prays (I. xvii. 645):—
O Father Jove, from o'er the sons of Greece,
Remove this cloudy darkness; clear the sky
That we may see our fate.
O Father Jove, from above the sons of Greece,
Remove this cloudy darkness; clear the sky
So that we may see our fate.But after the earthquake, the vapor issuing forth, there are violent winds, whence Hera says (I. xxi. 334):—
But after the earthquake, the steam coming out, there are strong winds, which is what Hera says (I. xxi. 334):—
While from the sea I call the strong blast
Of Zephyr and brisk Notus who shall drive
The raging flames ahead.
While from the sea I call the strong wind
Of Zephyr and lively Notus who will push
The raging flames forward.On the following day Iris calls the winds to the pyre of Patroclus (I. xxiii. 212):—
On the next day, Iris summons the winds to the pyre of Patroclus (I. xxiii. 212):—
They with rushing sound rose and before them drove the
hurrying clouds.
They rose with a rushing sound, and before them drove the
hurrying clouds.So the eclipse of the sun takes place in a natural manner, when the moon on its passage by it goes under it perpendicularly and is darkened. This he seems to have known. For he said before that Odysseus was about to come (O. xiv. 162):—
So the solar eclipse happens naturally when the moon passes directly in front of the sun and blocks its light. He seems to have understood this. Because he mentioned earlier that Odysseus was going to arrive (O. xiv. 162):—
As the old moon wanes, and the new is born;—
As the old moon fades away, and the new one rises;—
that is, when the month ends and begins, the sun being conjoined with the moon at the time of his coming. The seer says to the suitors (O. xiv. 353):—
that is, when the month ends and begins, the sun is aligned with the moon at the time of his arrival. The seer tells the suitors (O. xiv. 353):—
Ah, wretched men, what woe is this ye suffer, shrouded in
night are your heads and your faces and knees, and kindled is
the voice of wailing and the path is full of phantoms and full
is the court, the shadows of men hasting hellwards beneath the
gloom, and the sun is perished out of heaven, and an evil mist
has overspread the world.
Ah, miserable men, what sorrow is this you endure? Your heads, faces, and knees are cloaked in darkness, and the sound of mourning is strong. The path is crowded with shadows, and the court is filled with people hastening toward hell in the gloom. The sun has vanished from the sky, and a terrible fog has covered the world.
He closely observed the nature of the winds, how they arise from the moist element. For the water transformed goes into air. The wind is air in motion. This he shows in very many places, and where he says (O. v. 478):—
He carefully noticed how the winds behave, how they come from the damp element. The water that changes turns into air. The wind is moving air. He explains this in many different instances, and where he mentions (O. v. 478):—
The force of the wet winds blew,—
The force of the wet winds blew,—
he arranged the order of their series (O. v. 295):—
he arranged the order of their series (O. v. 295):—
The East wind and the South wind clashed and the stormy West
and the North that is born in the bright air, welling onwards
a great wave.
The East wind and the South wind collided, and the fierce West wind
along with the North, which rises in the clear sky, surged forward
in a massive wave.Of these one comes from the rising, one from the midday quarter, one from the setting, one from the north.
Of these, one comes from the east, one from the south, one from the west, and one from the north.
And Subsolanus, being humid, changes into the South, which is warm. And the South, rarefying, is changed into the East; but the East, becoming further rarefied, is purified into the North wind, therefore (O. v. 385):—
And Subsolanus, being moist, shifts into the South, which is warm. And the South, becoming less dense, changes into the East; but the East, becoming even lighter, is transformed into the North wind, therefore (O. v. 385):—
She roused the swift North and brake the waves before him.
She stirred the quick North and broke the waves ahead of him.
Their contention he explains naturally (O. v. 331):—
Their argument is explained clearly (O. v. 331):—
Now the South would toss it to the North to carry, and now
again the East would yield it to the West.
Now the South would throw it to the North to take, and now
again the East would pass it to the West.He knew besides that the North Pole is suspended over the earth, and how it weighs on the men who dwell in that climate. But the South Pole, on the contrary, is profound; as when he says of the North Pole (O. v. 296):—
He also understood that the North Pole hangs over the Earth and the burden it places on the people living in that environment. However, the South Pole, on the other hand, is deep; as he mentions about the North Pole (O. v. 296):—
And the North that is born in the bright air rolling on a
great wave on the Southwest wind.
And the North that rises in the clear sky, rolling in on a huge wave from the Southwest wind.
(O. iii. 295):—
(O. iii. 295):—
Where the Southwest wind drives a great wave against the
left headland."
Where the southwest wind pushes a big wave against the
left cliff."For by saying "rolling" he notes the force of the wave rushing on from above, but the wind "driving" signifies a force applied to what is higher, coming from what is lower.
For saying "rolling," he points out the power of the wave rushing in from above, but the wind "driving" indicates a force acting from a higher point, coming from a lower source.
That the generation of rains comes from the evaporation of the humid, he demonstrates, saying (I. xi. 54):—
That the generation of rain comes from the evaporation of moisture, he shows by saying (I. xi. 54):—
Who sent from Heav'n a show'r of blood-stained rain,—
Who sent from Heaven a shower of blood-stained rain,—
and (I. xvi. 459):—
and (I. xvi. 459):—
But to the ground some drops of blood let fall,—
But some drops of blood fell to the ground,—
for he had previously said (I. vii. 329):—
for he had previously said (I. vii. 329):—
Whose blood, beside Scamander's flowing stream,
Fierce Mars has shed, while to the viewless shade
Their spirits are gone,—
Whose blood, next to Scamander's rushing river,
Fierce Mars has spilled, while their souls have vanished into the unseen.where it is evident that humors of this sort exhaled from the waters about the earth, mixed with blood, are borne upward. The same argument is found in the following (I. xvi. 385):—
where it is clear that these kinds of vapors rise from the waters around the earth, mixed with blood. The same point is made in the following (I. xvi. 385):—
As in the autumnal season when the earth with weight of rain is saturate,—for then the sun on account of the dryness of the ground draws out humors from below and brings from above terrestrial disturbances. The humid exhalations produce rains, the dry ones, winds. When the wind is in impact with a cloud and by its force rends the cloud, it generates thunder and lightning. If the lightning falls, it sends a thunderbolt. Knowing this our poet speaks as follows (I. xvii. 595):—
As in autumn when the earth is soaked with rain—because during this time the sun, due to the dryness of the ground, pulls moisture from below and causes disturbances from above. The humid vapors create rain, while the dry ones create wind. When the wind collides with a cloud and tears it apart with its force, it produces thunder and lightning. If the lightning strikes, it sends forth a thunderbolt. Understanding this, our poet says the following (I. xvii. 595):—
His lightnings flash, his rolling thunders roar.
His lightning strikes, and his thunder rolls.
And in another place (O. xii. 415):—
And in another place (O. xii. 415):—
In that same hour Zeus thundered and cast his bolt upon
the ship.
In that same hour, Zeus roared and struck the ship with his lightning bolt.
Justly thinking men consider that gods exist, and first of all Homer. For he is always recalling the gods (I. i. 406):—
Justly thinking people believe that gods exist, starting with Homer. Because he constantly brings up the gods (I. i. 406):—
The blessed gods living a happy life.
The blessed gods living a happy life.
For being immortal they have an easy existence and an inexhaustible abundance of life. And they do not need food of which the bodies of mortal men have need (I. v. 341):—
For being immortal, they have a simple existence and an endless supply of life. They don’t need the food that mortal bodies require (I. v. 341):—
They eat no bread, they drink no ruddy wine,
And bloodless and deathless they become.
They don't eat bread, they don't drink red wine,
And they become lifeless and immortal.But poetry requires gods who are active; that he may bring the notion of them to the intelligence of his readers he gives bodies to the gods. But there is no other form of bodies than man's capable of understanding and reason. Therefore he gives the likeness of each one of the gods the greatest beauty and adornment. He has shown also that images and statues of the gods must be fashioned accurately after the pattern of a man to furnish the suggestion to those less intelligent, that the gods exist.
But poetry needs active gods; to help his readers understand them, he gives the gods physical forms. However, there’s no other type of body capable of understanding and reasoning besides human beings. So, he gives each of the gods a form that embodies the greatest beauty and elegance. He also demonstrates that images and statues of the gods should be crafted accurately to resemble a man, to suggest to those who are less knowledgeable that the gods really exist.
But the leader and head of all these, the chief god the best philosophers think, is without a body, and is rather comprehensible by the intelligence. Homer seems to assume this; by him Zeus is called (I. iv. 68):—
But the leader and head of all these, the chief god that the best philosophers believe, is without a body and is more understandable through intelligence. Homer seems to suggest this; he refers to Zeus as (I. iv. 68):—
The Sire of gods and men. O father ours, son of Kronos, chief
of the greater beings.
The Father of gods and men. O our father, son of Kronos, leader of the greater beings.
And Zeus himself says (I. viii. 27):—
And Zeus himself says (I. viii. 27):—
As much as I am better than gods and men.
As much as I am superior to both gods and humans.
And Athene says of him (I. viii. 32):—
And Athene says about him (I. viii. 32):—
Well do we know thy power invincible.
We know your unstoppable power well.
If it is necessary to ask how he knew that God was an object of the intelligence, it was not directly shown, as he was using poetic form combined with myth. Yet we can gather it from the things he says (I. i. 498):—
If you need to ask how he figured out that God was something the mind could understand, it wasn’t clearly stated because he was using poetry mixed with myth. However, we can infer it from what he says (I. i. 498):—
The all-seeing son of Saturn there she found sitting apart.
She found the all-seeing son of Saturn sitting alone.
And where he himself says (I. xx. 22):—
And where he himself says (I. xx. 22):—
Yet he will upon Olympus' lofty ridge remain and view serene
the combat."
Yet he will remain upon Olympus' high ridge and watch the battle peacefully.
That solitude and the not mingling with the other gods, but being gladly by himself and using leisure for one directing and ordering all things, these constitute the character of an "intelligible" God. He knew besides that God is mind and understands all things, and governs all. For censuring Poseidon, he says (I. xiii. 354):—
That solitude and not mixing with the other gods, but being happy alone and using his free time to direct and organize everything, are what define an "intelligible" God. He also knew that God is mind, understands everything, and governs all. When criticizing Poseidon, he says (I. xiii. 354):—
Equal the rank of both, their birth the same,
But Jupiter in wisdom as in years the first.
Equal in their rank and born at the same time, But Jupiter was the first in wisdom and in years.
And this expression frequently is used "when he again thought over other things." This shows that he was ever in thought.
And this phrase is often used "when he thought about other things again." This shows that he was always thinking.
But to the mind of God pertain Providence and Fate, concerning which the philosophers have spoken much. The stimulus to this came from Homer,—why should any one insist on the providence of the gods? Since in all his poetry not only do they speak to one another on behalf of men, but descending on the earth they associate with men. A few things we shall look at for the sake of illustrations; among these is Zeus speaking to his brother (I. xx. 20):—
But in God's mind, there are Providence and Fate, which philosophers have discussed extensively. This idea was sparked by Homer—why should anyone argue for the existence of divine providence? In all his poetry, not only do the gods communicate with each other on behalf of humans, but they also come down to Earth and interact with people. We will examine a few examples to illustrate this, including Zeus speaking to his brother (I. xx. 20):—
The purpose, Neptune, well thou know'st thyself
For which I called thee; true, they needs must die,
But still they claim my care.
The purpose, Neptune, you know well yourself
For which I called you; true, they have to die,
But still they need my care.And in other places (I. xxii. 168):—
And in other places (I. xxii. 168):—
A woful sight mine eyes behold: a man
I love in plight around the walls! my heart
For Hector grieves.
A heartbreaking sight my eyes see: a man I love in trouble around the walls! My heart aches for Hector.
He refers to the royal dignity of the gods and their loving care of men, saying (O. i. 65):—
He talks about the majestic status of the gods and their caring nature towards humans, saying (O. i. 65):—
How should I forget divine Odysseus, who in understanding is
beyond mortals, and beyond all men hath done sacrifice to the
deathless gods who keep the wide heaven?
How can I forget godlike Odysseus, who in wisdom is beyond mortals, and beyond all men has made sacrifices to the immortal gods who rule the vast sky?
How he makes the gods mingling with and working with men themselves it is possible to learn completely in many passages for just as he represents Athene once helping Achilles and always aiding Odysseus, so he represents Hermes helping Priam, and again Odysseus, for he says (O. xvii. 485):—
How he shows the gods interacting and collaborating with humans can be fully understood in many instances. Just as he depicts Athene helping Achilles and consistently supporting Odysseus, he also portrays Hermes assisting Priam and, once more, Odysseus, as he states (O. xvii. 485):—
Yea even the gods, in the likeness of strangers from far
countries, put on all manner of shapes, and wander through
cities to watch the violence and the righteousness of men.
Yes, even the gods, disguised as strangers from distant lands, take on various forms and roam through cities to observe the actions and integrity of humans.
It is the characteristic of divine providence to wish men to live justly. This the poet indicates very clearly (O. xiv. 83):—
It is a trait of divine providence to want people to live righteously. This is clearly stated by the poet (O. xiv. 83):—
Verily it is not forward deeds the gods love, but they
reverence justice and the righteous acts of men.
Truly, it’s not bold actions that the gods admire, but they respect justice and the honorable deeds of people.
And (O. xvi. 386):—
And (O. xvi. 386):—
When Jove
Pours down his fiercest storms in wrath to men,
Who in their courts unrighteous judgments pass.
When Jove
Unleashes his fiercest storms in anger at people,
Who deliver unfair judgments in their courts.Then just as he introduces the gods caring for men, so he represents men as mindful of them in every crisis. As the leader, succeeding in an action, says (I. viii. 526):—
Then just as he introduces the gods looking out for people, he shows people being mindful of them in every crisis. As the leader, succeeding in an action, says (I. viii. 526):—
Hopeful to Jove I pray, and all the gods
To chase from hence these fate-inflicted hounds.
I pray to Jupiter and all the gods
To drive away these fate-driven hounds.And in danger (I. xvii. 646):—
And in danger (I. xvii. 646):—
Father Jove, from o'er the sons of Greece,
Remove this cloudy darkness.
Father Jove, from over the sons of Greece,
Remove this cloudy darkness.And again when one has slayed another (I. xxii. 379):—
And again when someone has killed another (I. xxii. 379):—
Since heaven has granted us this man to slay.
Since heaven has given us this man to kill.
And dying (I. xxii. 358):—
And dying (I. xxii. 358):—
But see I bring not down upon thy head the wrath of heaven.
But look, I don’t bring down the anger of heaven upon you.
From what other place than here did originate that doctrine of the Stoics? I mean this, that the world is one and in it both gods and men minister, sharing in justice by their nature. For when he says (I. xx. 4):—
From where else but here did the Stoics' teachings come? I'm talking about the idea that the world is one and that both gods and humans serve in it, inherently participating in justice. For when it says (I. xx. 4):—
Then Jove to Themis gave command to call
The gods to council from the lofty height
Of many ridg'd Olympus.
Why, Lord of lightning, hast thou summoned here
The gods of council, dost thou aught desire
Touching the Greeks and Trojans?
Then Jove commanded Themis to gather
The gods for a meeting from the high peaks
Of many-ridged Olympus.
Why, Lord of lightning, have you called the gods together?
Do you need anything regarding the Greeks and Trojans?What does this mean except that the world is conducted by civilized laws and the gods consult under the presidency of the father of gods and men?
What does this mean other than that the world operates under civilized laws and the gods make decisions with the guidance of the father of gods and humans?
His opinion on fate he shows clearly in his poems (I. vi. 488):—
His views on fate are clearly expressed in his poems (I. vi. 488):—
Dearest, wring not thus my heart,
For till my day of destiny is come
No man may take my life, and when it comes
Nor brave, nor coward can escape that day.
Darling, please don't twist my heart like this,
For until my destined day arrives
No man can take my life, and when that day comes
Neither the brave nor the coward can escape it.But among the other things in which he confirms the power of fate, he thinks as the most-approved philosophers have thought after him,—Plato, Aristotle, and Theophrastus,—that not all things happen by fate, but some things are in the power of men, the choice of whom is free. The same man in a way acts as he desires and falls into what he does not desire. And this point of view he has clearly expounded in many places, as in the beginning of each of his poems: in the "Iliad" saying the wrath of Achilles was the cause of the destruction of the Greeks and that the will of Zeus was fulfilled; in the "Odyssey" that the comrades of Odysseus went to their destruction by their own folly. For they had offended by touching the sacred oxen of the Sun, although they could have abstained from doing so. Yet it was foreordained (O. xi. 110):—
But among other things that show the power of fate, he believes, like the most respected philosophers that came after him—Plato, Aristotle, and Theophrastus—that not everything happens by fate; some things are within human control, and people have the freedom to choose. A person can act according to their desires but still end up in situations they didn't want. He has explained this viewpoint clearly in many places, like at the start of each of his poems: in the "Iliad," he says that Achilles' rage caused the Greeks' downfall and that Zeus' will was fulfilled; in the "Odyssey," he notes that Odysseus' companions met their doom due to their own foolishness. They offended the sacred cattle of the Sun, even though they could have chosen not to. Yet it was predetermined (O. xi. 110):—
But if thou hurtest them, I signify ruin for thy ships, and
for thy men, and even though thou shalt thyself escape.
If thou doest them no hurt and art careful to return, so may
ye yet reach Ithaca, albeit in evil case.
But if you hurt them, I bring destruction upon your ships and your crew, even if you escape yourself. If you do them no harm and make sure to return, you might still reach Ithaca, although in bad shape.
So not to violate them depended on themselves, but that those who had done the evil should perish follows from fate.
So whether or not they violated them was up to themselves, but those who did evil were destined to suffer.
It is possible to avoid what happens accidentally by foresight as he shows in the following (O. v. 436):—
It is possible to avoid accidental events through foresight, as he demonstrates in the following (O. v. 436):—
Then of a truth would luckless Odysseus have perished beyond
what was ordained had not gray-eyed Athene given him some
counsel. He rushed in and with both his hands clutched the
rock whereto he clung till the great wave went by.
Then truly, the unfortunate Odysseus would have perished beyond what was meant to be if gray-eyed Athena hadn't given him some advice. He rushed in and with both hands grabbed the rock he clung to until the huge wave passed.
Then on the other hand running a great danger as he was, he had perished by fortune; yet by prudence he was saved.
Then, on the other hand, facing a great danger as he was, he could have perished by chance; yet, through careful planning, he was saved.
Just as about divine things there are many divine reasonings in the philosophers taking their origin from Homer, so also with human affairs it is the same. First we will take up the subject of the soul. The most noble of the doctrines of Pythagoras and Plato is that the soul is immortal. To it in his argument Plato affixed wings. Who first determined this? Homer says this among other things (I. xvi. 856):—
Just as there are many philosophical ideas about divine matters that originate from Homer, the same applies to human affairs. First, we'll discuss the topic of the soul. The most valued belief of Pythagoras and Plato is that the soul is immortal. Plato even described it as having wings in his argument. Who was the first to conclude this? Homer mentions this among other things (I. xvi. 856):—
But the soul flying on its members came to Hades,—i.e. into a formless and invisible place, whether you think it in the air or under the earth. But in the "Iliad" he makes the soul of Patroclus stand by the side of Achilles (I. xxiii. 65):—
But the soul, soaring with its parts, arrived in Hades—meaning a formless and unseen place, whether you imagine it in the air or underground. However, in the "Iliad," he has Patroclus's soul standing next to Achilles (I. xxiii. 65):—
The soul of wretched Patroclus came.
The soul of miserable Patroclus appeared.
He makes a small speech for him in which he says this (I. xxiii. 72):—
He gives a brief speech for him where he says this (I. xxiii. 72):—
The spirits and spectres of departed men
Drove me from them, nor allow to
Cross the abhorred river.
The ghosts and spirits of the dead
Drove me away from them and wouldn’t let me
Cross the hated river.In the "Odyssey" through the whole account of the descent to Hades what else does he show but that souls survive after death, and when they drink blood can speak. For he knows that blood is the food and drink of the spirit, but spirit is the same thing as soul or the vehicle of the soul.
In the "Odyssey," throughout the entire description of the journey to Hades, what else does it reveal except that souls continue to exist after death, and when they drink blood, they can communicate? He understands that blood is the nourishment for the spirit, and spirit is essentially the same as the soul or the means through which the soul operates.
123. Most clearly he reveals that he considers man is nothing else but soul, where he says (O. xi. 90):—
123. It’s clear that he believes a person is nothing but a soul, as he states (O. xi. 90):—
There came up the soul of the Theban
Tiresias having a golden sceptre.
The spirit of the Theban Tiresias appeared, holding a golden scepter.
Purposely he changes the word for soul to the masculine, to show that it was Tiresias. And afterward (O. xi. 601):—
Purposely he changes the word for soul to the masculine to indicate that it was Tiresias. And afterward (O. xi. 601):—
And after him I described the mighty Heracles, his phantom
I say; but as for himself he hath joy at the banquet among the
deathless gods.
And after him, I described the mighty Heracles, his spirit I tell you; but he himself enjoys the feast among the immortal gods.
For here again he showed that the semblance thrown off from the body appeared, but no longer connected with its matter. The purest part of the soul had gone away; this was Heracles himself.
For here again he demonstrated that the appearance emanating from the body emerged, but was no longer connected to its substance. The purest part of the soul had departed; this was Heracles himself.
124. Whence that seems to philosophers a probable theory that the body is in a way the prison house of the soul. And this Homer first revealed; that which belongs to the living he calls [Greek omitted] (from "binding") as in this line (I. i. 115):—
124. This is why philosophers think it's likely that the body is somewhat like a prison for the soul. Homer was the first to suggest this; he refers to what belongs to the living as [Greek omitted] (from "binding") in this line (I. i. 115):—
Not the body nor the nature.
Not the body nor the nature.
O. iv. 196:—
O. iv. 196:—
A body came to the woman.
A person approached the woman.
O. xvi. 251:—
O. xvi. 251:—
By my form, my virtue, my body.
By my appearance, my character, my body.
But that which has put off the soul he calls nothing else but body as in these lines (I. vii. 79):—
But what has pushed away the soul, he refers to simply as body, as seen in these lines (I. vii. 79):—
To bring home my body again.
To bring my body back home again.
And (O. xxiv. 187):—
And (O. xxiv. 187):—
The bodies lie uncared for in the hall of Odysseus.
The bodies are left unattended in Odysseus's hall.
O. xi. 53:—
O. xi. 53:—
And we left the body in the house of Circe.
And we left the body in Circe's house.
For the same thing, while a man lives, was the bond of the soul; when he dies it is left, as it were, his monument.
For the same reason, while a person is alive, it’s the connection of the soul; when they die, it remains, like their monument.
To this is related also another doctrine of Pythagoras, namely, that the souls of the dead pass into other forms of bodies. This did not escape Homer's notice, for he made Hector talking with horses, and Antilochus and Achilles himself not only talking with them but listening to them, and a dog recognizing Odysseus before men, even before his intimates. What other thing is he establishing but a community of speech and a relation of soul between men and beasts? Besides, there are those who ate up the oxen of the Sun and after this fell into destruction. Does he not show that not only oxen but all other living creatures, as sharers of the same common nature, are beloved by the gods?
This is also connected to another belief of Pythagoras, which is that the souls of the dead enter other bodies. Homer noticed this, as he wrote about Hector talking to horses, and both Antilochus and Achilles not only conversing with them but also listening to them, as well as a dog recognizing Odysseus before anyone else, even before his closest friends. What else is he suggesting but a shared ability to communicate and a connection of soul between humans and animals? Additionally, there are those who consumed the cattle of the Sun and afterward faced their downfall. Does he not imply that not only cattle but all living beings, as part of the same shared nature, are cherished by the gods?
The change of the comrades of Odysseus into swine and that type of animal signifies this, that the souls of undeserving men are changed into the likeness of brute beasts; they fall into the circular periphery of the whole, which he calls Circe; whereas she is justly represented as the child of the Sun, dwelling in the island of Aeaea, for this word [Greek omitted] is so called because men lament and wail by reason of death. But the prudent man Odysseus did not suffer the change, because from Hermes, i.e. reason, he had received immortality. He went down into Hades, as it were, dissolving and separating the soul from the body, and became a spectator of souls both good and bad.
The transformation of Odysseus's companions into pigs symbolizes that the souls of unworthy people are changed into the forms of animals. They enter the cyclical nature of the whole, which he refers to as Circe. She is rightly depicted as the daughter of the Sun, living on the island of Aeaea, a name that comes from the lamentations and cries of men mourning death. However, the wise Odysseus did not undergo this transformation because he received immortality from Hermes, representing reason. He descended into Hades, effectively separating the soul from the body, and became an observer of both good and bad souls.
The Stoics define the soul as a cognate spirit, sensible to exhalations. It has its origin from the humid portions of the body. In this they follow Homer, who says (I. ix. 609).—
The Stoics define the soul as a related spirit, responsive to exhalations. It originates from the moist parts of the body. In this, they follow Homer, who says (I. ix. 609).—
While the breath abides in the breast.
While the breath stays in the chest.
And again (I. xxiii. 100):—
And again (I. xxiii. 100):—
Vanish'd like smoke, the spirit beneath the earth.
Vanished like smoke, the spirit beneath the earth.
Here he makes the vital spirit, being humid, a breath; when it is extinguished he likens it to smoke. And the word "spirit" itself he uses for soul (I. xv. 262):—
Here he creates the vital spirit, being damp, a breath; when it is extinguished, he compares it to smoke. He also uses the term "spirit" to refer to the soul (I. xv. 262):—
His words fresh vigor in the chief infus'd.
His words infused new energy into the chief.
And (I. iv. 524):—
And (I. iv. 524):—
Breathing away his spirit.
Letting go of his spirit.
And (I. xxii. 475):—
And (I. xxii. 475):—
But when her breath and spirit returned again.
But when her breath and spirit came back again.
That is, she collected her distracted spirit (I. v. 697):—
That is, she gathered her wandering thoughts (I. v. 697):—
But soon revived, as on his forehead blew,
While yet he gasped for breath, the cooling breeze.
But soon came to life again, as the cool breeze blew against his forehead,
while he was still gasping for breath.While his spirit was failing him in a faint, the outside breeze having a natural affinity to it brought him back to life. This argument is strengthened because for the external spirit he uses the word "soul," saying (I. xxiii. 440):—
While his spirit was fading in a faint, the outside breeze, having a natural connection to it, revived him. This point is further supported by the fact that for the external spirit, he uses the word "soul," stating (I. xxiii. 440):—
He turned aside with lightest breath.
He turned aside with a gentle sigh.
He wishes to say: "Having got back his breath."
He wants to say: "Having caught his breath."
Plato and Aristotle considered the soul incorporeal, but always associating with the body and needing it as a vehicle. On this account, then, it drew along the spiritual matter with it, oftentimes as an image, which had the shape of the body impressed upon it. So therefore Homer is never in his poetry found calling the soul body, but to what is deprived of soul he always gives the name, as we have mentioned in what has gone before.
Plato and Aristotle viewed the soul as non-physical, but always linked to the body, needing it as a means of expression. Because of this, it carried along a spiritual essence, often resembling an image that mirrored the form of the body. Thus, Homer never referred to the soul as the body in his poetry; instead, he always called something that lacks a soul by a different name, as we have noted earlier.
The soul has, according to the views of the philosophers, a rational part, seated in the head, and an irrational part of which one element, the passionate, dwells in the heart and another, the appetitive, in the intestines. Did not Homer see this distinction when he made in the case of Achilles, the rational struggling with the passionate, deliberating in the same moment whether he should drive off the one who had filled him with grief or should stay his anger (I. i. 193):—
The soul, according to philosophers, has a rational part located in the head and an irrational part, where one element, the passionate, resides in the heart and another, the appetitive, is found in the intestines. Didn't Homer recognize this distinction when he portrayed Achilles as the rational mind battling with the passionate heart, debating in that moment whether to confront the one who had caused him grief or to hold back his anger (I. i. 193):—
Up to this time he revolved these things in his mind
and heart,
Up until now, he was thinking about these things in his mind and heart,
that is, the intelligent part and what is opposed to it? The emotional anger is represented by him as overcome by prudence. For the appearance of Athene signifies this. And in these places he makes reason admonish the emotions, as a ruler giving orders to a subject (O. xx. 18):—
that is, the smart part and what goes against it? The emotional anger is shown by him as being controlled by wisdom. The presence of Athene indicates this. In these instances, he has reason advising the emotions, like a leader giving commands to a subordinate (O. xx. 18):—
Endure my heart; yea, a baser thing thou once didst bear.
Endure, my heart; yes, you once endured something even worse.
And often the passionate element gives way to reason (I. xx. 22):—
And often the passion gives way to reason (I. xx. 22):—
Pallas indeed sat silent and though inly wroth with Jove,
yet answered not a word.
Pallas sat quietly, feeling angry with Jove, but said nothing.
Likewise injury (I. xviii. 112):—
Likewise harm (I. xviii. 112):—
Though still my heart be sore,
Yet will I school my angry spirit down.
Though my heart still aches,
I will calm my angry spirit.Sometimes he shows the passionate element getting the better of reason. This he does not praise, but openly blames; as when Nestor speaks upbraiding the insult offered by Agamemnon to Achilles (I. ix. 108):—
Sometimes he lets his emotions take over his logic. He doesn't praise this but openly criticizes it; like when Nestor speaks rebuking Agamemnon for the insult he gave to Achilles (I. ix. 108):—
Not by my advice
I fain would have dissuaded thee; but thou,
Swayed by the promptings of a lofty soul,
Didst to our bravest wrong dishonoring him
Whom ev'n the Immortals honor'd.
Not by my advice
I would have tried to discourage you; but you,
Influenced by the urges of a noble spirit,
Did wrong to our bravest, dishonoring him
Whom even the Immortals honored.Achilles speaks like things to Ajax (I. ix. 645):—
Achilles talks to Ajax like this (I. ix. 645):—
All thou hast said hath semblance just and fair,
But swells my heart with fury at the thought of him,
Of Agamemnon, who, amid the Greeks
Assembled, held me forth to scorn.
Everything you’ve said seems just and fair,
But it fills my heart with rage at the thought of him,
Of Agamemnon, who, among the Greeks
Gathered, held me up to ridicule.So, too, reason is paralysed by fear, where Hector deliberates whether he will abide the conflict with Achilles (I. xxii. 129):—
So, too, reason is frozen by fear, as Hector reflects on whether he will face off against Achilles (I. xxii. 129):—
Better to dare the fight and know at once
To whom Olympian Jove the triumph wills,
Better to take on the challenge and find out right away
Who Jupiter decides will win.Then he withdraws when he gets near Achilles (I. xxii. 136):—
Then he pulls back when he gets close to Achilles (I. xxii. 136):—
Nor dared he there await th' attack, but left
The gates behind, and terror-stricken fled.
He didn't dare to wait for the attack there, but left
The gates behind and fled in panic.It is also plain that he places the emotions about the heart. Anger as (O. xx. 13):—
It is also clear that he puts feelings at the center. Anger as (O. xx. 13):—
The heart within barked for him.
The heart inside called out for him.
Grief (I. xiv. 128):—
Grief (I. xiv. 128):—
How long, my son, wilt thou thy soul consume with grief
an mourning?
How long, my son, will you keep consuming your soul with grief and mourning?
Then fear (I. x. 95):—
Then fear (I. x. 95):—
And leaps my troubled heart as tho' it would burst
My bosom's bounds; my limbs beneath me shake.
And my troubled heart leaps as if it would burst
The limits of my chest; my limbs shake beneath me.In the same way just as fear, so he declares daring to be about the heart (I. xvi. 11):—
In the same way just as fear, so he declares daring to be about the heart (I. xvi. 11):—
And fix'd in every breast
The fierce resolve to wage unwearied war.
And rooted in every heart
The strong determination to fight tirelessly.From these passages the Stoics took the opinion that the leading element is about the heart. That the appetitive element is placed in the intestines in many places he declares; in these verses, for example (O. xviii. 54):—
From these passages, the Stoics believed that the main element is related to the heart. They claim that the appetitive element is located in the intestines in many areas; in these verses, for example (O. xviii. 54):—
But my belly's call is urgent on me, that evil worker,—
But my stomach is urgently calling me, that nasty worker, —
and (O. xvii. 286):—
and (O. xvii. 286):—
But now may conceal a ravening belly, a thing accursed.
But now may hide a raging hunger, something cursed.
And the causes which belong to the passionate element of the soul he says happen by nature. For wrath created by grief he shows is a kind of effervescence of the blood and the spirit in it as in the following (I. i. 103):—
And the reasons related to the passionate part of the soul, he says, occur naturally. He explains that anger caused by sorrow is like a bubbling up of blood and spirit, as noted in the following (I. i. 103):—
His dark soul filled with fury, and his eyes flashing like
flames of fire.
His dark soul was filled with rage, and his eyes sparkled like flames.
For he seemed to call spirit [Greek omitted], i.e. wrath, and this in the case of those who are angry he thinks is extended and inflamed. Again the spirit, if there is fear, is perturbed and made cold, generates tremors and terrors and pallors in the body. Pallor, by the heat coursing into the interior ruddiness leaves the surface. Tremor, because being, confined within the spirit it shakes the body. Terror, because when the moisture is congealed the hairs are contracted and stand on end. All of these Homer clearly indicates when he says (I. xv. 4):—
For he seemed to refer to spirit [Greek omitted], meaning wrath, which he believes is intensified and inflamed in those who are angry. On the other hand, when fear is present, the spirit becomes disturbed and cold, leading to tremors, terrors, and pallor in the body. Pallor occurs as the heat moves inward, causing the surface to lose its flush. Tremors happen because, when confined within the spirit, it shakes the body. Terror arises when moisture is congealed, causing the hairs to stand on end. Homer clearly indicates all of this when he says (I. xv. 4):—
Pallid from fear.
Pale from fear.
And (I. vii. 479):—
And (I. vii. 479):—
Pallid fear lay hold on him.
A chill of fear gripped him.
(I. x. 95):—
(I. x. 95):—
My valiant members tremble.
My brave members tremble.
And (I. xxiv. 358):—
And (I. xxiv. 358):—
The old man heard, his mind confus'd with dread,
So grievously he fear'd that every hair
Upon his bended head did stand on end.
The old man heard, his mind filled with fear,
He was so terrified that every hair
On his bent head stood up.According to these passages for "feared" he says "frozen" and "fear" he calls "freezing." On the other hand, for "daring" and "courage" he uses [Greek omitted], "heat." Evil effects, he distinguishes in these ways.
According to these passages, for "feared" he says "frozen," and for "fear" he calls it "freezing." On the other hand, for "daring" and "courage," he uses [Greek omitted], "heat." He distinguishes evil effects in these ways.
Again when Aristotle considers indignation a mercy among the generous emotions (for when good men are stirred because their neighors seem to succeed beyond their worth, it is called indignation. When they, beyond their desert, have misfortunes, it is called pity.) These two Homer considers to belong, to the good, for he reckons them as belonging to Zeus. Other passages he has as well as the following (I. xi. 542):—
Again when Aristotle sees indignation as a kind of compassion within the generous emotions (because when good people feel upset because their neighbors appear to achieve more than they deserve, it's called indignation. When they, having suffered misfortunes beyond what they deserve, evoke feelings of sympathy, it's called pity.) Homer also associates these two feelings with good individuals, as he attributes them to Zeus. He has other passages, including the following (I. xi. 542):—
But Jove, high-throned, the soul of Ajax filled with fear.
But Jove, high-throned, filled Ajax's soul with fear.
And in other places he pities him being chased about the wall.
And in other places, he feels sorry for him being chased around the wall.
What opinion the poet had about virtue and vice he shows in many places. For since one part of the soul is intelligent and rational, and the other devoid of reason and open to emotions, and on this account man has a middle position between God and brute, he thinks the highest, virtue, is divine, and the other extremity, evil, is brutelike. Just as later on Aristotle thought, he adopts these principles in his companions. For he always considers good men to be like gods, and as he says (I. ii. 167):—
What the poet thought about virtue and vice is evident in many places. Since one part of the soul is intelligent and rational, while the other lacks reason and is driven by emotions, humans occupy a middle ground between God and animals. He believes that the highest form, virtue, is divine, while the opposite, evil, is animal-like. Just as Aristotle believed later, he applies these ideas to his companions. He consistently views good people as godlike, and as he states (I. ii. 167):—
By a counsel not, unworthy of Zeus.
By a counsel not unworthy of Zeus.
Among the evil ones he names cowards (I. xiii. 102):—
Among the wicked, he calls out cowards (I. xiii. 102):—
Like to timid stags,—
Like shy deer,—
and to sheep without a shepherd and to hares in flight. About those borne headlong and heedlessly to anger (I. xvii. 20):—
and to sheep without a shepherd and to hares in flight. About those taken swiftly and carelessly to anger (I. xvii. 20):—
Nor pard, nor lion, nor the forest boar,
Fiercest of beasts, and provident of his strength
In their own esteem
With Panthous' sons for courage nor may vie.
Neither a pard, nor a lion, nor the wild boar,
The fiercest of beasts, and aware of his own strength
In their own eyes
Can compare in courage to the sons of Panthous.The laments of those grieving to no purpose he compares to the sounds of birds (O. xvi. 218):—
The cries of those mourning for no reason are like the songs of birds (O. xvi. 218):—
Where Younglings the country folk have taken from the nest
ere yet they are fledged.
Where young ones the country folk have taken from the nest
before they are fully fledged.The Stoics who place virtue in apathy follow the passages in which he takes up every feeling, saying about grief (I. xix. 218):—
The Stoics who believe that virtue comes from apathy refer to the sections where he addresses every emotion, discussing grief (I. xix. 218):—
Behoves us bury out of sight our dead,
Steeling our heart and weeping but a day.
We need to bury our dead out of sight,
Bracing ourselves and only crying for a day.And (I. xvi. 7):—
And (I. xvi. 7):—
Why weep over Patroclus as a girl?
Why cry over Patroclus like a girl?
About anger (I. xviii. 107):—
About anger (I. xviii. 107):—
May strife perish from gods and men.
May conflict vanish from gods and humans.
About fear (I. v. 252):—
About fear (I. v. 252):—
Do not speak of fear, if thou thinkest to persuade me.
Don't talk about fear if you want to convince me.
And (O. xv. 494):—
And (O. xv. 494):—
Struck and smitten seeing fate and death, he fell heroicly
from the sword. So those challenged to single combat obey
fearlessly, and several arise to take the place of one.
And the wounded man has none the less abiding courage.
Struck and overwhelmed by fate and death, he fell heroically
from the sword. So those called to single combat respond
fearlessly, and several rise to take the place of one.
And the wounded man still has enduring courage.(I. xi. 388):—
(I. xi. 388):—
And now because thy shaft has grazed my foot, thou mak'st
thy empty boast.
And now that your arrow has barely touched my foot, you're making your hollow brag.
And every valiant person is likened to a lion, boar, to a torrent and whirlwind.
And every brave person is compared to a lion, a boar, a rushing torrent, and a whirlwind.
Now the Peripatetics think that freedom from emotion is unattainable by men. They bring in a certain mean; by taking away excess of feeling, they define virtue by moderation. And Homer brings in the best men neither feeble nor altogether fearless nor devoid of pain, but yet differing from the worst in not being overcome extravagantly by their feelings. For he says (I. xiii. 279):—
Now the Peripatetics believe that achieving emotional detachment is impossible for humans. They introduce a concept of balance; by reducing excessive feelings, they define virtue as moderation. And Homer portrays the best individuals as neither weak nor completely fearless nor free from suffering, but still distinct from the worst by not being excessively overwhelmed by their emotions. For he says (I. xiii. 279):—
The cowards color changes, nor his soul
Within his heart its even balance keeps
But changing still, from foot to foot he shifts,
And in his bosom loudly beats his heart
Expecting death; and chatter all his teeth.
The brave man's color changes not with fear,
He knows the ambush ent'ring.
The coward’s face turns pale, but his heart
Remains steady within him. Yet he keeps shifting
From foot to foot, and his heart beats loudly
In his chest, anticipating death; his teeth chatter.
The brave person’s face doesn’t change with fear,
He’s aware of the ambush ahead.For it is evident that by taking away excessive fear from the good man he leaves the mean between the two. The same must be thought about the like emotions, pain and anger. To this effect is that verse of his (I. vii. 215):—
For it’s clear that by removing excessive fear from a good person, he achieves a balance between the two extremes. The same goes for similar emotions like pain and anger. This is emphasized in that verse of his (I. vii. 215):—
The Trojans' limbs beneath them shrank with fear,
E'en Hector's heart beat quicker in his breast,
The others, even at the sight, trembled.
The Trojans' limbs beneath them shrank with fear,
Even Hector's heart raced in his chest,
The others, just at the sight, shook with fear.But he, in the midst of dangers being brave, was only troubled. So he makes Dolon and Lycaon feeling fear; Ajax and Menelaus, turning gradually and going away step by step, as lions driven from their quarry. In the same way he shows the differences of those who grieve and also of those who rejoice. As Odysseus, relating the way he deceived the Cyclops, says (O. ix. 413):—
But he, being brave in the face of danger, was only troubled. So he causes Dolon and Lycaon to feel fear; Ajax and Menelaus gradually back away, step by step, like lions driven from their prey. In the same way, he illustrates the differences between those who are grieving and those who are celebrating. As Odysseus, describing how he tricked the Cyclops, says (O. ix. 413):—
My heart within me laughed.
My heart laughed inside me.
The suitors seeing the beggar laying on the ground (O. xviii. 100):—
The suitors, noticing the beggar lying on the ground (O. xviii. 100):—
But the proud wooers threw up their hands, and cried outright
for laughter.
But the arrogant suitors threw up their hands and laughed out loud.
But in more trivial matters the difference of moderation appears. Odysseus though loving his wife, and seeing her lamenting on his account, contains himself (O. xix. 211):—
But in more trivial matters, moderation makes a difference. Odysseus, despite loving his wife and seeing her mourning for him, holds back (O. xix. 211):—
His eyes kept steadfast between his eyelids as it were
horn or iron.
His eyes stayed firmly between his eyelids as if they were made of horn or iron.
But the suitors who were in love with her when they saw her (O. xviii. 212):—
But the suitors who were in love with her when they saw her (O. xviii. 212):—
And straightways the knees of the wooers were loosened, and
their hearts were enchanted with love, and each one uttered
a prayer that he might be her bedfellow.
And immediately the knees of the suitors went weak, and
their hearts were filled with love, and each one said a prayer that he might be her partner.Such is the poet's treatment of the powers and passions of the soul.
Such is the poet's approach to the strengths and emotions of the soul.
Although there are various things said by the philosophers about the chief end of virtue and happiness, it is agreed by all that virtue of the soul is the greatest of goods. But the Stoics consider that virtue by itself is sufficient for happiness, taking the cue from the Homeric poems in which he has made the wisest and most prudent man on account of virtue despising trouble and disregarding pleasure. As to the first point in this way (O. iv. 242):—
Although philosophers have different opinions about the main purpose of virtue and happiness, everyone agrees that the virtue of the soul is the highest good. However, the Stoics believe that virtue alone is enough for happiness, drawing from the Homeric poems where the wisest and most careful man is shown to disdain hardship and ignore pleasure for the sake of virtue. Regarding the first point in this manner (O. iv. 242):—
Now all of them I could not tell or number, so many as were
the adventures of the patient Odysseus. He bruised himself
with unseemly stripes and cast a sorry covering over his
shoulders, and in the fashion of a servant he went into the
wide-wayed city of the foemen.
Now I couldn't count all of them, as there were so many adventures of the patient Odysseus. He hurt himself with ugly wounds and threw a miserable covering over his shoulders, and like a servant, he went into the broad streets of the enemy's city.
And as to the second, i.e. (O. ix. 29):—
And regarding the second, i.e. (O. ix. 29):—
Vainly Calypso, the fair goddess, would fain have kept me
with her in her hollow caves longing to have me for her lord.
Circe of Aia would have stayed me in her halls, longing to
have me for her lord. But never did they prevail upon my
heart within my breast.
Vainly Calypso, the beautiful goddess, tried to keep me with her in her cozy caves, wanting me to be her husband. Circe of Aia wanted to keep me in her home, wishing to make me her husband too. But they never won over my heart.
Especially does he expound his opinion of virtue in the passages in which he makes Achilles not only brave but most beautiful in form, and swiftest of foot, and most illustrious in birth and distinguished in race and aided by the chiefest of the gods; and Odysseus understanding and firm in soul—in other respects not enjoying an equal fortune. His stature and aspect not conspicuous, his parentage not altogether noteworthy, his country obscure, hated by a god who was all but first. None of these things prevented him from being famous, from gaining the chief good of the soul.
Especially does he share his thoughts on virtue in the sections where he portrays Achilles as not only brave but also exceptionally beautiful, incredibly swift, noble in birth, and favored by the greatest of the gods; while Odysseus is wise and strong in spirit—though he doesn't have the same fortune. His appearance and stature are not striking, his lineage isn't particularly remarkable, his homeland is unknown, and he is loathed by a nearly supreme god. None of this stopped him from becoming renowned and achieving the ultimate good for his soul.
But the Peripatetic School think the goods of the soul have the pre-eminence, such as prudence, fortitude, temperance, justice. Afterward are those of the body, such as health, strength, beauty, swiftness; and there are besides external goods such as reputation, nobility, wealth. For they think any one worthy of praise and admiration if he, fortified by the protective virtues of the soul, holds out against evils in the midst of sufferings, disease, want, unforeseen accidents, but that this situation is not a desirable nor a happy one. For not only the possession of virtue do they think good, but its use and its activity. And these distinctions Homer directly showed, for he always makes the gods (O. viii. 325):—
But the Peripatetic School believes that the goods of the soul are the most important, such as wisdom, courage, self-control, and justice. Next in line are the goods of the body, like health, strength, beauty, and speed; and there are also external goods like reputation, nobility, and wealth. They think that someone is deserving of praise and admiration if, backed by the protective virtues of the soul, they endure hardships amid suffering, illness, poverty, and unexpected events, but they also believe that this situation is neither desirable nor happy. They not only view the possession of virtue as good, but its application and activity as well. Homer clearly illustrated these distinctions, as he consistently portrays the gods (O. viii. 325):—
The givers of good things,—
The providers of good things,—
these things also men pray the gods to furnish them, as being plainly neither useless to them nor indifferent, but advantageous to happiness.
these are the things people pray to the gods for, as they are clearly neither useless nor insignificant, but beneficial to happiness.
What the goods are men aim at, and through which they are called happy, he declares in many places. But all of them together were centred in Hermes (I. xxiv. 376):—
What people aim for and what makes them feel happy is mentioned in many places. But everything is focused on Hermes (I. xxiv. 376):—
Blessed are thy parents in a son so grac'd,
In face and presence, and of mind so wise.
Blessed are your parents for having a son so gifted,
In looks and presence, and of such wise mind.He bears witness to his beauty of body, his intelligence, and his lineage. Separately he takes them up (I. vi. 156):—
He testifies to his physical beauty, his intellect, and his heritage. He addresses each of them individually (I. vi. 156):—
On whom the gods bestowed
The gifts of beauty and of manly grace,
And Zeus poured out lordly wealth,—
On whom the gods gave
The gifts of beauty and of masculine charm,
And Zeus poured out abundant wealth,—for this, too, is a gift of God (O. vi. 188):—
for this, too, is a gift from God (O. vi. 188):—
For Zeus himself gives prosperity to mortals.
For Zeus himself gives good fortune to people.
Sometimes he esteems honor a good (I. viii. 540):—
Sometimes he values honor highly (I. viii. 540):—
Would that I might be adored as Athene and Apollo.
I wish I could be admired like Athena and Apollo.
Sometimes good fortune in children (O. iii. 196):—
Sometimes good luck in kids (O. iii. 196):—
So good a thing it is that a son of the dead should be left.
So great is it that a son of the deceased remains.
Sometimes, too, the benefit of one's family (O. xiii. 39):—
Sometimes, too, the benefit of one's family (O. xiii. 39):—
Pour ye the drink offering, and send me safe on my way, and
as for you, fare ye well. For now I have all my heart's
desire,—an escort and loving gifts. May the gods of heaven
give me good fortune with them and may I find my noble wife
in my home, and my friends unharmed while ye, for your part,
abide here, and make glad your gentle wives and children, and
may the gods vouchsafe all manner of good and may no evil
come, nigh the people.
Pour the drink offering, and send me safely on my way, and as for you, take care. For now I have everything I could wish for—an escort and loving gifts. May the gods of heaven grant me good fortune with them, and may I find my noble wife at home, and my friends unharmed while you stay here, bringing joy to your gentle wives and children. May the gods provide all manner of good, and may no evil come near the people.
That in a comparison of goods valor is better than wealth, he shows in the following (I. ii. 872):—
That in comparing goods, bravery is better than riches, he demonstrates in the following (I. ii. 872):—
With childish folly to the war he came,
Laden with stress of gold; yet naught availed
His gold to save him from the doom of death.
With childish foolishness he came to the war,
Burdened by the weight of gold; yet his gold did nothing
To save him from the doom of death.And (O. iv. 93):—
And (O. iv. 93):—
I have no joy of my lordship among these my possessions.
I find no joy in my lordship with these possessions of mine.
And that intelligence is better than beauty of form (O. viii. 169):—
And that intelligence is more valuable than physical beauty (O. viii. 169):—
For one man is feebler than another in presence, yet the
gods crown his words with beauty.
For one man may seem weaker than another, yet the
gods bless his words with beauty.It is evident that bodily excellence and external things he considers as good, and that without these virtue alone is not sufficient for happiness he declares in the following way. He created two men who attained to the height of virtue, Nestor and Odysseus, different indeed from one another, but like one another in prudence and valor and power of eloquence. He has made them not at all equal in fortune, but on the side of Nestor he has placed the gods (O. iv. 208):—
It is clear that he views physical excellence and external possessions as positive, and he states that merely having virtue isn’t enough for happiness in the following way. He created two men who achieved the pinnacle of virtue, Nestor and Odysseus, who are indeed different from each other, but similar in wisdom, bravery, and eloquence. He has made their fortunes unequal, placing the gods on Nestor's side (O. iv. 208):—
Right easily is known that man's seed for whom Cronion
weaves the skein of luck at bridal and at birth, even as now
hath he granted prosperity to Nestor forever, for all his
days, that he himself should grow into smooth old age in his
halls, and his sons moreover should be wise and the best
of spearsmen.
It's well known that a man’s fate is in the hands of Cronion, who weaves the threads of luck at weddings and at birth. Just as he has granted Nestor lasting prosperity throughout his life, allowing him to enjoy a smooth old age in his home, he has also made sure that his sons are wise and the greatest warriors with a spear.
But Odysseus, though shrewd and clever and prudent, he often calls unfortunate. For Nestor goes back home quickly and safely, but Odysseus wanders about for a long time and endures constantly innumerable sufferings and dangers. So it is a desirable and blessed thing if fortune is at hand helping and not opposing virtue.
But Odysseus, even though he is wise, clever, and cautious, is often called unfortunate. Nestor quickly and safely returns home, while Odysseus roams for a long time, facing countless hardships and dangers. So, it’s a good and fortunate thing when fate supports virtue instead of working against it.
How the possession of virtue is of no use unless it accomplishes something, is evident from the passages where Patroclus complains to Achilles and says (I. xvi. 31):—
How having virtue is pointless unless it leads to action is clear from the parts where Patroclus tells Achilles and says (I. xvi. 31):—
Whoe'er may hope in future days by thee
To profit, if thou now forbear to save
The Greeks from shame and loss.
Whoever hopes to benefit in the future from you
Should not hold back from saving
The Greeks from disgrace and defeat.So he speaks to him because he makes his virtue useless by inactivity. Achilles himself deplores his inactivity (I. xviii. 104:):—
So he talks to him because he makes his virtue pointless by doing nothing. Achilles himself laments his inactivity (I. xviii. 104:):—
But idly here I sit cumb'ring the ground,
I, who amid the Greeks no equal own
In fight,—
But here I sit idly, weighing down the ground,
I, who among the Greeks have no equal in battle,—
for he laments because though possessing virtue he does not make use of it; but being indignant with the Greeks (I. i. 490):—
for he mourns because even though he has virtue, he doesn’t use it; but he is angry with the Greeks (I. i. 490):—
No more he sought
The learned council, nor the battlefield;
But wore his soul away, and only pined
For the fierce joy and tumult of the fight.
No longer did he seek
The wise council, nor the battlefield;
But wore his soul thin, and only longed
For the intense joy and chaos of the fight.And so Phoenix admonished him (I, ix. 433):—
And so Phoenix warned him (I, ix. 433):—
To teach thee how to frame
Befitting speech, and mighty deeds achieve.
To show you how to express yourself
In a fitting way and accomplish great things.After his death he is indignant at that inertia, saying (O. xi. 489):—
After his death, he is upset about that inaction, saying (O. xi. 489):—
Rather would I live upon the soil as the hireling of another
with a lordless man who had no great livelihood, than bear
sway among the dead that are no more.
I would rather live on the land as someone else's worker with a master who doesn’t have much money, than have power over those who are no longer alive.
And he adds the cause (O. xi. 498):—
And he adds the reason (O. xi. 498):—
For I am no longer his champion under the sun, so mighty a
man as once I was, when in wide Troy I slew the best of the
host, succoring the Argives.
For I am no longer his champion in the light of day, not the
formidable man I once was, when in vast Troy I defeated the best of the
army, helping the Argives.That saying of the Stoics, that good men are friends of the gods, is taken from Homer, who says about Amphiaerus (O. xv. 245):—
That saying of the Stoics, that good people are friends of the gods, comes from Homer, who talks about Amphiarus (O. xv. 245):—
Whom Zeus, lord of the ages, and Apollo loved with all
manner of love.
Whom Zeus, lord of the ages, and Apollo loved in every possible way.
And of Odysseus (O. iii. 52):—
And about Odysseus (O. iii. 52):—
And Athene rejoiced in the wisdom and judgment of the man.
And Athene was pleased with the man's wisdom and judgment.
There is, too, an opinion of the same philosophic school that virtue is teachable, and has for its beginning good birth. For Homer says (O. iv. 206):—
There is also a belief within the same philosophical school that virtue can be taught, and it starts with being born into a good family. As Homer states (O. iv. 206):—
And from such a sire thou too art sprung, wherefore thou dost
even speak wisely.
And from such a father, you too were born, which is why you speak so wisely.
And by training it is brought to perfection. For virtue is the knowledge of living rightly, i.e. of doing the things which it is necessary for those who live well to do. These principles can also be found in Homer, for he says (I. ix. 440):—
And through practice, it reaches its peak. Because virtue is the understanding of how to live well, meaning doing the things that are essential for those who want to live a good life. You can also find these ideas in Homer, as he states (I. ix. 440):—
Inexperienced yet in war, that sorrow brings alike on all
And sage debate in which attends renown.
Unseasoned in battle, the sorrow affects everyone equally
And wise discussions that lead to fame.And in other places (I. vi. 446):—
And in other places (I. vi. 446):—
Nor did my heart compel me, since I had learnt to be good,
Nor did my heart urge me, since I had learned to be good,
And Phoenix says of Achilles (I. ix. 442):—
And Phoenix says about Achilles (I. ix. 442):—
Me then he sent, to teach thee how to frame
Befitting speech, and mighty deeds achieve.
He sent me to teach you how to speak properly and accomplish great things.
For since life is made up of acts and speech, therefore he says he was the young man's teacher in these things. From what has been said it is plain that he declares the whole of virtue to be teachable. So, then, Homer is the first philosopher in ethics and in philosophy.
For since life consists of actions and words, he claims he was the young man's teacher in these areas. From what has been stated, it's clear that he asserts all of virtue can be taught. Thus, Homer is the first philosopher in ethics and in philosophy.
Now to the same science belongs arithmetic and music, which Pythagoras especially honored. Let us see whether these are mentioned by our poet. Very often. A few examples from very many will suffice. For Pythagoras thought number had the greatest power and reduced everything to numbers—both the motions of the stars and the creation of living beings. And he established two supreme principles,—one finite unity, the other infinite duality. The one the principle of good, the other of evil. For the nature of unity being innate in what surrounds the whole creation gives order to it, to souls virtue, to bodies health, to cities and dwellings peace and harmony, for every good thing is conversant with concord. The nature of duality is just the contrary,—to the air disturbance, to souls evil, to bodies disease, to cities and dwellings factions and hostilities. For every evil comes from discord and disagreement. So he demonstrates of all the successive numbers that the even are imperfect and barren; but the odd are full and complete, because joined to the even they preserve their own character. Nor in this way alone is the odd number superior, but also added to itself it generates an even number. For it is creative, it keeps its original force and does not allow of division, since PER SE the mind is superior. But the even added to itself neither produces the odd nor is indivisible. And Homer seems to place the nature of the one in the sphere of the good, and the nature of the dual in the opposite many times. Often he declares a good man to be [Greek omitted] "kind" and the adjective from it is "benignity"; as follows (I. ii. 204):—
Now, this same science includes arithmetic and music, which Pythagoras particularly valued. Let’s see if our poet mentions these, and he often does. A few examples from many will be enough. Pythagoras believed that numbers had the greatest power and that everything could be reduced to numbers—both the movements of the stars and the creation of living beings. He established two fundamental principles—one of finite unity and the other of infinite duality. The first represents good, while the second represents evil. The essence of unity, which is inherent in everything that surrounds creation, brings order to it, providing virtue to souls, health to bodies, and peace and harmony to cities and homes, as every good thing is related to harmony. The nature of duality is just the opposite—bringing chaos to the air, evil to souls, disease to bodies, and conflict and hostility to cities and homes. Every evil arises from discord and disagreement. He demonstrates that among all successive numbers, the even ones are imperfect and barren, while the odd ones are full and complete because when combined with the even, they retain their own character. The odd number is superior not just in this way, but it also, when added to itself, generates an even number. It is creative, maintains its original strength, and does not allow division since, per se, the mind is superior. However, the even number added to itself neither produces an odd number nor is indivisible. Homer seems to associate the nature of the one with the good and the nature of the dual with the opposite in many instances. He often refers to a good man as [Greek omitted] "kind," and the corresponding adjective is "benignity"; as follows (I. ii. 204):—
It is not good for many to reign, let there be but one ruler.
It's not good for many to be in charge; there should be just one leader.
And (O. iii. 127):—
And (O. iii. 127):—
We never spake diversely either in the assembly or in the
council, but always were of one mind.
We never spoke differently either in the meeting or in the council, but always shared the same opinion.
He always makes use of the uneven number as the better. For making the whole world to have five parts, three of these being the mean, he divides it (I. xv. 189):—
He always uses the odd number as the preferred choice. To divide the whole world into five parts, with three of them being the mean, he separates it (I. xv. 189):—
Threefold was our portion each obtained,
His need of honor due.
Threefold was our share, each received,
His need for the respect he deserved.Therefore, too, Aristotle thought there were five elements, since the uneven and perfect number had everywhere the predominance. And to the heavenly gods he gives the uneven shares. For Nestor nine times to Poseidon sacrificed nine bulls; and Tiresias bids Odysseus sacrifice (O. xi. 131):—
Therefore, Aristotle believed there were five elements, as the uneven and perfect number consistently held sway. He assigned the uneven shares to the heavenly gods. For instance, Nestor sacrificed nine bulls to Poseidon nine times; and Tiresias instructs Odysseus to sacrifice (O. xi. 131):—
A ram and a bull and a boar, the mate of swine.
A ram, a bull, and a boar, the mate of the pig.
But Achilles immolated for Patroclus, all in even numbers, four horses and (I. xxiii. 175):—
But Achilles sacrificed four horses for Patroclus, all in even numbers, and (I. xxiii. 175):—
Twelve noble sons he slew, the sons of Troy,—
Twelve noble sons he killed, the sons of Troy,—
and of nine dogs he casts two on the pyre, in order to leave for himself seven. And in many places he uses the ternary, quinary, and septenary number, especially the number nine (I. vii. 161):—
and of nine dogs, he throws two on the pyre to keep seven for himself. In many instances, he employs the numbers three, five, and seven, particularly the number nine (I. vii. 161):—
The old man spoke reproachfully; at his words
Uprose nine warriors.
The old man spoke with disapproval; at his words
Nine warriors stood up.And (O. xi. 311):—
And (O. xi. 311):—
At nine seasons old they were of breadth nine cubits, and
nine fathoms in height.
At nine seasons old, they were nine cubits wide and nine fathoms tall.
(I. i. 53):—
(I. i. 53):—
Nine days the heavenly Archer on the troops hurl'd his
dread shafts.
For nine days, the heavenly Archer unleashed his terrifying arrows on the troops.
And (I. vi 174):—
And (I. vi 174):—
Nine days he feasted him, nine oxen slew.
For nine days, he entertained him and slaughtered nine oxen.
Why pray, is the number nine the most perfect? Because it is the square of the first odd number, and unevenly odd since it is divided into three triads, of which again each is divided into three units.
Why is the number nine considered the most perfect? Because it's the square of the first odd number and is unevenly odd since it can be divided into three groups of three, with each of those groups further divided into three units.
But not only the virtue of numbers but a natural way of counting he showed, as in the catalogue of ships he made (I. ii. 509):—
But he not only demonstrated the value of numbers but also a natural method of counting, as seen in the list of ships he created (I. ii. 509):—
With these came fifty ships; and in each
Were sixscore youths, Boeotia's noblest flow'r.
With these came fifty ships; and in each
Were 120 young men, the finest from Boeotia.And again (I. xvi. 170):—
And again (I. xvi. 170):—
They were fifty men.
There were fifty men.
Whence it is possible to compute that as all the ships were near 1200, and each had 100 men, the whole number is 12 myriads—120,000.
Whence it is possible to calculate that since all the ships were about 1200, and each had 100 men, the total number is 120,000.
Again speaking. of the Trojans (I. viii. 563):—
Again speaking of the Trojans (I. viii. 563):—
A thousand fires burnt brightly; and round each
Sat fifty warriors in the ruddy glare.
A thousand fires burned brightly, and around each one sat fifty warriors in the warm glow.
He enables one to compute that without counting allies they were 50,000 men.
He lets you figure out that without counting allies, they were 50,000 strong.
Now music being closest to the soul, since it is a harmony produced by different elements, by melodies, and by rhythms, intensifies what is relaxed and relaxes the intense. The Pythagoreans have clearly proved this, and before them Homer. For he gives praise to music, in the case of the Sirens, to which he adds the following (O. xii. 188)
Now music, being the closest thing to the soul because it's a harmony created by different elements, melodies, and rhythms, amplifies what's relaxed and calms what's intense. The Pythagoreans have clearly demonstrated this, and before them, so did Homer. He praises music in the case of the Sirens, adding the following (O. xii. 188)
And had joy thereof and gone on his way the wiser.
And he felt joy from it and continued on his way, knowing more than before.
In another place he introduces in banquets the lyre, as among the suitors (O. xvii. 271):—
In another place, he brings in the lyre during banquets, like he does among the suitors (O. xvii. 271):—
And the voice of the lyre is heard there which the gods made
to be mate of the feast.
And the sound of the lyre is heard there, which the gods created
to be the companion of the celebration.And at the house of Alcinous the player on the lyre (O. vii. 266):—
And at Alcinous's house, the lyre player (O. vii. 266):—
Was composing a beautiful song.
Was writing a beautiful song.
And at marriages (I. xviii. 495):—
And at weddings (I. xviii. 495):—
The pipes and lyres were sounding.
The pipes and lyres were playing.
And in the works of the vintage (I. xvii. 569):—
And in the works of the classic (I. xvii. 569):—
A boy amid them, from a clear-ton'd pipe
Drew lovely music; well his liquid voice
The strings accompanied.
A boy among them, from a clear-toned pipe
Played beautiful music; his smooth voice
Perfectly matched the strings.Besides in war (I. x. 13):—
Besides in war (I. x. 13):—
Of pipes and flutes he heard the sound.
He heard the sound of pipes and flutes.
Also he uses music to express grief (I. xxiv. 721):—
Also he uses music to express grief (I. xxiv. 721):—
Poured forth the music of the mournful dirge,
The sound of the sad funeral song flowed out,
by the sweetness of melodies softening the bitterness of the soul.
by the sweetness of melodies soothing the bitterness of the soul.
It is clear that melody is twofold,—one of the voice, the other of instruments, partly wind, partly string. Of sound some are bass, some treble. These differences Homer knew, since he represents women and boys with treble voices, by reason of the tenuity of their breath; men, he makes with bass voices. As in the following (I. xviii. 70):—
It is clear that melody has two parts—one from the voice and the other from instruments, some of which are wind and others are strings. Some sounds are bass and some are treble. Homer understood these differences, as he depicts women and boys with treble voices because of the lightness of their breath, while he gives men bass voices. As shown in the following (I. xviii. 70):—
She with bitter cry
Clasped in her hands his head, and
Sorrowing spoke.
She cried out in despair,
Holding his head in her hands, and
Sadly said.And again (I. ix. 16):—
And again (I. ix. 16):—
So with deep groans he thus addressed the Greeks.
So with deep groans, he spoke to the Greeks.
But old men like the locusts (I. iii. 151) he compares to shrill-voiced creatures. Instruments whose strings are thin and vibrate quickly, easily cut the air, and give an acute sound. Those with thick ones, through the slow movement, have a deep sound. Homer calls the pipe acute—acute because being thin it gives an acute sound. Homer has this information about music.
But old men, like the locusts (I. iii. 151), are compared to loud, high-pitched creatures. Instruments with thin strings vibrate quickly, slice through the air, and produce a sharp sound. In contrast, those with thick strings have a deeper sound because they move more slowly. Homer describes the pipe as sharp—sharp because its thinness results in a high sound. Homer has this knowledge about music.
Since we are speaking here about Pythagoras, to whom taciturnity and not expressing those things which it is wrong to speak were especially pleasing, let us see whether Homer had also this opinion. For about those drunken with wine he says (O. xiv. 466):—
Since we’re talking about Pythagoras, who really valued staying quiet and avoiding things that shouldn’t be said, let’s see if Homer felt the same way. He remarks about those drunk with wine (O. xiv. 466):—
And makes him speak out a word which were better unsaid.
And makes him say something that would be better left unsaid.
And Odysseus upbraids Thersites (I. ii. 246):—
And Odysseus scolds Thersites (I. ii. 246):—
Thou babbling fool Therites, prompt of speech,
Restrain thy tongue.
You babbling fool Therites, quick to speak,
Hold your tongue.And Ajax speaks, blaming Idomeneus (I. xxiii. 478):—
And Ajax speaks, blaming Idomeneus (I. xxiii. 478):—
But thou art ever hasty in thy speech.
And ill becomes thee this precipitance
But you are always rash in your words.
And this haste does not suit you.And while the armies are entering the fight (I. iii. 2-8):—
And while the armies are getting ready to battle (I. iii. 2-8):—
With noise and clarmor, as a flight of birds,
The men of Troy advanced,
On th'other side the Greeks in silence mov'd.
With noise and commotion, like a flock of birds,
The men of Troy moved forward,
On the other side, the Greeks advanced quietly.Clamor is barbaric, silence is Greek. Therefore he has represented the most prudent man as restrained, in speech. And Odysseus exhorts his son (O. xvi. 300):—
Clamor is uncivilized, silence is cultured. That’s why he portrayed the most wise man as measured in his words. And Odysseus advises his son (O. xvi. 300):—
If in very truth thou art my son and of our blood, then let
no man hear that Odysseus is come home; neither let Laertes
know it nor the swineherd nor any of the household nor
Penelope herself.
If you are truly my son and of our blood, then let no one hear that Odysseus has come home; neither let Laertes know, nor the swineherd, nor any of the household, nor Penelope herself.
And again he exhorts him (O. xix. 42):—
And once more he encourages him (O. xix. 42):—
Hold thy peace and keep all this in thine heart and ask
not thereof.
Hold your peace and keep all this in your heart and don't ask about it.
So the opinions of famous philosophers have their origin in Homer.
So the ideas of well-known philosophers trace back to Homer.
If it is necessary to mention those who elected for themselves certain individual views, we could find them taking their source in Homer. Democritus in constructing his "idola," or representative forms, takes the thought from the following passage (I. v. 449):—
If we need to mention those who chose their own individual perspectives, we could trace them back to Homer. Democritus, in creating his "idola," or representative forms, draws from the following passage (I. v. 449):—
Meanwhile Apollo of the silver bow
A phantom form prepar'd, the counterpart
Of great Aeneas and alike in arms.
Meanwhile, Apollo with the silver bow
Prepared a phantom form, the counterpart
Of great Aeneas, similar in arms.Others deviated into error in ways he would not approve of, but he represented them as fitting to the special time. For when Odysseus was detained with Alcinous, who lived in pleasure and luxury, he speaks to him in a complimentary way (O. ix. 5):—
Others strayed into mistakes that he wouldn't support, but he presented them as appropriate for the particular moment. For when Odysseus was held up with Alcinous, who lived in comfort and luxury, he addresses him in a flattering manner (O. ix. 5):—
Nay, as for me I say that there is no more gracious or perfect
delight than when a whole people make merry, and the men sit
orderly at feasts in the halls and listen to the singer, and
the tables by them laden with food and flesh, and a winebearer
drawing the wine serves it into the cups. The fashion seems
to me the fairest thing in the world.
No, as for me, I believe there’s no greater or more perfect joy than when an entire community comes together to celebrate, with the men sitting neatly at feasts in the halls, listening to the singer, while the tables beside them are filled with food and meats, and a wine server pours wine into the cups. I think this way of doing things is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Led by these words, Epicurus took up the opinion that pleasure was the SUMMUM BONUM. And Odysseus himself is at one time covered with a precious and thin woven garment, sometimes represented in rags with a wallet. Now he is resting with Calypso, now insulted by Iros and Melantheus. Aristippus taking the model of this life not only struggled valiantly with poverty and toil, but also intemperately made use of pleasure.
Led by these ideas, Epicurus believed that pleasure was the highest good. Odysseus is sometimes depicted wearing a valuable, finely woven garment, while at other times he's shown in rags with a bag. At one moment, he’s relaxing with Calypso, and at another, he’s being insulted by Iros and Melantheus. Inspired by this way of living, Aristippus not only fought bravely against poverty and hardship, but also indulged excessively in pleasure.
But it is possible to take these as specimens of Homer's wisdom, because he first enunciated the many excellent sayings of the Wise Men, as "follow God" (I. i. 218):—
But it is possible to view these as examples of Homer's wisdom, because he first stated many excellent sayings of the Wise Men, like "follow God" (I. i. 218):—
Who hears the gods, of them his prayers are heard,
Who hears the gods, their prayers are heard,
And "nothing too much" (O. xv. 70):—
And "nothing too much" (O. xv. 70):—
I think it shame even in another heart, who loves overmuch
or hates overmuch; measure is in all things best.
I think it's a shame for anyone, no matter who they are, to love too much or hate too much; balance is what's best in everything.
And the expression (O. viii. 351):—
And the phrase (O. viii. 351):—
A pledge is near to evil,
Evil are evil folks' pledges to hold.
A promise is close to wrongdoing,
Wrongdoing is what people with bad intentions promise to keep.And that saying of Pythagoras to one who asked who is a friend said "an ALTER EGO."
And when someone asked Pythagoras who a friend is, he said, "an ALTER EGO."
Homer's parallel saying is (O. xviii. 82):—
Homer's similar saying is (O. xviii. 82):—
The equal to my head.
The same as my head.
Belonging to the same species of Apothegm is what is called the Gnome, a universal expression about life stated briefly. All poets and philosophers and orators have used it and have attempted to explain things gnomically. Homer was the first to introduce in his poetry many excellent Gnomes stating a principle he wishes to lay down; as when he says (I. i. 80):—
Belonging to the same category as Apothegm is what we call the Gnome, a universal expression about life expressed concisely. All poets, philosophers, and speakers have utilized it and tried to explain concepts in a gnomish way. Homer was the first to incorporate many great Gnomes into his poetry to convey a principle he wanted to establish; for example, when he says (I. i. 80):—
And terrible to men of low estate the anger of a king.
And the anger of a king is dreadful to those of low status.
And again what must needs be done or not done (I. ii 24):—
And again what has to be done or not done (I. ii 24):—
To sleep all night but ill becomes a chief.
To sleep all night while feeling unwell is unbefitting for a leader.
Of Homer's many good sayings and admonitions not a few afterward have been paraphrased. Some examples of these should find a place here; as the following passage of Homer (I. xv. 104):—
Of Homer's many great quotes and pieces of advice, several have been rephrased over time. A few examples of these should be included here, such as the following passage from Homer (I. xv. 104):—
Fools are we all, who madly strive with Jove,
Or hope, by access to his throne, to sway
By word or deed his course! From all apart,
He all our counsels heeds not, but derides!
And boasts o'er all the immortal gods to reign.
Prepare, then, each his several woes to bear.
We're all fools, desperately trying to argue with Jupiter,
or thinking we can influence him by getting close to his throne
with our words or actions! He doesn’t listen to any of our plans,
but just mocks us! And he proudly claims to rule over all the immortal gods.
So, let each of us get ready to deal with our own troubles.Like this is a saying of Pythagoras:—
Like this is a saying of Pythagoras:—
Whatever pains mortals have from the gods, whatever fate
thou hast, bear it nor murmur.
Whatever suffering humans experience from the gods, whatever destiny you have, accept it without complaint.
And also these words of Euripides:—
And also these words from Euripides:—
Nor is it fitting to be indignant at events, no good comes
of it; but when things go wrong, if one bears them right,
they do go well.
It's not right to get upset about things that happen; it doesn't help at all. But when things go wrong, if you handle them properly, they can turn out fine.
Again Homer says (I. xxiv. 128):—
Again Homer says (I. xxiv. 128):—
How long, my son, wilt thou thy soul consume with grief
and mourning?
How long, my son, will you let your soul be consumed by grief and sorrow?
So Pythagoras:—
So Pythagoras:—
Spare thy life, do not wear out thy soul.
Save your life, don't exhaust your soul.
Then Homer says (O. xviii. 136):—
Then Homer says (O. xviii. 136):—
For the spirit of men upon the earth is even as their day,
that comes upon them from the father of gods and men.
For the spirit of humans on earth is just like their day, that comes upon them from the father of gods and humans.
Archilochus, who imitates other things of Homer, has paraphrased this too, saying:—
Archilochus, who mimics many aspects of Homer, has rephrased this as well, saying:—
Such for mortal men, O Glaucus, son of Leptineus, is their
mind, as Zeus directs for a day.
Such for mortal men, O Glaucus, son of Leptineus, is their
mind, as Zeus guides it for a day.And in other words, Homer says (I. xiii. 730):—
And in other words, Homer says (I. xiii. 730):—
To one the gods have granted warlike might,
While in another's breast all-seeing Jove
Hath plac'd the spirit of wisdom and mind
Discerning for the common good of all.
By him are states preserved! and he himself
Best knows the value of the precious gift.
To one, the gods have given the strength for battle,
While in another's heart, all-knowing Jove
Has placed the spirit of wisdom and insight
That cares for the common good of everyone.
Through him, nations are safeguarded! And he himself
Knows best the worth of this invaluable gift.Euripides has followed this original:—
Euripides has followed this original:—
Cities are well ordered by the instructions of one man.
So, too, a house. One again is mighty in war. For one wise
judgment conquers many hands, but ignorance with a crowd
brings the most evil.
Cities are organized by the guidance of one leader.
The same goes for a household. Once again, a single person is powerful in battle. For one wise decision can overcome the efforts of many, but ignorance combined with a crowd leads to the greatest harm.Where he makes Idomeneus exhorting his comrade, he says (I. xii. 322):—
Where he makes Idomeneus encourage his comrade, he says (I. xii. 322):—
O friend, if we survivors of this war
Could live from age and death forever free,
Thou shouldst not see me foremost in the fight,
Nor would I urge thee to the glorious field;
But since in man ten thousand forms of death
Attend, which none may 'scape, then on that we
May glory in others' gain, or they on us!
O friend, if we survivors of this war
Could live forever free from aging and death,
You wouldn’t see me leading the charge,
Nor would I push you towards the glorious battlefield;
But since there are countless ways for man to die
That none can escape, let’s find glory in others' victories, or let them find it in us! Aeschylus saying after him:—
Aeschylus says after him:—
Nor receiving many wounds in his heart does any one die,
unless the goal of life is run. Nor does any one sitting by
the hearth flee any better the decreed fate.
No one dies from receiving many wounds in their heart, unless they have completed their life's purpose. Nor does anyone sitting by the fire escape their destined fate.
In prose, Demosthenes speaks as follows (O. xviii. 9):—
In prose, Demosthenes says this (O. xviii. 9):—
For all mortals, death is the end of life even if one keeps
himself shut up in a cell; it is necessary ever for good men
to attempt noble things and bravely to bear whatever God
may give.
For everyone, death marks the end of life, even if someone isolates themselves in a room; it’s essential for good people to strive for greatness and to courageously handle whatever challenges come their way.
Again take Homer (I. iii. 65):—
Again take Homer (I. iii. 65):—
The gifts of Heav'n are not to be despis'd.
The gifts of Heaven are not to be taken for granted.
Sophocles paraphrases this, saying:—
Sophocles puts it this way:—
This is God's gift; whatever the gods may give, one must never
avoid anything, my son.
This is a gift from God; no matter what the gods provide, you should never shy away from anything, my son.
In Homer there are the words (I. i. 249):—
In Homer, there are the words (I. i. 249):—
From whose persuasive lips. Sweeter than
Honey flowed the stream of speech.
From whose persuasive lips. Sweeter than
honey flowed the stream of speech.Theocritus said (I. vii. 82):—
Theocritus stated (I. vii. 82):—
Therefore the Muse poured in his mouth
Sweet nectar.
Therefore the Muse poured sweet nectar into his mouth.
How, also, Aratus paraphrased this (I. xviii. 489):—
How Aratus also paraphrased this (I. xviii. 489):—
Sole star that never bathes in th' ocean wave,—
Sole star that never bathes in the ocean wave,—
saying:—
saying:—
The Bears protected from cerulean ocean.
The Bears shielded from the blue ocean.
(I. xv. 628):—
(I. xv. 628):—
They win their soul from death,
They save their soul from death,
is paraphrased:—
is rephrased:—
He escaped Hades by a small peg.
He escaped Hades by a tiny peg.
Let this be enough on this subject.
Let this be sufficient on this topic.
But civil discourse belongs to the rhetorical art, with which it seems Homer was first to be familiar. If Rhetoric is the power of persuasive speaking, who more than Homer depended on this power? He excels all in eloquence; also in the grasp of his subject he reveals an equal literary power.
But civil discourse is a part of the art of rhetoric, which it appears Homer was the first to know well. If rhetoric is the ability to speak persuasively, who relied on this ability more than Homer? He stands out in eloquence; and in his understanding of the subject, he shows an equal literary skill.
And the first part of this art is Arrangement, which he exhibits in all his poetry, and especially at the beginning of his narratives. For he did not make the beginning of the "Iliad" at a distant period, but at the time when affairs were developing with energy and had come to a head. The more inactive periods, which came into past time, he goes over in other places succinctly. The same he did in the "Odyssey," beginning from the close of the times of Odysseus's wanderings, in which it was clearly time to bring in Telemachus and to show the haughty conduct of the suitors. Whatever happened to Odysseus in his wanderings before this he introduces into Odysseus's narrative. These things he prefers to show as more probable and more effective, when said by the one who experienced them.
And the first part of this art is Arrangement, which he showcases in all his poetry, especially at the start of his stories. He didn't begin the "Iliad" far in the past, but at a time when events were unfolding quickly and had reached a critical point. The quieter times, which happened earlier, he summarizes in other sections. He did the same in the "Odyssey," starting from the end of Odysseus's adventures, when it was clearly time to introduce Telemachus and to highlight the arrogant behavior of the suitors. Anything that happened to Odysseus during his travels before this is included in his own story. He prefers to present these experiences as more believable and impactful when narrated by the person who actually went through them.
As therefore all orators make use of introductory remarks to get the benevolent attention of their audience, so our poet makes use of exordiums fitted to move and reach the hearer. In the "Iliad" he first declares that he is about to say how many evils happened to the Achaeans through the wrath of Achilles and the high-handed conduct of Agamemnon; and in the "Odyssey" how many labors and dangers Odysseus encountered and surmounted all of them by the judgment and perseverance of his soul. And in each one of the exordiums he invokes the Muse that she may make the value of what is said greater and more divine.
As all speakers use opening remarks to capture the audience's attention, our poet uses introductions designed to move and connect with the listener. In the "Iliad," he starts by stating that he will recount the many misfortunes that befell the Achaeans due to Achilles' anger and Agamemnon's overbearing behavior; in the "Odyssey," he tells of the numerous challenges and dangers Odysseus faced, all of which he overcame through the strength of his will and determination. In each introduction, he calls upon the Muse to enhance the significance and divine quality of what is being shared.
While the characters introduced by him are made to say many things either to their relatives or friends or enemies or the people, yet to each he assigns a fitting type of speech, as in the beginning he makes Chryseis in his words to the Greeks use a most appropriate exordium. First he desires for them that they may be superior to their enemies and may return home, in order that he might gain their kindly feeling. Then he demands his daughter. But Achilles being angered by the threat of Agamemnon combines a speech for the Greeks and for himself, in order to make them more friendly disposed. For, he says, all had proceeded to the war, not on account Of some private enmity, but to please Agamemnon himself and his brother, and he went on to say he had done many things himself and had received a present not from Agamemnon and Menelaus, but from the whole body of the Greeks. Agamemnon replying to him has no difficulty in winning the crowd. For when Achilles says he means to sail back home, on account of the insult he has received, he does not say "go" but "flee," changing what is said abruptly into an attack on Achilles reputation. And his words are:—
While the characters he introduces say a lot to their relatives, friends, enemies, or the people, he gives each of them a fitting way to express themselves. For instance, at the start, he has Chryseis address the Greeks with a very appropriate opening. She first wishes for them to be stronger than their enemies and to return home safely, hoping to win their sympathy. Then she asks for her daughter back. But Achilles, angered by Agamemnon’s threat, gives a speech that speaks for both the Greeks and himself, aiming to make them more supportive. He argues that they all went to war not out of personal hatred but to please Agamemnon and his brother. He also points out that he has done many good things and received gifts not just from Agamemnon and Menelaus, but from all the Greeks. When Agamemnon responds, it’s easy for him to win over the crowd. When Achilles says he plans to go home because of the insult he received, he doesn’t say "go" but "flee," suddenly turning the conversation into an attack on Achilles’ reputation. And his words are:—
I do not exhort you to remain; there are here who value me.
I'm not urging you to stay; there are people here who appreciate me.
And this was agreeable to his hearers.
And this made his listeners happy.
And afterward he introduces Nestor, whom he had previously called sweet in speech and a shrewd orator (I. i. 249):—
And then he introduces Nestor, who he had earlier referred to as sweet in speech and a clever speaker (I. i. 249):—
Whose voice flowed from his tongue sweeter than honey.
Whose voice flowed from his tongue sweeter than honey.
There could be no greater praise for an orator. He starts off with an exordium by which he tries to change the minds of the contesting chiefs, bidding them consider by opposing one another they give occasion of joy to their enemies. He goes on to admonish both and to exhort them to give heed to him as their elder. And by telling one to be prudent, he says what gratifies the other. He advises Agamemnon not to take away what has been given to a man who has labored much; Achilles, not to strive with the king who is his superior. And he gives suitable praise to both: to the one as ruling over more people; to the other, as having more prowess. In this way he seeks to moderate them.
There could be no greater praise for a speaker. He begins with a strong opening, trying to change the minds of the arguing leaders by urging them to realize that by fighting each other, they are only bringing joy to their enemies. He proceeds to warn both of them and encourages them to listen to him as an elder. By advising one to be wise, he says something that appeals to the other. He tells Agamemnon not to take away what has been earned by someone who has worked hard, and he advises Achilles not to clash with the king who is above him. He gives appropriate praise to both: to Agamemnon for ruling over more people, and to Achilles for his greater strength. In this way, he tries to bring them to a more moderate stance.
Again, in what follows, when Agamemnon saw the dream bearing good hopes to him from Zeus, and exhorting him to arm the Greeks, did he not use rhetorical art speaking to the multitude, saying the contrary of what he wishes, to try their feeling and to see if they will be disgusted by being compelled to do battle for him. But he speaks to please them. Another of the men able to influence them bids them stay in their tents, as if the king really wished this. For to those he speaks to he indicates that he desires the contrary. Odysseus taking up these words, and making use of a convenient freedom, persuades the leaders by his mild language; the common people he compels by threats to heed their superiors. Stopping the mutiny and agitation of the crowd, he persuades all by his shrewd words, moderately blaming them for not carrying out what they promised, and at the same time excusing them on the ground that they have been idle for some time and have been deprived of what is dearest to them. He persuades them to remain by the hope of the seer's prophecy.
Again, in what follows, when Agamemnon saw the dream that brought him good news from Zeus and encouraged him to rally the Greeks, didn’t he use persuasive words when speaking to the crowd, saying the opposite of what he really wanted, just to gauge their feelings and see if they would be put off by being forced to fight for him? But he spoke to please them. One of the other men who could sway them tells them to stay in their tents, as if the king truly wanted that. Yet, to those he speaks to, he shows that he wants the opposite. Odysseus takes up these words and, using a friendly approach, persuades the leaders with his gentle talk; he forces the common people with threats to listen to their leaders. Stopping the rebellion and unrest among the crowd, he convinces everyone with his clever words, mildly scolding them for not following through on their promises, while also excusing them by saying they have been idle for a while and deprived of what they value most. He encourages them to stay by appealing to the hope of the seer's prophecy.
Likewise Nestor, using arguments unchanged indeed but tending to the same end, and also using greater freedom to those who have been spoilt by inaction, brings over the crowd. He places the blame of their negligence on a few unworthy people and advises the rest. He threatens the disobedient and immediately takes counsel with the king as to how the forces are to be drawn up.
Likewise, Nestor, using the same arguments but with a more direct approach, manages to sway the crowd. He blames their negligence on a few unworthy individuals and gives advice to the others. He warns those who disobey and quickly consults the king about how to arrange the forces.
Again, when in the deeds of war the Greeks have partly succeeded and partly failed and been reduced to terror, Diomed, since he has the audacity of youth and freedom of speech by reason of his success, before he had shown his valor, took the king's reproof in silence, but afterward he turns on Agamemnon as if he had counselled flight through cowardice. For he says (I. ix. 32):—
Again, when the Greeks experienced both victories and defeats in battle and were filled with fear, Diomedes, being bold due to his youth and confident because of his successes, initially accepted the king’s criticism quietly. However, later he confronted Agamemnon as if he had suggested retreating out of fear. For he says (I. ix. 32):—
Atrides I thy folly must confront,
As is my right in council! thou, O King,
Be not offended.
Atrides I, I must face your foolishness,
As is my right in council! You, O King,
Please don't take offense.In his speech he tries to advise him and at the same time deprecate his anger. He then recites the things just performed by him, without envy, saying (I. ix. 36):—
In his speech, he tries to give him advice while also downplaying his anger. He then lists the things he just did, without any envy, saying (I. ix. 36):—
How justly so
Is known to all the Greeks both young and old.
How justly so
Is known to all the Greeks, both young and old.Afterward he exhorts the Greeks, giving them indirect praise (I. ix. 40):—
Afterward, he encourages the Greeks, giving them indirect praise (I. ix. 40):—
How canst thou hope the sons of Greece shall prove
Such heartless cowards as thy words suppose?
How can you expect the sons of Greece to be
Such heartless cowards as your words suggest?And he shames Agamemnon, excusing him if he wishes to depart, saying the others will be sufficient, or if all flee, he will remain alone with his comrade and fight (I. ix. 48):—
And he shames Agamemnon, saying it's okay if he wants to leave, claiming that the others will be enough, or if everyone runs away, he’ll stay behind with his friend and fight (I. ix. 48):—
Yet I and Sthenelaus, we two, will fight.
Yet Sthenelaus and I will fight.
Nestor commends the excellence of his judgment and his actions. As to the aim of the council he considers that, as the eldest, he has the right to offer advice. And he continues endeavoring to arrange for sending ambassadors to Achilles.
Nestor praises the quality of his judgment and actions. Regarding the goal of the council, he believes that, as the oldest, he has the right to give advice. He continues to work on arranging the sending of ambassadors to Achilles.
And in the embassy itself he makes the speakers employ different devices of arguments. For Odysseus, at the opening of his speech, did not say immediately that Agamemnon repented the taking away of Briseis, and would give the girl back, and that he was giving some gifts immediately and promised the rest later. For it was not useful, while his feelings were excited, to remember these things. But first he wished to provoke Achilles to sympathize with the misfortunes of the Greeks. Then he suggests that later on he will want to remedy these disasters and will not be able to. After this he recalls to him the advice of Peleus; removing any resentment toward himself, he attributes it to the character of his father as being more able to move him. And when he seemed mollified, then he mentioned the gifts of Agamemnon and again goes back to entreaties on behalf of the Greeks, saying that if Agamemnon is justly blamed, at least it was a good thing to save those who had never injured him.
And in the embassy itself, he has the speakers use different argument techniques. At the beginning of his speech, Odysseus didn't immediately say that Agamemnon regretted taking Briseis, would return her, and was giving some gifts right away, promising more later. It wasn't helpful, while his emotions were running high, to remember those things. First, he wanted to stir Achilles to empathize with the Greeks' suffering. Then he hinted that later on, he would want to fix these problems but wouldn’t be able to. After that, he reminded Achilles of Peleus's advice; to avoid any resentment toward himself, he attributed it to his father's nature as being more persuasive. When Achilles seemed to be calming down, he mentioned Agamemnon's gifts and again pleaded for the Greeks, saying that even if Agamemnon was rightly criticized, at least it would be good to save those who had never wronged him.
It was necessary to have a peroration of this kind containing nothing to irritate the hearer. He specifically recalls the purpose of the speech. The final exhortation has something to stir him against the enemy, for they are represented as despising him. "For now you can take Hector if he stands opposed to you! Since he says none of the Greeks is his equal." But Phoenix, fearing that he has used less entreaties than were befitting, sheds tears. And first he agrees with his impulse, saying he will not leave him if he sails away. This was pleasant for him to hear. And he tells Achilles how Peleus intrusted Phoenix to bring Achilles up, taking him as a child, and how he was thought worthy to be his teacher in words and deeds. In passing he relates Achilles' youthful errors, showing how this period of life is inconsiderate. And proceeding he omits no exhortation, using briefly all rhetorical forms, saying that it is a good thing to be reconciled with a suppliant, a man who has sent gifts, and has despatched the best and most honored ambassadors; that he himself was worthy to be heard, being his tutor and teacher; that if he let the present occasion go, he would repent. He makes use of the example of Meleager who, when called upon to help his fatherland, did not heed until by the necessity of the calamities that overtook the city he turned to defend, it. But Ajax used neither entreaty nor pity, but freedom of speech. He determined to remove Achilles' haughtiness partly by blaming him seasonably, partly by exhorting him genially not to be completely embittered. For it befitted his excellency in virtue. Replying to each of these Achilles shows nobility and simplicity. The others he refutes cleverly and generously by bringing out worthy causes of his anger; to Ajax he excuses himself. And to Odysseus he says that he will sail away on the following day; then being stirred by the entreaties of Phoenix, he says he will take counsel about leaving. Moved by the free speech of Ajax, he confesses all that he intends to do: that he will not go forth to fight until Hector gets as far as his tents and the ships, after killing many of the Greeks. Then he says, "I think I shall stop Hector no matter how earnestly he fights." And this argument he offers in rebuttal to Odysseus about resisting the onslaught of Hector.
It was important to have a speech like this that wouldn't annoy the listener. He clearly remembers the purpose of his words. The final encouragement is meant to motivate him against the enemy, who they portray as looking down on him. "Now you can defeat Hector if he faces you! He claims no Greek is his equal." But Phoenix, worried that he hasn't begged enough, starts to cry. He first agrees with his feelings, saying he won't leave if Achilles sails away. This is something nice for Achilles to hear. He tells Achilles how Peleus entrusted him to raise Achilles from childhood and how he was considered worthy to be his mentor. He briefly mentions Achilles' youthful mistakes, highlighting how this time in life is often reckless. He proceeds without holding back any encouragement, skillfully using all rhetorical forms, stating that it's a good idea to reconcile with a supplicant, someone who has sent gifts and sent the best and most respected ambassadors; that he himself deserves to be listened to, being his tutor; and that if he lets this opportunity slip away, he’ll regret it. He uses the example of Meleager, who, when called to help his homeland, didn't pay attention until the disasters facing the city forced him to defend it. But Ajax used neither pleading nor pity, just straightforwardness. He aimed to soften Achilles' pride partly by timely criticism and partly by gently urging him not to be completely bitter. That was fitting for his virtue. In response to each of these, Achilles shows dignity and openness. He cleverly and generously counters the others by revealing valid reasons for his anger; but he makes excuses to Ajax. To Odysseus, he states he will leave the next day; however, moved by Phoenix's pleas, he says he’ll think about departing. Inspired by Ajax's candidness, he admits his intentions: that he won't join the battle until Hector makes it to his tents and the ships, after killing many Greeks. Then he declares, "I believe I can hold back Hector no matter how fiercely he fights." This is his response to Odysseus about resisting Hector’s attack.
In the words of Phoenix he shows that there is such a thing as the art of Rhetoric. For he says to Achilles that he had taken him over (I. ix. 440):—
In the words of Phoenix, he demonstrates that the art of Rhetoric actually exists. He tells Achilles that he had taken him over (I. ix. 440):—
Inexperienced yet in war that sorrow brings alike on all
And sage debate, on which attends renown
Me then he sent, to teach thee how to frame
Befitting speech and mighty deeds achieve.
Still new to the sorrows that war brings to everyone
And wise discussions, which lead to fame,
He sent me to show you how to craft
The right words and accomplish great things.These words show that the power of speech especially makes men renowned.
These words show that the ability to speak is what truly makes people famous.
It is besides possible to find in many other parts of his poems passages pertaining to the art of Rhetoric. For he shows the method of accusation and purgation elsewhere and in the place where Hector taxes his brother, accusing him of cowardice and dissoluteness. Because he had this character, he had injured those who were far different from him; so he had become the cause of evil to his family. And Alexander softens his brothers' temper by confessing he was rightly blamed; he wipes off the charge of cowardice by promising to meet Menelaus in combat. And that Homer was a skilful speaker, no one in his right mind would deny, for it is all clear from reading his poems.
It’s also possible to find in many other parts of his poems sections related to the art of rhetoric. For example, he illustrates the methods of accusation and defense elsewhere, particularly where Hector confronts his brother, accusing him of cowardice and irresponsibility. Because of this character, he harmed those who were quite different from him, thus becoming a source of trouble for his family. Alexander calms his brother's anger by admitting he was justly criticized; he clears the accusation of cowardice by promising to face Menelaus in battle. And it’s undeniable that Homer was a skilled speaker, as is evident from reading his poems.
He did not overlook to give certain types to his speakers. He introduces Nestor as agreeable and attractive to his hearers; Menelaus, fond of brevity, attractive, and sticking to his subject; Odysseus, abundant subtility of speech. These things Antenor testifies about the two heroes; he had heard them when they came to Ilium as ambassadors. And these characteristics of speech Homer himself introduces, displaying them in all his poetry.
He made sure to give distinct types to his speakers. He presents Nestor as friendly and appealing to his audience; Menelaus, who values conciseness, is engaging and stays on topic; Odysseus uses plenty of clever language. Antenor confirms these traits about the two heroes; he heard them when they came to Ilium as ambassadors. Homer showcases these characteristics in his poetry.
He was acquainted with Antithesis in eloquence. This in every subject introduces the contrary, and proves and disproves the same thing by clever handling of the art of logic. For he says (I. xx. 248):—
He was familiar with Antithesis in rhetoric. This introduces the opposite in every topic and cleverly proves and disproves the same point through skillful use of logic. For he states (I. xx. 248):—
For glibly runs the tongue, and can at will
Give utt'rance to discourse in every vein;
Wide is the range of language, and such words
As one may speak, another may return.
For the tongue flows easily and can, at will,
Express thoughts in every way;
The range of language is vast, and the words
One person can speak, another can reply with.He knew how to say the same things at length, and to repeat them briefly, which is called Recapitulation, and is used by orators whenever it is necessary to recall briefly the numerous things which have been said. For what Odysseus related in four books in the Phaeacians, these he goes over again shortly in the passage beginning (O. xxiii. 310):—
He knew how to say the same things in detail and also to summarize them, which is known as Recapitulation. Orators use this technique whenever they need to briefly review the many points that have been made. For what Odysseus told in four books to the Phaeacians, he goes over it again briefly in the section starting (O. xxiii. 310):—
He began by setting forth how he overcame the Cicones, etc.
He started by explaining how he defeated the Cicones, etc.
But civil discourse embraces also knowledge of laws. No one can really say whether the word "law" was used in his time. Some say that he certainly knew it, for he said (O. xvii. 487):—
But civil discourse also involves understanding the laws. No one can truly say if the word "law" was used in his time. Some argue that he definitely knew it, since he stated (O. xvii. 487):—
To watch the violence and righteousness of men.
To witness the violence and sense of justice in people.
Aristachus says the word "righteousness" ([Greek omitted]) comes from the words "to distribute well." Hence law ([Greek omitted]) seems to be called, because it distributes ([Greek omitted]) equal parts to all or to each according to his worth. But that he knew the force of law was conserved, if not in writing at least in the opinion of men, he shows in many ways. For he makes Achilles talking about the sceptre say (I. i. 237):—
Aristachus says the word "righteousness" ([Greek omitted]) comes from the words "to distribute well." So, law ([Greek omitted]) seems to be named because it distributes ([Greek omitted]) equal parts to everyone or to each according to their worth. However, he demonstrates in many ways that he understood the power of law was maintained, if not in writing, at least in people’s opinions. For he has Achilles talking about the scepter say (I. i. 237):—
And now 'tis borne,
Emblem of justice, by the sons of Greece,
Who guard the sacred ministry of law
Before the face of Jove.
And now it’s carried,
Symbol of justice, by the sons of Greece,
Who protect the sacred duty of law
In front of Jove.For usages and customs, the laws of which Zeus is reported as the lawgiver, with whom Minos the king of the Cretans had converse men say; which converse is, as Plato bears witness, the learning of the laws. Clearly in his poems he reveals that it is necessary to follow the laws and not to do wrong (O. xviii. 141):—
For practices and traditions, the laws of which Zeus is said to be the lawmaker, with whom Minos, the king of the Cretans, communicated, people say; this communication is, as Plato attests, the study of the laws. Clearly in his poems, he indicates that it is essential to follow the laws and not to do wrong (O. xviii. 141):—
Wherefore let no man forever be lawless any more, but keep
quietly the gifts of the gods, whatsoever they may give.
Therefore, let no one act lawlessly anymore, but quietly appreciate the gifts of the gods, whatever they may offer.
Homer first of all divided into different parts civil polity. For in the shield which was made in imitation of the whole world by Hephaestus (that is, spiritual power) he imagined two cities to be contained: one enjoying peace and happiness; the other at war, and exposing the advantages of each he shows that the one life is civil and the other military. Neither did he pass over even the agricultural. But he showed this, too, making it clear and beautiful in his language.
Homer first divided civil society into different parts. In the shield crafted by Hephaestus to represent the entire world (which symbolizes spiritual power), he envisioned two cities: one thriving in peace and happiness, and the other engaged in war. By highlighting the benefits of each, he illustrates that one life is civil, while the other is military. He also didn’t overlook agriculture, presenting it clearly and beautifully in his writing.
In every city it is sanctioned by the law that there is to be a meeting of a council to consider before the popular assembly is called together. This is evident from the words of Homer (I. ii. 53):—
In every city, the law requires a council meeting to discuss matters before the public assembly is convened. This is clear from the words of Homer (I. ii. 53):—
But first of all the Elders
A secret conclave Agamemnon called.
But first, Agamemnon called a secret meeting of the Elders.
Agamemnon collects the Elders, and examines with them how to arm the people for the fight.
Agamemnon gathers the Elders and discusses with them how to equip the people for battle.
And that it is necessary for the leader before all things to care for the salvation of the whole, he teaches in his characters by the advice he gives (I. ii. 24):—
And it is essential for the leader to prioritize the well-being of everyone first, as shown in his teachings through the advice he offers (I. ii. 24):—
To sleep all night but ill becomes a chief.
To sleep through the night while unwell suits a leader poorly.
And how it is necessary for subjects to obey their leader, and how the commander should bear himself toward each class; Odysseus shows this, persuading the superior class by soft words, but using toward the crowd bitter words of rebuke.
And how important it is for people to follow their leader, and how the commander should act towards each group; Odysseus demonstrates this by convincing the upper class with gentle words, while using harsh words of criticism towards the crowd.
To rise up for one's superiors is sanctioned in all laws. This the gods themselves do in the case of Zeus (I. i. 535):—
To stand up for your superiors is allowed by all laws. Even the gods do this in the case of Zeus (I. i. 535):—
At his entrance all
Rose from their seats at once; not one presumed
To wait his coming.
At his entrance, everyone
immediately stood up; not one person dared
to stay in their seat.There is a rule among most that the eldest shall speak. Diomed by necessity of the war having dared to speak first, requests to be pardoned (I. xiv. 111):—
There is a rule among most that the oldest should speak. Diomed, forced by the urgency of war, had the courage to speak first and asks to be forgiven (I. xiv. 111):—
Nor take offence that I,
The youngest of all, presume to speak.
Nor take offense that I,
The youngest of all, dare to speak.And it is an universal rule that voluntary offences are punished and involuntary ones are excused. This, too, the poet shows, in what the minstrel says (O. xxii. 350):—
And it’s a universal rule that voluntary offenses are punished while involuntary ones are excused. The poet illustrates this as well, in what the minstrel says (O. xxii. 350):—
And Telemachus will testify of this, thine own dear son, that
not by mine own will or desire did I resort to thy house to
sing to the wooers after their feasts; but being so many and
stronger than I, they led me by constraint.
And Telemachus will testify to this, your own dear son, that
it was not by my own choice or desire that I came to your house to
sing to the suitors after their feasts; but being so many and
stronger than I, they forced me to do it.There are three forms of polity intended to attain justice and good laws,—Royalty, Aristocracy, and Democracy. To these are opposed three which end in injustice and lawlessness,—Tyranny, Oligarchy, and Mob Rule. Homer does not seem ignorant of these. Throughout his whole poem he names kingly rule and praises it; for example (I. ii. 196):—
There are three types of government aimed at achieving justice and good laws—Monarchy, Aristocracy, and Democracy. In contrast, there are three that lead to injustice and lawlessness—Tyranny, Oligarchy, and Mob Rule. Homer appears to be aware of these. Throughout his entire poem, he references kingship and gives it praise; for example (I. ii. 196):—
For fierce his anger, and the Lord of counsel, Jove,
From whom proceeds all honor, loves him well.
For his anger is fierce, and the Lord of counsel, Jove,
From whom all honor comes, holds him in high regard.And what sort of a man a king must be, he plainly reveals (O. ii. 236):—
And what kind of man a king should be, he makes it clear (O. ii. 236):—
Be kind and gentle with all his heart.
Be kind and gentle with all your heart.
And (O. iv. 690):—
And (O. iv. 690):—
One that wrought no iniquity toward any man, nor spake aught
unrighteous in the township, as is the wont of divine kings.
One who did no wrong to anyone and spoke nothing unjust in the town, as is typical of divine kings.
And severally where he enumerates five kings of the Boeotians, and among the Phaeacians (O. viii. 390):—
And separately where he lists five kings of the Boeotians, and among the Phaeacians (O. viii. 390):—
Behold there are twelve glorious princes who rule among this
people and bear sway, and I myself am the thirteenth.
Look, there are twelve noble princes who govern this people and hold power, and I am the thirteenth.
The image of democracy he shows clearly on the shield, in which he makes two cities. The one he says is ruled democratically, since they have no leader, yet all by their own will conduct themselves according to the laws; then, too, he introduces a trial proceeding. And he exhibits a democracy when he says (O. xvi. 425):—
The image of democracy he displays is clearly depicted on the shield, where he creates two cities. One city, he claims, is governed democratically, as they have no single leader, but instead all act of their own accord according to the laws. He also presents a trial process. He illustrates a democracy when he states (O. xvi. 425):—
In fear of the people, for they were exceedingly wroth against
him, because he had followed with Topheon sea-robbers and
harried the Thesprotians, who were at peace with us.
In fear of the people, because they were very angry with him for following the Topheon sea robbers and attacking the Thesprotians, who were at peace with us.
A man ruling with violence and contrary to the laws he does not call a tyrant, for the name is of more recent date. But his nature he exhibits in his deeds (O. vxiii. 85):—
A man who rules with violence and goes against the laws doesn't consider himself a tyrant, as that term is relatively new. Instead, he shows his true nature through his actions (O. vxiii. 85):—
And send thee to the mainland to Echetus the king, the maimer
of all mankind, who will cut off thy nose and ears with the
pitiless steel.
And send you to the mainland to Echetus the king, the mutilator of all mankind, who will cut off your nose and ears with his merciless steel.
And he shows Aegisthus tyrannical, who killed Agamemnon and lorded over Mycenae. And when he was killed he says he would have had no sepulchre if Menelaus had been there. For this was the custom with tyrants (O. iii. 258):—
And he depicts Aegisthus as a tyrant, who murdered Agamemnon and ruled over Mycenae. He states that if Menelaus had been present, he wouldn't have had a grave when he was killed. This was the common practice with tyrants (O. iii. 258):—
Then even in his death would they not have heaped the piled
earth over him, but dogs and fowls of the air would have
devoured him as he lay on the plain far from the town:
so dread was the deed he contrived.
Then even in his death they wouldn't have covered him with dirt, but dogs and birds would have eaten him as he lay on the plain far from the town: so horrible was the act he planned.
Oligarchy he seems to show in the ambition of the suitors, about whom he says (O. i. 247):—
Oligarchy seems to be evident in the ambitions of the suitors, as he mentions (O. i. 247):—
As many as lord it in rocky Ithaca.
As many as rule in rocky Ithaca.
He describes the mob rule in the Trojan government in which all are accomplices of Alexander and all are involved in misfortunes. Priam accuses his sons of being the cause (I. xxiv. 253):—
He talks about the mob rule in the Trojan government where everyone is complicit with Alexander and everyone is caught up in misfortunes. Priam blames his sons for being the cause (I. xxiv. 253):—
Haste, worthless sons, my scandal and my shame!
Hurry, you worthless sons, my disgrace and my shame!
And also another Trojan, Antimachus (I. xi. 124):—
And also another Trojan, Antimachus (I. xi. 124):—
'Twas he who chief
Seduc'd by Paris' gold and splendid gifts
Advis'd the restitution to refuse
Of Helen to her lord.
It was he who mainly Tempted by Paris' gold and extravagant gifts Encouraged the refusal To return Helen to her husband.
It is esteemed just among men to distribute to each according to his worth. This principle concerns especially reverencing the gods, and honoring parents and relations. Piety toward the gods he teaches in many passages, introducing the heroes sacrificing, praying, offering gifts to the gods, and celebrating them in hymns, and as a reward for their piety they receive from the gods.
It is considered fair among people to give everyone what they deserve. This idea especially applies to respecting the gods and honoring parents and family. He discusses devotion to the gods in many parts, showing heroes making sacrifices, praying, giving gifts to the gods, and praising them in songs, and as a reward for their devotion, they receive blessings from the gods.
Honor to parents he shows especially, in the character of Telemachus, and in his praise of Orestes (O. i. 298):—-
Honor to parents he showcases especially, in the character of Telemachus, and in his praise of Orestes (O. i. 298):—-
Or hast thou not heard what renown the goodly Orestes got
among all men in that he slew the slayer of his father?
Or have you not heard about the fame that the noble Orestes received among all people for killing the man who killed his father?
For parents to be cared for in their old age by their children is just by nature and a debt of retribution; this he showed in one passage where he says (I. xvii. 302):—
For parents to be looked after in their old age by their kids is only natural and a way of paying them back; he demonstrated this in one statement where he says (I. xvii. 302):—
Not destin'd he his parents to repay their early care.
He wasn't meant to repay his parents for their early care.
The good will and good faith of brothers to one another he shows in Agamemnon and Menelaus, of friends in Achilles and Patroclus, prudence and wifely love in Penelope, the longing of a man for his wife in Odysseus.
The kindness and trust between brothers is shown in Agamemnon and Menelaus, the friendship in Achilles and Patroclus, the wisdom and love of a wife in Penelope, and the longing of a man for his wife in Odysseus.
How we should act toward our country he showed especially in these words (I. xii. 243):—
How we should behave toward our country is clearly shown in these words (I. xii. 243):—
The best of omens is our country's cause.
Our country's cause is the best omen.
And how citizens should share a common friendship (I. ix. 63):—
And how citizens should have a common friendship (I. ix. 63):—
Outcast from kindred, law, and hearth is he
Whose soul delights in fierce, internal strife.
Outcast from family, law, and home is he
Whose soul finds joy in intense, inner conflict.That truthfulness is honorable and the contrary to be avoided (I. ix. 312):—
That being truthful is honorable and being dishonest should be avoided (I. ix. 312):—
Him as the gates of hell my soul abhors
Where outward speech his secret thought belies.
Him as the gates of hell my soul hates
Where his outward words contradict his true thoughts.And (O. xviii. 168):—
And (O. xviii. 168):—
Who speak friendly with their lips, but imagine evil in the
latter end.
Those who speak kindly with their words, but harbor bad intentions in their hearts.
Households are chiefly well ordered when the wife does not make a fuss over the undeclared plans of her husband nor without his counsel undertakes to do any thing. Both he shows in the person of Hera; the former he attributes to Zeus as speaker (I. i. 545):—
Households are mostly well-organized when the wife doesn’t create a drama about her husband’s undisclosed plans and doesn’t take any action without his advice. Both aspects are represented in the character of Hera; the first is ascribed to Zeus as the spokesperson (I. i. 545):—
Expect not Juno, all my mind to know.
Don't expect Juno to understand everything I'm thinking.
And the latter Hera herself speaks (I. xiv. 310):—
And the latter, Hera herself says (I. xiv. 310):—
Lest it displease thee, if, to thee unknown,
I sought the Ocean's deeply flowing stream,
Lest it upset you, if, unknown to you,
I searched for the Ocean's deeply flowing current,There is a custom among all people for those who go to a war or who are in danger to send some message to their families. Our poet was familiar with this custom. For Andromache, bewailing Hector, says (I. xxiv. 743):—
There’s a tradition among all people for those who go to war or are in danger to send messages to their families. Our poet knew this tradition well. For Andromache, mourning Hector, says (I. xxiv. 743):—
For not to me was giv'n to clasp the hand extended from thy
dying bed,
Nor words of wisdom catch, which night and day,
With tears, I might have treasur'd in my heart.
For I wasn't given the chance to hold the hand reaching out from your dying bed,
Nor to catch any words of wisdom, which day and night,
With tears, I could have treasured in my heart.Penelope recalls the commands of Odysseus when he set forth (O. xviii. 265):—
Penelope remembers the instructions from Odysseus when he left (O. xviii. 265):—
Wherefore I know not if the gods will suffer me to return, or
whether I shall be cut off there in Troy; so do thou have a
care for all these things. Be mindful of my father and my
mother in the halls, even as thou art or yet more than now,
while I am far away. But when thou see'st thy son a bearded
man, marry whom thou wilt and leave thine own house.
I don't know if the gods will let me come back, or if I'll die here in Troy; so please take care of everything. Remember my father and my mother in the home, just like you do now or even more, while I'm away. But when you see your son grown up with a beard, marry whoever you want and leave your own house.
He knew also the custom of having stewards (O. ii. 226):—
He also knew the tradition of having stewards (O. ii. 226):—
He it was to whom Odysseus, as he departed in the fleet, had
given the charge over all his house that it should obey the
old man, and that he should keep all things safe.
He was the one to whom Odysseus, as he set off with the fleet, had entrusted the responsibility of overseeing his entire household, ensuring that everyone followed the elderly man and kept everything secure.
Grief at the death in one's household he thinks should not be unmeasured; for this is unworthy, nor does he allow it altogether to be repressed; for apathy is impossible for mankind, whence he says the following (I. xxiv. 48):—
Grief over the death of a loved one shouldn't be excessive; it's unworthy, yet he doesn’t think it should be completely suppressed either, since it's impossible for people to be indifferent. He states the following (I. xxiv. 48):—
He mourns and weeps, but time his grief allays,
For fate to man a patient mind hath given.
He grieves and cries, but time eases his pain,
For fate has granted mankind a patient mind.Other places he says (I. xix. 228):—
Other places he says (I. xix. 228):—
Behooves us bury out of sight our dead
Steeling our hearts and weeping but a day.
It is our duty to bury our dead out of sight,
Hardening our hearts and grieving for just one day.He also knew the customs used now at funerals, in other passages and in the following (I. xvi. 456):—
He also knew the customs used today at funerals, in other contexts and in the following (I. xvi. 456):—
There shall his brethren and his friends perform
His fun'ral rites, and mound and column raise
The fitting tribute to the mighty dead
There, his brothers and friends will carry out
His funeral rites, and raise a mound and column
As a fitting tribute to the mighty deceasedAnd as Andromache says (before) the naked and prostrate body of Hector (I. xxii. 509):—
And as Andromache says (before) the bare and lying body of Hector (I. xxii. 509):—
But now on thee, beside the beaked ships
Far from thy parents, when the rav'ning dogs
Have had their fill, the wriggling worms shall feed
In thee all naked; while within thy house
Lies store of raiment, rich and rare, the work
Of women's hands: these I will burn with fire
Not for thy need—thou ne'er shalt wear them more
But for thine honor in the sight of Troy.
But now, out by the beaked ships
Far from your parents, when the hungry dogs
Have eaten their fill, the wriggling worms will feed
On you, completely exposed; while inside your house
Lies a supply of clothes, luxurious and unique, crafted
By women's hands: these I will burn with fire
Not for your need—you'll never wear them again
But for your honor in the sight of Troy.So, too, Penelope prepares the shroud (O. ii. 99):—
So, too, Penelope is making the shroud (O. ii. 99):—
Even this shroud for the hero Laertes.
Even this burial cloth for the hero Laertes.
But these are examples of moderation. But exceeding these are the living creatures and men Achilles burns on the pyre of Patroclus. He tells us of them, but does not do so in words of praise. Therefore he exclaims (I. xxi. 19):—
But these are examples of moderation. However, beyond this are the living beings and the people Achilles burns on Patroclus's pyre. He talks about them, but he doesn't do it in a positive way. So he exclaims (I. xxi. 19):—
On savage deeds intent.
Intent on brutal acts.
And he first of all mentions monuments to the slain (I. vii. 336):—
And he first mentions memorials for the fallen (I. vii. 336):—
And on the plains erect
Around the pyre one common pyre for all.
And on the plains stand
Together one shared pyre for everyone.And he gave the first example of funeral games. These are common to times of peace and war.
And he gave the first example of funeral games. These are common during both peaceful times and times of war.
Experience in warlike affairs, which some authorities call Tactics, his poetry being varied by infantry, siege, and naval engagements, and also by individual contests, covers many types of strategy. Some of these are worth mentioning. In drawing up armies it is necessary always to put the cavalry in front, and after it the infantry. This he indicates in the following verses (I. ii. 297):—
Experience in military matters, which some experts refer to as Tactics, includes his poetry that covers various scenarios like infantry battles, sieges, naval battles, and individual fights, showcasing many types of strategies. Some of these are worth noting. When assembling armies, it's essential to always place the cavalry at the front, followed by the infantry. He highlights this in the following verses (I. ii. 297):—
In the front rank, with chariot and with horse,
He plac'd the car-borne warriors; in the rear,
Num'rous and brave, a cloud of infantry!
At the front, with chariots and horses,
He positioned the chariot warriors; in the back,
Numerous and fierce, a throng of infantry!And as to placing leaders among the soldiers as they are arranged in files (I. ix. 86):—
And regarding the arrangement of leaders among the soldiers in their ranks (I. ix. 86):—
Seven were the leaders; and with each went forth,
A hundred gallant youths, with lances armed.
There were seven leaders; and with each went,
A hundred brave young men, armed with lances.Some of the leaders fight in the front rank; some in the rear exhort the rest to fight (I. iv. 252):—
Some of the leaders fight at the front; others at the back encourage the rest to fight (I. iv. 252):—
And come where round their chief
Idomeneus, the warlike bards of Crete
Were coming for the fight; Idomeneus
Of courage stubborn as the forest boar
The foremost ranks array'd; Meriones
The rearmost squadrons had in charge.
And they arrived where their leader
Idomeneus, the battle-ready bards of Crete
Were coming for the fight; Idomeneus
With bravery as tough as a wild boar
Led the frontlines; Meriones
Was in charge of the rear formations.It is necessary for those who are valiant to camp in the extreme limits, making as it were a wall for the rest; but for the king is pitched his tent in the safest place, that is, in the midst. He shows this by making the most valorous men, Achilles and Ajax, encamp in the most exposed spaces of the fleet, but Agamemnon and the rest in the middle.
It’s essential for the brave to set up camp at the farthest edges, essentially forming a barrier for everyone else; however, the king sets up his tent in the safest spot, which is in the center. He demonstrates this by placing the most courageous warriors, Achilles and Ajax, on the most vulnerable parts of the fleet, while Agamemnon and the others are positioned in the middle.
The custom of surrounding the camp with earth-works, and digging around it a deep and wide ditch and planting it in a circle with stakes so that no one can jump over it by reason of its breadth, nor go down into it because of its depth, is found in the warlike operations of Homer (I. xii. 52):—
The practice of surrounding a camp with earthworks, digging a deep and wide ditch around it, and planting a circle of stakes so that no one can jump over it due to its width, nor climb down into it because of its depth, is seen in the military strategies of Homer (I. xii. 52):—
In vain we seek to drive
Our horses o'er the ditch: it is hard to cross,
'Tis crowned with pointed stakes, and then behind
Is built the Grecian wall; these to descend,
And from our cars in narrow space to fight,
Were certain ruin.
It's pointless to try to get
Our horses over the ditch: it’s tough to cross,
It’s topped with sharp stakes, and behind it
Is the Greek wall; to go down there,
And to fight from our chariots in such tight space,
Would definitely lead to disaster.And in battle those who follow the example of Homer's heroes die bravely (I. xxii. 304):—
And in battle, those who follow the example of Homer's heroes fight valiantly (I. xxii. 304):—
Yet not without a struggle let me die,
Nor all inglorious; but let some great act,
Which future days may hear of, mark my fall.
Yet not without a struggle let me die,
Nor all without glory; but let some great deed,
That future generations may hear of, mark my fall.And another time (O. xv. 494):—
And another time (O. xv. 494):—
And if there be among you who this day shall meet his doom by
sword or arrow slain, e'en let him die! a glorious death is
his who for his country falls.
And if there are any of you who today will meet their fate by sword or arrow, then let them die! A glorious death is theirs who falls for their country.
To those who distinguish themselves he distributes gifts (I. ix. 334):—
To those who stand out, he gives gifts (I. ix. 334):—
To other chiefs and kings he meted out their several portions.
He distributed their respective portions to other chiefs and kings.
And he threatens deserters (I. xv. 348):—
And he threatens deserters (I. xv. 348):—
Whom I elsewhere, and from the ships aloof
Shall find, my hand shall down him on the spot.
Whoever I find elsewhere, far from the ships,
I will take him down right there.Why is it necessary to speak of the heroes in battle? How differently and variously he makes them give and receive wounds. One he thinks worthy of mention, because he thinks those wounded in front are the more honorable because they prove steadfastness and a desire to abide the shock. Those who are struck in the back or neck were less honorable, since these blows they received in flight. Both of these are mentioned in Homer (I. xii. 288):—
Why is it important to talk about the heroes in battle? He portrays them as experiencing wounds in different ways. He considers some worthy of recognition because those injured in the front show courage and a commitment to face the fight. In contrast, those hit in the back or neck are seen as less honorable, since they took those hits while retreating. Both types are mentioned in Homer (I. xii. 288):—
Not in the neck behind, nor in thy back
Should fall the blow, but in thy breast in front,
Thy courage none might call in doubt
Shouldst thou from spear or sword receive a wound.
Not in the back or neck,
But in your chest in front,
Your courage would never be questioned
If you took a wound from a spear or sword.And again (I. xxii. 213):—
And again (I. xxii. 213):—
Not in my back will I receive thy spear,
But through my heart.
I won't take your spear in my back,
but through my heart.In putting enemies to flight he gives useful advice, not to be busied with the spoil, nor give time for flight, but to press on and pursue (I. vi. 68):—
In defeating enemies, he offers helpful advice: don't get distracted by the loot or give them time to escape; instead, keep pushing forward and chase them down (I. vi. 68):—
Loiter not now behind, to throw yourselves
Upon the prey, and bear it to the ships;
Let all your aim be now to kill, then
Ye may at leisure spoil your slaughtered foe.
Don't linger back now; go after the prey and bring it to the ships. Focus all your efforts on killing, then you can leisurely take what you want from your slain enemy.
There are in his poetry successful deeds achieved by every age, by which every one, no matter who he may be, can be encouraged: the man in the flower of his strength by Achilles, Ajax, and Diomed; by younger ones Antilochus and Meriones; the mature by Idomeneus and Odysseus; the old men by Nestor; and every king by all of these named and by Agamemnon. Such are in Homer the examples of the discourse and action of civilized life.
There are in his poetry successful deeds accomplished by every generation, which can inspire anyone, regardless of who they are: the young man in his prime is inspired by Achilles, Ajax, and Diomed; the younger ones by Antilochus and Meriones; the mature by Idomeneus and Odysseus; the elders by Nestor; and every king by all of these figures and by Agamemnon. These serve as examples of the conversations and actions found in civilized life in Homer.
Let us see now whether Homer had any familiarity with medicine. That he held the art in high regard is clear from the following (I. xi. 514):—
Let’s see now if Homer had any knowledge of medicine. It’s clear from the following (I. xi. 514) that he respected the craft.
Worth many a life is his, the skilful leech.
Worth many lives is the skilled doctor.
Medical science appears to be the science of disease and health. That it is a science any one can learn from this (O. iv. 23):—
Medical science seems to be the study of illness and well-being. That it's a field anyone can learn about is evident from this (O. iv. 23):—
There each one is a leech skilled beyond all men.
There each one is a leech more skilled than anyone else.
That it deals with disease and health (O. iv. 230):—
That it addresses illness and well-being (O. iv. 230):—
Many that are healing in the cup, and many baneful,—
Many that are healing in the cup, and many harmful,—
he indicates with these things.
he points out with these things.
Medicine has, too, a theoretical side which reaches the knowledge of particulars by universal reasoning and by inductive method. The parts of this are the study of symptoms and the knowledge of the courses of disease. The active part treating of action and effect; the parts of it diatetic, surgical, medicinal. How did Homer appraise each of these? That he knew the theoretical side is evident from this (O. iv. 227):—
Medicine also has a theoretical aspect that understands specifics through universal reasoning and the inductive method. This includes studying symptoms and understanding the progression of diseases. The practical side involves actions and their effects, with branches like dietary, surgical, and medicinal treatments. How did Homer evaluate each of these? It's clear he recognized the theoretical side, as shown in this (O. iv. 227):—
Medicines of such virtue and so helpful had the daughters
of Zeus.
The daughters of Zeus had medicines that were incredibly powerful and helpful.
He calls them "of such virtue" because they were prepared by theoretic art.
He calls them "of such virtue" because they were created by theoretical art.
But the study of symptoms he goes over in the case of Achilles. For he was a disciple of Charon. He first observed, then, the causes of the pestilence which was attacking the Greeks. For he knew that the causes of common diseases were from Apollo, who seems to be the same as the Sun. For he notices the seasons of the year. If these are intemperate, they become the causes of disease. For, in general, the safety and destruction of men are to be ascribed to Apollo, of women to Artemis, i.e. to the Sun and Moon, making them the casters of arrows by reason of the rays they throw out. So dividing the male and female he makes the male of the warmer temperament. On this account, at any rate, he says Telemachus is of this type, "by the guidance of Apollo"; but the daughters of Tyndarus grew up, he says, under the protection of Artemis. Moreover, to these gods he attributes death in many places, and among others in the following (I. xxiv. 605):—
But he examines the symptoms in the case of Achilles. He was a student of Charon. He first identified the causes of the plague that was affecting the Greeks. He understood that the causes of common illnesses came from Apollo, who seems to represent the Sun. He observes the seasons of the year, noting that if they are extreme, they lead to disease. Generally, the well-being and downfall of men are attributed to Apollo, while those of women are linked to Artemis, which corresponds to the Sun and Moon, making them the archers due to the rays they emit. By separating the male and female, he categorizes males as having a warmer temperament. He argues that Telemachus fits this description, "by the guidance of Apollo"; while the daughters of Tyndarus, he claims, were raised under the guardianship of Artemis. Additionally, he attributes death to these gods in various places, including in the following (I. xxiv. 605):—
The youths, Apollo with his silver bow;
The maids, the Archer Queen Diana slew.
The young people, Apollo with his silver bow;
The young women, the Archer Queen Diana killed.Where he relates the rising of the Dog Star, the same is a sign and cause of fever and disease (I. xxii. 30):—
Where he talks about the rise of the Dog Star, it is both a sign and a cause of fever and illness (I. xxii. 30):—
The highest he but sign to mortal man
Of evil augury and fiery heat.
The greatest sign he gives to humanity
Of bad omens and intense heat.He gives the causes of disease where he speaks about the gods (I. v. 341):—
He explains the reasons for illness when he talks about the gods (I. v. 341):—
They eat no bread, they drink no ruddy wine,
Thence are they bloodless and exempt from death.
They eat no bread, they drink no red wine,
Therefore, they are lifeless and free from death.For food, whether dry or humid, is generative of blood. And this nourishes the body; if it is excessive or corrupt, it becomes the cause of disease.
For food, whether dry or moist, generates blood. This nourishes the body; if it's too much or unhealthy, it leads to illness.
The practical part of medicine he carefully distinguishes. In this is the dietetic. First, he knew the periods and cures of diseases, as when he says (O. xi. 171):—
The practical aspect of medicine is something he carefully differentiates. In this is the dietary aspect. First, he understood the timelines and treatments for diseases, as he mentions (O. xi. 171):—
What doom overcame thee of death that lays men at their
length? Was it a slow disease, or did Artemis the archer slay
them with the visitation of her gentle shafts?
What fate has struck you with death that leaves people lying flat? Was it a lingering illness, or did Artemis the archer take them down with her soft arrows?
It is evident that he thinks a light diet is healthful. For he pictures his heroes making use of cooked food and so removes extravagant attention about things to eat. And since the stomach needs constant repletion, when cooked food, which has the closest relation to the body, is digested in the heart and veins, and the surfeit is cast forth, he says words like the following (O. vii. 215):—
It’s clear that he believes a light diet is healthy. He imagines his heroes eating cooked food, which downplays any excessive focus on what to eat. And because the stomach needs to be constantly filled, when cooked food—closest to the body—is digested in the heart and veins, and the excess is eliminated, he expresses ideas like the following (O. vii. 215):—
But as for me suffer me to sup afflicted as I am; for naught
is there more shameless than a ravening belly, which biddeth a
man perforce be mindful of him.
But as for me, let me eat while I'm suffering; for there is nothing more shameless than a hungry belly, which forces a man to be aware of it.
And again (O. vii. 219):—
And again (O. vii. 219):—
Yet ever more he biddeth me eat and drink, and maketh utterly
to forget all my sufferings and commandeth me to take my fill.
Yet he keeps urging me to eat and drink, completely making me forget all my suffering and insisting that I indulge.
He knew, too, the difference in the use of wine: that immoderate drinking is harmful but moderate profitable; as follows (O. xxi. 294):—
He also understood the difference in how wine is used: that excessive drinking is harmful, but moderate drinking is beneficial; as follows (O. xxi. 294):—
Honey sweet wine, that is the bane of others too, even of all
who take great draughts and drink out of measure.
Honey sweet wine, which is also the downfall of many others, especially those who drink heavily and in excess.
The other so (I. vi. 261):—
The other so (I. vi. 261):—
But great the strength,
Which gen'rous wine imparts to men who toil
And that gives additional force.
But great is the strength,
Which generous wine gives to those who work
And that provides extra power.and (I. xix. 167):—
and (I. xix. 167):—
But he who first with food and wine refreshed
All day maintains the combat with the foe.
His spirit retains unbroken, and his limbs
Unwearied till both armies quit the field.
But the one who first refreshes with food and wine
All day keeps up the fight against the enemy.
His spirit stays unbroken, and his limbs
Unwearied until both armies leave the battlefield.And he thinks the agreeable taste contributes to good fellowship (O. vii. 182):—
And he believes that the pleasant taste helps foster good friendship (O. vii. 182):—
So spake he, and Pontonous mixed the gladdening wine.
So he spoke, and Pontonous poured the cheerful wine.
The strong and heady kind Odysseus gives to the Cyclops, the sharp kind for a medicine, for such is the Promneon brand, which he gives to wounded Machaon.
The strong and potent wine Odysseus gives to the Cyclops, the sharp kind for a remedy, as this is the Promneon brand, which he also gives to the injured Machaon.
That he advises the use of gymnastics is evident in many places, for he makes his characters always at work, some in appropriate occupations, some for the sake of exercise. Although the Phaeacians are externally given to softness, and the suitors are dissolute, he introduces them doing gymnastic feats. And moderate exercise he thinks is the cause of health. For a tired body sleep is a remedy. For he says "sleep came upon Odysseus" after he had been tired out by the sea (O. v. 493):—
That he recommends the use of exercise is clear in many instances, as he always shows his characters busy, some in suitable jobs and others just for the sake of staying active. Even though the Phaeacians appear indulgent and the suitors are morally corrupt, he depicts them performing athletic feats. He believes that moderate exercise is key to good health. When someone is exhausted, sleep acts as a cure. As he states, "sleep came upon Odysseus" after he had been worn out by the sea (O. v. 493):—
That so it might soon release him from his weary travail,
overshadowing his eyelids.
That so it might soon free him from his tired struggle,
weighing down his eyelids.Nature requires a tired body to take rest. And where there is too little heat, as it is not able to penetrate everywhere, it remains at the lowest level. Why does the body rest? Because the tension of the soul is remitted and the members are dissolved and this he clearly says (O. iv. 794):—
Nature needs a tired body to rest. When there’s not enough warmth, it can’t reach every part, so it stays at the lowest level. Why does the body rest? Because the soul’s tension relaxes and the limbs unwind, as he clearly states (O. iv. 794):—
And she sank back in sleep, and all her joints were loosened.
And she fell back asleep, and all her joints relaxed.
As in other things, immoderation is not advantageous; so he declares the same with regard to sleep, at one time saying (O, xiv. 394):—
As with other things, excess isn't beneficial; he says the same about sleep, at one point stating (O, xiv. 394):—
Weariness and much sleep.
Tired and overslept.
And another (O. xx. 52):—
And another (O. xx. 52):—
To wake and watch all night, this, too, is vexation of spirit.
To stay awake and watch all night, this, too, is frustrating.
He knew, too, that clearness of air contributes to health, where he says (O. iv. 563):—
He also knew that clear air is good for health, as he mentions (O. iv. 563):—
But the deathless gods will convey thee to the Elysian plain
and the World's end, where is Rhadamanthus of the fair hair,
where life is easiest for men. No snow is there, nor yet
great storm, nor any rain; but always ocean sendeth forth the
breeze of the shrill west to blow cool on men.
But the immortal gods will take you to the Elysian fields
and the edge of the world, where Rhadamanthus with the beautiful hair resides,
where life is the easiest for people. There’s no snow, nor fierce storms, nor rain;
instead, a constant ocean breeze from the brisk west blows cool on everyone.He knew remedies for sufferings; for cold revives those who are fainting, as in the case of Sarpedon (I. v. 697):—
He knew cures for suffering; cold revives those who are fainting, as in the case of Sarpedon (I. v. 697):—
He swooned, and giddy mists o'erspread his eyes,
But soon revived as on his forehead blew
While yet he gasped for breath the cooling breeze.
He fainted, and dizzy fogs blurred his vision,
But soon came to as the cool breeze blew
Against his forehead while he still struggled for breath. Heat is a remedy for cold, as in the case of storm-tossed Odysseus, who bends down in the thicket, where there is a protection against winds and rains, and he covers himself with the wood about him. And other places he mentions baths and anointing, as in the case of Diomed and Odysseus returning from their night expedition. The special usefulness of baths he shows especially in the following (O. x. 362):—
Heat is a cure for cold, like when storm-tossed Odysseus crouches down in the bushes, where he finds shelter from the winds and rain, covering himself with the surrounding branches. He also talks about baths and oiling up, like Diomed and Odysseus did when they came back from their nighttime mission. He highlights the particular benefits of baths especially in the following (O. x. 362):—
She bathed me with water from out a great caldron, pouring it
over head and shoulders, where she had mixed it to a pleasant
warmth till from my limbs she took away consuming weariness.
She bathed me with water from a big pot, pouring it over my head and shoulders, mixing it to a nice warmth until she washed away the exhausting fatigue from my limbs.
It is plain that the nerves have their origin in the head and shoulders. So probably from this he makes the healing of fatigue to be taken. This takes place by the wetting and warming; for labors are parching.
It’s clear that the nerves start in the head and shoulders. So, he likely believes that recovery from fatigue comes from this. This happens through moisture and warmth, since work can be draining.
We have now to consider how he treated the function of surgery. Machaon heals Menelaus by first removing the javelin; then he examines the wound and presses out the blood, and scatters over it dry medicaments. And it is evident that this is done by him in a technical fashion. Eurypalus, who is wounded in the thigh, first treats it with a sharp knife, then he washes it with clear water; afterward to diminish the pain, he employs an herb. For there are many in existence that heal wounds. He knew this, too, that bitter things are suitable; for to dry up wounds requires exsiccation. After Patroclus has applied the healing art, he did not go away immediately, but (I. xv. 393):—
We need to look at how he approached surgery. Machaon heals Menelaus by first pulling out the javelin; then he checks the wound and squeezes out the blood, sprinkling dry medicine over it. It’s clear that he does this in a skilled way. Eurypalus, who has a thigh wound, starts by cutting it with a sharp knife, then washes it with clean water; afterward, to ease the pain, he uses an herb. There are many herbs that can heal wounds. He also knew that bitter substances work well, as drying out wounds requires desiccation. After Patroclus applied the healing techniques, he didn’t leave right away, but (I. xv. 393):—
Remaining, with his converse soothed the chief.
Staying back, he comforted the chief.
For a sufferer needs sympathy. Machaon wounded not with a great or fatal wound on the shoulder, he makes using intentionally a somewhat careless diet. Perhaps here he shows his art. For he who takes care of himself at ordinary times is able to heal himself.
For someone who is suffering, sympathy is essential. Machaon, wounded not by a serious or fatal injury on the shoulder, seems to intentionally adopt a somewhat careless diet. Maybe this is where he demonstrates his skill. After all, the person who takes care of themselves during normal times can heal themselves.
This is noted, too, in Homer, that he knows the distinction of drugs. Some are to be used as plasters, others as powders, as when he says (I. iv. 218):—
This is also mentioned in Homer, who understands the difference between various medications. Some are meant to be used as plasters, while others are powders, as he states (I. iv. 218):—
And applied with skilful hand the herbs of healing power.
And skillfully applied the healing herbs.
But some are to be drunk, as where Helen mixes a medicine in a bowl (O. iv. 221):—
But some are meant to be drunk, like when Helen mixes a potion in a bowl (O. iv. 221):—
A drug to lull all pain and anger, and bring forgetfulness of
every sorrow.
A drug that numbs all pain and anger, helping you forget every sorrow.
He knows, too, that some poisonous drugs are to be applied as ointments (O. i. 261):—
He also knows that some toxic substances are to be used as ointments (O. i. 261):—
To seek a deadly drug, that he might have wherewithal to
smear his bronze-shod arrows.
To find a lethal poison, so he would have something to coat his bronze-tipped arrows.
Others are to be drunk, as in these words (O. ii. 330):—
Others are meant to be drunk, as in these words (O. ii. 330):—
To fetch a poisonous drug that he may cast it into the bowl
and make an end of all of us.
To get a poisonous drug that he can throw into the bowl
and put an end to all of us.So much for medicines in the Homeric poems.
So much for the medicine in the Homeric poems.
Divination is useful to man like medicine. A part of this the Stoics call artificial, as the inspection of entrails and birds' oracles, lots, and signs. All of these they call in general artificial. But what is not artificial, and is not acquired by learning, are trances and ecstasy, Homer knew, too, of these phenomena. But he also knew of seers, priests, interpreters of dreams, and augurs. A certain wise man in Ithaca he tells of (O. ii 159):—
Divination is as helpful to people as medicine. The Stoics categorize some of it as artificial, like examining entrails and interpreting bird omens, casting lots, and reading signs. They refer to all of these collectively as artificial. However, what isn’t artificial and isn’t learned involves trances and ecstasy, which Homer was also aware of. He recognized seers, priests, dream interpreters, and augurs too. He speaks of a certain wise man in Ithaca (O. ii 159):—
He excelled his peers in knowledge of birds and in uttering
words of fate.
He outperformed his peers in his knowledge of birds and in speaking words of destiny.
And Odysseus, praying, says (O. xx. 100):—
And Odysseus, praying, says (O. xx. 100):—
Let some one I pray of the folk that are waking show me a
word of good omen within and without; let soon other sign be
revealed to me from Zeus.
Let someone, please, from among those who are awake, show me a word of good omen inside and out; may another sign from Zeus be revealed to me soon.
Snoring with him is a good sign. A divinely inspired seer is with the suitors, telling the future by divine inspiration. Once, too, Helenus says (I. vii. 53):—
Snoring with him is a good sign. A divinely inspired seer is with the suitors, predicting the future through divine inspiration. Once, too, Helenus says (I. vii. 53):—
He was the recipient of a divine voice.
By revelation from th' eternal gods.
He received a message from a higher power.
Through revelation from the eternal gods.He gives cause of believing that Socrates had actually communications from the voice of the daemon.
He gives reason to believe that Socrates actually received messages from the voice of the daemon.
What natural or scientific art is left untouched? Tragedy took its start from Homer, and afterward was raised to supremacy in words and things. He shows that there is every form of tragedy; great and extraordinary deeds, appearances of the gods, speech full of wisdom, revealing all sorts of natures. In a word, his poems are all dramas, serious and sublime in expression, also in feeling and in subject. But they contain no exhibition of unholy deeds, lawless marriages, or the murder of parents and children, or the other marvels of more recent tragedy. But when he mentions a thing of this kind, he seems to conceal rather than to condemn the crime. As he does in the case of of Clytemnestra. For he says (O. iii. 266):—
What natural or scientific art hasn't been touched? Tragedy began with Homer and was later elevated to greatness in both language and action. He illustrates that there are many forms of tragedy: heroic and extraordinary deeds, appearances of the gods, wise speech that reveals all kinds of natures. In short, his poems are all dramas, serious and profound in expression, feeling, and subject matter. However, they don’t showcase immoral acts, unlawful marriages, or the murder of parents and children, or the other wonders of more contemporary tragedies. Yet when he references something like this, he seems to hide rather than condemn the crime, as he does with Clytemnestra. For he says (O. iii. 266):—
That she was endowed with an excellent mind as she had with
her a teacher appointed by Agamemnon, to give her the
best advice.
That she was gifted with a sharp mind, as she had a teacher appointed by Agamemnon to provide her with the best guidance.
Aegisthus got this tutor out of the way and persuaded her to sin. He allows that Orestes justly avenged his father's death by killing Aegisthus; but he passes over in silence the murder of his mother. Many of the like examples are to be seen in the poet, as a writer of majestic, but not inhuman, tragedy.
Aegisthus removed this tutor and convinced her to sin. He agrees that Orestes justly avenged his father's death by killing Aegisthus, but he ignores the murder of his mother. There are many similar examples in the poet's work, showcasing a majestic yet not inhumane tragedy.
None the less, however, Comedy took from him its origin; for he contains, although he relates the gravest and most serious things, episodes which move to laughter, as in the "Iliad" Hephaestus is introduced limping and pouring out wine for the gods (I. i. 599):—
None the less, Comedy drew its origin from him; for he includes, even while addressing the most serious and weighty matters, moments that evoke laughter, as in the "Iliad" where Hephaestus is depicted limping and serving wine to the gods (I. i. 599):—
Rose laughter irrepressible, at sight
Of Vulcan hobbling round the spacious hall.
Rose laughter uncontrollable, at the sight
Of Vulcan limping around the large hall.Thersites is most contemptible in body and most evil in disposition, from his raising a disturbance, and his slanderous speech and boastfulness. Odysseus attacks him on this account and gives occasion to all to laugh (I. ii. 270):—
Thersites is the most despicable in appearance and has the worst character, causing chaos with his disrespectful talk and arrogance. Odysseus confronts him for this and provides everyone a chance to laugh (I. ii. 270):—
The Greeks, despite their anger, laugh'd aloud.
The Greeks, despite their anger, laughed out loud.
In the "Odyssey" among the pleasure-loving Phaeacians their bard sings the adultery of Ares and Aphrodite. He tells how they fell into the snares of Hepheastus, and were taken in the act, and caused all the gods to laugh, and how they joked frequently with one another. And among the dissolute suitors Irus the beggar is brought in, contesting for a prize with the most noble Odysseus, and how he appeared ridiculous in the action. Altogether it is the character of human nature, not only to be intense, but to take "a moral holiday" so that the men may be equal to the troubles of life. Such relaxation for the mind is to be found in our poet. Those who in later days introduced Comedy to produce laughter made use of bare and naked language, but they cannot claim to have invented anything better. Of erotic feelings and expression, Homer makes but a moderate use; as Zeus says (I. iii. 442):—
In the "Odyssey," among the pleasure-loving Phaeacians, their bard sings about the affair between Ares and Aphrodite. He tells how they fell into the trap set by Hephaestus and were caught in the act, making all the gods laugh, and how they often joked with each other. Among the unruly suitors, Irus the beggar is brought in, competing for a prize against the noble Odysseus, and he appears ridiculous in the process. Overall, it's part of human nature not only to be serious but also to take "moral holidays" so that people can cope with life's challenges. This kind of mental relaxation can be found in our poet. Those who later introduced Comedy to create laughter used simple and straightforward language, but they can't claim to have created anything better. Homer uses erotic themes and expressions sparingly; as Zeus says (I. iii. 442):—
For never did thy beauty so inflame my sense.
For your beauty has never stirred my senses so intensely.
And what follows, and about Helen (I. iii. 156):—
And what comes next, and regarding Helen (I. iii. 156):—
And 'tis no marvel, one to other said,
The valiant Trojans and the well-greaved Greeks
For beauty such as this should long endure
The toils of war.
And it’s no wonder, one said to another,
The brave Trojans and the well-equipped Greeks
That a beauty like this should last for a long time
Through the struggles of war.And other things of the same kind. Other poets have represented men taken by this passion uncontrollably and immoderately. This is sufficient for this subject.
And other similar things. Other poets have depicted men overwhelmed by this passion in an uncontrollable and excessive way. This is enough for this topic.
Epigrams are a pleasing variety of speech; they are found on statues and on monuments indicating succinctly to whom they are dedicated. And this, too, is a mark of Homer where he says (I. vii. 89):—
Epigrams are a delightful form of expression; they appear on statues and monuments, clearly indicating who they are dedicated to. This is also evident in Homer when he states (I. vii. 89):—
Lo! there a warrior's tomb of days gone by,
A mighty chief whom glorious Hector slew.
Look! There’s a warrior's tomb from days long past,
A powerful chief whom glorious Hector killed.And again (I. vi. 460):—
And again (I. vi. 460):—
Lo! this was Hector's wife, who, when they fought
On plains of Troy, was Ilion's bravest chief.
Look! This was Hector's wife, who, when they fought
On the plains of Troy, was the bravest leader of Ilion.But if any one should say that Homer was a master of painting, he would make no mistake. For some of the wise men said that poetry was speaking painting, and painting silent poetry. Who before or who more than Homer, by the imagination of his thoughts or by the harmony of his verse, showed and exalted gods, men, places, and different kinds of deeds? For he showed by abundance of language all sorts of creatures and the most notable things—lions, swine, leopards. Describing their forms and characters and comparing them to human deeds, he showed the properties of each. He dared to liken the forms of gods to those of men. Hephaestus prepared Achilles' shield; he sculptured in gold, land, sky, sea, the greatness of the Sun and the beauty of the Moon and the host of the stars crowning all. He placed on it cities in different states and fortunes, and animals moving and speaking. Who has more skill than the artificer of such an art?
But if anyone were to say that Homer was a master of painting, they wouldn’t be wrong. Some wise people have said that poetry is spoken painting, and painting is silent poetry. Who, if not Homer, used the imagination of his thoughts and the rhythm of his verses to bring to life and celebrate gods, humans, places, and various deeds? He used a wealth of language to depict all sorts of creatures and remarkable things—lions, pigs, leopards. By describing their forms and traits and comparing them to human actions, he revealed the characteristics of each. He even dared to liken the forms of gods to those of men. Hephaestus crafted Achilles' shield; he sculpted in gold the land, sky, sea, the greatness of the Sun, the beauty of the Moon, and the multitude of stars adorning everything. He depicted cities in different states and conditions, along with animals that moved and spoke. Who has more skill than the creator of such an art?
Let us see in another example out of many how poems resemble more those things that are seen than those that are heard. As for example, in the passage where he tells of the wound of Odysseus, he introduces what Eurychleias did (O. xix. 468):—
Let’s look at another example of how poems are more like things that can be seen than things that can be heard. For instance, in the part where he describes Odysseus’s wound, he includes what Eurycleia did (O. xix. 468):—
Now the old woman took the scarred limb and passed her hand
down it, and knew it by the touch and let the foot drop
suddenly, so that the knees fell into the bath, and the vessel
broke, being turned over on the other side, and that water was
spilled on the ground. Then grief and joy came on her in one
moment, and her eyes filled with tears, and the voice of her
utterance was stayed, and touching the chin of Odysseus, she
spake to him saying, "Yea, verily, thou art Odysseus, my dear
child, and I knew thee not before till I had handled all the
body of my lord." Therewithal she looked toward Penelope, as
minded to make a sign and the rest.
Now the old woman took the scarred limb and ran her hand down it, recognizing it by touch. She suddenly let the foot drop, causing the knees to fall into the bath, and the vessel tipped over, spilling water on the ground. In that moment, grief and joy flooded over her, tears filled her eyes, and she lost her voice. Touching Odysseus's chin, she said to him, "Yes, truly, you are Odysseus, my dear child, and I didn't recognize you until I felt every part of my lord's body." With that, she looked toward Penelope, as if to signal something to her and the others.
For here more things are shown than can be in a picture and those can be weighed by the eyes. They are not to be taken in by the eyes, but by the intelligence alone: such as the letting go of the foot through emotion, the sound of the tears, the spilt water and the grief, and at the same time the joy of the old women, her words to Odysseus, and what she is about to say as she looks toward Penelope. Many other things are graphically revealed in the poet which come out when he is read.
For here more things are revealed than can be shown in a picture, and those can be measured by the eyes. They are not to be understood just through sight, but through intelligence alone: like the way emotion releases the foot, the sound of tears, the spilled water, and the sorrow, along with the joy of the old woman, her words to Odysseus, and what she is about to say as she looks at Penelope. Many other things are vividly expressed in the poem that become clear when it is read.
It is time to close a work which we have woven, like a crown from a beflowered and variegated field, and which we offer to Muses. And we, we shall not lay it to the heart if any one censures us, because the Homeric poems contain the basis of evil things, if we ascribe to him various political, ethical, and scientific discussions. Since good things are by themselves simple, straightforward, and unprepared; but what is mixed with evil has many different modes and all kinds of combinations, from which the substance of the matter is derived. If evil is added to the others, the knowledge and choice of the good is made easier. And on the whole a subject of this sort gives occasion to the poet for originating discourse of all kinds, some belonging to himself, some proper to the characters he introduces. From this circumstance be gives much profit to his readers. Why should we not ascribe to Homer every excellence? Those things that he did not work up, they who came after him have noticed. And some make use of his verses for divination, like the oracles of God. Others setting forward other projects fit to them for our use what he has said by changing or transposing it.
It’s time to wrap up a work we’ve crafted, like a crown made from a vibrant and colorful field, which we present to the Muses. And we won’t take it to heart if anyone criticizes us, because the Homeric poems have a foundation of dark themes, especially if we attribute various political, ethical, and scientific discussions to him. Good things, in themselves, are simple and direct; but when mixed with evil, they take on many different forms and combinations, which is where the essence of the matter comes from. If evil is mixed in, understanding and choosing what is good becomes clearer. Overall, a subject like this provides the poet with the opportunity to create different kinds of discourse, some personal to him and some specific to the characters he portrays. Because of this, he offers great value to his readers. Why shouldn’t we attribute every excellence to Homer? Those elements that he didn’t develop have been recognized by those who came after him. Some even use his verses for divination, like God’s oracles. Others, pursuing different projects, adapt what he has said by altering or rearranging it for our benefit.
THE BANQUET OF THE SEVEN WISE MEN.
THE SEVEN,—SOLON, DIAS, THALES, ANACHARSIS, CLEOBULUS, PITTACUS, CHILO.
NILOXENUS, EUMETIS, ALEXIDEMUS PERIANDER, ARDALUS, AESOP, CLEODEMUS, MNESIPHILUS, CHERSIAS, GORGIAS, DIOCLES. DIOCLES TO NICARCHUS
NILOXENUS, EUMETIS, ALEXIDEMUS PERIANDER, ARDALUS, AESOP, CLEODEMUS, MNESIPHILUS, CHERSIAS, GORGIAS, DIOCLES. DIOCLES TO NICARCHUS
No wonder, my friend Nicarchus, to find old truths so disguised, and the words and actions of men so grossly and misrepresented and lamely delivered, seeing people are so disposed to give ear and credit to fictions of yesterday's standing. For there were not merely seven present at that feast, as you were informed; there were more than double the number. I was there myself in person familiarly acquainted with Periander (my art had gained me his acquaintance); and Thales boarded at my house, at the request and upon the recommendation of Periander. Whoever then gave you that account of our feast did it very inadequately; it is plain he did it upon hearsay and that he was not there among us. Now, that we are together and at leisure, and possibly we may not live to find an opportunity so convenient another time, I will (as you wish it) give you a faithful account of the whole proceedings at that meeting.
It's no surprise, my friend Nicarchus, that old truths are so poorly disguised, and the words and actions of people are so misrepresented and clumsily expressed, considering how willing people are to believe yesterday's stories. There weren't just seven of us at that feast, as you were told; there were actually more than double that number. I was there myself, well acquainted with Periander (my profession had earned me his friendship); and Thales stayed at my house, at Periander's request and recommendation. Whoever gave you that account of our feast clearly did a terrible job; it's obvious they only heard about it and weren't actually present. Now that we're together and have some free time, and maybe we won't have such a convenient chance again, I will (as you wish) give you an honest account of what happened at that meeting.
Periander had prepared a dinner for us, not in the town, but in a dining-hall which stands close to the temple of Venus, to whom there was a sacrifice that day. For having neglected the duty ever since his mother died for love, he was resolved now to atone for the omission, being warned so to do by the dreams of Melissa. In order thereunto, there was provided a rich chariot for every one of the guests. It was summer-time, and every part of the way quite to the seaside was hardly passable, by reason of throngs of people and whole clouds of dust. As soon as Thales espied the chariot waiting at the door, he smilingly discharged it, and we walked through the fields to avoid the press and noise. There was in our company a third person, Niloxenus a Naucratian, an eminent man, who was very intimately acquainted with Solon and Thales in Egypt; he had a message to deliver to Bias, and a letter sealed, the contents whereof he knew not; only he guessed it contained a second question to be resolved by Bias, and in case Bias undertook not to answer it, he had in commission to impart it to the wisest men in Greece. What a fortune is this (quoth Niloxenus) to find you all together! This paper (showing it us) I am bringing to the banquet. Thales replied, after his wonted smiling way, If it contains any hard question, away with it to Priene. Bias will resolve it with the same readiness he did your former problem. What problem was that? quoth he. Why, saith Thales, a certain person sent him a beast for sacrifice with this command, that he should return him that part of his flesh which was best and worst; our philosopher very gravely and wisely pulled out the tongue of the beast, and sent it to the donor;—which single act procured him the name and reputation of a very wise man. It was not this act alone that advanced him in the estimation of the world, quoth Niloxenus; but he joyfully embraces what you so carefully shun, the acquaintance and friendship of kings and great men; and whereas he honors you for divers great accomplishments, he particularly admires you for this invention, that with little labor and no help of any mathematical instrument you took so truly the height of one of the pyramids; for fixing your staff erect at the point of the shadow which the pyramid cast, two triangles being thus made by the tangent rays of the sun, you demonstrated that what proportion one shadow had to the other, such the pyramid bore to the stick.
Periander had organized a dinner for us, not in the town, but in a dining hall near the temple of Venus, where there was a sacrifice happening that day. Since he had ignored this duty ever since his mother died because of love, he was now determined to make up for it, prompted by dreams from Melissa. To that end, a lavish chariot was provided for each guest. It was summer, and the road to the seaside was barely passable due to the crowds and clouds of dust. As soon as Thales saw the chariot waiting at the door, he smiled and dismissed it, so we decided to walk through the fields to avoid the crowd and noise. Along with us was a third person, Niloxenus from Naucratis, a distinguished man who was very close to Solon and Thales in Egypt; he had a message to deliver to Bias and a sealed letter, the contents of which he didn’t know. He only guessed it contained a second question to be answered by Bias, and if Bias couldn't answer it, he was instructed to take it to the wisest men in Greece. “What a stroke of luck it is,” Niloxenus said, “to find you all here together! This paper” (showing it to us) “I’m bringing to the banquet.” Thales replied, as was his way with a smile, “If it has any tricky question, send it away to Priene. Bias will handle it just as easily as he did your last problem.” “What problem was that?” he asked. Thales said, “Someone sent him an animal for sacrifice with the instruction that he should return the best and worst part of its flesh. Our philosopher seriously and wisely pulled out the animal’s tongue and sent it to the sender, which earned him the reputation of being very wise.” “It wasn’t just this act that raised him in the esteem of others,” Niloxenus added, “but he gladly embraces what you carefully avoid, the friendships and connections with kings and powerful people. While he respects you for many great achievements, he particularly admires you for the clever way you measured the height of one of the pyramids. By standing your stick upright at the tip of the shadow cast by the pyramid, you created two triangles with the sun's rays and showed that the ratio of one shadow to the other was the same as that of the pyramid to the stick.”
But, as I said, you are accused of being a hater of kings, and certain false friends of yours have presented Amasis with a paper of yours stuffed with sentences reproachful to majesty; as for instance, being at a certain time asked by Molpagoras the Ionian, what the most absurd thing was you had observed in your notice, you replied, An old king. Another time, in a dispute that happened in your company about the nature of beasts, you affirmed that of wild beasts, a king, of tame, a flatterer, was the worst. Such apothegms must needs be unacceptable to kings, who pretend there is vast difference between them and tyrants. This was Pittacus's reply to Myrsilus, and it was spoken in jest, quoth Thales; nor was it an old king I said I should marvel at, but an old pilot. In this mistake however, I am much of the youth's mind who, throwing a stone at a dog, hit his stepmother, adding, Not so bad. I therefore esteemed Solon a very wise and good man, when I understood he refused empire; and if Pittacus had not taken upon himself a monarchy, he had never exclaimed, O ye gods! how hard a matter it is to be good! And Periander, however he seems to be sick of his father's disease, is yet to be commended that he gives ear to wholesome discourses and converses only with wise and good men, rejecting the advice of Thrasybulus my countryman who would have persuaded him to chop off the heads of the leading men. For a prince that chooses rather to govern slaves than freemen is like a foolish farmer, who throws his wheat and barley in the streets, to fill his barns with swarms of locusts and whole cages of birds. For government has one good thing to make amends for its many evils, namely, honor and glory, provided one rules good men as being better than they and great men because greater than they. But he that having ascended the throne minds only his own interest and ease, is fitter to tend sheep or to drive horses or to feed cattle than to govern men.
But as I mentioned, you’re accused of hating kings, and some of your so-called friends have given Amasis a document filled with your statements that criticize royalty; for example, when Molpagoras the Ionian asked you what the most absurd thing you had seen was, you replied, “An old king.” Another time, during a discussion you were part of about the nature of animals, you claimed that among wild beasts, a king, and among tame ones, a flatterer, are the worst. Such remarks are bound to upset kings, who like to think there’s a huge difference between themselves and tyrants. This was Pittacus's response to Myrsilus, and it was said in jest, as Thales remarked; and I wasn't actually expressing wonder about an old king, but an old pilot. However, I share the mindset of a young man who, while aiming a stone at a dog, accidentally hit his stepmother, saying, “Not so bad.” I therefore consider Solon to be a very wise and good man, especially when I learned that he turned down power; and if Pittacus hadn’t taken on a monarchy, he wouldn’t have cried out, “Oh gods! How hard it is to be good!” And Periander, though he seems to have inherited his father's flaws, still deserves praise for listening to wise advice and surrounding himself with good people, rejecting the suggestions of my fellow countryman Thrasybulus, who urged him to behead the leading citizens. A ruler who prefers to govern slaves over free men is like a foolish farmer who throws his wheat and barley into the streets to fill his barns with swarms of locusts and piles of birds. Because governance has one redeeming quality to compensate for its many troubles: honor and glory, as long as one rules over good men as better and great men as greater. However, someone who, having ascended the throne, only cares about their own comfort and interests is more suited to tending sheep, driving horses, or feeding cattle than to ruling people.
But this stranger (continues he) has engaged us in a deal of impertinent chat, for we have omitted to speak or offer any discourse suitable to the occasion and end of our meeting; for doubtless it becomes the guest as well as the host, to make preparation beforehand. It is reported that the Sybarites used to invite their neighbors' wives a whole twelve-month before to their entertainments, that they might have convenient time to trim and adorn themselves; for my part, I am of opinion, that he who would feast as he should ought to allow himself more time for preparation than they, it being a more difficult matter to compose the mind into an agreeable temper than to fit one's clothes for the outward ornament of the body. For a prudent man comes not hither only to fill his belly, as if he were to fill a bottle, but to be sometimes grave and serious, sometimes pleasant, sometimes to listen to others, and sometimes to speak himself what may benefit or divert the company, if the meeting is intended for any good use or purpose. For if the victuals be not good, men may let them alone, or if the wine be bad, men may use water; but for a weak-brained, impertinent, unmannerly, shallow fellow-commoner there is no cure; he mars all the mirth and music, and spoils the best entertainment in the world. And it will be no easy business to lay aside a sullen temper; since we find divers men, angered in their debauches, have yet remembered the provocation to their dying day, the spite remaining like a surfeit arising from wrong done or an insult received in drinking. Wherefore Chilo did very well and wisely; for when he invited yesterday, he would not promise to come till he had a particular given him of all their names who were to meet him. For, quoth he, if my business calls me to sea or I am pressed to serve my prince in his wars, there is a necessity upon me to rest contented with whatever company I fall into, though never so unsuitable to my quality or disagreeable to my nature and humor; but voluntarily and needlessly to associate myself with any riffraff rabble would ill become any man pretending to but common discretion.
But this stranger (he continues) has engaged us in a lot of pointless conversation, as we have failed to speak or share anything appropriate for the purpose of our meeting. After all, it's the responsibility of both the guest and the host to prepare in advance. It's said that the Sybarites would invite their neighbors' wives a whole year in advance for their gatherings so they would have enough time to get ready. Personally, I believe that someone who wants to host a proper feast should allow even more time to prepare, as it’s harder to get oneself in a good mood than to get dressed for the occasion. A sensible person doesn't come here just to fill their stomach like they would fill a bottle; they come to be serious at times, light-hearted at others, to listen or share something that brings benefit or joy to the group, if the gathering has any meaningful purpose. If the food isn’t good, people can skip it; if the wine is bad, they can drink water instead. But for a dull, rude, and shallow person, there is no remedy; they ruin all the fun and spoil even the best gathering. It can be tough to shake off a bad mood; some people cling to their anger from drunken insults for the rest of their lives, like a bad hangover. That’s why Chilo acted wisely when he invited people yesterday; he wouldn’t promise to attend until he had a complete list of all the names of those who were to be there. He said, if my business takes me out to sea or I am called to serve my prince in battle, I must be okay with whatever company I happen to be with, no matter how unsuitable or uncomfortable it may be for me. But to voluntarily and unnecessarily surround myself with a bunch of riffraff would not reflect well on anyone claiming even basic common sense.
The Egyptian skeleton which they brought into their feasts and exposed to the view of their guests, with this advice, that they should not in their merriment forget they would shortly be themselves such as that was,—though it was a sight not so acceptable (as may be supposed),—had yet this conveniency and use, to incite the spectators not to luxury and drunkenness but to mutual love and friendship, persuading them not to protract a life in itself short and uncertain by a tedious course of wickedness.
The Egyptian skeleton they brought into their feasts and showed to their guests served as a reminder not to forget that they would soon be like that—though it was certainly not a pleasant sight. However, it had the benefit of encouraging the guests to focus on love and friendship rather than indulging in excess and drunkenness, urging them not to waste their brief and uncertain lives through a long path of wrongdoing.
In discourses of this kind we spent our time by the way, and were now come to the house. Here Thales would not be washed, for he had but a while before anointed himself; wherefore he took a round to view the horse-race and the wrestling-place, and the grove upon the water-side, which was neatly trimmed and beautified by Periander; this he did, not so much to satisfy his own curiosity (for he seldom or never admired anything he saw), but that he might not disoblige Periander or seem to overlook or despise the glory and magnificence of our host. Of the rest every one, after he had anointed and washed himself, the servants introduced into a particular room, purposely fitted and prepared for the men; they were guided thither through a porch, in which Anacharsis sat, and there was a certain young lady with him combing his hair. This lady stepping forward to welcome Thales, he kissed her most courteously, and smiling said: Madam, make our host fair and pleasant, so that, being (as he is) the mildest man in the world, he may not be fearful and terrible for us to look on. When I was curious to inquire who this lady was, he said, Do you not yet know the wise and famous Eumetis? for so her father calls her, though others call her after her father's name Cleobulina. Doubtless, saith Niloxenus, they call her by this name to commend her judgment and wit, and her reach into the more abstruse and recondite part of learning; for I have myself in Egypt seen and read some problems first started and discussed by her. Not so, saith Thales, for she plays with these as with cockal-bones, and deals boldly with all she meets; she is a person of an admirable understanding, of a shrewd capacious mind, of a very obliging conversation, and one that prevails upon her father to govern his subjects with the greatest mildness. How democratic she is appears, saith Niloxenus, plainly to any that observes her simple innocent garb. But pray, continues he, wherefore is it that she shows such affection to Anacharsis? Because, replied Thales, he is a temperate and learned man, who fully and freely makes known to her those mysterious ways of dieting and physicing the sick which are now in use among the Scythians; and I doubt not she now coaxes and courts the old gentleman at the rate you see, taking this opportunity to discourse with him and learn something of him.
In conversations like this, we spent our time along the way and had now arrived at the house. Thales wouldn't wash up because he had just anointed himself a little while before; instead, he went around to check out the horse race and the wrestling area, as well as the grove by the water, which Periander had nicely trimmed and decorated. He did this not so much to satisfy his own curiosity (since he rarely admired anything he saw) but to avoid displeasing Periander or appearing to overlook or dismiss the glory and splendor of our host. The others, after anointing and washing themselves, were led by the servants into a special room that had been prepared for the men; they accessed it through a porch where Anacharsis was sitting, accompanied by a young lady who was combing his hair. The lady stepped forward to greet Thales, and he kissed her politely, smiling as he said: "Madam, make our host charming and pleasant, so that, being (as he is) the gentlest man in the world, he doesn't seem intimidating for us to look at." When I was curious to know who this lady was, he replied, "Don't you recognize the wise and renowned Eumetis? That's what her father calls her, although others refer to her by her father's name, Cleobulina." "Surely," said Niloxenus, "they call her this name to highlight her judgment and intelligence, as well as her insight into the deeper aspects of learning; for I have seen and read some problems in Egypt that she brought up and discussed." "Not quite," said Thales, "for she toys with these matters like they are dice, and engages boldly with everyone she encounters; she is someone of remarkable understanding, with a sharp and open mind, and a very pleasant conversationalist, who influences her father to rule his subjects with the utmost kindness." "How democratic she seems," Niloxenus observed, "is clear to anyone who notices her simple, innocent attire." "But tell me," he continued, "why does she show such affection for Anacharsis?" "Because," Thales answered, "he is a balanced and learned man who openly shares with her the secret methods of diet and medicine for the sick that are currently practiced among the Scythians; and I have no doubt she is now flattering and charming the old gentleman as you see, using this chance to talk with him and learn from him."
As we were come near the dining-room, Alexidemus the Milesian, a bastard son of Thrasybulus the Tyrant, met us. He seemed to be disturbed, and in an angry tone muttered to himself some words which we could not distinctly hear; but espying Thales, and recovering himself out of his disorder, he complained how Periander had put an insufferable affront upon him. He would not permit me, saith he, to go to sea, though I earnestly importuned him, but he would press me to dine with him. And when I came as invited, he assigned me a seat unbecoming my person and character, Aeolians and islanders and others of inferior rank being placed above me; whence it is easy to infer how meanly he thinks of my father, and it is undeniable how this affront put upon me rebounds disgracefully in my parent's face. Say you so? quoth Thales, are you afraid lest the place lessen or diminish your honor and worth, as the Egyptians commonly hold the stars are magnified or lessened according to their higher or lower place and position? And are you more foolish than that Spartan who, when the prefect of the music had appointed him to sit in the lowest seat in the choir, replied, This is prudently done, for this is the ready way to bring this seat into repute and esteem? It is a frivolous consideration, where or below whom we sit; and it is a wiser part to adapt ourselves to the judgment and humor of our right and left hand man and the rest of the company, that we may approve ourselves worthy of their friendship, when they find we take no pet at our host, but are rather pleased to be placed near such good company. And whosoever is disturbed upon the account of his place seems to be more angry with his neighbor than with his host, but certainly is very troublesome and nauseous to both.
As we approached the dining room, Alexidemus the Milesian, an illegitimate son of Thrasybulus the Tyrant, met us. He appeared upset and muttered to himself in an angry tone, words we couldn't quite make out; however, when he spotted Thales and collected himself, he complained about how Periander had disrespected him. “He wouldn’t let me go to sea, even though I begged him to, but he insisted I join him for dinner. And when I arrived as invited, he gave me a seat that was beneath my status and character, putting Aeolians, islanders, and others of lower rank above me. From this, it’s easy to see how little he thinks of my father, and it's undeniable that this insult reflects poorly on my parent.” “Is that so?” Thales replied. “Are you worried that your honor and worth will be diminished by where you sit, like the Egyptians who believe stars are made greater or lesser based on their positions? Are you more foolish than that Spartan who, when the music prefect assigned him the lowest seat in the choir, said it was a smart move because it would elevate that seat’s reputation? It's a trivial concern where or below whom we sit; it's wiser to adjust to the views and moods of those to our right and left, so we can prove ourselves worthy of their friendship. When they see we’re not upset with our host and are glad to be near such good company, it’s far more admirable. Anyone who gets bothered about their seating seems more upset with their neighbors than their host, but they definitely become a hassle for both.”
These are fine words, and no more, quoth Alexidemus, for I observe you, the wisest of men, as ambitious as other men; and having said thus, he passed by us doggedly and trooped off. Thales, seeing us admiring the insolence of the man, declared he was a fellow naturally of a blockish, stupid disposition; for when he was a boy, he took a parcel of rich perfume that was presented to Thrasybulus and poured it into a large bowl and mixing it with a quantity of wine, drank it off and was ever hated for it. As Thales was talking after this fashion, in comes a servant and tells us it was Periander's pleasure we would come in and inform him what we thought of a certain creature brought into his presence that instant, whether it were so born by chance or were a monster and omen;—himself seeming mightily affected and concerned, for he judged his sacrifice polluted by it. At the same time he walked before us into a certain house adjoining to his garden-wall, where we found a young beardless shepherd, tolerably handsome, who having opened a leathern bag produced and showed us a child born (as he averred) of a mare. His upper parts as far as his neck and his hands, was of human shape, and the rest of his body resembled a perfect horse; his cry was like that of a child newly born. As soon as Niloxenus saw it, he cried out. The gods deliver us; and away he fled as one sadly affrighted. But Thales eyed the shepherd a considerable while, and then smiling (for it was his way to jeer me perpetually about my art) says he, I doubt not, Diocles, but you have been all this time seeking for some expiatory sacrifice, and meaning to call to your aid those gods whose province and work it is to avert evils from men, as if some greet and grievous thing had happened. Why not? quoth I, for undoubtedly this prodigy portends sedition and war, and I fear the dire portents thereof may extend to myself, my wife, and my children, and prove all our ruin; since, before I have atoned for my former fault, the goddess gives us this second evidence and proof of her displeasure. Thales replied never a word, but laughing went out of the house. Periander, meeting him at the door, inquired what we thought of that creature; he dismissed me, and taking Periander by the hand, said, Whatsoever Diocles shall persuade you to do, do it at your best leisure; but I advise you either not to have such youthful men to keep your mares, or to give them leave to marry. When Periander heard him out, he seemed infinitely pleased, for he laughed outright, and hugging Thales in his arms he kissed him; then saith he, O Diocles, I am apt to think the worst is over, and what this prodigy portended is now at an end; for do you not apprehend what a loss we have sustained in the want of Alexidemus's good company at supper?
These are just nice words, said Alexidemus, because I see you, the smartest of men, as ambitious as everyone else; and having said this, he walked past us stubbornly and left. Thales, noticing that we were amazed by the man's rudeness, said he was naturally dull and stupid; because when he was a kid, he took a bunch of expensive perfume meant for Thrasybulus, poured it into a large bowl, mixed it with a lot of wine, and drank it all up, which made everyone hate him for it. As Thales continued talking, a servant came in and told us that Periander wanted us to come in and tell him what we thought of a strange creature that had just been brought to him, whether it was just a random occurrence or a monster and a bad omen; he seemed quite upset and worried because he thought the sacrifice was tainted by it. At the same time, he walked in front of us into a house next to his garden wall, where we found a young shepherd, who was decent-looking and without a beard, who opened a leather bag and showed us a child that he claimed was born of a mare. Its upper body, up to its neck and hands, looked human, while the rest of its body looked like a complete horse; its cry was like a newborn baby. As soon as Niloxenus saw it, he shouted, "The gods save us!" and ran off, terrified. But Thales watched the shepherd for quite a while, and then smiling (since he loved to tease me about my skills) said, "I have no doubt, Diocles, that you've been looking for some kind of sacrifice to atone for this, planning to call upon those gods who are meant to protect people from misfortunes, as if something truly terrible has happened." "Why not?" I replied, "because this strange occurrence definitely signifies trouble and war, and I worry that the terrible signs of it may affect me, my wife, and my children, bringing ruin upon us; since, before I could make amends for my past mistakes, the goddess is giving us this second sign of her anger." Thales didn’t say anything, just laughed and left the house. Periander, meeting him at the door, asked what we thought of the creature; he let me go and, taking Periander by the hand, said, "Whatever Diocles suggests you do, take your time with it; but I advise you either not to let such young men take care of your mares, or to allow them to get married." When Periander heard this, he seemed really pleased, laughed heartily, hugged Thales, and kissed him; then he said, "Oh, Diocles, I think the worst is over, and whatever this phenomenon hinted at is now finished; don’t you see how much we missed Alexidemus's good company at dinner?"
When we entered into the house, Thales raising his voice inquired where it was his worship refused to be placed; which being shown him, he sat himself in that very place, and prayed us to sit down by him, and said, I would gladly give any money to have an opportunity to sit and eat with Ardalus. This Ardalus was a Troezenian by birth, by profession a minstrel, and a priest of the Ardalian Muses, whose temple old Ardalus had founded and dedicated. Here Aesop, who was sent from Croesus to visit Periander, and withal to consult the oracle at Delphi, sitting by and beneath Solon upon a low stool, told the company this fable: A Lydian mule, viewing his own picture in a river, and admiring the bigness and beauty of his body, raises his crest; he waxes proud, resolving to imitate the horse in his gait and running; but presently, recollecting his extraction, how that his father was but an ass at best, he stops his career and cheeks his own haughtiness and bravery. Chilo replied, after his short concise way, You are slow and yet try to run, in imitation of your mule.
When we walked into the house, Thales raised his voice and asked where his worship refused to sit. When it was pointed out to him, he took that very spot, asked us to sit down next to him, and said, "I would gladly pay anything to have the chance to sit and eat with Ardalus." This Ardalus was originally from Troezen, worked as a minstrel, and was a priest of the Ardalian Muses, whose temple the old Ardalus had built and dedicated. Aesop, who had been sent by Croesus to visit Periander and consult the oracle at Delphi, was sitting next to Solon on a low stool. He told the group this fable: A Lydian mule, seeing his own reflection in a river and admiring his size and beauty, raised his head high. He became proud, deciding to try to walk and run like a horse. But soon, remembering his lineage and that his father was just an ass, he stopped his bravado and checked his own pride. Chilo replied, in his usual concise manner, "You’re slow yet you try to run, just like your mule."
Amidst these discourses in comes Melissa and sits her down by Periander; Eumetis followed and came in as we were at supper; then Thales calls to me (I sat me down above Bias), Why do you not make Bias acquainted with the problems sent him from the King by Niloxenus this second time, that he may soberly and warily weigh them? Bias answered, I have been already scared with that news. I have known that Bacchus is otherwise a powerful deity, and for his wisdom is termed [Greek omitted] that is, THE INTERPRETER; therefore I shall undertake it when my belly is full of wine. Thus they jested and reparteed and played one upon another all the while they sat at table. Observing the unwonted frugality of Periander at this time, I considered with myself that the entertainment of wise and good men is a piece of good husbandry, and that so far from enhancing a man's expenses in truth it serves to save charge, the charge (to wit) of costly foreign unguents and junkets, and the waste of the richest wines, which Periander's state and greatness required him every day in his ordinary treats to expend. Such costly provisions were useless here, and Periander's wisdom appeared in his frugality. Moreover, his lady had laid aside her richer habit, and appeared in an ordinary, but a very becoming dress.
Amid all these conversations, Melissa came in and sat down next to Periander. Eumetis followed and arrived just as we were having dinner. Then Thales called to me (I was sitting above Bias), "Why don’t you let Bias know about the problems sent to him from the King by Niloxenus this time, so he can think them through carefully?" Bias replied, "I’ve already been spooked by that news. I know that Bacchus is a powerful deity and is called THE INTERPRETER because of his wisdom; so I’ll take it on when my stomach is full of wine." They continued to joke and tease each other while they sat at the table. Noticing Periander’s unusual frugality during this meal, I thought to myself that hosting wise and good people is a form of smart spending, and instead of increasing a man's expenses, it actually helps save on the costs of expensive oils and treats, as well as the waste of the finest wines that Periander's status usually required him to spend on daily feasts. Such extravagant items were unnecessary here, and Periander's wisdom showed through his frugality. Additionally, his lady had set aside her richer attire and appeared in a simpler, yet very flattering dress.
Supper now ended, and Melissa having distributed the garlands, we offered sacrifice; and when the minstrel had played us a tune or two, she withdrew. Then Ardalus inquired of Anacharsis, if there were women fiddlers at Scythia. He suddenly and smartly replied, There are no vines there. Ardalus asked a second question, whether the Scythians had any gods among them. Yes, quoth Anacharsis, and they understand what men say to them; nor are the Scythians of the Grecian opinion (however these last may be the better orators), that the gods are better pleased with the sounds of flutes and pipes than with the voice of men. My friend, saith Aesop, what would you say if you saw our present pipe-makers throw away the bones of fawns and hind-calves, to use those of asses, affirming they yield the sweeter and more melodious sound? Whereupon Cleobulina made one of her riddles about the Phrygian flute,... in regard to the sound, and wondered that an ass, a gross animal and so alien from music should yet supply bones so fit for harmony. Therefore it is doubtless, quoth Niloxenus, that the people of Busiris blame us Naucratians for using pipes made of asses' bones it being an insufferable crime in an of them to listen to the flute or cornet, the sound thereof being (as they esteem it) so like the braying of an ass; and you know an ass is hateful to the Egyptians on account of Typhon.
Supper was over, and after Melissa handed out the garlands, we offered a sacrifice. When the minstrel played a tune or two, she left. Then Ardalus asked Anacharsis if there were any women fiddlers in Scythia. Anacharsis quickly replied, "There are no vines there." Ardalus asked if the Scythians had any gods. "Yes," Anacharsis said, "and they understand what men say to them; the Scythians don’t share the Greek belief (even though the Greeks may be better speakers) that the gods prefer the sounds of flutes and pipes over the voices of men." Aesop said, "My friend, what would you think if you saw our current pipe-makers throwing away deer bones to use donkey bones instead, claiming they produce a sweeter, more melodic sound?" Cleobulina then made a riddle about the Phrygian flute, expressing her surprise that a donkey, such a clumsy animal and so different from music, could provide bones so suitable for harmony. Therefore, Niloxenus remarked, "It’s certainly true that the people of Busiris criticize us Naucratians for using pipes made from donkey bones, as it’s considered a serious offense there to listen to the flute or cornet, whose sound is, in their view, too similar to the braying of a donkey; and you know the Egyptians hate donkeys because of Typhon."
There happening here a short silence, Periander, observing Niloxenus willing but not daring to speak, said: I cannot but commend the civility of those magistrates who give audience first to strangers and afterwards to their own citizens; wherefore I judge it convenient that we inhabitants and neighbors should proceed no farther at present in our discourse, and that now attention be given to those royal propositions sent us from Egypt, which the worthy Niloxenus is commissioned to deliver to Bias, who wishes that he and we may scan and examine them together. And Bias said: For where or in what company would a man more joyfully adventure to give his opinion than here in this? And since it is his Majesty's pleasure that I should give my judgment first, in obedience to his commands I will do so, and afterwards they shall come to every one of you in order.
There was a brief silence, and Periander, noticing that Niloxenus wanted to speak but hesitated, said: I can’t help but admire the courtesy of those officials who listen to strangers first and their own citizens second. Therefore, I think it's best that we, the locals and neighbors, hold off on our discussion for now and focus on the royal proposals sent to us from Egypt, which the honorable Niloxenus has been tasked with delivering to Bias. Bias, who wants us to review them together, responded: Where else would a man be more eager to share his thoughts than right here? And since it’s the King's wish for me to give my opinion first, I will follow his orders and then it will be your turn, one by one.
Then Niloxenus delivered the paper to Bias, who broke up the seal and commanded it to be read in all their hearing. The contents were these:
Then Niloxenus handed the paper to Bias, who opened the seal and ordered it to be read aloud for everyone to hear. The contents were as follows:
Amasis the king of Egypt, to Bias, the wisest of the Grecians, greeting. There is a contest between my brother of Ethiopia and myself about wisdom; and being baffled in divers other particulars, he now demands of me a thing absurd and impracticable; for he requires me to drink up the ocean dry. If I be able to read this his riddle, divers cities and towns now in his possession are to be annexed to my kingdom; but if I cannot resolve this hard sentence, and give him the right meaning thereof, he requires of me my right to all the towns bordering upon Elephantina. Consider with speed the premises, and let me receive your thoughts by Niloxenus. Pray lose no time. If in anything I can be serviceable to your city or friends, you may command me. Farewell.
Amasis, the king of Egypt, to Bias, the wisest of the Greeks, greetings. There's a competition between my brother from Ethiopia and me about wisdom; and after being puzzled in various other matters, he now demands something absurd and impossible from me: he wants me to drink up the ocean dry. If I can solve this riddle, several cities and towns currently under his control will be added to my kingdom; but if I can't figure out this difficult statement and give him the correct interpretation, he’ll take away my rights to all the towns near Elephantina. Please think about this quickly and send me your thoughts through Niloxenus. Don’t waste any time. If there's anything I can do for your city or friends, just let me know. Goodbye.
Bias, having perused and for a little time meditated upon the letter, and whispering Cleobulus in the ear (he sat by him), exclaimed: What a narration is here, O Niloxenus! Will Amasis, who governs so many men and is seized of so many flourishing territories, drink up the ocean for the gain of a few paltry, beggarly villages? Niloxenus replied with a smile: Consider, good sir, what is to be done, if he will obey. Why then, said Bias, let Amasis require the Ethopian king to stop the stream which from all parts flow and empty themselves in the ocean, until he have drunk out the whole remainder; for I conceive he means the present waters, not those which shall flow into it hereafter. Niloxenus was so overjoyed at this answer, that he could not contain himself. He hugged and kissed the author, and the whole company liked his opinion admirably well; and Chilo laughing desired Niloxenus to get aboard immediately before the sea was consumed, and tell his master he should mind more how to render his government sweet and potable to his people, than how to swallow such a quantity of salt water. For Bias, he told him, understands these things very well, and knows how to oblige your lord with very useful instructions, which if he vouchsafe to attend, he shall no more need a golden basin to wash his feet, to gain respect from his subjects; all will love and honor him for his virtue, though he were ten thousand times more hateful to them than he is. It were well and worthily done, quoth Periander, if all of us did pay him our first-fruits in this kind by the poll (as Homer said). Such a course would bring him an accession of profit greater than the whole proceeds of the voyage, besides being of great use to ourselves.
Bias, after reading and thinking about the letter for a little while, leaned over to whisper in Cleobulus's ear (who was sitting next to him) and exclaimed: What a story this is, O Niloxenus! Will Amasis, who rules so many people and owns so many prosperous lands, really drink up the ocean just to gain a few worthless, poverty-stricken villages? Niloxenus smiled and replied: Consider, good sir, what should be done if he decides to go along with it. Then Bias said, let Amasis ask the Ethiopian king to stop the flow of all the rivers that run into the ocean until he has drunk every last drop; because I think he means the current waters, not those that will flow in later. Niloxenus was so thrilled with this response that he couldn’t hold back. He hugged and kissed the speaker, and the entire group loved his suggestion. Chilo laughed and urged Niloxenus to get on board right away before the sea was drained, and tell his master that he should focus more on making his governance appealing and enjoyable for his people rather than trying to drink such a huge amount of saltwater. Bias, he said, knows these matters well and can provide your lord with valuable advice; and if he pays attention, he won’t need a gold basin to wash his feet to earn respect from his subjects; everyone will love and honor him for his character, even if he were a thousand times more disliked by them than he is now. It would be good and fitting, Periander remarked, if we all paid him our first offerings in this way (as Homer said). Such a plan would provide him with more profit than the entire proceeds of the voyage, while also being extremely beneficial for us.
To this point it is fit that Solon should first speak, quoth Chilo, not only because he is the eldest in the company and therefore sits uppermost at table, but because he governs and gives laws to the amplest and most complete and flourishing republic in the world, that of Athens. Here Niloxenus whispered me in the ear: O Diocles, saith he, how many reports fly about and are believed, and how some men delight in lies which they either feign of their own heads or most greedily swallow from the mouths of others. In Egypt I heard it reported how Chilo had renounced all friendship and correspondence with Solon, because he maintained the mutability of laws. A ridiculous fiction, quoth I, for then he and we must have renounced Lycurgus, who changed the laws and indeed the whole government of Sparta.
At this point, it makes sense for Solon to speak first, Chilo said, not just because he’s the oldest in the group and sits at the head of the table, but also because he leads and creates laws for the largest, most complete, and thriving republic in the world, Athens. At that moment, Niloxenus leaned in and whispered to me: "Oh Diocles," he said, "how many stories are out there that people believe, and how some people enjoy lies they either make up themselves or eagerly accept from others." In Egypt, I heard it said that Chilo had cut off all friendship and communication with Solon because he believed in the changing nature of laws. "What a ridiculous myth," I replied, "because then he and we would have to reject Lycurgus, who changed the laws and effectively the entire government of Sparta."
Solon, pausing awhile, gave his opinion in these words. I conceive that monarch, whether king or tyrant, were infinitely to be commanded, who would exchange his monarchy for a commonwealth. Bias subjoined, And who would be first and foremost in conforming to the laws of his country. Thales added, I reckon that prince happy, who, being old, dies in his bed a natural death. Fourthly, Anacharsis, If he alone be a wise man. Fifthly, Cleobulus said, If he trust none of his courtiers. Sixthly, Pittacus spake thus, If he could so treat his subjects that they feared not him but for him. Lastly, Chilo concluded thus, A magistrate ought to meditate no mortal thing but everything immortal.
Solon paused for a moment and shared his thoughts. I believe that any monarch, whether a king or a tyrant, would be wise to give up his monarchy for a republic. Bias added that he should be the first to follow the laws of his country. Thales remarked that a truly fortunate prince is one who, when old, dies naturally in his own bed. Anacharsis said that he is the only wise man. Cleobulus stated that he should trust none of his advisors. Pittacus expressed that he should govern his subjects in a way that they fear him only for their own good. Finally, Chilo concluded that a magistrate should focus on nothing mortal but everything eternal.
When all had given in their judgments upon this point, we requested Periander to let us know his thoughts. Disorder and discontent appearing in his countenance, he said, These opinions are enough to scare any wise man from affecting, empire. These things, saith Aesop after his reproving way, ought rather to have been discussed privately among ourselves, lest we be accounted antimonarchical while we desire to be esteemed friends and loyal counsellors. Solon, gently touching him on the head and smiling, answered: Do you not perceive that any one would make a king more moderate and a tyrant more favorable, who should persuade him that it is better not to reign than to reign? Who would believe you before the oracle delivered unto you, quoth Aesop which pronounced that city happy that heard but one crier. Yes, quoth Solon, and Athens, now a commonwealth, hath but one crier and one magistrate, the law, though the government be democratical; but you, my friend, have been so accustomed to the croaking of ravens and the prating of jays, that you do not hear clearly your own voice. For you maintain it to be the happiness of a city to be under the command of one man, and yet account it the merit of a feast if liberty is allowed every man to speak his mind freely upon what subject he pleases. But you have not prohibited your servants' drunkenness at Athens, Aesop said, as you have forbidden them to love or to use dry ointments. Solon laughed at this; but Cleodorus the physician said: To use dry ointment is like talking when a man is soaked with wine; both are very pleasant. Therefore, saith Chilo, men ought the more carefully to avoid it. Aesop proceeds, Thales seemed to imply that he should soon grow old.
When everyone had shared their opinions on the matter, we asked Periander for his thoughts. Looking troubled and unhappy, he said, "These opinions would scare any wise person away from wanting to rule. Aesop, in his pointed way, suggests that these discussions should have been held in private to avoid us being seen as anti-monarchists while we wish to be regarded as friends and loyal advisors." Solon gently touched him on the head and smiled, replying, "Don't you see that anyone who persuades a king that it's better not to rule than to rule would make him more moderate and a tyrant more sympathetic? Who would believe you before the oracle proclaimed that the city is fortunate that has only one crier?" Solon continued, "Yes, and Athens, now a commonwealth, has just one crier and one magistrate—the law—despite the government being democratic. But you, my friend, have become so used to the noise of crows and the chatter of jays that you don’t clearly hear your own voice. You argue that a city’s happiness lies in being ruled by one person, yet you consider it a benefit if everyone can freely express their opinions on any topic. However, you haven't prohibited your servants from getting drunk in Athens, Aesop said, just as you've forbidden them to love or to use dry ointments." Solon laughed at this, but Cleodorus the physician added, "Using dry ointment is like talking when someone is drunk with wine; both are quite enjoyable. So, Chilo suggests, men should be even more careful about avoiding it." Aesop went on, "Thales seemed to suggest that he would soon grow old."
Periander said laughing: We suffer deservedly, for, before we have perfected any remarks upon the letter, we are fallen upon disputes foreign to the matter under consideration; and therefore I pray, Niloxenus, read out the remainder of your lord's letter, and slip not this opportunity to receive what satisfaction all that are present shall be able to give you. The command of the king of Ethiopia, says Niloxenus, is no more and no less than (to use Archilochus's phrase) a broken scytale; that is, the meaning is inscrutable and cannot be found out. But your master Amasis was more mild and polite in his queries; for he commanded him only to resolve him what was most ancient, most beautiful, greatest, wisest, most common, and withal, what was most profitable, most pernicious, most strong, and most easy. Did he resolve and answer every one of these questions? He did, quoth Niloxenus, and do you judge of his answers and the soundness thereof: and it is my Prince's purpose not to misrepresent his responses and condemn unjustly what he saith well, so, where he finds him under a mistake, not to suffer that to pass without correction. His answers to the foresaid questions I will read to you.—What is most ancient? Time. What is greatest? The World. What is wisest? Truth. What is most beautiful? The light. What is most common? Death. What is most profitable? God. What is most Pernicious? An evil genius. What is strongest? Fortune. What is most easy? That which is pleasant.
Periander said with a laugh: We're suffering as we deserve, because before we've even made any good points about the letter, we get caught up in unrelated arguments. So I ask you, Niloxenus, please read the rest of your lord's letter, and don’t miss this chance to get any insights that everyone here can offer you. Niloxenus says the command from the king of Ethiopia is nothing more than (to borrow Archilochus's phrase) a broken scytale; meaning its meaning is impossible to decipher. But your master Amasis was more gentle and courteous in his questions; he only asked him to clarify what is the most ancient, the most beautiful, the greatest, the wisest, the most common, and also what is the most profitable, the most harmful, the strongest, and the easiest. Did he answer all of these questions? Yes, said Niloxenus, and you can evaluate the validity of his answers: my Prince intends to accurately represent his responses and avoid unjustly criticizing what he says well, so where he finds any mistakes, he won't let them go uncorrected. I will read you his answers to those questions.—What is most ancient? Time. What is greatest? The World. What is wisest? Truth. What is most beautiful? The light. What is most common? Death. What is most profitable? God. What is most harmful? An evil spirit. What is strongest? Fortune. What is most easy? That which is enjoyable.
When Niloxenus had read out these answers, there was a short silence among them; by and by Thales desires Niloxenus to inform him if Amasis approved of these answers. Niloxenus said, he liked some and disliked others. There is not one of them right and sound, quoth Thales, but all are full of wretched folly and ignorance. As for instance, how can that be most ancient whereof part is past, part is now present, and part is yet to come; every man knows it is younger than ourselves and our actions. As to his answer that truth is the most wise thing, it is as incongruous as if he had affirmed the light to be an eye if he judged the light to be the most beautiful how could he omit the sun; as to his solutions concerning the gods and evil genuises, they are full of presumption and peril. What he saith of Fortune is void of sense, for her inconstancy and fickleness proceed from want of strength and power. Nor is death the most common thing; the living are still at liberty, it hath not arrested them. But lest we be blamed as having a faculty to find fault only, we will lay down our opinions of these things, and compare them with those of the Ethiopian; I offer my self first, if Niloxenus pleases, to deliver my opinion on every one singly and I will relate both questions and answers in that method and order in which they were sent to Ethiopia and read to us. What is most ancient Thales answered, God, for he had no beginning. What is greatest? Place; the World contains all other things, this surrounds and contains the world. What is most beautiful? The world; for whatever is framed artificially and methodically is a part of it. What is most wise? Time; for it has found out some things already, it will find out the rest in due time. What is most common Hope; for they that want other things are masters of this. What is most profitable? Virtue; for by a right managery of other things she makes them all beneficial and advantageous. What is most pernicious? Vice; for it depraves the best things we enjoy. What is most strong? Necessity; for this alone is insuperable. What is most easy? That which is most agreeable to nature; for pleasures themselves are sometimes tedious and nauseating.
When Niloxenus finished reading these answers, there was a brief pause among them. Eventually, Thales asked Niloxenus if Amasis liked these responses. Niloxenus replied that he liked some and disliked others. "None of them are completely accurate or sensible," Thales said, "but all are full of dreadful foolishness and ignorance. For example, how can something be the most ancient if part of it is in the past, part is present, and part is yet to come? Everyone knows it is younger than we are and our actions. As for the answer that truth is the wisest thing, it makes no sense; it's like saying that light is an eye if he thinks light is the most beautiful—how could he leave out the sun? Regarding his ideas about the gods and evil spirits, they are full of arrogance and danger. What he says about Fortune is nonsense, as her unpredictability comes from a lack of strength and power. And death is not the most common thing; the living still have their freedom; it hasn't captured them. But to avoid being accused of just finding faults, we will share our views on these matters and compare them to those of the Ethiopian. I will go first, if Niloxenus agrees, and I will express my thoughts on each one individually, relating both the questions and answers in the order they were sent to Ethiopia and read to us. What is most ancient? Thales answered, "God, because He has no beginning." What is greatest? "Space; the World contains everything else, and it envelops and contains the world." What is most beautiful? "The world; everything that is crafted artificially and methodically is a part of it." What is most wise? "Time; because it has already discovered some things, and it will reveal the rest in due course." What is most common? "Hope; because those who lack other things still possess this." What is most profitable? "Virtue; because by managing other things correctly, it makes them all beneficial and advantageous." What is most harmful? "Vice; because it corrupts the best things we enjoy." What is strongest? "Necessity; because this alone cannot be overcome." What is easiest? "That which aligns with nature; because pleasures can sometimes become tedious and nauseating."
All the consult approved of Thale's solutions. Cleodemus said: My friend Niloxenus, it becomes kings to propound and resolve such questions; but the insolence of that barbarian who would have Amasis drink the sea would have been better fitted by such a smart reprimand as Pittacus gave Alyattes, who sent an imperious letter to the Lesbians. He made him no other answer, but to bid him spend his time in eating his hot bread and onions.
All the advisors agreed with Thale's solutions. Cleodemus said: My friend Niloxenus, it's the role of kings to raise and settle such matters; but the arrogance of that barbarian who suggested that Amasis should drink the sea deserved a clever comeback like the one Pittacus gave to Alyattes when he sent a demanding letter to the Lesbians. Pittacus simply told him to focus on eating his hot bread and onions.
Periander, here assumed the discourse, and said: It was the manner of the ancient Grecians heretofore, O Cleodemus, to propound doubts to one another; and it hath been told us, that the most famous and eminent poets used to meet at the grave of Amphidamas in Chalcis. This Amphidamas was a leading commander, one that had perpetual wars with the Eretrians, and at last lost his life in one of the battles fought for the possession of the Lelantine plain. Now, because the writings of those poets were set to verse and so made the argument more knotty and the decision more arduous, and the great names of the antagonists, Homer and Hesiod, whose excellence was so well known, made the umpires timorous and shy to determine; they therefore betook themselves to these sorts of questions, and Homer, says Lesches, propounded this riddle:—
Periander took up the conversation and said: In ancient Greece, O Cleodemus, it was common for people to challenge each other with questions. We've heard that the most famous poets used to gather at the grave of Amphidamas in Chalcis. This Amphidamas was a prominent leader who fought ongoing wars against the Eretrians and ultimately lost his life in one of the battles for the Lelantine plain. Since the works of those poets were written in verse, making the arguments more complicated and the decisions harder to make, and because the reputations of their rivals, Homer and Hesiod, were so well known, the judges became hesitant and reluctant to decide. As a result, they turned to these kinds of questions, and Homer, according to Lesches, presented this riddle:—
Tell me, O Muse, what never was
And never yet shall be.
Tell me, O Muse, what has never happened
And will never happen.Hesiod answered readily and extempore in this wise:—
Hesiod responded quickly and spontaneously like this:—
When steeds with echoing hoof, to win
The prize, shall run amain;
And on the tomb of lofty Jove
Their chariots break in twain.
When horses with loud hooves, to win
The prize, shall race fast;
And on the tomb of great Jupiter
Their chariots crash in two.For this reply he was infinitely commended and got the tripod. Pray tell me, quoth Cleodemus, what difference there is between these riddles and those of Eumetis, which she frames and invents to recreate herself with as much pleasure as other virgins make nets and girdles? They may be fit to offer and puzzle women withal; but for men to beat their brains to find out their mystery would be mighty ridiculous. Eumetis looked like one that had a great mind to reply; but her modesty would not permit her, for her face was filled with blushes. But Aesop in her vindication asked: Is it not much more ridiculous that all present cannot resolve the riddle she propounded to us before supper? This was as follows:—
For this response, he was highly praised and received the tripod. "Please tell me," Cleodemus said, "what's the difference between these riddles and those from Eumetis, which she creates and invents to entertain herself just as other young women make nets and belts? They might be suitable to tease and challenge women, but it would be pretty absurd for men to rack their brains trying to figure out their meaning." Eumetis seemed eager to reply, but her modesty held her back, and her face was flushed. But Aesop defended her by asking, "Isn't it even more ridiculous that everyone here can't solve the riddle she posed to us before dinner?" This was as follows:—
A man I saw, who by his fire
Did set a piece of brass
Fast to a man, so that it seemed
To him it welded was.
A man I saw, who by his fire
Did attach a piece of brass
Securely to a man, so that it seemed
To him it was welded.Can you tell me, said he, how to construe this, and what the sense of it may be? No, said Cleodemus, it is no profit to know what it means. And yet, quoth Aesop, no man understands this thing better and practises it more judiciously and successfully than yourself. If you deny it, I have my witnesses ready; for there are your cupping-glasses. Cleodemus laughed outright; for of all the physicians in his time, none used cupping-glasses like him, he being a person that by his frequent and fortunate application thereof brought them first into request in the world.
"Can you explain this to me?" he asked. "What does it mean?" "No," Cleodemus replied, "it's not useful to know what it means." "But," Aesop said, "no one understands this better or uses it more wisely and effectively than you do." "If you deny it, I have my proof," Aesop continued, "just look at your cupping glasses." Cleodemus laughed out loud because of all the doctors of his time, none used cupping glasses like he did; he was the one who helped make them popular through his frequent and successful use of them.
Mnesiphilus the Athenian, a friend and favorite of Solon's, said: O Periander, our discourse, as our wine, ought to be distributed not according to our power or priority, but freely and equally, as in a popular state; for what hath been already discoursed concerning kingdoms and empires signifies little to us who live in a democracy. Wherefore I judge it convenient that every one of you, commencing with Solon, should freely and impartially declare his sense of a popular state. The motion pleased all the company; then saith Solon: My friend Mnesiphilus, you heard, together with the rest of this good company, my opinion concerning republics; but since you are willing to hear it again, I hold that city or state happy and most likely to remain free, in which those that are not personally injured are yet as forward to try and punish wrongdoers as that person who is wronged. Bias added, Where all fear the law as they fear a tyrant. Thirdly, Thales said, Where the citizens are neither too rich nor too poor. Fourthly, Anacharsis said, Where, though in all other respects they are equal, yet virtuous men are advanced and vicious persons degraded. Fifthly, Cleobulus said, Where the rulers fear reproof and shame more than the law. Sixthly, Pittacus said, Where evil men are kept from ruling, and good men from not ruling. Chilo, pausing a little while, determined that the best and most enduring state was where the subject minded the law most and the lawyers least. Periander concluded with his opinion, that all of them would best approve that democracy which came next and was likest to an aristocracy.
Mnesiphilus the Athenian, a friend and favorite of Solon, said: "O Periander, our conversation, like our wine, should be shared not based on our rank or status, but freely and equally, as in a democracy; for what has been discussed about kingdoms and empires means little to us who live in a democratic society. Therefore, I think it’s fitting that each of you, starting with Solon, should share your thoughts on a democratic state openly and fairly.” The suggestion pleased everyone present, and then Solon said: "My friend Mnesiphilus, you've heard my views on republics before, but since you want to hear them again, I believe that a city or state is happy and most likely to remain free when those who aren’t personally harmed are just as eager to seek justice against wrongdoers as the person who has been wronged." Bias added, "It's where everyone fears the law as much as they fear a tyrant." Third, Thales stated, "It’s where citizens are neither too rich nor too poor." Fourth, Anacharsis mentioned, "It’s where, despite being equal in other respects, virtuous individuals are promoted while immoral ones are pushed down." Fifth, Cleobulus said, "It’s where leaders fear criticism and disgrace more than they fear the law." Sixth, Pittacus remarked, "It’s where bad people are kept from ruling, and good people are not prevented from ruling." Chilo took a moment and concluded that the best and most lasting state is one where the citizens respect the law more and the lawyers less. Periander wrapped up with his thoughts, stating that they would all likely agree on a democracy that is closest to an aristocracy.
After they had ended this discourse, I begged they would condescend to direct me how to govern a house; for they were few who had cities and kingdoms to govern, compared with those who had houses and families to manage. Aesop laughed and said: I hope you except Anacharsis out of your number; for having no house he glories because he can be contented with a chariot only, as they say the sun is whirled about from one end of the heavens to the other in his chariot. Therefore, saith Anacharsis, he alone, or he principally, is most free among the gods, and ever at his own liberty and dispose. He governs all, and is governed and subject to none, but he rides and reigns; and you know not how magnificent and broad his chariot is; if you did, you would not thus floutingly depreciate our Scythian chariots. For you seem in my apprehension to call these coverings made of wood and mud houses, as if you should call the shell and not the living creature a snail. Therefore you laughed when Solon told you how, when he viewed Croesus's palace and found it richly and gloriously furnished, he yet could not yield he lived happily until he had tried the inward and invisible state of his mind; for a man's felicity consists not in the outward and visible favors and blessings of fortune, but in the inward and unseen perfections and riches of the mind. And you seem to have forgot your own fable of the fox, who, contending with the leopard as to which possessed more colors and spots, and having referred the matter in controversy to the arbitration of an umpire, desired him to consider not so much the outside as the inside; for, saith he, I have more various and different fetches and tricks in my mind than he has marks or spots in his body. You regard only the handiwork of carpenters and masons and stone-cutters, and call this a house; not what one hath within, his children, his wife, his friends and attendants, with whom if a man lived in an emmet's bed or a bird's nest, enjoying in common the ordinary comforts of life, this man may be affirmed to live a happy and a fortunate life.
After they finished talking, I asked them to please help me understand how to manage a household, since there are many more people with homes and families to care for than there are those who govern cities and kingdoms. Aesop laughed and said, "I hope you're not counting Anacharsis among them. He takes pride in not having a house, as he's content to live with just a chariot—it's said that the sun travels from one end of the sky to the other in its chariot. So, Anacharsis says, he is the only one, or at least the most, free among the gods, always at his own liberty to do as he pleases. He governs everything and is subject to none; he rides and reigns. You have no idea how grand and spacious his chariot is. If you did, you wouldn't mock our Scythian chariots so casually. It seems to me you refer to these wooden and mud structures as houses, as if you were calling the shell and not the living snail a snail. That's why you laughed when Solon told you that after inspecting Croesus's palace, which was lavishly decorated, he couldn't really say he was happy until he understood the inner state of his mind. A person's happiness doesn't come from the visible wealth and fortune they have, but from the unseen riches and qualities of the mind. You seem to have forgotten your own fable about the fox and the leopard, who were debating who had more colors and spots. They decided to let an umpire judge and the fox asked him to look beyond the surface. He said, 'I have more variety and cleverness in my mind than he has spots on his body.' You focus solely on the work of carpenters, masons, and stonecutters, and call that a house, rather than considering what's inside: the children, spouse, friends, and companions. Someone might live in an ant hill or a bird's nest and find happiness and comfort in the simple joys of life, and that person could be said to live a fortunate life."
This is the answer I purpose to return Aesop, quoth Anacharsis, and I tender it to Diocles as my share in this discourse; only let the rest give in their opinions, if they please. Solon thought that house most happy where the estate was got without injustice, kept without distrust, and spent without repentance. Bias said, That house is happy where the master does freely and voluntarily what the law would else compel him to do. Thales held that house most happy where the master had most leisure and respite from business. Cleobulus said, That in which the master is more beloved than feared. Pittacus said, most that is happy where superfluities are not required and necessaries are not wanting. Chilo added, that house is most happy where one rules as a monarch in his kingdom. And he proceeded, when a certain Lacedaemonian desired Lycurgus to establish a democracy in the city. Go you, friend, replied he, and try the experiment first in your own house.
This is the answer I intend to give Aesop, said Anacharsis, and I offer it to Diocles as my part in this discussion; however, let the others share their opinions if they wish. Solon believed that a household is happiest when its wealth is obtained fairly, maintained without suspicion, and spent without regret. Bias stated that a household is happy when the master willingly does what the law would otherwise require. Thales thought that a household is happiest when the master has the most free time and relief from work. Cleobulus said that a household is happy when the master is more loved than feared. Pittacus mentioned that the happiest household is one where excess is not needed, and essentials are not lacking. Chilo added that a household is happiest when someone rules like a king in his kingdom. He went on to say that when a certain Spartan asked Lycurgus to set up a democracy in the city, he replied, "You go, my friend, and try that first at home."
When they had all given in their opinions upon this point, Eumetis and Melissa withdrew. Then Periander called for a large bowl full of wine, and drank to Chilo; and Chilo too drank to Bias. Ardalus then standing up called to Aesop, and said: Will you not hand the cup to your friends at this end of the table, when you behold those persons there swilling up all that good liquor, and imparting none to us here as if the cup were that of Bathycles. But this cup, quoth Aesop, is no public cup, it hath stood so long by Solon's trenchard. Then Pittacus called to Mnesiphilus: Why, saith he, does not Solon drink, but act in contradiction to his own verses?—
When everyone had shared their opinions on this matter, Eumetis and Melissa left the group. Then Periander asked for a big bowl of wine and toasted to Chilo, who in turn raised his glass to Bias. Ardalus then stood up and called out to Aesop, saying: "Aren't you going to pass the cup to your friends at this end of the table while those people over there are guzzling down all that great wine and not sharing any with us, as if the cup belonged to Bathycles?" But Aesop replied, "This cup isn’t a communal one; it has been sitting here next to Solon's trenchard for a long time." Then Pittacus addressed Mnesiphilus: "Why," he said, "doesn’t Solon drink, but instead act in contradiction to his own verses?"
I love that ruby god, whose blessings flow
In tides, to recreate my thirsty maw;
Venus I court, the Muses I adore,
Who give us wine and pleasures evermore.
I love that ruby god, whose blessings flow
In waves, to quench my thirsty mouth;
Venus I pursue, the Muses I cherish,
Who give us wine and endless pleasures.Anacharsis subjoined: He fears your severe law, my friend Pittacus, wherein you decreed the drunkard a double punishment. You seem, said Pittacus, a little to fear the penalty, who have adventured heretofore, and now again before my face, to break that law and to demand a crown for the reward of your debauch. Why not, quoth Anacharsis, when there is a reward promised to the hardest drinker? Why should I not demand my reward, having drunk down all my fellows?—or inform me of any other end men drive at in drinking much wine, but to be drunk. Pittacus laughed at this reply, and Aesop told them this fable: The wolf seeing a parcel of shepherds in their booth feeding upon a lamb, approaching near them,—What a bustle and noise and uproar would there have been, saith he, if I had but done what you do! Chilo said: Aesop hath very justly revenged himself upon us, who awhile ago stopped his mouth; now he observes how we prevented Mnesiphilus's discourse, when the question was put why Solon did not drink up his wine.
Anacharsis added: He fears your strict law, my friend Pittacus, where you decided that a drunkard deserves double punishment. Pittacus replied, you seem a bit worried about the penalty, considering you've previously broken that law and now, right in front of me, demand a reward for your drunkenness. Why shouldn’t I, Anacharsis asked, when there’s a reward promised for the heaviest drinker? Why shouldn’t I claim my reward after out-drinking all my friends?—or tell me what other purpose men have in drinking a lot of wine, if not to get drunk? Pittacus laughed at this response, and Aesop shared this fable: The wolf, seeing a group of shepherds in their booth eating a lamb, approached them and said, “What a commotion and noise there would have been if I had done what you’re doing!” Chilo remarked: Aesop has justly taken his revenge on us for previously silencing him; now he watches how we interrupted Mnesiphilus’s talk when the question was raised about why Solon didn’t finish his wine.
Mnesiphilus then spake to this effect: I know this to be the opinion of Solon, that in every art and faculty, divine and human, the work which is done is more desired than the instrument wherewith it is done, and the end than the means conducing to that end; as, for instance, a weaver thinks a cloak or coat more properly his work than the ordering of his shuttles or the divers motions of his beams. A smith minds the soldering of his irons and the sharpening of the axe more than those little things accessory to these main matters, as the kindling of the coals and preparing the stone-dust. Yet farther, a carpenter would justly blame us, if we should affirm it is not his work to build houses or ships but to bore holes or to make mortar; and the Muses would be implacably incensed with him that should say their business is only to make harps, pipes and such musical instruments, not the institution and correcting of manners and the government of those men's passions who are lovers of singing and masters of music. And agreeably copulation is not the work of Venus, nor is drunkenness that of Bacchus; but love and friendship, affection and familiarity, which are begot and improved by and the means of these. Solon terms these works divine, and he professes he loves and now prosecutes them in his declining years as vigorously as ever in his youthful days. That mutual love between man and wife is the work of Venus, the greatness of the pleasure affecting their bodies mixes and melts their very souls; divers others, having little or no acquaintance before, have yet contracted a firm and lasting friendship over a glass of wine, which like fire softened and melted their tempers, and disposed them for a happy union. But in such a company, and of such men as Periander hath invited, there is no need of can and chalice, but the Muses themselves throwing a subject of discourse among you, as it were a sober cup, wherein is contained much of delight and drollery and seriousness too, do hereby provoke, nourish, and increase friendship among you, allowing the cup to rest quietly upon the bowl, contrary to the rule which Hesiod (Hesiod, "Works and Days," 744.) gives for those who have more skill for carousing than for discoursing.
Mnesiphilus then spoke this: I know that Solon believes that in every art, whether divine or human, the finished work is more valued than the tools used to create it, and the outcome is more important than the methods that achieve it. For example, a weaver considers a cloak or coat to be his true work, rather than the way he manages his shuttles or the various movements of his loom. A blacksmith focuses on soldering iron and sharpening axes more than the minor tasks involved, like tending to the coals and preparing the stone dust. Furthermore, a carpenter would rightly criticize us if we claimed his job is not to build houses or ships but merely to drill holes or mix mortar. And the Muses would be deeply offended by anyone who said their role is limited to making harps, pipes, and other musical instruments, rather than guiding and refining behavior and managing the passions of those who love to sing and are masters of music. Similarly, physical attraction is not the only work of Venus, nor is drunkenness solely the domain of Bacchus; rather, love, friendship, affection, and familiarity are born and nurtured through these experiences. Solon calls these endeavors divine and states that he actively pursues them in his later years with the same passion he had when he was young. The mutual love between a husband and wife is the true work of Venus, as the pleasure they share connects and blends their souls; many who barely know each other have formed strong, lasting friendships over a glass of wine, which has softened and melted their dispositions, readying them for a joyful connection. However, in the company of men like those Periander has invited, there's no need for cups or chalices, because the Muses themselves have provided a topic for discussion, like a sober drink filled with joy, humor, and seriousness that encourages and deepens your friendship, allowing the cup to rest gently on the table, contrary to Hesiod's advice for those more skilled in drinking than in conversation.
Though all the rest with stated rules we bound
Unmix'd, unmeasured are thy goblets crown'd
("Iliad" iv. 261.)
Though all the rest are bound by fixed rules
Your cups are unblended, unmeasured, and unrestrained
("Iliad" iv. 261.)for it was the old Greek way, as Homer here tells us, to drink one to another in course and order. So Ajax gave a share of his meat to his next neighbor.
for it was the traditional Greek way, as Homer tells us here, to drink to one another in turn. So Ajax shared some of his meat with his neighbor.
When Mnesiphilus had discoursed after this manner, in comes Chersias the poet, whom Periander had lately pardoned and received into favor upon Chilo's mediation. Saith Cherias: Does not Jupiter distribute to the gods their proportion and share sparingly and severally, as Agamemnon did to his commanders when his guests pledged one another? If, O Chersias, quoth Cleodemus, as you narrate, certain pigeons bring him ambrosia every meal, winging with a world of hardship through the rocks called PLANCTAE (or WANDERING), can you blame him for his sparingness and frugality and dealing out to his guests by measure?
When Mnesiphilus had spoken like this, Chersias the poet walked in, whom Periander had recently forgiven and welcomed back thanks to Chilo's help. Chersias said: Doesn't Jupiter distribute each god's share carefully and individually, just like Agamemnon did with his commanders when his guests made toasts? If, Chersias, replied Cleodemus, as you say, a few pigeons deliver him ambrosia at every meal, struggling hard through the treacherous rocks known as PLANCTAE (or WANDERING), can you really blame him for being frugal and measuring out portions for his guests?
I am satisfied, quoth Chersias, and since we are fallen upon our old discourse of housekeeping, which of the company can remember what remains to be said thereof? There remains, if I mistake not, to show what that measure is which may content any man. Cleobulus answered: The law has prescribed a measure for wise men; but as touching foolish ones I will tell you a story I once heard my father relate to my brother. On a certain time the moon begged of her mother a coat that would fit her. How can that be done, quoth the mother, for sometime you are full, sometimes the one half of you seems lost and perished, sometimes only a pair of horns appear. So, my Chersias, to the desires of a foolish immoderate man no certain measure can be fitted; for according to the ebbing and flowing of his lust and appetite, and the frequent or seldom casualties that befall him, accordingly his necessities ebb and flow, not unlike Aesop's dog, who, being pinched and ready to starve with the cold winter, was a mind to build himself a house; but when summer came on, he lay all along upon the ground, and stretching himself in the sun thought himself monstrous big, and thought it unnecessary and besides no small labor to build him a house portionable to that bulk and bigness. And do you not observe, O Chersias, continues he, many poor men,—how one while they pinch their bellies, upon what short commons they live, how sparing and niggardly and miserable they are; and another while you may observe the same men as distrustful and covetous withal, as if the plenty of the city and county, the riches of king and kingdom were not sufficient to preserve them from want and beggary.
"I’m satisfied," said Chersias, "and since we're back to our usual talk about managing a household, who among us can remember what else needs to be said? If I’m not mistaken, we still need to discuss what kind of measure would satisfy anyone. Cleobulus replied, "The law has set a measure for wise individuals, but as for foolish ones, I want to share a story I once heard my father tell my brother. Once, the moon asked her mother for a coat that would fit her. 'How can that be done?' the mother replied. 'Sometimes you’re full, sometimes it looks like you’ve lost half of yourself, and sometimes there are just a pair of horns showing.' So, my Chersias, for the desires of a foolish, excessive person, no specific measure can fit; because just like the phases of the moon, their wants and appetites change, often swayed by their circumstances. It’s similar to Aesop's dog, who, suffering from the biting cold of winter, decided he would build himself a house. But when summer came, he sprawled out on the ground, basking in the sun, feeling huge, and thought it was unnecessary and a lot of work to build a house big enough for that size. And don’t you see, O Chersias," he continued, "how many poor people—at one moment they struggle and make do with what little they have, living in meagerness and misery; then at other times, you can see the same people being wary and greedy, as if the abundance of the city and the wealth of kings and kingdoms couldn’t keep them safe from hunger and poverty."
When Chersias had concluded this discourse, Cleodemus began thus: We see you that are wise men possessing these outward goods after an unequal manner. Good sweet sir, answered Cleobulus, the law weaver-like hath distributed to every man a fitting, decent, adequate portion, and in your profession your reason does what the law does here,—when you feed, or diet, or physic your patient, you give not the quantity he desires, but what you judge to be convenient for each in his circumstances. Ardalus inquires: Epimenides, to abstain from all other victuals, and to content himself with a little composition of his own, which the Greeks call [Greek omitted] (HUNGER-RELIEVING)? This he takes into his mouth and chews, and eats neither dinner nor supper. This instance obliged the whole company to be a little while silent, until Thales in a jesting way replied, that Epimenides did very wisely, for hereby he saved the trouble and charge of grinding and boiling his meat, as Pittacus did. I myself sojourning as Lesbos overheard my landlady, as she was very busy at her hand-mill, singing as she used to do her work, "Grind mill; grind mill; for even Pittacus the prince of great Mitylene, grinds" [Greek footnote ommitted]. Quoth Solon: Ardalus, I wonder you have not read the law of Epimenides's frugality in Hesiod's writings, who prescribes him and others this spare diet; for he was the person that gratified Epimenides with the seeds of this nutriment, when he directed him to inquire how great benefit a man might receive by mallows and asphodel (Hesiod, "Works and Days," 41.) Do you believe, said Periander, that Hesiod meant this literally; or rather that, being himself a great admirer of parsimony, he hereby intended to exhort men to use mean and spare diet, as most healthful and pleasant? For the chewing of mallows is very wholesome, and the stalk of asphodel is very luscious; but this "expeller of hunger and thirst" I take to be rather physic than natural food, consisting of honey and I know not what barbarian cheese, and of many and costly drugs fetched from foreign parts. If to make up this composition so many ingredients were requisite, and so difficult to come by and so expensive, Hesiod might have kept his breath to cool his pottage, and never blessed the world with the discovery. And yet I admire how your landlord, when he went to perform the great purification for the Delians not long since, could overlook the monuments and patterns of the first aliment which the people brought into the temple,—and, among other cheap fruits such as grow of themselves, the mallows and the asphodel; the usefulness and innocency whereof Hesiod seemed in his work to magnify. Moreover, quoth Anacharsis, he affirms both plants to be great restoratives. You are in the right, quoth Cleodemus; for it is evident Hesiod was no ordinary physician, who could discourse so learnedly and judiciously of diet, of the nature of wines, and of the virtue of waters and baths, and of women, the proper times for procreation, and the site and position of infants in the womb; insomuch, that (as I take it) Aesop deserves much more the name of Hesiod's scholar and disciple than Epimenides, whose great and excellent wisdom the fable of the nightingale and hawk demonstrates. But I would gladly hear Solon's opinion in this matter; for having sojourned long at Athens and being familiarly acquainted with Epimenides, it is more than probable he might learn of him the grounds upon which he accustomed himself to so spare a diet.
When Chersias finished his speech, Cleodemus started speaking: We see that wise people possess these external goods in an uneven way. Good sir, Cleobulus replied, the law has distributed to each person a fitting, decent, adequate share, and in your profession, your reasoning does the same as the law does here—when you treat, feed, or medicate your patient, you don’t give them the amount they want, but what you think is best for their situation. Ardalus asked: Epimenides chooses to abstain from all other foods and is satisfied with a little mix of his own, which the Greeks call [Greek omitted] (HUNGER-RELIEVING)? He puts this in his mouth, chews it, and doesn’t have dinner or supper. This made everyone in the group pause for a moment, until Thales jokingly responded that Epimenides was very wise for saving himself the trouble and expense of grinding and cooking his meals, just like Pittacus did. I myself was at Lesbos and overheard my landlady, busy at her hand-mill, singing while she worked, "Grind mill; grind mill; for even Pittacus, the prince of great Mitylene, grinds" [Greek footnote omitted]. Solon remarked: Ardalus, I wonder you haven't come across Epimenides's frugality law in Hesiod's writings, which prescribes this simple diet; he was the one who shared with Epimenides the idea of how beneficial mallows and asphodel can be (Hesiod, "Works and Days," 41). Do you think, Periander asked, Hesiod meant this literally, or was he, being a great admirer of frugality, actually trying to encourage people to adopt a modest and simple diet as the healthiest and most enjoyable? Because chewing mallows is very good for you, and the stalk of asphodel is quite tasty; but I think this "expeller of hunger and thirst" is more medicinal than a natural food, made up of honey and some kind of foreign cheese, and many expensive ingredients brought from distant lands. If making this mix required so many ingredients that were hard to find and costly, Hesiod could have just kept quiet and not shared this with the world. Still, I wonder how your landlord, when he recently went to perform the great purification for the Delians, could overlook the monuments and models of the first food the people brought to the temple—including other inexpensive fruits that grow wild, like mallows and asphodel, which Hesiod seemed to praise in his work. Moreover, Anacharsis noted, he claims both plants are excellent restoratives. You're right, Cleodemus replied; it’s clear Hesiod was no ordinary physician, being able to speak so knowledgably and wisely about diet, the nature of wines, the quality of waters and baths, and the right times for conception and the positioning of babies in the womb. In fact, I think Aesop deserves the title of Hesiod's student and follower much more than Epimenides, whose great wisdom is illustrated in the fable of the nightingale and the hawk. But I’d like to hear Solon's thoughts on this; after spending a long time in Athens and being close to Epimenides, it’s likely he learned from him the reasons behind his very sparse diet.
To what purpose, said Solon, should I trouble him or myself to make inquiry in a matter so plain? For if it be a blessing next to the greatest to need little victuals, then it is the greatest felicity to need none at all. If I may have leave to deliver my opinion, quoth Cleodemus, I must profess myself of a different judgment, especially now we sit at table; for as soon as the meat is taken away, what belongs to those gods that are the patrons of friendship and hospitality has been removed. As upon the removal of the earth, quoth Thales, there must needs follow an universal confusion of all things, so in forbidding men meat, there must needs follow the dispersion and dissolution of the family, the sacred fire, the cups, the feasts and entertainment's, which are the principal and most innocent diversions of mankind; and so all the comforts of society are at end. For to men of business some recreation is necessary, and the preparation and use of victuals conduces much thereunto. Again, to be without victuals would tend to the destruction of husbandry, for want whereof the earth would soon be overgrown with weeds, and through the sloth of men overflowed with waters. And together with this, all arts would fail which are supported and encouraged hereby; nay, more, take away hospitality and the use of victuals and the worship and honor of the gods will sink and perish; the sun will have but small and the moon yet smaller reverence if thy afford men only light and heat. And who will build an altar or offer sacrifices to Jupiter Pluvius, or to Ceres the patroness of husbandmen, or to Neptune the preserver of plants and trees? Or how can Bacchus be any longer termed the donor of all good things, if men make no further use of the good things he gives? What shall men sacrifice? What first-fruits shall they offer? In short, the subversion and confusion of the greatest blessings attend this opinion. Promiscuously and indefatigable to pursue all sorts of pleasures I own to be brutish, and to avoid all with a suitable aversion equally blockish, let the mind then freely enjoy such pleasures as are agreeable to its nature and temper. But for the body, there is certainly no pleasure more harmless and commendable and fitting than that which springs from a plentiful table,—which is granted by all men, for, placing this in the middle, men converse with one another and share in the provision. As to the pleasures of the bed, men use these in the dark, reputing the use thereof shameful and beastly as well as the total disuse of the pleasures of the table.
To what end, said Solon, should I bother him or myself to ask about something so clear? Because if it's a blessing to need only a little food, then not needing any food at all is the greatest blessing of all. If I may share my opinion, said Cleodemus, I have a different view, especially now that we are eating; for as soon as the food is taken away, what belongs to the gods of friendship and hospitality is also removed. Just as the removal of land leads to chaos, Thales said, denying people food must then lead to the breakdown of the family, the sacred fire, the cups, the feasts and gatherings, which are the main and most innocent enjoyments of humanity; thus, all the comforts of society come to an end. For busy people need some relaxation, and the preparation and consumption of food greatly contribute to that. Furthermore, being without food would harm agriculture, which would lead to the land quickly being overrun by weeds and flooded from human negligence. Along with this, all the arts supported and encouraged by food would vanish; indeed, remove hospitality and the use of food, and the worship and respect for the gods will decline and perish; the sun would gain little reverence, and the moon even less if it only provided light and warmth to people. Who would build an altar or offer sacrifices to Jupiter Pluvius, or to Ceres, the goddess of farmers, or to Neptune, the protector of plants and trees? And how could Bacchus still be called the giver of all good things if people no longer make use of his gifts? What will people sacrifice? What first fruits will they offer? In short, the collapse and confusion of the greatest blessings comes with this idea. I admit that blindly chasing all kinds of pleasures is animalistic, and avoiding them entirely is equally foolish; let the mind then freely enjoy pleasures that align with its nature and character. But for the body, there’s certainly no pleasure more harmless, praiseworthy, and fitting than that which comes from a bountiful table — this is widely accepted, as placing food in the center allows people to interact and share. As for the pleasures of the bedroom, people partake in them in the dark, considering their use shameful and beastly, just as they do when totally abstaining from the pleasures of the table.
Cleodemus having finished this long harangue, I began to this effect. You omit one thing, my friend, how they that decry food decry sleep too, and they that declaim against sleep declaim against dreams in the same breath, and so destroy the primitive and ancient way of divination. Add to this, that our whole life will be of one form and fashion, and our soul enclosed in a body to no purpose; many and those the principal parts thereof are naturally so formed and fashioned as to be organs of nutriment; so the tongue, the teeth, the stomach, and the liver, whereof none are idle, none framed for other use, so that whosoever hath no need of nutriment has no need of his body; that is, in other words, no man hath any need of himself, for every man hath a body of his own. This I have thought fit to offer in vindication of our bellies; if Solon or any other has anything to object to what I have said, I am willing to hear him.
After Cleodemus finished his long speech, I began to say this. You’re missing one point, my friend: those who criticize food also criticize sleep, and those who rant against sleep do the same with dreams, which undermines the ancient and original way of divination. Moreover, if our entire life is reduced to one way of being, then our soul is trapped in a body for no reason; many of the main parts of our being are naturally designed to be organs for nourishment—like the tongue, the teeth, the stomach, and the liver—none of which are idle or made for any other purpose. Therefore, anyone who doesn’t need nourishment has no need for their body; in other words, no one really needs themselves because every person has their own body. I thought it was important to defend our bellies with this argument; if Solon or anyone else has something to say against what I’ve said, I’m open to hearing it.
Yea, doubtless, replies Solon, or we may be reputed more injudicious than the Egyptians. For when any person dies among them, they open him and show him so dissected to the sun; his guts they throw into the river, to the remaining parts they allow a decent burial, for they think the body now pure and clean; and to speak truly they are the foulest parts of the body, and like that lower hell crammed with dead carcasses and at the same time flowing with offensive rivers, such as flame with fire and are disturbed with tempests. No live creature feeds upon another living creature, but we first take away their lives, and in that action we do them great wrong. Now the very plants have life in them,—that is clear and manifest, for we perceive they grow and spread. But to abstain from eating flesh (as they say Orpheus of old did) is more a pretence than a real avoiding of an injury proceeding from the just use of meat. One way there is, and but one way, whereby a man may avoid offence, namely by being contented with his own, not coveting what belongs to his neighbor. But if a man's circumstances be such and so hard that he cannot subsist without wronging another man, the fault is God's, not his. The case being such with some persons, I would fain learn if it be not advisable to destroy, at the same time with injustice, these instruments of injustice, the belly, stomach, and liver, which have no sense of justice or appetite to honesty, and therefore may be fitly compared to your cook's implements, his knives and his caldrons, or to a baker's chimney and bins and kneading-tubs. Verily one may observe the souls of some men confined to their bodies, as to a house of correction, barely to do the drudgery and to serve the necessities thereof. It was our own case but even now. While we minded our meat and our bellies, we had neither eyes to see nor ears to hear; but now the table is taken away, we are free to discourse among ourselves and to enjoy one another; and now our bellies are full, we have nothing else to do or care for. And if this condition and state wherein we at present are would last our whole life, we having no wants to fear nor riches to covet (for a desire of superfluities attends a desire of necessaries), would not our lives be much more comfortable and life itself much more desirable?
Sure, says Solon, or we might be seen as more foolish than the Egyptians. When someone dies among them, they open the body and show it to the sun; they toss the organs into the river and give the remaining parts a proper burial because they believe the body is now pure and clean. In truth, those are the foulest parts, much like that lower hell filled with dead bodies and overflowing with stinking rivers, like those blazing with fire and disturbed by storms. No living creature eats another living creature, but we first take their lives, and in doing so, we do them great wrong. Even plants have life in them—that’s clear because we see them grow and spread. But avoiding meat (as Orpheus supposedly did) is more of a facade than a true way to avoid harming others that comes from rightly consuming food. There is only one way a person can avoid wrongdoing: by being satisfied with their own belongings and not coveting what belongs to their neighbor. But if someone's situation is so tough that they can’t survive without wronging someone else, the blame lies with God, not them. Given that some people face such circumstances, I wonder if it’s reasonable to eliminate, along with injustice, the tools of injustice—the belly, stomach, and liver—which have no sense of justice or appetite for honesty. They could be compared to a cook's tools, like knives and pots, or a baker's oven, bins, and dough tubs. Truly, it's noticeable that the souls of some men are locked in their bodies, like in a correctional facility, merely doing the dirty work and meeting basic needs. That was our situation just now. While we were focused on our food and our bellies, we had no eyes to see or ears to hear; but now that the table has been cleared, we’re free to talk among ourselves and enjoy each other’s company. And now that our bellies are full, we have nothing else to do or care about. If this condition we are in now could last our whole lives—with no wants to fear and no riches to envy (since the desire for excess comes from the desire for necessities)—wouldn't our lives be much more comfortable and life itself much more appealing?
Yea, but Cleodemus stiffly maintains the necessity of eating and drinking, else we shall need tables and cups, and shall not be able to offer sacrifice to Ceres and Proserpina. By a parity of reason there is a necessity there should be contentions and wars, that men may have bulwarks and citadels and fortifications by land, fleets and navies abroad at sea, and that having slain hundreds, we may offer Hecatombs after the Messenian manner. By this reason we shall find men grudging their own health, for (they will say) there will be no need of down or feather beds unless they are sick; and so those healing gods, and particularly Esculapius, will be vast sufferers, for they will infallibly lose so many fat and rich sacrifices yearly. Nay, the art of chirurgery will perish, and all those ingenious instruments that have been invented for the cure of man will lie by useless and insignificant. And what great difference is there between this and that? For meat is a medicine against hunger, and such as use a constant diet are said to cure themselves,—I mean such as use meat not for wantonness but of necessity. For it is plain, the prejudices we receive by feeding far surmount the pleasures. And the enjoyment of eating fills a very small place in our bodies and very little time. But why should I trouble you or myself with a catalogue of the many vexations which attend that man who is necessitated to provide for a family, and the many difficulties which distract him in his undertaking? For my part, I verily believe Homer had an eye to this very thing, when, to prove the immortality of the gods, he made use of this very argument, that they were such because they used no victuals;
Yeah, but Cleodemus firmly argues that we need to eat and drink, or else we'll need tables and cups, and we won't be able to make sacrifices to Ceres and Proserpina. By the same logic, there must be conflicts and wars so that people can have fortifications and defenses on land, fleets and navies at sea, and after killing hundreds, we can offer large sacrifices in the Messenian way. Similarly, we would find people begrudging their own health, because (they would argue) there would be no use for beds unless they are sick; and so those healing gods, especially Esculapius, would suffer greatly, as they would inevitably lose many rich sacrifices each year. Furthermore, the field of surgery would decline, and all the clever tools invented for healing would be left unused and irrelevant. And what's the real difference between this and that? Because food is a remedy for hunger, and those who stick to a regular diet are said to heal themselves—meaning those who eat not out of indulgence but out of necessity. Clearly, the problems we face from eating far outweigh the pleasures. The enjoyment of eating occupies very little space in our bodies and lasts a short time. But why should I burden you or myself with a list of the many frustrations faced by someone who has to care for a family, and the numerous challenges that distract him in that effort? Personally, I truly believe Homer had this in mind when he used this argument to prove the immortality of the gods, stating they are immortal because they do not consume food;
For not the bread of man their life sustains,
Nor wine's inflaming juice supplies their veins;
("Iliad," v. 341.)
For it's not human bread that keeps them alive,
Nor the stimulating wine that flows through their veins;
("Iliad," v. 341.)intimating meat to be the cause of death as well as the means of sustaining and supporting life. From hence proceed divers fatal distempers caused much more by fulness than by fasting; and to digest what we have eaten proves frequently a harder matter than to provide and procure what we eat. And when we solicitously inquire beforehand what we should do or how we should employ ourselves if we had not such care and business to take up our time, this is as if Danaus's daughters should trouble their heads to know what they should do if they had no sieves to fill with water. We drudge and toil for necessaries, for want of better and nobler occupation. As slaves then who have gained their freedom do now and then those drudgeries and discharge those servile employments and offices for their own benefit which they undertook heretofore for their masters' advantage, so the mind of man, which at present is enslaved to the body and the service thereof, when once it becomes free from this slavery, will take care of itself, and spend its time in contemplation of truth without distraction or disturbance. Such were our discourses upon this head, O Nicarchus.
suggesting that meat is both the cause of death and the means of sustaining life. This leads to various serious health issues caused more by overeating than by fasting; in fact, digesting what we've eaten often proves to be more difficult than acquiring our food. When we anxiously wonder what we would do with our time if we didn’t have all these responsibilities, it’s akin to the daughters of Danaus worrying about what they would do if they had no sieves to fill with water. We labor for necessities because we lack better and more fulfilling pursuits. Just as freed slaves sometimes continue to take on the hard labor they once did for their masters' benefit, the human mind, currently trapped by the body and its demands, when freed from this bondage, will focus on itself and engage in the pursuit of truth without distraction or interruption. Such were our discussions on this topic, O Nicarchus.
And before Solon had fully finished, in came Gorgias, Periander's brother, who was just returned from Taenarum, whither he had been sent by the advice of the oracle to sacrifice to Neptune and to conduct a deputation. Upon his entrance we welcomed him home; and Periander having among the rest saluted him, Gorgias sat by him upon a bed, and privately whispered something to his brother which we could not hear. Periander by his various gestures and motions discovered different affections; sometimes he seemed sad and melancholic, by and by disturbed and angry; frequently he looked as doubtful and distrustful men use to do; awhile after he lifts up his eyes, as is usual with men in a maze. At last recovering himself, saith he, I have a mind to impart to you the contents of this embassy; but I scarce dare do it, remembering Thales's aphorism, how things impossible or incredible are to be concealed and only things credible and probable are to be related. Bias answered, I crave leave to explain Thales's saying, We may distrust enemies, even though they speak things credible, and trust friends, even though they relate things incredible; and I suppose by enemies he meant vicious men and foolish, and by friends, wise and good men. Then, brother Gorgias, quoth Periander, I pray relate the whole story particularly.
And before Solon had completely finished, Gorgias, Periander's brother, walked in. He had just returned from Taenarum, where he had been sent by the oracle's advice to make a sacrifice to Neptune and to bring back a delegation. When he arrived, we welcomed him home; and after Periander greeted him, Gorgias sat next to him on a bed and quietly whispered something to his brother that we couldn't hear. Periander showed various emotions through his gestures; he sometimes appeared sad and melancholic, then became disturbed and angry; he often had the doubtful and suspicious look of a person unsure of things; and after a while, he lifted his eyes, as people do when they're confused. Finally, after gathering himself, he said, "I want to share what this mission was about, but I'm not sure if I should, remembering Thales's saying that impossible or unbelievable things should be kept secret and only credible and likely things should be shared." Bias replied, "Let me explain Thales's saying: we can distrust enemies, even when they say credible things, and trust friends, even when they tell unbelievable stories; I think by enemies he meant wicked and foolish people, and by friends, wise and good people." Then Periander said to brother Gorgias, "Please, tell us the whole story in detail."
Gorgias in obedience to his brother's command began his story thus:—
Gorgias, following his brother's instructions, started his story like this:—
When we had fasted now for three days and offered sacrifice upon each of those days, we were all resolved to sit up the third night and spend it in pastime and dancing. The moon shone very bright upon the water, and the sea was exceeding calm and still; this we saw, for we sported ourselves upon the shore. Being thus taken up, all of a sudden we espied a wonderful spectacle off at sea, making with incredible expedition to the adjoining promontory. The violence of the motion made the sea foam again, and the noise was so loud, that the whole company forsook their sport and ran together toward the place, admiring what the matter should be. Before we could make a full discovery of the whole, the motion was so rapid, we perceived divers dolphins, some swimming in a ring or circle, others hastening amain to that part of the shore which was most shallow, and others following after and (as it were) bringing up the rear. In the middle there was a certain heap which we could perceive above the water; but we could not distinctly apprehend what it was, till drawing near the shore we saw all the dolphins flocking together, and having made near the land they safely surrendered their charge, and left out of danger a man breathing and shaking himself. They returned to the promontory, and there seemed to rejoice more than before for this their fortunate undertaking. Divers in the company were affrighted and ran away; myself and a few more took courage, and went on to see and satisfy ourselves what this unusual matter might be; there we found and instantly knew our old acquaintance Arion the musician, who told us his name. He wore that very garment he used when he strove for mastery. We brought him into our tent and found he had received no damage in his passage, save only a little lassitude by the violence of the motion. He told us the whole story of his adventure,—a story incredible to all but such as saw it with their eyes. He told us how, when he had determined to leave Italy, being hastened away by Periander's letters, he went aboard a Corinthian merchantman then in port and ready to sail; being off at sea with the winds favorable, he observed the seamen bent to ruin him, and the master of the vessel told him as much, and that they purposed to execute their design upon him that very night. In this distress, the poor man (as if inspired by his good Genius) girds about him his heretofore victorious, now his mourning cloak, with a brave resolution to compose and sing his own epitaph, as the swans when they apprehend the approaches of death are reported to do. Being thus habited, he told the seamen he was minded to commit the protection of himself and his fellow-passengers to the providence of the gods in a Pythian song; then standing upon the poop near the side of the vessel, and having invoked the help and assistance of all the sea gods, he strikes up briskly and sings to his harp. Before he had half finished his carol, the sun set, and he could discern Peloponnesus before him. The seamen thought it tedious to tarry for the night, wherefore they resolved to murder him immediately, to which purpose they unsheathed their swords. Seeing this, and observing the steersman covering his face, he leaped into the sea as far as he could; but before his body sunk he found himself supported by dolphins. At first he was surprised with care and trouble; but by and by, finding himself marching forward with much ease and security, and observing a whole shoal of dolphins flocking about him and joyfully contending which should appear most forward and serviceable in his preservation, and discerning the vessel at a considerable distance behind, he apprehended the nimbleness of his porters; then, and not till then, his fears forsook him, and he professed he was neither so fearful of death nor desirous of life as he was full of ambitious desire, that he might show to all men that he stood in the grace and favor of the gods, and that he might himself have a firm belief in them. In his passage, as he lifted up his eyes toward heaven, and beheld the stars glittering and twinkling and the moon full and glorious, and the sea calm all about her as she seemed to rise out of it, and yielding him (as it were) a beaten track; he declared, he thought God's justice had more eyes than one, and that with these innumerable eyes the gods beheld what was acted here below both by sea and land. With such contemplations he performed his voyage less anxiously, which much abated the tediousness thereof and was a comfort and refreshment to him in his solitude and danger. At last, arriving near the promontory which was both steep and high, and fearing danger in a straight course and direct line, they unanimously veered about, and making to shore with a little compass for security they delivered Arion to us in safety, so that he plainly perceived and with thanks acknowledged a Providence.
When we had fasted for three days and made sacrifices on each of those days, we all decided to stay up the third night and spend it having fun and dancing. The moon was shining brightly on the water, and the sea was incredibly calm and still; we noticed this while we were having fun on the shore. Suddenly, we saw an amazing sight out at sea, moving quickly towards the nearby headland. The force of the motion made the sea foam, and the noise was so loud that everyone abandoned their activities and ran over to see what was happening. Before we could fully understand what we were witnessing, the movement was so swift that we saw several dolphins—some swimming in a circle, others making a beeline for the shallow part of the shore, and still more following behind. In the middle, there was something on the surface of the water that we could see, but we couldn’t clearly identify it until we got closer to the shore. We saw all the dolphins gathering together, and as they approached the land, they safely brought to shore a man who was gasping and shaking himself. They returned to the headland, seeming to rejoice even more for their fortunate deed. Some in the crowd were frightened and ran away; a few of us, however, found the courage to go closer and see what this strange sight was all about. There we found out it was our old friend Arion the musician, who confirmed his identity. He was wearing the same outfit he had worn during his performances. We took him to our tent and discovered that he had emerged from his ordeal without any injuries, just a little tired from the wild ride. He recounted the whole incredible story of his adventure—a tale unbelievable to anyone who hadn’t seen it. He explained how, when he planned to leave Italy because he was being rushed by Periander's letters, he boarded a Corinthian merchant ship that was ready to sail. While at sea with favorable winds, he noticed the crew conspiring to murder him, and the captain informed him of their plan to carry it out that very night. In this situation, the poor man (as if guided by his guardian spirit) wrapped himself in the cloak he once wore in victory, now a garment of mourning, determined to compose and sing his own epitaph, just like the swans are said to do when they sense death approaching. Dressed like this, he told the crew that he intended to entrust his safety and that of his fellow passengers to the gods through a Pythian song. Standing at the back of the ship, he called upon all the sea gods for help and began to sing joyfully while playing his harp. Before he finished his song, the sun set, and he could see Peloponnesus in the distance. The crew found it tedious to wait for the night, so they decided to murder him right away and drew their swords. Seeing this and noticing the helmsman covering his face, he leaped as far as he could into the sea; but before he sank, he found himself supported by dolphins. At first, he was filled with worry and fear, but soon, realizing he was moving forward easily and safely, and seeing a whole group of dolphins swimming around him, eager to help in his rescue, and noticing the ship far behind, he understood how nimble his rescuers were. At that moment, he stopped feeling afraid; he realized he wasn’t particularly scared of death nor eager to cling to life as much as he was ambitious to show everyone that he was favored by the gods, bolstering his own faith in them. As he swam, he looked up at the sky, saw the stars sparkling and the full moon shining gloriously, and noticed the calm sea around her as if it were guiding him. He declared he believed God's justice had many eyes, and with those countless eyes, the gods observed everything happening below, on both land and sea. This reflection helped him complete his journey with less anxiety, making the experience less tedious and providing him with comfort during his solitude and peril. Finally, when he neared the steep and high headland, fearing danger if he continued straight, the dolphins navigated around and, taking a safer route, delivered Arion safely to us, allowing him to clearly see and gratefully acknowledge the hand of Providence.
When Arion had finished this narrative of his escape, I asked him (quoth Gorgias) whither the ship was bound; he told me for Corinth, but it would not be there very suddenly, for when he leaped out of the ship and was carried (as he conceived) about five hundred furlongs, he perceived a calm, which must needs much retard their arrival who were aboard. Gorgias added that, having learned the names of the pilot and master and the colors of the ship, he immediately despatched out ships and soldier to examine all the ports, all this while keeping Arion concealed, lest the criminals should upon notice of His deliverance escape the pursuit of justice. This action happened very luckily; for as soon as he arrived at Corinth, news was brought him that the same ship was in port, and that his party had seized it and secured all the men, merchants and others. Whereupon Periander commanded Gorgias's discretion and zeal, desiring him to proceed and lose no time, but immediately to clap them in close prison, and to suffer none to come at them to give the least notice of Arion's miraculous escape.
When Arion finished telling me about his escape, I asked him (Gorgias said) where the ship was headed. He replied that it was going to Corinth, but it wouldn't get there anytime soon, because after he jumped out of the ship and was carried, as he thought, about five hundred furlongs, he noticed a calm that would definitely slow down those on board. Gorgias added that after learning the names of the pilot and captain, as well as the ship's colors, he quickly sent out ships and soldiers to check all the ports while keeping Arion hidden, so the criminals wouldn’t hear about his rescue and evade justice. This turned out to be very fortunate; as soon as he arrived at Corinth, he got news that the same ship was in port, and his crew had captured it and secured all the people on board, including merchants and others. Periander then praised Gorgias for his discretion and enthusiasm, urging him to act quickly and lock them all up in a secure prison, making sure that no one could inform them of Arion’s miraculous escape.
Gentlemen, quoth Aesop, I remember you derided my dialogue of the daws and rooks; and now you can admire and believe as improbable a story of dolphins. You are mightily out, said I, for this is no novel story which we believe, but it is recorded in the annals of Ino and Athamas above a thousand years ago. These passages are supernatural, quoth Solon and much above our reason; what befell Hesiod is of a lower kind, and more proper for our discourse, and if you have not heard of it before, it is worth your hearing.
Gentlemen, Aesop said, I remember you laughed at my tale of the daws and rooks; and now you can admire and believe in as unlikely a story about dolphins. You are greatly mistaken, I replied, because this isn't a new story we're believing, but it's recorded in the histories of Ino and Athamas over a thousand years ago. These events are supernatural, said Solon, and far beyond our understanding; what happened to Hesiod is of a lesser nature and more suitable for our discussion, and if you haven't heard of it before, it's worth listening to.
Hesiod once sojourned at the same house in Locris with a certain Milesian. In this his sojourning time it happened the gentleman's daughter was got with child by the Milesian which being discovered, the whole family concluded Hesiod, if not guilty, must be privy to the fact. His innocence was but a weak fence against their jealousy and aspersions; and therefore, rashly censuring him guilty, the brothers of the woman waylaid him in his return home, and slew him and his companion Troilus near the shrine of Nemean Jove in Locris. Their carcasses they threw into the sea; that of Troilus was carried into the river Daphnus, and rested upon a certain rock compassed with waters, just above the surface of the sea, which rock bears his name to this day. The body of Hesiod was no sooner fallen upon the surface of the water, but a company of dolphins received it, and conveyed it to Rhium and Molyeria. It happened the Locrians were assembled at Rhium that day to feast and make merry according to the custom which continues still among them. As soon as they perceived a carcass floating or rather swimming towards them, they hastened, not without admiration, to see what it was; and knowing the body to be Hesiod's, they instantly resolved to find out the murderers. It proved an easy discovery. After conviction they threw them headlong alive into the sea, and ordered their houses to be demolished to the very foundations. The body they buried in the grove of the temple of Jove, that no foreigner might find it out; the reason of this act was that the Orchomenians had searched far and near for it at the instigation of the oracle, who promised them the greatest felicity if they could get the bones of Hesiod and bury them in their city. Now if dolphins are so favorable to dead men, it is very probable they have a strong affection for the living, especially for such as delight in music, whether vocal or instrumental. And this we know undoubtedly, that these creatures delight infinitely in music; they love it, and if any man sings or plays, they will quietly come by the side of the ship, and listen till the music is ended. When children bathe in the water and sport themselves, you shall have a parcel of them flock together and sport and swim by them; and they may do it the more securely, since it is a breach of the law of Nature to hurt them. You never heard of any man that fishes for them purposely or hurts them wilfully, unless falling into the nets they spoil the sport, and so, like bad children, are corrected for their misdemeanors. I very well remember the Lesbians told me how a maid of their town was preserved from drowning by them.
Hesiod once stayed in the same house in Locris as a certain Milesian. During his stay, the gentleman's daughter got pregnant by the Milesian, and when this was discovered, the whole family assumed that if Hesiod wasn’t guilty, he must at least have known about it. His innocence didn’t protect him from their jealousy and accusations, so the woman's brothers, hastily deciding he was guilty, ambushed him on his way home and killed him and his companion Troilus near the shrine of Nemean Jove in Locris. They tossed their bodies into the sea; Troilus's body was carried into the river Daphnus and rested on a rock surrounded by water, just above the sea's surface, which rock is still named after him today. As soon as Hesiod’s body hit the water, a group of dolphins came and took it to Rhium and Molyeria. That day, the Locrians were gathered at Rhium to feast and celebrate, a tradition that still exists. When they saw a body floating or rather swimming toward them, they rushed over, intrigued to see what it was, and realizing it was Hesiod, they immediately set out to find his murderers. It turned out to be an easy task. After they were found guilty, they were thrown headfirst into the sea while still alive, and their houses were ordered to be demolished to the ground. Hesiod's body was buried in the grove of the temple of Jove so that no outsider could find it; the reason for this was that the Orchomenians had searched everywhere for it because the oracle promised them great happiness if they could obtain and bury Hesiod's bones in their city. If dolphins are so kind to the dead, it’s likely they have a strong affection for the living, especially for those who enjoy music, whether singing or playing instruments. We know for sure that these creatures love music; they are drawn to it, and if a person sings or plays, they will calmly come to the side of the boat and listen until the music stops. When children swim and play in the water, you'll see a group of dolphins gathering and frolicking alongside them, feeling secure because it’s against the law of Nature to harm them. You’ve never heard of anyone fishing for them intentionally or hurting them on purpose, unless they happen to get caught in nets and disrupt the fun, in which case they might be scolded like misbehaving children. I remember the people of Lesbos telling me how a girl from their town was saved from drowning by them.
It was a very true story, quoth Pittacus, and there are divers still alive who will attest it, if need be. The builders or founders of Lesbos were commanded by the oracle to sail till they came to a haven called Mesogaeum, there they should sacrifice a bull to Neptune, and for the honor of Amphitrite and the sea-nymphs they should offer a virgin. The principal persons in this colony were seven in number; the eighth was one Echelaus by name, and appointed head of the rest by the oracle himself; and he was a bachelor. A daughter of one of these seven was to be sacrificed, but who it should be was to be decided by lot, and the lot fell upon Smintheus's sister. Her they dressed most richly, and so apparelled they conveyed her in abundance of state to the water-side, and having composed a prayer for her, they were now ready to throw her overboard. There was in the company a certain ingenuous young gentleman whose name was Enalus; he was desperately in love with this young lady, and his love prompted him to endeavor all he could for her preservation, or at least to perish in the attempt. In the very moment she was to be cast away, he clasps her in his arms and throws himself and her together into the sea. Shortly after there was a flying report they were both conveyed safe to land. A while after Enalus was seen at Lesbos, who gave out they were preserved by dolphins. I could tell you stories more incredible than these, such as would amuse some and please others; but it is impossible to command men's faith. The sea was so tempestuous and rough, the people were afraid to come too near the waters, when Enalus arrived. A number of polypuses followed him even to Neptune's temple, the biggest and strongest of which carried a great stone. This Enalus dedicated, and this stone is therefore called Enalus to this day. To be short and to speak all in a few words,—he that knows how to distinguish between the impossible and the unusual, to make a difference between the unlikely and the absurd, to be neither too credulous nor too distrustful,—he hath learned your lesson, Do not overdo. ([Greek omitted], NE QUID NIMIS.)
It was a true story, said Pittacus, and there are many still alive who can confirm it if needed. The founders of Lesbos were instructed by the oracle to sail until they reached a harbor called Mesogaeum. There, they were to sacrifice a bull to Neptune and offer a virgin in honor of Amphitrite and the sea nymphs. The main figures in this colony numbered seven; the eighth was a man named Echelaus, appointed leader by the oracle himself, and he was a bachelor. A daughter of one of these seven was chosen to be sacrificed, and the selection was to be made by lot, which fell on Smintheus's sister. They dressed her in luxurious clothing and, in grand style, took her to the waterside. After preparing a prayer for her, they were just about to throw her overboard. Among them was a young man named Enalus, who was madly in love with her. His love drove him to do everything he could to save her, or at least to die trying. At the moment she was to be cast away, he held her in his arms and jumped into the sea with her. Shortly after, word spread that they were both safely brought to shore. Later, Enalus was spotted in Lesbos, claiming they were saved by dolphins. I could tell you even more unbelievable stories that would entertain some and please others, but it’s impossible to make everyone believe. The sea was so wild and rough that people were scared to go near the water when Enalus arrived. A bunch of octopuses followed him all the way to Neptune's temple, the largest and strongest of which carried a huge stone. Enalus dedicated this stone, which is still called Enalus to this day. To sum it up and put it simply—those who know how to differentiate between the impossible and the unusual, to tell apart the unlikely from the absurd, and to be neither too gullible nor too skeptical—they've learned your lesson, Don’t overdo it. ([Greek omitted], NE QUID NIMIS.)
Anacharsis after all this discourse spake to this purpose: Since Thales has asserted the being of a soul in all the principal and most noble parts of the universe, it is no wonder that the most commendable acts are governed by an overruling Power; for, as the body is the organ of the soul, so the soul is an instrument in the hand of God. Now as the body has many motions of its own proceeding from itself, but the best and most from the soul, so the soul acts some things by its own power, but in most things it is subordinate to the will and power of God, whose glorious instrument it is. To me it seems highly unreasonable—and I should be but too apt to censure the wisdom of the gods, if I were convinced—that they use fire, and water, and wind, and clouds, and rain for the preservation and welfare of some and for the detriment and destruction of others, while at the same time they make no use of living creatures that are doubtless more serviceable to their ends than bows are to the Scythians or harps or pipes to the Greeks.
Anacharsis, after all this discussion, said: Since Thales claimed that there is a soul in all the main and most important parts of the universe, it’s no surprise that the most admirable actions are directed by a higher Power; for just as the body serves the soul, the soul is a tool in God's hands. The body can move in many ways independently, but the best movements come from the soul. Similarly, the soul has its own power for some actions, but for most things, it is under the will and power of God, to whom it is a glorious instrument. It seems extremely unreasonable to me—and I would be too quick to criticize the wisdom of the gods if I were convinced—that they use fire, water, wind, clouds, and rain for the care and benefit of some people while causing harm and destruction to others, all the while not utilizing living creatures that are undoubtedly more useful for their purposes than bows to the Scythians or harps or flutes to the Greeks.
Chersias the poet broke off this discourse, and told the company of divers that were miraculously preserved to his certain knowledge, and more particularly of Cypselus, Periander's father, who being newly born, his adversary sent a party of bloody fellows to murder him. They found the child in his nurse's arms, and seeing him smile innocently upon them, they had not the heart to hurt him, and so departed; but presently recalling themselves and considering the peremptoriness of their orders, they returned and searched for him, but could not find him, for his mother had hid him very carefully in a chest. (Called [Greek omitted] in Greek, whence the child was named Cypelus.(G.)) When he came to years of discretion, and understood the greatness of his former danger and deliverance, he consecrated a temple at Delphi to Apollo, by whose care he conceived himself preserved from crying in that critical time, and by his cries from betraying his own life. Pittacus, addressing his discourse to Periander, said: It is well done of Chersias to make mention of that shrine, for this brings to my mind a question I several times purposed to ask you but still forgot, namely,—To what intent all those frogs were carved upon the palm-tree before the door, and how they affect either the deity or the dedicator? Periander remitted him to Chersias for answer, as a person better versed in these matters for he was present when Cypselus consecrated the shrine. But Chersias smiling would not satisfy them, until they resolved him the meaning of these aphorisms; "Do not overdo," "Know thyself," but particularly and principally this,—which had scared divers from wedlock and others from suretyship and others for speaking at all,—"promise, and you are ruined." What need we to explain to you these, when you yourself have so mightily magnified Aesop's comment upon each of them. Aesop replied: When Chersias is disposed to jest with me upon these subjects, and to jest seriously, he is pleased to father such sayings and sentences upon Homer, who, bringing in Hector furiously flying upon others, yet at another time represents him as flying from Ajax son of Telamon, ("Iliad," xi. 542.)—an argument that Hector knew himself. And Homer made Ulysses use the saying "Do not overdo," when he besought his friend Diomedes not to commend him, too much nor yet to censure him too much. And for suretyship he exposes it as a matter unsafe, nay highly dangerous, declaring that to be bound for idle and wicked men is full of hazard. ("Iliad," x. 249; "Odyssey," viii. 351.) To confirm this, Chersias reported how Jupiter had thrown Ate headlong out of heaven, because she was by when he made the promise about the birth of Hercules whereby he was circumvented.
Chersias the poet ended his talk and told the gathering of various people who had been miraculously saved, particularly about Cypselus, the father of Periander. When he was just born, his enemy sent a group of ruthless men to kill him. They found the baby in his nurse's arms, and when they saw him smiling innocently at them, they couldn’t bring themselves to harm him, so they left. But soon, recalling their orders, they returned to look for him, although they couldn’t find him because his mother had hidden him very carefully in a chest. (This chest is referred to as [Greek omitted] in Greek, which is where the child got the name Cypelus. (G.)) When he grew older and understood the severity of his past danger and how he was saved, he dedicated a temple to Apollo at Delphi, believing that he was preserved from crying during that critical moment, and that his cries could have revealed his location and put his life at risk. Pittacus, addressing Periander, said: It’s good that Chersias mentioned that shrine because it reminds me of a question I meant to ask you several times but always forgot—why were all those frogs carved on the palm tree in front of the door, and what do they have to do with either the deity or the person who dedicated it? Periander suggested asking Chersias for the answer since he knew more about these matters; he was there when Cypselus dedicated the shrine. But Chersias, smiling, wouldn’t answer until they explained the meanings of these sayings: "Do not overdo," "Know thyself," and especially this one—which had scared many away from marriage, others from guaranteeing loans, and still others from speaking at all—"promise, and you are ruined." Why should we explain these to you when you've already praised Aesop’s interpretation of each? Aesop replied: When Chersias feels like joking with me about these topics, he humorously credits such sayings to Homer, who, when depicting Hector furiously fleeing from others, also shows him running away from Ajax, the son of Telamon, (Iliad, xi. 542)—which suggests that Hector knew himself well. Homer made Ulysses use the phrase "Do not overdo" when he asked his friend Diomedes not to praise him too much or criticize him too harshly. Regarding suretyship, he pointed out that it’s dangerous, stating that guaranteeing for idle and wicked people is full of risks. (Iliad, x. 249; Odyssey, viii. 351.) To support this, Chersias reported how Jupiter had thrown Ate out of heaven because she was present when he made the promise about Hercules's birth that led to his downfall.
Here Solon broke in: I advise, that we now give ear to Homer,—
Here Solon interrupted: I suggest that we listen to Homer now—
But now the night extends her awful shade:
The Goddess parts you: be the night obeyed.
("Iliad," vii. 282.)
But now the night spreads her frightening darkness:
The Goddess separates you: let the night be obeyed.
("Iliad," vii. 282.)If it please the company then, let us sacrifice to the Muses, to Neptune, and to Amphitrite, and so bid each adieu for this night.
If it's okay with everyone, let's offer our thanks to the Muses, Neptune, and Amphitrite, and say goodbye for tonight.
This was the conclusion of that meeting, my dear Nicarchus.
This was the end of that meeting, my dear Nicarchus.
END OF THIRTEEN—————
END OF THIRTEEN
HOW A YOUNG MAN OUGHT TO HEAR POEMS.
HOW A YOUNG MAN SHOULD LISTEN TO POEMS.
Though it may be allowed to be a question fit for the determination of those concerning whom Cato said, Their palates are more sensitive than their minds, whether that saying of Philoxenus the poet be true or no, The most savory flesh is that which is no flesh, and fish that is no fish. Yet this to me, Marcus Sedatus, is out of question, that those precepts of philosophy which seem not to be delivered with a designed gravity, such as becomes philosophers, take most with persons that are very young, and meet with a more ready acceptance and compliance from them. Whence it is that they do not only read through Aesop's fables and the fictions of poets and the Abaris of Heraclides and Ariston's Lyco; but also such doctrines as relate to the souls of men, if something fabulous be mixed with them, with an excess of pleasure that borders on enthusiasm. Wherefore we are not only to govern their appetites in the delights of eating and drinking, but also (and much more) to inure them to a like temperance in reading and hearing, that, while they make use of enjoyment as a sauce, they may pursue that which is wholesome and profitable in those things which they read. For neither can a city be secure if but one gate be left open to receive the enemy, though all the rest be shut; nor a young man safe, though he be sufficiently fortified against the assaults of all other pleasures, whilst he is without any guard against those of the ear. Yea, the nearer the commerce is betwixt the delights of that sense and those of the mind and reason, by so much the more, when he lies open on that side, is he apt to be debauched and corrupted thereby. Seeing therefore we cannot (and perhaps would not if we could) debar young men of the size of my Soclarus and thy Cleander altogether from the reading of poets, yet let us keep the stricter guard upon them, as those who need a guide to direct them in their reading more than on their journeys. Upon which consideration, I find myself disposed to send thee at present in writing that discourse concerning Poetry which I had lately an occasion to deliver by word of mouth; that, when thou hast read it over thyself, thou mayst also make such use of it, if thou judgest it may be serviceable to that purpose, as those which are engaged to drink hard do of amulets (or preservatives against drunkenness),—that is, that thou mayst communicate it to Cleander, to prepossess him therewith; seeing he is naturally endowed with a brisk, piercing, and daring wit, and therefore more prone to be inveigled by that sort of study.
Though it might be a question worth considering for those about whom Cato said, "Their tastes are more refined than their intellects," whether Philoxenus the poet's saying is true: "The most delicious meat is meat that isn’t meat, and fish that isn’t fish." However, to me, Marcus Sedatus, it is undoubtedly clear that the philosophical teachings which don’t seem to be delivered with serious intent, as befits philosophers, resonate more with younger people and are more readily accepted by them. This is why they not only read Aesop's fables, the works of poets, and the Abaris of Heraclides and Ariston's Lyco, but also explore ideas about the souls of humans, particularly when those ideas contain some fantastical elements, with a pleasure that borders on enthusiasm. Therefore, we need to not only manage their appetites for food and drink, but also (and even more importantly) teach them to be equally moderate in their reading and listening, so that as they enjoy themselves, they also seek what is healthy and beneficial in their reading materials. For a city can’t be safe if just one gate is left open to let the enemy in, even if all the other gates are closed; nor can a young man be secure if he is well-protected against all other pleasures but lacks any defense against auditory temptations. Indeed, the closer the connection is between sensory pleasures and those of the mind and reason, the more likely he is to be led astray and corrupted when he is open to that side. Therefore, since we cannot—and maybe wouldn’t even want to if we could—keep young men like my Soclarus and your Cleander completely from reading poetry, let’s maintain a stricter oversight of them, as they require guidance in their reading more than in their travels. With this in mind, I feel inclined to send you in writing the discourse on Poetry that I recently delivered verbally; so that when you have read it yourself, you may also use it, if you think it might be helpful for that purpose, like those who are determined to drink heavily use amulets (or remedies against drunkenness)—that is, to share it with Cleander to give him a head start, since he is naturally equipped with a bright, sharp, and adventurous mind, making him more susceptible to being drawn into that kind of study.
They say of the fish called polypus that
They say of the fish called polypus that
His head in one respect is very good,
But in another very naughty food;
His head is great in one way,
But in another, it's pretty troublesome;
because, though it be very luscious to eat, yet it is thought to disturb the fancy with frightful and confused dreams. And the like observation may be made concerning poetry, that it affords sweet and withal wholesome nourishment to the minds of young men, but yet it contains likewise no less matter of disturbance and emotion to them that want a right conduct in the study thereof. For of it also, as well as of Egypt, may it be said that (to those who will use it)
because, although it's really enjoyable to eat, it's believed to cause frightening and chaotic dreams. A similar point can be made about poetry; it provides sweet and nourishing food for the minds of young people, but it can also lead to confusion and strong emotions for those who lack proper guidance in studying it. Just like with Egypt, it can be said that (for those who will engage with it)
Its over-fertile and luxuriant field
Medicines and poisons intermixt doth yield;
Its overly fertile and lush field
Medicines and poisons mixed together yield; for therein
for in there
Love with soft passions and rich language drest
Oft steals the heart out of th' ingenuous breast.
("Odyssey," iv. 230; "Iliad," xiv. 216.)
Love, adorned with gentle feelings and expressive words,
Often captures the heart from the sincere soul.
("Odyssey," iv. 230; "Iliad," xiv. 216.)And indeed such only are endangered thereby, for the charms of that art ordinarily affect not those that are downright sots and naturally incapable of learning. Wherefore, when Simonides was asked why of all men he could not deceive the Thessalians, his answer was, Because they are not so well bred as to be capable of being cajoled by me. And Gorgias used to call tragical poems cheats, wherein he that did cheat was juster than he that did not cheat, and he that was cheated was wiser than he that was not cheated.
And indeed, only those in danger are affected by this, because the allure of that art usually doesn't reach those who are complete drunks and naturally unable to learn. So, when Simonides was asked why he couldn't fool the Thessalians, he replied, "Because they aren't refined enough to be tricked by me." And Gorgias used to refer to tragic poems as deceits, where the one who deceived was fairer than the one who didn’t deceive, and the one who was deceived was smarter than the one who wasn’t deceived.
It deserves therefore our consideration, whether we shall put young men into Epicurus's boat,—wherein, having their ears stopped with wax, as those of the men of Ithaca were, they shall be obliged to sail by and not so much as touch at poetry,—or rather keep a guard on them, so as to oblige their judgments by principles of right reason to use it aright, and preserve them from being seduced to their hurt by that which affords them so much delight. For neither did Lycurgus, the valiant son of Dryas (as Homer calls him) ("Iliad," vi. 130.) act like a man of sound reason in the course which he took to reform his people that were much inclined to drunkenness, by travelling up and down to destroy all the vines in the country; whereas he should have ordered that every vine should have a well of water near it, that (as Plato saith) the drunken deity might be reduced to temperance by a sober one. For water mixed with wine takes away the hurtful spirits, while it leaves the useful ones in it. Neither should we cut down or destroy the Muses' vine, poetry; but where we perceive it luxuriates and grows wild through an ungoverned appetite of applause, there ought we to prune away or keep under the fabulous and theatrical branches thereof; and where we find any of the Graces linked to any of the Muses,—that is, where the lusciousness and tempting charms of language are not altogether barren and unprofitable,—there let us make use of philosophy to incorporate with it.
It’s worth considering whether we should put young men in Epicurus's boat—where, with their ears blocked by wax like the men of Ithaca, they are forced to sail by without even stopping at poetry—or if we should rather keep an eye on them, guiding their judgment with principles of sound reasoning so they use it properly and protect them from being led astray by something that brings them so much joy. For Lycurgus, the brave son of Dryas (as Homer refers to him) ("Iliad," vi. 130.), didn’t act rationally when he tried to reform his intoxicated people by traveling around to destroy all the vines in the land; he should have arranged for each vine to have a well of water nearby, so that (as Plato says) the intoxicated god could be moderated by a sober one. Water mixed with wine removes the harmful spirits, while leaving the beneficial ones intact. We shouldn’t cut down or destroy the Muses' vine—poetry—but where we notice it growing wild due to an unchecked desire for praise, we should trim back or control the fantastical and theatrical aspects of it. And where we find any of the Graces connected to the Muses—that is, where the richness and alluring qualities of language are not completely unproductive—we should use philosophy to blend with it.
For as, where the mandrake grows near the vine and so communicates something of its force thereto, the wine that is made of its grapes makes the sleep of those that drink it more refreshing; so doth the tempering poetry with the principles of philosophy and allaying their roughness with its fictions render the study of them more easy and the relish of them more grateful to young learners. Wherefore those that would give their minds to philosophical studies are not obliged to avoid poetry altogether, but rather to introduce themselves to philosophy by poems, accustoming themselves to search for and embrace that which may profit in that which pleaseth them, and rejecting and discarding that wherein they find nothing of this nature. For this discrimination is the first step to learning; and when this is attained, then, according to what Sophocles saith,—
For just as the mandrake grows near the vine and shares some of its strength, the wine made from its grapes makes those who drink it feel more refreshed; similarly, blending poetry with the principles of philosophy and softening their harshness with its imaginative elements makes the study of them easier and more enjoyable for young learners. Therefore, those who want to focus on philosophical studies don’t have to completely avoid poetry; instead, they should approach philosophy through poems, training themselves to seek out and appreciate what is beneficial within what delights them, while rejecting and discarding what they find unhelpful. This ability to differentiate is the first step in learning; and once this is achieved, then, as Sophocles says,—
To have begun well what we do intend
Gives hope and prospect of as good an end.
Starting off strong in what we plan
Gives us hope and a chance for a great finish.Let us therefore in the first place possess those whom we initiate in the study of poetry with this notion (as one which they ought always to have at hand), that
Let’s first make sure that those we introduce to the study of poetry always keep this idea in mind: that
'Tis frequently the poet's guise
To intermingle truth with lies;—
It's often the poet's style
To mix truth with lies;—which they do sometimes with and sometimes against their wills. They do it with their wills, because they find strict truth too rigid to comply with that sweetness and gracefulness of expression, which most are taken with, so readily as fiction doth. For real truth, though it disgust never so much, must be told as it is, without alteration; but that which is feigned in a discourse can easily yield and shift its garb from the distasteful to that which is more pleasing. And indeed, neither the measures nor the tropes nor the grandeur of words nor the aptness of metaphors nor the harmony of the composition gives such a degree of elegance and gracefulness to a poem as a well-ordered and artificial fiction doth. But as in pictures the colors are more delightful to the eye than the lines because those give them a nearer resemblance to the persons they were made for, and render them the more apt to deceive the beholder; so in poems we are more apt to be smitten and fall in love with a probable fiction than with the greatest accuracy that can be observed in measures and phrases, where there is nothing fabulous or fictitious joined with it. Wherefore Socrates, being induced by some dreams to attempt something in poetry, and finding himself unapt, by reason that he had all his lifetime been the champion of severe truth, to hammer out of his own invention a likely fiction, made choice of Aesop's fables to turn into verse; as judging nothing to be true poetry that had in it nothing of falsehood. For though we have known some sacrifices performed without pipes and dances, yet we own no poetry which is utterly destitute of fable and fiction. Whence the verses of Empedocles and Parmenides, the Theriaca of Nicander, and the sentences of Theognis, are rather to be accounted speeches than poems, which, that they might not walk contemptibly on foot, have borrowed from poetry the chariot of verse, to convey them the more creditably through the world. Whensoever therefore anything is spoken in poems by any noted and eminently famous man, concerning gods or daemons or virtue, that is absurd or harsh, he that takes such sayings for truths is thereby misled in his apprehension and corrupted with an erroneous opinion. But he that constantly keeps in his mind and maintains as his principle that the witchcraft of poetry consists in fiction, he that can at all turns accost it in this language,—
which people sometimes do willingly and sometimes reluctantly. They do it willingly because they find straightforward truth too rigid to match the charm and gracefulness of the expressions that most people are drawn to, just like they are attracted to fiction. Real truth, no matter how unpleasant, must be presented as it is, without any changes; however, what is made up in a story can easily shift from something unappealing to something more enjoyable. In fact, neither the structure nor the figures of speech nor the grandeur of words nor the suitability of metaphors nor the harmony of the composition provides such a level of elegance and grace to a poem as a well-crafted and contrived fiction does. Just as in paintings, colors are more pleasing to the eye than lines because they provide a closer resemblance to the subjects they depict and make it easier to deceive the viewer, in poems, we are more likely to be enchanted and fall in love with a believable fiction than with the greatest precision observed in structure and phrases that lack any fabulous or fictional elements. Therefore, Socrates, influenced by some dreams to try his hand at poetry but realizing he was unfit for it because he had always championed strict truth, chose Aesop's fables to turn into verse, believing that nothing could be true poetry without some element of falsehood. Because even though we know some sacrifices have been made without music and dance, we acknowledge no poetry that is entirely devoid of fable and fiction. Thus, the verses of Empedocles and Parmenides, the Theriaca of Nicander, and the maxims of Theognis are more like speeches than poems, which, to avoid appearing insignificant, have borrowed from poetry the vehicle of verse to carry them more credibly through the world. Whenever anything is said in poems by any well-known and distinguished figure about gods, spirits, or virtue that seems absurd or harsh, anyone who takes such statements as truths is misled in their understanding and corrupted by a false opinion. But whoever constantly keeps in mind and holds as a guiding principle that the magic of poetry lies in fiction, and who can approach it in this way—
Riddle of art! like which no sphinx beguiles;
Whose face on one side frowns while th' other smiles!
Why cheat'st thou, with pretence to make us wise,
And bid'st sage precepts in a fool's disguise?—
Riddle of art! like none a sphinx deceives;
Whose face on one side frowns while the other smiles!
Why do you trick us, pretending to enlighten?
And give wise lessons in a fool's disguise?—such a one, I say, will take no harm by it, nor admit from it any absurd thing into his belief. But when he meets in poetry with expressions of Neptune's rending the earth to pieces and dicovering infernal regions, ("See Iliad," xx. 57.) he will be able to check his fears of the reality of any such accident; and he will blame himself for his anger against Apollo for the chief commander of the Greeks,—
such a person, I say, won’t be harmed by it, nor will they accept any ridiculous ideas into their beliefs. But when they encounter poetry that describes Neptune tearing the earth apart and revealing hellish regions, (“See Iliad,” xx. 57.) they will be able to calm their fears about the reality of such an event; and they will regret their anger towards Apollo, the main leader of the Greeks,—
Whom at a banquet, whiles he sings his praise
And speaks him fair, yet treacherously he slays.
("From Aeschylus" The whole passage is quoted in Plato's
"Republic," end of book II. (G.).)
Who at a banquet, while he sings his praises
And speaks nicely, yet treacherously kills him.
("From Aeschylus" The whole passage is quoted in Plato's
"Republic," end of book II. (G.).)Yea, he will repress his tears for Achilles and Agamemnon, while they are resented as mourning after their death, and stretching forth their limber and feeble hands to express their desire to live again. And if at any time the charms of poetry transport him into any disquieting passions, he will quickly say to himself, as Homer very elegantly (considering the propension of that sex to listen after fables) says in his Necyia, or relation of the state of the dead,—
Yea, he will hold back his tears for Achilles and Agamemnon, even as people mourn their deaths and reach out with weak and fragile hands to show their wish to come back to life. And if at any moment the beauty of poetry stirs some unsettling emotions in him, he will swiftly remind himself, as Homer very elegantly (considering that gender's tendency to be drawn to stories) mentions in his Necyia, or account of the afterlife,—
But from the dark dominions speed thy way,
And climb the steep ascent to upper day;
To thy chaste bride the wondrous story tell,
The woes, the horrors, and the laws of hell.
("Odyssey," xi. 223.)
But from the dark realms make your way,
And climb the steep path to the bright day;
To your pure bride share the amazing tale,
The sorrows, the terrors, and the rules of hell.
("Odyssey," xi. 223.)Such things as I have touched upon are those which the poets willingly feign. But more there are which they do not feign, but believing themselves as their own proper judgments, they put fictitious colors upon them to ingratiate them to us. As when Homer says of Jupiter,—
Such things I've mentioned are what poets like to imagine. But there are more things they don't just make up; they believe them to be their own opinions, and they add made-up details to make them more appealing to us. Like when Homer talks about Jupiter—
Jove lifts the golden balances, that show
The faces of mortal men, and things below.
Here each contending hero's lot he tries,
And weighs with equal hand their destinies
Low sinks the scale surcharged with Hector's fate;
Heavy with death it sinks, and hell receives the weight.
("Iliad," xxii. 210.)
Jove raises the golden scales, which reveal
The lives of mortal men and earthly matters.
Here, he assesses the fortunes of each hero,
Weighing their fates with an even hand.
The scale tips down under the burden of Hector's fate;
It sinks heavily with death, and the underworld takes on the load.
("Iliad," xxii. 210.)To this fable Aeschylus hath accommodated a whole tragedy which he calls Psychostasia, wherein he introduceth Thetis and Aurora standing by Jupiter's balances, and deprecating each of them the death of her son engaged in a duel. Now there is no man but sees that this fable is a creature of the poet's fancy, designed to delight or scare the reader. But this other passage,—
To this fable, Aeschylus has adapted a complete tragedy that he calls Psychostasia, in which he features Thetis and Aurora standing by Jupiter's scales, each pleading against the death of her son who is involved in a duel. It’s clear to everyone that this fable is a product of the poet's imagination, aimed at entertaining or frightening the reader. But this other passage,—
Great Jove is made the treasurer of wars;
(Ibid. iv. 84.)
Great Jupiter is now the treasurer of wars;
(Ibid. iv. 84.)and this other also,—
and this other too,—
When a god means a noble house to raze,
He frames one rather than he'll want a cause:
(From the "Niobe" of Aeschylus, Frag. 151.)
When a god intends to bring down a noble house,
He creates a reason rather than waiting for one:
(From the "Niobe" of Aeschylus, Frag. 151.)these passages, I say, express their judgment and belief who thereby discover and suggest to us the ignorant or mistaken apprehensions they had of the Deities. Moreover, almost every one knows nowadays, that the portentous fancies and contrivances of stories concerning the state of the dead are accommodated to popular apprehensions,—that the spectres and phantasms of burning rivers and horrid regions and terrible tortures expressed by frightful names are all mixed with fable and fiction, as poison with food; and that neither Homer nor Pindar nor Sophocles ever believed themselves when they wrote at this rate:—
these passages, I say, reflect the opinions and beliefs of those who reveal and point out the misunderstandings they had about the gods. Additionally, almost everyone knows today that the dramatic ideas and tales about the afterlife are shaped by popular beliefs—that the ghosts and visions of fiery rivers and horrifying places and awful punishments described by frightening names are all interwoven with myth and fantasy, just like poison is mixed with food; and that neither Homer nor Pindar nor Sophocles ever truly believed what they wrote in this way:—
There endless floods of shady darkness stream
From the vast caves, where mother Night doth teem;
There are endless flows of shady darkness streaming
From the vast caves, where Mother Night is teeming;and,
and,
There ghosts o'er the vast ocean's waves did glide,
By the Leucadian promontory's side;
("Odyssey," xxiv. 11.)
There ghosts glided over the vast ocean's waves,
By the Leucadian promontory's side;
("Odyssey," xxiv. 11.)and,
and,
There from th' unfathomed gulf th' infernal lake
Through narrow straits recurring tides doth make.
There from the endless depths, the fiery lake Through narrow pathways, the returning tides create.
And yet, as many of them as deplore death as a lamentable thing, or the want of burial after death as a calamitous condition, are wont to break out into expressions of this nature:—
And yet, as many of them as dislike death as a sad thing, or the lack of burial after death as a terrible condition, often burst out with expressions like these:—
O pass not by, my friend; nor leave me here
Without a grave, and on that grave a tear;
("Odyssey," xi. 72.)
O don't walk past, my friend; don't leave me here
Without a grave, and a tear on that grave;
("Odyssey," xi. 72.)and,
and,
Then to the ghosts the mournful soul did fly,
Sore grieved in midst of youth and strength to die;
("Iliad," xvi. 856.)
Then to the ghosts the sorrowful soul did fly,
Deeply pained in the prime of youth and strength to die;
("Iliad," xvi. 856.)and again,
and once more,
'Tis sweet to see the light. O spare me then,
Till I arrive at th' usual age of men:
Nor force my unfledged soul from hence, to know
The doleful state of dismal shades below.
(Euripides, "Iphigenia at Aulus," 1218.)
'Tis sweet to see the light. O spare me then, Till I reach the usual age of men: Nor force my untested soul from here, to know The sad state of the dark shades below. (Euripides, "Iphigenia at Aulus," 1218.)
These, I say, are the speeches of men persuaded of these things, as being possessed by erroneous opinions; and therefore they touch us the more nearly and torment us inwardly, because we ourselves are full of the same impotent passion from which they were uttered. To fortify us therefore against expressions of this nature, let this principle continually ring in our ears, that poetry is not at all solicitous to keep to the strict measure of truth. And indeed, as to what that truth in these matters is, even those men themselves who make it their only study to learn and search it out confess that they can hardly discover any certain footsteps to guide them in that inquiry. Let us therefore have these verses of Empedocles, in this case, at hand:—
These, I say, are the speeches of people convinced of these ideas, as they are influenced by mistaken beliefs; and that's why they affect us more deeply and distress us internally, because we ourselves are filled with the same powerless passion from which they were spoken. To protect ourselves from expressions like these, let this idea continually echo in our minds: poetry is not at all concerned with sticking to the strict standard of truth. And in fact, regarding what that truth is in these matters, even those who dedicate themselves to learning and uncovering it admit that they can hardly find any certain signs to guide them in that search. So let’s keep these verses of Empedocles in mind for this situation:—
No sight of man's so clear, no ear so quick,
No mind so piercing, that's not here to seek;
No sight of man so clear, no ear so sharp,
No mind so perceptive, that's not here to search;as also those of Xenophanes:—
as well as those of Xenophanes:—
The truth about the gods and ghosts, no man
E'er was or shall be that determine can;
The truth about gods and ghosts, no one
Ever was or will be able to determine;and lastly, that passage concerning Socrates, in Plato, where he by the solemnity of an oath disclaims all knowledge of those things. For those who perceive that the searching into such matters makes the heads of philosophers themselves giddy cannot but be the less inclined to regard what poets say concerning them.
and lastly, that part about Socrates in Plato, where he, with the seriousness of an oath, claims he knows nothing about those things. For those who realize that delving into such topics can make philosophers themselves dizzy are less likely to take seriously what poets say about them.
And we shall fix our young men more if, when we enter him in the poets, we first describe poetry to him and tell him that it is an imitating art and is in many respects like unto painting; not only acquainting him with that common saying, that poetry is vocal painting and painting silent poetry, but showing him, moreover, that when we see a lizard or an ape or the face of a Thersites in a picture, we are surprised with pleasure and wonder at it, not because of any beauty in the things, but for the likeness of the draught. For it is repugnant to the nature of that which is itself foul to be at the same time fair; and therefore it is the imitation—be the thing imitated beautiful or ugly—that, in case it do express it to the life, is commanded; and on the contrary, if the imitation make a foul thing to appear fair, it is dispraised because it observes not decency and likeness. Now some painters there are that paint uncomely actions; as Timotheus drew Medea killing her children; Theon, Orestes murdering his mother; and Parrhasius, Ulysses counterfeiting madness; yea, Chaerephanes expressed in picture the unchaste converse of women with men. Now in such cases a young man is to be familiarly acquainted with this notion, that, when men praise such pictures, they praise not the actions represented but only the painter's art which doth so lively express what was designed in them. Wherefore, in like manner, seeing poetry many times describes by imitation foul actions and unseemly passions and manners, the young student must not in such descriptions (although performed never so cleverly and commendably) believe all that is said as true or embrace it as good, but give its due commendation so far only as it suits the subject treated of. For as, when we hear the grunting of hogs and the shrieking of pulleys and the rustling of wind and the roaring of seas, we are, it may be, disturbed and displeased, and yet when we hear any one imitating these or the like noises handsomely (as Parmenio did that of an hog, and Theodorus that of a pulley), we are well pleased; and as we avoid (as an unpleasing spectacle) the sight of sick persons and of a man full of ulcers, and yet are delighted to be spectators of the Philoctetes of Aristophon and the Jocasta of Silanion, wherein such wasting and dying persons are well acted; so must the young scholar, when he reads in a poem of Thersites the buffoon or Sisyphus the whoremaster or Batrachus the bawd speaking or doing anything, so praise the artificial managery of the poet, adapting the expressions to the persons, as withal to look on the discourses and actions so expressed as odious and abominable. For the goodness of things themselves differs much from the goodness of the imitation of them; the goodness of the latter consisting only in propriety and aptness to represent the former. Whence to foul acts foul expressions are most suitable and proper. As the shoes of Demonides the cripple (which, when he had lost them, he wished might suit the feet of him that stole them) were but poor shoes, but yet fit for him; so we may say of such expressions as these:—
And we should guide our young men better if, when we introduce them to poetry, we first explain what poetry is and let them know that it is an art of imitation that is very similar to painting. We should not only remind them of the saying that poetry is vocal painting and painting is silent poetry, but we should also show them that when we see a lizard, an ape, or the face of Thersites in a painting, we feel surprise and pleasure at it, not because these things are beautiful, but because of how closely they resemble what they depict. It's against the nature of something ugly to also be beautiful; therefore, it is the imitation—whether the original is beautiful or ugly—that should be praised when it captures reality well. Conversely, if the imitation makes something ugly look beautiful, it is criticized for failing to maintain decency and likeness. There are some painters who depict unappealing actions; for example, Timotheus painted Medea killing her children, Theon illustrated Orestes murdering his mother, and Parrhasius showed Ulysses pretending to be mad. Even Chaerephanes illustrated indecent interactions between men and women. In these cases, young men should understand that when people praise such pictures, they aren't praising the actions themselves, but merely the artist's skill in vividly portraying them. Thus, similarly, since poetry often depicts ugly actions and inappropriate passions, the young student should not automatically believe everything in such descriptions, no matter how well they are presented. Instead, they should only commend it to the extent that it is appropriate for the subject matter. Just as we can be disturbed by the grunting of pigs, the creaking of pulleys, the rustling of the wind, and the roaring of the sea, yet still enjoy someone skillfully imitating these noises (like Parmenio imitating a pig and Theodorus imitating a pulley), we may also shy away from the sight of sick people or someone covered in sores but still enjoy watching Aristophanes’ Philoctetes or Silanion’s Jocasta, where such suffering is portrayed well. Therefore, when a young scholar reads a poem about Thersites the fool, Sisyphus the debaucher, or Batrachus the pimp, they should appreciate the poet’s craft in portraying these characters while simultaneously recognizing the discourses and actions they express as disgusting and repellent. The true quality of things is very different from how they are imitated; the latter's quality lies in its appropriateness and effectiveness in representing the former. Thus, foul acts naturally align with foul expressions. Just as the shoes of the cripple Demonides (which he wished would fit the thief who took them) were poor shoes, but still suitable for him, we can say the same about such expressions.
If t'is necessary an unjust act to do,
It is best to do it for a throne;
(Euripides, "Phoenissae," 524.)
Get the repute of Just,
And in it do all things whence gain may come;
A talent dowry! Could I
Sleep, or live, if thee I should neglect?
And should I not in hell tormented be,
Could I be guilty of such sacrilege?
(From Menander.)
If it's necessary to commit an unfair act,
it's better to do it for a throne;
(Euripides, "Phoenissae," 524.)
Gain a reputation for being just,
and do everything that could lead to gain;
A talented dowry! Could I
sleep or live if I neglected you?
And if I wouldn't be tormented in hell,
could I be guilty of such sacrilege?
(From Menander.)These, it is true, are wicked as well as false speeches, but yet are decent enough in the mouth of an Eteocles, an Ixion, and a griping usurer. If therefore we mind our children that the poets write not such things as praising and approving them, but do really account them base and vicious and therefore accommodate such speeches to base and vicious persons, they will never be damnified by them from the esteem they have of the poets in whom they meet with them. But, on the contrary, the suspicions insinuated into them of the persons will render the words and actions ascribed to them suspected for evil, because proceeding from such evil men. And of this nature is Homer's representation of Paris, when he describes him running out of the battle into Helen's bed. For in that he attributes no such indecent act to any other, but only to that incontinent and adulterous person, he evidently declares that he intends that relation to import a disgrace and reproach to such intemperance.
These may indeed be wicked and false statements, but they fit well coming from someone like Eteocles, Ixion, or a greedy moneylender. If we teach our children that the poets aren't writing these lines to praise and endorse them, but actually regard them as shameful and immoral, and that such words are meant for shameful and immoral people, then our children won't be harmed by the respect they hold for the poets who use them. On the contrary, the negative traits associated with those characters will make the words and actions attributed to them seem evil, since they come from such wicked individuals. A good example of this is how Homer portrays Paris, showing him fleeing from battle to Helen's bed. By attributing such an indecent act solely to that lustful and unfaithful character, he clearly means for this portrayal to signify shame and censure on that lack of self-control.
In such passages therefore we are carefully to observe whether or not the poet himself do anywhere give any intimation that he dislikes the things he makes such persons say; which, in the prologue to his Thais Menander does, in these words:—
In these sections, we need to pay close attention to whether the poet indicates that he dislikes the things he has these characters say. In the prologue to his Thais, Menander does, with these words:—
Therefore, my Muse, describe me now a whore,
Fair, bold, and furnished with a nimble tongue;
One that ne'er scruples to do lovers wrong;
That always craves, and denied shuts her door;
That truly loves no man, yet, for her ends,
Affection true to every man pretends.
Therefore, my Muse, tell me about a prostitute,
Beautiful, confident, and quick with her words;
One who never hesitates to betray lovers;
Who always wants more, and when turned down, shuts her door;
Who doesn't genuinely love any man, yet, to achieve her goals,
Pretends to have real affection for every man. But Homer of all the poets does it best. For he doth beforehand, as it were, bespeak dislike of the evil things and approbation of the good things he utters. Of the latter take these instances:—
But Homer, more than any other poet, does it best. He first expresses his dislike for the bad things and his approval of the good things he talks about. Here are some examples of the latter:—
He readily did the occasion take,
And sweet and comfortable words he spake;
("Odyssey," vi. 148.)
By him he stood, and with soft speeches quelled
The wrath which in his heated bosom swelled.
("Iliad," ii. 180.)
He quickly seized the opportunity,
And spoke sweet, comforting words;
("Odyssey," vi. 148.)
He stood by him and calmed
The anger that was boiling inside him.
("Iliad," ii. 180.) And for the former, he so performs it as in a manner solemnly to forbid us to use or heed such speeches as those he mentions, as being foolish and wicked. For example, being to tell us how uncivilly Agamemnon treated the priest, he premises these words of his own,—
And for the first point, he presents it in a way that seriously warns us not to use or pay attention to the kinds of speeches he refers to, as they are foolish and wrong. For instance, when he plans to tell us how badly Agamemnon treated the priest, he starts with these words of his own,—
Not so Atrides: he with kingly pride
Repulsed the sacred sire, and thus replied;
(Ibid. i. 24.)
Not so Atrides: he with kingly pride
rejected the sacred father, and thus replied;
(Ibid. i. 24.)intimating the insolency and unbecomingness of his answer. And when he attributes this passionate speech to Achilles,—
intimating the rudeness and inappropriateness of his response. And when he attributes this passionate speech to Achilles,—
O monster, mix'd of insolence and fear,
Thou dog in forehead, and in heart a deer!
(Ibid. i. 225.)
O monster, a mix of arrogance and fear,
You have the face of a dog, but the heart of a deer!
(Ibid. i. 225.)he accompanies it with this censure,—
he adds this critique,—
Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook,
Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke;
(Ibid. i. 223.)
Nor did the anger leave his heated heart,
Which thus intensified and attacked Atrides;
(Ibid. i. 223.)for it was unlikely that speaking in such anger he should observe any rules of decency.
for it was unlikely that speaking in such anger he would follow any rules of decency.
And he passeth like censures on actions. As on Achilles's foul usage of Hector's carcass,—
And he judges actions harshly. Like Achilles's terrible treatment of Hector's corpse,—
Gloomy he said, and (horrible to view)
Before the bier the bleeding Hector threw.
("Iliad," xxiii. 24.)
Gloomy he said, and (horrible to see)
Before the coffin, the bleeding Hector was thrown.
("Iliad," xxiii. 24.)And in like manner he doth very decently shut up relations of things said or done, by adding some sentence wherein he declares his judgment of them. As when he personates some of the gods saying, on the occasion of the adultery of Mars and Venus discovered by Vulcan's artifice,—
And similarly, he nicely wraps up stories about things said or done by adding a sentence where he shares his opinion on them. For example, when he portrays some of the gods commenting on the affair between Mars and Venus that was revealed by Vulcan's trickery,—
See the swift god o'ertaken by the lame!
Thus ill acts prosper not, but end in shame.
("Odyssey," viii. 329.)
Look at the fast god caught by the slow!
Bad deeds don't succeed; they only bring shame.
("Odyssey," viii. 329.)And thus concerning Hector's insolent boasting he says,—
And so about Hector's arrogant bragging, he says,—
With such big words his mind proud Hector eased,
But venerable Juno he displeased.
("Iliad," viii. 198.)
With such grand words, proud Hector felt at ease,
But he displeased the respected Juno.
("Iliad," viii. 198.)And when he speaks of Pandarus's shooting, he adds,—
And when he talks about Pandarus's shooting, he adds,—
He heard, and madly at the motion pleased,
His polish'd bow with hasty rashness seized.
(Ibid. iv. 104.)
He heard, and excited by the movement,
Quickly grabbed his polished bow in a rush.
(Ibid. iv. 104.)Now these verbal intimations of the minds and judgments of poets are not difficult to be understood by any one that will heedfully observe them. But besides these, they give us other hints from actions. As Euripides is reported, when some blamed him for bringing such an impious and flagitious villain as Ixion upon the stage, to have given this answer: But yet I brought him not off till I had fastened him to a torturing wheel. This same way of teaching by mute actions is to be found in Homer also, affording us useful contemplations upon those very fables which are usually most disliked in him. These some men offer force to, that they may reduce them to allegories (which the ancients called [Greek omitted]), and tell us that Venus committing adultery with Mars, discovered by the Sun, is to be understood thus: that when the star called Venus is in conjunction with that which hath the name of Mars, bastardly births are produced, and by the Sun's rising and discovering them they are not concealed. So will they have Juno's dressing herself so accurately to tempt Jupiter, and her making use of the girdle of Venus to inflame his love, to be nothing else but the purification of that part of the air which draweth nearest to the nature of fire. As if we were not told the meaning of those fables far better by the poet himself. For he teacheth us in that of Venus, if we heed it, that light music and wanton songs and discourses which suggest to men obscene fancies debauch their manners, and incline them to an unmanly way of living in luxury and wantonness, of continually haunting the company of women, and of being
Now, these verbal hints about the thoughts and judgments of poets are not hard to understand for anyone who pays close attention to them. However, in addition to these, they provide us with further insights through actions. Euripides is said to have responded to criticism for featuring the impious villain Ixion on stage by saying that he didn't let him go until he had strapped him to a torturing wheel. This same method of teaching through silent actions can also be found in Homer, offering us valuable reflections on the very stories that are often least liked in his work. Some people try to force these stories into allegories (which the ancients called [Greek omitted]), explaining that Venus’ affair with Mars, discovered by the Sun, symbolizes that when the planet Venus aligns with Mars, illegitimate births occur, and with the Sun rising, they are not hidden. They also interpret Juno's careful dressing to entice Jupiter and her use of Venus's girdle to spark his desire as nothing more than the purification of that part of the air that is closest to fire. As if the meaning of those tales isn't explained much better by the poet himself. For he teaches us in the story of Venus, if we pay attention, that light music and suggestive songs and conversations that provoke obscene thoughts corrupt our behavior and lead us to a soft, indulgent lifestyle filled with luxury and excess, constantly seeking the company of women and being
Given to fashions, that their garb may please,
Hot baths, and couches where they loll at case.
Engaged in trends, so their outfits will impress,
Enjoying hot baths and lounging on comfy couches.And therefore also he brings in Ulysses directing the musician thus,—
And so he also brings in Ulysses telling the musician like this,—
Leave this, and sing the horse, out of whose womb
The gallant knights that conquered Troy did come;
("Odyssey," viii. 249 and 492.)
Leave this, and sing about the horse, from whose womb
The brave knights who conquered Troy were born;
("Odyssey," viii. 249 and 492.)evidently teaching us that poets and musicians ought to receive the arguments of their songs from sober and understanding men. And in the other fable of Juno he excellently shows that the conversation of women with men, and the favors they receive from them procured by sorcery, witchcraft, or other unlawful arts, are not only short, unstable, and soon cloying, but also in the issue easily turned to loathing and displeasure, when once the pleasure is over. For so Jupiter there threatens Juno, when he tells her,—
evidently showing us that poets and musicians should get the ideas for their songs from sensible and understanding people. In the other story about Juno, he effectively demonstrates that women’s interactions with men and the favors they gain through magic, witchcraft, or other forbidden methods are not only fleeting and unsteady, but also tend to become annoying and unpleasant once the thrill wears off. This is what Jupiter warns Juno about when he says,—
Hear this, remember, and our fury dread,
Nor pull the unwilling vengeance on thy head;
Lest arts and blandishments successless prove
Thy soft deceits and well dissembled love.
("Iliad," xv. 32.)
Listen to this, remember it, and beware of our wrath,
Don't bring unwanted revenge upon yourself;
Otherwise, tricks and flattery might fail
Your gentle lies and cleverly hidden love.
("Iliad," xv. 32.)For the fiction and representation of evil acts, when it withal acquaints us with the shame and damage befalling the doers, hurts not but rather profits him that reads them. For which end philosophers make use of examples for our instruction and correction out of historical collections; and poets do the very same thing, but with this difference, that they invent fabulous examples themselves. There was one Melanthius, who (whether in jest or earnest he said it, it matters not much) affirmed that the city of Athens owed its preservation to the dissensions and factions that were among the orators, giving withal this reason for his assertion, that thereby they were kept from inclining all of them to one side, so that by means of the differences among those statesmen there were always some that drew the saw the right way for the defeating of destructive counsels. And thus it is too in the contradictions among poets, which, by lessening the credit of what they say, render them the less powerful to do mischief; and therefore, when comparing one saying with another we discover their contrariety, we ought to adhere to the better side. As in these instances:—
For stories and representations of evil deeds, when they also show us the shame and harm that fall on the wrongdoers, they don't harm but rather benefit the reader. Philosophers use examples from history to teach and correct us; poets do the same, but they create fictional examples themselves. There was a guy named Melanthius who, whether he was joking or serious, claimed that the city of Athens survived because of the disagreements and rivalries among the speakers. He argued that because they weren't all on the same side, there were always some who pushed back against harmful advice because of the divisions among those leaders. Similarly, in the contradictions among poets, which reduce the credibility of their statements, they become less likely to cause harm. Therefore, when we compare one statement to another and find contradictions, we should stick to the more valid side. As in these examples:—
The gods, my son, deceive poor men oft-times.
ANS. 'Tis easy, sir, on God to lay our crimes.
'Tis comfort to thee to be rich, is't not!
ANS. No, sir, 'tis bad to be a wealthy sot.
Die rather than such toilsome pains to take.
ANS. To call God's service toil's a foul mistake.
The gods, my son, often trick poor people.
ANS. It's easy, sir, to blame God for our wrongs.
It’s comforting for you to be rich, isn’t it?
ANS. No, sir, it’s bad to be a wealthy fool.
I’d rather die than go through such exhausting work.
ANS. To say that serving God is work is a terrible mistake.Such contrarieties as these are easily solved, if (as I said) we teach youth to judge aright and to give the better saying preference. But if we chance to meet with any absurd passages without any others at their heels to confute them, we are then to overthrow them with such others as elsewhere are to be found in the same author. Nor must we be offended with the poet or grieved at him, but only at the speeches themselves, which he utters either according to the vulgar manner of speaking or, it may be, but in drollery. So, when thou readest in Homer of gods thrown out of heaven headlong one by another, or gods wounded by men and quarrelling and brawling with each other, thou mayest readily, if thou wilt, say to him,—
Such contradictions are easy to resolve, if (as I mentioned) we teach young people to judge correctly and prefer the better argument. But if we come across any ridiculous statements that don’t have others to contradict them, we should refute them using other arguments found in the same author. We shouldn’t be offended by the poet or upset with him, but only by the statements themselves, which he presents either in a common way or perhaps just as a joke. So, when you read in Homer about gods being thrown out of heaven one after another, or gods being wounded by humans and fighting with each other, you can easily, if you want, tell him,—
Sure thy invention here was sorely out,
Or thou hadst said far better things, no doubt;
("Iliad," viii. 358.)
Surely your creativity was off here,
Or you would have said much better things, no doubt;
("Iliad," viii. 358.)yea, and thou dost so elsewhere, and according as thou thinkest, to wit, in these passages of thine:—
yeah, and you do that elsewhere, based on what you think, namely, in these parts of yours:—
The gods, removed from all that men doth grieve,
A quiet and contented life do live.
Herein the immortal gods forever blest
Feel endless joys and undisturbed rest.
The gods, who have themselves no cause to grieve,
For wretched man a web of sorrow weave.
(Ibid. vi. 138; "Odyssey," vi. 46; "Iliad," xxiv, 526.)
The gods, untouched by the struggles of humanity,
Live a peaceful and satisfied life.
In this place, the immortal gods, always blessed,
Experience endless joy and untroubled rest.
The gods, who have no reason to suffer,
Weave a web of sorrow for miserable humans.
(Ibid. vi. 138; "Odyssey," vi. 46; "Iliad," xxiv, 526.)For these argue sound and true opinions of the gods; but those other were only feigned to raise passions in men. Again, when Euripides speaks at this rate,—
For these express sound and true views of the gods; but those others were just made up to stir emotions in people. Again, when Euripides speaks like this,—
The gods are better than we men by far,
And yet by them we oft deceived are,—
The gods are much better than we humans,
And yet we often get deceived by them,—may do well to quote him elsewhere against himself where he says better,—
may do well to quote him elsewhere against himself where he says better,—
If gods do wrong, surely no gods there are.
If gods do wrong, then there are surely no gods.
So also, when Pindar, saith bitterly and keenly,
So too, when Pindar says harshly and sharply,
No law forbids us anything to do,
Whereby a mischief may befall a foe,
No law stops us from doing anything,
That might bring harm to an enemy,tell him: But, Pindar, thou thyself sayest elsewhere,
tell him: But, Pindar, you yourself say elsewhere,
The pleasure which injurious acts attends
Always in bitter consequences ends.
The enjoyment that comes from harmful actions
Always results in painful consequences.And when Sophocles speaks thus,
And when Sophocles says this,
Sweet is the gain, wherein to lie and cheat
Adds the repute of wit to what we get,
Sweet is the reward when lying and cheating
Enhance our reputation for being clever in what we gain,tell him: But we have heard thee say far otherwise,
tell him: But we've heard you say quite the opposite,
When the account's cast up, the gain's but poor
Which by a lying tongue augments the store.
When the account is settled, the profit is minimal
Which is inflated by a deceitful tongue.And as to what he saith of riches, to wit:—
And regarding what he says about wealth, namely:—
Wealth, where it minds to go, meets with no stay;
For where it finds not, it can make a way;
Many fair offers doth the poor let go,
And lose his talent because his purse is low;
The fair tongue makes, where wealth can purchase it,
The foul face beautiful, the fool a wit:—
Wealth, wherever it decides to go, faces no obstacles;
For where it cannot find a path, it can create one;
Many good opportunities slip by the poor,
And they lose their potential because they lack money;
A silver tongue can make, where wealth can buy it,
An ugly face beautiful, a fool seem smart:— against this the reader may set in opposition divers other sayings of the same author. For example,
against this, the reader may compare various other statements from the same author. For instance,
From honor poverty doth not debar,
Where poor men virtuous and deserving are.
Whate'er fools think, a man is ne'er the worse
If he be wise, though with an empty purse.
The comfort which he gets who wealth enjoys,
The vexing care by which 'tis kept destroys.
Poverty does not take away honor,
Where poor men are virtuous and deserving.
No matter what fools think, a man is never worse off
If he is wise, even with an empty wallet.
The comfort that comes from having wealth,
The annoying stress of keeping it ruins.And Menander also somewhere magnifies a voluptuous life, and inflames the minds of vain persons with these amorous strains,
And Menander also somewhere praises a lavish lifestyle and stirs the minds of vain people with these romantic lines,
The glorious sun no living thing doth see,
But what's a slave to love as well as we.
The glorious sun that no living thing sees,
But what’s a slave to love just like us. But yet elsewhere, on the other side, he fastens on us and pulls us back to the love of virtue, and checks the rage of lust, when he says thus,
But on the other hand, he grabs hold of us and pulls us back to the love of virtue, and calms the fury of desire when he says this,
The life that is dishonorably spent,
Be it ne'er so pleasant, yields no true content.
A life lived without honor,
No matter how enjoyable, brings no real satisfaction.For these lines are contrary to the former, as they are also better and more profitable; so that by comparing them considerately one cannot but either be inclined to the better side, or at least flag in the belief of the worse.
For these lines are opposed to the previous ones, as they are also superior and more beneficial; so that by thoughtfully comparing them, one can't help but lean towards the better option, or at the very least, weaken in the conviction of the worse.
But now, supposing that any of the poets themselves afford no such correcting passages to solve what they have said amiss, it will then be advisable to confront them with the contrary sayings of other famous men, and therewith to sway the scales of our judgment to the better side. As, when Alexis tempts to debauchery in these verses,
But now, if any of the poets themselves don’t provide any corrections to clarify what they’ve said incorrectly, then it makes sense to compare their words with the opposite views of other well-known figures, and use that to tip the scales of our judgment in a better direction. For example, when Alexis tempts someone to indulge in debauchery in these verses,
The wise man knows what of all things is best,
Whilst choosing pleasure he slights all the rest.
He thinks life's joys complete in these three sorts,
To drink and eat, and follow wanton sports;
And what besides seems to pretend to pleasure,
If it betide him, counts it over measure,
The wise person knows what is truly best,
While chasing pleasure, they ignore the rest.
They believe life's joys are found in these three things:
Eating, drinking, and engaging in carefree flings;
And anything else that claims to bring pleasure,
If it comes their way, is seen as beyond measure,we must remember that Socrates said the contrary, to wit: that they are bad men who live that they may eat and drink, whereas good men eat and drink that they may live. And against the man that wrote in this manner,
we must remember that Socrates said the opposite: that bad people live just to eat and drink, while good people eat and drink in order to live. And against the person who wrote this,
He that designs to encounter with a knave,
An equal stock of knavery must have,
If you're planning to deal with a trickster,
You'd better have your own share of tricks.
seeing he herein advises us to follow other vicious examples, that of Diogenes may well be returned, who being asked by what means a man might revenge himself upon his enemy, answered, By becoming himself a good and honest man. And the same Diogenes may be quoted also against Sophocles, who, writing of the sacred mysteries, caused great grief and despair to multitudes of men:—
seeing he here advises us to follow other bad examples, that of Diogenes could be referenced, who, when asked how a man could take revenge on his enemy, replied, By becoming a good and honest man himself. And the same Diogenes could also be mentioned in relation to Sophocles, who, in writing about the sacred mysteries, caused great grief and despair for many people:—
Most happy they whose eyes are blest to see
The mysteries which here contained be,
Before they die! For only they have joy.
In th' other world; the rest all ills annoy.
Most fortunate are those whose eyes are blessed to see
The mysteries contained here,
Before they die! For only they find joy
In the afterlife; the rest suffer every ill.This passage being read to Diogenes, What then! says he, shall the condition of Pataecion, the notorious robber, after death be better than that of Epaminondas, merely for his being initiated in these mysteries? In like manner, when one Timotheus on the theatre, singing of the Goddess Diana, called her furious, raging, possessed, mad, Cinesias suddenly interrupted him, May thy daughter, Timotheus, be such a goddess! And witty also was that of Bion to Theognis, who said,—
This passage being read to Diogenes, he replied, "So what! Are we to think that Pataecion, the infamous robber, will have a better afterlife than Epaminondas just because he was initiated into these mysteries?" Similarly, when Timotheus, performing in the theater and singing about the goddess Diana, described her as furious, raging, possessed, and mad, Cinesias suddenly interrupted him, "May your daughter, Timotheus, be such a goddess!" Bion also made a clever remark to Theognis, who said,—
One cannot say nor do, if poor he be;
His tongue is bound to th' peace, as well as he.
("Theognis," vss. 177, 178.)
One can't say or do anything if he's poor;
His voice is tied to the peace, just like him.
("Theognis," vss. 177, 178.)How comes it to pass then, said he, Theognis that thou thyself being so poor pratest and gratest our ears in this manner?
How is it possible, then, he said, Theognis, that you, being so poor, speak to us in this way?
Nor are we to omit, in our reading those hints which, from some other words or phrases bordering on those that offend us, may help to rectify our apprehensions. But as physicians use cantharides, believing that, though their bodies be deadly poison, yet their feet and wings are medicinal and are antidotes to the poison itself, so must we deal with poems. If any noun or verb near at hand may assist to the correction of any such saying, and preserve us from putting a bad construction upon it, we should take hold of it and employ it to assist a more favorable interpretation. As some do in reference to those verses of Homer,—
Nor should we ignore the clues that, from other words or phrases surrounding those that disturb us, may help clear up our misunderstandings. Just as doctors use cantharides, believing that, although their bodies are deadly poison, their feet and wings are medicinal and can counteract the poison itself, we should approach poems the same way. If any nearby noun or verb can help correct a troubling statement and prevent us from interpreting it negatively, we should seize it and use it to foster a more positive interpretation. This is similar to how some interpret certain lines from Homer,—
Sorrows and tears most commonly are seen
To be the gods' rewards to wretched men:—
The gods, who have no cause themselves to grieve,
For wretched man a web of sorrow weave.
("Odyssey," iv. 197; "Iliad," xxiv. 526.)
Sorrows and tears are usually seen
As the gods' rewards to miserable people:—
The gods, who have no reason to feel sad,
Weave a web of sorrow for unfortunate humans.
("Odyssey," iv. 197; "Iliad," xxiv. 526.)For, they say, he says not of men simply, or of all men, that the gods weave for them the fatal web of a sorrowful life, but he affirms it only of foolish and imprudent men, whom, because their vices make them such, he therefore calls wretched and miserable.
For, they say, he doesn't claim this about all men or just anyone, but he says it only about foolish and reckless people, who he calls wretched and miserable because their bad choices lead them to this fate.
Another way whereby those passages which are suspicious in poets maybe transferred to a better sense may be taken from the ordinary use of words, which a young man ought indeed to be more exercised in than in the use of strange and obscure terms. For it will be a point of philology which it will not be unprofitable to him to understand, that when he meets with [Greek omitted] in a poet, that word means an EVIL DEATH; for the Macedonians use the word [Greek omitted] to signify DEATH. So the Aeolians call victory gotten by patient endurance of hardships [Greek omitted] and the Dryopians call daemons [Greek omitted].
Another way that those questionable passages in poetry can be interpreted more positively is by looking at the common meanings of words, which a young person should definitely be more familiar with than with unfamiliar and obscure terms. It’s beneficial for him to know, from a linguistic perspective, that when he encounters [Greek omitted] in a poem, it means an EVIL DEATH; the Macedonians use the term [Greek omitted] to mean DEATH. Likewise, the Aeolians refer to victory achieved through enduring hardship as [Greek omitted] and the Dryopians call spirits [Greek omitted].
But of all things it is most necessary, and no less profitable if we design to receive profit and not hurt from the poets, that we understand how they make use of the names of gods, as also of the terms of Evil and Good; and what they mean by Soul and Fate; and whether these words be always taken by them in one and the same sense or rather in various senses, as also many other words are. For so the word [Greek omitted] sometimes signifies a MATERIAL HOUSE, as, Into the high-roofed house; and sometimes ESTATE, as, My house is devoured. So the word [Greek omitted] sometimes signifies life, and sometimes wealth. And [Greek omitted] is sometimes taken for being uneasy and disquieted in mind, as in
But above all, it's essential, and just as beneficial if we want to gain from poets without being harmed, to understand how they use the names of gods, as well as the concepts of Evil and Good; what they mean by Soul and Fate; and whether they always use these terms in the same way or more in different ways, similar to many other words. For example, the word [Greek omitted] sometimes means a MATERIAL HOUSE, as in "Into the high-roofed house"; and sometimes it refers to ESTATE, as in "My house is devoured." The word [Greek omitted] can mean life at times, and wealth at others. And [Greek omitted] can sometimes refer to being anxious or troubled in mind, as in
[Greek omitted] ("Iliad," v. 352.)
[Greek omitted] ("Iliad," v. 352.)
and elsewhere for boasting and rejoicing, as in
and elsewhere for bragging and celebrating, as in
[Greek omitted] ("Odyssey," xviii. 333.)
[Greek omitted] ("Odyssey," xviii. 333.)
In like manner [Greek omitted] signifies either to MOVE, as in Euripides when he saith,
In the same way, [Greek omitted] means to MOVE, as Euripides says,
[Greek omitted]—
[Greek omitted]—
or TO SIT, as in Sophocles when he writes thus,
or TO SIT, as Sophocles writes,
[Greek omitted] (Sophocles, "Oedipus Tyranus," 2.)
[Greek omitted] (Sophocles, "Oedipus Tyranus," 2.)
It is elegant also when they fit to the present matter, as grammarians teach, the use of words which have another signification. As here:—
It’s also elegant when they relate to the current subject, as grammarians explain, the use of words that have a different meaning. Like here:—
[Greek omitted]
[Greek omitted]
For here [Greek omitted] signifies TO PRAISE (instead of [Greek omitted]), and TO PRAISE is used for TO REFUSE. So in conversation it is common with us to say, [Greek omitted], IT IS WELL (i.e., NO, I THANK YOU), and to bid anything FAREWELL [Greek omitted]; by which forms of speech we refuse a thing which we do not want, or receive it not, but still with a civil compliment. So also some say that Proserpina is called [Greek omitted] in the notion of [Greek omitted], TO BE DEPRECATED, because death is by all men shunned.
For here [Greek omitted] means TO PRAISE (instead of [Greek omitted]), and TO PRAISE is used to mean TO REFUSE. So in conversation, we often say, [Greek omitted], IT IS WELL (i.e., NO, THANK YOU), and when we say farewell to something, we use [Greek omitted]; through these expressions, we decline something we don’t want or choose not to accept it, while still being polite. Similarly, some say that Proserpina is referred to as [Greek omitted] in the context of [Greek omitted], TO BE DEPRECATED, because everyone tends to avoid death.
And the like distinction of words we ought to observe also in things more weighty and serious. To begin with the gods, we should teach our youth that poets, when they use the names of gods, sometimes mean properly the Divine Beings so called, but otherwhiles understand by those names certain powers of which the gods are the donors and authors, they having first led us into the use of them by their own practice. As when Archilochus prays,
And we should pay attention to this distinction of words in more important matters too. Starting with the gods, we need to teach our youth that when poets mention the names of gods, they sometimes refer to the Divine Beings themselves, but at other times, those names signify certain powers that the gods grant and create, having originally introduced us to them through their own actions. Just like when Archilochus prays,
King Vulcan, hear thy suppliant, and grant
That what thou'rt wont to give and I to want,
King Vulcan, hear your humble requester, and grant
That what you usually give and I need,it is plain that he means the god himself whom he invokes. But when elsewhere he bewails the drowning of his sister's husband, who had not obtained lawful burial, and says,
it is obvious that he is referring to the god himself whom he calls upon. But when he later mourns the drowning of his sister's husband, who did not receive a proper burial, and says,
Had Vulcan his fair limbs to ashes turned,
I for his loss had with less passion mourned,
If Vulcan had turned his beautiful body to ashes,
I would have mourned his loss with less intensity, he gives the name of Vulcan to the fire and not to the Deity. Again, Euripides, when he says,
he names the fire Vulcan instead of referring to the Deity. Again, Euripides, when he says,
No; by the glorious stars I swear,
And bloody Mars and Jupiter,
(Euripides, "Phoenissae," 1006.)
No; by the glorious stars I swear,
And bloody Mars and Jupiter,
(Euripides, "Phoenissae," 1006.)means the gods themselves who bare those names. But when Sophocles saith,
means the gods themselves who bear those names. But when Sophocles says,
Blind Mars doth mortal men's affairs confound,
As the swine's snout doth quite deface the ground,
Blind Mars confuses the affairs of men,
Just as the snout of a pig totally ruins the ground, we are to understand the word Mars to denote not the god so called, but war. And by the same word we are to understand also weapons made of hardened brass, in those verses of Homer,
we should see the word Mars as referring not to the god of the same name, but to war. And by the same token, we should also interpret that word to mean weapons made of hardened brass, in those lines of Homer,
These, are the gallant men whose noble blood
Keen Mars did shed near swift Scamander's flood.
("Iliad," vii. 329.)
These are the brave men whose noble blood
Fierce Mars spilled near the fast-flowing Scamander.
("Iliad," vii. 329.)Wherefore, in conformity to the instances given, we must conceive and bear in mind that by the names of Jupiter also sometimes they mean the god himself, sometimes Fortune, and oftentimes also Fate. For when they say,—
Wherefore, following the examples given, we need to understand and remember that when they refer to Jupiter, they sometimes mean the god himself, other times Fortune, and often Fate as well. For when they say,—
Great Jupiter, who from the lofty hill
Of Ida govern'st all the world at will;
("Iliad," iii. 276.)
That wrath which hurled to Pluto's gloomy realm
The souls of mighty chiefs:—
Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove;
(Ibid. i. 3 and 5.)
For who (but who himself too fondly loves)
Dares lay his wisdom in the scale with Jove's?—
Great Jupiter, who from the high hill
Of Ida controls the world as he pleases;
("Iliad," iii. 276.)
That rage which sent the souls of powerful leaders to Pluto's dark realm:—
Such was the ultimate fate, and such the desire of Jove;
(Ibid. i. 3 and 5.)
For who (but who loves himself too much)
Dares to compare his wisdom to Jove's?—they understand Jupiter himself. But when they ascribe the event of all things done to Jupiter as the cause, saying of him,—
they understand Jupiter himself. But when they attribute the occurrence of everything to Jupiter as the reason, saying of him,—
Many brave souls to hell Achilles sent,
And Jove's design accomplished in th' event,—
Many brave souls Achilles sent to hell,
And Jove's plan was fulfilled in the end,—they mean by Jove no more but Fate. For the poet doth not conceive that God contrives mischief against mankind, but he soundly declares the mere necessity of the things themselves, to wit, that prosperity and victory are destined by Fate to cities and armies and commanders who govern themselves with sobriety, but if they give way to passions and commit errors, thereby dividing and crumbling themselves into factions, as those of whom the poet speaks did, they do unhandsome actions, and thereby create great disturbances, such as are attended with sad consequences.
they mean by Jove nothing more than Fate. The poet doesn’t believe that God intentionally brings harm to humanity; rather, he clearly expresses the simple necessity of the circumstances themselves. In other words, that success and victory are determined by Fate for cities, armies, and leaders who act with restraint. However, if they let their emotions take over and make mistakes, splitting and weakening themselves into factions, like those the poet refers to, they end up acting poorly and create significant disruptions that lead to unfortunate outcomes.
For to all unadvised acts, in fine,
The Fates unhappy issues do assign.
(From Euripides.)
For all careless actions, in the end,
The Fates assign unfortunate outcomes.
(From Euripides.)But when Hesiod brings in Prometheus thus counselling his brother Epimetheus,
But when Hesiod shows Prometheus giving advice to his brother Epimetheus,
Brother, if Jove to thee a present make,
Take heed that from his hands thou nothing take,
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 86.)
Brother, if Jupiter offers you a gift,
Be careful not to take anything from him,
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 86.)he useth the name of Jove to express Fortune; for he calls the good things which come by her (such as riches, and marriages, and empires, and indeed all external things the enjoyment whereof is profitable to only them who know how to use them well) the gifts of Jove. And therefore he adviseth Epimetheus (an ill man, and a fool withal) to stand in fear of and to guard himself from prosperity, as that which would be hurtful and destructive to him.
he uses the name of Jove to signify Fortune; for he refers to the good things that come from her (like wealth, marriage, empires, and really all external things that are only beneficial to those who know how to use them wisely) as the gifts of Jove. Therefore, he advises Epimetheus (a bad man and a fool as well) to be cautious of and protect himself from prosperity, as it could be harmful and destructive to him.
Again, where he saith,
Again, where he says,
Reproach thou not a man for being poor;
His poverty's God's gift, as is thy store,
(Hesiod "Works and Days," 717.)
Don't blame a man for being poor;
His poverty is God's gift, just like your abundance,
(Hesiod "Works and Days," 717.)he calls that which befalls men by Fortune God's gift, and intimates that it is an unworthy thing to reproach any man for that poverty which he falls into by Fortune, whereas poverty is then only a matter of disgrace and reproach when it is attendant on sloth and idleness, or wantonness and prodigality. For, before the name of Fortune was used, they knew there was a powerful cause, which moved irregularly and unlimitedly and with such a force that no human reason could avoid it; and this cause they called by the names of gods. So we are wont to call divers things and qualities and discourses, and even men themselves, divine. And thus may we rectify many such sayings concerning Jupiter as would otherwise seem very absurd. As these, for instance:—
he calls what happens to people due to Chance a gift from God, and suggests that it’s unfair to blame anyone for the poverty they encounter as a result of Chance. Poverty only becomes shameful and worthy of blame when it’s linked to laziness, idleness, excess, or wastefulness. Long before the term Chance was used, people understood there was a powerful force that acted unpredictably and beyond human control, and this force was referred to as gods. Similarly, we tend to describe various things, qualities, ideas, and even people as divine. This perspective allows us to make sense of many statements about Jupiter that might otherwise appear quite absurd. For example:—
Before Jove's door two fatal hogsheads, filled
With human fortunes, good and bad luck yield.—
Of violated oaths Jove took no care,
But spitefully both parties crushed by war:—
To Greeks and Trojans both this was the rise
Of Mischief, suitable to Jove's device.
("Iliad," xxiv. 527; vii. 69; "Odyssey," viii. 81.)
Before Jove's door, two doomed barrels, filled
With human fortunes, bring both good and bad luck.—
Jove didn't care about broken oaths,
But spitefully crushed both sides in war:—
For both Greeks and Trojans, this was the start
Of trouble, fitting with Jove's plan.
("Iliad," xxiv. 527; vii. 69; "Odyssey," viii. 81.)These passages we are to interpret as spoken concerning Fortune or Fate, of the casuality of both which no account can be given by us, nor do their effects fall under our power. But where anything is said of Jupiter that is suitable, rational, and probable, there we are to conceive that the names of that god is used properly. As in these instances:—
These passages should be understood as referring to Fortune or Fate, whose randomness we can't explain, and their outcomes are beyond our control. However, when we mention Jupiter in a way that is fitting, reasonable, and likely, we should understand that the name of that god is used correctly. For example:—
Through others' ranks he conquering did range,
But shunned with Ajax any blows t' exchange;
But Jove's displeasure on him he had brought,
Had he with one so much his better fought.
("Iliad," xi. 540.)
For though great matters are Jove's special care,
Small things t' inferior daemons trusted are.
He fought his way through the ranks of others,
But he avoided trading blows with Ajax;
Yet he brought Jove's displeasure upon himself,
If he had fought with someone so much better.
("Iliad," xi. 540.)
For while Jove takes care of great matters,
Lesser things are entrusted to lower spirits.And other words there are which the poets remove and translate from their proper sense by accommodation to various things, which deserve also our serious notice. Such a one, for instance, is [Greek omitted], VIRTUE. For because virtue does not only render men prudent, just, and good, both in their words and deeds, but also oftentimes purchaseth to them honor and power, therefore they call likewise these by that name. So we are wont to call both the olive-tree and the fruit [Greek omitted], and the oak-tree and its acorn [Greek omitted] communicating the name of the one to the other. Therefore, when our young man reads in the poets such passages as these,—
And there are other words that poets change and translate from their true meaning to fit different things, which deserve our serious attention. One example is VIRTUE. Because virtue not only makes people wise, fair, and good in their words and actions, but also often brings them honor and power, they use this term to refer to those things as well. Similarly, we refer to both the olive tree and its fruit with the same name, and the oak tree and its acorn, sharing the name between them. So, when our young man reads passages like these in the poetry, —
This law th' immortal gods to us have set,
That none arrive at virtue but by sweat;
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 289.)
The adverse troops then did the Grecians stout
By their mere virtue profligate and rout;
("Iliad," xi. 90.)
If now the Fates determined have our death,
To virtue we'll consign our parting breath;—
This law from the immortal gods has been given to us,
That no one achieves virtue without hard work;
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 289.)
The opposing forces then defeated the Greeks boldly
By their sheer virtue, leading to their defeat;
("Iliad," xi. 90.)
If the Fates have decided our death,
We'll dedicate our final breath to virtue;— let him presently conceive that these things are spoken of that most excellent and divine habit in us which we understand to be no other than right reason, or the highest attainment of the reasonable nature, and most agreeable to the constitution thereof. And again, when he reads this,
let him now realize that these things are discussing that excellent and divine quality within us that we recognize as nothing other than true reason, or the highest achievement of rational nature, and most aligned with its constitution. And once more, when he reads this,
Of virtue Jupiter to one gives more,
And lessens, when he lifts, another's store;
Jupiter grants more to some through virtue,
And diminishes another's wealth when he elevates them;and this,
and this,
Virtue and honor upon wealth attend;
(Ibid. xx. 242; Hesiod "Works and Days," 313.)
Wealth is accompanied by virtue and honor;
(Ibid. xx. 242; Hesiod "Works and Days," 313.)let him not sit down in an astonishing admiration of rich men, as if they were enabled by their wealth to purchase virtue, nor let him imagine that it is in the power of Fortune to increase or lessen his own wisdom; but let him conceive that the poet by virtue meant either glory or power or prosperity or something of like import. For poets use the same ambiguity also in the word [Greek omitted], EVIL, which sometimes in them properly signifies a wicked and malicious disposition of mind, as in that of Hesiod,
let him not sit in awe of wealthy people, thinking that their money allows them to buy virtue, nor should he believe that luck can change his own wisdom; instead, he should understand that when the poet refers to virtue, he means either fame, power, prosperity, or something similar. Poets also play with the word [Greek omitted], EVIL, which sometimes refers specifically to a wicked and malicious mindset, as in Hesiod's work.
Evil is soon acquired; for everywhere
There's plenty on't and t'all men's dwellings near;
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 287.)
Evil is easily picked up; for everywhere
There's plenty of it and it's close to everyone's home;
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 287.)and sometimes some evil accident or misfortune, as when Homer says,
and sometimes a terrible accident or misfortune happens, like when Homer says,
Sore evils, when they haunt us in our prime,
Hasten old age on us before our time.
("Odyessy," xix. 360.)
Painful troubles, when they follow us in our youth,
Bring about old age on us too soon.
("Odyessy," xix. 360.)So also in the word [Greek omitted], he would be sorely deceived who should imagine that, wheresoever he meets with it in poets, it means (as it does in philosophy) a perfect habitual enjoyment of all good things or the leading a life every way agreeable to Nature, and that they do not withal by the abuse of such words call rich men happy or blessed, and power or glory felicity. For, though Homer rightly useth terms of that nature in this passage,—
So, in the word [Greek omitted], anyone who thinks that whenever they see it in poetry, it means (like in philosophy) a constant, perfect enjoyment of all good things or living a life that's completely in tune with Nature, would be greatly mistaken. They also misinterpret when they use such words to call wealthy people happy or blessed, and power or glory as happiness. Although Homer uses those kinds of terms correctly in this passage,—
Though of such great estates I am possest,
Yet with true inward joy I am not blest;
(Ibid. iv. 93.)
Even though I own such vast estates,
I'm still not truly happy inside;
(Ibid. iv. 93.)and Menander in this,—
and Menander in this,—
So great's th' estate I am endowed withal:
All say I'm rich, but none me happy call;—
I'm so blessed with my wealth:
Everyone says I'm rich, but no one calls me happy—yet Euripides discourseth more confusedly and perplexedly when he writes after this manner,—
yet Euripides talks in a more confusing and complicated way when he writes like this,—
I do not want a happy life that is tedious;
And, man, why praisest thou
Th' unjust beatitude of tyranny?
(Euripides, "Medea," 598; "Phoenissae," 549.)
I don’t want a boring happy life;
And, dude, why are you praising
the unfair happiness of oppression?
(Euripides, "Medea," 598; "Phoenissae," 549.)except, as I said, we allow him the use of these words in a metaphorical and abusive meaning. But enough hath been spoken of these matters.
except, as I said, we let him use these words in a metaphorical and insulting way. But we've talked enough about these matters.
Nevertheless, this principle is not once only but often to be inculcated and pressed on young men, that poetry when it undertakes a fictitious argument by way of imitation, though it make use of such ornament and illustration as suit the actions and manners treated of, yet disclaims not all likelihood of truth, seeing the force of imitation, in order to the persuading of men, lies in probability. Wherefore such imitation as does not altogether shake hands with truth carries along with it certain signs of virtue and vice mixed together in the actions which it doth represent. And of this nature is Homer's poetry, which totally bids adieu to Stoicism, the principles whereof will not admit any vice to come near where virtue is, nor virtue to have anything to do where any vice lodgeth, but affirms that he that is not a wise man can do nothing well, and he that is so can do nothing amiss. Thus they determine in the schools. But in human actions and the affairs of common life the judgment of Euripides is verified, that
Nevertheless, this principle should not be taught just once but regularly emphasized to young men: poetry, when it tackles a fictional subject through imitation, while using suitable embellishments and illustrations related to the actions and behaviors it portrays, still maintains a connection to the likelihood of truth. The effectiveness of imitation, in persuading people, relies on how probable it seems. Therefore, imitation that doesn't completely disconnect from truth includes certain signs of mixed virtue and vice in the actions it depicts. Homer's poetry exemplifies this, as it entirely dismisses Stoicism, which asserts that no vice should be near virtue and that virtue has nothing to do with vice. Stoic philosophy claims that a wise person can do nothing wrong, while someone lacking wisdom can do nothing right. This is what the schools teach. However, in real-life actions and everyday matters, Euripides' judgment is proven true, that
Virtue and vice ne'er separately exist,
But in the same acts with each other twist.
(From the "Aeolus" of Euripides.)
Virtue and vice never exist separately,
But twist together in the same actions.
(From the "Aeolus" of Euripides.)Next, it is to be observed that poetry, waiving the truth of things, does most labor to beautify its fictions with variety and multiplicity of contrivance. For variety bestows upon fable all that is pathetical, unusual, and surprising, and thereby makes it more taking and graceful; whereas what is void of variety is unsuitable to the nature of fable, and so raiseth no passions at all. Upon which design of variety it is, that the poets never represent the same persons always victorious or prosperous or acting with the same constant tenor of virtue;—yea, even the gods themselves, when they engage in human actions, are not represented as free from passions and errors;—lest, for the want of some difficulties and cross passages, their poems should be destitute of that briskness which is requisite to move and astonish the minds of men.
Next, it’s important to note that poetry, while setting aside the truth of things, works hard to enhance its stories with a variety of elements and creative devices. Variety adds to fables all that is emotional, unexpected, and surprising, making them more appealing and graceful; on the other hand, a lack of variety does not suit the nature of a fable and therefore fails to evoke any emotions at all. Because of this focus on variety, poets don’t always depict the same characters as victorious or successful or consistently acting with the same unwavering virtue; even the gods themselves, when they take part in human affairs, are not shown as being free from emotions and mistakes. This is to avoid a lack of challenges and conflicts, which would strip their poems of the intensity needed to engage and amaze people’s minds.
These things therefore so standing, we should, when we enter a young man into the study of the poets, endeavor to free his mind from that degree of esteem of the good and great personages in them described as may incline him to think them to be mirrors of wisdom and justice, the chief of princes, and the exemplary measures of all virtue and goodness. For he will receive much prejudice, if he shall approve and admire all that comes from such persons as great, if he dislike nothing in them himself, nor will endure to hear others blame them, though for such words and actions as the following passages import:—
Given the current situation, when we introduce a young man to the study of poets, we should try to help him avoid placing too much value on the admirable qualities of the characters they portray, as this may lead him to see them as perfect examples of wisdom and justice, the finest of leaders, and the ultimate standards of virtue and goodness. He will be at a disadvantage if he blindly approves and admires everything associated with such figures, if he dislikes nothing about them, and if he can't stand to hear others criticize them, even regarding the words and actions reflected in the passages that follow:—
Oh! would to all the immortal powers above,
Apollo, Pallas, and almighty Jove!
That not one Trojan might be left alive,
And not a Greek of all the race survive.
Might only we the vast destruction shun,
And only we destroy the accursed town!
Her breast all gore, with lamentable cries,
The bleeding innocent Cassandra dies,
Murdered by Clytemnestra's faithless hand:
Lie with thy father's whore, my mother said,
That she th' old man may loathe; and I obeyed:
Of all the gods, O father Jove, there's none
Thus given to mischief but thyself alone.
("Iliad," xvi. 97; "Odyssey," xi. 421; "Iliad," ix, 452;
Ibid. iii, 365.)
Oh! I wish to all the immortal powers above,
Apollo, Pallas, and mighty Jove!
That not a single Trojan would be left alive,
And not a Greek from the entire race would survive.
Let us only avoid the vast destruction,
And let us only destroy the cursed city!
Her body all covered in blood, with heartbreaking cries,
The innocent Cassandra dies,
Murdered by Clytemnestra's treacherous hand:
Sleep with your father’s mistress, my mother said,
So that the old man may despise her; and I did as I was told:
Of all the gods, O father Jove, there’s none
So inclined to mischief as you alone.
("Iliad," xvi. 97; "Odyssey," xi. 421; "Iliad," ix, 452;
Ibid. iii, 365.)Our young man is to be taught not to commend such things as these, no, nor to show the nimbleness of his wit or subtlety in maintaining argument by finding out plausible colors and pretences to varnish over a bad matter. But we should teach him rather to judge that poetry is an imitation of the manners and lives of such men as are not perfectly pure and unblameable, but such as are tinctured with passions, misled by false opinions, and muffled with ignorance; though oftentimes they may, by the help of a good natural temper, change them for better qualities. For the young man's mind, being thus prepared and disposed, will receive no damage by such passages when he meets with them in poems, but will on the one side be elevated with rapture at those things which are well said or done, and on the other, will not entertain but dislike those which are of a contrary character. But he that admires and is transported with everything, as having his judgment enslaved by the esteem he hath for the names of heroes, will be unawares wheedled into many evil things, and be guilty of the same folly with those who imitate the crookedness of Plato or the stammering of Aristotle. Neither must he carry himself timorously herein, nor, like a superstitious person in a temple, tremblingly adore all he meets with; but use himself to such confidence as may enable him openly to pronounce, This was ill or incongruously said, and, That was bravely and gallantly spoken. For example, Achilles in Homer, being offended at the spinning out that war by delays, wherein he was desirous by feats of arms to purchase to himself glory, calls the soldiers together when there was an epidemical disease among them. But having himself some smattering skill in physic, and perceiving after the ninth day, which useth to be decretory in such cases, that the disease was no usual one nor proceeding from ordinary causes, when he stands up to speak, he waives applying himself to the soldiers, and addresseth himself as a councillor to the general, thus:—
Our young man should not be taught to praise things like these, nor to show off his cleverness or skill in arguing by coming up with convincing excuses to excuse bad actions. Instead, we should teach him to see that poetry imitates the behaviors and lives of people who aren't completely pure and blameless, but who are influenced by emotions, misguided by false beliefs, and shrouded in ignorance; although they often can, with a good natural disposition, improve themselves. With this mindset, the young man won't be harmed when he encounters such themes in poetry; he will be inspired by what’s well-expressed or well-done, and he will also reject anything that contrasts with that. However, if he admires and gets carried away with everything because his judgment is chained to the value he places on heroic figures, he will unknowingly be tricked into embracing many negative things and will fall into the same mistakes as those who copy the distortions of Plato or the hesitations of Aristotle. He shouldn't be overly timid about this, nor bow down like a superstitious person in a temple, trembling before everything he sees; instead, he should develop the confidence to say openly, "That was poorly said," and, "That was said wonderfully and boldly." For instance, in Homer’s tale, Achilles, irritated by the delays in the war during which he wanted to earn glory through battle, gathers the soldiers together during a widespread illness. But, having some basic knowledge of medicine, and realizing after the ninth day—which is usually decisive in such matters—that the illness was unusual and not due to common causes, he stands up to speak, shifting his focus from the soldiers to addressing the general as a counselor, saying:—
Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore,
And measure back the seas we cross'd before?
(For this and the four following quotations, see
"Iliad," i. 59, 90, 220, 349; ix, 458.)
Why don’t we leave the deadly Trojan coast,
And sail back across the seas we crossed before?
(For this and the four following quotations, see
"Iliad," i. 59, 90, 220, 349; ix, 458.)And he spake well, and with due moderation and decorum. But when the soothsayer Chalcas had told him that he feared the wrath of the most potent among the Grecians, after an oath that while he lived no man should lay violent hands on him, he adds, but not with like wisdom and moderation,
And he spoke well, with the right level of restraint and respect. But when the seer Chalcas told him he was afraid of the anger of the strongest among the Greeks, after swearing that no one would harm him while he was alive, he added this, but not with the same wisdom and restraint.
Not e'en the chief by whom our hosts are led,
The king of kings, shall touch that sacred head;
Not even the leader of our hosts,
The king of kings, shall touch that sacred head;in which speech he declares his low opinion or rather his contempt of his chief commander. And then, being farther provoked, he drew his weapon with a design to kill him, which attempt was neither good nor expedient. And therefore by and by he repented his rashness,—
in which speech he expresses his low opinion or rather his contempt for his chief commander. Then, feeling even more provoked, he drew his weapon with the intention to kill him, an action that was neither wise nor practical. As a result, he soon regretted his impulsiveness,—
He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid;
Then in the sheath returned the shining blade;
He said, noticing the blue-eyed girl;
Then he put the shining sword back in its sheath; wherein again he did rightly and worthily, in that, though he could not altogether quell his passion, yet he restrained and reduced it under the command of reason, before it brake forth into such an irreparable act of mischief. Again, even Agamemnon himself talks in that assembly ridiculously, but carries himself more gravely and more like a prince in the matter of Chryseis. For whereas Achilles, when his Briseis was taken away from him,
where he again acted appropriately and commendably, in that, even though he couldn't completely suppress his passion, he managed to control and bring it under the authority of reason before it erupted into an irreversible act of harm. Moreover, even Agamemnon himself speaks absurdly in that assembly but conducts himself more seriously and more like a true leader regarding Chryseis. Because when Achilles had his Briseis taken from him,
In sullenness withdraws from all his friends,
And in his tent his time lamenting spends;
He withdraws into his solitude, avoiding all his friends,
And in his space, he spends his time mourning;Agamemnon himself hands into the ship, delivers to her friends, and so sends from him, the woman concerning whom a little before he declared that he loved her better than his wife; and in that action did nothing unbecoming or savoring of fond affection. Also Phoenix, when his father bitterly cursed him for having to do with one that was his own harlot, says,
Agamemnon himself boards the ship, hands her over to her friends, and sends her away, the woman he had just claimed to love more than his wife; and in doing so, acted without any shame or hint of affection. Similarly, when Phoenix's father harshly cursed him for being involved with his own mistress, he says,
Him in my rage I purposed to have killed,
But that my hand some god in kindness held;
And minded me that, Greeks would taunting say,
Lo, here's the man that did his father slay.
In my anger, I intended to kill him,
But some god kindly stopped my hand;
And reminded me that the Greeks would mock,
“Look, here’s the man who killed his father.”It is true that Aristarchus was afraid to permit these verses to stand in the poet, and therefore censured them to be expunged. But they were inserted by Homer very aptly to the occasion of Phoenix's instructing Achilles what a pernicious thing anger is, and what foul acts men do by its instigation, while they are capable neither of making use of their own reason nor of hearing the counsel of others. To which end he also introduceth Meleager at first highly offended with his citizens, and afterwards pacified; justly therein reprehending disordered passions, and praising it as a good and profitable thing not to yield to them, but to resist and overcome them, and to repent when one hath been overcome by them.
It’s true that Aristarchus was hesitant to let these lines remain in the poem and suggested they be removed. However, Homer included them for a good reason, as they connect to Phoenix teaching Achilles about the dangers of anger and the terrible things people do because of it, while they can't use their own judgment or listen to advice from others. To illustrate this, Homer also introduces Meleager, who is initially very angry with his fellow citizens but later calms down. In doing so, he rightly criticizes uncontrolled emotions and highlights the importance of resisting and overcoming them, as well as feeling regret when one succumbs to them.
Now in these instances the difference is manifest. But where a like clear judgment cannot be passed, there we are to settle the young man's mind thus, by way of distinction. If Nausicaa, having cast her eyes upon Ulysses, a stranger, and feeling the same passion for him as Calypso had before, did (as one that was ripe for a husband) out of wantonness talk with her maidens at this foolish rate,—
Now in these cases, the difference is obvious. But where it's not so clear, we need to help the young man by making distinctions. If Nausicaa, having seen Ulysses, a stranger, and feeling the same attraction for him as Calypso had before, started chatting with her maidens in this silly way—
O Heaven! in my connubial hour decree
This man my spouse, or such a spouse as he!
("Odyssey," vi. 254.)
Oh heavens! in my marriage moment decide
This man as my spouse, or someone like him!
("Odyssey," vi. 254.)she is blameworthy for her impudence and incontinence. But if, perceiving the man's breeding by his discourse, and admiring the prudence of his addresses, she rather wisheth to have such a one for a husband than a merchant or a dancing gallant of her fellow-citizens, she is to be commended. And when Ulysses is represented as pleased with Penelope's jocular conversation with her wooers, and at their presenting her with rich garments and other ornaments,
she is at fault for her boldness and lack of self-control. But if, noticing the man’s upbringing from his speech and appreciating the wisdom in his approach, she prefers to have him as a husband over a merchant or a flashy dancer from her city, she deserves praise. And when Ulysses is shown to be pleased with Penelope's playful banter with her suitors and their gifting her fine clothes and other jewels,
Because she cunningly the fools cajoled,
And bartered light words for their heavy gold;
("Odyssey," xvii, 282.)
Because she cleverly tricked the fools,
And traded empty words for their heavy gold;
("Odyssey," xvii, 282.)if that joy were occasioned by greediness and covetousness, he discovers himself to be a more sordid prostituter of his own life than Poliager is wont to be represented on the stage to have been, of whom it is said,—
if that joy was caused by greed and desire for more, he shows himself to be a more disgraceful user of his own life than Poliager is typically portrayed on stage, of whom it is said,—
Happy man he, whose wife, like Capricorn,
Stores him with riches from a golden horn!
Happy is the man whose wife, like Capricorn,
Fills his life with wealth from a golden horn!But if through foresight he thought thereby to get them the more within his power, as being lulled asleep in security for the future by the hopes she gave them at present, this rejoicing, joined with confidence in his wife, was rational. Again, when he is brought in numbering the goods which the Phaeacians had set on shore together with himself and departed; if indeed, being himself left in such a solitude, so ignorant where he was, and having no security there for his own person, he is yet solicitous for his goods, lest
But if he thought that by being cautious he could gain more control over them, since they were lulled into a false sense of security by the promises she made them, this excitement, combined with trust in his wife, made sense. Moreover, when he starts counting the belongings that the Phaeacians had brought to shore for him as they left, if he finds himself in such isolation, unaware of where he is, and having no guarantee for his own safety, he still worries about his possessions, lest
The sly Phaeacians, when they stole to sea,
Had stolen some part of what they brought away;
(Ibid. xiii. 216.)
The crafty Phaeacians, when they quietly set out to sea,
Had taken some of what they had brought with them;
(Ibid. xiii. 216.)the covetousness of the man deserved in truth to be pitied, or rather abhorred. But if, as some say in his defence, being doubtful whether or no the place where he was landed were Ithaca, he made use of the just tale of his goods to infer thence the honesty of the Phaeacians,—because it was not likely they would expose him in a strange place and leave him there with his goods by him untouched, so as to get nothing by their dishonesty,—then he makes use of a very fit test for this purpose, and deserves commendation for his wisdom in that action. Some also there are who condemn that passage of the putting him on shore when he was asleep, if it really so happened, and they tell us that the people of Tuscany have still a traditional story among them concerning Ulysses, that he was naturally sleepy, and therefore a man whom many people could not freely converse with. But if his sleep was but shammed, and he made use of this pretence only of a natural infirmity, by counterfeiting a nap, to hide the strait he was in at the time in his thoughts, betwixt the shame of sending away the Phaeacians without giving them a friendly collation and hospitable gifts, and the fear he had of being discovered to his enemies by the treating such a company of men together, they then approve it.
The man's greed really should be pitied, or even hated. But if, as some argue in his defense, he was unsure whether the place he landed was Ithaca, and he used the honest account of his belongings to conclude that the Phaeacians were trustworthy—because it wouldn't make sense for them to leave him in an unfamiliar place with his stuff untouched and gain nothing from their dishonesty—then he applied a very appropriate test for this situation and deserves credit for his wisdom in that action. There are also those who criticize the part about him being put ashore while he was asleep, if that actually happened, and they mention that the people of Tuscany still have a traditional story about Ulysses being naturally sleepy, making him a person many couldn't easily talk to. But if his sleep was just an act, and he used this pretense of a natural flaw to disguise the turmoil he was feeling at the time—between the embarrassment of sending the Phaeacians away without offering them a meal and gifts, and the fear of being discovered by his enemies while hosting such a group—then they support that.
Now, by showing young men these things, we shall preserve them from being carried away to any corruption in their manners, and dispose them to the election and imitation of those that are good, as being before instructed readily to disapprove those and commend these. But this ought with the most care to be done in the reading of tragedies wherein probable and subtle speeches are made use of in the most foul and wicked actions. For that is not always true which Sophocles saith, that
Now, by showing young men these things, we will keep them from getting caught up in any corruption in their behavior and encourage them to choose and imitate what is good, as they will be taught to easily reject the bad and praise the good. However, this should be done very carefully when reading tragedies, where plausible and clever dialogue is used in the most terrible and wicked actions. For what Sophocles says is not always true, that
From evil acts good words can never come.
Good words can never come from evil acts.
For even he himself is wont to apply pleasant reasonings and plausible arguments to those manners and actions which are wicked or unbecoming. And in another of his fellow-tragedians, we may see even Phaedra herself represented as justifying her unlawful affection for Hippolytus by accusing Theseus of ill-carriage towards her. And in his Troades, he allows Helen the same liberty of speech against Hecuba, whom she judgeth to be more worthy of punishment than herself for her adultery, because she was the mother of Paris that tempted her thereto. A young man therefore must not be accustomed to think anything of that nature handsomely or wittily spoken, nor to be pleased with such colorable inventions; but rather more to abhor such words as tend to the defence of wanton acts than the very acts themselves.
For even he himself often uses clever reasoning and convincing arguments to justify actions that are immoral or inappropriate. In another one of his fellow-tragedians’ works, we see Phaedra justifying her forbidden love for Hippolytus by blaming Theseus for mistreating her. And in his *Troades*, he gives Helen the same freedom to speak against Hecuba, whom she believes deserves punishment more than herself for her infidelity, because she was the mother of Paris who tempted her into it. Therefore, a young man should not get used to thinking anything like that is said well or cleverly, nor should he be pleased with such deceptive arguments; instead, he should detest words that defend immoral acts even more than the acts themselves.
And lastly, it will be useful likewise to inquire into the cause why each thing is said. For so Cato, when he was a boy, though he was wont to be very observant of all his master's commands, yet withal used to ask the cause or reason why he so commanded. But poets are not to be obeyed as pedagogues and promulgators of laws are, except they have reason to back what they say. And that they will not want, when they speak well; and if they speak ill, what they say will appear vain and frivolous. But nowadays most young men very briskly demand the reason of such trivial speeches as these, and inquire in what sense they are spoken:—
And finally, it's also important to look into the reason why each thing is said. For example, Cato, when he was a boy, although he typically followed all of his teacher's instructions closely, also made a habit of asking why he was given such commands. However, poets shouldn’t be followed like teachers and lawmakers unless they have solid reasoning behind their words. And they will have that when they express themselves well; but if they express themselves poorly, what they say will come across as empty and pointless. These days, most young people eagerly question the reasoning behind such trivial remarks and want to know what they really mean:—
It bodes ill, when vessels you set up,
To put the ladle on the mixing-cup.
Who from his chariot to another's leaps,
Seldom his seat without a combat keeps.
(Hesiod "Works and Days," 744; "Iliad," iv. 306.)
It's a bad sign when the boats you launch,
Are meant to use the ladle in the mixing bowl.
Whoever jumps from one chariot to another,
Rarely stays in his seat without a fight.
(Hesiod "Works and Days," 744; "Iliad," iv. 306.)But to those of greater moment they give credence without examination, as to those that follow:—
But to those who matter more, they believe without questioning, just like those that come next:—
The boldest men are daunted oftentimes,
When they're reproached with their parents' crimes:
(Euripides, "Hippolytus," 424.)
When any man is crushed by adverse fate,
His spirit should be low as his estate.
The bravest men often feel intimidated,
When they're confronted with the sins of their parents:
(Euripides, "Hippolytus," 424.)
When anyone is defeated by bad luck,
Their spirit should match their situation.And yet such speeches relate to manners, and disquiet men's lives by begetting in them evil opinions and unworthy sentiments, except they have learned to return answer to each of them thus: "Wherefore is it necessary that a man who is crushed by adverse fate should have a dejected spirit? Yea, why rather should he not struggle against Fortune, and raise himself above the pressures of his low circumstances? Why, if I myself be a good and wise son of an evil and foolish father, does it not rather become me to bear myself confidently upon the account of my own virtue, than to be dejected and dispirited because of my father's defects?" For he that can encounter such speeches and oppose them after this manner, not yielding himself up to be overset with the blast of every saying, but approving that speech of Heraclitus, that
And yet, those kinds of speeches are about behavior and can disturb people's lives by creating negative ideas and unworthy feelings, unless they've learned to respond to each of them like this: "Why should someone who's been dealt a tough hand have a defeated attitude? In fact, why shouldn't he fight against bad luck and rise above his tough situation? If I'm a good and wise son of a bad and foolish father, doesn't it make more sense for me to stand tall because of my own qualities, rather than feel down because of my father's flaws?" Because the person who can face such speeches and respond this way, not letting themselves be knocked down by every comment, is embracing that saying of Heraclitus, that
Whate'er is said, though void of sense and wit,
The size of a fool's intellect doth fit,
Whatever is said, even if it's meaningless and lacking in cleverness,
The capacity of a fool's mind is just right for it,will reject many such things as falsely and idly spoken.
will reject many such things as false and meaningless.
These things therefore may be of use to preserve us from the hurt we might get by the study of poems.
These things can help protect us from the harm we might encounter through the study of poetry.
Now, as on a vine the fruit oftentimes lies concealed and hidden under its large leaves and luxuriant branches, so in the poet's phrases and fictions that encompass them there are also many profitable and useful things concealed from the view of young men. This, however, ought not to be suffered; nor should we be led away from things themselves thus, but rather adhere to such of them as tend to the promoting of virtue and the well forming of our manners. It will not be altogether useless, therefore, to treat briefly in the next place of passages of that nature. Wherein I intend to touch only at some particulars, leaving all longer discussion, and the trimming up and furnishing them with a multitude of instances, to those who write more for display and ostentation.
Now, just like fruit on a vine is often hidden beneath its large leaves and lush branches, a lot of valuable and useful ideas are concealed within the poet's words and stories, especially from young men. However, we shouldn’t let this go unnoticed, nor should we be distracted from the actual ideas; instead, we should focus on those that promote virtue and shape our character positively. Therefore, it won’t hurt to briefly discuss passages of this kind next. I plan to highlight a few specifics, leaving the detailed discussions and the extensive examples to those who write for show and flair.
First, therefore, let our young man be taught to understand good and bad manners and persons, and from thence apply his mind to the words and deeds which the poet decently assigns to either of them. For example, Achilles, though in some wrath, speaks to Agamemnon thus decently:—
First, let our young man learn to recognize good and bad manners and people, and from there focus on the words and actions that the poet appropriately assigns to them. For instance, Achilles, despite his anger, speaks to Agamemnon in a respectful way:—
Nor, when we take a Trojan town, can I
With thee in spoils and splendid prizes vie;
(For this and the five following quotations,
see "Iliad," i. 163; ii. 226; i. 128; ii. 231;
iv. 402 and 404.)
Nor, when we capture a Trojan city, can I
Compete with you for the spoils and magnificent rewards;
(For this and the five following quotations,
see "Iliad," i. 163; ii. 226; i. 128; ii. 231;
iv. 402 and 404.)whereas Thersites to the same person speaks reproachfully in this manner:—
where Thersites speaks to the same person in a scornful way like this:—
'Tis thine whate'er the warrior's breast inflames,
The golden spoil, thine the lovely dames.
With all the wealth our wars and blood bestow,
Thy tents are crowded and thy chests o'erflow.
'Tis yours whatever stirs the warrior's heart, The golden treasures, yours the beautiful women. With all the riches our battles and blood provide, Your tents are full and your chests overflow.
Again, Achilles thus:—
Again, Achilles like this:—
Whene'er, by Jove's decree, our conquering powers
Shall humble to the dust Troy's lofty towers;
Whenever, by Jupiter's will, our victorious forces
Shall bring down to the ground Troy's towering walls;but Thersites thus:—
but Thersites like this:—
Whom I or some Greek else as captive bring.
Whom I or someone else from Greece might bring as a captive.
Again, Diomedes, when Agamemnon taking a view of the army spoke reproachfully to him,
Again, Diomedes, when Agamemnon looked over the army, spoke to him in a criticizing way,
To his hard words forbore to make reply,
For the respect he bare to majesty;
He held back his response to the harsh words,
Out of respect for the authority.whereas Sthenelus, a man of small note, replies on him thus:—
whereas Sthenelus, a man of little significance, replies to him like this:—
Sir, when you know the truth, what need to lie?
For with our fathers we for valor vie.
Sir, when you know the truth, why lie?
For we compete for bravery with our fathers.Now the observation of such difference will teach the young man the decency of a modest and moderate temper, and the unbecoming nauseousness of the contrary vices of boasting and cracking of a man's own worth. And it is worth while also to take notice of the demeanor of Agamemnon in the same place. For he passeth by Sthenelus unspoken to; but perceiving Ulysses to be offended, he neglects not him, but applies himself to answer him:—
Now, noticing such differences will teach the young man the importance of having a modest and balanced attitude, as opposed to the unpleasantness of bragging and self-promotion. It’s also important to pay attention to how Agamemnon acts in this situation. He walks past Sthenelus without speaking to him, but when he sees that Ulysses is upset, he doesn’t ignore him; instead, he takes the time to address him:—
Struck with his generous wrath, the king replies.
("Iliad," iv. 357. For the four following, see "Iliad," ix. 34
and 70; iv. 431; x. 325.)
Overcome with his fierce anger, the king responds.
("Iliad," iv. 357. For the four following, see "Iliad," ix. 34
and 70; iv. 431; x. 325.)For to have apologized to every one had been too servile and misbecoming the dignity of his person; whereas equally to have neglected every one had been an act of insolence and imprudence. And very handsome it is that Diomedes, though in the heat of the battle he answers the king only with silence, yet after the battle was over useth more liberty towards him, speaking thus:—
For him to have apologized to everyone would have been too submissive and inappropriate for his dignity; on the other hand, ignoring everyone would have shown arrogance and bad judgment. It's quite impressive that Diomedes, although he responds to the king with silence during the heat of battle, speaks more freely to him afterward, saying this:—
You called me coward, sir, before the Greeks.
You called me a coward, sir, in front of the Greeks.
It is expedient also to take notice of the different carriage of a wise man and of a soothsayer popularly courting the multitude. For Chalcas very unseasonably makes no scruple to traduce the king before the people, as having been the cause of the pestilence that was befallen them. But Nestor, intending to bring in a discourse concerning the reconciling Achilles to him, that he might not seem to charge Agamemnon before the multitude with the miscarriage his passion had occasioned, only adviseth him thus:—
It’s also important to notice how differently a wise person acts compared to a fortune teller trying to win over the crowd. Chalcas, at an inappropriate time, has no hesitation in slandering the king in front of the people, claiming he caused the plague that struck them. However, Nestor, wanting to discuss how to reconcile Achilles without directly blaming Agamemnon for the mess created by his anger, simply advises him like this:—
But thou, O king, to council call the old....
Wise weighty counsels aid a state distressed,
And such a monarch as can choose the best;
But you, O king, call the old to counsel....
Wise and serious advice helps a troubled state,
And a monarch who can make the best choices;which done, accordingly after supper he sends his ambassadors. Now this speech of Nestor tended to the rectifying of what he had before done amiss; but that of Chalcas, only to accuse and disparage him.
which done, after supper, he sends his ambassadors. Now this speech of Nestor aimed to fix what he had previously done wrong; but Chalcas's speech was just to blame and criticize him.
There is likewise consideration to be had of the different manners of nations, such as these. The Trojans enter into battle with loud outcries and great fierceness; but in the army of the Greeks,
There is also a need to consider the different ways of nations, such as these. The Trojans enter battle with loud shouts and great intensity; but in the Greek army,
Sedate and silent move the numerous bands;
No sound, no whisper, but the chief's commands;
Those only heard, with awe the rest obey.
Calm and quiet move the many groups;
No sound, no whisper, just the leader's orders;
Only those are heard, with respect the others comply.
For when soldiers are about to engage an enemy, the awe they stand in of their officers is an argument both of courage and obedience. For which purpose Plato teacheth us that we ought to inure ourselves to fear, blame and disgrace more than labor and danger. And Cato was wont to say that he liked men that were apt to blush better than those that looked pale.
For when soldiers are about to face an enemy, the respect they have for their officers shows both courage and obedience. For this reason, Plato teaches us that we should train ourselves to handle fear, criticism, and shame more than hard work and danger. And Cato used to say that he preferred men who could blush over those who looked pale.
Moreover, there is a particular character to be noted of the men who undertake for any action. For Dolon thus promiseth:—
Moreover, there is a specific trait to note about the men who commit to any action. For Dolon thus promises:—
I'll pass through all their host in a disguise
To their flag-ship, where she at anchor lies.
I'll sneak past all their ships in disguise
To their flagship, where it's anchored.But Diomedes promiseth nothing, but only tells them he shall fear the less if they send a companion with him; whereby is intimated, that discreet foresight is Grecian and civil, but rash confidence is barbarous and evil; and the former is therefore to be imitated, and the latter to be avoided.
But Diomedes doesn’t promise anything; he just tells them that he'll feel less afraid if they send someone to accompany him. This suggests that careful planning is a Greek and civilized trait, while reckless confidence is barbaric and wrong. Therefore, we should emulate the former and avoid the latter.
It is a matter too of no unprofitable consideration, how the minds of the Trojans and of Hector too were affected when he and Ajax were about to engage in a single combat. For Aeschylus, when, upon one of the fighters at fisticuffs in the Isthmian games receiving a blow on the face, there was made a great outcry among the people, said: "What a thing is practice! See how the lookers-on only cry out, but the man that received the stroke is silent." But when the poet tells us, that the Greeks rejoiced when they saw Ajax in his glistering armor, but
It’s worth considering how the Trojans and Hector felt when he and Ajax were about to fight one-on-one. Aeschylus pointed out that during the Isthmian games, when one of the fighters got hit in the face and the crowd erupted, he remarked, “Isn’t it interesting how practice affects everything? Look how the spectators scream, while the one who got hit stays quiet.” But when the poet tells us that the Greeks cheered at the sight of Ajax in his shining armor, but
The Trojans' knees for very fear did quake,
And even Hector's heart began to ache;
("Iliad," vii. 215. For the three following,
see "Iliad," ii. 220; v. 26 and 231.)
The Trojans were shaking in fear,
And even Hector started to feel anxious;
("Iliad," vii. 215. For the three following,
see "Iliad," ii. 220; v. 26 and 231.)who is there that wonders not at this difference,—when the heart of him that was to run the risk of the combat only beats inwardly, as if he were to undertake a mere wrestling or running match, but the very bodies of the spectators tremble and shake, out of the kindness and fear which they had for their king?
who does not marvel at this difference—when the heart of the one about to face the fight beats only inwardly, as if he were merely preparing for a wrestling match or a race, while the bodies of the spectators tremble and shake, driven by their concern and fear for their king?
In the same poet also we may observe the difference betwixt the humor of a coward and a valiant man. For Thersites
In the same poet, we can also see the difference between the attitude of a coward and a brave man. For Thersites
Against Achilles a great malice had,
And wise Ulysses he did hate as bad;
Achilles had a deep-seated grudge,
And he equally despised clever Ulysses;but Ajax is always represented as friendly to Achilles; and particularly he speaks thus to Hector concerning him:—
but Ajax is always shown as friendly to Achilles; and especially he says this to Hector about him:—
Hector I approach my arm, and singly know
What strength thou hast, and what the Grecian foe.
Achilles shuns the fight; yet some there are
Not void of soul, and not unskill'd in war:
Hector I reach out my arm, and I know alone
What strength you have, and what the Greek enemy possesses.
Achilles avoids battle; yet there are some
Who are not lacking in spirit and not untrained in warfare: wherein he insinuates the high commendation of that valiant man. And in what follows, he speaks like handsome things of his fellow-soldiers in general, thus:—
where he suggests the great praise of that brave man. And in what follows, he says nice things about his fellow soldiers in general, like this:—
Whole troops of heroes Greece has yet to boast,
And sends thee one, a sample of her host;
Greece still has many heroes to brag about,
And sends you one, a representative of her army;wherein he doth not boast himself to be the only or the best champion, but one of those, among many others, who were fit to undertake that combat.
where he doesn’t claim to be the only or the best champion, but rather one of many who were suited to take on that fight.
What hath been said is sufficient upon the point of dissimilitudes; except we think fit to add this, that many of the Trojans came into the enemy's power alive, but none of the Grecians; and that many Trojans supplicated to their enemies,—as (for instance) Adrastus, the sons of Antimachus, Lycaon,—and even Hector himself entreats Achilles for a sepulture; but not one of these doth so, as judging it barbarous to supplicate to a foe in the field, and more Greek-like either to conquer or die.
What has been said is enough about the differences, except to add that many Trojans were captured alive by the enemy, but none of the Greeks were. Many Trojans begged their enemies for mercy—like Adrastus, the sons of Antimachus, and Lycaon—and even Hector himself pleads with Achilles for a proper burial. However, none of the Greeks do this, as they consider it uncivilized to beg a foe on the battlefield and would rather conquer or die.
But as, in the same plant, the bee feeds on the flower, the goat on the bud, the hog on the root, and other living creatures on the seed and the fruit; so in reading of poems, one man singleth out the historical part, another dwells upon the elegancy and fit disposal of words, as Aristophanes says of Euripides,—
But just as in the same plant, the bee feeds on the flower, the goat on the bud, the pig on the root, and other living creatures on the seed and the fruit; in reading poems, one person focuses on the historical aspect, while another appreciates the elegance and arrangement of words, just as Aristophanes says about Euripides,—
His gallant language runs so smooth and round,
That I am ravisht with th' harmonious sound;
(See "Aristophanes," Frag. 397.)
His elegant speech flows so smoothly and perfectly,
That I am captivated by the beautiful sound;
(See "Aristophanes," Frag. 397.)but others, to whom this part of my discourse is directed, mind only such things as are useful to the bettering of manners. And such we are to put in mind that it is an absurd thing, that those who delight in fables should not let anything slip them of the vain and extravagant stories they find in poets, and that those who affect language should pass over nothing that is elegantly and floridly expressed; and that only the lovers of honor and virtue, who apply themselves to the study of poems not for delight but for instruction's sake, should slightly and negligently observe what is spoken in them relating to valor, temperance, or justice. Of this nature is the following:—
but others, to whom this part of my talk is addressed, focus only on things that help improve behavior. We need to remind them that it's ridiculous for those who enjoy stories to overlook the silly and extravagant tales they find in poetry, and that those who appreciate language should not ignore anything that is beautifully and artistically expressed; yet only the true lovers of honor and virtue, who study poems not for pleasure but for learning, should casually and carelessly acknowledge what is said about courage, self-control, or justice. The following is an example of this:—
And stand we deedless, O eternal shame!
Till Hector's arm involve the ships in flame?
Haste, let us join, and combat side by side.
("Iliad," xi. 313. For the four following see
"Odyssey," iii. 52; "Iliad," xxiv. 560 and 584;
"Odyssey," xvi. 274.)
And shall we just stand here, what an eternal shame!
Until Hector sets the ships on fire?
Come on, let’s join forces and fight together.
("Iliad," xi. 313. For the four following see
"Odyssey," iii. 52; "Iliad," xxiv. 560 and 584;
"Odyssey," xvi. 274.)For to see a man of the greatest wisdom in danger of being totally cut off with all those that take part with him, and yet affected less with fear of death than of shame and dishonor, must needs excite in a young man a passionate affection for virtue. And this,
For a young man to witness a man of great wisdom in danger of being completely isolated along with his supporters, yet more concerned about shame and dishonor than fear of death, must surely inspire a deep admiration for virtue. And this,
Joyed was the Goddess, for she much did prize
A man that was alike both just and wise,
Joyed was the Goddess, for she greatly valued
A man who was both fair and wise,teacheth us to infer that the Deity delights not in a rich or a proper or a strong man, but in one that is furnished with wisdom and justice. Again, when the same goddess (Minerva) saith that the reason why she did not desert or neglect Ulysses was that he was
teaches us to conclude that the Deity does not delight in a wealthy, attractive, or strong man, but in one who is filled with wisdom and justice. Furthermore, when the same goddess (Minerva) says that the reason she did not abandon or neglect Ulysses was that he was
Gentle, of ready wit, of prudent mind,
Kind, witty, and practical,
she therein tells us that, of all things pertaining to us, nothing is dear to the gods and godlike but our virtue, seeing like naturally delights in like.
she tells us that, of all things related to us, nothing is precious to the gods and those like them except our virtue, since like naturally delights in like.
And seeing, moreover, that it both seemeth and really is a great thing to be able to moderate a man's anger, but a greater by far to guard a man's self beforehand by prudence, that he fall not into it nor be surprised by it, therefore also such passages as tend that way are not slightly to be represented to the readers; for example, that Achilles himself—who was a man of no great forbearance, nor inclined to such meekness—yet admonishes Priam to be calm and not to provoke him, thus,
And noticing that it's both seen and truly a big deal to control someone's anger, but even more impressive to protect a person in advance with wisdom so that they don’t fall into it or get caught off guard, we should definitely highlight sections that support this idea for the readers. For instance, Achilles—who wasn’t known for his patience or tendency to be mild—still advises Priam to stay calm and not to anger him.
Move me no more (Achilles thus replies,
While kindling anger sparkled in his eyes),
Nor seek by tears my steady soul to bend:
To yield thy Hector I myself intend:
Cease; lest, neglectful of high Jove's command,
I show thee, king, thou tread'st on hostile land;
Don't push me any further (Achilles replies,
Anger flashing in his eyes),
And don’t try to soften my resolute heart with tears:
I plan to take on Hector myself.
Stop; if you ignore the orders of great Jove,
I’ll show you, king, that you’re on enemy territory;and that he himself first washeth and decently covereth the body of Hector and then puts it into a chariot, to prevent his father's seeing it so unworthily mangled as it was,—
and that he himself first washes and properly covers Hector's body and then puts it into a chariot, to spare his father from seeing it so disgracefully mangled as it was,—
Lest the unhappy sire,
Provoked to passion, once more rouse to ire
The stern Pelides; and nor sacred age,
Nor Jove's command, should check the rising rage.
So that the unhappy father,
Angry and upset, doesn't once again provoke
the fierce Achilles; and neither the respect for age,
nor Jupiter's command, should hold back his growing anger.For it is a piece of admirable prudence for a man so prone to anger, as being by nature hasty and furious, to understand himself so well as to set a guard upon his own inclinations, and by avoiding provocations to keep his passion at due distance by the use of reason, lest he should be unawares surprised by it. And after the same manner must the man that is apt to be drunken forearm himself against that vice; and he that is given to wantonness, against lust, as Agesilaus refused to receive a kiss from a beautiful person addressing to him, and Cyrus would not so much as endure to see Panthea. Whereas, on the contrary, those that are not virtuously bred are wont to gather fuel to inflame their passions, and voluntarily to abandon themselves to those temptations to which of themselves they are endangered. But Ulysses does not only restrain his own anger, but (perceiving by the discourse of his son Telemachus, that through indignation conceived against such evil men he was greatly provoked) he blunts his passion too beforehand, and composeth him to calmness and patience, thus:—
For a person who tends to get angry, being naturally quick-tempered and furious, it's really wise to know himself well enough to control his own impulses. By avoiding situations that provoke him, he can manage his anger with reason, so he won’t be caught off guard by it. Similarly, someone prone to drunkenness should prepare himself against that vice, and someone who struggles with lust should guard against temptation, just like Agesilaus wouldn’t accept a kiss from a beautiful person and Cyrus wouldn’t even look at Panthea. In contrast, those who haven't been raised with virtue often seek out situations to ignite their passions, willingly giving in to temptations that pose a risk to them. However, Ulysses not only restrains his own anger but also, noticing through his son Telemachus’ words that he’s feeling strong anger toward wicked people, he manages his feelings ahead of time and calms himself down to be patient:—
There, if base scorn insult my reverend age,
Bear it, my son! repress thy rising rage.
If outraged, cease that outrage to repel;
Bear it, my son! howe'er thy heart rebel.
There, if lowly scorn insults my respected age,
Endure it, my son! control your growing anger.
If you're hurt, stop that hurt from pushing back;
Endure it, my son! no matter how your heart fights back. For as men are not wont to put bridles on their horses when they are running in full speed, but bring them bridled beforehand to the race; so do they use to preoccupy and predispose the minds of those persons with rational considerations to enable them to encounter passion, whom they perceive to be too mettlesome and unmanageable upon the sight of provoking objects.
For just as people don’t usually put bridles on their horses while they're running at full speed, but instead bring them already bridled to the race, they tend to prepare and influence the minds of those they see as overly spirited and unruly in response to tempting situations with rational thoughts beforehand.
Furthermore, the young man is not altogether to neglect names themselves when he meets with them; though he is not obliged to give much heed to such idle descants as those of Cleanthes, who, while he professeth himself an interpreter, plays the trifler, as in these passages of Homer: [Greek omitted], ("Iliad," iii. 320; xvi. 233.) For he will needs read the two of these words joined into one, and make them [Greek omitted] for that the air evaporated from the earth by exhalation [Greek omitted] is so called. Yea, and Chrysippus too, though he does not so trifle, yet is very jejune, while he hunts after improbable etymologies. As when he will need force the words [Greek omitted] to import Jupiter's excellent faculty in speaking and powerfulness to persuade thereby.
Moreover, the young man shouldn't completely overlook names when he encounters them; although he doesn't have to pay much attention to the pointless comments of Cleanthes, who, while claiming to be an interpreter, acts frivolously, as seen in these passages from Homer: [Greek omitted], ("Iliad," iii. 320; xvi. 233.) He tries to combine these two words into one and claims they [Greek omitted] refer to the air that has evaporated from the earth by exhalation [Greek omitted]. Similarly, Chrysippus, while not being as trivial, is still quite dull as he searches for unlikely origins of words. For instance, he insists on interpreting the words [Greek omitted] as conveying Jupiter’s exceptional ability to speak and his power to persuade through that.
But such things as these are fitter to be left to the examination of grammarians and we are rather to insist upon such passages as are both profitable and persuasive. Such, for instance, as these;—
But things like these are better suited for grammarians to analyze, and we should focus on passages that are both valuable and convincing. For example, these:—
My early youth was bred to martial pains,
My soul impels me to the embattled plains!
How skill'd he was in each obliging art;
The mildest manners, and the gentlest heart.
(Ibid. vi. 444; xvii. 671.)
My early youth was shaped by the struggles of war,
My spirit drives me to the battlefields!
How skilled he was in every charming ability;
The kindest nature, and the softest heart.
(Ibid. vi. 444; xvii. 671.)For while the author tells us that fortitude may be taught, and that an obliging and graceful way of conversing with others is to be gotten by art and the use of reason, he exhorts us not to neglect the improvement of ourselves, but by observing our teachers' instructions to learn a becoming carriage, as knowing that clownishness and cowardice argue ill-breeding and ignorance. And very suitable to what hath been said is that which is said of Jupiter and Neptune:—
For while the author explains that courage can be taught and that a polite, graceful way of talking to others can be learned through practice and reasoning, he encourages us not to ignore our self-improvement. We should follow our teachers' guidance to learn how to conduct ourselves properly, understanding that being rude and timid reflects poor upbringing and a lack of knowledge. This aligns well with what is said about Jupiter and Neptune:—
Gods of one source, of one ethereal race,
Alike divine, and heaven their native place;
But Jove the greater; first born of the skies,
And more than men or Gods supremely wise.
("Iliad," xiii. 354.)
Gods from one source, of one celestial lineage,
All divine, with heaven as their homeland;
But Jupiter is the greatest; firstborn of the heavens,
And more wise than men or other gods.
("Iliad," xiii. 354.)For the poet therein pronounceth wisdom to be the most divine and royal quality of all; as placing therein the greatest excellency of Jupiter himself, and judging all virtues else to be necessarily consequent thereunto. We are also to accustom a young man attentively to hear such things as these:—
For the poet says that wisdom is the most divine and royal quality of all, as it embodies the greatest excellence of Jupiter himself, and considers all other virtues to necessarily follow from it. We should also teach a young man to listen carefully to things like these:—
Urge him with truth to frame his fair replies:
And sure he will, for wisdom never lies:
The praise of wisdom, in thy youth obtain'd,
An act so rash, Antilochus, has stain'd:
Say, is it just, my friend, that Hector's ear
From such a warrior such a speech should hear?
I deemed thee once the wisest of thy kind,
But ill this insult suits a prudent mind.
("Odyssey," iii. 20; "Iliad," xxiii. 570; xvii. 170.)
Encourage him to speak honestly:
And he will, because wisdom always speaks the truth:
Gaining praise for wisdom in your youth
Is a hasty act, Antilochus, that has marred your reputation:
Tell me, is it fair, my friend, that Hector should hear
Such words from a warrior like you?
I once thought you the wisest among us,
But this insult does not fit a wise mind.
("Odyssey," iii. 20; "Iliad," xxiii. 570; xvii. 170.)These speeches teach us that it is beneath wise men to lie or to deal otherwise than fairly, even in games, or to blame other men without just cause. And when the poet attributes Pindarus's violation of the truce to his folly, he withal declares his judgment that a wise man will not be guilty of an unjust action. The like may we also infer concerning continence, taking our ground for it from these passages:—
These speeches teach us that it's beneath wise people to lie or act unfairly, even in games, or to blame others without a good reason. When the poet attributes Pindarus's breach of the truce to his foolishness, he also expresses his belief that a wise person won’t commit an unjust act. We can draw similar conclusions about self-control, based on these passages:—
For him Antaea burn'd with lawless flame,
And strove to tempt him from the paths of fame:
In vain she tempted the relentless youth,
Endued with wisdom, sacred fear, and truth:
At first, with worthy shame and decent pride,
The royal dame, his lawless suit denied!
For virtue's image yet possessed her mind:
("Iliad," vi. 160; "Odyssey," iii. 265.)
For him, Antaea burned with uncontrollable passion,
And tried to lure him away from the road to glory:
She unsuccessfully tempted the unyielding young man,
Gifted with wisdom, deep respect, and honesty:
Initially, with honorable shame and proper pride,
The noble woman rejected his illegal advances!
For the image of virtue still filled her thoughts:
("Iliad," vi. 160; "Odyssey," iii. 265.)in which speeches the poet assigns wisdom to be the cause of continence. And when in exhortations made to encourage soldiers to fight, he speaks in this manner:—
in which speeches the poet attributes wisdom as the reason for self-control. And when he makes motivating speeches to encourage soldiers to fight, he speaks like this:—
What mean you, Lycians? Stand! O stand, for shame!
Yet each reflect who prizes fame or breath,
On endless infamy, on instant death;
For, lo! the fated time, the appointed shore;
Hark! the gates burst, the brazen barriers roar!
("Iliad," xvi. 422; xiii. 121.)
What do you mean, Lycians? Stand! O stand, for shame!
Yet each one thinks about who values fame or life,
On endless disgrace, on immediate death;
For, look! the destined time, the designated shore;
Listen! the gates burst open, the bronze barriers roar!
("Iliad," xvi. 422; xiii. 121.)he seems to intimate that prudent men are valiant men; because they fear the shame of base actions, and can trample on pleasures and stand their ground in the greatest hazards. Whence Timotheus, in the play called Persae, takes occasion handsomely to exhort the Grecians thus:—
he seems to imply that wise men are brave men; because they fear the disgrace of dishonorable actions and can resist temptations, standing firm in the face of the greatest dangers. From this, Timotheus, in the play called Persae, takes the opportunity to encourage the Greeks like this:—
Brave soldiers of just shame in awe should stand;
For the blushing face oft helps the fighting hand.
Brave soldiers of just embarrassment should stand in awe;
For a blushing face often helps a fighting hand.And Aeschylus also makes it a point of wisdom not to be blown up with pride when a man is honored, nor to be moved or elevated with the acclamations of a multitude, writing thus of Amphiaraus:—
And Aeschylus also highlights the wisdom in not getting too proud when someone is honored, nor letting oneself be swayed or lifted up by the cheers of the crowd, writing this about Amphiaraus:—
His shield no emblem bears; his generous soul
Wishes to be, not to appear, the best;
While the deep furrows of his noble mind
Harvests of wise and prudent counsel bear.
(See note in the same passage of
Aeschylus (Sept. 591), i. 210. (G).)
His shield has no symbol; his kind heart
Wants to be, not just look, the best;
While the deep grooves of his noble mind
Hold the fruits of wise and careful advice.
(See note in the same passage of
Aeschylus (Sept. 591), i. 210. (G).)For it is the part of a wise man to value himself upon the consciousness of his own true worth and excellency.
For a wise person, it's important to recognize and appreciate their own true worth and excellence.
Whereas, therefore, all inward perfections are reducible to wisdom, it appears that all sorts of virtue and learning are included in it
Whereas all inner qualities can be reduced to wisdom, it seems that all types of virtue and knowledge fall under it.
Again, boys may be instructed, by reading the poets as they ought, to draw even from those passages that are most suspected as wicked and absurd something that is useful and profitable; as the bee is taught by Nature to gather the sweetest and most pleasant honey from the harshest flowers and sharpest thorns. It does indeed at the first blush cast a shrewd suspicion on Agmemnon of taking a bribe, when Homer tells us that he discharged that rich man from the wars who presented him with his fleet mare Aethe:—
Again, boys can learn, by reading the poets properly, to take even from those parts that seem the most wicked and ridiculous something useful and beneficial; just as a bee, guided by Nature, gathers the sweetest and most delightful honey from the toughest flowers and sharpest thorns. At first glance, it does raise a strong suspicion about Agamemnon accepting a bribe when Homer tells us that he let that wealthy man off from the wars because he gave him his valuable mare Aethe:—
Whom rich Echepolus, more rich than brave,
To 'scape the wars, to Agamemnon gave
(Aethe her name), at home to end his days;
Base wealth preferring to eternal praise.
("Iliad," xxiii. 297.)
Whom wealthy Echepolus, richer than brave,
To avoid the wars, gave to Agamemnon
(Her name was Aethe), to spend his days at home;
Choosing material wealth over everlasting glory.
("Iliad," xxiii. 297.)Yet, as saith Aristotle, it was well done of him to prefer a good beast before such a man. For, the truth is, a dog or ass is of more value than a timorous and cowardly man that wallows in wealth and luxury. Again, Thetis seems to do indecently, when she exhorts her son to follow his pleasures and minds him of companying with women. But even here, on the other side, the continency of Achilles is worthy to be considered; who, though he dearly loved Briseis,—newly returned to him too,—yet, when he knew his life to be near its end, does not hasten to the fruition of pleasures, nor, when he mourns for his friend Patroclus, does he (as most men are wont) shut himself up from all business and neglect his duty, but only bars himself from recreations for his sorrow's sake, while yet he gives himself up to action and military employments. And Archilochus is not praiseworthy either, who, in the midst of his mourning for his sister's husband drowned in the sea, contrives to dispel his grief by drinking and merriment. And yet he gives this plausible reason to justify that practice of his,
Yet, as Aristotle says, it was wise of him to prefer a good animal over such a man. The truth is, a dog or donkey is more valuable than a fearful and cowardly man who wallows in wealth and luxury. Moreover, Thetis seems to act inappropriately when she encourages her son to indulge in pleasures and reminds him to spend time with women. However, on the other hand, the self-control of Achilles deserves recognition; even though he dearly loved Briseis—who has just returned to him—when he realizes his life is coming to an end, he doesn’t rush into enjoying pleasures. And when he mourns for his friend Patroclus, he doesn’t isolate himself from all responsibilities and neglect his duties as most men do. Instead, he just refrains from leisure activities out of sorrow while still dedicating himself to action and military duties. Archilochus also isn’t commendable, as he, amidst his mourning for his sister’s husband who drowned at sea, tries to ease his grief through drinking and partying. Yet he offers this seemingly reasonable explanation to justify his behavior.
To drink and dance, rather than mourn, I choose;
Nor wrong I him, whom mourning can't reduce.
I choose to drink and dance instead of mourn;
I'm not wrong for not letting sadness take its toll.For, if he judged himself to do nothing amiss when he followed sports and banquets, sure, we shall not do worse, if in whatever circumstances we follow the study of philosophy, or manage public affairs, or go to the market or to the Academy, or follow our husbandry. Wherefore those corrections also are not to be rejected which Cleanthes and Antisthenes have made use of. For Antisthenes, seeing the Athenians all in a tumult in the theatre, and justly, upon the pronunciation of this verse,—
For if he thought there was nothing wrong with enjoying sports and parties, then we certainly won’t do any worse if, no matter the situation, we engage in studying philosophy, managing public affairs, going to the market or the Academy, or tending to our farming. Therefore, we shouldn't dismiss the corrections that Cleanthes and Antisthenes utilized. Antisthenes, noticing the Athenians in an uproar at the theater, and rightly so, said this line—
Except what men think wrong, there's nothing ill,
(From the "Aeolus" of Euripides, Frag. 19.)
Except for what people think is wrong, there's nothing bad,
(From the "Aeolus" of Euripides, Frag. 19.)presently subjoined this corrective,
currently attached this correction,
What's wrong is so,—believe men what they will.
What's wrong is so, — let men believe what they will.
And Cleanthes, hearing this passage concerning wealth:—
And Cleanthes, hearing this part about wealth:—
Great is th' advantage that great wealth attends,
For oft with it we purchase health and friends,
(Euripides, "Electra," 428.)
There is a significant advantage that comes with great wealth,
For often it allows us to buy health and friendships,
(Euripides, "Electra," 428.)presently altered it thus:
now changed it like this:
Great disadvantage oft attends on wealth;
We purchase whores with't and destroy our health.
Great disadvantage often comes with wealth;
We buy pleasure with it and ruin our health. And Zeno corrected that of Sophocles,
And Zeno fixed what Sophocles had said,
The man that in a tyrant's palace dwells
His liberty for's entertainment sells,
The man who lives in a tyrant's palace
Sells his freedom for entertainment,after this manner:—
like this:—
No: if he came in free, he cannot lose
His liberty, though in a tyrant's house;
No: if he came in freely, he cannot lose
His freedom, even in a tyrant's house;meaning by a free man one that is undaunted and magnanimous, and one of a spirit too great to stoop beneath itself. And why may not we also, by some such acclamations as those, call off young men to the better side, by using some things spoken by poets after the same manner? For example, it is said,
meaning by a free man one who is fearless and generous, and one with a spirit too strong to lower itself. And why can't we also, through some similar praises, encourage young men to choose the better path, by using words spoken by poets in the same way? For example, it is said,
'Tis all that in this life one can require,
To hit the mark he aims at in desire.
It's all that anyone can ask for in this life, To hit the target they aim for in their desires.
To which we may reply thus:—
To which we can respond like this:—
'Tis false; except one level his desire
At what's expedient, and no more require.
'Tis false; except for one level his desire At what's convenient, and nothing more required.
For it is an unhappy thing and not to be wished, for a man to obtain and be master of what he desires if it be inexpedient. Again this saying,
For it's unfortunate and not something to hope for, for a person to get and control what they want if it's not wise. Again, this saying,
Thou, Agamemnon, must thyself prepare
Of joy and grief by turns to take thy share,
Thy father, Atreus, sure, ne'er thee begat,
To be an unchanged favorite of Fate:
(Euripides, "Iphigenia at Aulus," 29.)
You, Agamemnon, must prepare yourself
To experience joy and grief in turns,
Your father, Atreus, certainly did not give birth to you
To be an unchanging favorite of Fate:
(Euripides, "Iphigenia at Aulus," 29.)we may thus invert:—
we might flip it:—
Thy father, Atreus, never thee begat,
To be an unchanged favorite of Fate:
Therefore, if moderate thy fortunes are,
Thou shouldst rejoice always, and grief forbear.
Your father, Atreus, never had you,
To be an unchanging favorite of Fate:
So, if your fortunes are moderate,
You should always rejoice and hold back your grief.Again it is said,
It is said again,
Alas! this ill comes from the powers divine
That oft we see what's good, yet it decline.
(From the "Chrysippus" of Euripides, Frag. 838.)
Unfortunately, this trouble comes from the divine powers
That often we see what's good, yet it slips away.
(From the "Chrysippus" of Euripides, Frag. 838.)Yea, rather, say we, it is a brutish and irrational and wretched fault of ours, that when we understand better things, we are carried away to the pursuit of those which are worse, through our intemperance and effeminacy. Again, one says,
Yea, instead, we say it’s a savage, unreasonable, and miserable flaw of ours that when we know better things, we still get drawn to the pursuit of those that are worse, due to our lack of self-control and weakness. Again, one says,
For not the teacher's speech but practice moves.
(From Menander.)
For it's not the teacher's words but the actions that matter.
(From Menander.)Yea, rather, say we, both the speech and practice,—or the practice by the means of speech,—as the horse is managed with the bridle, and the ship with the helm. For virtue hath no instrument so suitable and agreeable to human nature to work on men withal, as that of rational discourse. Again, we meet with this character of some person:—
Yea, rather, we say that both speech and action—or action through speech—are like how a horse is controlled with a bridle and a ship with a steering wheel. Virtue has no tool more fitting and compatible with human nature to influence people than rational discussion. Again, we come across this quality in some person:—
A. Is he more inclined to male or female love?
B. He bends both ways, where beauty moves.
A. Does he prefer guys or girls?
B. He likes both, wherever beauty draws him.But it had been better said thus:—
But it would have been better said this way:—
He's flexible to both, where virtue moves.
He's adaptable to both, where goodness flows.
For it is no commendation of a man's dexterity to be tossed up and down as pleasure and beauty move him, but an argument rather of a weak and unstable disposition. Once more, this speech,
For it’s not a sign of a man’s skill to be swayed back and forth by pleasure and beauty, but rather a sign of a weak and unstable character. Once again, this speech,
Religion damps the courage of our minds,
And ev'n wise men to cowardice inclines,
Religion stifles the courage of our minds,
And even wise men can lean towards cowardice,is by no means to be allowed; but rather the contrary,
is definitely not allowed; quite the opposite,
Religion truly fortifies men's minds,
And a wise man to valiant acts inclines,
Religion truly strengthens men's minds,
And a wise man is inclined to brave actions,and gives not occasion of fear to any but weak and foolish persons and such as are ungrateful to the Deity, who are apt to look on that divine power and principle which is the cause of all good with suspicion and jealousy, as being hurtful unto them. And so much for that which I call correction of poets' sayings.
and causes no fear for anyone except weak and foolish people and those who are ungrateful to the divine, who tend to view that divine power and principle, which is the source of all good, with suspicion and jealousy, as if it were harmful to them. And that concludes what I refer to as the correction of poets' sayings.
There is yet another way of improving poems, taught us well by Chrysippus; which is, by accommodation of any saying, to transfer that which is useful and serviceable in it to divers things of the same kind. For whereas Hesiod saith,
There is yet another way of improving poems, taught us well by Chrysippus; which is, by accommodation of any saying, to transfer that which is useful and serviceable in it to diverse things of the same kind. For whereas Hesiod says,
If but a cow miscarry, the common fame
Upon the next ill neighbor lays the blame;
(Hesiod, "Work and Days," 348.)
If a cow has a miscarriage, the gossip
Blames the nearest neighbor;
(Hesiod, "Work and Days," 348.)the same may be applied to a man's dog or ass or any other beast of his which is liable to the like mischance. Again, Euripides saith,
the same can be applied to a man's dog, donkey, or any other animal of his that could experience the same misfortune. Additionally, Euripides says,
How can that man be called a slave, who slights
Ev'n death itself, which servile spirits frights?
How can that man be called a slave, who dismisses
Even death itself, which frightens weak spirits?the like whereof may be said of hard labor or painful sickness. For as physicians, finding by experience the force of any medicine in the cure of some one disease, make use of it by accommodation, proportionably to every other disease of affinity thereto, so are we to deal with such speeches as are of a common import and apt to communicate their value to other things; we must not confine them to that one thing only to which they were at first adapted, but transfer them to all other of like nature, and accustom young men by many parallel instances to see the communicableness of them, and exercise the promptness of their wits in such applications so that when Menander says,
the same can be said about hard work or painful illness. Just as doctors, through experience, understand how effective a certain medicine can be for treating one specific illness, they adapt that medicine for other related illnesses. Similarly, we should approach speeches that have a general meaning and are likely to convey their importance to other subjects; we shouldn't limit them to the specific topic they were originally meant for, but rather extend them to all similar topics. We should help young people recognize the connections through various examples, enhancing their ability to apply this knowledge so that when Menander says,
Happy is he who wealth and wisdom hath,
Happy is the one who has wealth and wisdom,
they may be able to judge that the same is fitly applicable to glory and authority and eloquence also. And the reproof which Ulysses gives Achilles, when he found him sitting in Scyrus in the apartment of the young ladies,
they might see that this also applies to glory, power, and speech. And the criticism that Ulysses gives to Achilles when he discovers him sitting in Scyrus in the company of young women,
Thou, who from noblest Greeks deriv'st thy race,
Dost thou with spinning wool thy birth disgrace?
You, who trace your lineage from the noblest Greeks,
Do you dishonor your heritage by spinning wool?may be as well given to the prodigal, to him that undertakes any dishonest way of living, yea, to the slothful and unlearned person, thus:—
may be just as easily given to the spendthrift, to anyone who chooses a dishonest way of living, indeed, to the lazy and uneducated person, like this:—
Thou, who from noblest Greeks deriv'st thy race,
Dost thou with fuddling thy great birth disgrace?
You, who come from the noblest Greeks, Do you dishonor your great heritage with drunkenness?
or dost thou spend thy time in dicing, or quail-striking, (The word here used [Greek omitted] denotes a game among the Grecians, which Suidas describes to be the setting of quails in a round compass or ring and striking at the heads of them; and he that in the ring struck one had liberty to strike at the rest in order, but he that missed was obliged to set up quails for others; and this they did by turns.) or deal in adulterate wares or griping usury, not minding anything that is great and worthy thy noble extraction? So when they read,
or do you spend your time gambling, or playing a game involving striking quails (the term here used [Greek omitted] refers to a game among the Greeks, which Suidas describes as placing quails in a circular area and attempting to strike their heads; whoever hits one in the circle gets the chance to strike the others in turn, but if someone misses, they must set up the quails for others; and they would take turns doing this), or engaging in shady trading or greedy lending, not caring about anything significant that reflects your noble background? So when they read,
For wealth, the God most served, I little care,
Since the worst men his favors often wear,
(From the "Aeolus," of Euripides, Frag. 20.)
I don't care much for wealth, which is often favored by the worst people,
(From the "Aeolus," of Euripides, Frag. 20.)they may be able to infer, therefore, as little regard is to be had to glory and bodily beauty and princely robes and priestly garlands, all which also we see to be the enjoyments of very bad men. Again, when they read this passage,
they might conclude, since little importance should be placed on glory, physical beauty, royal clothing, and priestly adornments, which we also see enjoyed by very wicked people. Again, when they read this passage,
A coward father propagates his vice,
And gets a son heir to his cowardice,
A cowardly father passes on his weakness,
And ends up with a son who inherits his fear,
they may in truth apply the same to intemperance, to superstition, to envy, and all other diseases of men's minds. Again, whereas it is handsomely said of Homer,
they may actually apply the same to excess, to superstition, to jealousy, and all other ailments of people's minds. Again, it is nicely said of Homer,
Unhappy Paris, fairest to behold!
Sad Paris, the fairest sight!
and
and
Hector, of noble form.
("Iliad," iii. 39; xvii. 142.)
Hector, of noble stature.
("Iliad," iii. 39; xvii. 142.)for herein he shows that a man who hath no greater excellency than that of beauty to commend him deserves to have it mentioned with contempt and ignominy,—such expressions we should make use of in like cases to repress the insolence of such as bear themselves high upon the account of such things as are of no real value, and to teach young men to look upon such compellations as "O thou richest of men," and "O thou that excellest in feasting, in multitudes of attendants, in herds of cattle, yea, and in eloquent speaking itself," to be (as they are indeed) expressions that import reproach and infamy. For, in truth, a man that designs to excel ought to endeavor it in those things that are in themselves most excellent, and to become chief in the chiefest, and great in the greatest things. Whereas glory that ariseth from things in themselves small and inconsiderable is inglorious and contemptible. To mind us whereof we shall never be at a loss for instances, if, in reading Homer especially, we observe how he applieth the expressions that import praise or disgrace; wherein we have clear proof that he makes small account of the good things either of the body or Fortune. And first of all, in meetings and salutations, men do not call others fair or rich or strong, but use such terms of commendation as these:—
for here he shows that a man who has no greater quality than beauty to commend him deserves to have it mentioned with disdain and disgrace. We should use such expressions in similar situations to put down the arrogance of those who brag about things that hold no real value, and to teach young men to view phrases like "O you richest of men," and "O you who excel in feasting, in large gatherings, in herds of cattle, and in eloquent speaking" as being (as they truly are) expressions that bring shame and dishonor. In reality, a man striving for excellence should focus on things that are genuinely worthwhile and aim to be the best in the most important aspects. Meanwhile, glory that comes from trivial and insignificant things is neither glorious nor respectable. To remind us of this, we will always find examples, especially when reading Homer, if we observe how he uses terms that convey praise or disgrace; in which we see clear evidence that he pays little attention to physical beauty or wealth. And first, in greetings and salutations, people do not call others attractive or wealthy or strong, but use commendatory terms like these:—
Son of Laertes, from great Jove deriving
Thy pedigree, and skilled in wise contriving;
Hector, thou son of Priam, whose advice
With wisest Jove's men count of equal price;
Achilles, son of Peleus, whom all story
Shall mention as the Grecians greatest glory;
Divine Patroclus, for thy worth thou art,
Of all the friends I have, lodged next my heart.
("Iliad," ii. 173; vii. 47; xix. 216; xi. 608.)
Son of Laertes, descendant of great Jove,
Your lineage is remarkable, and you're clever at planning;
Hector, son of Priam, whose counsel
Is valued as highly as wise Jove's among men;
Achilles, son of Peleus, whom all stories
Will recall as the greatest pride of the Greeks;
Divine Patroclus, for your worth you hold,
Of all my friends, you're closest to my heart.
("Iliad," ii. 173; vii. 47; xix. 216; xi. 608.)And moreover, when they speak disgracefully of any person, they touch not at bodily defects, but direct all their reproaches to vicious actions; as for instance:—
And also, when they talk poorly about someone, they don't attack their physical flaws, but instead focus all their insults on their immoral actions; for example:—
A dogged-looking, drunken beast thou art,
And in thy bosom hast a deer's faint heart;
Ajax at brawling valiant still,
Whose tongue is used to speaking ill;
A tongue so loose hung, and so vain withal,
Idomeneus, becomes thee not at all;
Ajax thy tongue doth oft offend;
For of thy boasting there's no end.
(Ibid. i. 225; xxiii. 483 and 474-479; xiii. 824.)
You’re a stubborn, drunken beast,
And in your chest, you have the heart of a deer;
Ajax, still brave in a fight,
Whose words are always insulting;
With such a loose and vain tongue,
Idomeneus, this doesn’t suit you at all;
Ajax, your tongue often goes too far;
Because your boasting never seems to end.
(Ibid. i. 225; xxiii. 483 and 474-479; xiii. 824.)Lastly, when Ulysses reproacheth Thersites, he objecteth not to him his lameness nor his baldness nor his hunched back, but the vicious quality of indiscreet babbling. On the other side, when Juno means to express a dalliance or motherly fondness to her son Vulcan, she courts him with an epithet taken from his halting, thus,
Lastly, when Ulysses criticizes Thersites, he doesn't bring up his lameness, baldness, or hunchback, but rather the negative trait of inappropriate chatter. Conversely, when Juno wants to show affection or motherly love to her son Vulcan, she flatters him with a nickname related to his limping, thus,
Rouse thee, my limping son!
(Ibid, xxi. 331.)
Wake up, my limping son!
(Ibid, xxi. 331.)In this instance, Homer does (as it were) deride those who are ashamed of their lameness or blindness, as not thinking anything a disgrace that is not in itself disgraceful, nor any person liable to a reproach for that which is not imputable to himself but to Fortune. These two great advantages may be made by those who frequently study poets;—the learning moderation, to keep them from unseasonable and foolish reproaching others with their misfortunes, when they themselves enjoy a constant current of prosperity; and magnanimity, that under variety of accidents they be not dejected nor disturbed, but meekly bear the being scoffed at, reproached, and drolled upon. Especially, let them have that saying of Philemon ready at hand in such cases:—
In this case, Homer criticizes those who are embarrassed by their lameness or blindness, suggesting that they shouldn't consider anything a disgrace if it isn’t inherently shameful, nor should anyone feel reproach for things beyond their control, like fortune. By frequently studying poets, two significant benefits can be gained: the ability to practice moderation, which helps prevent them from foolishly blaming others for their misfortunes while they themselves are enjoying ongoing success; and the quality of magnanimity, which ensures that they remain untroubled and composed in the face of various challenges, enduring mockery and criticism with grace. It’s especially important for them to keep Philemon's saying in mind for such times:—
That spirit's well in tune, whose sweet repose
No railer's tongue can ever discompose.
That spirit is perfectly in sync, whose calmness
No critic's words can ever disturb.And yet, if one that so rails do himself merit reprehension, thou mayst take occasion to retort upon him his own vices and inordinate passions; as when Adrastus in the tragedy is assaulted thus by Alcmaeon,
And yet, if someone who criticizes others deserves condemnation themselves, you might take the opportunity to throw their own flaws and excessive desires back at them; just like when Adrastus in the tragedy is attacked by Alcmaeon,
Thy sister's one that did her husband kill,
Your sister is the one who killed her husband,
he returns him this answer,
he replies to him,
But thou thyself thy mother's blood did spill.
But you yourself spilled your mother's blood.
For as they who scourge a man's garments do not touch the body, so those that turn other men's evil fortunes or mean births to matter of reproach do only with vanity and folly enough lash their external circumstances, but touch not their internal part, the soul, nor those things which truly need correction and reproof.
For just as those who beat a man's clothes don't actually touch his body, those who criticize others for their bad luck or humble beginnings only foolishly attack their outward circumstances without addressing their inner being, the soul, or the aspects that genuinely need improvement and criticism.
Moreover, as we have above taught you to abate and lessen the credit of evil and hurtful poems by setting in opposition to them the famous speeches and sentences of such worthy men as have managed public affairs, so will it be useful to us, where we find any things in them of civil and profitable import, to improve and strengthen them by testimonies and proofs taken from philosophers, withal giving these the credit of being the first inventors of them. For this is both just and profitable to be done, seeing by this means such sayings receive an additional strength and esteem, when it appears that what is spoken on the stage or sung to the harp or occurs in a scholar's lesson is agreeable to the doctrines of Pythagoras and Plato, and that the sentences of Chile and Bias tend to the same issue with those that are found in the authors which children read. Therefore must we industriously show them that these poetical sentences,
Moreover, as we've previously taught you to decrease the impact of harmful and negative poems by contrasting them with the famous speeches and sayings of respected leaders who have handled public matters, it's also beneficial for us to highlight any civil and useful content in them. We should enhance and support these ideas with evidence and references from philosophers, while also acknowledging them as the original creators of such thoughts. This approach is both fair and advantageous, as it gives these sayings greater strength and respect, especially when it becomes clear that what's presented on stage, sung to the harp, or taught in a scholar's lesson aligns with the teachings of Pythagoras and Plato, and that the ideas of Chile and Bias support the same conclusions found in the texts children read. Therefore, we must carefully demonstrate to them that these poetic statements,
Not these, O daughter, are thy proper cares,
Thee milder arts befit, and softer wars;
Sweet smiles are thine, and kind endearing charms;
To Mars and Pallas leave the deeds of arms;
Jove's angry with thee, when thy unmanaged rage
With those that overmatch thee doth engage;
("Iliad," v. 248; xi. 543.)
Not these, my daughter, are the concerns you should have,
You should focus on gentler pursuits and softer battles;
Sweet smiles suit you, along with your charming nature;
Leave the fighting and warfare to Mars and Pallas;
Jove gets angry with you when your uncontrolled anger
Gets you involved with those who are too strong for you;
("Iliad," v. 248; xi. 543.)differ not in substance but bear plainly the same sense with that philosophical sentence, Know thyself, And these
differ not in substance but clearly carry the same meaning as that philosophical statement, Know yourself, And these
Fools, who by wrong seek to augment their store,
And know not how much half than all is more;
Of counsel giv'n to mischievous intents,
The man that gives it most of all repents;
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 40 and 266.)
Fools, who foolishly try to increase their wealth,
Don’t realize that having half is better than having it all;
When advice is given for harmful purposes,
The person who gives it usually regrets it the most;
(Hesiod, "Works and Days," 40 and 266.)are of near kin to what we find in the determination of Plato, in his books entitled Gorgias and Concerning the Commonwealth, to wit, that it is worse to do than to suffer injury, and that a man more endamageth himself when he hurts another, than he would be damnified if he were the sufferer. And that of Aeschylus,
are closely related to what we see in Plato's works, specifically in his books Gorgias and Concerning the Commonwealth, which state that it is worse to do harm than to endure harm, and that a person puts themselves at greater risk when they hurt another than they would if they were the one suffering. And that of Aeschylus,
Cheer up, friend; sorrows, when they highest climb,
What they exceed in measure want in time,
Cheer up, friend; even when sorrows reach their peak,
What they have in intensity, they lack in duration,we must inform them, is but the same famous sentence which is so much admired in Epicurus, that great griefs are but short, and those that are of long continuance are but small. The former clause whereof is that which Aeschylus here saith expressly, and the latter but the consequent of that. For if a great and intense sorrow do not last, then that which doth last is not great nor hard to be borne. And those words of Thespis,
we need to tell them, is just the well-known saying that is so admired in Epicurus: that intense griefs are short, while those that last a long time are minor. The first part is what Aeschylus clearly states here, and the second is just a follow-up to that. If a deep and intense sorrow doesn’t last, then what endures isn’t profound or difficult to handle. And those words from Thespis,
Seest not how Jove,—because he cannot lie
Nor vaunt nor laugh at impious drollery,
And pleasure's charms are things to him unknown,—
Among the gods wears the imperial crown?
Do you not see how Jove—because he cannot lie
Nor boast or laugh at impious jokes,
And the charms of pleasure are unknown to him—
Among the gods wears the imperial crown?wherein differ they from what Plato says, that the divine nature is remote from both joy and grief? And that saying of Bacchylides,
where do they differ from what Plato says, that the divine nature is distant from both joy and sorrow? And that saying of Bacchylides,
Virtue alone doth lasting honor gain,
But men of basest souls oft wealth attain;
Virtue alone earns lasting honor,
But people with the lowest character often gain wealth; and those of Euripides much of the same import,
and those of Euripides carry a similar meaning,
Hence temperance in my esteem excels,
Because it constantly with good men dwells;
However you may strive for honor
And you may seem to have secured by wealth virtue,
Good men will place you among the miserable;
So, in my opinion, moderation is the best,
Because it consistently exists with good people;
You might chase after honor,
And you might think you've gained virtue through wealth,
But good people will see you as one of the miserable;do they not evidently confirm to us what the philosophers say of riches and other external good things, that without virtue they are fruitless and unprofitable enjoyments?
do they not clearly confirm for us what the philosophers say about wealth and other external goods, that without virtue they are pointless and unfulfilling pleasures?
Now thus to accommodate and reconcile poetry to the doctrines of philosophy strips it of its fabulous and personated parts, and makes those things which it delivers usefully to acquire also the reputation of gravity; and over and above, it inclines the soul of a young man to receive the impressions of philosophical precepts. For he will hereby be enabled to come to them not altogether destitute of some sort of relish of them, not as to things that he has heard nothing of before, nor with an head confusedly full of the false notions which he hath sucked in from the daily tattle of his mother and nurse,—yea, sometimes too of his father and pedant,—who have been wont to speak of rich men as the happy men and mention them always with honor, and to express themselves concerning death and pain with horror, and to look on virtue without riches and glory as a thing of nought and not to be desired. Whence it comes to pass, that when such youths first do hear things of a quite contrary nature from philosophers, they are surprised with a kind of amazement, trouble, and stupid astonishment, which makes them afraid to entertain or endure them, except they be dealt with as those who come out of very great darkness into the light of the bright sun, that is, be first accustomed for a while to behold those doctrines in fabulous authors, as in a kind of false light, which hath but a moderate brightness and is easy to be looked on and borne without disturbance to the weak sight. For having before heard or read from poets such things as these are,—
Now, to adapt and align poetry with the principles of philosophy removes its fantastical and personified elements, making what it conveys useful while also gaining a sense of seriousness. Additionally, it encourages a young person's mind to be open to philosophical teachings. This way, they can approach these ideas not completely unfamiliar with them, but not burdened by misconceptions they've picked up from the everyday chatter of their mother and nurse—and sometimes even their father and teacher—who usually talk about rich people as the truly happy ones and always treat them with respect, while expressing horror about death and suffering, and dismissing virtue without wealth and fame as something worthless and undesirable. Consequently, when these young individuals first hear entirely different views from philosophers, they are often confused, troubled, and stunned, which makes them reluctant or unable to accept these ideas. It's like someone emerging from deep darkness into the bright sunlight; they need to be gradually introduced to those teachings through myths and stories, which provide a softer, more manageable light that's easier on their still-developing understanding. This way, they've previously heard or read similar ideas from poets such as these—
Mourn one's birth, as the entrance of all ills;
But joy at death, as that which finishes misery;
Of worldly things a mortal needs but two;
A drink of water and the gift of Ceres:
O tyranny, to barbarous nations dear!
This in all human happiness is chief,
To know as little as we can of grief;
Mourn your birth, as it's the start of all suffering;
But celebrate death, as it put an end to pain;
Of worldly things a person needs just two;
A drink of water and the gift of grain:
O tyranny, beloved by savage nations!
This is the essence of human happiness,
To know as little as possible about sorrow; they are the less disturbed and offended when they hear from philosophers that no man ought to be overconcerned about death; that riches are limited to the necessities of nature; that the happiness of man's life doth not consist in the abundance of wealth or vastness of employments or height of authority and power, but in freedom from sorrow, in moderation of passions, and in such a temper of mind as measures all things by the use of Nature.
they are less upset and offended when they hear from philosophers that no one should be overly worried about death; that wealth is only needed for basic life needs; that true happiness doesn’t come from having a lot of money, a busy schedule, or high positions of authority and power, but rather from being free of sadness, having balanced emotions, and having a mindset that evaluates everything based on the principles of Nature.
Wherefore, upon all these accounts, as well as for all the reasons before mentioned, youth stands in need of good government to manage it in the reading of poetry, that being free from all prejudicate opinions, and rather instructed beforehand in conformity thereunto, it may with more calmness, friendliness, and familiarity pass from thence to the study of philosophy.
Therefore, for all these reasons, as well as those mentioned earlier, young people need good guidance to help them read poetry. By being free from biased opinions and being prepared in advance to understand it, they can more easily and comfortably transition into the study of philosophy with calmness, friendliness, and familiarity.
ABSTRACT OF A COMPARISON BETWEEN ARISTOPHANE AND MENANDER
To speak in sum and in general, he prefers Menander by far; and as to particulars, he adds what here ensues. Aristophanes, he saith, is importune, theatric, and sordid in his expression; but Menander not so at all. For the rude and vulgar person is taken with the things the former speaketh; but the well-bred man will be quite out of humor with them. I mean, his opposed terms, his words of one cadence, and his derivatives. For the one makes use of these with due observance and but seldom, and bestows care upon them; but the other frequently, unseasonably, and frigidly. "For he is much commended," said he, "for ducking the chamberlains, they being indeed not chamberlains [Greek omitted] but witches."[Greek omitted]. And again,—"This rascal breathes out nothing but roguery and sycophanty"; and "Smite him well in his belly with the entrails and the guts"; and, "By laughing I shall get to Laughington [Greek omitted]"; and, "Thou poor sharded ostracized pot, what shall I do with thee?" and, "To you women surely he is a mad plague, for he was brought up among these mad worts";—and, "Look here, how the moths have eaten away my crest"; and, "Bring me hither the gorgon-backed circle of my shield"; "Give me the round-backed circle of a cheese-cake";—and much more of the same kind. (See Aristophanes, "Knights," 437, 455; "Thesmophoriazusae," 455; Acharnians," 1109, 1124.) There is then in the structure of his words something tragic and something comic, something blustering and something low, an obscurity, a vulgarness, a turgidness, and a strutting, with a nauseous prattling and fooling. And as his style has so great varieties and dissonances in it, so neither doth he give to his persons what is fitting and proper to each,—as state (for instance) to a prince, force to an orator, innocence to a woman, meanness of language to a poor man, and sauciness to a tradesman,—but he deals out to every person, as it were by lot, such words as come next to his hand, and you would scarce discern whether he be a son a father, a peasant, a god, an old woman, or a hero that is talking.
To sum it up, he clearly prefers Menander; and in more detail, he notes the following. He claims that Aristophanes is annoying, theatrical, and crude in his expression, while Menander isn’t like that at all. The common person might enjoy what Aristophanes writes, but a cultured individual would find it off-putting. He refers to Aristophanes’ use of contrasting terms, repetitive phrases, and derivatives. One writer uses these thoughtfully and sparingly, while the other does so frequently, inappropriately, and without depth. "He gets a lot of praise," he said, "for making fun of the chamberlains, who are actually not chamberlains at all but witches." And again, he remarks, "This guy only spews nonsense and deceit," and "Hit him hard in the stomach with the guts," and, "By laughing, I’ll make it to Laughington," and, "You poor, neglected outcast, what am I supposed to do with you?" and, "To you women, he’s definitely a crazy nuisance since he grew up among these mad plants,"—and, "Look at how the moths have eaten my crest," and, "Bring me the gorgon-backed shield," "Give me the round-backed cheese-cake,"—and so much more like that. (See Aristophanes, "Knights," 437, 455; "Thesmophoriazusae," 455; "Acharnians," 1109, 1124.) In the structure of his words, there’s a mix of tragedy and comedy, arrogance and vulgarity, obscurity, simplicity, pretentiousness, and a silly kind of talking. And since his style is so varied and dissonant, he also fails to assign appropriate language to his characters—such as dignity to a prince, power to a speaker, innocence to a woman, simplicity to a poor person, and boldness to a tradesman—but rather assigns to each character whatever words are nearest at hand, making it hard to tell whether he’s speaking as a son, a father, a peasant, a god, an old woman, or a hero.
But now Menander's phrase is so well turned and contempered with itself, and so everywhere conspiring, that, while it traverses many passions and humors and is accommodated to all sorts of persons, it still shows the same, and retains its semblance even in trite, familiar, and everyday expressions. And if his master do now and then require something of rant and noise, he doth but (like a skilful flutist) set open all the holes of his pipe, and their presently stop them again with good decorum and restore the tune to its natural state. And though there be a great number of excellent artists of all professions, yet never did any shoemaker make the same sort of shoe, or tireman the same sort of visor, or tailor the same sort of garment, to fit a man, a woman, a child, an old man, and a slave. But Menander hath so addressed his style, as to proportion it to every sex, condition, and age; and this, though he took the business in hand when he was very young, and died in the vigor of his composition and action, when, as Aristotle tells us, authors receive most and greatest improvement in their styles. If a man shall then compare the middle and last with the first of Menander's plays, he will by them easily conceive what others he would have added to them, had he had but longer life.
But now Menander's phrase is so well-crafted and balanced, and so consistently cohesive, that while it explores various emotions and moods and suits all kinds of people, it still maintains its essence even in common, everyday expressions. And if his master occasionally needs something loud and dramatic, he just (like a skilled flutist) opens all the holes of his instrument, only to quickly close them again with good taste and bring the melody back to its natural state. Although there are many talented artists in all fields, no shoemaker has ever made the exact same shoe, no milliner the same hat, or tailor the same outfit, fitting a man, a woman, a child, an elderly person, and a servant. But Menander has tailored his style to suit every gender, status, and age; and this, even though he started his work when he was very young and died in the prime of his creativity, when, as Aristotle tells us, authors often experience the most significant improvements in their writing. If someone compares the middle and later plays of Menander with his earlier ones, they will easily understand what else he might have added if he had lived longer.
He adds further, that of dramatic exhibitors, some address themselves to the crowd and populace, and others again to a few; but it is a hard matter to say which of them all knew what was befitting in both the kinds. But Aristophanes is neither grateful to the vulgar, nor tolerable to the wise; but it fares with his poesy as it doth with a courtesan who, when she finds she is now stricken and past her prime, counterfeits a sober matron, and then the vulgar cannot endure her affectation, and the better sort abominate her lewdness and wicked nature. But Menander hath with his charms shown himself every way sufficient for satisfaction, being the sole lecture, argument, and dispute at theatres, schools, and at tables; hereby rendering his poesy the most universal ornament that was ever produced by Greece, and showing what and how extraordinary his ability in language was, while he passes every way with an irresistible persuasion, and gains every man's ear and understanding who has any knowledge of the Greek tongue. And for what other reason in truth should a man of parts and erudition be at the pains to frequent the theatre, but for the sake of Menander only? And when are the playhouses better filled with men of letters, than when his comic mask is exhibited? And at private entertainments among friends, for whom doth the table more justly make room or Bacchus give place than for Menander? To philosophers also and hard students (as painters are wont, when they have tired out their eyes at their work, to divert them to certain florid and green colors) Menander is a repose from their auditors and intense thinkings, and entertains their minds with gay shady meadows refreshed with cool and gentle breezes.
He further notes that some dramatic performers cater to the masses, while others focus on a select few, but it’s tough to determine which of them truly understands what’s appropriate for both audiences. However, Aristophanes is neither appreciated by the common people nor acceptable to the wise; his poetry is like that of a courtesan who, realizing she’s past her prime, tries to act like a respectable lady. The common folk can't stand her pretentiousness, while the more refined despise her immoral behavior. In contrast, Menander has proven to be adequately charming for everyone, as he is the main topic of discussion at theaters, schools, and dinner tables. He makes his poetry the most universal form of entertainment ever created in Greece, showcasing his extraordinary linguistic talents, winning over anyone familiar with the Greek language with his compelling style. What other reason would an educated person endure the hassle of going to the theater, except for Menander? When are theaters filled with scholars more than when his comedic plays are performed? And at private gatherings among friends, who does the table more rightfully accommodate than Menander? For philosophers and serious students, Menander provides a break from their demanding thoughts, like painters who, after straining their eyes on their work, turn to vibrant greens for relief, offering a refreshing escape to lovely, shady meadows accompanied by gentle, cool breezes.
He adds, moreover, that though this city breeds at this time very many and excellent representers of comedy, Menander's plays participate of a plenteous and divine salt, as though they were made of the very sea out of which Venus herself sprang. But that of Aristophanes is harsh and coarse, and hath in it an angry and biting sharpness. And for my part I cannot tell where his so much boasted ability lies, whether in his style or persons. The parts he acts I am sure are quite overacted and depraved. His knave (for instance) is not fine, but dirty; his peasant is not assured, but stupid; his droll is not jocose, but ridiculous; and his lover is not gay, but lewd. So that to me the man seems not to have written his poesy for any temperate person, but to have intended his smut and obscenity for the debauched and lewd, his invective and satire for the malicious and ill-humored.
He also mentions that although this city currently produces many great comedians, Menander's plays have a rich and divine quality, as if they were made from the very sea where Venus was born. In contrast, Aristophanes' work is rough and crude, with a harsh and biting edge. Personally, I can't see what all the fuss is about regarding his talent, whether it's in his style or characters. The roles he portrays are definitely overdone and unrefined. His rogue, for example, isn’t clever but rather filthy; his farmer isn’t confident but clueless; his comic isn’t funny but absurd; and his lover isn’t charming but vulgar. To me, it seems like he didn’t write his plays for anyone moderate but aimed his filth and obscenity at the debauched and immoral, and his insults and satire at the spiteful and ill-tempered.
THE MALICE OF HERODOTUS.
The style, O Alexander, of Herodotus, as being simple, free, and easily suiting itself to its subject, has deceived many; but more, a persuasion of his dispositions being equally sincere. For it is not only (as Plato says) an extreme injustice, to make a show of being just when one is not so; but it is also the highest malignity, to pretend to simplicity and mildness and be in the meantime really most malicious. Now since he principally exerts his malice against the Boeotians and Corinthians, though without sparing any other, I think myself obliged to defend our ancestors and the truth against this part of his writings, since those who would detect all his other lies and fictions would have need of many books. But, as Sophocles has it, the face of persuasion, is prevalent, especially when delivered in the good language, and such as has power to conceal both the other absurdities and the ill-nature of the writer. King Philip told the Greeks who revolted from him to Titus Quinctius that they had got a more polished, but a longer lasting yoke. So the malice of Herodotus is indeed more polite and delicate than that of Theopompus, yet it pinches closer, and makes a more severe impression,—not unlike to those winds which, blowing secretly through narrow chinks, are sharper than those that are more diffused. Now it seems to me very convenient to delineate, as it were, in the rough draught, those signs and marks that distinguish a malicious narration from a candid and unbiassed one, applying afterwards every point we shall examine to such as appertain to them.
The style, O Alexander, of Herodotus, being simple, open, and well-suited to its subject, has fooled many; but more so, the belief in his honesty seems equally sincere. For it is not just (as Plato says) a great injustice to pretend to be just when you are not; it is also the worst kind of wickedness to pretend to be simple and gentle while truly being very malicious. Now, since he primarily targets the Boeotians and Corinthians, though sparing no one else, I feel compelled to defend our ancestors and the truth against this part of his work, especially since those who want to expose all his other lies and fabrications would require many books. But, as Sophocles pointed out, the appearance of persuasion is powerful, especially when presented in good language that can hide both the other absurdities and the ill-nature of the writer. King Philip told the Greeks who revolted against him to Titus Quinctius that they had received a more refined, but a longer-lasting burden. So, Herodotus's malice is indeed more refined and subtle than that of Theopompus, yet it stings more and leaves a harsher impact—much like winds that sneak quietly through narrow cracks, which are sharper than those that blow more broadly. Now, it seems very useful to outline, in a rough sketch, those signs and characteristics that distinguish a malicious narrative from a honest and unbiased one, then we will apply each point we examine to those that pertain to them.
First then, whoever in relating a story shall use the odious terms when gentler expressions might do as well, is it not to be esteemed impartial, but an enjoyer of his own fancy, in putting the worst construction on things; as if any one, instead of saying Nicias is too superstitious, should call him fanatic, or should accuse Cleon of presumption and madness rather than of inconsiderateness in speech.—————Secondly, when a writer, catching hold of a fault which has no reference to his story, shall draw it into the relation of such affairs as need it not, extending his narrative with cicumlocutions, only that he may insert a man's misfortune, offence, or discommendable action, it is manifest that he delights in speaking evil. Therefore Thucydides would not clearly relate the faults of Cleon, which were very numerous; and as for Hyperbolus the orator, having touched at him in a word and called him an ill man, he let him go. Philistus also passed over all those outrages committed by Dionysius on the barbarians which had no connection with the Grecian affairs. For the excursions and digressions of history are principally allowed for fables and antiquities, and sometimes also for encomiums. But he who makes reproaches and detractions an addition to his discourse seems to incur the tragedian's curse on the "collector of men's calamities."
First, whoever tells a story using harsh words when softer ones would suffice is not to be seen as impartial but rather as someone enjoying their own imagination by putting the worst spin on things; it’s like if someone called Nicias overly superstitious instead of just saying he’s too cautious, or accused Cleon of being presumptuous and insane rather than just careless with his words. Secondly, when a writer grabs onto a fault that has nothing to do with the story and brings it into the narrative unnecessarily, stretching their account with unnecessary details just to include someone's misfortune, offense, or wrongdoing, it’s clear they take pleasure in speaking ill of others. That’s why Thucydides didn’t openly detail Cleon’s many faults; and as for Hyperbolus the orator, he briefly called him a bad man and then moved on. Philistus also ignored all the atrocities committed by Dionysius against those outside of Greece that had no connection to Greek matters. The excursions and digressions in history are mainly meant for fables and ancient records, and sometimes also for praises. But someone who adds insults and slanders to their commentary seems to attract the tragedian's curse on the "collector of men’s calamities."
Now the opposite to this is known to every one, as the omitting to relate some good and laudable action, which, though it may seem not to be reprehensible, yet is then done maliciously when the omission happens in a place that is pertinent to the history. For to praise unwillingly is so far from being more civil than to dispraise willingly, that it is perhaps rather more uncivil.
Now everyone knows the opposite of this: when someone fails to mention a good and commendable action, even if it might not seem blameworthy, it's actually done maliciously if the omission occurs in a context that's relevant to the story. Because praising someone reluctantly is not any more polite than criticizing them willingly; in fact, it may even be more rude.
The fourth sign of a partial disposition in writing of history I take to be this: When a matter is related in two or more several manners, and the historian shall embrace the worst. Sophisters indeed are permitted, for the obtaining either of profit or reputation, to undertake the defence of the worst cause; for they neither create any firm belief of the matter, nor yet do they deny that they are often pleased in maintaining paradoxes and making incredible things appear probable. But an historian is then just, when he asserts such things as he knows to be true, and of those that are uncertain reports rather the better than the worse. Nay, there are many writers who wholly omit the worse. Thus Ephorus writes of Themistocles, that he was acquainted with the treason of Pausanias and his negotiations with the King's lieutenants, but that he neither consented to it, nor hearkened to Pausanias's proffers of making him partaker of his hopes; and Thucydides left the whole matter out of his story, as judging it to be false.
The fourth sign of a biased approach in writing history, in my opinion, is this: When something is told in two or more different ways, and the historian chooses to highlight the worst version. It's true that sophists are allowed, in pursuit of either profit or reputation, to defend the worst arguments because they neither create a firm belief in those matters nor deny that they often enjoy defending contradictions and making unbelievable things seem plausible. However, a historian is fair when he states what he knows to be true and reports the better version of uncertain events rather than the worse one. Indeed, there are many writers who completely overlook the negative aspects. For instance, Ephorus writes about Themistocles, noting that he was aware of Pausanias's betrayal and his dealings with the King's representatives, but he neither agreed to it nor listened to Pausanias's offers to share in his ambitions; and Thucydides omitted the entire subject from his account, believing it to be false.
Moreover, in things confessed to have been done, but for doing which the cause and intention is unknown, he who casts his conjectures on the worst side is partial and malicious. Thus do the comedians, who affirm the Peloponnesian war to have been kindled by Pericles for the love of Aspasia or the sake of Phidias, and not through any desire of honor, or ambition of pulling down the Peloponnesian pride and giving place in nothing to the Lacedaemonians. For those who suppose a bad cause for laudable works and commendable actions, endeavoring by calumnies to insinuate sinister suspicions of the actor when they cannot openly discommend the act,—as they that impute the killing of Alexander the tyrant by Theba not to any magnanimity or hatred of vice, but to a certain feminine jealousy and passion, and those that say Cato slew himself for fear Caesar should put him to a more shameful death,—such as these are manifestly in the highest degree envious and malicious.
Moreover, when people admit to actions they’ve taken, but the reasons and intentions behind those actions are unknown, anyone who jumps to the worst conclusions is biased and harmful. This is similar to the comedians who claim that the Peloponnesian War was started by Pericles out of love for Aspasia or for the benefit of Phidias, rather than due to a desire for honor or ambition to challenge the pride of the Peloponnesians and not give in at all to the Lacedaemonians. Those who assume a negative motive for praiseworthy deeds and commendable actions, trying to plant suspicious thoughts about the doer when they can’t openly criticize the act—like those who say that Theba killed tyrant Alexander not out of bravery or hatred of wrongdoing, but out of some petty jealousy, and those who claim Cato took his own life out of fear that Caesar would give him a more dishonorable death—are clearly extremely envious and spiteful.
An historical narration is also more or less guilty of malice, according as it relates the manner of the action; as if one should be said to have performed an exploit rather by money than bravery, as some affirm of Philip; or else easily and without any labor, as it is said of Alexander; or else not by prudence, but by Fortune, as the enemies of Timotheus painted cities falling into his nets as he lay sleeping. For they undoubtedly diminish the greatness and beauty of the actions, who deny the performer of them to have done them generously, industriously, virtuously, and by themselves.
A historical narrative is often somewhat biased, depending on how it presents the events. For instance, one might claim that someone accomplished a feat more through wealth than courage, as some say about Philip; or that it was done easily and without effort, like the stories about Alexander; or that it was not through wisdom but by chance, as Timotheus's enemies suggested when they depicted cities falling into his trap while he slept. Those who deny that the person achieved these actions with generosity, effort, virtue, and independently certainly undermine the greatness and beauty of those accomplishments.
Moreover, those who will directly speak ill of any one incur the reproach of moroseness, rashness, and madness, unless they keep within measure. But they who send forth calumnies obliquely, as if they were shooting arrows out of corners, and then stepping back think to conceal themselves by saying they do not believe what they most earnestly desire to have believed, whilst they disclaim all malice, condemn themselves also of farther disingenuity.
Moreover, those who openly criticize anyone earn the reputation of being gloomy, reckless, and crazy unless they stay within limits. But those who spread lies indirectly, like shooting arrows from the shadows, and then try to hide by claiming they don't believe what they desperately want others to believe while denying any malice, also reveal their own insincerity.
Next to these are they who with their reproaches intermix some praises, as did Aristoxenus, who, having termed Socrates unlearned, ignorant, and libidinous, added, Yet was he free from injustice. For, as they who flatter artificially and craftily sometimes mingle light reprehensions with their many and great praises, joining this liberty of speech as a sauce to their flattery; so malice, that it may gain belief to its accusations, adds also praise.
Next to these are those who mix some compliments with their criticisms, like Aristoxenus, who called Socrates uneducated, ignorant, and lustful, but also said, "Yet he was free from injustice." Just as those who flatter artfully and cunningly sometimes include light criticisms among their many praises, using this freedom of speech as a condiment to their flattery; malice, to make its accusations more credible, also includes praise.
We might here also reckon up more notes; but these are sufficient to let us understand the nature and manners of Herodotus.
We could list more points here, but these are enough for us to grasp the nature and style of Herodotus.
First therefore,—beginning, as the proverb is, with Vesta,—whereas all the Grecians affirm Io, daughter to Inachus, to have been worshipped with divine honor by the barbarians, and by her glory to have left her name to many seas and principal ports, and to have given a source and original to most noble and royal families; this famous author says of her, that she gave herself to certain Phoenician merchants, having been not unwillingly deflowered by a mariner, and fearing lest she should be found by her friends to be with child (Herodotus, i. 5.) And he belies the Phoenicians as having delivered these things of her, and says that the Persian stories testify of her being carried away by the Phoenicians with other women. (Ibid. i. 1.) Presently after, he gives sentence on the bravest and greatest exploits of Greece, saying that the Trojan war was foolishly undertaken for an ill woman. For it is manifest, says he, that had they not been willing they had never been ravished. (Ibid. i. 4.) Let us then say, that the gods also acted foolishly, in inflicting their indignation on the Spartans for abusing the daughters of Scedasus the Leuctrian, and in punishing Ajax for the violation of Cassandra. For it is manifest, if we believe Herodotus, that if they had not been willing they had never been defiled. And yet he himself said that Aristomenes was taken alive by the Spartans; and the same afterwards happened to Philopoemen, general of the Achaeans; and the Carthaginians took Regulus, the consul of the Romans; than whom there are not easily to be found more valiant and warlike men. Nor is it to be wondered, since even leopards and tigers are taken alive by men. But Herodotus blames the poor women that have been abused by violence, and patronizes their ravishers.
First, then—starting, as the saying goes, with Vesta—while all the Greeks claim that Io, the daughter of Inachus, was worshipped as a goddess by the barbarians, and that her fame left her name on many seas and major ports, and gave rise to many noble and royal families; this well-known author states that she willingly submitted to certain Phoenician merchants after being unwillingly violated by a sailor, and fearing that her friends would discover she was pregnant (Herodotus, i. 5.) He accuses the Phoenicians of spreading these stories about her and suggests that Persian accounts confirm she was taken by the Phoenicians along with other women. (Ibid. i. 1.) Shortly after, he comments on the most heroic and significant feats of Greece, asserting that the Trojan War was foolishly fought over a deceitful woman. For it is clear, he argues, that if they hadn't consented, they would never have been violated. (Ibid. i. 4.) Let’s then say that the gods also acted foolishly for punishing the Spartans for mistreating the daughters of Scedasus the Leuctrian, and for punishing Ajax for the assault on Cassandra. For it is evident, if we take Herodotus’s account seriously, that if they had not consented, they would never have been dishonored. Yet he himself mentioned that Aristomenes was captured alive by the Spartans; the same later happened to Philopoemen, the general of the Achaeans; and the Carthaginians captured Regulus, the Roman consul; who are not easily matched in valor and warrior spirit. It’s not surprising, since even leopards and tigers are captured alive by humans. But Herodotus unfairly blames the unfortunate women who have been violently abused and favors their attackers.
Nay, he is so favorable to the barbarians, that, acquitting Busiris of those human sacrifices and that slaughter of his guests for which he is accused, and attributing by his testimony to the Egyptians much religion and justice, he endeavors to cast that abominable wickedness and those impious murders on the Grecians. For in his Second Book he says, that Menelaus, having received Helen from Proteus and having been honored by him with many presents, showed himself a most unjust and wicked man; for wanting a favorable wind to set sail, he found out an impious device, and having taken two of the inhabitants' boys, consulted their entrails; for which villany being hated and persecuted, he fled with his ships directly into Libya. (See Herodotus, ii. 45.) From what Egyptian this story proceeds, I know not. For, on the contrary, many honors are even at this day given by the Egyptians to Helen and Menelaus.
No, he is so supportive of the barbarians that he clears Busiris of the human sacrifices and the slaughter of his guests that he is accused of, and he attributes a lot of religion and justice to the Egyptians through his testimony. He tries to blame that horrible wickedness and those immoral murders on the Greeks. In his Second Book, he states that Menelaus, after receiving Helen from Proteus and being honored with many gifts, revealed himself to be extremely unjust and wicked; needing a favorable wind to sail, he devised an immoral plan and consulted the entrails of two local boys. For that crime, he was hated and pursued, and he fled with his ships straight into Libya. (See Herodotus, ii. 45.) I don't know which Egyptian this story comes from, because, on the contrary, the Egyptians still honor Helen and Menelaus to this day.
The same Herodotus, that he may still be like himself, says that the Persians learned the defiling of the male sex from the Greeks. (Ibid, i. 135.) And yet how could the Greeks have taught this impurity to the Persians, amongst whom, as is confessed by many, boys had been castrated before ever they arrived in the Grecian seas? He writes also, that the Greeks were instructed by the Egyptians in their pomps, solemn festivals, and worship of the twelve gods; that Melampus also learned of the Egyptians the name of Dionysus (or Bacchus) and taught it the other Greeks; that the mysteries likewise and rites of Ceres were brought out of Egypt by the daughters of Danaus; and that the Egyptians were wont to beat themselves and make great lamentation, but yet he himself refused to tell the names of their deities, but concealed them in silence. As to Hercules and Bacchus, whom the Egyptians named gods, and the Greeks very aged men, he nowhere has such scruples and hesitation; although he places also the Egyptian Hercules amongst the gods of the second rank, and Bacchus amongst those of the third, as having had some beginning of their being and not being eternal, and yet he pronounces those to be gods; but to the gods Bacchus and Hercules, as having been mortal and being now demi-gods, he thinks we ought to perform anniversary solemnities, but not to sacrifice to them as to gods. The same also he said of Pan, overthrowing the most venerable and purest sacrifices of the Greeks by the proud vanities and mythologies of the Egyptians. (For the passages referred to in this chapter, see Herodotus, ii. 48, 51, 145, 146, 171.)
The same Herodotus, wanting to remain true to himself, claims that the Persians learned about the defiling of males from the Greeks. (Ibid, i. 135.) However, how could the Greeks have taught this impurity to the Persians, among whom, as many admit, boys had already been castrated before they even sailed in Greek waters? He also writes that the Greeks were taught by the Egyptians about their festivals, solemn ceremonies, and worship of the twelve gods; that Melampus learned the name of Dionysus (or Bacchus) from the Egyptians and taught it to the other Greeks; that the mysteries and rituals of Ceres were brought from Egypt by the daughters of Danaus; and that the Egyptians would beat themselves and wail, yet he himself refused to reveal the names of their gods, keeping them secret. When it comes to Hercules and Bacchus, whom the Egyptians called gods and the Greeks referred to as very old men, he shows no hesitation; although he does rank the Egyptian Hercules among the second-tier gods and Bacchus among the third, as they had some origin and are not eternal, he still calls them gods. He believes we should hold commemorative celebrations for Bacchus and Hercules, seeing them as formerly mortal and now demi-gods, but not sacrifice to them as if they were gods. He says the same about Pan, undermining the most respected and pure sacrifices of the Greeks with the arrogant myths and vanities of the Egyptians. (For the passages referred to in this chapter, see Herodotus, ii. 48, 51, 145, 146, 171.)
Nor is this impious enough; but moreover, deriving the pedigree of Hercules from Perseus, he says that Perseus was an Assyrian, as the Persians affirm. "But the leaders," says he, "of the Dorians may appear to be descended in a right line from the Egyptians, reckoning their ancestors from before Danae and Acrisius." (Herodotus, vi. 53, 54.) Here he has wholly passed by Epaphus, Io, Iasus, and Argus, being ambitious not only to make the other Herculeses Egyptians and Phoenicians but to carry this also, whom himself declares to have been the third, out of Greece to the barbarians. But of the ancient learned writers, neither Homer, nor Hesiod, nor Archilochus, nor Pisander, nor Stesichorus, nor Alcman, nor Pindar, makes any mention of the Egyptian or the Phoenician Hercules, but all acknowledge this our own Boeotian and Argive Hercules.
Nor is this enough; but on top of that, claiming that Hercules is descended from Perseus, he asserts that Perseus was an Assyrian, as the Persians state. "But the leaders," he says, "of the Dorians may seem to be directly descended from the Egyptians, tracing their ancestry back to before Danae and Acrisius." (Herodotus, vi. 53, 54.) Here he completely ignores Epaphus, Io, Iasus, and Argus, aiming not only to make the other Hercules figures Egyptians and Phoenicians, but also to claim this one, whom he himself calls the third, as coming from Greece to the barbarians. However, among the ancient learned writers, neither Homer, nor Hesiod, nor Archilochus, nor Pisander, nor Stesichorus, nor Alcman, nor Pindar, mentions the Egyptian or Phoenician Hercules; they all recognize our own Boeotian and Argive Hercules.
Now of the seven sages, whom he calls Sophisters, he affirms Thales to have been a barbarian, descended of the Phoenicians. (Ibid, i. 170.) Speaking ill also of the gods under the person of Solon, he has these words: "Thou, O Croesus, askest me concerning human affairs, who know that every one of the deities envious and tumultuous." (Ibid, i. 32.) Thus attributing to Solon what himself thinks of the gods, he joins malice to blasphemy. Having made use also of Pittacus in some trivial matters, not worth the mentioning, he has passed over the greatest and gallantest action that was ever done by him. For when the Athenians and Mitylenaeans were at war about Sigaeum, Phrynon, the Athenian general, challenging whoever would come forth to a single combat, Pittacus advanced to meet him, and catching him in a net, slew that stout and giant-like man; for which when the Mitylaenans offered him great presents, darting his javelin as far as he could out of his hand, he desired only so much ground as he should reach with that throw; and the place is to this day called Pittacium. Now what does Herodotus, when he comes to this? Instead of Pittacus's valiant act, he tells us the fight of Alcaeus the poet, who throwing away his arms ran out of the battle; by thus not writing of honorable deeds and not passing over such as are dishonorable, he offers his testimony to those who say, that from one and the same malice proceed both envy and a rejoicing at other men's harms. (Herodotus v. 95.)
Now among the seven sages, whom he refers to as Sophisters, he claims that Thales was a barbarian of Phoenician descent. (Ibid, i. 170.) He also speaks poorly of the gods through the voice of Solon, stating: "You, O Croesus, ask me about human affairs, knowing that all the gods are envious and chaotic." (Ibid, i. 32.) By attributing to Solon his own views of the gods, he mixes malice with blasphemy. While he mentions Pittacus in some trivial matters that aren't worth noting, he overlooks his greatest and most courageous achievement. When the Athenians and Mitylenaeans were at war over Sigaeum, Phrynon, the Athenian general, challenged anyone to a single combat. Pittacus stepped forward to meet him, ensnaring him in a net and killing that strong, giant-like man. When the Mitylenaeans offered him great rewards, he threw his javelin as far as he could and requested only as much land as he could cover with that throw; the location is still called Pittacium to this day. Now, what does Herodotus say about this? Instead of recounting Pittacus's brave deed, he tells us about the fight of the poet Alcaeus, who threw down his weapons and ran from the battle. By failing to write about honorable deeds and instead highlighting dishonorable ones, he validates those who argue that both envy and taking pleasure in others' misfortune arise from the same malice. (Herodotus v. 95.)
After this, he accuses of treason the Alcmaeonidae who showed themselves generous men, and delivered their country from tyranny. (Ibid. i. 61.) He says, that they received Pisistratus after his banishment and got him called home, on condition he should marry the daughter of Megacles; but the damsel saying to her mother, Do you see, mother, how I am known by Pisistratus contrary to nature? The Alcmaeonidae were so offended at this villany, that they expelled the tyrant.
After this, he accuses the Alcmaeonidae of treason, even though they were generous men who freed their country from tyranny. (Ibid. i. 61.) He claims they welcomed Pisistratus back after his exile, but only if he married Megacles' daughter. However, the girl said to her mother, "Do you see, mom, how I'm being recognized by Pisistratus against nature?" The Alcmaeonidae were so outraged by this betrayal that they forced the tyrant out.
Now that the Lacedaemonians might have no less share of his malice than the Athenians, behold how he bespatters Othryadas, the man most admired and honored by them. "He only," says Herodotus, "remaining alive of the three hundred, and ashamed to return to Sparta, his companions being lost, slew himself on the spot at Thyreae." (Ibid. i. 82.) For having before said the victory was doubtful on both sides, he here, by making Othryadas ashamed, witnesses that the Lacedaemonians were vanquished. For it was shameful for him to survive, if conquered; but glorious, if conqueror.
Now that the Spartans might share in his hatred just as much as the Athenians, look how he dirties the reputation of Othryadas, the man they admired and honored the most. “He was the only one,” says Herodotus, “of the three hundred who was still alive, and ashamed to return to Sparta with his comrades lost, so he killed himself right there at Thyreae.” (Ibid. i. 82.) Having previously stated that the victory was uncertain for both sides, he now, by shaming Othryadas, shows that the Spartans were defeated. It would have been shameful for him to survive if they lost, but glorious if they won.
I pass by now, that having, represented Croesus as foolish, vainglorious, and ridiculous in all things, he makes him, when a prisoner, to have taught and instructed Cyrus, who seems to have excelled all other kings in prudence, virtue, and magnanimity. (Ibid. i. 155, 156, 207, 208.) Having testified of the same Croesus nothing else that was commendable but his honoring the gods with many and great oblations, he shows that very act of his to have been the most impious of all. For he says, that he and his brother Pantoleon contended for the kingdom while their father was yet alive; and that Croesus, having obtained the crown, caused a companion and familiar friend of Pantoleon's to be torn in pieces in a fulling-mill, and sent presents to the gods from his property. (Ibid. i. 92.) Of Deioces also, the Median, who by virtue and justice obtained the government, he says that he got it not by real but pretended justice. (Ibid. i. 96.)
I pass by now, that having portrayed Croesus as foolish, boastful, and absurd in everything, he portrays him, when captured, as having taught and instructed Cyrus, who seems to have surpassed all other kings in wisdom, virtue, and nobility. (Ibid. i. 155, 156, 207, 208.) Having spoken of Croesus, he offers nothing else commendable except that he honored the gods with numerous and significant offerings, showing that very act to be the most impious of all. He mentions that he and his brother Pantoleon fought for the throne while their father was still alive; and that Croesus, after gaining the crown, had a companion and close friend of Pantoleon torn to pieces in a fulling-mill, while he sent gifts to the gods from his own wealth. (Ibid. i. 92.) Regarding Deioces, the Median, who obtained the rule through virtue and justice, he claims that he acquired it not through genuine but feigned justice. (Ibid. i. 96.)
But I let pass the barbarian examples, since he has offered us plenty enough in the Grecian affairs. He says, that the Athenians and many other Ionians were so ashamed of that name that they wholly refused to be called Ionians; and that those who esteemed themselves the noblest among them, and who had come forth from the very Prytaneum of Athens, begat children on barbarian wives whose parents, husbands, and former children they had slain; that the women had therefore made a law among themselves, confirmed it by oath, and delivered it to be kept by their daughters, never to eat with their husbands, nor to call any of them by his name; and that the present Milesians are descended from these women. Having afterwards added that those are true Ionians who celebrate the feast called Apaturia; they all, says he, keep it except the Ephesians and Colophonians. (Herodotus, i. 143-148.) In this manner does he deprive these two states of their nobility.
But I’ll skip the barbaric examples since he’s given us plenty from Greek history. He claims that the Athenians and many other Ionians were so embarrassed by that label that they completely refused to be called Ionians; and that those who considered themselves the most noble among them, and who descended from the very Prytaneum of Athens, had children with barbarian wives whose parents, husbands, and former offspring they had killed; the women then made a law among themselves, confirmed it with an oath, and passed it down to their daughters, promising never to eat with their husbands or to call any of them by their names; he states that the modern Milesians are descendants of these women. He later added that those who are the true Ionians celebrate a festival known as Apaturia; he says that everyone celebrates it except for the Ephesians and Colophonians. (Herodotus, i. 143-148.) In this way, he strips these two city-states of their nobility.
He says moreover, that the Cumaeans and Mitylenaeans agreed with Cyrus to deliver up to him for a price Pactyas, who had revolted from him. I know not indeed, says he, for how much; since it is not certain what it was. Bravo!—not to know what it was, and yet to cast such an infamy on a Grecian city, without an assured knowledge! He says farther, that the Chians took Pactyas, who was brought to them out of the temple of Minerva Poliuchus (or Guardianess of the city), and delivered him up, having received the city Atarneus for their recompense. And yet Charon the Lampsacenian, a more ancient writer, relating this matter concerning Pactyas, charges neither the Mitylenaeans nor the Chians with any such action. These are his very words: "Pactyas, hearing that the Persian army drew near, fled first to Mitylene, then to Chios, and there fell into the hands of Cyrus." (See Herodotus, i. 157. etc.)
He also says that the Cumaeans and Mitylenaeans agreed with Cyrus to hand over Pactyas, who had revolted against him, for a price. He admits he doesn’t know how much, since it's unclear what the amount was. Amazing!—to not know the specific details and still slander a Greek city without solid evidence! He further claims that the Chians took Pactyas, who was brought to them from the temple of Minerva Poliuchus (or Guardian of the city), and turned him in, receiving the city of Atarneus as a reward. Yet Charon the Lampsacenian, a much earlier writer, talks about this incident with Pactyas and doesn’t accuse either the Mitylenaeans or Chians of any wrongdoing. Here’s his exact quote: "Pactyas, hearing that the Persian army was approaching, first fled to Mitylene, then to Chios, where he was captured by Cyrus." (See Herodotus, i. 157. etc.)
Our author in his Third Book, relating the expedition of the Lacedaemonians against the tyrant Polycrates, affirms, that the Samians think and say that the Spartans, to recompense them for their former assistance against the Messenians, both brought back the Samians that were banished, and made war on the tyrant; but that the Lacedaemonians deny this, and say, they undertook this design not to help or deliver the Samians, but to punish them for having taken away a cup sent by them to Croesus, and besides, a breastplate sent them by Amasis. (Ibid. iii. 47, 48.) And yet we know that there was not at that time any city so desirous of honor, or such an enemy to tyrants, as Sparta. For what breastplate or cup was the cause of their driving the Cypselidae out of Corinth and Ambracia, Lygdamis out of Naxos, the children of Pisistratus out of Athens, Aeschines out of Sicyon, Symmachus out of Thasus, Aulis out of Phocis, and Aristogenes out of Miletus; and of their overturning the domineering powers of Thessaly, pulling down Aristomedes and Angelus by the help of King Leotychides?—which facts are elsewhere more largely described. Now, if Herodotus says true, they were in the highest degree guilty both of malice and folly, when, denying a most honorable and most just cause of their expedition, they confessed that in remembrance of a former injury, and too highly valuing an inconsiderable matter, they invaded a miserable and afflicted people.
Our author in his Third Book, discussing the expedition of the Spartans against the tyrant Polycrates, claims that the Samians believe the Spartans, in gratitude for their past help against the Messenians, not only returned the Samians who had been exiled but also waged war on the tyrant. However, the Spartans deny this, stating that they undertook this mission not to assist or rescue the Samians but to punish them for stealing a cup they had sent to Croesus, along with a breastplate sent by Amasis. (Ibid. iii. 47, 48.) Yet, we know that during that time, there was no city more eager for honor or more opposed to tyrants than Sparta. What cup or breastplate could possibly justify their expulsion of the Cypselidae from Corinth and Ambracia, Lygdamis from Naxos, the children of Pisistratus from Athens, Aeschines from Sicyon, Symmachus from Thasos, Aulis from Phocis, and Aristogenes from Miletus? They also toppled the oppressive powers in Thessaly, bringing down Aristomedes and Angelus with the help of King Leotychides—events that are detailed elsewhere. If Herodotus is correct, then they were extremely guilty of both malice and foolishness when, by denying the most honorable and just reason for their expedition, they admitted that in response to a past grievance and overestimating something trivial, they invaded a miserable and suffering people.
Now perhaps he gave the Lacedaemonians this stroke, as directly falling under his pen; but the city of Corinth, which was wholly out of the course of his story, he has brought in—going out of his way (as they say) to fasten upon it—and has bespattered it with a most filthy crime and most shameful calumny. "The Corinthians," says he, "studiously helped this expedition of the Lacedaemonians to Samos, as having themselves also been formerly affronted by the Samians." The matter was this. Periander tyrant of Corinth sent three hundred boys, sons to the principal men of Corcyra, to King Alyattes, to be gelt. These, going ashore in the island of Samos, were by the Samians taught to sit as suppliants in the temple of Diana, where they preserved them, setting before them for their food sesame mingled with honey. This our author calls an affront put by the Samians on the Corinthians, who therefore instigated the Lacedaemonians against them, to wit, because the Samians had saved three hundred children of the Greeks from being unmanned. By attributing this villany to the Corinthians, he makes the city more wicked than the tyrant. He indeed was revenging himself on those of Corcyra who had slain his son; but what had the Corinthians suffered, that they should punish the Samians for putting an obstacle to so great a cruelty and wickedness?—and this, after three generations, reviving the memory of an old quarrel for the sake of that tyranny, which they found so grievous and intolerable that they are still endlessly abolishing all the monuments and marks of it, though long since extinct. Such then was the injury done by the Samians to the Corinthians. Now what a kind of punishment was it the Corinthians would have inflicted on them? Had they been indeed angry with the Samians, they should not have incited the Lacedaemonians, but rather diverted them from their war against Polycrates, that the Samians might not by the tyrant's overthrow recover liberty, and be freed from their slavery. But (what is most to be observed) why were the Corinthians so offended with the Samians, that desired indeed but were not able to save the Corcyraeans children, and yet were not displeased with the Cnidians, who both preserved them and restored them to their friends? Nor indeed have the Corcyraeans any great esteem for the Samians on this account; but of the Cnidians they preserve a grateful recollection, having granted them several honors and privileges, and made decrees in their favor. For these, sailing to Samos, drove away Periander's guards from the temple, and taking the children aboard their ships, carried them safe to Corcyra; as it is recorded by Antenor the Cretan, and by Dionysius the Chalcidian in his foundations. Now that the Spartans undertook not this war on any design of punishing the Samians, but to save them by delivering them from the tyrant, we have the testimony of the Samians themselves. For they affirm that there is in Samos a monument erected at the public charge, and honors there done to Archias a Spartan, who fell fighting valiantly in that quarrel; for which cause also his posterity still keep a familiar and friendly correspondence with the Samians, as Herodotus himself witnesses.
Now maybe he criticized the Lacedaemonians because it directly related to his writing, but he also dragged in the city of Corinth, which wasn't part of his story, just to blame it for something terrible. He said, "The Corinthians eagerly supported the Lacedaemonian expedition to Samos because they had also been wronged by the Samians." Here’s what really happened: Periander, the tyrant of Corinth, sent three hundred boys, sons of the leading men of Corcyra, to King Alyattes to be castrated. These boys arrived on the island of Samos and were taught by the Samians to sit as supplicants in the temple of Diana, where they were cared for and fed sesame mixed with honey. Our author claims this was an insult the Samians inflicted on the Corinthians, leading the Corinthians to spur the Lacedaemonians against them because the Samians had saved three hundred Greek children from being castrated. By blaming the Corinthians for this, he makes the city seem worse than the tyrant himself. Periander was seeking revenge on the Corcyraens who killed his son, but what wrong had the Corinthians faced that would justify punishing the Samians for preventing such a heinous act?—and this, after three generations, resurrecting an old grudge for the sake of a tyranny they found so unbearable that they endlessly erase all traces of it, even though it’s long gone. So that was the supposed harm done by the Samians to the Corinthians. What kind of punishment did the Corinthians intend to inflict on them? If they were genuinely upset with the Samians, they wouldn’t have urged the Lacedaemonians on; they would have tried to steer them away from their war against Polycrates, so the Samians wouldn’t reclaim their freedom by toppling the tyrant. But (which is the most important point) why were the Corinthians so angry with the Samians, who truly wanted to save the Corcyrean children but couldn’t, and yet weren’t upset with the Cnidians, who both saved the children and returned them to their families? In fact, the Corcyraeans don’t hold the Samians in high regard for this; rather, they are grateful to the Cnidians, awarding them several honors and privileges and making decrees in their favor. The Cnidians sailed to Samos, drove away Periander’s guards from the temple, and took the children back on their ships to Corcyra, as recorded by Antenor the Cretan and by Dionysius the Chalcidian in his foundational works. Now, the Spartans were not waging this war out of a desire to punish the Samians, but instead to rescue them from the tyrant, as confirmed by the Samians themselves. They claim there’s a monument in Samos built at public expense, honoring Archias, a Spartan who valiantly died in that conflict; for this reason, his descendants maintain a close and friendly relationship with the Samians, as Herodotus himself reports.
In his Fifth Book, he says, that Clisthenes, one of the best and noblest men in Athens, persuaded the priestess Pythia to be a false prophetess, and always to exhort the Lacedaemonians to free Athens from the tyrants; calumniating this most excellent and just action by the imputation of so great a wickedness and imposture, and taking from Apollo the credit of that true and good prophecy, beseeming even Themis herself, who is also said to have joined with him. He says farther, that Isagoras prostituted his wife to Cleomenes, who came to her. (Herodotus, v. 63, 70.) Then, as his manner is, to gain credit by mixing some praises with his reproaches, he says: Isagoras the son of Tisander was of a noble family, but I cannot tell the original of it; his kinsmen, however, sacrifice to the Carian Jupiter. (Herodotus, v. 66.) O this pleasant and cunning scoffer of a writer, who thus disgracefully sends Isagoras to the Carians, as it were to the ravens. As for Aristogiton, he puts him not forth at the back door, but thrusts him directly out of the gate into Phoenicia, saying that he had his original from the Gephyraeans, and that the Gephyraeans were not, as some think, Euboeans or Eretrians, but Phoenicians, as himself has heard by report. (Ibid, v. 58.) And since he cannot altogether take from the Lacedaemonians the glory of having delivered the Athenians from the tyrants, he endeavors to cloud and disgrace that most honorable act by as foul a passion. For he says, they presently repented of it, as not having done well, in that they had been persuaded by spurious and deceitful oracles to drive the tyrants, who were their allies and had promised to put Athens into their hands, out of their country, and had restored the city to an ungrateful people. He adds, that they were about to send for Hippias from Sigeum, and bring him back to Athens; but that they were opposed by the Corinthians, Sosicles telling them how much the city of Corinth had suffered under the tyranny of Cypselus and Periander. (Ibid, v. 90, 91.) And yet there was no outrage of Periander's more abominable and cruel than his sending the three hundred children to be emasculated, for the delivering and saying of whom from that contumely the Corinthians, he says, were angry and bore a grudge against the Samians, as having put an affront upon them. With so much repugnance and contradiction is that malice of his discourse filled, which on every occasion insinuates itself into his narrations.
In his Fifth Book, he states that Clisthenes, one of the finest and noblest men in Athens, convinced the priestess Pythia to pretend to be a false prophetess and always urge the Lacedaemonians to liberate Athens from the tyrants; discrediting this truly excellent and just action by accusing it of being such a great wickedness and fraud, and taking away from Apollo the recognition of that true and righteous prophecy, which even resembles that of Themis herself, who is also said to have collaborated with him. He further mentions that Isagoras offered his wife to Cleomenes when he came to her. (Herodotus, v. 63, 70.) Then, as is his style, to gain credibility by mixing praises with criticisms, he says: Isagoras the son of Tisander was from a noble family, but I cannot trace its origins; however, his relatives sacrifice to the Carian Jupiter. (Herodotus, v. 66.) Oh, this witty and clever mocking writer, who shamefully sends Isagoras to the Carians, as if to the ravens. As for Aristogiton, he doesn’t just push him out the back, but directly shoves him out the gate to Phoenicia, claiming he descended from the Gephyraeans, and that the Gephyraeans were not, as some believe, Euboeans or Eretrians, but Phoenicians, as he has heard. (Ibid, v. 58.) And since he can't completely strip the Lacedaemonians of the honor of having rescued the Athenians from the tyrants, he attempts to cloud and disgrace that most honorable act with such foul intent. He claims they soon regretted it, believing they had acted poorly by being misled by false and deceitful oracles into driving out the tyrants, who were their allies and had promised to hand over Athens to them, restoring the city to an ungrateful people. He adds that they were planning to send for Hippias from Sigeum to bring him back to Athens; but they were opposed by the Corinthians, with Sosicles informing them of how much the city of Corinth had suffered under the tyranny of Cypselus and Periander. (Ibid, v. 90, 91.) Yet there was no act of Periander's more abominable and cruel than sending three hundred children to be emasculated, for which the Corinthians, he says, were angered and held a grudge against the Samians for affronting them. His narrative is filled with so much contradiction and malice, which continuously insinuates itself into his accounts.
After this, relating the action of Sardis, he, as much as in him lies, diminishes and discredits the matter; being so audacious as to call the ships which the Athenians sent to the assistance of the Ionians, who had revolted from the King the beginning of evils, because they endeavored to deliver so many and so great Grecian cities from the barbarians. (Ibid, v. 97.) As to the Eretrians, making mention of them only by the way, he passes over in silence a great, gallant, and memorable action of theirs. For when all Ionia was in a confusion and uproar, and the King's fleet drew nigh, they, going forth to meet him, overcame in a sea-fight the Cyprians in the Pamphylian Sea. Then turning back and leaving their ships at Ephesus, they invaded Sardis and besieged Artaphernes, who was fled into the castle, that so they might raise the siege of Miletus. And this indeed they effected, causing the enemies to break up their camp and remove thence in a wonderful fright, and then seeing themselves in danger to be oppressed by a multitude, retired. This not only others, but Lysanias of Mallus also in his history of Eretria relates, thinking it convenient, if for no other reason, yet after the taking and destruction of the city, to add this valiant and heroic act. But this writer of ours says, they were defeated, and pursued even to their ships by the barbarians; though Charon the Lampsacenian has no such thing, but writes thus, word for word: "The Athenians set forth with twenty galleys to the assistance of the Ionians, and going to Sardis, took all thereabouts, except the King's wall; which having done, they returned to Miletus."
After this, when discussing the events in Sardis, he downplays and undermines the situation as much as he can; he even has the nerve to refer to the ships that the Athenians sent to help the Ionians, who had revolted against the King, as the start of their troubles, because they tried to save so many significant Greek cities from the barbarians. (Ibid, v. 97.) Regarding the Eretrians, he only mentions them briefly and completely ignores a major, brave, and noteworthy action they took. When all of Ionia was in chaos and the King’s fleet was approaching, they went out to meet him and defeated the Cyprians in a sea battle in the Pamphylian Sea. Then, after leaving their ships at Ephesus, they attacked Sardis and besieged Artaphernes, who had taken refuge in a fortress, in order to lift the siege of Miletus. They succeeded in this, forcing the enemy to break camp and leave in a state of panic, but then, realizing they were in danger of being overwhelmed, they retreated. This account is also noted by others, including Lysanias of Mallus, who thought it necessary to mention this courageous and heroic act, especially after the capture and destruction of the city. However, our writer claims that they were defeated and chased back to their ships by the barbarians; although Charon the Lampsacenian recounts it differently, stating exactly: "The Athenians sent out twenty galleys to aid the Ionians, and advancing towards Sardis, captured everything nearby except the King's wall; having accomplished this, they returned to Miletus."
In his Sixth Book, our author, discoursing of the Plataeans,—how they gave themselves to the Lacedaemonians, who exhorted them rather to have recourse to the Athenians, who were nearer to them and no bad defenders,—adds, not as a matter of suspicion or opinion, but as a thing certainly known by him, that the Lacedaemonians gave the Plataeans this advice, not so much for any goodwill, as through a desire to find work for the Athenians by engaging them with the Boeotians. (Herodotus, vi. 108.) If then Herodotus is not malicious, the Lacedaemonians must have been both fraudulent and spiteful; and the Athenians fools, in suffering themselves to be thus imposed on; and the Plataeans were brought into play, not for any good-will or respect, but as an occasion of war.
In his Sixth Book, the author discusses the Plataeans—how they surrendered to the Lacedaemonians, who encouraged them to turn to the Athenians instead, as they were closer and decent defenders. He notes, not out of suspicion or opinion, but as a fact he knows for sure, that the Lacedaemonians gave this advice not out of goodwill, but because they wanted to distract the Athenians by getting them involved with the Boeotians. (Herodotus, vi. 108.) If Herodotus isn’t being malicious, then the Lacedaemonians must have been both deceitful and spiteful, while the Athenians were foolish for allowing themselves to be manipulated. The Plataeans were caught in the middle, not out of any goodwill or respect, but as a means to spark a war.
He is farther manifestly convinced of belying the Lacedaemonians, when he says that, whilst they expected the full moon, they failed of giving their assistance to the Athenians at Marathon. For they not only made a thousand other excursions and fights at the beginning of the month, without staying for the full moon; but wanted so little of being present at this very battle, which was fought the sixth day of the month Boedromion, that at their coming they found the dead still lying in the field. And yet he has written thus of the full moon: "It was impossible for them to do these things at that present, being unwilling to break the law; for it was the ninth of the month, and they said, they could not go forth on the ninth day, the orb of the moon being not yet full. And therefore they stayed for the full moon." (Herodotus, vi. 106.) But thou, O Herodotus, transferest the full moon from the middle to the beginning of the month, and at the same time confoundest the heavens, days, and all things; and yet thou dost claim to be the historian of Greece!
He is clearly convinced of misrepresenting the Lacedaemonians when he states that, while they were waiting for the full moon, they failed to assist the Athenians at Marathon. They not only launched a thousand other raids and battles at the start of the month without waiting for the full moon, but they nearly showed up at this very battle, which was fought on the sixth day of Boedromion, only to find the dead still lying in the field when they arrived. Yet he wrote about the full moon: "It was impossible for them to do these things at that time, as they were unwilling to break the law; for it was the ninth of the month, and they said they could not go forth on the ninth day, as the moon was not yet full. Therefore, they waited for the full moon." (Herodotus, vi. 106.) But you, O Herodotus, have moved the full moon from the middle to the beginning of the month, and in doing so, you've confused the heavens, the days, and everything else; and yet you claim to be the historian of Greece!
And professing to write more particularly and carefully of the affairs of Athens, thou dost not so much as say a word of that solemn procession which the Athenians even at this day send to Agrae, celebrating a feast of thanksgiving to Hecate for their victory. But this helps Herodotus to refel the crime with which he is charged, of having flattered the Athenians for a great sum of money he received of them. For if he had rehearsed these things to them, they would not have omitted or neglected to remark that Philippides, when on the ninth he summoned the Lacedaemonians to the fight, must have come from it himself, since (as Herodotus says) he went in two days from Athens to Sparta; unless the Athenians sent for their allies to the fight after their enemies were overcome. Indeed Diyllus the Athenian, none of the most contemptible as an historian, says, that he received from Athens a present of ten talents, Anytus proposing the decree. Moreover Herodotus, as many say, has in relating the fight at Marathon derogated from the credit of it, by the number he sets down of the slain. For it is said that the Athenians made a vow to sacrifice so many kids to Diana Agrotera, as they should kill barbarians; but that after the fight, the number of the dead appearing infinite, they appeased the goddess by making a decree to immolate five hundred to her every year.
And claiming to write more specifically and carefully about the events in Athens, you don’t even mention that solemn procession the Athenians still send to Agrae to celebrate a feast of thanks to Hecate for their victory. But this allows Herodotus to counter the accusation against him of flattering the Athenians for the large sum of money he received from them. If he had mentioned these things, they wouldn’t have failed to point out that Philippides, when he summoned the Spartans to battle on the ninth day, must have come from it himself, since (as Herodotus says) he traveled from Athens to Sparta in just two days; unless the Athenians called for their allies to fight after overcoming their enemies. In fact, Diyllus the Athenian, a historian of some repute, claims he received a gift of ten talents from Athens, with Anytus proposing the decree. Furthermore, many say that in recounting the battle at Marathon, Herodotus undermined its credibility by the number he listed of the slain. It’s said that the Athenians vowed to sacrifice as many kids to Artemis Agrotera as they killed enemies; but after the battle, seeing the number of dead was so high, they appeased the goddess by passing a decree to sacrifice five hundred to her every year.
But letting this pass, let us see what was done after the fight. "The barbarians," say he, "retiring back with the rest of their ships, and taking the Eretrian slaves out of the island, where they had left them, doubled the point of Sunium, desiring to prevent the Athenians before they could gain the city. The Athenians suspected this to have been done by a plot of the Alcmaeonidae, who by agreement showed a shield to the Persians when they were got into their ships. They therefore doubled the cape of Sunium." (Herodotus, vi. 115, 121-124.) Let us in this place take no notice of his calling the Eretrians slaves, who showed as much courage and gallantry in this war as any other of the Grecians, and suffered things unworthy their virtue. Nor let us insist much on the calumny with which he defames the Alcmaeonidae, some of whom were both the greatest families and noblest men of the city. But the greatness of the victory itself is overthrown, and the end of that so celebrated action comes to nothing, nor does it seem to have been a fight or any great exploit, but only a light skirmish with the barbarians, as the envious and ill-willers affirm, if they did not after the battle fly away, cutting their cables and giving themselves to the wind, to carry them as far as might be from the Attic coast, but having a shield lifted up to them as a signal of treason, made straight with their fleet for Athens, in hope to surprise it, and having at leisure doubled the point of Sunium, were discovered above the port Phalerum, so that the chief and most illustrious men, despairing to save the city would have betrayed it. For a little after, acquitting the Alcmaeonidae, he charges others with the treason. "For the shield indeed was shown, nor can it be denied," says he, as if he had seen it himself. But this could no way be, since the Athenians obtained a solid victory; and if it had been done, it could not have been seen by the barbarians, flying in a hurry amidst wounds and arrows into their ships, and leaving every one the place with all possible speed. But when he again pretends to excuse the Alcmaeonidae of those crimes which he first of all men objected against them, and speaks thus: "I cannot credit the report that the Alcmaeonidae by agreement would ever have lifted up a shield to the Persians, and have brought the Athenians under the power of the barbarians and Hippias"; it reminds me of a certain proverbial saving,—Stay and be caught, crab, and I'll let you go. For why art thou so eager to catch him, if thou wilt let him go when he is caught? Thus you first accuse, then apologize; and you write calumnies against illustrious men, which again you refute. And you discredit yourself; for you heard no one else but yourself say that the Alcmaeonidae lifted up a shield to the vanquished and flying barbarians. And in those very things which you allege for the Alcmaeonidae, you show yourself a sycophant. For if, as here you write, the Alcmaeonidae were more or no less enemies to tyrants than Callias, the son of Phaenippus and father of Hipponicus, where will you place their conspiracy, of which you write in your First Book, that assisting Pisistratus they brought him back from exile to the tyranny and did not drive him away till he was accused of unnaturally abusing his wife? Such then are the repugnances of these things; and by his intermixing the praises of Callias, the son of Phaenippus, amidst the crimes and suspicions of the Alcmaeonidae, and joining to him his son Hipponicus, who was (as Herodotus himself says) one of the richest men in Athens, he confesses that he brought in Callias not for any necessity of the story, but to ingratiate himself and gain favor with Hipponicus.
But setting that aside, let's look at what happened after the fight. "The barbarians," he says, "retreated with the rest of their ships and took the Eretrian slaves off the island where they had left them, sailing around the point of Sunium, hoping to catch the Athenians before they could reach the city. The Athenians suspected this was a plot by the Alcmaeonidae, who supposedly showed a shield to the Persians when they were boarding their ships. So they also sailed around the cape of Sunium." (Herodotus, vi. 115, 121-124.) Let's not focus on his calling the Eretrians slaves, who showed just as much courage and bravery in this war as any other Greek, enduring unworthy treatment. Nor should we dwell on the false accusations he makes against the Alcmaeonidae, some of whom were among the city's most prominent families and noblest individuals. However, the significance of the victory itself is diminished, and the conclusion of that famous battle seems trivial, like just a minor skirmish with the barbarians, as those who are envious and ill-willed claim. If they didn’t flee the battlefield, cutting their cables and letting the wind carry them as far as possible from the Attic coast, raising a shield as a signal of treachery, they instead went straight for Athens, hoping to catch it off guard, and having leisurely rounded the point of Sunium, they were spotted above the port of Phalerum, prompting the leading and most distinguished men to despair of saving the city and consider betraying it. Shortly after, while dismissing the Alcmaeonidae, he accuses others of conspiracy. "Indeed, the shield was shown, and it cannot be denied," he says, as if he witnessed it himself. But that couldn't be, since the Athenians achieved a solid victory; if such a thing had occurred, it couldn't have been seen by the barbarians, who were hastily retreating amidst wounds and arrows to their ships, leaving the area as fast as possible. When he pretends to clear the Alcmaeonidae of the very crimes he first accused them of, saying, "I can't believe the report that the Alcmaeonidae would ever raise a shield to the Persians and bring the Athenians under the power of the barbarians and Hippias," it reminds me of a certain saying: "Stay and be caught, crab, and I'll let you go." Why are you so eager to catch him if you plan to let him go when caught? So you accuse first, then excuse; you write slanders against honorable men, which you then refute. You discredit yourself, for you heard no one but yourself say that the Alcmaeonidae raised a shield to the defeated and fleeing barbarians. In what you claim about the Alcmaeonidae, you show yourself as a false accuser. For if, as you write here, the Alcmaeonidae were just as much opposed to tyrants as Callias, son of Phaenippus and father of Hipponicus, where do you place their conspiracy that you mentioned in your First Book, that by assisting Pisistratus they restored him from exile to tyranny and did not drive him away until he was accused of wronging his wife? Such contradictions arise here; by mixing praises of Callias, son of Phaenippus, with the crimes and suspicions of the Alcmaeonidae, and connecting him to his son Hipponicus, who was (as Herodotus himself states) one of the wealthiest men in Athens, he shows that he brought in Callias not for any necessity of the narrative, but to curry favor with Hipponicus.
Now, whereas all know that the Argives denied not to enter into the common league of the Grecians, though they thought not fit to follow and be under the command of the Lacedaemonians, who were their mortal enemies, and that this was no otherways, our author subjoins a most malicious cause for it, writing thus: "When they saw they were comprised by the Greeks, knowing that the Lacedaemonians would not admit them into a share of the command, they requested it, that they might have a pretence to lie still." "And of this," he says, "the Argive ambassadors afterwards put Artaxerxes in mind, when they attended him at Susa, and the King said, he esteemed no city more his friend than Argos." Then adding, as his manner is, to cover the matter, he says: "Of these things I know nothing certainly; but this I know, that all men have faults, and that the worst things were not done by the Argives; but I must tell such things as are reported, though I am not bound to believe them all; and let this be understood of all my narrations. For it is farther said that the Argives, when they were not able to sustain the war against the Lacedaemonians, called the Persians into Greece, willing to suffer anything rather than the present trouble." (Herodotus, vii. 148-152.) Therefore, as himself reports the Ethiopian to have said of the ointment and purple, "Deceitful are the beauties, deceitful the garments of the Persians," (Herodotus, iii. 22.) may not any one say also of him, Deceitful are the phrases, deceitful the figures of Herodotus's speeches; as being perplexed, unsound, and full of ambiguities? For as painters set off and render more eminent the luminous part of their pictures by adding shadows, so he by his denials extends his calumnies, and by his dubious speeches makes his suspicions take deeper impression. If the Argives joined not with the other Greeks, but stood out through an emulation of the Lacedaemonians command and valor, it cannot be denied but that they acted in a manner not beseeming their nobility and descent from Hercules. For it had been more honorable for the Argives under the leadership of Siphnians and Cythnians to have defended the Grecian liberty, than contending with the Spartans for superiority to have avoided so many and such signal combats. And if it was they who brought the Persians into Greece, because their war against the Lacedaemonians succeeded ill, how came it to pass, that they did not at the coming of Xerxes openly join themselves to the Medes? Or if they would not fight under the King, why did they not, being left at home, make incursions into Laconia or again attempt Thyreae or by some other way disturb and infest the Lacedaemonians? For they might have greatly damaged the Grecians, by hindering the Spartans from going with so great an army to Plataea.
Now, everyone knows that the Argives refused to join the common league of the Greeks, even though they didn't think it was right to follow and be under the command of the Lacedaemonians, who were their sworn enemies. Our author adds a rather malicious reason for this, writing: "When they realized they were included among the Greeks, knowing that the Lacedaemonians would not let them share in the command, they requested it so they would have an excuse to stay inactive." "And the Argive ambassadors later reminded Artaxerxes of this when they visited him in Susa, and the King said he valued no city more than Argos as a friend." Then, as is his habit, he tries to obscure the matter by saying: "I don't know anything for sure about these things; but I do know that everyone has flaws, and the worst things were not done by the Argives. However, I will share the stories that are told, even if I'm not required to believe them all, and this should be understood for all my accounts. Furthermore, it is said that the Argives, when they could no longer withstand the war against the Lacedaemonians, called the Persians into Greece, willing to endure anything rather than their current troubles." (Herodotus, vii. 148-152.) Therefore, just as he reports the Ethiopian as saying about the ointment and purple, "Deceitful are the beauties, deceitful the garments of the Persians," (Herodotus, iii. 22.) can’t one also say about him, "Deceitful are the phrases, deceitful the rhetoric of Herodotus's speeches," as they seem confusing, flawed, and full of ambiguities? Just as painters enhance and highlight the light parts of their paintings by adding shadows, he extends his slander through his denials and deepens his suspicions with ambiguous statements. If the Argives did not join the other Greeks but held back out of rivalry with Spartan command and bravery, it cannot be denied that they acted in a way unworthy of their noble heritage from Hercules. It would have been more honorable for the Argives, under the leadership of the Siphnians and Cythnians, to defend Greek liberty than to avoid so many significant battles just to compete with the Spartans for superiority. And if they were the ones who brought the Persians into Greece because their war against the Lacedaemonians went poorly, why didn’t they openly join the Medes when Xerxes came? Or if they refused to fight for the King, why didn’t they, while staying at home, raid Laconia again or try to disrupt and harass the Lacedaemonians in some other way? They could have significantly harmed the Greeks by preventing the Spartans from taking such a large army to Plataea.
But in this place indeed he has highly magnified the Athenians and pronounced them the saviours of Greece, doing herein rightly and justly, if he had not intermixed many reproaches with their praises. But now, when he says (Ibid. vii. 139.) that (but for the Athenians) the Lacedaemonians would have been betrayed by the other Greeks, and then, being left alone and having performed great exploits, they would have died generously; or else, having before seen that the Greeks were favoring the Medes, they would have made terms with Xerxes; it is manifest, he speaks not these things to the commendation of the Athenians, but he praises the Athenians that he may speak ill of all the rest. For how can any one now be angry with him for so bitterly and intemperately upbraiding the Thebans and Phocians at every turn, when he charges even those who exposed themselves to all perils for Greece with a treason which was never acted, but which (as he thinks) might have been. Nay, of the Lacedaemonians themselves, he makes it doubtful whether they might have fallen in the battle or have yielded to the enemy, minimizing the proofs of their valor which were shown at Thermopylae;—and these indeed were small!
But in this case, he has really praised the Athenians and called them the saviors of Greece, doing so rightly and justly, if he hadn’t mixed in so many insults with their praises. However, when he says (Ibid. vii. 139.) that without the Athenians, the Lacedaemonians would have been betrayed by the other Greeks, and then left alone, having achieved great deeds, they would have died heroically; or if they had seen earlier that the Greeks were siding with the Medes, they would have made a deal with Xerxes, it’s clear he isn’t saying this to commend the Athenians, but he’s praising them to criticize everyone else. After all, how can anyone be upset with him for so harshly and excessively attacking the Thebans and Phocians at every opportunity, when he accuses even those who risked everything for Greece of a treason that never occurred, but which (in his view) could have happened? And as for the Lacedaemonians themselves, he suggests it’s uncertain whether they might have been defeated in battle or surrendered to the enemy, downplaying the evidence of their bravery shown at Thermopylae;—and those really were minor!
After this, when he declares the shipwreck that befell the King's fleet, and how, an infinite mass of wealth being cast away, Aminocles the Magnesian, son of Cresines, was greatly enriched by it, having gotten an immense quantity of gold and silver; he could not so much as let this pass without snarling at it. "For this man," say she, "who had till then been none of the most fortunate, by wrecks became exceeding rich; for the misfortune he had in killing his son much afflicted his mind." (Herodotus, vii. 190.) This indeed is manifest to every one, that he brought this golden treasure and this wealth cast up by the sea into his history, that he might make way for the inserting Aminocles's killing his son.
After this, when he describes the shipwreck that happened to the King's fleet, and how a vast amount of wealth was lost, Aminocles the Magnesian, son of Cresines, got really rich from it, having gained an enormous amount of gold and silver; he couldn't let this go by without commenting on it. "For this man," she says, "who had not been particularly fortunate until then, became incredibly wealthy through the wrecks; the tragedy of killing his son weighed heavily on his mind." (Herodotus, vii. 190.) This is clear to everyone, that he included this golden treasure and the riches brought up by the sea in his history to make way for mentioning Aminocles's tragedy of killing his son.
Now Aristophanes the Boeotian wrote, that Herodotus demanded money of the Thebans but received none and that going about to discourse and reason with the young men, he was prohibited by the magistrates through their clownishness and hatred of learning; of which there is no other argument. But Herodotus bears witness to Aristophanes, whilst he charges the Thebans with some things falsely, with others ignorantly, and with others as hating them and having a quarrel with them. For he affirms that the Thessalians at first upon necessity inclined to the Persians, (Ibid, vii. 172.) in which he says the truth; and prophesying of the other Grecians that they would betray the Lacedaemonians, he added, that they would not do it willingly, but upon necessity, one city being taken after another. But he does not allow the Thebans the same plea of necessity, although they sent to Tempe five hundred men under the command of Mnamias, and to Thermopylae as many as Leonidas desired, who also alone with the Thespians stood by him, the rest leaving him after he was surrounded. But when the barbarian, having possessed himself of the avenues, was got into their confines, and Demaratus the Spartan, favoring in right of hospitality Attaginus, the chief of the oligarchy, had so wrought that he became the King's friend and familiar, whilst the other Greeks were in their ships, and none came on by land; then at last being forsaken did they accept conditions of peace, to which they were compelled by great necessity. For they had neither the sea and ships at hand, as had the Athenians; nor did they dwell far off, as the Spartans, who inhabited the most remote parts of Greece; but were not above a day and half's journey from the Persian army, whom they had already with the Spartans and Thespians alone resisted at the entrance of the straits, and were defeated.
Now Aristophanes from Boeotia wrote that Herodotus asked the Thebans for money but received none. When he tried to engage in discussions with the young men, the magistrates stopped him due to their foolishness and dislike of learning; there's no other argument for that. However, Herodotus acknowledges what Aristophanes claims while falsely accusing the Thebans of some things, making other claims out of ignorance, and stating others because he harbored a grudge against them. He claims that the Thessalians initially turned to the Persians out of necessity, which is true (Ibid, vii. 172). He predicted that the other Greeks would betray the Lacedaemonians but noted they wouldn't do so willingly, only out of necessity, as city after city fell. Yet, he doesn’t allow the Thebans the same excuse of necessity, even though they sent five hundred men led by Mnamias to Tempe and as many to Thermopylae as Leonidas requested, who, with the Thespians, stood by him while the rest abandoned him when he was surrounded. But when the enemy, having taken the passes, entered their territory, and Demaratus the Spartan, in line with hospitality, had befriended Attaginus, the leader of the oligarchy, while the other Greeks were at sea and no one advanced by land; only then, being deserted, did they accept peace terms, forced by extreme necessity. They didn't have the sea and ships like the Athenians, nor were they far away like the Spartans, who lived in the distant parts of Greece; they were only a day and a half’s journey from the Persian army, which they had already resisted at the straits alongside the Spartans and Thespians, but were defeated.
But this writer is so equitable, that having said, "The Lacedaemonians, being alone and deserted by their allies, would perhaps have made a composition with Xerxes," he yet blames the Thebans, who were forced to the same act by the same necessity. But when he could not wholly obliterate this most great and glorious act of the Thebans, yet went he about to deface it with a most vile imputation and suspicion, writing thus: "The confederates who had been sent returned back, obeying the commands of Leonidas; there remained only with the Lacedaemonians the Thespians and the Thebans: of these, the Thebans stayed against their wills, for Leonidas retained them as hostages; but the Thespians most willingly, as they said they would never depart from Leonidas and those that were with him." (Herodotus, vii. 222.) Does he not here manifestly discover himself to have a peculiar pique and hatred against the Thebans, by the impulse of which he not only falsely and unjustly calumniated the city, but did not so much as take care to render his contradiction probable, or to conceal, at least from a few men, his being conscious of having knowingly contradicted himself? For having before said that Leonidas, perceiving his confederates not to be in good heart nor prepared to undergo danger, wished them to depart, he a little after adds that the Thebans were against their wills detained by him; whereas, if he had believed them inclined to the Persians, he should have driven them away though they had been willing to tarry. For if he thought that those who were not brisk would be useless, to what purpose was it to mix among his soldiers those that were suspected? Nor was the king of the Spartans and general of all Greece so senseless as to think that four hundred armed Thebans could be detained as hostages by his three hundred, especially the enemy being both in his front and rear. For though at first he might have taken them along with him as hostages; it is certainly probable that at last, having no regard for him, they would have gone away from him, and that Leonidas would have more feared his being encompassed by them than by the enemy. Furthermore, would not Leonidas have been ridiculous, to have sent away the other Greeks, as if by staying they should soon after have died, and to have detained the Thebans, that being himself about to die, he might keep them for the Greeks? For if he had indeed carried them along with him for hostages, or rather for slaves, he should not have kept them with those that were at the point of perishing, but have delivered them to the Greeks that went away. There remained but one cause that might be alleged for Leonidas's unwillingness to let them go, to wit, that they might die with him; and this our historian himself has taken away, writing thus of Leonidas's ambition: "Leonidas, considering these things, and desirous that this glory might redound to the Spartans alone, sent away his confederates rather for this than because they differed in their opinions." (Herodotus, vii. 220.) For it had certainly been the height of folly to keep his enemies against their wills, to be partakers of that glory from which he drove away his confederates. But it is manifest from the effects, that Leonidas suspected not the Thebans of insincerity, but esteemed them to be his steadfast friends. For he marched with his army into Thebes, and at his request obtained that which was never granted to any other, to sleep within the temple of Hercules; and the next morning he related to the Thebans the vision that had appeared to him. For he imagined that he saw the most illustrious and greatest cities of Greece irregularly tossed and floating up and down on a very stormy and tempestuous sea; that Thebes, being carried above all the rest, was lifted up on high to heaven, and suddenly after disappeared. And this indeed had a resemblance of those things which long after befell that city.
But this writer is so fair that after saying, "The Lacedaemonians, being alone and abandoned by their allies, might have made a deal with Xerxes," he still criticizes the Thebans, who were compelled to do the same due to necessity. However, when he couldn't completely erase this significant and glorious act of the Thebans, he tried to tarnish it with a disgusting accusation and suspicion, writing: "The confederates who had been sent back returned, obeying the commands of Leonidas; only the Thespians and the Thebans remained with the Lacedaemonians: of these, the Thebans stayed against their will, for Leonidas held them as hostages; but the Thespians willingly stayed, claiming they would never leave Leonidas and those with him." (Herodotus, vii. 222.) Doesn't he clearly show that he has a special grudge and hatred against the Thebans, driven by which he not only falsely and unjustly slandered the city but didn't even bother to make his contradiction believable or to hide from at least a few people that he was aware of having knowingly contradicted himself? For he previously said that Leonidas, seeing his allies were not in good spirits or prepared to face danger, wanted them to leave, and then shortly after added that the Thebans were detained against their will by him; yet if he believed they were inclined to the Persians, he should have sent them away even if they were willing to stay. If he thought those who were not enthusiastic would be useless, why would he mix in soldiers who were suspected? Nor was the Spartan king and general of all Greece so foolish as to believe that four hundred armed Thebans could be held as hostages by his three hundred, especially with the enemy at both their front and back. Though at first, he might have taken them with him as hostages, it’s certainly likely that eventually, with no regard for him, they would have left, and Leonidas would have feared being encircled by them more than the enemy. Furthermore, wouldn’t it have been ridiculous for Leonidas to send the other Greeks away, as if staying would soon lead to their deaths, while keeping the Thebans around, knowing he was about to die, so he could hold them for the Greeks? If he indeed brought them along as hostages, or rather as slaves, he wouldn’t have kept them among those about to perish but would have given them to the Greeks who were leaving. The only reason left that might explain Leonidas's reluctance to let them go is that they might die with him; and our historian himself has refuted this by writing about Leonidas's ambition: "Leonidas, considering these things and wanting this glory to belong only to the Spartans, sent away his allies more for this reason than because they disagreed." (Herodotus, vii. 220.) Indeed, it would have been the height of foolishness to keep his enemies against their will to share in that glory from which he had sent away his allies. But the outcomes clearly show that Leonidas did not suspect the Thebans of disloyalty but regarded them as his firm friends. He marched his army into Thebes and, at his request, received what had never been granted to anyone else: to sleep within the temple of Hercules; and the next morning he shared with the Thebans the vision he had seen. He imagined he saw the most prominent and greatest cities of Greece irregularly tossed and floating on a very stormy and violent sea; Thebes, being lifted above all the others, was raised high to heaven and then suddenly disappeared. This indeed had a resemblance to what eventually happened to that city.
Now Herodotus, in his narration of that fight, hath obscured also the bravest act of Leonidas, saying that they all fell in the straits near the hill. (Herodotus, vii. 225.) But the affair was otherwise managed. For when they perceived by night that they were encompassed by the barbarians, they marched straight to the enemies' camp, and got very near the King's pavilion, with a resolution to kill him and leave their lives about him. They came then to his tent, killing or putting to flight all they met; but when Xerxes was not found there, seeking him in that vast camp and wandering about, they were at last with much difficulty slain by the barbarians, who surrounded them on every side. What other acts and sayings of the Spartans Herodotus has omitted, we will write in the Life of Leonidas; yet that hinders not but we may here set down also some few. Before Leonidas went forth to that war, the Spartans exhibited to him funeral spectacles, at which the fathers and mothers of those that went along with him were spectators. Leonidas himself, when one said to him, You lead very few with you to the battle, answered, There are many to die there. When his wife, at his departure, asked him what commands he had for her; he, turning to her, said, I command you to marry a good man, and bring him good children. After he was enclosed by the enemy at Thermopylae, desiring to save two that were related to him, he gave one of them a letter and sent him away; but he rejected it, saying angrily, I followed you as a soldier, not as a postman. The other he commanded to go on a message to the magistrates of Sparta; but he, answering, that is a messenger's business, took his shield, and stood up in his rank. Who would not have blamed another that should have omitted these things? But he who has collected and recorded the fart of Amasis, the coming of the thief's asses, and the giving of bottles, and many such like things, cannot seem to have omitted these gallant acts and these remarkable sayings by negligence and oversight, but as bearing ill-will and being unjust to some.
Now Herodotus, in his account of that battle, has also obscured the bravest act of Leonidas, claiming that they all fell in the straits near the hill. (Herodotus, vii. 225.) But the situation played out differently. When they realized during the night that they were surrounded by the enemy, they marched straight to the enemy's camp, getting very close to the King's tent, determined to kill him and die in the process. They approached his tent, killing or routing everyone they encountered; however, after searching through that vast camp and not finding Xerxes, they were eventually killed with great difficulty by the barbarians who surrounded them on all sides. We will document other actions and sayings of the Spartans in the Life of Leonidas; still, that doesn’t prevent us from noting a few here. Before Leonidas went off to that war, the Spartans held funeral ceremonies for him, where the fathers and mothers of those who accompanied him were present. When someone remarked to Leonidas that he was taking very few men into battle, he replied, "There are many to die there." When his wife asked him what instructions he had for her at his departure, he turned to her and said, "I command you to marry a good man and have good children." After he was surrounded by the enemy at Thermopylae, wanting to save two of his relatives, he gave one a letter to send home, but he refused it, saying angrily, "I followed you as a soldier, not as a courier." He ordered the other to deliver a message to the magistrates of Sparta; however, he replied that it was a messenger's task, took his shield, and stood firm in his position. Who wouldn't have criticized someone for leaving out these details? But the one who has collected and documented the nonsense of Amasis, the arrival of the thief's donkeys, and the giving of bottles, among many similar things, cannot be seen as having overlooked these brave acts and notable sayings out of negligence, but rather as holding a grudge and being unjust to some.
He says that the Thebans, being at the first with the Greeks, fought compelled by necessity. (Ibid, vii. 233.) For belike not only Xerxes, but Leonidas also, had whipsters following his camp, by whom the Thebans were scourged and forced against their wills to fight. And what more ruthless libeller could there be than Herodotus, when he says that they fought upon necessity, who might have gone away and fled, and that they inclined to the Persians, whereas not one came in to help them. After this, he writes that, the rest making to the hill, the Thebans separated themselves from them, lifted up their hands to the barbarian, and coming near, cried with a most true voice, that they had favored the Persians, had given earth and water to the King, that now being forced by necessity they were come to Thermopylae, and that they were innocent of the King's wound. Having said these things, they obtained quarter; for they had the Thessalians for witnesses of all they said. Behold, how amidst the barbarians, exclamations, tumults of all sorts, flights and pursuits, their apology was heard, the witnesses examined; and the Thessalians, in the midst of those that were slain and trodden under foot, all being done in a very narrow passage, patronized the Thebans, to wit, because the Thebans had but a little before driven away them, who were possessed of all Greece as far as, Thespiae, having conquered them in a battle, and slain their leader Lattamyas! For thus at that time stood matters between the Boeotians and the Thessalians, without any friendship or good-will. But yet how did the Thebans escape, the Thessalians helping them with their testimonies? Some of them, says he, were slain by the barbarians; many of them were by command of Xerxes marked with the royal mark, beginning with their leader Leontiades. Now the captain of the Thebans at Thermopylae was not Leontiades, but Anaxander, as both Aristophanes, out of the Commentaries of the Magistrates, and Nicander the Colophonian have taught us. Nor did any man before Herodotus know that the Thebans were stigmatized by Xerxes; for otherwise this would have been an excellent plea for them against his calumny, and this city might well have gloried in these marks, that Xerxes had punished Leonidas and Leontiades as his greatest enemies, having outraged the body of the one when he was dead, and caused the other to be tormented whilst living. But as to a writer who makes the barbarian's cruelty against Leonidas when dead a sign that he hated him most of all men when living, (Herodotus, vii. 238.) and yet says that the Thebans, though favoring the Persians, were stigmatized by them at Thermopylae, and having been thus stigmatized, again cheerfully took their parts at Plataea, it seems to me that such a man—like that Hippoclides (See Herodotus, vi. 126-130.) who gesticulating with his limbs by standing on his head on a table—would dance away the truth and say, It makes no difference to Herodotus.
He claims that the Thebans, initially with the Greeks, fought out of necessity. (Ibid, vii. 233.) It seems that not only Xerxes but also Leonidas had followers who pushed them to fight against their will. What kind of heartless slanderer is Herodotus when he says they fought out of necessity when they could have escaped? He suggests they leaned towards the Persians, even though nobody came to assist them. Later, he writes that when the others fled to the hill, the Thebans separated themselves, raised their hands to the enemy, and approached, honestly stating that they had supported the Persians and provided earth and water to the King. They said that now, forced by circumstances, they had come to Thermopylae and were innocent of the King's injury. After making this appeal, they received mercy because the Thessalians were there to witness their claims. Look at how, amidst the chaos of the enemy—shouts and uproar, panic and pursuit—their defense was heard, witnesses questioned; and the Thessalians, among the fallen and trampled, all in a very narrow spot, defended the Thebans because the Thebans had recently defeated them, who had controlled all of Greece up to Thespiae, after overcoming them in battle and killing their leader Lattamyas! This was the state of affairs between the Boeotians and Thessalians, with no friendship or goodwill. Yet how did the Thebans escape, aided by the Thessalians’ testimonies? Some were killed by the enemy; many were marked by Xerxes, starting with their leader Leontiades. However, the captain of the Thebans at Thermopylae was not Leontiades, but Anaxander, as both Aristophanes, from the Commentaries of the Magistrates, and Nicander the Colophonian have told us. No one before Herodotus knew that the Thebans were branded by Xerxes; otherwise, this would have been a strong argument against his slander, and this city could have taken pride in the marks showing that Xerxes punished Leonidas and Leontiades as his greatest enemies, desecrating the body of one after death and torturing the other while alive. As for the writer who sets the barbarian's cruelty towards Leonidas when dead as proof of his hatred towards him when he was alive (Herodotus, vii. 238), yet claims that the Thebans, despite supporting the Persians, were marked by them at Thermopylae, and afterward willingly fought for their side at Plataea, I think such a person—like Hippoclides (See Herodotus, vi. 126-130.) who made a spectacle of himself standing on his head on a table—would dance around the truth and say, "It doesn’t matter to Herodotus."
In the Eighth Book our author says, that the Greeks being frighted designed to fly from Artemisium into Greece, and that, being requested by the Euboeans to stay a little till they could dispose of their wives and families, they regarded them not, till such time as Themistocles, having taken money of them, divided it between Eurybiades and Adimantus, the captain of the Corinthians, and that then they stayed and had a sea-fight with the barbarians (Ibid. viii. 4.) Yet Pindar, who was not a citizen of any of the confederate cities, but of one that was suspected to take part with the Medians, having made mention of Artemisium, brake forth into this exclamation: "This is the place where the sons of the Athenians laid the glorious foundation of liberty." But Herodotus, by whom, as some will have it, Greece is honored, makes that victory a work of bribery and theft, saying that the Greeks, deceived by their captains, who had to that end taken money, fought against their wills. Nor does he here put an end to his malice. All men in a manner confess that, although the Greeks got the better at sea, they nevertheless abandoned Artemisium to the barbarians after they had received the news of the overthrow at Thermopylae. For it was to no purpose for them to stay there and keep the sea, the war being already within Thermopylae, and Xerxes having possessed himself of the avenues. But Herodotus makes the Greeks contriving to fly before they heard anything of Leonidas's death. For thus he says: "But they having been ill-treated, and especially the Athenians, half of whose ships were sorely shattered, consulted to take their flight into Greece." (Ibid. viii. 18.) But let him be permitted so to name (or rather reproach) this retreat of theirs before the fight; but having before called it a flight, he both now styles it a flight, and will again a little after term it a flight; so bitterly does he adhere to this word "flight." "Presently after this," says he, "there came to the barbarians in the pinnace a man of Hestiaea, who acquainted them with the flight of the Grecians from Artemisium. They, because the thing seemed incredible, kept the messenger in custody, and sent forth some light galleys to discover the truth." (Herodotus, viii. 23.) But what is this you say? That they fled as conquered, whom the enemies after the fight could not believe to have fled, as having got much the better? Is then this a fellow fit to be believed when he writes of any man or city, who in one word deprives Greece of the victory, throws down the trophy, and pronounces the inscriptions they had set up to Diana Proseoa (EASTWARD-FACING) to be nothing but pride and vain boasting? The tenor of the inscription was as follows:—
In the Eighth Book, our author states that the Greeks, feeling frightened, planned to flee from Artemisium back to Greece. When the Euboeans asked them to wait a bit to sort out their wives and families, they ignored them until Themistocles took money from them and split it between Eurybiades and Adimantus, the leader of the Corinthians. After that, they stayed and fought a naval battle against the barbarians (Ibid. viii. 4.) However, Pindar, who wasn't from any of the allied cities but from one suspected of siding with the Medes, exclaimed about Artemisium: "This is the place where the sons of the Athenians laid the glorious foundation of liberty." Yet Herodotus, whom some say brought honor to Greece, portrays that victory as achieved through bribery and deceit, claiming that the Greeks, misled by their leaders who took money for that purpose, fought against their will. He doesn’t end his criticism here. Almost everyone agrees that even though the Greeks succeeded at sea, they abandoned Artemisium to the barbarians after hearing about the defeat at Thermopylae. It was pointless for them to remain and control the sea when the war was already in Thermopylae, and Xerxes controlled the routes. But Herodotus suggests the Greeks were planning to escape before they even heard about Leonidas's death. He wrote: "But they were treated poorly, especially the Athenians, half of whose ships were severely damaged, and they discussed retreating to Greece." (Ibid. viii. 18.) He may call this retreat for what it is (or rather insultingly refer to it as a flight), but after labeling it a flight before, he continues to call it a flight and will do so again shortly; he is quite attached to the word "flight." "Soon after this," he says, "a man from Hestiaea came to the barbarians in a small boat and informed them of the Greeks' retreat from Artemisium. Because it seemed unbelievable, they kept the messenger in custody and sent out some fast boats to confirm the story." (Herodotus, viii. 23.) But what are you suggesting? That they fled as if defeated, while their enemies, after the battle, couldn’t believe they had actually fled despite having clearly triumphed? Is this someone worthy of belief regarding any man or city, who, in a single statement, denies Greece its victory, dismantles the trophy, and dismisses the inscriptions they dedicated to Diana Proseoa (EASTWARD-FACING) as mere pride and empty boasting? The inscription read as follows:—
When Athens youth had in a naval fight
All Asia's forces on this sea o'verthrown,
And all the Persian army put to flight,
Than which a greater scare was ever known,
To show how much Diana they respected,
This trophy to her honor they erected.
When Athens' youth had in a naval fight
All of Asia's forces on this sea overthrown,
And all the Persian army put to flight,
There's never been a greater scare known,
To show how much they respected Diana,
This trophy in her honor they erected. Moreover, not having described any order of the Greeks, nor told us what place every city of theirs held during the sea-fight, he says that in this retreat, which he calls their flight, the Corinthians sailed first and the Athenians last. (Ibid. viii, 21.)
Moreover, without explaining the arrangement of the Greeks or stating the position of each city during the sea battle, he mentions that in this retreat, which he refers to as their flight, the Corinthians were the first to sail, while the Athenians were the last. (Ibid. viii, 21.)
He indeed ought not to have too much insulted over the Greeks that took part with the Persians, who, being by others thought a Thurian, reckons himself among the Halicarnassians, who, being Dorians by descent, went with their wives and children to the war against the Greeks. But he is so far from giving first an account of the straits they were in who revolted to the Persians, that, having related how the Thessalians sent to the Phocians, who were their mortal enemies, and promised to preserve their country free from all damage if they might receive from them a reward of fifty talents, he writ thus of the Phocians: "For the Phocians were the only people in these quarters who inclined not to the Persians, and that, as far as I upon due consideration can find, for no other reason but because they hated the Thessalians; for if the Thessalians had been affected to the Grecian affairs, I suppose the Phocians would have joined themselves to the Persians." And yet, a little after he would say that thirteen cities of the Phocians were burned by the barbarians, their country laid waste, and the temple which was in Abae set on fire, and all of both sexes put to the sword, except those that by flight escaped to Parnassus. (Herodotus, viii. 30-33. Compare ix. 17.) Nevertheless, he puts those who suffered all extremities rather than lose their honesty in the same rank with those who most affectionately sided with the Persians. And when he could not blame the Phocians actions, writing at his desk invented false causes and got up suspicions against them, and bids us judge them not by what they did, but by what they would have done if the Thessalians had not taken the same side, as if they had been prevented from treason because they found the place already occupied by others! Now if any one, going about to excuse the revolt of the Thessalians to the Persians, should say that they would not have done it but for the hatred they bare the Phocians,—whom when they saw joined to the Greeks, they against their inclinations followed the party of the Persians,—would not such a one be thought most shamefully to flatter, and for the sake of others to pervert the truth, by reigning good causes for evil actions? Indeed, I think, he would. Why then would not he be thought openly to calumniate, who says that the Phocians chose the best, not for the love of virtue, but because they saw the Thessalians on the contrary side? For neither does he refer this device to other authors, as he is elsewhere wont to do, but says that himself found it out by conjecture. He should therefore have produced certain arguments, by which he was persuaded that they, who did things like the best, followed the same counsels with the worst. For what he alleges of their hatreds is ridiculous. For neither did the difference between the Aeginetans and the Athenians, nor that between the Chalcidians and the Eretrians, nor yet that between the Corinthians and the Megarians, hinder them from fighting together for Greece. Nor did the Macedonians, their most bitter enemies, turn the Thessalians from their friendship with the barbarians, by joining the Persian party themselves. For the common danger did so bury their private grudges, that banishing their other passions, they applied their minds either to honesty for the sake of virtue, or to profit through the impulse of necessity. And indeed, after that necessity which compelled them to obey the Persians was over, they returned again to the Greeks, as Lacrates the Spartan has openly testified of them. And Herodotus, as constrained to it, in his relation of the affairs at Plataea, confessed that the Phocians took part with the Greeks. (Herodotus, ix. 31.)
He really shouldn't have been too insulted by the Greeks who sided with the Persians. Those Greeks, who others thought were from Thurii, considered themselves Halicarnassians. Being Dorians by descent, they went with their families to fight against the Greeks. However, instead of first explaining the difficulties faced by those who revolted to the Persians, he shared how the Thessalians sent a message to the Phocians, their arch-enemies, offering to protect their land from all harm if they received a reward of fifty talents. He wrote this about the Phocians: "For the Phocians were the only people in that area who didn’t lean towards the Persians, and, as far as I can conclude, it was solely because they hated the Thessalians; because if the Thessalians had cared about Greek affairs, I believe the Phocians would have aligned themselves with the Persians." Yet, shortly after, he claimed that thirteen Phocian cities were burned by the invaders, their land destroyed, the temple in Abae set on fire, and everyone killed except those who managed to escape to Parnassus. (Herodotus, viii. 30-33. Compare ix. 17.) Nevertheless, he placed those who endured extreme suffering to maintain their integrity in the same category as those who genuinely supported the Persians. When he couldn’t find fault with the Phocians’ actions, he invented false justifications and cast suspicions on them, suggesting we shouldn’t judge by what they did, but by what they might have done if the Thessalians hadn’t already taken sides, as if they were prevented from betraying because they noticed someone else had already done so! If someone were to try to justify the Thessalian revolt to the Persians by saying they would have never done it if not for their hatred of the Phocians—who, seeing the Phocians aligned with the Greeks, reluctantly sided with the Persians—wouldn’t that person be seen as shamefully flattering, twisting the truth by justifying wrong actions with plausible reasons? I think they would. So, why wouldn’t someone who claims that the Phocians chose the right side, not for the love of virtue, but just because they saw the Thessalians on the opposing side, be considered to be openly slandering? He doesn’t even cite other authors for this assertion, as he often does, but claims he figured it out himself. He should have presented some convincing evidence that those who acted rightly were following the same advice as those who acted poorly. What he says about their hatred is absurd. The rivalry between the Aeginetans and Athenians, the Chalcidians and Eretrians, or the Corinthians and Megarians didn’t stop them from fighting together for Greece. Nor did the Macedonians, who were their fiercest foes, lead the Thessalians to break their alliance with the Persians by siding with them. The shared danger was enough to overshadow their personal grudges, pushing aside their other feelings, so they either acted out of integrity for the sake of virtue or sought benefit due to necessity. In fact, after the necessity that forced them to submit to the Persians passed, they returned to the Greeks, as Lacrates the Spartan openly testified. And Herodotus, compelled by circumstance, acknowledged in his account of the events at Plataea that the Phocians sided with the Greeks. (Herodotus, ix. 31.)
Neither ought it to seem strange to any, if he thus bitterly inveighs against the unfortunate; since he reckons amongst enemies and traitors those who were present at the engagement, and together with the other Greeks hazarded their safety. For the Naxians, says he, sent three ships to the assistance of the barbarians; but Democritus, one of their captains, persuaded the others to take the party of the Greeks. (Ibid. viii. 46.) So unable he is to praise without dispraising, that if he commends one man he must condemn a whole city or people. But in this there give testimony against him, of the more ancient writers Hellanicus, and of the later Ephorus, one of which says that the Naxians came with six ships to aid the Greeks, and the other with five. And Herodotus convinces himself of having feigned these things. For the writers of the Naxian annals say, that they had before beaten back Megabates, who came to their island with two hundred ships, and after that had put to flight the general Datis who had set their city on fire. Now if, as Herodotus has elsewhere said, the barbarians burned their city so that the men were glad to save themselves by flying into the mountains, had they not just cause rather to send aid to the destroyers of their country than to help the protectors of the common liberty? But that he framed this lie not so much to honor Democritus, as to cast infamy on the Naxians, is manifest from his omitting and wholly passing over in silence the valiant acts then performed by Democritus, of which Simonides gives us an account in this epigram:—
It shouldn't surprise anyone if he harshly criticizes the unfortunate; he views those who participated in the battle as enemies and traitors, even though they risked their lives alongside the other Greeks. He claims that the Naxians sent three ships to help the barbarians, but Democritus, one of their captains, convinced the others to side with the Greeks. (Ibid. viii. 46.) He is so unable to praise without also putting someone down that when he commends one person, he ends up condemning an entire city or group. However, the older writer Hellanicus and the more recent Ephorus refute him; one states that the Naxians came with six ships to assist the Greeks, while the other mentions five. Herodotus himself shows he made up these details. The Naxian historians report that they had previously defeated Megabates, who arrived at their island with two hundred ships, and then chased away the general Datis, who set fire to their city. Now, if, as Herodotus has stated elsewhere, the barbarians burned their city, forcing the people to flee to the mountains, wouldn't they have more reason to help those who were destroying their land rather than those protecting their freedom? It's clear that he fabricated this lie not to honor Democritus, but to disgrace the Naxians, evident from his silence regarding the brave actions Democritus performed, which Simonides describes in this epigram:—
When as the Greeks at sea the Medes did meet,
And had near Salamis a naval fight,
Democritus as third led up the fleet,
Charging the enemy with all his might;
He took five of their ships, and did another,
Which they had taken from the Greeks, recover.
When the Greeks met the Medes at sea,
And fought a naval battle near Salamis,
Democritus led the fleet as the third,
Attacking the enemy with all his strength;
He captured five of their ships and also recovered
One that they had taken from the Greeks.But why should any one be angry with him about the Naxians? If we have, as some say, antipodes inhabiting the other hemisphere, I believe that they also have heard of Themistocles and his counsel, which he gave to the Greeks, to fight a naval battle before Salamis, on which, the barbarian being overcome, he built in Melite a temple to Diana the Counsellor. This gentle writer, endeavoring, as much as in him lies, to deprive Themistocles of the glory of this, and transfer it to another, writes thus word for word: "Whilst things were thus, Mnesiphilus, an Athenian, asked Themistocles, as he was going aboard his ship, what had been resolved on in council. And being answered, that it was decreed the ships should be brought back to Isthmus, and a battle fought at sea before Peloponnesus; he said, If then they remove the navy from Salamis, you will no longer be fighting for one country for they will return every one to his own city. Wherefore, if there be any way left, go and endeavor to break this resolution; and, if it be possible, persuade Eurybiades to change his mind and stay here." Then adding that this advice pleased Themistocles, who, without making any reply, went straight to Eurybiades, he has these very expressions: "And sitting by him he related what he had heard from Mnesiphilus, feigning as if it came from himself, and adding other things." (Herodotus, viii. 57, 58.) You see how he accuses Themistocles of disingenuity in arrogating to himself the counsel of Mnesiphilus.
But why should anyone be upset with him about the Naxians? If we have, as some say, people living on the opposite side of the world, I believe they’ve also heard of Themistocles and the advice he gave to the Greeks to fight a naval battle before Salamis. After winning against the enemy, he built a temple to Diana the Counsellor in Melite. This writer, trying hard to strip Themistocles of this honor and give it to someone else, writes word for word: "While this was happening, Mnesiphilus, an Athenian, asked Themistocles, as he was about to board his ship, what had been decided in council. When he was told that it was decided to bring the ships back to the Isthmus and fight a battle at sea before Peloponnesus, he said, 'If they then move the navy from Salamis, you will no longer be fighting for one country because everyone will return to their own city. Therefore, if there’s any way left, go and try to overturn this decision; and, if possible, persuade Eurybiades to change his mind and stay here.' Then, adding that this advice pleased Themistocles, who, without replying, went straight to Eurybiades, he uses these exact words: 'And sitting next to him, he relayed what he had heard from Mnesiphilus, pretending it was his own idea and adding other things.'" (Herodotus, viii. 57, 58.) You can see how he accuses Themistocles of being insincere in taking credit for Mnesiphilus’ advice.
And deriding the Greeks still further, he says, that Themistocles, who was called another Ulysses for his wisdom, was so blind that he could not foresee what was fit to be done; but that Artemisia, who was of the same city with Herodotus, without being taught by any one, but by her own consideration, said thus to Xerxes: "The Greeks will not long be able to hold out against you, but you will put them to flight, and they will retire to their own cities; nor is it probable, if you march your army by land to Peloponnesus, that they will sit still, or take care to fight at sea for the Athenians. But if you make haste to give them a naval battle, I fear lest your fleets receiving damage may prove also very prejudicial to your land-forces." (Ibid. viii. 68.) Certainly Herodotus wanted nothing but verses to make Artemisia another Sibyl, so exactly prophesying of things to come. Therefore Xerxes also delivered his sons to her to be carried to Ephesus for he had (it seems) forgot to bring women with him from Susa, if indeed the children wanted a train of female attendants.
And mocking the Greeks even more, he says that Themistocles, who was called another Ulysses for his wisdom, was so shortsighted that he couldn't see what needed to be done. But Artemisia, who was from the same city as Herodotus, without being taught by anyone, just by her own thinking, said to Xerxes: "The Greeks won't be able to hold out against you for long; you will drive them away, and they will retreat to their own cities. It's also unlikely that if you march your army overland to Peloponnesus, they will just sit still or bother to fight at sea for the Athenians. However, if you hurry to give them a naval battle, I'm worried that your fleets might suffer damage, which could also be very harmful to your land forces." (Ibid. viii. 68.) Clearly, Herodotus only needed some verses to make Artemisia another Sibyl, as she predicted future events so accurately. That's why Xerxes entrusted his sons to her to be taken to Ephesus, because he apparently forgot to bring women with him from Susa, if the children indeed required a group of female attendants.
But it is not our design to search into the lies of Herodotus; we only make inquiry into those which he invented to detract from the glory of others. He says: "It is reported by the Athenians that Adimantus, captain of the Corinthians, when the enemies were now ready to join battle, was struck with such fear and astonishment that he fled; not thrusting his ship backward by the stern, or leisurely retreating through those that were engaged, but openly hoisting up his sails, and turning the heads of all his vessels. And about the farther part of the Salaminian coast, he was met by a pinnace, out of which one spake thus to him: Thou indeed, Adimantus, fliest, having betrayed the Grecians; yet they overcome, and according to their desires have the better of their enemies." (Herodotus, viii. 94.) This pinnace was certainly let down from heaven. For what should hinder him from erecting a tragical machine, who by his boasting excelled the tragedians in all other things? Adimantus then crediting him (he adds) "returned to the fleet, when the business was already done." "This report," says he, "is believed by the Athenians; but the Corinthians deny it, and say, they were the first at the sea-fight, for which they have the testimony of all the other Greeks." Such is this man in many other places. He spreads different calumnies and accusations of different men, that he may not fail of making some one appear altogether wicked. And it has succeeded well with him in this place; for if the calumny is believed, the Corinthians—if it is not, the Athenians—are rendered infamous. But in reality the Athenians did not belie the Corinthians, but he hath belied them both. Certainly Thucydides, bringing in an Athenian ambassador contesting with a Corinthian at Sparta, and gloriously boasting of many things about the Persian war and the sea-fight at Salamis, charges not the Corinthians with any crime of treachery or leaving their station. Nor was it likely the Athenians should object any such thing against Corinth, when they saw her engraven in the third place after the Lacedaemonians and themselves on those spoils which, being taken from the barbarians, were consecrated to the gods. And in Salamis they had permitted them to bury the dead near the city, as being men who had behaved themselves gallantly, and to write over them this elegy:—
But we're not here to dig into Herodotus's lies; we just want to look into the ones he made up to take away from the achievements of others. He claims: "The Athenians report that Adimantus, the commander of the Corinthians, was so overwhelmed with fear and shock when the enemies were about to battle that he fled; not by backing up his ship or taking a slow retreat through those already fighting, but by openly raising his sails and turning the bow of all his vessels. And along the far side of the Salaminian coast, he encountered a small boat, from which someone shouted to him: ‘You, Adimantus, are fleeing after betraying the Greeks; yet they are victorious and have the upper hand over their foes.’” (Herodotus, viii. 94.) This small boat must have come from the heavens. After all, what would stop him from setting up a dramatic scene, when his boasting surpassed the tragedians in every other way? Adimantus, believing him (as he adds), "returned to the fleet when the fight was already over." “This report,” he states, “is accepted by the Athenians; however, the Corinthians deny it, claiming they were the first in the sea battle, supported by the testimony of all the other Greeks.” This individual does this in many other instances. He spreads various lies and accusations against different people to ensure that someone appears completely wicked. And he's succeeded well here; because if the accusation is believed, the Corinthians look bad—if not, the Athenians do. But in truth, the Athenians did not slander the Corinthians; he has misrepresented both. Certainly, Thucydides, introducing an Athenian ambassador arguing with a Corinthian in Sparta and boasting about many things regarding the Persian war and the battle at Salamis, does not accuse the Corinthians of any treachery or abandoning their position. Nor is it likely that the Athenians would make such an accusation against Corinth when they saw it listed in third place, after the Lacedaemonians and themselves, on the spoils taken from the barbarians and dedicated to the gods. And in Salamis, they allowed them to bury their dead near the city, acknowledging them as brave men, and had this elegy written over them:—
Well-watered Corinth, stranger, was our home;
Salamis, Ajax's isle, is now our grave;
Here Medes and Persians and Phoenician ships
We fought and routed, sacred Greece to save.
Well-watered Corinth, stranger, was our home;
Salamis, Ajax's island, is now our grave;
Here Medes and Persians and Phoenician ships
We fought and defeated, to protect sacred Greece. And their honorary sepulchre at the Isthmus has on it this epitaph:—
And their honorary tomb at the Isthmus has this inscription on it:—
When Greece upon the point of danger stood,
We fell, defending her with our life-blood.
When Greece was on the brink of danger,
We fell, defending her with our lives.Moreover, on the offerings of Diodorus, one of the Corinthian sea-captains, reserved in the temple of Latona, there is this inscription:—
Moreover, on the offerings of Diodorus, one of the Corinthian sea captains, displayed in the temple of Latona, there is this inscription:—
Diodorus's seamen to Latona sent
These arms, of hostile Medes the monument
Diodorus's sailors sent these weapons to Latona, a memorial of the enemy Medes.
And as for Adimantus himself, against whom Herodotus frequently inveighs,—saying, that he was the only captain who went about to fly from Artemisium, and would not stay the fight,—behold in how great honor he is:—
And as for Adimantus himself, whom Herodotus often criticizes, claiming that he was the only captain who tried to flee from Artemisium and wouldn't stick around for the fight—look at the high regard he is held in:—
Here Adimantus rests: the same was he,
Whose counsels won for Greece the crown of liberty.
Here Adimantus rests: he was the one,
Whose advice earned Greece the crown of freedom.For neither is it probable, that such honor would have been shown to a coward and a traitor after his decease; nor would he have dared to give his daughters the names of Nausinica, Acrothinius, and Alexibia, and his son that of Aristeas, if he had not performed some illustrious and memorable action in that fight. Nor is it credible that Herodotus was ignorant of that which could not be unknown even to the meanest Carian, that the Corinthian women alone made that glorious and divine prayer, by which they besought the Goddess Venus to inspire their husbands with a love of fighting against the barbarians. For it was a thing divulged abroad, concerning which Simonides made an epigram to be inscribed on the brazen image set up in that temple of Venus which is said to have been founded by Medea, when she desired the goddess, as some affirm, to deliver her from loving her husband Jason, or, as others say, to free him from loving Thetis. The tenor of the epigram follows:—
For it's unlikely that such honor would have been given to a coward and a traitor after his death; nor would he have dared to name his daughters Nausinica, Acrothinius, and Alexibia, and his son Aristeas, if he hadn't accomplished some remarkable and memorable feat in that battle. It's also hard to believe that Herodotus didn't know what even the simplest Carian would have known—that only the women of Corinth offered that glorious and divine prayer, asking the Goddess Venus to inspire their husbands with a desire to fight against the barbarians. This was widely known, and Simonides even wrote an epigram to be inscribed on the bronze statue placed in that temple of Venus, which is said to have been founded by Medea when she asked the goddess, as some say, to free her from loving her husband Jason, or, as others claim, to release him from loving Thetis. The text of the epigram is as follows:—
For those who, fighting on their country's side,
Opposed th' imperial Mede's advancing tide,
We, votaresses, to Cythera pray'd;
Th' indulgent power vouchsafed her timely aid,
And kept the citadel of Hellas free
From rude assaults of Persia's archery.
For those who fought on their country’s side,
Opposed the imperial Mede’s advancing tide,
We, followers of Cythera, prayed;
The gracious power granted her timely aid,
And kept the bastion of Hellas safe
From the harsh attacks of Persia’s archery.These things he should rather have written and recorded, than have inserted Aminocles's killing of his son.
He should have written and recorded these things instead of including Aminocles's killing of his son.
After he had abundantly satisfied himself with the accusations brought against Themistocles,—of whom he says that, unknown to the other captains, he incessantly robbed and spoiled the islands,—(Herodotus, viii. 112.) he at length openly takes away the crown of victory from the Athenians, and sets it on the head of the Aeginetans, writing thus: "The Greeks having sent the first-fruits of their spoils to Delphi, asked in general of the god, whether he had a sufficient part of the booty and were contented with it. He answered, that he had enough of all the other Greeks, but not of the Aeginetans for he expected a donary of them, as having won the greatest honor in the battle at Salamis." (Ibid. viii. 122.) See here how he attributes not his fictions to the Scythians, to the Persians, or to the Egyptians, as Aesop did his to the ravens and apes; but using the very person of the Pythian Apollo, he takes from Athens the chief honor of the battle at Salamis. And the second place in honor being given to Themistocles at the Isthmus by all the other captains,—every one of which attributed to himself the first degree of valor, but give the next to Themistocles,—and the judgment not coming to a determination, when he should have reprehended the ambition of the captains, he said, that all the Greeks weighed anchor from thence through envy, not being willing to give the chief honor of the victory to Themistocles. (Ibid. viii. 123, 124.)
After he had thoroughly satisfied his curiosity about the accusations against Themistocles—who he claims, without the other captains knowing, constantly stole and plundered the islands—(Herodotus, viii. 112.) he finally takes the crown of victory from the Athenians and places it on the head of the Aeginetans, writing: "The Greeks, having sent the first fruits of their spoils to Delphi, asked the god whether he had received enough of the booty and was satisfied. He replied that he had plenty from all the other Greeks, but not from the Aeginetans, as he expected a gift from them for having achieved the greatest honor in the battle at Salamis." (Ibid. viii. 122.) Notice how he doesn’t attribute his fabrications to Scythians, Persians, or Egyptians, like Aesop did with his fables about crows and monkeys; instead, using the very figure of the Pythian Apollo, he takes the top honor from Athens for the battle at Salamis. Additionally, the second place in honor was awarded to Themistocles at the Isthmus by all the other captains—each of whom believed they deserved the top spot for bravery but handed the next spot to Themistocles. When the decision didn’t come to a conclusion and he should have called out the captains' ambition, he stated that all the Greeks set sail out of envy, unwilling to grant the top honor of the victory to Themistocles. (Ibid. viii. 123, 124.)
In his ninth and last book, having nothing left to vent his malice on but the Lacedaemonians and their glorious action against the barbarians at Plataea, he writes, that the Spartans at first feared lest the Athenians should suffer themselves to be persuaded by Mardonius to forsake the other Greeks; but that now, the Isthmus being fortified, they, supposing all to be safe at Peloponnesus, slighted the rest, feasting and making merry at home, and deluding and delaying the Athenian ambassadors. (Herodotus, ix. 8. See also viii. 141.) How then did there go forth from Sparta to Plataea a thousand and five men, having every one of them with him seven Helots? Or how came it that, exposing themselves to so many dangers, they vanquished and overthrew so many thousand barbarians? Hear now his probable cause of it. "It happened," says he, "that there was then at Sparta a certain stranger of Tegea, named Chileus, who had some friends amongst the Ephori, between whom and him there was mutual hospitality. He then persuaded them to send forth the army, telling them that the fortification on the Isthmus, by which they had fenced in Peloponnesus, would be of no avail if the Athenians joined themselves with Mardonius." (Ibid. ix. 9.) This counsel then drew Pausanias with his army to Plataea; but if any private business had kept that Chileus at Tegea, Greece had never been victorious.
In his ninth and final book, having no one left to direct his anger toward except the Spartans and their heroic actions against the barbarians at Plataea, he writes that the Spartans initially worried the Athenians might be convinced by Mardonius to abandon the other Greeks. However, now that the Isthmus was fortified, they believed everything was secure in the Peloponnesus and disregarded the others, enjoying feasts and celebrations at home while tricking and stalling the Athenian ambassadors. (Herodotus, ix. 8. See also viii. 141.) So how did a thousand and five men leave Sparta for Plataea, each bringing along seven Helots? Or how is it that they faced so many dangers and defeated thousands of barbarians? Here’s his explanation. "It happened," he says, "that there was a certain foreigner from Tegea, named Chileus, in Sparta, who had friends among the Ephori, and there was mutual hospitality between them. He convinced them to send out the army, arguing that the fortifications on the Isthmus, which secured Peloponnesus, would be useless if the Athenians allied with Mardonius." (Ibid. ix. 9.) This advice prompted Pausanias to lead his army to Plataea; but if Chileus had been busy with personal matters in Tegea, Greece might never have achieved victory.
Again, not knowing what to do with the Athenians, he tosses to and fro that city, sometimes extolling it, and sometimes debasing it. He says that, contending for the second place with the Tegeatans they made mention of the Heraclidae, alleged their acts against the Amazons, and the sepulchres of the Peloponnesians that died under the walls of Cadmea, and at last brought down their discourse to the battle of Marathon, saying, however, that they would be satisfied with the command of the left wing. (Ibid. ix. 26, 27.) A little after, he says, Pausanias and the Spartans yielded them the first place, desiring them to fight in the right wing against the Persians and give them the left, who excused themselves as not skilled in fighting against the barbarians. (Ibid. ix. 46.) Now it is a ridiculous thing, to be unwilling to fight against an enemy unless one has been used to him. But he says farther, that the other Greeks being led by their captains to encamp in another place, as soon as they were moved, the horse fled with joy towards Plataea, and in their flight came as far as Juno's temple. (Ibid. ix. 52.) In which place indeed he charges them all in general with disobedience, cowardice, and treason. At last he says, that only the Lacedaemonians and the Tegeates fought with the barbarians, and the Athenians with the Thebans; equally defrauding all the other cities of their part in the honor of the victory, whilst he affirms that none of them joined in the fight, but that all of them, sitting still hard by in their arms, betrayed and forsook those who fought for them; that the Phliasians and Megarians indeed, when they heard Pausanias had got the better, came in later, and falling on the Theban horse, were all cut off; that the Corinthians were not at the battle, and that after the victory, by hastening on over the hills, they escaped the Theban cavalry. (See the account of the battle of Plataea, Herodotus, ix, 59-70.) For the Thebans, after the barbarians were overthrown, going before with their horse, affectionately assisted them in their flight; to return them thanks (forsooth) for the marks they had stigmatized them with at Thermopylae! Now what rank the Corinthians had in the fight at Plataea against the barbarians, and how they performed their duty, you may hear from Simonides in these verses:
Again, unsure of how to handle the Athenians, he swings back and forth about that city, sometimes praising it and sometimes criticizing it. He mentions that, while competing for second place with the Tegeatans, they talked about the Heraclidae, referenced their battles with the Amazons, and the graves of the Peloponnesians who died at the walls of Cadmea, eventually bringing the conversation to the battle of Marathon, stating that they would be content with leading the left wing. (Ibid. ix. 26, 27.) Shortly after, he notes that Pausanias and the Spartans granted them the top position, asking them to fight in the right wing against the Persians while giving the left wing to themselves, claiming they weren’t experienced in fighting against the barbarians. (Ibid. ix. 46.) It’s amusing to be reluctant to fight an enemy unless accustomed to them. He further states that as the other Greeks, led by their commanders, prepared to camp elsewhere, the cavalry eagerly bolted toward Plataea, reaching as far as Juno's temple in their rush. (Ibid. ix. 52.) In that moment, he accuses them all collectively of disobedience, cowardice, and betrayal. He concludes that only the Lacedaemonians and the Tegeates fought against the barbarians, while the Athenians battled the Thebans, thereby robbing all other cities of their share of the victory’s honor, insisting that none of them joined the fight, but instead remained still nearby, arms in hand, betraying and abandoning those who were fighting on their behalf; that the Phliasians and Megarians, upon hearing of Pausanias’ victory, later joined in and attacked the Theban cavalry, only to be completely wiped out; that the Corinthians were absent from the battle and that after the victory, they quickly made their way over the hills to avoid the Theban cavalry. (See the account of the battle of Plataea, Herodotus, ix, 59-70.) After the barbarians were defeated, the Thebans took the lead with their cavalry, eagerly helping them in their escape, as if to express gratitude for the marks of disgrace they had received at Thermopylae! For the role of the Corinthians in the battle at Plataea against the barbarians, and how they fulfilled their responsibilities, you can hear from Simonides in these verses:
I' th' midst were men, in warlike feats excelling,
Who Ephyre full of springs, inhabited,
And who in Corinth, Glaucus' city, dwelling,
Great praise by their great valor merited;
Of which they to perpetuate the fame,
To th' gods of well-wrought gold did offerings frame.
In the midst were men, excelling in martial skills,
Who lived in Ephyre, rich in springs,
And who, dwelling in Corinth, the city of Glaucus,
Earned great praise for their outstanding bravery;
To keep their fame alive,
They made offerings of finely crafted gold to the gods.For he wrote not these things, as one that taught at Corinth or that made verses in honor of the city, but only as recording these actions in elegiac verses. But Herodotus, whilst he desires to prevent that objection by which those might convince him of lying who should ask, Whence then are so many mounts, tombs, and monuments of the dead, at which the Plataeans, even to this day, celebrate funeral solemnities in the presence of the Greeks?—has charged, unless I am mistaken, a fouler crime than that of treason on their posterity. For these are his words: "As for the other sepulchres that are seen in Plataea, I have heard that their successors, being ashamed of their progenitors' absence from this battle, erected every man a monument for posterity's sake." (Herodotus, ix. 85.) Of this treacherous deserting the battle Herodotus was the only man that ever heard. For if any Greeks withdrew themselves from the battle, they must have deceived Pausanias, Aristides, the Lacedaemonians, and the Athenians. Neither yet did the Athenians exclude the Aeginetans who were their adversaries from the inscription, nor convince the Corinthians of having fled from Salamis before the victory, Greece bearing witness to the contrary. Indeed Cleadas, a Plataean, ten years after the Persian war, to gratify, as Herodotus says, the Aeginetans, erected a mount bearing their name. Now came it then to pass that the Athenians and Lacedaemonians, who were so jealous of each other that they were presently after the war ready to go together by the ears about the setting up a trophy, did not yet repel those Greeks who fled in a fear from the battle from having a share in the honor of those that behaved themselves valiantly, but inscribed their names on the trophies and colossuses, and granted them part of the spoils? Lastly they set up an altar, on which was engraven this epigram:
For he didn’t write these things as someone teaching in Corinth or composing poems praising the city, but simply as a record of these events in elegiac verse. However, Herodotus, wanting to avoid the criticism from those who might question him about the many mounds, tombs, and monuments of the dead—where the people of Plataea still hold funeral ceremonies in front of the Greeks—has accused their descendants of committing a worse crime than treason. His words are: "Regarding the other tombs seen in Plataea, I’ve heard that their successors, ashamed of their ancestors' absence from this battle, each erected a monument for future generations." (Herodotus, ix. 85.) Herodotus was the only one ever to report such a betrayal in the battle. If any Greeks did withdraw, they must have misled Pausanias, Aristides, the Lacedaemonians, and the Athenians. The Athenians also didn’t exclude their rivals, the Aeginetans, from the inscription, nor did they accuse the Corinthians of fleeing from Salamis before victory, with Greece bearing witness to the contrary. In fact, Cleadas, a Plataean, ten years after the Persian war, built a mound named after the Aeginetans to please them, as Herodotus states. So how is it that the Athenians and Lacedaemonians, who were so competitive that they nearly fought over setting up a trophy right after the war, did not prevent those Greeks who fled in fear from sharing in the glory of the brave? Instead, they included their names on the trophies and monuments and allowed them a portion of the spoils. Finally, they erected an altar with this inscription:
The Greeks, by valor having put to flight
The Persians and preserved their country's right,
Erected here this altar which you see,
To Jove, preserver of their liberty.
The Greeks, through bravery chasing away
The Persians and safeguarding their country's way,
Built this altar that you see here,
To Jupiter, protector of their freedom.Did Cleadas, O Herodotus, or some other, write this also, to oblige the cities by flattery? What need had they then to employ fruitless labor in digging up the earth, to make tombs and erect monuments for posterity's sake, when they saw their glory consecrated in the most illustrious and greatest donaries? Pausanias, indeed, when he was aspiring to the tyranny, set up this inscription in Delphi:—
Did Cleadas, O Herodotus, or someone else write this to flatter the cities? Why would they bother with the pointless effort of digging into the ground to create tombs and build monuments for future generations, when their glory was already honored in the most famous and significant gifts? Pausanias, in fact, when he was aiming for tyranny, put up this inscription in Delphi:—
Pausanias, of Greeks the general
When he the Medes in fight had overthrown,
Offered to Phoebus a memorial
Of victory, this monumental stone.
Pausanias, the Greek general,
After he defeated the Medes in battle,
Dedicated this monument
To Phoebus as a memorial of victory.In which he gave the glory to the Greeks, whose general he professed himself to be. Yet the Greeks not enduring but utterly misliking it, the Lacedaemonians, sending to Delphi, caused this to be cut out, and the names of the cities, as it was fit, to be engraven instead of it. Now how is it possible that the Greeks should have been offended that there was no mention made of them in the inscription, if they had been conscious to themselves of deserting the fight? or that the Lacedaemonians would have erased the name of their leader and general, to insert deserters and such as withdrew themselves from the common danger? For it would have been a great indignity, that Sophanes, Aeimnestus, and all the rest who showed their valor in that fight, should calmly suffer even the Cythnians and Melians to be inscribed on the trophies; and that Herodotus, attributing that fight only to three cities, should raze all the rest out of those and other sacred monuments and donaries.
In which he praised the Greeks, claiming to be their general. However, the Greeks, unable to tolerate it and finding it completely unacceptable, the Lacedaemonians, sending a message to Delphi, had this removed and the names of the cities appropriately engraved instead. How could the Greeks have been upset about not being mentioned in the inscription if they knew they had abandoned the fight? Or why would the Lacedaemonians have removed the name of their leader and general to replace it with names of those who deserted and withdrew from the common danger? It would be a huge disgrace for Sophanes, Aeimnestus, and all the others who demonstrated their bravery in that battle to allow even the Cythnians and Melians to be honored on the trophies; and for Herodotus to credit that battle solely to three cities while erasing all the others from these and other sacred monuments and offerings.
There having been then four fights with the barbarians; he says, that the Greeks fled from Artemisium; that, whilst their king and general exposed himself to danger at Thermopylae, the Lacedaemonians sat negligent at home, celebrating the Olympian and Carnean feasts; and discoursing of the action at Salamis, he uses more words about Artemisia than he does in his whole narrative of the naval battle. Lastly, he says, that the Greeks sat still at Plataea, knowing no more of the fight, till it was over, than if it had been a skirmish between mice and frogs (like that which Pigres, Artemisia's fellow countryman, merrily and scoffingly related in a poem), and it had been agreed to fight silently, lest they should be heard by others; and that the Lacedaemonians excelled not the barbarians in valor, but only got the better, as fighting against naked and unarmed men. To wit, when Xerxes himself was present, the barbarians were with much difficulty compelled by scourges to fight with the Greeks; but at Plataea, having taken other resolutions, as Herodotus says, "they were no way inferior in courage and strength; but their garments being without armor was prejudicial to them, since being naked they fought against a completely armed enemy." What then is there left great and memorable to the Grecians of those fights, if the Lacedaemonians fought with unarmed men, and the other Greeks, though present, were ignorant of the battle; if empty monuments are set up everywhere, and tripods and altars full of lying inscriptions are placed before the gods; if, lastly, Herodotus only knows the truth, and all others that give any account of the Greeks have been deceived by the fame of those glorious actions, as the effect of an admirable prowess? But he is an acute writer, his style is pleasant, there is a certain grace, force, and elegancy in his narrations; and he has, like a musician, elaborated his discourse, though not knowingly, still clearly and elegantly. These things delight, please, and affect all men. But as in roses we must beware of the venomous flies called cantharides; so must we take heed of the calumnies and envy lying hid under smooth and well-couched phrases and expressions, lest we imprudently entertain absurd and false opinions of the most excellent and greatest cities and men of Greece.
There were then four battles with the barbarians; he says that the Greeks ran away from Artemisium; that while their king and general put himself in danger at Thermopylae, the Spartans lounged at home celebrating the Olympic and Carnean festivals; and when discussing the battle at Salamis, he writes more about Artemisia than he does about the entire naval battle. Lastly, he mentions that the Greeks stayed still at Plataea, knowing just as little about the fight, until it was over, as if it had been a scuffle between mice and frogs (like that which Pigres, Artemisia’s fellow countryman, humorously and mockingly described in a poem), and that it was agreed to fight quietly, so others wouldn't hear them; and that the Spartans were not more valorous than the barbarians, but only prevailed because they were fighting against naked, unarmed men. Specifically, when Xerxes himself was present, the barbarians were reluctantly forced to fight the Greeks; but at Plataea, having made different decisions, as Herodotus says, "they were by no means inferior in courage and strength; but their clothing lacked armor, which worked against them, since they fought unprotected against fully armed opponents." So what is left that is great and memorable for the Greeks about those battles, if the Spartans fought unarmed men and the other Greeks, though present, were unaware of the battle; if empty monuments are set up everywhere, and tripods and altars filled with false inscriptions are placed before the gods; if, ultimately, only Herodotus knows the truth, and all others recounting the Greeks' actions have been misled by the fame of those glorious deeds, perceived as signs of incredible bravery? But he is a sharp writer, his style is engaging, there is a certain charm, strength, and elegance in his storytelling; and he has crafted his narrative like a musician, not necessarily knowing, but still clearly and elegantly. These elements please and move everyone. Yet just as we must be cautious of the harmful flies called cantharides among roses; we must also be wary of the slanders and envy hidden beneath smooth and well-crafted phrases, lest we unwittingly adopt absurd and false views of the most excellent and greatest cities and people of Greece.
INDEX.
Abuse of and by one's enemies.
Achelous, myths of the.
Achelous, myths surrounding him.
Achilles, Homer's lessons from.
Lessons from Achilles, by Homer.
Achilles's Grove.
Achilles' Grove.
Acrotatus, saying of.
Acrotatus's saying.
Actaeon, tragic history of.
Actaeon's tragic story.
Actors, tragic vs. comic.
Tragic vs. comic actors.
Administration, caution about.
Admin, exercise caution.
Admonitions, on hearing.
Warnings, upon hearing.
Adrastea, root of madness.
Adrastea, source of madness.
Adultery and curiosity compared.
Cheating and curiosity compared.
Advantage from enemies.
Gain from enemies.
Aeantis, chorus of tribe.
Aeantis, tribe's chorus.
Aegyptus, Nile formerly called.
Egypt, formerly called Aegyptus.
[Greek],
[Greek]
Aemilii, tyrants called.
Aemilii, called tyrants.
Aemilius, Paulus.
Aemilius Paulus.
Aenianes, the.
The Aenians.
Aeschines the Academic, Life of; quoted.
Aeschines the Academic, Life of; quoted.
Aeschylus, verses of; quoted; paraphrase of Homer by.
Aeschylus, lines of; cited; summary of Homer by.
Aesculapius, temple of.
Temple of Aesculapius.
Aesop, at Delphi; at banquet of seven Wise Men.
Aesop, at Delphi; at the banquet of the seven Wise Men.
Agasicles, Spartan king.
Agasicles, king of Sparta.
Agathocles, king of Sicily.
Agathocles, King of Sicily.
Age, cause of old.
Age, reason for growing old.
Aged, the part of the, in state affairs; love of pure wine by; intoxication among the.
Aged, the part of the, in state affairs; love of pure wine by; intoxication among the.
Agenor, grove of.
Agenor, grove.
Agesilaus, sayings of.
Agesilaus, quotes.
Agesipolis, son of Cleombrotus.
Agesipolis, son of Cleombrotus.
Agesipolis, son of Pausanias.
Agesipolis, Pausanias's son.
Agis, King; example of; story of.
Agis, King; example of; story of.
Agis the Younger.
Agis II.
Air, an element.
Air, a substance.
Ajax, parents of; place of soul of.
Ajax, parents of; place of the soul of.
Alalcomenae, city called.
City called Alalcomenae.
[Greek]
[Greek]
Alcamenes, son of Teleclus.
Alcamenes, son of Teleclus.
Alcibiades, stories about.
Alcibiades, tales about.
Alcippus, wife and daughters of.
Alcippus, his wife and daughters.
Alexander the Great, sayings and stories of; and Timoclea; orations on; remark of Theocritus about; Diogenes and; in India; as a great drinker.
Alexander the Great, sayings and stories about; and Timoclea; speeches on; remark of Theocritus regarding; Diogenes and; in India; as a heavy drinker.
Alexander, tyrant of Pheraeans.
Alexander, ruler of Pheraeans.
Alexandridas, son of Laid to.
Alexandridas, son of Laid.
Allegory in Homer.
Allegory in Homer.
Almonds for drinkers.
Almonds for beverage lovers.
Alpha, position of, in alphabet.
Alpha, position in the alphabet.
Alpheus, history of.
Alpheus, a historical account.
Altar of ashes at Olympia.
Ashes altar at Olympia.
"Alter ego" of Pythagoras, parallel saying in Homer.
"Alter ego" of Pythagoras, similar saying in Homer.
Amasis, Herodotus relates a detail concerning.
Amasis, Herodotus shares an interesting detail about.
Amazonian river.
Amazon River.
Ambassadors, recording names of.
Listing names of ambassadors.
Ambition, accompaniments of.
Ambition and its accompaniments.
America, a hint of.
America, a touch of.
Ammon, Egyptian name for Jupiter; temple of.
Ammon, the Egyptian name for Jupiter; temple of.
Ammonius the philosopher.
Ammonius the philosopher.
[Greek]
[Greek]
Amoebus, musician.
Amoebus, artist.
Amphilochus, oracle of.
Oracle of Amphilochus.
Amplification in Homer.
Amplification in Homeric texts.
Anatole, mountain.
Anatole, mountain.
Anaxagoras, story of.
The story of Anaxagoras.
Anaxander, son of Eurycrates.
Anaxander, son of Eurycrates.
Anaxarchus.
Anaxarchus.
Anaxilas, saying of.
Saying of Anaxilas.
Anchus compared with Curtius.
Anchus vs. Curtius.
Ancients, council of.
Council of Ancients.
Andocides, Greek orator.
Andocides, Greek speaker.
Androclidas, saying of.
Androclidas, saying.
Anger, nature of; the restraint of; Homer on.
Anger, nature of; its control; what Homer says about it.
Animals, human beings born of; self-cures by wild; craftiness of water and of land; amours of, with human beings; reason in; generation of; embryos of; method of nutrition and growth of; appetites and pleasures in; vision of, in the dark.
Animals, human beings born from; self-healing through nature; cleverness of water and land; relationships with humans; reasoning in; development of; embryos of; ways of feeding and growing; desires and pleasures in; sight of, in the dark.
Answers to questions.
Questions answered.
Antalcidas, sayings of.
Antalcidas' sayings.
Anthedon, explanation of.
Anthedon, explanation.
Anticyra, cure of madness from.
Anticyra, cure for madness.
Antigonus the First.
Antigonus I.
Antigonus the Second.
Antigonus II.
Antiochus; surnamed the Falcon.
Antiochus, known as the Falcon.
Antiochus Hierax.
Antiochus Hierax.
Antiochus the third.
Antiochus III.
Antipater, nickname of.
Antipater, his nickname.
Antiphon, Greek orator.
Antiphon, Greek speaker.
Antiphrasis in Homer.
Antiphrasis in Homer.
Antithesis, Homer's use of.
Homer's use of antithesis.
Ants, intelligence of.
Ants' intelligence.
Apelles and Megabyzus.
Apelles and Megabyzus.
Apesantus, mountain.
Heavy, mountain.
[Greek], defined.
[Greek], defined.
[Greek]
[Greek]
Aphrodite, epithets of; statue of, at Elis; called "fruitful Cytherea."; charmed girdle of.
Aphrodite, titles of; statue of, at Elis; known as "fruitful Cytherea."; enchanted girdle of.
Aphrodite the Murderess, temple of.
Aphrodite the Murderess, temple.
Apis.
Bees.
Apollo, place of birth; temple of, at Delphi; derivation from [Greek] and [Greek]; titles of; an oracle delivered by; a flatterer the enemy of; motto in temple of; inventor of music; causes of common diseases are from.
Apollo, birthplace; temple of, at Delphi; origin from [Greek] and [Greek]; titles of; an oracle given by; a sycophant, the enemy of; motto in the temple of; creator of music; causes of common diseases come from.
Apollodorus, painter.
Apollodorus, artist.
Apollonius, consolation to, on death of son.
Apollonius, comfort to, on the death of his son.
Apoplexy produced by fumes of lamp-wick.
Stroke caused by lamp fumes.
{Greek]
{Greek}
Apostrophe, figure of speech called.
Apostrophe, a figure of speech.
Apothegms, of kings and great commanders; Roman; Laconic or Spartan; in Homer.
Apothegms from kings and great commanders; Roman; Laconic or Spartan; in Homer.
Appetites in animals.
Animal appetites.
Apples and apple-trees.
Apples and apple trees.
Araenus, sea shore of.
Araenus, seaside of.
Arar, river, derivation of name.
Arar, river, name origin.
Aratus, paraphrase of sayings of Homer by.
Aratus, a paraphrase of the sayings of Homer by.
Archimedes, story of.
The story of Archimedes.
Aregeus, sayings of.
Sayings of Aregeus.
Ares, varying opinions of.
Ares, different views on.
Aretaphila, Cyrenaean woman.
Aretaphila, woman from Cyrene.
Argive women, the.
Women of Argos.
Argives, images called; customs of.
Argives, called images; customs of.
Argyllus, mountain in Egypt.
Argyllus, mountain in Egypt.
Aristarchus, arrangement of Iliad and Odyssey by.
Aristarchus, organization of the Iliad and Odyssey by.
Aristides the Just.
Aristides the Just.
Aristippus, rebuke of a father by.
Aristippus, reprimanded by his father.
Aristo, punishment of.
Aristo, punishment.
Aristoclia of Haliartus.
Aristoclia from Haliartus.
Aristodemus, tyrant of Cumae.
Aristodemus, ruler of Cumae.
Ariston, sayings of.
Ariston's sayings.
Aristophanes, and Socrates; comparison between Menander and.
Aristophanes and Socrates; comparison between Menander and.
Aristotimus, tyrant of Elis; daughters of.
Aristotimus, the tyrant of Elis; his daughters.
Aristotle; on talkativeness; on use and abuse of wealth; on music; conception of God; views on indignation and mercy held in common with Homer.
Aristotle: on being talkative; on the use and abuse of wealth; on music; conception of God; his views on indignation and mercy shared with Homer.
Arithmetic of Pythagoras and in Homer.
Arithmetic of Pythagoras and in Homer.
Arrangement, Homer's skill in.
Homer's talent for arrangement.
Arrhippe, virgin ravished by Tmolus.
Arrhippe, virgin assaulted by Tmolus.
Artaxerxes Longimanus, sayings of.
Sayings of Artaxerxes Longimanus.
Artaxerxes Mnemon, sayings of.
Sayings of Artaxerxes Mnemon.
Artemis, temple of, at Ehpesus.
Temple of Artemis at Ephesus.
Asbestos produced by ancients.
Asbestos made by ancient people.
Asparagus for brides.
Asparagus for weddings.
Ass, connection of Typhon with; musical instruments made from bones of.
Ass, connection of Typhon with; musical instruments made from bones of.
Aster, stone called.
Aster, called stone.
Astronomy, observations concerning; goats show knowledge of; ancient; Homer's knowledge of.
Astronomy, observations about; goats demonstrate understanding of; ancient; Homer's understanding of.
Astycratidas, quoted.
Astycratidas, cited.
Asyndeton in Homer.
Asyndeton in Homer.
Ateas, sayings of.
Ateas, quotes of.
Atheism and superstition.
Atheism vs. superstition.
Atheists, beliefs of.
Atheist beliefs.
Athenaeum, mountain.
Athenaeum, mountain.
Athene Chalcioecus, temple of.
Temple of Athene Chalcioecus.
Athenians, decrees proposed to; question of renown of.
Athenians, proposed decrees regarding their reputation.
Athenodorus and Xeno.
Athenodorus and Xeno.
Atoms the final cause.
Atoms are the ultimate cause.
Attalus.
Attalus.
attention, directions concerning.
notice, instructions provided.
Augurs, tenure of office of.
Augurs, term of office of.
Augustus Caesar, in his later years.
Augustus Caesar, in his later years.
Aurea, cause of the.
Aurea, reason for the.
Auspices, prohibition of use of, after August.
Auspices, ban on use after August.
Autoglyphus, stone called.
Autoglyphus, called stone.
Autonamasia in Homer.
Autonamasia in Homer.
Autumn, men's stomachs in; least credit to dreams in.
Autumn, men are gaining weight; at least there's some hope for their dreams.
Axioms, complications of ten.
Assumptions, problems of ten.
Bacchus, called Liber Pater; called Bull-begot; Greek and Roman punished by; identity of Osiris and; feast of; Mithridates called, on account of great drinking; Adonis identified with; called the good counsellor; Herodotus' estimate of.
Bacchus, also known as Liber Pater and Bull-begot; punished by the Greeks and Romans; associated with the identity of Osiris; celebrated in the feast of; Mithridates referred to him due to his heavy drinking; Adonis linked with him; called the good advisor; as estimated by Herodotus.
Ballenaeus, mountain.
Ballenaeus, mountain.
Banishment, essay on.
Essay on banishment.
Banquets, philosophising at; arranging guests at; consular place at; position of director of; suitability of chaplets of flowers at; inviting many guests to; flute-girls at.
Banquets, discussing philosophy at; seating guests at; consular place at; director's position of; appropriateness of flower crowns at; inviting lots of guests to; flute girls at.
Barbers, talkativeness of.
Chattiness of barbers.
Barley, soil for growing.
Barley, soil for planting.
Barrenness, in women; of mules.
Infertility, in women; of mules.
Bashfulness.
Shyness.
Bathing after exercise.
Showering after exercise.
Baths, hot vs. cold; former compared with present; Homer on.
Baths, hot vs. cold; old compared to now; Homer on.
Bears, paws of, as food.
Bear paws for food.
Bees, Simonides' allusion to; illustrations drawn from; effect of smoke on; tendency of, to sting the impure; craftiness of Cretan.
Bees, mentioned by Simonides; examples taken from; impact of smoke on; tendency of them to sting the unclean; cunning of Cretan.
Beggars' flesh among Aenianes.
Beggars' plight among Aenianes.
Bellerophon, continence of.
Bellerophon's self-control.
Berecyntus, mountain and priest named.
Berecyntus, mountain and named priest.
Bessus, punishment of.
Bessus, consequences for.
Bias, Spartan leader.
Bias, Spartan leader.
Bird or egg, which was first?
Bird or egg, which came first?
Birds, in soothsaying; wisdom shown by; tree which is a natural snare for.
Birds predicting the future; wisdom revealed by; trees that act as natural traps for.
Birth, value of good.
Birth, value of goodness.
Birthdays of famous men.
Famous men's birthdays.
Births, premature.
Preterm births.
Biton and Cleobis.
Biton and Cleobis.
Boar, characteristics of the.
Characteristics of the boar.
Boars, trees, sweet.
Boars, trees, and sweetness.
Bodies, division and mixture of.
Bodies, division, and mixture of.
Body, definition of a.
Definition of a body.
Boeotians, sullenness of.
Boeotians, moodiness of.
Boeotus, son of Neptune.
Boeotus, son of Poseidon.
Bona, temple of.
Bona, temple.
Borrowers, treatment of.
Borrowers, treatment of.
Borrowing money.
Taking out a loan.
Bottiaean maids.
Bottiaean girls.
Boys, Sepulchre of the; love of; Herodotus on defiling of.
Boys, Sepulchre of the; love of; Herodotus on desecration of.
Boys' necklaces.
Men's necklaces.
Brasidas, sayings of; stories of.
Brasidas, quotes; tales.
Breathing, theory about.
Theory about breathing.
Bridal customs, Roman.
Roman wedding traditions.
Brides, food for.
Brides, food for thought.
Britain, fountain-head of religion; longevity of inhabitants of.
Britain, the source of religion; the long lifespan of its people.
Brixaba, mountain.
Brixaba, mountain.
Bronze, weapons of.
Bronze weapons.
Broth, Lacedaemonian.
Broth, Spartan.
Brotherly love.
Bro love.
Brothers and sisters, Greek and Roman parallels concerning.
Brothers and sisters, let's talk about the similarities between Greek and Roman cultures.
Bucephalus, intelligence of.
Bucephalus, intelligence of.
Bulimy, greedy disease.
Binge-eating, greedy disease.
Bullae, boys' necklaces.
Bullae, boys' necklaces.
Bundle of sticks story.
Bundle of sticks tale.
burial, among Lacedaemonians.
burial, among Spartans.
Bysius, the month.
Bysius, the month.
Caesar, Augustus, sayings of.
Sayings of Caesar, Augustus.
Caesar, Julius, stories and sayings of.
Caesar, Julius, stories and quotes about him.
Caicus, river of Mysia.
Caicus River, Mysia.
Callicratidas, Spartan admiral.
Callicratidas, Spartan naval commander.
Callipides, Greek actor.
Callipides, Greek actor.
Calydon, mountain.
Calydon Mountain.
Camillus, dictator.
Camillus, leader.
Camma, story of.
Camma's story.
Candles, matter of extinguishing.
Candles, how to put out.
Carbonate of soda, ancient use of.
Carbonate of soda, historical uses of.
Carmenta, temple of.
Temple of Carmenta.
Carmina, verses called.
Called verses, Carmina.
Cases, changes of, in Homer.
Cases in Homer.
Caspian Sea.
Caspian Sea.
Castor and Pollux, statues of; stars called.
Castor and Pollux, statues of; stars called.
Catechresis in Homer.
Catechresis in Homer.
Cato the Elder, at Utica.
Cato the Elder, in Utica.
Cats, Egyptian views on; the young of; madness of; caused by perfumes.
Cats, Egyptian perspectives on; their offspring; insanity caused by; perfumes.
Cattle, salt used for.
Used for cattle and salt.
Catulus, Lutatius.
Catulus, Lutatius.
Caucasus, mountain, story of.
Caucasus mountain story.
Caudine Forks, Roman hero at.
Caudine Forks, Roman hero there.
Causes, definition and division of.
Causes, definition, and classification of.
Celtic women, the.
Celtic women.
Censors, inauguration ceremonies of.
Censors of inauguration ceremonies.
Ceres, feast in honour of.
Feast in honor of Ceres.
Chabrias, sayings of.
Chabrias' sayings.
Chalcedonian women, custom of.
Chalcedonian women, tradition of.
Chaldeans, belief of.
Chaldean beliefs.
Changes of gender, number, etc., in Homer.
Changes in gender, number, etc., in Homer.
Charila, sacrificial rites of.
Charila, sacrificial rituals of.
Charillus, King.
King Charillus.
Charon, Homer a disciple of.
Homer, a disciple of Charon.
Chastity, of animals; herb for protection of.
Chastity, for animals; herbs for protection.
Child-birth, effect of moon on.
Moon's effect on childbirth.
Children, time of naming Roman; training of; love of only; conception and birth of.
Children, the time for naming Romans; their training; love alone; conception and birth.
Chiomara, story of.
Chiomara, a story.
Chios, women of.
Women of Chios.
[Greek]
[Greek]
Christianity, allusions to.
Christianity references.
Chrysermus, History of India by.
Chrysermus, History of India by.
Chrysippus, on various virtues; works of.
Chrysippus, on different virtues; works of.
Cicero, sayings of.
Cicero's sayings.
Cios, women of.
Cios, women.
Circe and Odysseus.
Circe and Odysseus.
Cithaeron, mountain.
Cithaeron, the mountain.
Civil polity, division of, by Homer.
Civil polity, division of, by Homer.
Claudia, virtues of.
Claudia, virtues of.
Cleanthes, Athenian philosopher.
Cleanthes, philosopher from Athens.
Clearchus, tyrant of Heraclea.
Clearchus, ruler of Heraclea.
Cleomachus the Pharsalian.
Cleomachus from Pharsalus.
Cleombrotus, son of Pausanias.
Cleombrotus, son of Pausanias.
Cleombrotus the Lacedaemonian.
Cleombrotus from Sparta.
Cleomenes, quoted.
Cleomenes, cited.
Cleomenes, son of Anaxandridas.
Cleomenes, son of Anaxandridas.
Cleomenes, son of Cleombrotus.
Cleomenes, Cleombrotus's son.
Clitoris, stone called.
Clitoris, known as stone.
Cloelia, Roman maiden.
Cloelia, Roman girl.
Clothing of Lacedaemonians.
Lacedaemonian clothing.
Clouds, causes of.
Causes of clouds.
Cnidians, Crown of the.
Cnidian Crown.
Coccygium, mountain.
Coccygium, mountain.
Cocks, use of, according to Chrysippus.
Cocks, use of, according to Chrysippus.
Coeranus, story of.
Coeranus, the story.
Coins, images on.
Coins, images on display.
Cold, first principle of; a preserver of health; use of, in Homer.
Cold, the first principle; a means of maintaining health; its use in Homer.
Coliads, the.
The Coliads.
Colour, defined.
Color, defined.
Colours of early painters.
Colors of early artists.
Colotes the Epicurean.
Colotes the Epicurean.
Comedy, origin of, with Homer.
Comedy's origins with Homer.
Comets, beliefs about.
Beliefs about comets.
Commendation, consideration in.
Commendation, for consideration.
Comminius, story of.
Story of Comminius.
Congelation.
Freezing.
Conjugal precepts.
Marriage rules.
Constancy, crowns of.
Crowns of constancy.
Consualia, feasts called.
Consualia, called feasts.
Consular place at table.
Consular position at the table.
Copiousness, a character of speech.
Abundance, a characteristic of speech.
Corinthians, Hall of the.
Hall of the Corinthians.
corruption, are animals obnoxious to?
Are animals obnoxious to corruption?
Cotys, sayings of.
Cotys, quotes.
Counting, by fives; animals' power of; in Homer.
Counting by fives; the strength of animals; in Homer.
Cranes, intelligence of; fish compared with.
Cranes, intelligence of; fish compared to.
Crassus, hay bound about horns of.
Crassus, hay bound about horns of.
Crater history, vase called.
Crater history, named vase.
Creation of the world.
Creating the world.
Crocodiles, intelligence of; the bird trochilus the friend of; customs of, in breeding.
Crocodiles, their intelligence; the bird trochilus, their friend; customs, in breeding.
Croesus, Herodotus on.
Croesus, according to Herodotus.
Cronium, mountain.
Cronium, mountain.
Cronos, festivals of.
Cronos, festivals of.
Crystallus, river called.
Crystallus, the river is called.
Cuffing, exercise of.
Cuffing season activities.
Cupping-glasses, phenomenon in.
Cupping glasses, a phenomenon.
Curiosity, essay on.
Essay on curiosity.
Curius, M'., story of.
Curius, M'., story.
Curtius, Roman knight.
Curtius, Roman noble.
Cuttle-fish, sign of storm; cunning of.
Cuttlefish, a sign of a storm; cleverness of.
Cybele, worship of.
Worship of Cybele.
Cynic and king anecdote.
Cynic and king story.
Cyrenaics, temperance of.
Cyrenaic moderation.
Cyrus, sayings of.
Cyrus' sayings.
Cyrus the Younger, sayings of.
Cyrus the Younger, quotes of.
Daemon of Socrates.
Socrates' daemon.
Daemons, remarks on.
Remarks on daemons.
Damindas, story of.
Story of Damindas.
Damis, quoted.
Damis, cited.
Damonidas, sayings of.
Damonidas, quotes of.
Dancing, three parts in.
Three-part dance.
Darius, sayings of; Alexander the Great and the corpse of; Alexander and the wife of.
Darius, sayings of; Alexander the Great and the body of; Alexander and the wife of.
Darkness, visibility of; reason of animals' seeing in.
Darkness, visibility of; reason for animals' ability to see in it.
Daughters sacrificed by fathers.
Fathers sacrificed their daughters.
Day, time of beginning.
Start date and time.
Dead, rites of the honoured.
Funeral rites of the honored.
Death, opinions of; remarks on; sleep before; a good thing; cause of; question of appertaining to soul or body.
Death, thoughts on; comments about; sleep before; a positive thing; reason for; question of relating to soul or body.
deaths of sons, cases of.
son deaths, cases of.
debtors, unfortunate lot of.
debtors, unfortunate group of.
Decrees proposed to Athenians.
Decrees suggested to Athenians.
Defamation of character, curiosity results in.
Defamation of character leads to curiosity.
Deity, knowledge of a.
Knowledge of a deity.
Demaratus, sayings of.
Demaratus, quotes of.
Demeter, wanderings of.
Demeter's wanderings.
Demetrius, sayings of.
Demetrius, quotes.
Demetrius Phalereus.
Demetrius Phalereus.
Demetrius the grammarian.
Demetrius the grammar expert.
Democracy depicted by Homer.
Democracy portrayed by Homer.
Democritus, attacked by Colotes the Epicurean; defence of.
Democritus, criticized by Colotes the Epicurean; defense of.
Demosthenes, Life of; speech ON THE CROWN; parallel passages in Homer and.
Demosthenes, Life of; speech ON THE CROWN; similar sections in Homer and.
Dercyllidas, Spartan ambassador.
Dercyllidas, Spartan envoy.
Destiny, necessity considered the same as.
Destiny and necessity are seen as the same thing.
Dexicrcon, Venus of.
Dexicrcon, Venus.
Diana, temples of, in Rome; priestesses of.
Diana, temples of, in Rome; priestesses of.
Diana Dictynna.
Diana Dictynna.
Diana Orthia, rites of.
Diana Orthia, rituals of.
Diatyposis in Homer.
Diatyposis in Homer.
Didymus the Cynic, surnamed Planetiades.
Didymus the Cynic, also known as Planetiades.
Diet of Lacedaemonians; in sickness; in health; effect of, on health; variety in; Homer's views about.
Diet of the Spartans; in illness; in wellness; impact of, on health; variety in; Homer's opinions on.
Digestion of food.
Food digestion.
Dinarchus, Greek orator.
Dinarchus, Greek speaker.
Diogenes, Alexander and; advice of, to boys; soliloquy of; sayings and stories of; Melanthius on a tragedy of; eats a raw fish.
Diogenes, Alexander and; advice for boys; soliloquy of; sayings and stories of; Melanthius on a tragedy of; eats a raw fish.
Dion, sayings of.
Dion's sayings.
Dionysius, tyrant of Sicily.
Dionysius, ruler of Sicily.
Dionysius the Hydragogue.
Dionysius the Water Bringer.
Dionysius the Younger; Diogenes and.
Dionysius the Younger; Diogenes, etc.
Diorphus, mountain.
Diorphus, mountain.
Director of a feast.
Feast director.
Discourse, separating the useful part of a.
Discourse, dividing the useful part of a.
Diseases, causes of new.
New disease causes.
Divination, art of; Homer's knowledge of.
Divination, art of; Homer's understanding of.
Dog, Locrians' wooden; Worship of, by Egyptians; power of mimicry in a.
Dog, wooden figure of Locrians; Worship of, by Egyptians; power of mimicry in a.
Dogs, set before Lares; sacrifice of, to Mana Geneta; sacrifice of, in Lupercal games; stone-chasing of; intelligence shown by.
Dogs, dedicated to Lares; sacrifices made to Mana Geneta; sacrifices during the Lupercal games; stone-chasing activities; intelligence displayed by.
Dolphin, tribute to the.
Tribute to the dolphin.
Domitius, Cneus.
Cneus Domitius.
"Do not overdo," saying.
"Don't overdo it," saying.
[Greek] defined.
[Greek] defined.
Dreams, origin of.
Origin of dreams.
Drimylus, mountain.
Drimylus, mountain.
Drinkers, certain great.
Great drinkers.
"Drink five or three, but not four," saying.
"Drink five or three, but definitely not four," they say.
Drinking, references to, in the Iliad.
Drinking, references to, in the Iliad.
Drugs in Homer.
Drugs in Homer.
Druidical students.
Druid students.
Drunkenness, talkativeness and; of old men as compared with old women; partial compared with total.
Drunkenness, talkativeness, and old men compared to old women; partial compared to total.
Earth, an element; nature and magnitude of the; figure, site and position, motion, and zones of. See World.
Earth, an element; its nature and size; shape, location and position, movement, and regions of. See World.
Earthquakes, cause of.
Causes of earthquakes.
Ease of mind; in exile.
Peace of mind; in exile.
Echo, production of an.
Echo, a production of.
Eclipse, cause of; shadow in an, in proportion to moon's diameter; of sun; of moon.
Eclipse, cause of; shadow in an eclipse, in proportion to the moon's diameter; of the sun; of the moon.
Eclipses in Homer.
Eclipses in Homer.
Education of children.
Child education.
{Greek]
{Greek}
Egypt, kings of.
Kings of Egypt.
Egyptian gods and myths; legend about Love.
Egyptian gods and myths; tale about Love.
EI the word, on Apollo's temple at Delphi.
EI the word, on Apollo's temple at Delphi.
Elaeus, founding of.
Founding of Elaeus.
Elaphebolia, festival of.
Elaphebolia festival.
Elasii.
Elasii.
Element, difference between principle and.
Element, difference between principle and practice.
Elements, Nature viewed as the mixture and separation of the; of members of human body; and principles.
Elements, nature seen as the combination and separation of the members of the human body and principles.
Elephant, amour of an, with Alexandrian maid.
Elephant, love of one, with Alexandrian girl.
Elephantiasis.
Elephantiasis.
Elephants, intelligence of; excelled by fishes.
Elephants are smart; but fish are even smarter.
Elephas, mountain.
Elephant, mountain.
Eleutheria, origin of festival of.
Eleutheria, origin of the festival.
Ellipse, a figure of speech.
Ellipse, a rhetorical device.
Embryo, nature of human; of animals.
Embryo, nature of humans; of animals.
Emetics, use of.
Use of emetics.
Emmets, intelligence of.
Emmets, intelligence of.
Empedocles, quoted; strictures of Colotes against; defence of.
Empedocles, quoted; criticisms from Colotes against; defense of.
Emphasis, trope called.
Called emphasis, trope.
Emprepes, story of.
Story of Emprepes.
Enmities accompany friendship.
Rivalries come with friendship.
Enmity, advantage and profit from.
Hostility, benefit, and profit from.
Envy, follows ability; an enemy to peace of mind; and hatred; praising one's self without exciting; in hearers; the aged most free from attacks proceeding from; of statesmen.
Envy comes after ability; it's an enemy to peace of mind; and hatred; it makes you praise yourself without stirring up feelings in others; the elderly are most free from attacks coming from statesmen.
Epaenetus, on liars.
Epaenetus, about liars.
Epaminoxidas, stories of.
Epaminoxidas, tales of.
Epicaste.
Epicaste.
Epicureans, theories of.
Epicurean theories.
Epicurus, the doctrine of; admits it is pleasanter to do than receive a kindness; views on the deity; Colotes, disciple of, confuted; followers of, distinguished by inactivity in public matters.
Epicurus' teachings state that it's more enjoyable to give kindness than to receive it; he has specific views about the divine; Colotes, one of his disciples, was refuted; his followers are recognized for their lack of involvement in public issues.
Epidamnians, POLETES among.
Epidamnians, POLETES included.
Epigrams in Homer.
Epigrams in Homer.
Epilepsy, "sacred disease,".
Epilepsy, the "sacred disease."
Epiphonesis in Homer.
Epiphonesis in Homer.
Epitaphs, uselessness of.
Uselessness of epitaphs.
Epithets in Homer.
Epithets in Homeric texts.
Eretria, women of.
Women of Eretria.
Eryxo.
Eryxo.
[Greek]
[Greek]
Euboidas, saying of.
Euboidas, a saying of.
Eudaemonidas, quoted.
Eudaemonidas, as quoted.
Eudamidas, son of Archidamus.
Eudamidas, son of Archidamus.
Eumenes; and Attalus.
Eumenes and Attalus.
Eunostus, hero of Tanagra.
Eunostus, hero from Tanagra.
Euphranor, painter.
Euphranor, artist.
Euphrates, myths of the.
Myths of the Euphrates.
Euripides, quoted; on banishment; on God; paraphrase of Homer by.
Euripides, quoted; on exile; on God; paraphrase of Homer by.
Eurotas, river.
Eurotas River.
Eurycratidas, son of Anaxandridas.
Eurycratidas, son of Anaxandridas.
Euthynous the Italian.
Euthynous the Italian.
Evenus, quotation from.
Evenus, quote from.
Exercise, importance of; Homer's acquaintance with value of.
Exercise, importance of; Homer's knowledge of its value.
Exercises, Homer's order of.
Homer's order of exercises.
Exordiums, Homer's.
Homer's prologues.
Fabius, friend of Augustus Caesar.
Fabius, friend of Augustus.
Fabius Maximus, heroic act of.
Fabius Maximus, heroic deed of.
Fabricius, C., and Pyrrhus.
Fabricius, C., and Pyrrhus.
Face in the moon.
Moon face.
Failing sickness.
Terminal illness.
False modesty.
Fake humility.
Fancy, defined.
Fancy, defined.
"Fast from evil," saying.
"Abstain from evil," saying.
Fasting, practice of; thirst from.
Fasting; caused by thirst.
Fate, necessity considered the same as; the nature of; essay concerning; pertains to mind of God; Homer's views of.
Fate and necessity are viewed as the same; related to the nature of; an essay about; pertains to the mind of God; Homer’s perspectives on.
Fates, province of the.
Province of Fates.
Fathers, and daughters, certain Greek and Roman cases of; advice to; love of, for daughters.
Fathers and daughters, some examples from Greek and Roman times; guidance for; affection for daughters.
Fear, and superstition; Homer on.
Fear and superstition; Homer on.
Feast of Fools.
Feast of Fools.
Feasts. See Banquets.
Feasts. See Banquets.
February, derivation of.
February, origin of.
Fever, cause and nature of.
Fever: its causes and nature.
Fig-leaf as an omen.
Fig-leaf as a sign.
Fig-trees, fruit of.
Fig tree fruit.
Figures, definition of.
Definition of figures.
Figures of speech, Homer's.
Homer's figures of speech.
Fire, compared with water as to usefulness; an element.
Fire, when compared to water in terms of usefulness; an element.
Fish, abstention from eating; cunning of; kind of, called remora or echeneis; eating of, forbidden by Pythagoreans.
Fish, not eating them; cleverness of; type known as remora or echeneis; consumption of, restricted by Pythagoreans.
Fish-lines, horses' hair for.
Fishing lines made from horsehair.
Fish-nets, rotting of.
Fishnet rot.
Five, significance of number; the number dedicated by the Wise Men.
Five, the importance of the number; the number assigned by the Wise Men.
Five elements in the world.
Five elements in the world.
Five gods of Rhea.
Five gods of Rhea.
Fives, counting by.
Counting by fives.
Five senses, the.
The five senses.
Five Wise Men.
Five Wise Guys.
Flamen Dialis, question concerning; rules for.
Flamen Dialis, questions regarding; regulations for.
Flaminian Way.
Flaminian Road.
Flattery vs. friendship.
Flattery or friendship.
Flesh, of sacrificed beasts; the eating of.
Flesh from sacrificed animals; the act of eating it.
Flowers, chaplets of, worn at table.
Flowers, garlands of, worn at the table.
Flute, mentioned by Homer.
Flute, mentioned by Homer.
Flute-girls at feasts.
Flute players at parties.
Flute-music.
Flute music.
Flutes from asses' bones.
Flutes made from donkey bones.
"Follow God," saying.
"Follow God," they said.
Food, superstitions about; choice of; digestion of; from the sea vs. food from land. See Diet.
Food, superstitions about; selection of; digestion of; from the sea vs. food from land. See Diet.
Fortuna Primigenia, Worship of.
Worship of Fortuna Primigenia.
Fortune, temples of; of the Romans; essay on; various opinions of.
Fortune, temples of; of the Romans; essay on; various opinions of.
Four, the number, venerated by Pythagoreans.
Four, the number, revered by Pythagoreans.
Four species of animals.
Four animal species.
Fox, cunning of the.
Cunning fox.
Freedom of speech, ill-advised.
Free speech, questionable advice.
Friends, folly of seeking many; discerning flatterers from.
Friends, it's foolish to seek many; discern between true friends and flatterers.
Friendship, a dual relation; enmities an accompaniment of; constancy a requisite in.
Friendship is a two-way relationship; conflicts come with it; loyalty is essential.
Frogs, breeding of.
Breeding frogs.
Frost, hunting impeded by.
Frost, hunting hindered by.
Frozen speech.
Stuck speech.
Fruit, salt lacking in.
No fruit, no salt.
Funeral customs in Homer.
Funeral traditions in Homer.
Funeral rites, Roman.
Roman funeral rites.
Furciferi.
Furciferi.
G, the letter, introduction of.
Introduction of the letter G.
Galatia, heroines of.
Galatia, heroines of.
Galaxy, or Milky Way.
Galaxy or Milky Way.
Galba and Maecenas.
Galba and Maecenas.
Ganges, river, story of.
Ganges River, a story of.
Gardens of Adonis.
Adonis Gardens.
Garlands, of oaken leaves; in games.
Garlands made of oak leaves; in games.
Garlic, scruples concerning.
Garlic, ethical concerns.
Garrulity.
Talkativeness.
Gauran, mountain.
Gauran, mountain.
Geese, sacred.
Sacred geese.
Gelo, sayings of.
Gelo's sayings.
Genders, change of, in Homer.
Gender changes in Homer.
Generation, extent of a.
Generation, scope of a.
Generation, and corruption; of human beings; ancient theories of; of animals; of gods.
Generation and corruption of humans, ancient theories about animals and gods.
Generative seed.
Genetic seed.
Geneta, dogs sacrificed to.
Geneta, dogs sacrificed for.
Geniuses and heroes.
Geniuses and heroes.
Geometer, God as a.
God as a Geometer.
Gifts, bridal.
Bridal gifts.
Gnome, defined; Homer's use of.
Gnome, defined; Homer's usage of.
Gnossians, customs among.
Gnossians, customs involved.
God, the tutelary, of Rome; existence and essence of a; what is?; immortality and eternity of; Platonic conception of; Homer's conception.
God, the protector of Rome; the nature and essence of a; what is it?; the immortality and eternity of; Platonic idea of; Homer's idea.
Gods, ancients' conception of; generation of; Homer's belief in; piety toward, taught by Homer.
Gods, the ancient understanding of; their creation; Homer's belief in; the reverence for them, as taught by Homer.
Gold, scarcity of, in ancient times.
Gold, lack of, in ancient times.
Gracefulness, a character of speech.
Graceful speech.
Grafting of trees.
Tree grafting.
Great Trench, battle of the.
Battle of the Great Trench.
Greedy disease.
Greed is a disease.
Greek Questions.
Greek Questions.
Grief, advice concerning; exhibitions of; Homer on.
Grief, advice about; displays of; Homer on.
Grief-easing stone.
Healing stone.
Guests, at wedding suppers; entertainment of many, at a supper; that are called shadows; who come late. See also Banquets.
Guests at wedding receptions; entertainment for many at a dinner; they are called shadows; who arrive late. See also Banquets.
Gymnastics in Homer.
Gymnastics in Homer.
Haemus, mountain.
Haemus, mountain.
Hail, why round.
Hail, why the round shape?
Halcyon, virtues of the.
Halcyon virtues.
Halinda, plant called.
Halinda, called a plant.
Halo, cause of the.
Halo, the reason for it.
Hamaxocylists, race of.
Hamaxocylists, a race.
Hannibal, Fabius Maximus and; and the women of Salmantica.
Hannibal, Fabius Maximus, and the women of Salmantica.
Happiness, true seat of.
True source of happiness.
Harmony, in music.
Harmony in music.
Harp-music.
Harp music.
Harps, at entertainments.
Harp performances at events.
Hart, tears of, salt.
Salt tears of Hart.
Hatred, envy and.
Hatred and envy.
Hay-making, prayers for.
Prayers for haymaking.
Head, covering and uncovering the.
Covering and uncovering the head.
Health, estimates of; rules for preservation of; preservers of.
Health, estimates of; guidelines for preservation of; preservers of.
Hearing, essay concerning; cause of sense of.
Hearing, essay about; reason for the sense of.
Heart, seat of the emotions according to Stoics, following Homer.
Heart, the center of emotions according to the Stoics, following Homer.
Heat, a first principle; causes premature old age; of women; Homer's appreciation of.
Heat, a fundamental principle; leads to premature aging; in women; Homer's understanding of it.
Heaven, nature end essence of; circles or division of.
Heaven, nature, and essence; circles or divisions.
Hebrus river.
Hebrus River.
Hedge-hogs, cunning of; sea hedge-hogs.
Hedgehogs, cleverness of; sea urchins.
Hegesippus, quoted.
Hegesippus, as quoted.
Helicon, story of.
Helicon, the story of.
Hens, impregnation of, by the wind.
Hens getting pregnant from the wind.
Hera as goddess of marriage.
Hera, goddess of marriage.
Heraclides, wrestler, a great drinker.
Heraclides, wrestler, a heavy drinker.
Herbs growing in certain rivers and mountains.
Herbs growing in specific rivers and mountains.
Hercules, payment of tithes to; swearing by; and the Muses, altar common to; sacrifices to; Greek and Roman stories of; Herodotus' estimate of.
Hercules, payment of tithes to; swearing by; and the Muses, altar common to; sacrifices to; Greek and Roman stories of; Herodotus' estimate of.
Herodotus, on modesty of women; criticism of.
Herodotus, on women's modesty; criticism of.
Heroes, beliefs concerning; of Homer.
Beliefs about heroes; of Homer.
Heroic metre in Homer.
Homer's heroic meter.
Herondas, saying of.
Herondas, saying of.
Hesiod, on gods, daemons, heroes, and men; quoted; on begetting children; on receiving gifts of fortune.
Hesiod, on gods, spirits, heroes, and humans; quoted; on having children; on receiving gifts of luck.
Hiero, sayings of.
Hiero, quotes of.
Hippocratidas.
Hippocratidas.
Hippodamus, Spartan commander.
Hippodamus, Spartan leader.
Hippolytus, story of.
The story of Hippolytus.
Hippothorus, tune called.
Hippothorus, called tune.
Histriones, players called.
Actors, they were called.
Hogs, Jews' antipathy toward.
Jews' dislike of hogs.
Homer, on prophets; gives name of friendship to sexual love; quoted; on bravery; unmetrical line of; on man's wretched lot; on modesty; on advantages of music; order of different kinds of exercises according to; on intercourse between men and their wives; calls salt divine; epithets applied to liquids by; a moot point in third book of Iliad; essay on life and poetry of; biographical sketch of; the two works of; metre and dialects used by; epithets used by; tropes found in; figures of speech in; various styles used by; on constitution of the universe; natural philosophy of; on God and the gods; on the human soul; places emotions about the heart; on virtue and vice; mention of arithmetic and music in; philosophies which found their origin with; sayings of, paraphrased by later writers; rhetorical art of; types represented in his speakers; knowledge of laws; civil polity in; experience of, in warlike affairs; heroes described by; knowledge of medicine, diet, wine, surgery, etc.; of divination and omens; of tragedy and comedy; mastery of word-painting.
Homer discusses prophets; he uses the term friendship to describe sexual love; he is quoted on courage; he has an unmeasured line about man's miserable condition; he addresses modesty; he talks about the benefits of music; he organizes different types of exercises according to his views; he discusses interactions between men and their wives; he calls salt sacred; he uses specific terms to describe liquids; he presents a debated point in the third book of the Iliad; he writes an essay on life and poetry; there’s a biographical sketch of him; there are two works attributed to him; he employs particular meters and dialects; he uses certain epithets; he includes various literary tropes; he has notable figures of speech; he explores different styles; he writes about the universe’s structure; he delves into natural philosophy; he discusses God and the gods; he examines the human soul; he associates emotions with the heart; he talks about virtue and vice; he mentions arithmetic and music; his philosophies influenced later thinkers; his sayings have been paraphrased by later writers; he is skilled in rhetoric; he represents various types in his characters; he has a solid understanding of laws; he addresses civil government; he has experience in military matters; he describes heroes; he possesses knowledge in medicine, diet, wine, surgery, and more; he discusses divination and omens; he explores tragedy and comedy; he excels in vivid language.
Homoioptelon in Homer.
Homoioptelon in Homer.
Homoioteleuton, Homer's use of.
Homer's use of homoioteleuton.
Honor, the god so called.
Honor, the so-called god.
Honor to parents, in Homer.
Respect your parents, in Homer.
Horatius and Horatia, and Greek parallel.
Horatius and Horatia, and the Greek counterpart.
Horse, cure of a stumbling.
Horse, remedy for stumbling.
Horse-races, rites of.
Horse racing rituals.
Horses called [Greek].
Horses known as [Greek].
Horta, temple of.
Horta, temple of.
Hostages, Roman virgins as.
Hostages, Roman virgins too.
Hunger, causes of; allayed by drinking.
Hunger, causes of; eased by drinking.
Hurricanes, causes of.
Causes of hurricanes.
Hybristica, rites of.
Hybristica, rituals of.
Hydaspes, river.
Hydaspes River.
Hyperbole in Homer.
Hyperbole in Homer.
Hyperides, Greek orator.
Hyperides, Greek speaker.
Hysteropotmi.
Hysteroptomy.
Ibis, worship of the; use of physic by; figure of, first letter in Egyptian alphabet.
Ibis, worship of the; use of medicine by; representation of, first letter in Egyptian alphabet.
Ibycus, story of murderers of.
Ibycus, story of murderers.
Icarius, story of.
Story of Icarus.
Icebergs, tradition of.
Iceberg tradition.
Ichneumon, armor of the; outmatched by the trochilus.
Ichneumon, armor of the; outmatched by the hummingbird.
Ida, Mount.
Ida Mountain.
Idathyrsus, sayings of.
Idathyrsus, quotes from.
Ideas, defined.
Ideas, explained.
Idleness, a gentlemanly crime; and health.
Idleness, a classy wrongdoing; and health.
Idola of Democritus originate with Homer.
Idols of Democritus come from Homer.
Imagination, defined.
What is imagination?
Immortality of the soul.
Soul's immortality.
Impotency in men.
Erectile dysfunction in men.
Inachus, river.
Inachus River.
Incense used by Egyptians.
Egyptians used incense.
Inclination of the world.
World's inclination.
Incongruous, a figure of speech.
Incongruous, a rhetorical device.
India, river and mountain of; Alexaiider the Great in.
India, the land of rivers and mountains; of Alexander the Great.
Indus, story of the.
The story of the Indus.
Ino.
Ino.
Inquisitiveness.
Curiosity.
Intemperance in eating.
Overeating.
Intercourse between men and their wives.
Intercourse between men and their wives.
Interpreters of oracles.
Oracle interpreters.
Intoxication, signs of. See Drunkenness. Introductions, Homer's.
Intoxication, signs of. See Drunkenness. Introductions, Homer's.
Ion the poet, cited.
Ion the poet, referenced.
Iphicrates, sayings of.
Sayings of Iphicrates.
Ireland, mention of.
Ireland, mention of.
Iris-struck trees.
Iris-colored trees.
Irony, use of, in Homer.
Irony in Homer.
Isaeus, Greek orator.
Isaeus, Greek speaker.
Isis and Osiris, essay on.
Essay on Isis and Osiris.
Imnenus, river.
Imnenus River.
Isocrates, Greek orator.
Isocrates, Greek speaker.
Isosceles triangles.
Isosceles triangles.
Isthmian games, crowns at.
Isthmian games, crowns awarded at.
Ivy, beliefs concerning; consecrated to Bacchus and to Osirls; the nature of.
Ivy, beliefs about; dedicated to Bacchus and to Osiris; its nature.
January as the first month.
January is the first month.
Janus, double-faced god; image of, on coins.
Janus, the two-faced god; depicted on coins.
Jealousy. See Envy.
Jealousy. Refer to Envy.
Jesting at an entertainment.
Joking at a show.
Jews, allusion to; Spartans of same stock as the; effect of superstition on; abstention of, from swine's flesh; customs of; God worshipped by.
Jews, reference to; Spartans who share the same heritage; impact of superstition on; their avoidance of pork; traditions of; God they worship.
Jocasta, death of.
Jocasta, death.
Journeys, days for beginning.
Journeys, days to start.
Juno, Roman beliefs about; nuptial ceremonies connected with.
Juno, Roman beliefs about; wedding ceremonies connected with.
Jupiter, priests of; conception of year belonging to; rules or priests of; statue of, in Caria. See Zeus.
Jupiter, priests of; concept of the year associated with; rules or priests of; statue of, in Caria. See Zeus.
Justice, ancients' conception of.
Ancient concept of justice.
JUS TRIUM LIBERORUM.
Jus Trium Liberorum.
[Greek], Cretans called.
Cretans called it [Greek].
Kingly rule, Homer's praise of.
Homer's praise of royal rule.
Kissing, custom of.
Kissing tradition.
"Know thyself," Delphic motto; to be observed by censorious persons.
"Know yourself," Delphic motto; to be followed by critical people.
[Greek] and [Greek].
[Greek] and [Greek].
[Greek].
[Greek].
[Greek].
[Greek].
L, the letter, pronounced R.
L, the letter, pronounced as R.
Labotus, saying of.
Labotus, saying of.
Labradean Jupiter, statue of.
Statue of Labradean Jupiter.
Lacedaemonians, laws and customs of.
Laws and customs of Spartans.
Lais, famous courtesan.
Lais, renowned escort.
Lamachus, story of.
Story of Lamachus.
Lamp, the unextinguishable.
Lamp, the never-ending.
Lamps, putting out of.
Lamps, turning off.
Lampsace.
Lampshade.
Language, care of the. Sea Speech.
Language, care of the. Sea Speech.
Lanthorns of priests.
Priests' lanterns.
Lares, customs concerning.
Lares, related customs.
"Larks must have their crests," Greek proverb.
"Larks need their crests," Greek proverb.
Laurentia, worship of.
Laurentia, faith or devotion to.
Law, power of, over kings; Homer's knowledge of the word.
Law, the power over kings; Homer's understanding of the term.
Leaena, Greek heroine.
Leaena, Greek hero.
Leisure, healthful use of.
Healthy leisure activities.
Lemnos, women of.
Women of Lemnos.
Leo, son of Eucratidas.
Leo, son of Eucratidas.
Leonidas, hero of Therinopylae.
Leonidas, hero of Thermopylae.
Leotychidas, son of Aristo.
Leotychidas, son of Aristo.
Leotychidas the First.
Leotychidas I.
Leprosy, from drinking swine's milk; from dewy trees; stone which cures.
Leprosy, from drinking pig's milk; from dewy trees; stone that heals.
Letters, avoidance of haste in opening; of alphabet.
Letters, take your time when opening; about the alphabet.
"Let this be ratified," saying.
"Let this be approved," saying.
Leucophyllus, reed with white leaf.
White-leaved reed, leucophyllus.
Leucothea, festivals of.
Leucothea festivals.
Liars, a saying about.
Saying about liars.
Libertinism and liberty.
Libertinism and freedom.
Libitina.
Libitina.
Licinius, Publius.
Publius Licinius.
Lictors, derivation of name.
Lictors, origin of the name.
Lightning, theories concerning.
Lightning theories.
Lilaeus, mountain.
Lilaeus Mountain.
Lion, tracks of the.
Lion's tracks.
Lions, cunning of.
Cunning of lions.
Liquids, in one's diet; epithets of; passage of, through the lungs.
Liquids in your diet; terms for; movement through the lungs.
"Live unknown," precept.
"Live unknown," principle.
Loadstone, the.
The Loadstone.
Lochagus, quoted.
Lochagus, cited.
Locrians, information about the.
Locrians, info about the.
Love, tragical histories of; festival to God of; essay on; brotherly; men made poets by.
Love, tragic stories of; festival to God of; essay on; brotherly; men made poets by.
Lovers of boys.
Boys' lovers.
LUCAR, derivation of.
LUCAR, origin of.
Lucullus.
Lucullus.
Lugdunum, mountain and city.
Lugdunum, city in the mountains.
Lungs, passage of drink through.
Lungs, pathway for drinking.
Lupercal plays.
Lupercal events.
Lutatius Catulus.
Lutatius Catulus.
Lute, invention of.
Invention of the lute.
Lycia, women of.
Women of Lycia.
Lycormas, river.
Lycormas River.
Lycurgus, Life of; teaches brevity and terseness.
Lycurgus, Life of; emphasizes conciseness and clarity.
Lydian mood in music.
Lydian mode in music.
Lyre, playing on the; mention of, by Homer.
Lyre, playing on the mention of, by Homer.
Lysander, Lacedaemonian general; stories and sayings of.
Lysander, general from Sparta; tales and quotes about him.
Lysias, Greek orator.
Lysias, Greek speaker.
Macellum, market called.
Macellum, the market name.
Madness, anger and; root and plant for causing and curing.
Madness, anger, and the roots and plants for causing and curing.
Maeander, river.
Maeander River.
Magpie, story of a.
Magpie, a story of.
Manlius, M.
Manlius, M.
Mare, child horn of a.
Mare, child's horn of a.
Marius, C.; and Sylla.
Marius, C. & Sylla.
Marriage customs, Roman.
Roman marriage customs.
Marriage of kindred.
Marriage between relatives.
Mars, Greek and Roman parallels concerning.
Mars, the parallels from Greek and Roman mythology regarding him.
Marsyas, Phrygian river.
Marsyas, Phrygian river.
Matter, defined; motion and.
Matter, defined; motion and.
"Matters of concern to-morrow,".
"Matters of concern tomorrow,"
Matuta, temple of; festivals of.
Matuta, temple; festivals.
Maximus, Fabius, stories of.
Maximus and Fabius' stories.
May, Roman marriages forbidden during.
May, Roman marriages banned then.
Meals, Latin and Greek names of.
Meals, names in Latin and Greek of.
Meat, the eating of; putrefaction of, by moon.
Meat, the act of eating; decay caused by the moon.
Medicine, Homer's familiarity with.
Homer's knowledge of medicine.
Medietics, harmonical and arithmetical.
Medietics, harmonic and arithmetic.
Megisto, and Aristotimus.
Megisto and Aristotimus.
Melian women, the.
Melian women.
Memnon, sayings of.
Sayings of Memnon.
Memory, cultivating the.
Cultivating memory.
Men, impotency in.
Men’s impotence.
Menander, quoted; comparison between Aristophanes and.
Menander, quoted; comparison between Aristophanes and.
Mercury, statue of, among the Graces; statues of.
Mercury, statue of, among the Graces; statues of.
Metageitnia, festival.
Metageitnia festival.
Metaphor in Homer.
Metaphor in Homeric texts.
Metellus, Caecillus.
Metellus, Caecilius.
Metellus Nepos.
Metellus Nepos.
Meteors resembling rods.
Rod-shaped meteors.
Metonymy in Homer.
Metonymy in Homer.
Micca, story of.
Micca's story.
Midas fountain of.
Midas fountain.
Milesian women.
Milesian women.
Milky Way.
Milky Way Galaxy.
Mills grinding, listeners to.
Listeners to grinding mills.
Minerals, ancient production of.
Ancient mineral production.
Minerva, priestess of.
Minerva, goddess and priestess.
Minerva of the Brazen House.
Minerva of the Brazen House.
Minerva the Artisan and Minerva the Protectress of Cities.
Minerva the Artisan and Minerva the Guardian of Cities.
Minstrels, women's dress worn by.
Women's dress worn by minstrels.
Mirror, comparison of wife and.
Wife comparison in the mirror.
Mirrors, rusting of; of the ancients; the working of.
Mirrors, rusting of; of the ancients; the working of.
Miscarriage, herb for causing.
Herb for inducing miscarriage.
Mithridates, and the woman of Pergamus; a great drinker.
Mithridates, and the woman from Pergamus; a heavy drinker.
Mixarchagetas.
Mixarchagetas.
Mnemosyne, mother of Muses.
Mnemosyne, the mother of Muses.
Mob rule in Homer.
Mob rule in Homer.
Modesty, the vice of false; of women.
Modesty, the false vice of women.
Monarchy, democracy, and oligarchy compared.
Monarchy, democracy, and oligarchy compared.
Monophagi, the, in Aegina.
Monophagi in Aegina.
Monstrosities, birth of.
Birth of monstrosities.
Month, relation between Juno and the.
Month, relation between Juno and the.
Months, order of; beginnings and periods of.
Months, order; starts and lengths.
Moon, relation of Juno to; the face in the; influence of, on tides; and Styx; essence, size, figure, light of, etc.; putrefaction of flesh exposed to.
Moon, Juno's connection to; the face in the; its influence on tides; and Styx; essence, size, shape, light of, etc.; decomposition of flesh exposed to.
Moons on shoes.
Shoe moons.
Moon-worship.
Moon worship.
Moral virtue.
Ethical virtue.
Mothers, love of, for sons.
Mothers' love for sons.
Motion, defined; of the soul.
Motion, defined; of the spirit.
Mountains, names of, and details concerning.
Mountains, their names, and the details about them.
Mourning, white, for women.
Sorrowful white for women.
Mucius Scaevola.
Mucius Scaevola.
Mule, an intelligent; fable of, laden with salt; barrenness of the.
Mule, an intelligent fable about the burden of salt and the emptiness of it.
Mullets, beliefs regarding.
Mullets, opinions about.
Muses, derivation of name; observation about the number of.
Muses, origin of the name; remarks about the quantity of.
Mushrooms, produced by thunder.
Thunder-produced mushrooms.
Music, Lacedaemonian; essay concerning; effect of, on various animals; pleasures arising from bad; kind of, fittest for entertainments; as mentioned in Homer.
Music, Lacedaemonian; essay about; its effect on different animals; pleasures that come from poor music; types that are best for entertainment; as noted in Homer.
Musicians, ancient.
Ancient musicians.
Must, effect of cold on.
Effect of cold on must.
Mutation, a figure of speech.
Mutation, a rhetorical device.
Mutilations of mourners.
Mutilations of mourners.
Mycenae, mountain.
Mycenae, mountain location.
Myenus, mountain of Aetolia.
Myenus, mountain in Aetolia.
Myops, magic herb.
Myops, magical herb.
Myronides.
Myronides.
Myrrh used for incense.
Myrrh for incense.
Namertes, remark of.
Namertes, comment about.
Naming Roman children.
Naming kids in Rome.
Narrative style found in Homer.
Narrative style of Homer.
Natural philosophy; of Homer.
Philosophy of Nature; by Homer.
Natural Questions.
Natural Queries.
Nature, sentiments concerning; what is?
Nature, feelings about; what is?
Necessity, philosophers on.
Philosophers on necessity.
Necklaces called bullae.
Bullae necklaces.
Nestor and Odysseus in Homer.
Nestor and Odysseus in Homer.
Nicander, sayings of.
Nicander's sayings.
Xicostratus, saying of.
Xicostratus, quote of.
Niger and the fish-bone.
Niger and the fishbone.
Night, the time for thought; called the good adviser; noises better heard in, than in day.
Night is a time for reflection; it's known as the good adviser; sounds are easier to hear then than during the day.
Nile, river; the over-flowing of the; use of water of, for drinking.
Nile, river; the overflowing of the; use of water for drinking.
Nine, most perfect number.
Nine, the most perfect number.
"No," courage to say.
"No," the courage to say.
Noisy-with-the-pen, nickname bestowed on Antipater.
Noisy-with-the-pen, nickname given to Antipater.
Nome, derivation of.
Name origin.
North Pole, Homer's and Plutarch's knowledge of.
North Pole, what Homer and Plutarch knew about it.
"Nothing too much," inscribed in temple of Apollo; in homer.
"Nothing in excess," inscribed in the temple of Apollo; in Homer.
"Not so had" philosophy.
"Not so had" philosophy.
Nouns and verbs, speech composed of.
Nouns and verbs are what speech is made of.
Numa, reign of.
Numa, rule of.
Number, the perfect; change of, in Homer.
Number, the perfect; change of, in Homer.
Numbers, superstitions concerning; in procreation of the soul; Pythagorean view of nature of; triangular; science of, in Pythagoras and in Homer.
Numbers, superstitions related to; in the creation of the soul; Pythagorean perspective on the nature of; triangular; science of, in Pythagoras and in Homer.
Nursing of children.
Childcare.
Nutrition and growth of animals.
Animal nutrition and growth.
Nymphs, life of.
Life of nymphs.
Oak, garlands of leaves of; "darkness at the oak,".
Oak, garlands of leaves; "darkness at the oak."
Oaths, by Hercules; forbidden to priests.
Oaths, by Hercules; off-limits for priests.
Ochimus.
Ochimus.
Ocresia, Roman virgin.
Ocresia, Roman maiden.
Ocridion, temple of.
Ocridion, temple of.
Octaves in music.
Octaves in music.
Odd and even numbers in Homer.
Odd and even numbers in Homer.
Odysseus, Circe and; self-control of; Homer's meaning in.
Odysseus, Circe, and the importance of self-control in Homer's narrative.
Offspring, affection for one's.
Love for one's children.
Ogyian isle (Ireland).
Ogyian Island (Ireland).
Oil, poured on the sea; cause of transparency of; considered as purely liquid.
Oil, spilled in the ocean; causing a loss of clarity; viewed as simply a liquid.
Old men, council of. See Aged.
Old men, council of. See Aged.
Oligarchy depicted by Homer.
Oligarchy shown by Homer.
Olympus, inventor of Grecian and nomic music.
Olympus, creator of Greek and traditional music.
Onesicratus.
Onesicrates.
Onions for lung disease.
Onions for respiratory issues.
Onobatis, woman called.
Onobatis, the woman calls.
Onomatopoeia in Homer.
Sound words in Homer.
Oracles, essay on the cessation of.
Oracles, essay on the end of.
Oracular responses.
Prophetic answers.
Orations, political.
Political speeches.
Orators, Lives of the Ten.
Orators, Lives of the Ten.
Oratory, extempore and studied.
Public speaking, spontaneous and prepared.
Orestes, story of, and Roman parallel.
Orestes, the story, and its Roman counterpart.
Orontes, sayings of.
Orontes, quotes of.
Orpheus, thrown into the Hebrus.
Orpheus, thrown into the Hebrus.
Oryx, fables of the.
Oryx and Crake, the fables.
[Greek]
[Greek]
Osiris, Isis and; birth of; death of; derivation of name.
Osiris, Isis, and the birth of, death of, and origin of the name.
Otus, method of capturing the.
Otus, method of capturing it.
Outspokenness, false and true.
Honesty, both genuine and fake.
Overeating.
Binge eating.
Overturners of wagons.
Wagon overturners.
Ox, sacrifice of, by Pyrrhias; in Egyptian sacrifices; and the camel.
Ox, sacrifice of, by Pyrrhias; in Egyptian sacrifices; and the camel.
Oxen, hay bound about horns of; counting by.
Oxen, with hay tied around their horns; counting by.
Oxyrhyncus, worship of the.
Worship of the Oxyrhynchus.
Pactolus, river of Lydia.
Pactolus, a river in Lydia.
Paedaretus, anecdote of; sayings of.
Paedaretus, stories and sayings.
Painting, defined as silent poetry; Homer a master in painting by words.
Painting is like silent poetry, and Homer is a master at painting with words.
Palaestinus, river, and son of Neptune.
Palaestinus, river, and son of Neptune.
Palillogia, Homer's use of.
Homer's use of Palillogia.
[Greek], defined.
[Greek], defined.
Palladium, Greek and Roman parallels relating to.
Palladium, relating to Greek and Roman parallels.
Palm, garlands of, given in games.
Palm, garlands of, awarded in competitions.
Palms, growth of, increased by weights laid on them.
Palms grow better when weights are placed on them.
Pan, Spania derived from.
Origin of Pan, Spain.
Panaema, derivation of.
Panaema, origin of.
Pangaeus, mountain.
Pangaeus, mountain.
Panthoidas, sayings of.
Sayings of Panthoidas.
Parallels drawn between Greek and Roman history.
Parallels drawn between Greek and Roman history.
Paranomasia in Homer.
Homer's wordplay.
Paraphrases of Homer by later writers.
Paraphrases of Homer by later authors.
Parembole, a figure of speech.
Parembole, a rhetorical device.
Parents, advice to; honor to, shown in Homer.
Parents, advice to; honor to, shown in Homer.
Parison, a figure of speech.
Parison, a rhetorical device.
Parmenides, on love; an Epicurean's attack on; defence of.
Parmenides, on love; an Epicurean's criticism of; defense of.
Parsley, crowns of.
Parsley crowns.
Partridges, cunning of.
Cunning partridges.
Parysatis, sayings of.
Parysatis' sayings.
Passions of the body.
Body passions.
Pater Patratus.
Father Pat.
Patres Conscripti distinguished from Patres.
Patres Conscripti distinguished from Patres.
Patricians prohibited to dwell about Capitol.
Patricians are not allowed to live near the Capitol.
Pausanias, son of Cleombrotus.
Pausanias, son of Cleombrotus.
Pausanias, son of Plistonanax.
Pausanias, son of Plistonanax.
Pausanias and Cleonice.
Pausanias and Cleonice.
Peace of mind; in exile.
Peace of mind; in exile.
Pedagogues, choice of. See Tutors.
Teachers, choice of. See Tutors.
Pedetes, Andron in Samos called.
Pedetes, Andron in Samos.
Peeping Girl, the.
The Peeping Girl.
Pergamus, the woman of.
Pergamus, the woman of.
Pericles, sayings of.
Sayings of Pericles.
Peripatetics and Homer.
Peripatetics and Homer.
Periphrasis in Homer.
Periphrasis in Homer.
Persian women, the.
The Persian women.
[Greek], defined.
[Greek], defined.
Phallus, festival of the.
Phallus festival.
Phantom, defined.
Phantom, explained.
Phasis, river.
Phasis River.
Philadelphi, stones called.
Philadelphia, called stones.
Philip of Macedon and Arcadio the Achaean.
Philip of Macedonia and Arcadio the Achaean.
Philosophers, conversation of; reasonings of, originate with Homer.
Philosophers and their conversations; the reasoning begins with Homer.
Philosophizing at table.
Table talk.
Philosophy, defined; difficulties in, may be overcome.
Philosophy, defined; challenges in it can be overcome.
Phocion the Athenian.
Phocion from Athens.
Phocis, women of.
Women of Phocis.
Phocus, daughter of.
Phocus, daughter of.
Phoebidas, quoted.
Phoebidas, cited.
Phryne the courtesan.
Phryne the escort.
Phryxa, herb called.
Phryxa, known herb.
Phylacteries of the Jews.
Jewish phylacteries.
Physics, use of; animals' use of.
Physics, its application; use of it by animals.
Phyxemelum, defined.
Phyxemelum, explained.
Pieria.
Pieria.
Piety toward the gods taught by Homer.
Piety toward the gods as taught by Homer.
Pinarii, the.
The Pinarii.
Pindar, elegy of.
Pindar, elegy.
Pine, garlands of.
Pine garlands.
Pipe, mentioned by Homer; made from asses' bones.
Pipe, mentioned by Homer; made from donkey bones.
Pipe-music at entertainments.
Bagpipe music at events.
Pisistratus, tyrant of Athens.
Pisistratus, ruler of Athens.
Pittacus, philosophy of.
Pittacus, philosophy.
Place, definition of.
Definition of place.
Planets, musical proportions in distances between. See Astronomy.
Planets, musical proportions in the distances between them. See Astronomy.
Plants, with special properties; method of increase of.
Plants, with unique qualities; ways to grow them.
Plato, on music; on procreation of the soul; on music of the spheres; on an oracle delivered by Apollo; on fatigue as the enemy of learning; quoted; reproof of Socrates by; praise of concise speaking by; on the immortality of the soul; knowledge of music shown by; on God; statement of, that drink passes through the lungs; birthday of; Chrysippus' works against; Colotes' criticisms of; defence of.
Plato, on music; on the creation of the soul; on the music of the spheres; on an oracle delivered by Apollo; on fatigue as the enemy of learning; quoted; Socrates' criticism by; praise for speaking concisely by; on the immortality of the soul; knowledge of music demonstrated by; on God; statement that drink goes through the lungs; birthday of; Chrysippus' works against; Colotes' criticisms of; defense of.
Platonic Questions.
Platonic Questions.
Platychaetas.
Platychaeta.
Pleonasm in Homer.
Pleonasm in Homer.
Plistarchus, son of Leonidas.
Plistarchus, son of Leonidas.
Plistoanax, son of Pausanias.
Plistoanax, Pausanias's son.
Ploiades, clouds called.
Pleiades, called clouds.
Poetry, Lacedaemonian; rank of music and; and love; parts common to dancing and; of Homer; how a young man ought to hear.
Poetry from Sparta; the importance of music and love; aspects shared with dancing; and Homer's works; how a young man should listen.
Poets, greater improbabilities spoken by Stoics than by; prize for, at games.
Poets, greater improbabilities spoken by Stoics than by; prize for, at games.
Poletes, among Epidamnians.
Poletes, among Epidamnians.
Political precepts.
Political principles.
Polity, civil, in Homer.
Polis, civil, in Homer.
Poltys, sayings of.
Poltys, sayings.
Polycratidas.
Polycrates.
Polycrita.
Polycrates.
Polydorus.
Polydorus.
Polypus, the; change of color of.
Polypus; color change of.
Pompeius, Cn.
Pompey, Gnaeus.
Pontius, C., Roman hero.
Pontius, C., Roman legend.
Polpilius.
Polpilius.
Porsena and the Roman maidens.
Porsena and the Roman women.
Porus.
Porus.
Posidonius, school of.
Posidonius, school of thought.
Postumia, Vestal Virgin.
Postumia, Priestess of Vesta.
Poverty and wealth.
Rich and poor.
Praise of one's self.
Self-praise.
Praising, directions concerning; care to be observed in.
Praising, instructions about; care to be taken in.
Priest of Hercules at Cos.
Hercules Priest in Cos.
Priests, customs of Roman.
Roman customs and priests.
Prince, Discourse to an unlearned.
Prince, Speech to the uneducated.
Principle, difference between element and.
Principle, difference between elements and.
Principles, four first; defined.
Four fundamental principles defined.
Prinistum, founding of.
Founding of Prinistum.
Proanaphonesis in Homer.
Proanaphonesis in Homer.
Procreation, of the soul; of children.
Procreation, of the spirit; of kids.
Prometheus, fate of, and herb named for.
Prometheus, fate of, and a plant named after him.
Prosopopoiia, Homer's use of.
Homer's use of personification.
Providence, and fate; pertains to mind of God; Homer's views of.
Providence and fate relate to the mind of God; Homer’s perspectives on these concepts.
Ptolemies, the, and flatterers; titles of the.
Ptolemies and their flatterers; the titles of them.
Ptolemy, son of Lagus.
Ptolemy, son of Lagus.
Publius Decius, case of, and Greek parallel.
Publius Decius, case of, and Greek parallel.
Pulse, abstention from; use of, by the Trallians.
Pulse, avoiding; use of, by the Trallians.
Punishing, God's delay in.
Delayed punishment by God.
Putrefaction of flesh.
Flesh decay.
Pyrrhus the Epirot, surnamed the Eagle; C. Fabricius and.
Pyrrhus the Epirot, nicknamed the Eagle; C. Fabricius and.
Pythagoras, discourages cruelty to animals; judgment of music by; on principles and elements; conception of God; symbols and superstitions of; doctrines of, which originated with Homer; parallel sayings of Homer and.
Pythagoras discourages cruelty to animals; evaluates music based on principles and elements; has a conception of God; explores symbols and superstitions; presents doctrines that originated with Homer; and parallels sayings from Homer.
Pythagoreans, beliefs about eating.
Pythagorean eating beliefs.
Pytheas, story of.
The story of Pytheas.
Pythes, the wife of.
Pythes, his wife.
Pythia, death of.
Pythia, death.
Pythian responses.
Oracle replies.
Quarry of asbestos.
Asbestos mine.
Quaternary of Pythagoreans.
Pythagorean Quadruple.
Questions, answers to; the asking of; for discussion at table.
Questions, answers to; asking for discussion at the table.
Quickness effected by ellipsis in Homer.
Quickness achieved through ellipsis in Homer.
Quince, to be eaten by brides.
Quince, to be consumed by brides.
Quinctius, T., stories of.
Quinctius, T., stories.
Quintessence, the, of the Aristote1ians.
Quintessence of the Aristotelians.
Quirinalia, the Feast of Fools.
Quirinalia, the Festival of Fools.
Quiritis and Quirinus.
Quiritis and Quirinus.
Raillery at an entertainment.
Joking at a party.
Rainbow, cause of.
Cause of the rainbow.
Rains, generation of, known to Homer.
Rains, the generation of, known to Homer.
Razor, mentioned by Homer.
Razor, referenced by Homer.
Reading by old men.
Reading by elderly men.
Reason, paralyzed by fear.
Reason frozen by fear.
Recapitulation, Homer's use of.
Homer's use of recaps.
Red Sea, woods and plants in.
Red Sea, along with the trees and plants inside.
Regression, a figure of speech.
Regression, a figure of speech.
Relation, a figure of speech.
Relation, a rhetorical device.
Reproofs, on bearing.
Criticism, while enduring.
Resin used for incense.
Resin for incense.
Respiration, voice and; cause of.
Breathing, voice, and cause.
Restraint, a character of speech.
Restraint, a trait of speech.
Rex Sacrorum, king of priests.
Rex Sacrorum, high priest.
Rhea, myth relating to; five gods of.
Rhea, myth about; five gods of.
Rhetoric, Homer a master of.
Master of rhetoric, Homer.
Rhodope, the courtesan; mountain.
Rhodope, the escort; mountain.
Riches, remarks on.
Comments on wealth.
Rivers and their characteristics.
Rivers and their features.
Rods and axes carried before officers.
Rods and axes held in front of officers.
Rogue Town, Philip's.
Philip's Rogue Town.
Roman Apothegms.
Roman Sayings.
Roman Questions.
Roman Questions.
Romans, the fortune of the.
Fortune of the Romans.
Romulus and Remus; Greek parallel.
Romulus and Remus; Greek equivalent.
Roundelay, Terpander invents.
Terpander creates a roundelay.
Roxana.
Roxana.
Rules of health.
Health guidelines.
Rumina, sacrifices to.
Rumina, offerings to.
Runners-to-supper.
Runners to dinner.
Rusticus, anecdote of.
Rusticus, story of.
Sacred geese, the.
The sacred geese.
Sacrifices, of human beings by Romans; the result of superstition; flesh of.
Sacrifices of humans by the Romans; the result of superstition; flesh.
Sagaris, river of Phrygia.
Sagaris River, Phrygia.
Sailing, rate of, in winter.
Winter sailing rate.
St. Elmo's Fire.
St. Elmo's Fire.
Salmantica, women of.
Women of Salmantica.
Salt, Egyptian beliefs concerning; use of, for cattle; reasons for lack of, in fruit; held in honor.
Salt, Egyptian beliefs about it; its use for cattle; reasons for its absence in fruit; held in high regard.
Sambicus, sufferings of.
Sufferings of Sambicus.
Same and Other, Plato's.
Plato's Same and Other.
Samian customs.
Samian traditions.
Sarcasm, use of, in Homer.
Sarcasm in Homer.
Sardians, sale of.
Sardians for sale.
Saturn, the father of truth; temple of, as treasury and office of record; star of the Jews.
Saturn, the father of truth; temple of, as a treasury and office of record; star of the Jews.
Saturnalia.
Saturnalia Festival.
Savings, remarkable; in Homer.
Savings, impressive; in Homer.
Scamander, river in Boeotia.
Scamander, river in Boeotia.
Scape-goat, ceremony of, among Egyptians.
Scapegoat ceremony among Egyptians.
Scedasus, daughters of.
Daughters of Scedasus.
Scilurus, sayings of.
Scilurus, sayings.
Scipio the Elder.
Scipio Africanus.
Scipio Junior, sayings of.
Scipio Junior's sayings.
Scolding, fault of.
Scolding, blame for.
Sea, less salt in winter; water of, poured upon wine; waves of, heated by motion; calming the, by pouring on oil; composition and other qualities of: food from the, vs. food from land.
Sea, less salty in winter; water mixed with wine; waves warmed by movement; calming the sea by pouring oil on it; composition and other qualities of: food from the sea vs. food from the land.
Sea-sickness, degrees of.
Seasickness, levels of.
Sea-water and trees.
Ocean and trees.
Secret, keeping a.
Keeping a secret.
Seed, generative.
Generative seed.
Self-control.
Self-discipline.
Self-praise.
Self-promotion.
Semiramis, monument of.
Semiramis, a monument.
Senses, definition, objects, number, action of, etc.
Senses, definition, objects, quantity, action of, etc.
Septimontium, festival called.
Septimontium festival.
Serapis, Egyptian name for Pluto.
Serapis, Egyptian name for Hades.
Serpent, amour of a.
Serpent, love of a.
Servants' Holiday, origin of.
Origin of Servants' Day.
Servius, Roman king.
Servius, king of Rome.
Seventeen, superstition concerning the number.
Seventeen, superstition about the number.
Seven Wise Men, banquet of the.
Seven Wise Men, banquet of the.
Sexes, generation of the different.
Genders, generation of the different.
Shadows, guests called.
Guests called shadows.
Sheep, qualities of flesh of, when bitten by wolves.
Sheep, characteristics of their meat when attacked by wolves.
Shetland Islands.
Shetland Islands.
Ships, sterns and stems on coins.
Ships, backs and fronts on coins.
Shyness, an excess of modesty.
Shyness, too much modesty.
Sickness, causes of.
Causes of illness.
Sight, herb for curing weak; cause of; of old men; process of.
Sight, an herb for healing weakness; reason for; of elderly men; procedure of.
Silence, advantages of, contrasted with talkativeness; an answer to wise men.
Silence, its benefits compared to being talkative; a response to wise people.
Simonides, quotation from.
Quotation from Simonides.
Sinister, birds called, in soothsaying.
Cursed birds called, in prophecy.
Sipylus, mountain of Asia.
Sipylus, mountain in Asia.
Sirens, music of the.
Music of the sirens.
Skeleton at the feast.
Ghost at the party.
Slave, an obedient but stupid.
Slave, a compliant but foolish.
Slaves, feast-day of Roman; blinding of.
Slaves, Roman feast day; blinding of.
Sleep, and death; eating ore; cause of; question of, appertaining to soul or body; Homer's valuation of.
Sleep and death; eating ore; the cause of; the question of, relating to the soul or body; Homer's value of.
Small Fortune, temple of.
Small Fortune, temple.
Smelling, means of.
Smelling method.
Sneezing, the Daemon of Socrates.
Sneezing, the Demon of Socrates.
Snoring as a good omen in Homer.
Snoring as a positive sign in Homer.
Snow, generation of; preservation of.
Snow, generational; preservation.
Soap, natron the ancient substitute for.
Soap, the ancient alternative to natron.
Sober-stone, the.
The sober stone.
Socrates, the Daemon of; on training of children; on the seat of true happiness; quoted; conception of God; birthday of; Colotes' criticisms of; defence of; "a midwife to others, himself not generating,".
Socrates, the Daemon of; on educating children; on the foundation of true happiness; quoted; understanding of God; birthday of; Colotes' criticisms of; defense of; "a midwife to others, himself not generating."
Solon, precept of; and Croesus; on virtue and wealth.
Solon, the teacher; and Croesus; on virtue and wealth.
Solstice, winter and summer.
Winter and summer solstice.
Sons, conspicuous examples of deaths of.
Sons, clear examples of deaths of.
Soos, story of.
Soos, the story.
Soothsaying, birds for; in Homer.
Birds as omens; in Homer.
Sophocles, quotation from; paraphrase of Homer by.
Sophocles, quote from; rewording of Homer by.
Sorrow, advice on; exhibitions of.
Sorrow, tips on; showcases of.
Soul, essay on procreation of; passions of, vs. disorders of body; nature, essence, parts, motion of, etc.; means by which sensible, and principal part of; sympathy of, with passions of the body; Plato's reasoning concerning; immortality of, according to Pythagoras, Plato, and Homer; transmigration of the; Homer's treatment of powers and passions of.
Soul, essay on reproduction of; emotions of, vs. physical disorders; nature, essence, components, movement of, etc.; ways through which it’s perceived, and main part of; connection of, with bodily emotions; Plato's arguments regarding; immortality of, according to Pythagoras, Plato, and Homer; rebirth of the; Homer’s perspective on powers and emotions of.
Sounds, heard better in the night than in the day; harmonizing of.
Sounds are heard more clearly at night than during the day; they blend together.
Sows, farrowing of.
Sows, giving birth.
Space, theories of.
Theories of space.
Sparta, customs in.
Sparta, cultural practices.
Spartans, sayings of the; remarkable speeches of some obscure.
Spartans, sayings of the; impressive speeches of some unknown.
Speech, ill-advised freedom of; control of one's; of statesmen; value of, to the health; composed of nouns and verbs, according to Plato.
Speech, misguided freedom of; control of one's; of politicians; importance of, to the wellbeing; made up of nouns and verbs, according to Plato.
Sperm, constitution of.
Sperm composition.
Spermatic emission of women.
Women's sperm emission.
Spiders, as an omen; skill of.
Spiders as a sign; talent for.
Spies, unpopularity resulting from.
Unpopularity arising from spies.
Spoils of war, fate of.
Fate of war spoils.
Spurius, significance of name, and reason.
Spurius, meaning behind the name, and explanation.
Stars, Egyptian beliefs concerning the; essence and composition; form of; order and place; motion and circulation, whence their light, and other qualities; circles about.
Stars, Egyptian beliefs about them; their essence and composition; their shape; their order and position; how they move and circulate, where their light comes from, and other qualities; they revolve around.
Statesmen, may praise themselves.
Politicians may praise themselves.
Stealing, among Lacedaemonians.
Theft in Sparta.
Stepmother, flower which dies at name of; the herb phryxa a protection against.
Stepmother, a flower that withers at its name; the herb phryxa offers protection against it.
Steward at banquets.
Event steward.
Stilpo, and Poseidon; references to; attacked by Colotes.
Stilpo and Poseidon; references to; attacked by Colotes.
Stoics, views of God; improbabilities spoken by; common conceptions against; contradictions of the; origin of doctrines of, with Homer.
Stoics, views of God; improbabilities discussed by; common beliefs against; contradictions of the; origins of doctrines of, with Homer.
Stones with special properties.
Stones with unique properties.
Stories of rivers and mountains.
Tales of rivers and mountains.
Stratonica, Galatian woman.
Stratonica, woman from Galatia.
Strymon, river of Thrace.
Strymon, river in Thrace.
Style, types of, in Homer.
Homer's literary styles.
Summer, cause of; Stoics' view of.
Summer, reason for; Stoics' perspective on.
Sun, titles of the; beliefs concerning the; Homer's opinions about; identification of Apollo with.
Sun, titles of the; beliefs about it; Homer's views on; identification of Apollo with it.
Sun and Wind, fable of.
The Fable of the Sun and Wind.
Sun-worship.
Sun worship.
Superstition, essay on.
Essay on superstition.
Surgery in Homer.
Surgery in The Iliad.
Swallows, nests of; superstitions about.
Swallows, nests; related superstitions.
Swine as an unholy animal.
Pigs as an unholy animal.
Sword-blades, cold-hammered.
Cold-hammered sword blades.
Sycophant, derivation of.
Sycophant, origin of.
Sylia the Fortunate; Marius's treatment of.
Sylia the Fortunate; Marius's treatment of.
Syllables, number of, possible to make.
Syllables, number of, possible to create.
Symposiacs.
Symposiums.
Synecdoche in Homer.
Synecdoche in Homer.
Table customs, Roman; Greek, see Banquets.
Table customs, Roman; Greek, see Banquets.
Table-talk (Symposiacs).
Table Talk (Symposiacs).
Tactics, Homer's knowledge of.
Homer's strategic knowledge.
Tagyrae, oracle at.
Tagyrae, Oracle at.
Talkativeness, essay on.
Essay on being talkative.
Tanais, river of Scythia.
Tanais, river of Scythia.
Tarpeia, Roman traitress, and Greek parallel.
Tarpeia, the Roman traitor, and a Greek counterpart.
Taste, cause of.
Cause of taste.
Taygetus, mountain.
Taygetus Mountain.
Taylor, Jeremy, a borrower from Plutarch.
Taylor, Jeremy, a borrower from Plutarch.
Tears of boar and hart.
Tears of boar and deer.
Teleclus, King.
King Teleclus.
Telecrus, sayings of.
Telecrus, quotes from.
Telesilla, poetess.
Telesilla, poet.
Temper, governing the. See Anger.
Managing your temper. See Anger.
Temperance, wisdom of.
Wisdom of moderation.
Temples, in Rome; traitors walled up in.
Temples in Rome, with traitors bricked up inside.
Tenes, temple of.
Temple of Tenes.
Tenses in Homer.
Tenses in Homeric texts.
Teres, saying of.
Teres, quote of.
Terminus, the god.
Terminus, the deity.
Terpander, Lacedaemonian musician.
Terpander, musician from Sparta.
Teuthras, mountain.
Teuthras, mountain area.
Thalassius, name sung at nuptials.
Thalassius, name sung at weddings.
Thales the Milesian; conception of God.
Thales from Miletus; idea of God.
Theagenes, Theban hero.
Theagenes, hero from Thebes.
Theano, wife of Pythagoras.
Theano, Pythagoras' wife.
Thearidas, saying of.
Thearidas, a saying of.
Thectamenes.
Thectamenes.
Themisteas the prophet.
Themisteas the prophet.
Themistocles.
Themistocles.
Theocritus, unlucky remarks of; paraphrase of Homer by.
Theocritus, unfortunate comments by; rephrasing of Homer by.
Theodorus of Soli, quoted.
Theodorus of Soli, quoted.
Theogony, the ancient.
Theogony, the ancient text.
Theopompus; quoted.
Theopompus; cited.
Theoretic style in Homer.
Theoretical style in Homer.
Theoxenia, festival called.
Theoxenia, a festival.
Thermodon river of Scythia.
Thermodon River in Scythia.
Theseus and Pirithous.
Theseus and Pirithous.
Thespesius, story of.
The story of Thespesius.
Thessaly, enchantments of.
Enchantments of Thessaly.
Thiasi, sacrifice called.
Thiasi, called to sacrifice.
Thirst, causes of; increased by eating.
Thirst, causes of; increased by eating.
Thorycion.
Thorycion.
"Thou art" and "Know thyself,".
"You are" and "Know yourself."
Three accords between wine and water.
Three agreements between wine and water.
Three elements necessary for moral excellence.
Three elements necessary for moral excellence.
Three parts in dancing.
Three parts of dance.
Thunder, theories about.
Thunder theories.
Thunder-showers, water of.
Thunderstorms, water of.
Tiberius and flatterer.
Tiberius and sycophant.
Tides, cause of.
Cause of tides.
Tigris, myths of the.
Myths of the Tigris.
Timaeus, on the procreation of the soul; Atlantic by, cited.
Timaeus, on the creation of the soul; Atlantic by, cited.
Time, defined; substance and nature of.
Time, defined; substance and nature of.
Timoelea.
Timoelea.
Timotheus; sayings of.
Timotheus' sayings.
Timoxena, daughter of Plutarch, death of.
Timoxena, daughter of Plutarch, death of.
Tmolus, mountain, story of.
Story of Tmolus Mountain.
Tobacco, use of, hinted.
Tobacco use suggested.
Togas without tunics for candidates for office.
Togas without tunics for candidates running for office.
Torches at nuptials.
Torches at weddings.
Torture, inventors of engines of, rewarded.
Torture, inventors of engines of, rewarded.
Tracking wild beasts.
Tracking wildlife.
Tragedy, origin of, with Homer.
Tragedy, origins with Homer.
Training of children.
Child training.
Traitors, parallel cases of Greek and Roman.
Traitors, similar cases from Greek and Roman history.
Tranquillity of mind.
Peace of mind.
Transmigration of the soul.
Soul migration.
Trees, sea-water and; thrive better with rain than with watering; grafting of fir, pine, etc.; so-called Iris-struck.
Trees, seawater, and; grow better with rain than with watering; grafting of fir, pine, etc.; so-called Iris-struck.
Triangle, revered by Egyptians.
Triangle, honored by Egyptians.
Triangles, Plato's theories about.
Plato's theories on triangles.
Tribune of the people.
People's Tribune.
Tropes in Homer.
Tropes in Homer.
Troy, women of.
Women of Troy.
Truce from words, Pythagoras'.
Pythagoras' truce from words.
Truthfulness, honorableness of, shown in Homer.
Truthfulness and honor are demonstrated in Homer.
Tutors, qualifications of; responsibilities of.
Tutors, their qualifications and duties.
Twins and triplets, causes of.
Causes of twins and triplets.
Typhon, legends of.
Legends of Typhon.
Tyranny depicted by Homer.
Tyranny shown by Homer.
Tyrrhene women, the.
The Tyrrhenian women.
Ulysses, and the Coliads; temple of, in Lacedaemon; and Circe. See Odysseus.
Ulysses, and the Coliads; temple of, in Lacedaemon; and Circe. See Odysseus.
Unhappiness caused by vice.
Unhappiness caused by bad habits.
Union results in strength.
Strength in unity.
Universe, theories of the government of the; conceptions of the; principles and elements of; question as to whether it is one
Universe, theories about how it’s governed; ideas about it; principles and components; question of whether it’s singular.
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