PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Socrates, Critias, Timaeus, Hermocrates.
SOCRATES: One, two, three; but where, my dear Timaeus, is the
fourth of those who were yesterday my guests and are to be my
entertainers to-day? TIMAEUS: He has been taken ill, Socrates;
for he would not
willingly have been absent from this gathering. SOCRATES: Then,
if he is not coming, you and the two others must
supply his place. TIMAEUS: Certainly, and we will do all that we
can; having been
handsomely entertained by you yesterday, those of us who remain should
be only too glad to return your hospitality. SOCRATES: Do you
remember what were the points of which I
required you to speak? TIMAEUS: We remember some of them, and you
will be here to remind
us of anything which we have forgotten: or rather, if we are not
troubling you, will you briefly recapitulate the whole, and then the
particulars will
be more firmly fixed in our memories? SOCRATES: To be sure I
will: the chief theme of my
yesterday's discourse was the State--how constituted and of what
citizens composed it would
seem likely to be most perfect. TIMAEUS: Yes, Socrates; and what
you said of it was very much to
our mind. SOCRATES: Did we not begin by separating the husbandmen
and the
artisans from the class of defenders of the State? TIMAEUS: Yes.
SOCRATES: And when we had given to each one that single
employment and particular art which was suited to his nature, we spoke
of those who
were intended to be our warriors, and said that they were to be
guardians of
the city against attacks from within as well as from without, and to
have no other employment; they were to be merciful in judging their
subjects, of whom they were by nature friends, but fierce to their
enemies, when they came across them in battle. TIMAEUS: Exactly.
SOCRATES: We said, if I am not mistaken, that the guardians
should be gifted with a temperament in a high degree both passionate
and philosophical; and that then they would be as they ought to be,
gentle
to their friends and fierce with their enemies. TIMAEUS:
Certainly. SOCRATES: And what did we say of their
education? Were they
not to be trained in gymnastic, and music, and all other sorts of
knowledge which were proper for them? TIMAEUS: Very true.
SOCRATES: And being thus trained they were not to consider gold
or silver or anything else to be their own private property; they were
to be like hired troops, receiving pay for keeping guard from those who
were
protected by them--the pay was to be no more than would suffice for men
of simple life; and they were to spend in common, and to live together
in the continual practice of virtue, which was to be their sole
pursuit. TIMAEUS: That was also said. SOCRATES: Neither did
we forget the women; of whom we declared,
that their natures should be assimilated and brought into harmony with those of the men, and
that common pursuits should be assigned to them both in time of war and in their ordinary
life. TIMAEUS: That, again, was as you say. SOCRATES: And
what about the procreation of children? Or
rather was not the proposal too singular to be forgotten? for all wives
and children
were to be in common, to the intent that no one should ever know his
own
child, but they were to imagine that they were all one family; those
who were within a suitable limit of age were to be brothers and
sisters, those
who were of an elder generation parents and grandparents, and those of
a younger, children and grandchildren. TIMAEUS: Yes, and the
proposal is easy to remember, as you say. SOCRATES: And do you
also remember how, with a view of securing
as far as we could the best breed, we said that the chief magistrates,
male and female, should contrive secretly, by the use of certain lots,
so to
arrange the nuptial meeting, that the bad of either sex and the good of
either
sex might pair with their like; and there was to be no quarrelling on
this account, for they would imagine that the union was a mere
accident, and
was to be attributed to the lot? TIMAEUS: I remember.
SOCRATES: And you remember how we said that the children of the
good parents were to be educated, and the children of the bad secretly
dispersed among the inferior citizens; and while they were all growing
up the
rulers were to be on the look-out, and to bring up from below in their
turn
those who were worthy, and those among themselves who were unworthy
were to
take the places of those who came up? TIMAEUS: True.
SOCRATES: Then have I now given you all the heads of our
yesterday's discussion? Or is there anything more, my dear
Timaeus, which has
been omitted? TIMAEUS: Nothing, Socrates; it was just as you have
said. SOCRATES: I should like, before proceeding further, to tell
you
how I feel about the State which we have described. I might
compare myself
to a person who, on beholding beautiful animals either created by the
painter's art, or, better still, alive but at rest, is seized with a
desire of
seeing them in motion or engaged in some struggle or conflict to which
their
forms appear suited; this is my feeling about the State which we have
been describing. There are conflicts which all cities undergo,
and I
should like to hear some one tell of our own city carrying on a
struggle
against her neighbours, and how she went out to war in a becoming
manner, and
when at war showed by the greatness of her actions and the magnanimity
of her words in dealing with other cities a result worthy of her
training and education. Now I, Critias and Hermocrates, am
conscious that I
myself should never be able to celebrate the city and her citizens in a
befitting manner, and I am not surprised at my own incapacity; to me
the wonder is rather that the poets present as well as past are no
better--not that I mean to depreciate them; but every one can see that
they are a tribe of imitators, and will imitate best and most easily
the life in which they have been brought up; while that which is beyond
the range of a man's education he finds hard to carry out in action,
and still harder
adequately to represent in language. I am aware that the Sophists
have
plenty of brave words and fair conceits, but I am afraid that being
only wanderers from one city to another, and having never had
habitations of their own, they may fail in their conception of
philosophers and statesmen, and may not know what they do and say in time
of war, when they are fighting or holding parley with their
enemies. And thus people of your class
are the only ones remaining who are fitted by nature and education to
take part
at once both in politics and philosophy. Here is Timaeus, of
Locris
in Italy, a city which has admirable laws, and who is himself in wealth
and rank
the equal of any of his fellow-citizens; he has held the most important
and honourable offices in his own state, and, as I believe, has scaled
the heights of all philosophy; and here is Critias, whom every Athenian
knows to be no novice in the matters of which we are speaking; and as
to Hermocrates, I am assured by many witnesses that his genius and
education qualify him to take part in any speculation of the
kind. And
therefore yesterday when I saw that you wanted me to describe the
formation of the State, I readily assented, being very well aware,
that, if you only
would, none were better qualified to carry the discussion further, and
that
when you had engaged our city in a suitable war, you of all men living
could best exhibit her playing a fitting part. When I had
completed my
task, I in return imposed this other task upon you. You conferred
together and agreed to entertain me to-day, as I had entertained you,
with a feast of discourse. Here am I in festive array, and no man
can be more
ready for the promised banquet. HERMOCRATES: And we too,
Socrates, as Timaeus says, will not be
wanting in enthusiasm; and there is no excuse for not complying with
your
request. As soon as we arrived yesterday at the guest-chamber of
Critias, with whom
we are staying, or rather on our way thither, we talked the matter
over,
and he told us an ancient tradition, which I wish, Critias, that you
would repeat to Socrates, so that he may help us to judge whether it
will
satisfy his requirements or not. CRITIAS: I will, if Timaeus, who
is our other partner, approves. TIMAEUS: I quite approve.
CRITIAS: Then listen, Socrates, to a tale which, though strange,
is certainly true, having been attested by Solon, who was the wisest of
the seven sages. He was a relative and a dear friend of my
great-grandfather, Dropides, as he himself says in many passages of his
poems; and he told
the story to Critias, my grandfather, who remembered and repeated it to
us. There were of old, he said, great and marvellous actions of the
Athenian city, which have passed into oblivion through lapse of time and the destruction of mankind,
and one in particular, greater than all the
rest. This we will now rehearse. It will be a fitting monument of
our
gratitude to you, and a hymn of praise true and worthy of the goddess,
on this her day of festival. SOCRATES: Very good. And what
is this ancient famous action
of the Athenians, which Critias declared, on the authority of Solon, to
be not
a mere legend, but an actual fact? CRITIAS: I will tell an
old-world story which I heard from an
aged man; for Critias, at the time
of
telling it, was, as he said, nearly ninety years of age, and I was
about ten. Now the day was that day of the Apaturia which is
called the Registration of Youth, at which, according
to custom, our parents gave prizes for recitations, and the poems of
several poets were recited by us boys, and many of us sang the poems of
Solon, which at that time had not
gone
out of fashion. One of our tribe, either because he thought so or
to please Critias, said that in his judgment
Solon was not only the wisest of men, but also the noblest of
poets.
The old man, as I very well remember, brightened up at hearing this and
said, smiling: Yes, Amynander, if Solon had only, like other
poets,
made poetry the business of his life, and had completed the tale which
he brought
with him from Egypt, and had not been compelled, by reason of the
factions
and troubles which he found stirring in his own country when he came
home,
to attend to other matters, in my opinion he would have been as famous
as Homer or Hesiod, or any poet. And what was the tale about, Critias?
said Amynander. About the greatest action which the Athenians ever did,
and which ought
to have been the most famous, but, through the lapse of time and the destruction of the
actors, it has not come down to us. Tell us, said the other, the whole
story, and how and from whom Solon
heard this veritable tradition. He replied:--In the Egyptian Delta, at
the head of which the river Nile divides, there is a certain district
which is called the district of
Sais, and the great city of the district is also called Sais, and is
the city from which King Amasis came. The citizens have a deity
for their foundress; she is called in the Egyptian tongue Neith, and is
asserted
by them to be the same whom the Hellenes call Athene; they are great
lovers of the Athenians, and say that they are in some way related to
them.
To this city came Solon, and was received there with great honour; he
asked the priests who were most skilful in such matters, about
antiquity, and made the discovery that neither he nor any other Hellene
knew anything worth mentioning about the times of
old. On one occasion, wishing to draw them on to speak of
antiquity, he began to tell about the most ancient
things in our part of the world--about Phoroneus, who is called 'the
first man,'
and about Niobe; and after the Deluge, of the survival of Deucalion and
Pyrrha; and he traced the genealogy of their descendants, and reckoning
up the dates, tried to compute how many years ago the events of which
he was speaking happened. Thereupon one of the priests, who was
of a
very great age, said: O Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are never
anything but
children, and there is not an old man among you. Solon in return
asked him
what he meant. I mean to say, he replied, that in mind you are
all young;
there is no old opinion handed down among you by ancient tradition, nor
any
science which is hoary with age. And I will tell you why.
There
have been, and will be again, many destructions of mankind arising out
of many causes;
the greatest have been brought about by the agencies of fire and water, and other lesser ones by
innumerable other causes. There is a story,
which even you have preserved, that once upon a time Paethon, the son of Helios,
having yoked the steeds in his father's chariot, because he was not
able to drive them in the path of his father, burnt up all that was
upon the
earth, and was himself
destroyed by a thunderbolt. Now this has the form
of a myth, but really signifies a declination of the bodies moving in
the heavens around the earth,
and a great conflagration of things upon the earth, which recurs after
long intervals; at such times
those who live upon the mountains and in dry and lofty places are more
liable to destruction than those who dwell by rivers or on the
seashore. And from this
calamity the Nile, who is our never-failing saviour, delivers and
preserves us. When, on the other hand, the Gods purge the earth with a deluge of
water, the survivors in your country
are herdsmen and shepherds who dwell on
the mountains, but those who, like you, live in cities are carried by
the rivers into the sea. Whereas in this land, neither then nor
at
any other time, does the water come down from
above on the fields, having always a tendency to come up from below;
for which reason the traditions
preserved here are the most ancient. The fact is, that wherever
the
extremity of winter frost or of summer sun does not prevent, mankind
exist,
sometimes in greater, sometimes in lesser numbers. And whatever
happened
either in your country or in ours, or in any other region of which we
are informed--if there were any actions noble or great or in any other
way remarkable,
they have all been written down by us of old, and are preserved in our
temples. Whereas just when you and other nations are beginning to be
provided
with letters and the other requisites of civilized life, after the
usual interval, the stream from heaven, like a pestilence, comes
pouring down, and leaves only those of you who are destitute of letters
and education; and so you have to begin all over again like children,
and know nothing
of what happened in ancient times, either among us or among
yourselves. As for those genealogies of yours which you just now
recounted to us,
Solon, they are no better than the tales of children. In the
first place
you remember a single deluge only, but there were many previous ones;
in the next place, you do not know that there formerly dwelt in your
land the fairest and noblest race of men which ever lived, and that you
and your whole city are descended from a small seed or remnant of them
which survived. And this was unknown to you, because, for many
generations, the survivors of that destruction died, leaving no written
word. For
there was a time, Solon, before the great deluge of all, when the city
which now
is Athens was first in war and in every way the best governed of all
cities, is said to have performed the noblest deeds and to have had the
fairest constitution of any of which tradition tells, under the face of
heaven. Solon marvelled at his words, and earnestly requested the
priests to
inform him exactly and in order about these former citizens. You
are
welcome to hear about them, Solon, said the priest, both for your own
sake and for that of your city, and above all, for the sake of the
goddess who is the common patron and parent and educator of both our
cities. She
founded your city a thousand years before ours (Observe that Plato
gives the same
date (9000 years ago) for the foundation of Athens and for the repulse
of the invasion from Atlantis (Crit.).), receiving from the earth and
Hephaestus the seed of your race, and afterwards she founded ours, of
which the constitution is recorded in our sacred registers to be 8000
years
old. As touching your citizens of 9000 years ago, I will briefly
inform you of their laws and of their most famous action; the exact
particulars of the whole we will hereafter go through at our leisure in
the sacred
registers themselves. If you compare these very laws with ours
you will
find that many of ours are the counterpart of yours as they were in the
olden
time. In the first place, there is the caste of priests, which is
separated
from all the others; next, there are the artificers, who ply their
several crafts by themselves and do not intermix; and also there is the
class of shepherds and of hunters, as well as that of husbandmen; and
you will observe, too, that the warriors in Egypt are distinct from all
the other classes, and are commanded by the law to devote themselves
solely to military pursuits; moreover, the weapons which they carry are
shields
and spears, a style of equipment which the goddess taught of Asiatics
first
to us, as in your part of the world first to you. Then as to
wisdom,
do you observe how our law from the very first made a study of the
whole order
of things, extending even to prophecy and medicine which gives health,
out
of these divine elements deriving what was needful for human life, and
adding every sort of knowledge which was akin to them. All this
order and arrangement the goddess first imparted to you when
establishing your
city; and she chose the spot of earth in which you were
born, because she saw that the happy temperament of the seasons in that
land would produce the wisest of men. Wherefore the goddess, who
was a lover both of war
and of wisdom, selected and first of all settled that spot which was
the most likely to produce men likest herself. And there you
dwelt, having
such laws as these and still better ones, and excelled all mankind in
all virtue, as became the children and disciples of the Gods. Many great and wonderful
deeds are recorded of your state in our
histories. But one of them exceeds all the rest in greatness and
valour. For
these histories tell of a mighty power which unprovoked made an
expedition against the whole of Europe and Asia, and to which your city
put an
end. This power came forth out of the Atlantic Ocean, for in those days
the Atlantic was navigable; and there was an island situated in front
of the straits which are by you called the Pillars of Heracles; the
island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to
other
islands, and from these you might pass to the whole of the opposite
continent
which surrounded the true ocean; for this sea which is within the
Straits of Heracles is only a harbour, having a narrow entrance, but
that other is
a real sea, and the surrounding land may be most truly called a
boundless continent. Now in this island of Atlantis there was a
great and
wonderful empire which had rule over the whole island and several
others, and over parts of the continent, and, furthermore, the men of
Atlantis had
subjected the parts of Libya within the columns of Heracles as far as
Egypt, and
of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia. This vast power, gathered into
one, endeavoured to subdue at a blow our country and yours and the
whole of
the region within the straits; and then, Solon, your country shone
forth, in the excellence of her virtue and strength, among all
mankind. She
was pre-eminent in courage and military skill, and was the leader of
the Hellenes. And when the rest fell off from her, being
compelled to
stand alone, after having undergone the very extremity of danger, she
defeated and triumphed over the invaders, and preserved from slavery
those who
were not yet subjugated, and generously liberated all the rest of us
who
dwell within the pillars. But afterwards there occurred violent
earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all
your warlike
men in a body sank into the earth,
and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of
the sea. For which reason the sea in
those parts is impassable and impenetrable, because there is a shoal of
mud in the way; and this was caused by the subsidence of the island. I
have told you briefly, Socrates, what the aged Critias heard from
Solon and related to us. And when you were speaking yesterday
about
your city and citizens, the tale which I have just been repeating to
you came
into my mind, and I remarked with astonishment how, by some mysterious
coincidence, you agreed in almost every particular with the narrative
of Solon; but I did not like to speak at the moment. For a long
time had elapsed,
and I had forgotten too much; I thought that I must first of all run
over the narrative in my own mind, and then I would speak. And so
I readily assented to your request yesterday, considering that in all
such cases
the chief difficulty is to find a tale suitable to our purpose, and
that
with such a tale we should be fairly well provided. And therefore, as
Hermocrates has told you, on my way home yesterday I
at once communicated the tale to my companions as I remembered it; and
after I left them, during the night by thinking I recovered nearly the
whole of
it. Truly, as is often said, the lessons of our childhood make a
wonderful impression on our memories; for I am not sure that I could
remember all
the discourse of yesterday, but I should be much surprised if I forgot
any
of these things which I have heard very long ago. I listened at
the
time with childlike interest to the old man's narrative; he was very
ready to
teach me, and I asked him again and again to repeat his words, so that
like an indelible picture they were branded into my mind. As soon
as the
day broke, I rehearsed them as he spoke them to my companions, that
they, as well as myself, might have something to say. And now,
Socrates,
to make an end of my preface, I am ready to tell you the whole
tale. I will
give you not only the general heads, but the particulars, as they were
told to
me. The city and citizens, which you yesterday described to us in
fiction,
we will now transfer to the world of reality. It shall be the
ancient city of Athens, and we will suppose that the citizens whom you
imagined, were
our veritable ancestors, of whom the priest spoke; they will perfectly
harmonize, and there will be no inconsistency in saying that the
citizens of your republic are these ancient Athenians. Let us
divide the
subject among us, and all endeavour according to our ability gracefully
to
execute the task which you have imposed upon us. Consider then,
Socrates,
if this narrative is suited to the purpose, or whether we should seek
for some other instead. SOCRATES: And what other, Critias, can we
find that will be
better than this, which is natural and suitable to the festival of the
goddess, and
has the very great advantage of being a fact and not a fiction?
How
or where shall we find another if we abandon this? We cannot, and
therefore you must tell the tale, and good luck to you; and I in return
for my yesterday's discourse will now rest and be a listener.
CRITIAS: Let me proceed to explain to you, Socrates, the order in
which we have arranged our entertainment. Our intention is, that
Timaeus,
who is the most of an astronomer amongst us, and has made the nature of
the universe his special study, should speak first, beginning with the
generation of the world and going down to the creation of man; next, I
am to receive the men whom he has created, and of whom some will have
profited by the excellent education which you have given them; and
then, in accordance with the tale of Solon, and equally with his law,
we will
bring them into court and make them citizens, as if they were those
very Athenians whom the sacred Egyptian record has recovered from
oblivion,
and thenceforward we will speak of them as Athenians and
fellow-citizens. SOCRATES: I see that I shall receive in my turn
a perfect and
splendid feast of reason. And now, Timaeus, you, I suppose,
should speak
next, after duly calling upon the Gods.
TIMAEUS: All men, Socrates, who have any degree of right feeling,
at the beginning of every enterprise, whether small or great, always
call upon God. And we,
too, who are going to discourse of the nature of the universe, how
created or how existing without creation, if we be not altogether out
of our wits, must invoke the aid of Gods and Goddesses
and pray that our words may be acceptable to them and consistent with
themselves. Let this, then, be our invocation of the Gods, to
which I add an exhortation of myself to speak in such manner as will be
most intelligible to you, and will most accord with my own intent.
First then, in my judgment, we must make a distinction and ask, What is
that which always is and has no becoming; and what is that which is
always becoming and never is? That which is apprehended by
intelligence
and reason is always in the same state; but that which is conceived by
opinion with the help of sensation and without reason, is always in a
process of becoming and perishing and never really is. Now
everything that
becomes or is created must of necessity be created by some cause, for
without a
cause nothing can be created. The work of the creator, whenever
he
looks to the unchangeable and fashions the form and nature of his work
after an unchangeable pattern, must
necessarily be made fair and perfect; but
when he looks to the created only, and uses a created pattern, it is not
fair or perfect. Was the heaven then or the world, whether called
by this
or by any other more appropriate name--assuming the name, I am asking a
question which has to be asked at the beginning of an enquiry about
anything--was the world, I say, always in existence and without
beginning? or created, and had it a beginning? Created, I reply,
being visible and
tangible and having a body, and therefore sensible; and all sensible
things are apprehended by opinion and sense and are in a process of
creation and created. Now that which is created must, as we
affirm, of
necessity be created by a cause. But the father and maker of all
this universe
is past finding out; and even if we found him, to tell of him to all
men would
be impossible. And there is still a question to be asked about
him: Which of the patterns had the
artificer in view when he made the world--the
pattern of the unchangeable, or of that which
is created? If the world be
indeed fair and the artificer good, it is manifest that he must have
looked to that which is eternal; but if what cannot be said without
blasphemy is true, then to the created pattern.
Every one will see that he
must have looked to the eternal; for the world is the fairest of
creations and he
is the best of causes. And having been created in this way, the
world has been framed in the likeness of that which is apprehended by
reason and
mind and is unchangeable, and must therefore of necessity, if this is
admitted, be a copy of something. Now it is all-important that
the
beginning of everything should be according to nature. And in
speaking of the
copy and the original we may assume that words are akin to the matter
which they describe; when they relate to the lasting and permanent and
intelligible, they ought to be lasting and unalterable, and, as far as
their nature allows, irrefutable and immovable--nothing less. But
when they
express only the copy or likeness and not the eternal things
themselves, they
need only be likely and analogous to the real words. As being is
to
becoming, so is truth to belief. If then, Socrates, amid the many
opinions
about the Gods and the
generation of the universe, we are not able to give notions which are
altogether and in every respect exact and consistent with one another,
do not be surprised. Enough, if we adduce probabilities
as likely as any others; for we must remember that I who am the
speaker, and you
who are the judges, are only mortal men, and we ought to accept the
tale
which is probable and enquire no further. SOCRATES: Excellent,
Timaeus; and we will do precisely as you bid
us. The prelude is charming, and is already accepted by us--may
we beg of you to proceed to the strain? TIMAEUS: Let me tell you
then why the creator made this world of generation. He was good,
and the good can never have any jealousy
of anything. And being free from jealousy, he desired that all
things should be as like himself as they could be. This is in the
truest sense
the origin of creation and of the world, as we shall do well in
believing on the testimony of wise men: God desired that all things
should be
good and nothing bad, so far as this was attainable. Wherefore
also
finding the whole visible sphere not at rest, but moving in an
irregular and
disorderly fashion, out of disorder he brought order, considering that
this was in every way better than the other. Now the deeds of the
best could
never be or have been other than the fairest; and the creator,
reflecting on the things which are by nature visible, found that no
unintelligent creature taken as a whole was fairer than the intelligent
taken as a whole; and
that intelligence could not be present in anything which was devoid of
soul. For which reason, when he was framing the universe, he put
intelligence
in soul, and soul in body, that he might be the creator of a work which
was by nature fairest and best. Wherefore, using the language of
probability, we may say that the world became a living creature truly
endowed with soul
and intelligence by the providence of God. This being supposed, let
us proceed to the next stage: In the
likeness of what animal did the Creator make the world? It would
be an
unworthy thing to liken it to any nature which exists as a part only;
for nothing can
be beautiful which is like any imperfect thing; but let us suppose the
world to be the very image of that
whole
of which all other animals both individually and in their tribes are
portions. For the original
of the universe contains in itself all intelligible beings, just as
this world comprehends us and all other visible creatures. For
the Deity,
intending to make this world like the fairest and most perfect of
intelligible beings, framed one visible animal comprehending within
itself all other animals of a kindred nature. Are we right in
saying that there is
one world, or that they are many and infinite? There must be one
only, if the created copy is to accord with the original. For
that which
includes all other intelligible creatures cannot have a second or
companion; in that case there would be need of another living being
which would include
both, and of which they would be parts, and the likeness would be more
truly
said to resemble not them, but that other which included them. In
order then that the world might be solitary, like the perfect animal,
the creator
made not two worlds or an infinite number of them; but there is and
ever
will be one only-begotten and created heaven. Now that which is created
is of necessity corporeal, and also visible
and tangible. And nothing is visible where there is no fire, or
tangible which has no solidity, and nothing is solid without earth. Wherefore
also God in the beginning of
creation made the body of the universe to consist of
fire and earth. But two things
cannot be rightly put together without
a third; there must be some bond of union between them. And the
fairest
bond is that which makes the most complete fusion of itself and the
things
which it combines; and proportion is best adapted to effect such a
union.
For whenever in any three numbers, whether cube or square, there is a
mean, which is to the last term what the first term is to it; and
again, when
the mean is to the first term as the last term is to the mean--then the
mean becoming first and last, and the first and last both becoming
means,
they will all of them of necessity come to be the same, and having
become the same with one another will be all one. If the
universal frame had
been created a surface only and having
no depth, a single mean would have sufficed to bind together itself and
the other terms; but now, as the
world must be solid, and solid bodies are always compacted not by one
mean
but by two, God placed water and air in the mean between fire and earth, and
made them to have the same proportion so far as was possible (as fire is to
air so is air to water, and as air is to water so is water to earth); and
thus he bound and put together a visible and tangible heaven. And
for
these reasons, and out of such elements which are in number four, the
body of
the world was created, and it was harmonized by proportion, and
therefore
has the spirit of friendship; and having been reconciled to itself, it
was indissoluble by the hand of any other than the framer. Now the
creation took up the whole of each of the four elements; for the
Creator compounded the world out of all the fire and all the water and
all the air and all the earth, leaving no part of
any of them nor any power
of them outside. His intention was, in the first place, that the
animal should be as far as possible a perfect whole and of perfect
parts: secondly, that it should be one, leaving no remnants out of
which
another such world might be created: and also that it should be
free from
old age and unaffected by disease. Considering that if heat and
cold and
other powerful forces which unite bodies surround and attack them from
without when they are unprepared, they decompose them, and by bringing
diseases
and old age upon them, make them waste away--for this cause and on
these grounds he made the world one whole, having every part entire,
and being therefore perfect and not liable to old age and
disease. And he
gave to the world the figure which was suitable and also natural.
Now to
the animal which was to comprehend all animals, that figure was
suitable
which comprehends within itself all other figures. Wherefore he
made
the world in the form of a globe, round as from a lathe, having its
extremes in
every direction equidistant from the centre, the most perfect and the
most
like itself of all figures; for he considered that the like is
infinitely
fairer than the unlike. This he finished off, making the surface smooth
all round for many reasons; in the first place, because the living
being had no
need of eyes when there was nothing remaining outside him to be seen;
nor of ears when there was nothing to be heard; and there was no
surrounding atmosphere to be breathed; nor would there have been any
use of organs
by the help of which he might receive his food or get rid of what he
had already digested, since there was nothing which went from him or
came
into him: for there was nothing beside him. Of design he
was
created thus, his own waste providing his own food, and all that he did
or suffered taking place in and by himself. For the Creator
conceived that a being
which was self-sufficient would be far more excellent than one which
lacked
anything; and, as he had no need to take anything or defend himself
against any
one, the Creator did not think it necessary to bestow upon him
hands:
nor had he any need of feet, nor of the whole apparatus of walking; but
the movement suited to his spherical form was assigned to him, being of
all
the seven that which is most appropriate to mind and intelligence; and
he
was made to move in the same manner and on the same spot, within his
own
limits revolving in a circle. All the other six motions were
taken away
from him, and he was made not to partake of their deviations. And
as this
circular movement required no feet, the universe was created without
legs and without feet. Such was the whole plan of the eternal God about the God that was to
be, to whom for this reason he gave a body, smooth and even, having a surface
in every direction equidistant from the centre, a body entire and
perfect,
and formed out of perfect bodies. And in the centre he put the
soul,
which he diffused throughout the body, making it also to be the
exterior
environment of it; and he made the universe a circle moving in a
circle, one and solitary, yet by reason of its excellence able to
converse with itself,
and needing no other friendship or acquaintance. Having these
purposes in view he created the world a blessed God. Now God did not make the soul after
the body, although we are speaking
of them in this order; for having brought them together he would never
have allowed that the elder should be ruled by the younger; but this is
a
random manner of speaking which we have, because somehow we ourselves
too are
very much under the dominion of chance. Whereas he made the soul
in
origin and excellence prior to and older than the body, to be the ruler
and
mistress, of whom the body was to be the subject. And he made her
out of the following elements and on this wise: Out of the
indivisible and unchangeable, and also out of that which is divisible
and has to do with material bodies, he compounded a third and
intermediate kind of essence, partaking of the nature of the same and
of the other, and this compound
he placed accordingly in a mean between the indivisible, and the
divisible
and material. He took the three elements of the same, the other,
and
the essence, and mingled them into one form, compressing by force the
reluctant and unsociable nature of the other into the same. When
he had
mingled them with the essence and out of three made one, he again
divided this whole into as many portions as was fitting, each portion
being a compound of
the same, the other, and the essence. And he proceeded to divide
after this manner:--First of all, he took away one part of the whole
(1), and then
he separated a second part which was double the first (2), and then he
took away a third part which was half as much again as the second and
three times as much as the first (3), and then he took a fourth part
which was twice as much as the second (4), and a fifth part which was
three times
the third (9), and a sixth part which was eight times the first (8),
and a seventh part which was twenty-seven times the first (27).
After
this he filled up the double intervals (i.e. between 1, 2, 4, 8) and
the triple (i.e. between 1, 3, 9, 27) cutting off yet other portions
from the
mixture and placing them in the intervals, so that in each interval
there were
two kinds of means, the one exceeding and exceeded by equal parts of
its extremes (as for example 1, 4/3, 2, in which the mean 4/3 is
one-third
of 1 more than 1, and one-third of 2 less than 2), the other being that
kind
of mean which exceeds and is exceeded by an equal number (e.g. - over
1, 4/3, 3/2, - over 2, 8/3, 3, - over 4, 16/3, 6, - over
8: and - over 1, 3/2, 2, - over 3, 9/2, 6, - over 9, 27/2,
18, -
over 27.). Where there were intervals of 3/2 and of 4/3 and of 9/8,
made by the connecting terms in the former intervals, he filled up all
the
intervals of 4/3 with the interval of 9/8, leaving a fraction over; and
the interval which this fraction expressed was in the ratio of 256 to
243 (e.g.
243:256::81/64:4/3::243/128:2::81/32:8/3::243/64:4::81/16:16/3::242/32:8.).
And thus the whole mixture out of which he cut these portions was all
exhausted by him. This entire compound he divided lengthways into
two parts, which he joined to one another at the centre like the letter
X,
and bent them into a circular form, connecting them with themselves and
each other at the point opposite to their original meeting-point; and,
comprehending them in a uniform revolution upon the same axis, he made
the one the outer and the other the inner circle. Now the motion
of
the outer circle he called the motion of the same, and the motion of
the inner
circle the motion of the other or diverse. The motion of the same
he
carried round by the side (i.e. of the rectangular figure supposed to
be
inscribed in the circle of the Same.) to the right, and the motion of
the diverse diagonally (i.e. across the rectangular figure from corner
to corner.)
to the left. And he gave dominion to the motion of the same and
like, for that he left single and undivided; but the inner motion he
divided in
six places and made seven unequal circles having their intervals in
ratios
of two and and three, three of each, and bade the orbits proceed in a
direction opposite to one another; and three (Sun, Mercury, Venus) he
made to move with equal swiftness, and the remaining four (Moon,
Saturn,
Mars, Jupiter) to move with unequal swiftness to the three and to one
another, but in due proportion. Now when the Creator had framed the
soul according to his will, he
formed within her the corporeal universe, and brought the two together,
and
united them centre to centre. The soul, interfused everywhere
from the
centre to the circumference of heaven, of which also she is the
external
envelopment, herself turning in herself, began a divine beginning of
never-ceasing
and rational life enduring throughout all time. The body of
heaven is
visible, but the soul is invisible, and partakes of reason and harmony, and being made by the best
of intellectual and everlasting natures, is the best of things
created. And because she is composed of the same and of
the other and of the essence, these three, and is divided and united in
due proportion, and in her revolutions returns upon herself, the soul,
when touching anything which has essence, whether dispersed in parts or
undivided, is stirred through all her powers, to declare the sameness
or difference of that thing and some other; and to what individuals are
related, and by what affected, and in what way and how and when, both
in the world of generation and in the world of immutable being.
And
when reason, which works with equal truth, whether she be in the circle
of
the diverse or of the same--in voiceless silence holding her onward
course
in the sphere of the self-moved--when reason, I say, is hovering around
the sensible world and when the circle of the diverse also moving truly
imparts the intimations of sense to the whole soul, then arise opinions
and
beliefs sure and certain. But when reason is concerned with the
rational,
and the circle of the same moving smoothly declares it, then
intelligence and knowledge are necessarily perfected. And if any
one affirms that
in which these two are found to be other than the soul, he will say the
very opposite of the truth. When the father and creator saw the
creature which he had made moving
and living, the created image of
the
eternal Gods, he rejoiced,
and in his joy determined to make the copy still more like the
original; and as this
was eternal, he sought to make the universe eternal, so far as might
be. Now the nature of the ideal being was everlasting, but to
bestow this
attribute in its fulness upon a creature was impossible.
Wherefore he
resolved to have a moving image of
eternity,
and when he set in order the heaven, he made this image eternal but moving
according to number, while eternity itself rests in unity; and this image
we call time. For there were no days and nights and months and
years before the heaven was created, but when
he constructed the heaven he created them also. They are all
parts
of time, and the past and future are created species of time, which we
unconsciously but wrongly transfer to the eternal essence; for we say
that he 'was,'
he 'is,' he 'will be,' but the truth is that 'is' alone is properly
attributed to him, and that 'was' and 'will be' are only to be spoken
of becoming
in time, for they are motions, but that which is immovably the same
cannot become older or younger by time, nor ever did or has become, or
hereafter will be, older or younger, nor is subject at all to any of
those states which affect moving and sensible things and of which
generation is the cause. These are the forms of time, which
imitates eternity and
revolves according to a law of number. Moreover, when we say that
what has
become IS become and what becomes IS becoming, and that what will
become IS
about to become and that the non-existent IS non-existent--all these
are inaccurate modes of expression (compare Parmen.). But perhaps
this whole subject will be more suitably discussed on some other
occasion. Time, then, and the heaven came into being at the same
instant in order that, having been created together, if ever there was
to be a
dissolution of them, they might be dissolved together. It was
framed after
the pattern of the eternal nature, that it
might resemble this as far as was
possible; for the pattern exists from
eternity, and the created heaven has been,
and is, and will be, in all time. Such was the mind and thought
of
God in the creation of
time. The sun and moon and five other stars, which
are called the planets, were created by him in order to distinguish and
preserve
the numbers of time; and when he had made their several bodies, he
placed
them in the orbits in which the circle of the other was revolving,--in
seven orbits seven stars.
First, there was the moon in the orbit
nearest the earth, and
next the sun, in the second orbit above the earth; then came
the morning star and
the star sacred to
Hermes, moving in orbits which have
an equal swiftness with the sun, but in an opposite direction; and this
is
the reason why the sun and Hermes and Lucifer overtake and are
overtaken by each other. To enumerate the places which he
assigned to the
other stars, and to
give all the reasons why he assigned them, although a secondary matter,
would give more trouble than the primary. These things at
some future time, when we are at leisure, may have the consideration
which
they deserve, but not at present. Now, when all the stars which were necessary
to the creation of time had attained a motion suitable to them, and had
become living creatures
having bodies fastened by vital chains, and learnt their appointed
task,
moving in the motion of the diverse, which is diagonal, and passes
through and is governed by the motion of the same, they revolved, some
in a larger and some in a lesser orbit--those which had the lesser
orbit revolving
faster, and those which had the larger more slowly. Now by reason
of the
motion of the same, those which revolved fastest appeared to be
overtaken by those which moved slower although they really overtook
them; for the motion of the same made them all turn in a spiral, and,
because some went one way
and some another, that which receded most slowly from the sphere of the
same, which was the swiftest, appeared to follow it most nearly.
That
there might be some visible measure of their relative swiftness and
slowness
as they proceeded in their eight courses, God lighted a fire, which we now call the
sun, in the second from the earth
of these orbits, that it
might give light to the whole of heaven, and that the animals, as many
as
nature intended, might participate in number, learning arithmetic from
the revolution of the same and the like. Thus then, and for this
reason the night and the day were created, being the period of the one
most intelligent revolution. And the month is accomplished when
the
moon has completed her orbit and overtaken the sun, and the year when
the sun has completed his own orbit. Mankind, with hardly an
exception, have
not remarked the periods of the other stars, and they have no
name for them, and do not measure them against one another by the help
of number, and hence they can scarcely be said to know that their
wanderings, being infinite in number and admirable for their variety,
make up time.
And yet there is no difficulty in seeing that the perfect number of
time fulfils the perfect year when all the eight revolutions, having
their relative degrees of swiftness, are accomplished together and
attain their
completion at the same time, measured by the rotation of the same and
equally
moving. After this manner, and for these reasons, came into being such
of the
stars as in their
heavenly progress received reversals of motion, to the end
that the created heaven might imitate the eternal nature, and be as
like as possible to the perfect and intelligible animal. Thus far and
until the birth of time the created universe was made in
the likeness of the original, but inasmuch as all animals were not yet
comprehended therein, it was still unlike. What remained, the
creator then proceeded to fashion after the nature of the pattern. Now as in
the ideal animal the mind perceives ideas
or
species of a certain nature and number, he thought that this created
animal ought to have species of a like
nature and number. There are four such; one of them is the
heavenly race
of the Gods; another, the
race of birds whose way is in the air; the third, the watery
species; and the fourth, the pedestrian and land
creatures. Of the heavenly and divine, he created the greater
part out of fire, that
they might be the brightest of all things and fairest to behold, and he
fashioned them after the likeness of the universe in the figure of a
circle, and made them follow the intelligent motion of the supreme,
distributing them over the whole circumference of heaven, which was to
be a true cosmos or
glorious world spangled with them all over. And he
gave to each of them two movements: the first, a movement on the
same
spot after the same manner, whereby they ever continue to think
consistently the
same thoughts about the same things; the second, a forward movement, in
which they are controlled by the revolution of the same and the like;
but by
the other five motions they were unaffected, in order that each of them
might attain the highest perfection. And for this reason the
fixed
stars were created, to
be divine and eternal animals, ever-abiding and revolving
after the same manner and on the same spot; and the other stars which reverse their
motion and are subject to deviations of this kind, were created in the
manner already described. The earth, which is our nurse,
clinging (or 'circling') around the pole which is extended through the
universe, he framed to be the guardian and artificer of night and day,
first and
eldest of Gods that are in
the interior of heaven. Vain would be the
attempt to tell all the figures of them circling as in dance, and their
juxtapositions, and the return of them in their revolutions upon
themselves, and their approximations, and to say which of these deities
in their conjunctions meet, and which of them are in opposition, and in
what order they get behind and before one another, and when they are
severally eclipsed to our sight and
again reappear, sending terrors and
intimations of the future to those who cannot calculate their
movements--to attempt
to tell of all this without a visible representation of the heavenly
system would be labour in vain. Enough on this head; and now let
what we
have said about the nature of the created and visible Gods have an end. To know or
tell the origin of the other divinities is beyond us, and we must
accept the traditions of the men of old time who affirm themselves
to be the offspring of the Gods--that
is what they say--and they must
surely have known their own ancestors. How can we doubt the word
of the
children of the Gods?
Although they give no probable or certain proofs,
still, as they declare that they are speaking of what took place in
their own
family, we must conform to custom and believe them. In this
manner, then, according to them, the genealogy of these Gods is to be received and set
forth. Oceanus and Tethys were the children of earth and Heaven, and from
these sprang Phorcys and Cronos and Rhea, and all that generation; and
from Cronos and Rhea sprang Zeus and Here, and all those who are said
to be their brethren, and others who were the children of these. Now,
when all of them, both those who visibly appear in their
revolutions as well as those other Gods who are of a more retiring
nature, had come into being, the creator of the universe addressed them
in these words: 'Gods,
children of Gods, who are my
works, and of whom I am the
artificer and father, my creations are indissoluble, if so I
will. All that
is bound may be undone, but only an evil being would wish to undo that
which is harmonious and happy. Wherefore, since ye are but
creatures, ye
are not altogether immortal and indissoluble, but ye shall certainly
not be dissolved, nor be liable to the fate of death, having in my will
a
greater and mightier bond than those with which ye were bound at the
time of
your birth. And now listen to my instructions:--Three tribes of
mortal
beings remain to be created--without them the universe will be
incomplete, for
it will not contain every kind of animal which it ought to contain, if
it
is to be perfect. On the other hand, if they were created by me
and
received life at my hands, they would be on an equality with the Gods. In
order then that they may be mortal, and that this universe may be truly
universal, do ye, according to your natures, betake yourselves to the
formation of animals, imitating the power which was shown by me in
creating you. The part of them worthy of the name immortal, which
is
called divine and is the guiding principle of those who are willing to
follow justice
and you--of that divine part I will myself sow the seed, and having
made a beginning, I will hand the work over to you. And do ye
then
interweave the mortal with the immortal, and make and beget living
creatures, and give them food, and make them to grow, and receive them
again in death.' Thus he spake, and once more into the cup in which he
had previously mingled the soul of the universe he poured the remains
of the elements,
and mingled them in much the same manner; they were not, however, pure
as before, but diluted to the second and third degree. And having
made it he divided the whole mixture into souls equal in number to the stars, and assigned each
soul to a star; and
having there placed them as in a
chariot, he showed them the nature of the universe, and declared to
them the
laws of destiny, according to which their first birth would be one and
the same
for all,--no one should suffer a disadvantage at his hands; they were
to be sown in the instruments of time severally adapted to them, and to
come forth the most religious of animals; and as human nature was of
two
kinds, the superior race would hereafter be called man. Now, when
they
should be implanted in bodies by necessity, and be always gaining or
losing some
part of their bodily substance, then in the first place it would be
necessary that they should all have in them one and the same faculty of
sensation, arising out of irresistible impressions; in the second
place, they must have love, in which pleasure and pain mingle; also
fear and anger, and
the feelings which are akin or opposite to them; if they conquered
these
they would live righteously, and if they were conquered by them,
unrighteously. He who lived well during his appointed time was to
return and dwell in
his native star, and
there he would have a blessed and congenial existence. But if he failed
in attaining this, at the second birth he would pass
into a woman, and if, when in that state of being, he did not desist
from
evil, he would continually be changed into some brute who resembled him
in the evil nature which he had acquired, and would not cease from his
toils
and transformations until he followed the revolution of the same and
the
like within him, and overcame by the help of reason the turbulent and
irrational mob of later accretions, made up of fire and air and water and earth,
and returned to the form of his first and better state. Having
given
all these laws to his creatures, that he might be guiltless of future
evil in any
of them, the creator sowed some of them in the earth, and some in the moon,
and some in the other instruments of time; and when he had sown them he
committed to the younger Gods
the fashioning of their mortal bodies, and desired them to furnish what
was still lacking to the human soul, and having made all the suitable
additions, to rule over them, and to pilot
the mortal animal in the best and wisest manner which they could, and
avert from him all but self-inflicted evils. When the creator had made
all these ordinances he remained in his own accustomed nature, and his
children heard and were obedient to their father's word, and receiving
from him the immortal principle of a mortal creature, in imitation of
their own creator they borrowed portions of
fire, and earth, and water, and air from the world, which were
hereafter to be restored--these they took and welded them together, not
with the indissoluble chains by which they were themselves bound, but
with little pegs too small to be visible, making up out of all the four
elements
each separate body, and fastening the courses of the immortal soul in a
body which was in a state of perpetual influx and efflux. Now
these
courses, detained as in a vast river, neither overcame nor were
overcome; but
were hurrying and hurried to and fro, so that the whole animal was
moved and progressed, irregularly however and irrationally and anyhow,
in all the
six directions of motion, wandering backwards and forwards, and right
and
left, and up and down, and in all the six directions. For great
as was
the advancing and retiring flood which provided nourishment, the
affections produced by external contact caused still greater
tumult--when the body
of any one met and came into collision with some external fire, or with the solid earth or the gliding waters,
or was caught in the tempest borne on the air, and the motions produced
by any of these impulses were carried through the body to the
soul. All such motions have consequently
received the general name of 'sensations,' which they still
retain. And
they did in fact at that time create a very great and mighty movement;
uniting with
the ever-flowing stream in stirring up and violently shaking the
courses of
the soul, they completely stopped the revolution of the same by their
opposing current, and hindered it from predominating and advancing; and
they so disturbed the nature of the other or diverse, that the three
double intervals (i.e. between 1, 2, 4, 8), and the three triple
intervals
(i.e. between 1, 3, 9, 27), together with the mean terms and connecting
links which are expressed by the ratios of 3:2, and 4:3, and of
9:8--these, although they cannot be wholly undone except by him who
united them,
were twisted by them in all sorts of ways, and the circles were broken
and disordered in every possible manner, so that when they moved they
were tumbling to pieces, and moved irrationally, at one time in a
reverse direction, and then again obliquely, and then upside down, as
you might imagine a person who is upside down and has his head leaning
upon the ground and his feet up against something in the air; and when he is in
such a position, both he and the spectator fancy that the right of
either is
his left, and the left right. If, when powerfully experiencing
these
and similar effects, the revolutions of the soul come in contact with
some external thing, either of the class of the same or of the other,
they
speak of the same or of the other in a manner the very opposite of the
truth;
and they become false and foolish, and there is no course or revolution
in
them which has a guiding or directing power; and if again any
sensations
enter in violently from without and drag after them the whole vessel of
the
soul, then the courses of the soul, though they seem to conquer, are
really conquered. And by reason of all these affections, the soul, when
encased in a
mortal body, now, as in the beginning, is at first without
intelligence; but
when the flood of growth and nutriment abates, and the courses of the
soul, calming down, go their own way and become steadier as time goes
on, then the several circles return to their natural form, and their
revolutions
are corrected, and they call the same and the other by their right
names,
and make the possessor of them to become a rational being. And if
these combine in him with any true nurture or education, he attains the
fulness and health of the perfect man, and escapes the worst disease of
all;
but if he neglects education he walks lame to the end of his life, and
returns imperfect and good for nothing to the world below. This,
however,
is a later stage; at present we must treat more exactly the subject
before
us, which involves a preliminary enquiry into the generation of the
body and its members, and as to how the soul was created--for what
reason and by what providence of the Gods; and holding fast to
probability, we must pursue our way. First, then, the Gods, imitating the spherical
shape of the universe, enclosed the two divine courses in a spherical
body, that, namely,
which we now term the head, being the most divine part of us and the
lord of all that is in us: to this the Gods, when they put together
the body,
gave all the other members to be servants, considering that it partook
of every
sort of motion. In order then that it might not tumble about
among the
high and deep places of the earth,
but might be able to get over the one and out
of the other, they provided the body to be its vehicle and means of
locomotion; which consequently had length and was furnished with four
limbs extended and flexible; these God contrived to be instruments
of
locomotion with which it might take hold and find support, and so be
able to pass through all places, carrying on high the dwelling-place of
the most
sacred and divine part of us. Such was the origin of legs and
hands,
which for this reason were attached to every man; and the Gods, deeming the front part of
man to be more honourable and more fit to command than the
hinder part, made us to move mostly in a forward direction.
Wherefore
man must needs have his front part unlike and distinguished from the
rest of his body. And so in the vessel of the head, they first of all
put a face in which they inserted organs to minister in all things to
the providence of the soul, and they appointed this part, which has
authority, to be by nature the part which is in front. And of the
organs they first
contrived the eyes to give light, and the principle according to which
they were
inserted was as follows: So much of fire as would not burn, but
gave a
gentle light, they formed into a substance akin to the light of
every-day life; and the pure fire
which is within us and related thereto they made to
flow through the eyes in a stream smooth and dense, compressing the
whole
eye, and especially the centre part, so that it kept out everything of
a
coarser nature, and allowed to pass only this pure element. When
the
light of day surrounds the stream of vision, then like falls upon like,
and they coalesce, and one body is formed by natural affinity in the line of
vision, wherever the light that falls from within meets with an
external
object. And the whole stream of vision, being similarly affected in
virtue of similarity, diffuses the motions of what it touches or what
touches it
over the whole body, until they reach the soul, causing that perception
which we call sight. But when
night comes on and the external and kindred
fire departs, then the
stream of vision is cut off; for going forth to an
unlike element it is changed and extinguished, being no longer of one
nature
with the surrounding atmosphere which is now deprived of fire: and so
the eye no longer sees, and we feel disposed to sleep. For when
the
eyelids, which the Gods
invented for the preservation of sight,
are closed, they keep
in the internal fire; and
the power of the fire
diffuses and equalizes the inward motions; when they are equalized,
there is rest, and when the
rest is profound, sleep comes over us scarce disturbed by dreams; but
where
the greater motions still remain, of whatever nature and in whatever
locality, they engender corresponding visions in dreams, which are
remembered by
us when we are awake and in the external world. And now there is
no
longer any difficulty in understanding the creation of images in mirrors and all smooth and bright
surfaces. For from the communion of the
internal and external fires, and again from the union of them and their
numerous transformations when they meet in the mirror, all these appearances of
necessity arise, when the fire
from the face coalesces with the fire
from the eye on the bright and smooth surface.
And right appears left
and left right, because the visual rays come into contact with the rays
emitted
by the object in a manner contrary to the usual mode of meeting; but
the
right appears right, and the left left, when the position of one of the
two concurring lights is reversed; and this happens when the mirror is
concave and its smooth surface repels
the right stream of vision to the left
side, and the left to the right (He is speaking of two kinds of mirrors, first the plane, secondly
the concave; and the latter is supposed to be
placed, first horizontally, and then vertically.). Or if the mirror be
turned vertically, then the concavity makes the countenance appear to
be all upside down, and the lower rays are driven upwards and the upper
downwards. All these are to be reckoned among the second and
co-operative causes
which God, carrying into
execution the idea
of the best as far as possible, uses as his ministers. They are
thought by most men not to be the
second, but the prime causes of all things, because they freeze and
heat, and
contract and dilate, and the like. But they are not so, for they
are
incapable of reason or intellect; the only being which can properly
have mind is the invisible soul, whereas fire and water, and earth and air, are all of
them visible bodies. The lover of intellect and knowledge ought
to
explore causes of intelligent nature first of all, and, secondly, of
those
things which, being moved by others, are compelled to move
others. And
this is what we too must do. Both kinds of causes should be
acknowledged
by us, but a distinction should be made between those which are endowed
with
mind and are the workers of things fair and good, and those which are
deprived of intelligence and always produce chance effects without
order or
design. Of the second or co-operative causes of sight, which help to give to the eyes the
power which they now possess, enough has been said. I
will therefore now proceed to speak of the higher use and purpose for
which
God has given them to
us. The sight in my opinion is
the source of the greatest benefit to us, for had we never seen the stars, and the sun,
and the heaven, none of the words which we have spoken about the
universe
would ever have been uttered. But now the sight of day and night, and
the months and the revolutions of the years, have created number, and
have given
us a conception of time, and the power of enquiring about the nature of
the universe; and from this source we have derived philosophy, than
which no greater good ever was or will be given by the Gods to mortal man.
This is the greatest boon of sight:
and of the lesser benefits why should
I speak? even the ordinary man if he were deprived of them would bewail
his loss, but in vain. Thus much let me say however: God invented and
gave us sight to the end that we might
behold the courses of intelligence in the
heaven, and apply them to the courses of our own intelligence which are
akin to them, the unperturbed to the perturbed; and that we, learning
them and partaking of the natural truth of reason, might imitate the
absolutely unerring courses of God
and regulate our own vagaries. The same
may be affirmed of speech and hearing: they have been given by
the Gods
to the same end and for a like reason. For this is the principal
end of
speech, whereto it most contributes. Moreover, so much of music
as is
adapted to the sound of the voice and to the sense of hearing is
granted to us for
the sake of harmony; and harmony, which has motions akin to
the revolutions
of our souls, is not regarded by the intelligent votary of the Muses as
given by them with a view to irrational pleasure, which is deemed to be
the purpose of it in our day, but as meant to correct any discord which
may have arisen in the courses of the soul, and to be our ally in
bringing
her into harmony and agreement
with herself; and rhythm too was given by
them for the same reason, on account of the irregular and graceless
ways
which prevail among mankind generally, and to help us against them.
Thus far in what we have been saying, with small exception, the works
of intelligence have been set forth; and now we must place by the side
of
them in our discourse the things which come into being through
necessity--for the creation is mixed, being made up of necessity and
mind. Mind,
the ruling power, persuaded necessity to bring the greater part of
created things to perfection, and thus and after this manner in the
beginning,
when the influence of reason got the better of necessity, the universe
was created. But if a person will truly tell of the way in which
the
work was accomplished, he must include the other influence of the
variable cause
as well. Wherefore, we must return again and find another
suitable
beginning, as about the former matters, so also about these. To
which end we
must consider the nature of fire,
and water, and air, and earth, such as they were
prior to the creation of the heaven, and what was happening to
them in this previous state; for no one has as yet explained the manner
of their generation, but we speak of fire and the rest of them,
whatever they
mean, as though men knew their natures, and we maintain them to be the
first principles and letters or elements of the whole, when they cannot
reasonably be compared by a man of any sense even to syllables or first
compounds. And let me say thus much: I will not now speak
of the first principle or principles of all things, or by whatever name
they are to
be called, for this reason--because it is difficult to set forth my
opinion according to the method of discussion which we are at present
employing. Do not imagine, any more than I can bring myself to imagine,
that I
should be right in undertaking so great and difficult a task.
Remembering what I said at first about probability, I will do my best
to give as probable
an explanation as any other--or rather, more probable; and I will first
go back to the beginning and try to speak of each thing and of
all.
Once more, then, at the commencement of my discourse, I call upon God, and
beg him to be our saviour out of a strange and unwonted enquiry, and to
bring us to the haven of probability. So now let us begin again.
This new beginning of our discussion of the universe requires a fuller
division than the former; for then we made two classes, now a third
must be revealed. The two sufficed for the former
discussion: one,
which we assumed, was a pattern intelligible
and always the same; and the second
was only the imitation of the pattern,
generated and visible. There
is also a third kind which we did not distinguish at the time,
conceiving that the two would be enough. But now the argument
seems to require that
we should set forth in words another kind, which is difficult of
explanation and dimly seen. What nature are we to attribute to
this new kind of
being? We reply, that it is the receptacle, and in a manner the
nurse, of all generation. I have spoken the truth; but I must
express myself in
clearer language, and this will be an arduous task for many reasons,
and in particular because I must first raise questions concerning fire and the other elements,
and determine what each of them is; for to say, with any probability or
certitude, which of them should be called water
rather
than fire, and which
should be called any of them rather than all or some
one of them, is a difficult matter. How, then, shall we settle
this
point, and what questions about the elements may be fairly raised? In
the first place, we see that what we just now called water, by condensation, I suppose,
becomes stone and earth;
and this same element, when melted and dispersed, passes into vapour
and air. air,
again, when inflamed, becomes fire;
and again fire, when
condensed and extinguished, passes once more into the form of air; and once more, air, when
collected and condensed, produces cloud and mist; and from these, when
still more compressed, comes flowing water,
and from water comes earth and stones
once more; and thus generation appears to be transmitted from one to
the
other in a circle. Thus, then, as the several elements never
present
themselves in the same form, how can any one have the assurance to
assert
positively that any of them, whatever it may be, is one thing rather
than
another? No one can. But much the safest plan is to speak
of them as
follows:-- Anything which we see to be continually changing, as, for
example,
fire, we must not call
'this' or 'that,' but rather say that it is 'of such a nature'; nor let
us speak of water as 'this'; but
always as 'such'; nor must we imply that there is any stability in any
of those things which
we indicate by the use of the words 'this' and 'that,' supposing
ourselves
to signify something thereby; for they are too volatile to be detained
in
any such expressions as 'this,' or 'that,' or 'relative to this,' or
any
other mode of speaking which represents them as permanent. We
ought not
to apply 'this' to any of them, but rather the word 'such'; which
expresses the similar principle circulating in each and all of them;
for example, that should be called 'fire' which is of such a
nature always, and so of everything that has generation. That in
which the elements
severally grow up, and appear, and decay, is alone to be called by the
name 'this' or 'that'; but that which is of a certain nature, hot or
white, or anything which admits of opposite qualities, and all things
that are compounded
of them, ought not to be so denominated. Let me make another
attempt
to explain my meaning more clearly. Suppose a person to make all
kinds of figures of gold and to be always transmuting one form into all
the
rest;-- somebody points to one of them and asks what it is. By
far the
safest and truest answer is, That is gold; and not to call the triangle
or any
other figures which are formed in the gold 'these,' as though they had
existence, since they are in process of change while he is making the
assertion;
but if the questioner be willing to take the safe and indefinite
expression, 'such,' we should be satisfied. And the same argument
applies to
the universal nature which receives all bodies--that must be always
called
the same; for, while receiving all things, she never departs at all
from her own nature, and never in any way, or at any time, assumes a
form like
that of any of the things which enter into her; she is the natural
recipient
of all impressions, and is stirred and informed by them, and appears
different from time to time by reason of them. But the forms
which enter
into and go out of her are the likenesses of real existences modelled
after their patterns in a wonderful and
inexplicable manner, which we will hereafter investigate. For the
present we have only to conceive of three
natures: first, that which is in process of generation; secondly, that
in which
the generation takes place; and thirdly, that of which the thing
generated
is a resemblance. And we may liken the receiving principle to a
mother, and the source or spring to a father, and the intermediate
nature to a child;
and may remark further, that if the model is
to
take every variety of form, then the matter in which the model is fashioned will not be duly
prepared, unless it is formless, and free from the impress of any of
those shapes which it is hereafter to receive from without. For
if the matter
were like any of the supervening forms, then whenever any opposite or
entirely different nature was stamped upon its surface, it would take the
impression badly, because it would intrude its own shape.
Wherefore, that
which is to receive all forms should have no form; as in making
perfumes they first contrive that the liquid substance which is to
receive the scent shall
be as inodorous as possible; or as those who wish to impress figures on
soft substances do not allow any previous impression to remain, but
begin by making the surface as even and
smooth as possible. In the same
way that which is to receive perpetually and through its whole extent
the resemblances of all eternal beings ought to be devoid of any
particular form. Wherefore, the mother and receptacle of all
created and
visible and in any way sensible things, is not to be termed earth, or air, or fire,
or water, or any of their compounds
or any of the elements from which these are derived, but is an
invisible and formless being which receives all things and in some
mysterious way partakes of the intelligible, and is
most incomprehensible. In saying this we shall not be far wrong;
as
far, however, as we can attain to a knowledge of her from the previous
considerations, we may truly say that fire is that part of her
nature
which from time to time is inflamed, and water
that which is moistened, and
that the mother substance becomes earth and air, in so far as she receives
the impressions of them. Let us consider this question more
precisely. Is there any
self-existent fire? and
do all those things which we call self-existent exist? or are only
those things which we see, or in some way perceive through the
bodily organs, truly existent, and nothing whatever besides them?
And is
all that which we call an intelligible essence nothing at all, and only
a name? Here is a question which we must not leave unexamined or
undetermined,
nor must we affirm too confidently that there can be no decision;
neither
must we interpolate in our present long discourse a digression equally
long,
but if it is possible to set forth a great principle in a few words,
that is just what we want. Thus I state my view:--If mind and true
opinion are two distinct
classes, then I say that there certainly are these self-existent ideas unperceived by sense, and
apprehended only by the mind; if, however, as some say,
true opinion differs in no respect from mind, then everything that we
perceive through the body is to be regarded as most real and
certain. But
we must affirm them to be distinct, for they have a distinct origin and
are of a different nature; the one is implanted in us by instruction,
the other
by persuasion; the one is always accompanied by true reason, the other
is without reason; the one cannot be overcome by persuasion, but the
other can: and lastly, every man may be said to share in true
opinion,
but mind is the attribute of the Gods
and of very few men. Wherefore also
we must acknowledge that there is one kind of being which is always the
same, uncreated and indestructible, never receiving anything into
itself from without, nor itself going out to any other, but invisible
and
imperceptible by any sense, and of which the contemplation is granted
to intelligence only. And there is another nature of the same
name with it, and
like to it, perceived by sense, created, always in motion, becoming in
place and again vanishing out of place, which is apprehended by opinion
and
sense. And there is a third nature, which is space, and is eternal, and
admits
not of destruction and provides a home for all created things, and is
apprehended without the help of sense, by a kind of spurious reason,
and is hardly real; which we beholding as in a dream, say of all
existence
that it must of necessity be in some place and occupy a space, but that
what is neither in heaven nor in earth has no
existence. Of these and
other things of the same kind, relating to the true and waking reality
of nature, we have only this dreamlike sense, and we are unable to cast
off sleep and determine the truth about them. For an image, since the reality, after which
it is modelled, does not belong to it, and it exists ever as the
fleeting shadow of some other, must be inferred to be in another (i.e.
in space), grasping existence in some way or other, or it could not be
at
all. But true and exact reason, vindicating the nature of true being,
maintains that while two things (i.e. the image
and space) are different they cannot exist one of them in the other and
so be one and also two at the same
time. Thus have I concisely given the result of my thoughts; and my
verdict is that being and space and generation, these three, existed in
their three ways before the heaven; and that the nurse of generation,
moistened by water and inflamed by fire, and receiving the
forms of earth and air,
and experiencing all the affections which accompany these, presented a
strange variety of appearances; and being full of powers which were
neither
similar nor equally balanced, was never in any part in a state of
equipoise, but swaying unevenly hither and thither, was shaken by them,
and by its
motion again shook them; and the elements when moved were separated and
carried continually, some one way, some another; as, when grain is
shaken and winnowed by fans and other instruments used in the threshing
of corn,
the close and heavy particles are borne away and settle in one
direction,
and the loose and light particles in another. In this manner, the
four kinds or elements were then shaken by the receiving vessel, which,
moving
like a winnowing machine, scattered far away from one another the
elements most unlike, and forced the most similar elements into close
contact.
Wherefore also the various elements had different places before they
were
arranged so as to form the universe. At first, they were all
without reason
and measure. But when the world began to get into order, fire and
water and earth and air had only certain faint
traces of themselves, and were altogether such as everything might be
expected to be in the absence of God;
this, I say, was their nature at that time, and God fashioned them
by form and number. Let it be consistently maintained by us in
all
that we say that God made
them as far as possible the fairest and best, out of things which were
not fair and good. And now I will endeavour to
show you the disposition and generation of them by an unaccustomed
argument,
which I am compelled to use; but I believe that you will be able to
follow me,
for your education has made you familiar with the methods of science.
In the first place, then, as is evident to all, fire and earth and water and air are bodies. And
every sort of body possesses solidity,
and every solid must necessarily be contained in planes; and every
plane
rectilinear figure is composed of triangles; and all triangles are
originally of two kinds, both of which are made up of one right and two
acute angles; one
of them has at either end of the base the half of a divided right
angle, having equal sides, while in the other the right angle is
divided into unequal parts, having unequal sides. These, then,
proceeding by a combination of probability with demonstration, we
assume to be the
original elements of fire
and the other bodies; but the principles which are
prior to these God only
knows, and he of men who is the friend of God.
And next we have to determine what are the four most beautiful bodies
which are unlike one another, and of which some are capable of
resolution into one another; for having discovered thus much, we shall
know the true origin
of earth and fire and of the
proportionate and intermediate
elements. And then we shall not be willing to allow that there
are any distinct kinds
of visible bodies fairer than these. Wherefore we must endeavour
to
construct the four forms of bodies which excel in beauty, and then we
shall be
able to say that we have sufficiently apprehended their nature.
Now of
the two triangles, the isosceles has one form only; the scalene or
unequal-sided has an infinite number. Of the infinite forms we
must select the
most beautiful, if we are to proceed in due order, and any one who can
point
out a more beautiful form than ours for the construction of these
bodies,
shall carry off the palm, not as an enemy, but as a friend. Now,
the
one which we maintain to be the most beautiful of all the many
triangles (and we
need not speak of the others) is that of which the double forms a third
triangle which is equilateral; the reason of this would be long to
tell; he who disproves what we are saying, and shows that we are
mistaken, may claim
a friendly victory. Then let us choose two triangles, out of
which
fire and the other
elements have been constructed, one isosceles, the other
having the square of the longer side equal to three times the square of
the
lesser side. Now is the time to explain what was before obscurely
said: there
was an error in imagining that all the four elements might be generated
by and into one another; this, I say, was an erroneous supposition, for
there
are generated from the triangles which we have selected four
kinds--three
from the one which has the sides unequal; the fourth alone is framed
out of
the isosceles triangle. Hence they cannot all be resolved into
one
another, a great number of small bodies being combined into a few large
ones, or
the converse. But three of them can be thus resolved and
compounded,
for they all spring from one, and when the greater bodies are broken
up, many
small bodies will spring up out of them and take their own proper
figures; or, again, when many small bodies are dissolved into their
triangles, if
they become one, they will form one large mass of another kind.
So
much for their passage into one another. I have now to speak of
their
several kinds, and show out of what combinations of numbers each of
them was formed. The first will be the simplest and smallest
construction,
and its element is that triangle which has its hypotenuse twice the
lesser
side. When two such triangles are joined at the diagonal, and this is
repeated three times, and the triangles rest their diagonals and
shorter sides on the same point as a centre, a single equilateral
triangle is formed out
of six triangles; and four equilateral triangles, if put together, make
out of every three plane angles one solid angle, being that which is
nearest to the most obtuse of plane angles; and out of the combination
of these
four angles arises the first solid form which distributes into equal
and
similar parts the whole circle in which it is inscribed. The
second
species of solid is formed out of the same triangles, which unite as
eight
equilateral triangles and form one solid angle out of four plane
angles, and out of
six such angles the second body is completed. And the third body
is
made up of 120 triangular elements, forming twelve solid angles, each
of them
included in five plane equilateral triangles, having altogether twenty
bases,
each of which is an equilateral triangle. The one element (that
is, the triangle which has its hypotenuse twice the lesser side) having
generated these figures, generated no more; but the isosceles triangle
produced
the fourth elementary figure, which is compounded of four such
triangles, joining their right angles in a centre, and forming one
equilateral quadrangle. Six of these united form eight solid
angles, each of
which is made by the combination of three plane right angles; the
figure of the
body thus composed is a cube, having six plane quadrangular equilateral
bases. There was yet a fifth combination which God used in the delineation of
the universe. Now, he who, duly reflecting on all this, enquires
whether the worlds
are to be regarded as indefinite or definite in number, will be of
opinion
that the notion of their indefiniteness is characteristic of a sadly
indefinite and ignorant mind. He, however, who raises the
question whether
they are to be truly regarded as one or five, takes up a more
reasonable
position. Arguing from probabilities, I am of opinion that they are
one; another, regarding the question from another point of view, will
be of another
mind. But, leaving this enquiry, let us proceed to distribute the
elementary forms, which have now been created in idea,
among the four elements. To earth,
then, let us assign the cubical form; for earth is the most immoveable
of the four and the most plastic of all bodies, and that
which has the most stable bases must of necessity be of such a
nature.
Now, of the triangles which we assumed at first, that which has two
equal sides
is by nature more firmly based than that which has unequal sides; and
of
the compound figures which are formed out of either, the plane
equilateral quadrangle has necessarily a more stable basis than the
equilateral triangle, both in the whole and in the parts.
Wherefore, in
assigning this figure to earth,
we adhere to probability; and to water
we assign that
one of the remaining forms which is the least moveable; and the most
moveable of them to fire;
and to air that which is
intermediate. Also we
assign the smallest body to fire,
and the greatest to water, and the
intermediate
in size to air; and, again,
the acutest body to fire,
and the next in acuteness to, air,
and the third to water. Of all
these elements,
that which has the fewest bases must necessarily be the most moveable,
for it must be the acutest and most penetrating in every way, and also
the lightest as being composed of the smallest number of similar
particles: and the second body has similar properties in a second
degree, and the third body in the third degree. Let it be agreed,
then, both
according to strict reason and according to probability, that the
pyramid is the
solid which is the original element and seed of fire; and let us assign the
element which was next in the order of generation to air, and the third
to water. We must imagine all
these to be so small that no single
particle of any of the four kinds is seen by us on account of their
smallness: but when many of them are collected together their
aggregates are
seen. And the ratios of their numbers, motions, and other
properties, everywhere
God, as far as necessity
allowed or gave consent, has exactly perfected, and harmonized in due
proportion. From all that we have just been saying about the elements
or kinds, the most probable conclusion is as follows:--earth, when meeting with fire
and dissolved by its sharpness, whether the dissolution take place in
the
fire itself or perhaps in
some mass of air or water, is borne hither and thither,
until its parts, meeting together and mutually harmonising,
again become earth; for
they can never take any other form. But water,
when divided by fire or
by air, on re-forming, may
become one part fire and
two parts air; and a single
volume of air divided
becomes two of
fire. Again, when a
small body of fire is
contained in a larger body of air
or water
or earth, and both are
moving, and the fire
struggling is overcome and
broken up, then two volumes of fire
form one volume of air; and
when air is overcome and
cut up into small pieces, two and a half parts of air are condensed into one
part of water. Let us consider
the matter in
another way. When one of the other elements is fastened upon by fire, and
is cut by the sharpness of its angles and sides, it coalesces with the fire,
and then ceases to be cut by them any longer. For no element
which is
one and the same with itself can be changed by or change another of the
same
kind and in the same state. But so long as in the process of
transition the weaker is fighting against the stronger, the dissolution
continues. Again, when a few small particles, enclosed in many
larger ones, are in
process of decomposition and extinction, they only cease from their
tendency to extinction when they consent to pass into the conquering
nature, and
fire becomes air and airwater. But if bodies of another
kind go and
attack them (i.e. the small particles), the latter continue to be
dissolved
until, being completely forced back and dispersed, they make their
escape to
their own kindred, or else, being overcome and assimilated to the
conquering power, they remain where they are and dwell with their
victors, and from being many become one. And owing to these
affections, all things
are changing their place, for by the motion of the receiving vessel the
bulk of each class is distributed into its proper place; but those
things which become unlike themselves and like other things, are
hurried by the
shaking into the place of the things to which they grow like. Now all
unmixed and primary bodies are produced by such causes as
these. As to the subordinate species which are included in the greater
kinds,
they are to be attributed to the varieties in the structure of the two
original triangles. For either structure did not originally
produce the
triangle of one size only, but some larger and some smaller, and there
are as many sizes as there are species of the four elements.
Hence when they
are mingled with themselves and with one another there is an endless
variety of them, which those who would arrive at the probable truth of
nature ought duly to consider. Unless a person comes to an
understanding about the nature and
conditions of rest and motion, he will meet with many difficulties in
the
discussion which follows. Something has been said of this matter
already, and something more remains to be said, which is, that motion
never exists in what is uniform. For to conceive that anything
can be moved
without a mover is hard or indeed impossible, and equally impossible to
conceive
that there can be a mover unless there be something which can be
moved--motion cannot exist where either of these are wanting, and for
these to be
uniform is impossible; wherefore we must assign rest to uniformity and
motion to the want of uniformity. Now inequality is the cause of
the nature
which is wanting in uniformity; and of this we have already described
the
origin. But there still remains the further point--why things when
divided after their kinds do not cease to pass through one another and
to change their place--which we will now proceed to explain. In
the revolution of
the universe are comprehended all the four elements, and this being
circular and having a tendency to come together, compresses everything
and will
not allow any place to be left void. Wherefore, also, fire above all
things penetrates everywhere, and air next, as being next in
rarity of the elements; and the two other elements in like manner
penetrate according
to their degrees of rarity. For those things which are composed
of
the largest particles have the largest void left in their compositions,
and those which are composed of the smallest particles have the
least. And the contraction caused by the compression thrusts the
smaller particles into the interstices of the larger. And thus,
when the small parts are
placed side by side with the larger, and the lesser divide the greater
and the greater unite the lesser, all the elements are borne up and
down and
hither and thither towards their own places; for the change in the size
of each changes its position in space. And these causes generate
an
inequality which is always maintained, and is continually creating a
perpetual
motion of the elements in all time. In the next place we have to
consider that there are divers kinds of
fire. There are, for
example, first, flame; and secondly, those emanations of flame which do
not burn but only give light to the eyes; thirdly, the remains of fire, which are seen in
red-hot embers after the flame has
been extinguished. There are similar differences in the air; of which
the brightest part is called the aether, and the most turbid sort mist
and darkness; and there are various other nameless kinds which arise
from
the inequality of the triangles. water,
again, admits in the first
place of a division into two kinds; the one liquid and the other
fusile. The
liquid kind is composed of the small and unequal particles of water; and moves itself and is moved by
other bodies owing to the want of uniformity and
the shape of its particles; whereas the fusile kind, being formed of
large
and uniform particles, is more stable than the other, and is heavy and
compact by reason of its uniformity. But when fire gets in and dissolves
the particles and destroys the uniformity, it has greater mobility, and
becoming fluid is thrust forth by the neighbouring air and spreads upon
the earth; and this
dissolution of the solid masses is called melting, and their spreading
out upon the earth
flowing. Again, when the fire
goes out of the fusile substance, it does not pass into a vacuum, but
into the neighbouring air;
and the air which is
displaced forces together the
liquid and still moveable mass into the place which was occupied by the
fire,
and unites it with itself. Thus compressed the mass resumes its
equability, and is again at unity with itself, because the fire which was the
author of the inequality has retreated; and this departure of the fire is called cooling, and
the coming together which follows upon it is termed congealment.
Of all the kinds termed fusile, that which is the
densest and is formed out of the finest and most uniform parts is that
most precious possession called gold, which is hardened by filtration
through rock;
this is unique in kind, and has both a glittering and a yellow
colour.
A shoot of gold, which is so dense as to be very hard, and takes a
black
colour, is termed adamant. There is also another kind which has
parts nearly
like gold, and of which there are several species; it is denser than
gold,
and it contains a small and fine portion of earth, and is therefore
harder,
yet also lighter because of the great interstices which it has within
itself; and this substance, which is one of the bright and denser kinds
of
water, when solidified is called
copper. There is an alloy of earth
mingled with it, which, when the two parts grow old and are disunited,
shows itself separately and is called rust. The remaining
phenomena of the
same kind there will be no difficulty in reasoning out by the method of
probabilities. A man may sometimes set aside meditations about
eternal things, and for recreation turn to consider the truths of
generation
which are probable only; he will thus gain a pleasure not to be
repented of,
and secure for himself while he lives a wise and moderate
pastime.
Let us grant ourselves this indulgence, and go through the
probabilities
relating to the same subjects which follow next in order. water which is mingled with fire, so much as is fine and
liquid (being
so called by reason of its motion and the way in which it rolls along
the ground), and soft, because its bases give way and are less stable
than those of earth, when
separated from fire and air and isolated, becomes
more uniform, and by their retirement is compressed into itself; and if
the condensation be very great, the water
above the earth becomes
hail, but
on the earth, ice; and
that which is congealed in a less degree and is only half solid, when
above the earth is called
snow, and when upon the
earth, and condensed from
dew, hoar-frost. Then, again, there are the
numerous kinds of water which have
been mingled with one another, and are
distilled through plants which grow in the earth; and this whole class
is called
by the name of juices or saps. The unequal admixture of these
fluids
creates a variety of species; most of them are nameless, but four which
are of a fiery nature are clearly distinguished and have names.
First,
there is wine, which warms the soul as well as the body:
secondly, there
is the oily nature, which is smooth and divides the visual ray, and for
this reason is bright and shining and of a glistening appearance,
including pitch, the juice of the castor berry, oil itself, and other
things of a like kind: thirdly, there is the class of substances
which expand
the contracted parts of the mouth, until they return to their natural
state, and by reason of this property create sweetness;--these are
included
under the general name of honey: and, lastly, there is a frothy
nature,
which differs from all juices, having a burning quality which dissolves
the flesh; it is called opos (a vegetable acid). As to the kinds of earth, that which is
filtered through water passes
into stone in the following manner:--The water
which mixes with the earth
and is broken up in the process changes into air, and taking this form
mounts
into its own place. But as there is no surrounding vacuum it
thrusts
away the neighbouring air,
and this being rendered heavy, and, when it is
displaced, having been poured around the mass of earth, forcibly compresses
it and drives it into the vacant space whence the new air had come up; and the earth when compressed by the
air into an indissoluble
union with water becomes rock.
The fairer sort is that which is made up of equal
and similar parts and is transparent; that which has the opposite
qualities
is inferior. But when all the watery part is suddenly drawn out
by
fire, a more brittle
substance is formed, to which we give the name of pottery. Sometimes
also moisture may remain, and the earth which has been fused
by fire becomes, when
cool, a certain stone of a black colour. A like separation of the
water which had been copiously
mingled with them may occur in two substances composed of finer
particles of earth and of
a
briny nature; out of either of them a half solid-body is then formed,
soluble
in water--the one, soda, which is
used for purging away oil and earth,
the other, salt, which harmonizes so well in combinations pleasing to
the palate, and is, as the law testifies, a substance dear to the
Gods. The compounds of earth and water are not soluble by water, but by fire only, and for this
reason:--Neither fire nor
air melt masses of earth; for
their particles, being smaller than the interstices in its structure,
have
plenty of room to move without forcing their way, and so they leave the
earth unmelted and
undissolved; but particles of water,
which are larger,
force a passage, and dissolve and melt the earth. Wherefore earth when not consolidated
by force is dissolved by water only;
when consolidated, by nothing but fire; for this is the only
body which can find an entrance. The cohesion of water again, when very strong, is
dissolved by fire
only--when weaker, then either by air or fire--the former entering
the interstices, and the latter penetrating even the triangles.
But
nothing can dissolve air,
when strongly condensed, which does not reach the elements or
triangles; or if not strongly condensed, then only fire can dissolve it.
As to bodies composed of earth
and water, while the
water occupies the vacant interstices
of the earth in them
which are
compressed by force, the particles of water
which approach them from without,
finding no entrance, flow around the entire mass and leave it
undissolved; but
the particles of fire,
entering into the interstices of the water,
do to the water what water does to earth and fire to air (The text seems to be
corrupt.), and are the sole causes of the compound body of earth and
water liquefying and becoming
fluid. Now these bodies are of two kinds;
some of them, such as glass and the fusible sort of stones, have less water than they have earth; on the other hand,
substances of the nature of wax and incense have more of water entering into their composition.
I have thus shown the various classes of bodies as they are diversified
by their forms and combinations and changes into one another, and now I
must endeavour to set forth their affections and the causes of
them.
In the first place, the bodies which I have been describing are
necessarily objects of sense. But we have not yet considered the
origin of
flesh, or what belongs to flesh, or of that part of the soul which is
mortal. And these things cannot be adequately explained without
also explaining the affections which are concerned with sensation, nor
the latter without
the former: and yet to explain them together is hardly possible;
for
which reason we must assume first one or the other and afterwards
examine the nature of our hypothesis. In order, then, that the
affections may
follow regularly after the elements, let us presuppose the existence of
body
and soul. First, let us enquire what we mean by saying that fire is hot; and about this
we may reason from the dividing or cutting power which it
exercises on our bodies. We all of us feel that fire is sharp; and we may
further consider the fineness of the sides, and the sharpness of the
angles, and the smallness of the particles, and the swiftness of the
motion--all
this makes the action of fire
violent and sharp, so that it cuts whatever it meets. And we must
not forget that the original figure of fire
(i.e. the pyramid), more than any other form, has a dividing power
which cuts our bodies into small pieces (Kepmatizei), and thus
naturally produces that affection which we call heat; and hence the
origin of the name (thepmos, Kepma). Now, the opposite of this is
sufficiently manifest;
nevertheless we will not fail to describe it. For the larger
particles of
moisture which surround the body, entering in and driving out the
lesser, but not being able to take their places, compress the moist
principle in us; and this from being unequal and disturbed, is forced
by them into a state of rest, which is due to equability and
compression. But things
which are contracted contrary to nature are by nature at war, and force
themselves apart; and to this war and convulsion the name of shivering
and
trembling is given; and the whole affection and the cause of the
affection are
both termed cold. That is called hard to which our flesh yields,
and
soft which yields to our flesh; and things are also termed hard and
soft
relatively to one another. That which yields has a small base;
but that which
rests on quadrangular bases is firmly posed and belongs to the class
which offers the greatest resistance; so too does that which is the
most compact and therefore most repellent. The nature of the
light and the heavy
will be best understood when examined in connexion with our notions of
above and below; for it is quite a mistake to suppose that the universe
is parted into two regions, separate from and opposite to each other,
the one a
lower to which all things tend which have any bulk, and an upper to
which
things only ascend against their will. For as the universe is in
the
form of a sphere, all the extremities, being equidistant from the
centre, are
equally extremities, and the centre, which is equidistant from them, is
equally
to be regarded as the opposite of them all. Such being the nature
of
the world, when a person says that any of these points is above or
below,
may he not be justly charged with using an improper expression?
For
the centre of the world cannot be rightly called either above or below,
but is the centre and nothing else; and the circumference is not the
centre, and
has in no one part of itself a different relation to the centre from
what it has in any of the opposite parts. Indeed, when it is in
every
direction similar, how can one rightly give to it names which imply
opposition? For if there were any solid body in equipoise at the
centre of the universe, there would be nothing to draw it to this
extreme rather than to that,
for they are all perfectly similar; and if a person were to go round
the
world in a circle, he would often, when standing at the antipodes of
his
former position, speak of the same point as above and below; for, as I
was
saying just now, to speak of the whole which is in the form of a globe
as
having one part above and another below is not like a sensible
man. The
reason why these names are used, and the circumstances under which they
are ordinarily applied by us to the division of the heavens, may be
elucidated by the following supposition:--if a person were to stand in
that part of the universe which is the appointed place of fire, and where there is
the great mass of fire to
which fiery bodies gather--if, I say, he were to ascend thither, and,
having the power to do this, were to abstract particles of fire and put them in scales
and weigh them, and then,
raising the balance, were to draw the fire by force towards the
uncongenial
element of the air, it
would be very evident that he could compel the smaller
mass more readily than the larger; for when two things are
simultaneously
raised by one and the same power, the smaller body must necessarily
yield to
the superior power with less reluctance than the larger; and the larger
body is called heavy and said to tend downwards, and the smaller body
is called light and said to tend upwards. And we may detect
ourselves who
are upon the earth doing
precisely the same thing. For we often separate
earthy natures, and sometimes earth
itself, and draw them into the uncongenial element of air by force and contrary to
nature, both clinging to their kindred elements. But that which
is smaller yields to the impulse
given by us towards the dissimilar element more easily than the larger;
and so we call the former light, and the place towards which it is
impelled we
call above, and the contrary state and place we call heavy and below
respectively. Now the relations of these must necessarily vary,
because the principal masses of the different elements hold opposite
positions;
for that which is light, heavy, below or above in one place will be
found
to be and become contrary and transverse and every way diverse in
relation to that which is light, heavy, below or above in an opposite
place.
And about all of them this has to be considered:--that the tendency of
each
towards its kindred element makes the body which is moved heavy, and
the place towards which the motion tends below, but things which have
an opposite tendency we call by an opposite name. Such are the
causes which
we assign to these phenomena. As to the smooth and the rough, any
one who
sees them can explain the reason of them to another. For
roughness is
hardness mingled with irregularity, and smoothness is produced by the
joint
effect of uniformity and density. The most important of the affections
which concern the whole body
remains to be considered--that is, the cause of pleasure and pain in
the perceptions of which I have been speaking, and in all other things
which are perceived by sense through the parts of the body, and have
both
pains and pleasures attendant on them. Let us imagine the causes
of
every affection, whether of sense or not, to be of the following
nature, remembering that we have already distinguished between the
nature which
is easy and which is hard to move; for this is the direction in which
we
must hunt the prey which we mean to take. A body which is of a
nature
to be easily moved, on receiving an impression however slight, spreads
abroad
the motion in a circle, the parts communicating with each other, until
at
last, reaching the principle of mind, they announce the quality of the
agent. But a body of the opposite kind, being immobile, and not
extending to
the surrounding region, merely receives the impression, and does not
stir
any of the neighbouring parts; and since the parts do not distribute
the original impression to other parts, it has no effect of motion on
the
whole animal, and therefore produces no effect on the patient.
This is
true of the bones and hair and other more earthy parts of the human
body;
whereas what was said above relates mainly to sight and hearing, because they
have in them the greatest amount of fire and air. Now we must
conceive
of pleasure and pain in this way. An impression produced in us
contrary to nature and violent, if sudden, is painful; and, again, the
sudden
return to nature is pleasant; but a gentle and gradual return is
imperceptible and vice versa. On the other hand the impression of
sense which is
most easily produced is most readily felt, but is not accompanied by
pleasure or
pain; such, for example, are the affections of the sight, which, as we said above, is a body
naturally uniting with our body in the day-time; for cuttings and
burnings and other affections which happen to the sight do
not give pain, nor is there pleasure when the sight returns to its natural state; but
the sensations are clearest and strongest according to the manner in
which the eye is affected by the object, and itself strikes
and touches it; there is no violence either in the contraction or
dilation
of the eye. But bodies formed of larger particles yield to the
agent
only with a struggle; and then they impart their motions to the whole
and
cause pleasure and pain--pain when alienated from their natural
conditions,
and pleasure when restored to them. Things which experience
gradual withdrawings and emptyings of their nature, and great and
sudden replenishments, fail to perceive the emptying, but are sensible
of the replenishment; and so they occasion no pain, but the greatest
pleasure,
to the mortal part of the soul, as is manifest in the case of
perfumes. But things which are changed all of a sudden, and only
gradually and with difficulty return to their own nature, have effects
in every way
opposite to the former, as is evident in the case of burnings and
cuttings of the body. Thus have we discussed the general affections of
the whole body, and the names of the agents which produce them.
And now I will endeavour
to speak of the affections of particular parts, and the causes and
agents of
them, as far as I am able. In the first place let us set forth
what was
omitted when we were speaking of juices, concerning the affections
peculiar to
the tongue. These too, like most of the other affections, appear
to
be caused by certain contractions and dilations, but they have besides
more of roughness and smoothness than is found in other affections; for
whenever earthy particles enter into the small veins which are the
testing instruments of the tongue, reaching to the heart, and fall upon
the
moist, delicate portions of flesh--when, as they are dissolved, they
contract
and dry up the little veins, they are astringent if they are rougher,
but if not so rough, then only harsh. Those of them which are of
an
abstergent nature, and purge the whole surface
of the tongue, if they do it in
excess, and so encroach as to consume some part of the flesh itself,
like potash and soda, are all termed bitter. But the particles
which are
deficient in the alkaline quality, and which cleanse only moderately,
are called
salt, and having no bitterness or roughness, are regarded as rather
agreeable than otherwise. Bodies which share in and are made
smooth by the
heat of the mouth, and which are inflamed, and again in turn inflame
that which heats them, and which are so light that they are carried
upwards to the sensations of the head, and cut all that comes in their
way, by reason
of these qualities in them, are all termed pungent. But when
these
same particles, refined by putrefaction, enter into the narrow veins,
and are duly proportioned to the particles of earth and air which are there,
they set them whirling about one another, and while they are in a whirl
cause them to dash against and enter into one another, and so form
hollows surrounding the particles that enter--which watery vessels of air (for a film of moisture,
sometimes earthy, sometimes pure, is spread around the air) are hollow spheres of water; and those of them which are
pure, are transparent, and are called bubbles, while those composed of
the earthy liquid, which is in a state of general agitation and
effervescence, are said to boil or ferment--of all these affections the
cause is termed
acid. And there is the opposite affection arising from an opposite
cause, when the mass of entering particles, immersed in the moisture of
the mouth,
is congenial to the tongue, and smooths and oils over the roughness,
and relaxes the parts which are unnaturally contracted, and contracts
the
parts which are relaxed, and disposes them all according to their
nature;--that sort of remedy of violent affections is pleasant and
agreeable to every man, and has the name sweet. But enough of
this. The faculty of smell does not admit of differences of kind; for
all
smells are of a half-formed nature, and no element is so proportioned
as to
have any smell. The veins about the nose are too narrow to admit earth
and water, and too wide to detain fire and air; and for this reason no
one
ever perceives the smell of any of them; but smells always proceed from
bodies that are damp, or putrefying, or liquefying, or evaporating, and
are perceptible only in the intermediate state, when water is changing into
air and air into water; and all of them are either
vapour or mist.
That which is passing out of air
into water is mist, and that which
is passing from water into air is vapour; and hence all
smells are thinner than water
and thicker than air.
The proof of this is, that when there is any
obstruction to the respiration, and a man draws in his breath by force,
then no
smell filters through, but the air
without the smell alone penetrates.
Wherefore the varieties of smell have no name, and they have not many,
or definite and simple kinds; but they are distinguished only as
painful and
pleasant, the one sort irritating and disturbing the whole cavity which
is
situated between the head and the navel, the other having a soothing
influence,
and restoring this same region to an agreeable and natural condition.
In considering the third kind of sense, hearing, we must speak of the
causes in which it originates. We may in general assume sound to
be a blow which passes through the ears, and is transmitted by means of
the air,
the brain, and the blood, to the soul, and that hearing is the
vibration of this blow, which begins in the head and ends in the region
of the
liver. The sound which moves swiftly is acute, and the sound which
moves
slowly is grave, and that which is regular is equable and smooth, and
the reverse
is harsh. A great body of sound is loud, and a small body of
sound
the reverse. Respecting the harmonies of sound I must hereafter
speak. There is a fourth class of sensible things, having many
intricate varieties, which must now be distinguished. They are
called by
the general name of colours, and are a flame which emanates from every
sort of body, and has particles corresponding to the sense of sight. I have
spoken already, in what has preceded, of the causes which generate sight, and
in this place it will be natural and suitable to give a rational theory
of colours. Of the particles coming from other bodies which fall upon
the sight,
some are smaller and some are larger, and some are equal to the parts
of the sight itself. Those which
are equal are imperceptible, and we
call them transparent. The larger produce contraction, the
smaller
dilation, in the sight, exercising a
power akin to that of hot and cold bodies on the
flesh, or of astringent bodies on the tongue, or of those heating
bodies which
we termed pungent. White and black are similar effects of
contraction and dilation in another sphere, and for this reason have a
different appearance. Wherefore, we ought to term white that
which dilates
the visual ray, and the opposite of this is black. There is also
a
swifter motion of a different sort of fire which strikes and
dilates the ray of sight until it
reaches the eyes, forcing a way through their passages
and melting them, and eliciting from them a union of fire and water which we call tears, being itself
an opposite fire which
comes to them from an opposite direction--the inner fire flashes forth like
lightning, and the outer finds a way in and is extinguished in the
moisture, and all sorts
of colours are generated by the mixture. This affection is termed
dazzling, and the object which produces it is called bright and
flashing.
There is another sort of fire
which is intermediate, and which reaches and
mingles with the moisture of the eye without flashing; and in this, the
fire mingling with the ray
of the moisture, produces a colour like blood, to which we give the
name of red. A bright hue mingled with red and
white gives the colour called auburn (Greek). The law of
proportion,
however, according to which the several colours are formed, even if a
man knew he would be foolish in telling, for he could not give any
necessary reason, nor indeed any tolerable or probable explanation of
them. Again,
red, when mingled with black and white, becomes purple, but it becomes
umber
(Greek) when the colours are burnt as well as mingled and the black is
more thoroughly mixed with them. Flame-colour (Greek) is produced
by a
union of auburn and dun (Greek), and dun by an admixture of black and
white; pale yellow (Greek), by an admixture of white and auburn.
White and
bright meeting, and falling upon a full black, become dark blue
(Greek), and
when dark blue mingles with white, a light blue (Greek) colour is
formed, as flame-colour with black makes leek green (Greek).
There will be no difficulty in seeing how and by what mixtures the
colours derived from these are made according to the rules of
probability. He,
however, who should attempt to verify all this by experiment, would
forget the difference of the human and divine nature. For God only has the
knowledge and also the power which are able to combine many things into
one and
again resolve the one into many. But no man either is or ever
will be
able to accomplish either the one or the other operation. These are the
elements, thus of necessity then subsisting, which the creator of the
fairest and best of created things associated with
himself, when he made the self-sufficing and most perfect God, using the
necessary causes as his ministers in the accomplishment of his work,
but himself contriving the good in all his creations. Wherefore
we may
distinguish two sorts of causes, the one divine and the other
necessary, and may seek
for the divine in all things, as far as our nature admits, with a view
to
the blessed life; but the necessary kind only for the sake of the
divine, considering that without them and when isolated from them,
these higher things for which we look cannot be apprehended or received
or in any way shared by us. Seeing, then, that we have now prepared for
our use the various classes
of causes which are the material out of which the remainder of our
discourse must be woven, just as wood is the material of the carpenter,
let us
revert in a few words to the point at which we began, and then
endeavour to
add on a suitable ending to the beginning of our tale. As I said at
first, when all things were in disorder God created in each thing in
relation to itself, and in all things in relation to each
other, all the measures and harmonies which they could possibly
receive.
For in those days nothing had any proportion except by accident; nor
did any of the things which now have names deserve to be named at
all--as, for example, fire,
water, and the rest of the
elements. All these the
creator first set in order, and out of them he constructed the
universe, which
was a single animal comprehending in itself all other animals, mortal
and immortal. Now of the divine, he himself was the creator, but
the
creation of the mortal he committed to his offspring. And they,
imitating
him, received from him the immortal principle of the soul; and around
this
they proceeded to fashion a mortal body, and made it to be the vehicle
of the soul, and constructed within the body a soul of another nature
which was mortal, subject to terrible and irresistible
affections,--first of all, pleasure, the greatest incitement to evil;
then, pain, which deters from good; also rashness and fear, two foolish
counsellors, anger hard to be appeased, and hope easily led
astray;--these they mingled with
irrational sense and with all-daring love according to necessary laws,
and so
framed man. Wherefore, fearing to pollute the divine any more
than was
absolutely unavoidable, they gave to the mortal nature a separate
habitation in another part of the body, placing the neck between them
to be the
isthmus and boundary, which they constructed between the head and
breast, to
keep them apart. And in the breast, and in what is termed the
thorax,
they encased the mortal soul; and as the one part of this was superior
and
the other inferior they divided the cavity of the thorax into two
parts, as
the women's and men's apartments are divided in houses, and placed the
midriff to be a wall of partition between them. That part of the
inferior
soul which is endowed with courage and passion and loves contention
they
settled nearer the head, midway between the midriff and the neck, in
order that
it might be under the rule of reason and might join with it in
controlling
and restraining the desires when they are no longer willing of their
own
accord to obey the word of command issuing from the citadel. The heart,
the knot of the veins and the fountain of the blood which
races through all the limbs, was set in the place of guard, that when
the
might of passion was roused by reason making proclamation of any wrong
assailing them from without or being perpetrated by the desires within,
quickly
the whole power of feeling in the body, perceiving these commands and
threats, might obey and follow through every turn and alley, and thus
allow the principle of the best to have the command in all of
them. But the
Gods, foreknowing that the
palpitation of the heart in the expectation of
danger and the swelling and excitement of passion was caused by fire, formed
and implanted as a supporter to the heart the lung, which was, in the
first place, soft and bloodless, and also had within hollows like the
pores
of a sponge, in order that by receiving the breath and the drink, it
might
give coolness and the power of respiration and alleviate the
heat.
Wherefore they cut the air-channels
leading to the lung, and placed the lung about the heart as a soft
spring, that, when passion was rife within, the
heart, beating against a yielding body, might be cooled and suffer
less, and
might thus become more ready to join with passion in the service of
reason. The part of the soul which desires meats and drinks and the
other
things of which it has need by reason of the bodily nature, they placed
between
the midriff and the boundary of the navel, contriving in all this
region a
sort of manger for the food of the body; and there they bound it down
like a wild animal which was chained up with man, and must be nourished
if man
was to exist. They appointed this lower creation his place here
in
order that he might be always feeding at the manger, and have his
dwelling as far
as might be from the council-chamber, making as little noise and
disturbance as possible, and permitting the best part to advise quietly
for the
good of the whole. And knowing that this lower principle in man
would not comprehend reason, and even if attaining to some degree of
perception
would never naturally care for rational notions, but that it would be
led
away by phantoms and visions night and day,--to be a remedy for this, God
combined with it the liver, and placed it in the house of the lower
nature, contriving that it should be solid and smooth, and bright and
sweet, and should also have a bitter quality, in order that the power
of thought, which proceeds from the mind, might be reflected as in a mirror which receives likenesses of
objects and gives back images of
them to the sight; and so might strike
terror into the desires, when, making use of the
bitter part of the liver, to which it is akin, it comes threatening and
invading, and diffusing this bitter element swiftly through the whole
liver
produces colours like bile, and contracting every part makes it
wrinkled and
rough; and twisting out of its right place and contorting the lobe and
closing
and shutting up the vessels and gates, causes pain and loathing.
And
the converse happens when some gentle inspiration of the understanding
pictures images of an opposite
character,
and allays the bile and bitterness by refusing to stir or touch the
nature opposed to itself, but by making
use of the natural sweetness of the liver, corrects all things and
makes
them to be right and smooth and free, and renders the portion of the
soul
which resides about the liver happy and joyful, enabling it to pass the
night
in peace, and to practise divination in sleep, inasmuch as it has no
share
in mind and reason. For the authors of our being, remembering the
command of their father when he bade them create the human race as good
as they
could, that they might correct our inferior parts and make them to
attain a measure of truth, placed in the liver the seat of
divination. And
herein is a proof that God
has given the art of divination not to the wisdom,
but to the foolishness of man. No man, when in his wits, attains
prophetic truth and inspiration; but when he receives the inspired
word, either
his intelligence is enthralled in sleep, or he is demented by some
distemper or possession. And he who would understand what he
remembers to have
been said, whether in a dream or when he was awake, by the prophetic
and inspired nature, or would determine by reason the meaning of the
apparitions which he has seen, and what indications they afford to this
man or that, of past, present or future good and evil, must first
recover
his wits. But, while he continues demented, he cannot judge of
the
visions which he sees or the words which he utters; the ancient saying
is very true, that 'only a man who has his wits can act or judge about
himself
and his own affairs.' And for this reason it is customary to
appoint interpreters to be judges of the true inspiration. Some
persons
call them prophets; they are quite unaware that they are only the
expositors of
dark sayings and visions, and are not to be called prophets at all, but
only interpreters of prophecy. Such is the nature of the liver, which
is placed as we have described in order that it may give prophetic
intimations. During the life of
each individual these intimations are plainer, but after his death the
liver becomes blind, and delivers oracles too obscure to be
intelligible. The neighbouring organ (the spleen) is situated on
the left-hand side, and
is constructed with a view of keeping the liver bright and pure,--like
a napkin, always ready prepared and at hand to clean the mirror.
And hence, when any impurities arise in the region of the liver by
reason of
disorders of the body, the loose nature of the spleen, which is
composed of a
hollow and bloodless tissue, receives them all and clears them away,
and when filled with the unclean matter, swells and festers, but,
again, when the body is purged, settles down into the same place as
before, and is
humbled. Concerning the soul, as to which part is mortal and which
divine, and
how and why they are separated, and where located, if God acknowledges that
we have spoken the truth, then, and then only, can we be confident;
still,
we may venture to assert that what has been said by us is probable, and
will be rendered more probable by investigation. Let us assume
thus
much. The creation of the rest of the body follows next in order, and
this we
may investigate in a similar manner. And it appears to be very
meet
that the body should be framed on the following principles:-- The
authors of our race were aware that we should be intemperate in
eating and drinking, and take a good deal more than was necessary or
proper, by reason of gluttony. In order then that disease might
not quickly
destroy us, and lest our mortal race should perish without fulfilling
its end-- intending to provide against this, the Gods made what is called the
lower belly, to be a receptacle for the superfluous meat and drink, and
formed the convolution of the bowels, so that the food might be
prevented from passing quickly through and compelling the body to
require more food,
thus producing insatiable gluttony, and making the whole race an enemy
to philosophy and music, and rebellious against the divinest element
within us. The bones and flesh, and other similar parts of us, were
made as
follows. The first principle of all of them was the generation of the
marrow. For the bonds of life which unite the soul with the body
are made fast
there, and they are the root and foundation of the human race.
The
marrow itself is created out of other materials: God took such of the primary
triangles as were straight and smooth, and were adapted by their
perfection to produce fire
and water, and air and earth--these, I say, he
separated
from their kinds, and mingling them in due proportions with one
another, made the marrow out of them to be a universal seed of the
whole race of
mankind; and in this seed he then planted and enclosed the souls, and
in the original distribution gave to the marrow as many and various
forms as
the different kinds of souls were hereafter to receive. That
which,
like a field, was to receive the divine seed, he made round every way,
and
called that portion of the marrow, brain, intending that, when an
animal was perfected, the vessel containing this substance should be
the head; but that which was intended to contain the remaining and
mortal part of the soul he distributed into figures at once round and
elongated, and he
called them all by the name 'marrow'; and to these, as to anchors,
fastening
the bonds of the whole soul, he proceeded to fashion around them the
entire framework of our body, constructing for the marrow, first of all
a
complete covering of bone. Bone was composed by him in the following
manner. Having sifted
pure and smooth earth he
kneaded it and wetted it with marrow, and after that he
put it into fire and then
into water, and once more into fire and again into water--in this way by frequent
transfers from one to the other he made
it insoluble by either. Out of this he fashioned, as in a lathe,
a
globe made of bone, which he placed around the brain, and in this he
left a narrow opening; and around the marrow of the neck and back he
formed vertebrae which he placed under one another like pivots,
beginning at the head and extending through the whole of the
trunk. Thus wishing to
preserve the entire seed, he enclosed it in a stone-like casing,
inserting joints,
and using in the formation of them the power of the other or diverse as
an intermediate nature, that they might have motion and flexure.
Then again, considering that the bone would be too brittle and
inflexible, and when heated and again cooled would soon mortify and
destroy the seed within-- having this in view, he contrived the sinews
and the flesh, that so
binding all the members together by the sinews, which admitted of being
stretched and relaxed about the vertebrae, he might thus make the body
capable of flexion and extension, while the flesh would serve as a
protection
against the summer heat and against the winter cold, and also against
falls,
softly and easily yielding to external bodies, like articles made of
felt; and containing in itself a warm moisture which in summer exudes
and makes
the surface damp, would impart a natural
coolness to the whole body; and
again in winter by the help of this internal warmth would form a very
tolerable defence against the frost which surrounds it and attacks it
from
without. He who modelled us, considering these things, mixed earth with fire and water and blended them; and making a
ferment of acid and salt, he
mingled it with them and formed soft and succulent flesh. As for
the
sinews, he made them of a mixture of bone and unfermented flesh,
attempered so as
to be in a mean, and gave them a yellow colour; wherefore the sinews
have a firmer and more glutinous nature than flesh, but a softer and
moister nature than the bones. With these God covered the bones and
marrow, binding them together by sinews, and then enshrouded them all
in an
upper covering of flesh. The more living and sensitive of the
bones he
enclosed in the thinnest film of flesh, and those which had the least
life within them in the thickest and most solid flesh. So again
on the joints
of the bones, where reason indicated that no more was required, he
placed only
a thin covering of flesh, that it might not interfere with the flexion
of
our bodies and make them unwieldy because difficult to move; and also
that
it might not, by being crowded and pressed and matted together, destroy
sensation by reason of its hardness, and impair the memory and dull the
edge of intelligence. Wherefore also the thighs and the shanks
and the hips, and the bones of the arms and the forearms, and other
parts which have no joints, and the inner bones, which on account of
the rarity of
the soul in the marrow are destitute of reason--all these are
abundantly provided with flesh; but such as have mind in them are in
general less fleshy, except where the creator has made some part solely
of flesh in order to give sensation,--as, for example, the
tongue. But
commonly this is not the case. For the nature which comes into
being and grows
up in us by a law of necessity, does not admit of the combination of
solid bone
and much flesh with acute perceptions. More than any other part
the
framework of the head would have had them, if they could have
co-existed, and the human race, having a strong and fleshy and sinewy
head, would have had a life twice or many times as long as it now has,
and also more healthy
and free from pain. But our creators, considering whether they
should
make a longer-lived race which was worse, or a shorter-lived race which
was better, came to the conclusion that every one ought to prefer a
shorter span of life, which was better, to a longer one, which was
worse; and therefore they covered the head with thin bone, but not with
flesh and sinews, since it had no joints; and thus the head was added,
having more wisdom and sensation than the rest of the body, but also
being in every
man far weaker. For these reasons and after this manner God placed
the sinews at the extremity of the head, in a circle round the neck,
and glued them together by the principle of likeness and fastened the
extremities of
the jawbones to them below the face, and the other sinews he dispersed
throughout the body, fastening limb to limb. The framers of us
framed the mouth, as now arranged, having teeth and tongue and lips,
with a view to the necessary and the good contriving the way in for
necessary purposes, the way out for the best purposes; for that is
necessary which enters in and gives food to the body; but the river of
speech, which flows out of
a man and ministers to the intelligence, is the fairest and noblest of
all streams. Still the head could neither be left a bare frame of
bones, on account of the extremes of heat and cold in the different
seasons, nor
yet be allowed to be wholly covered, and so become dull and senseless
by
reason of an overgrowth of flesh. The fleshy nature was not
therefore
wholly dried up, but a large sort of peel was parted off and remained
over,
which is now called the skin. This met and grew by the help of
the
cerebral moisture, and became the circular envelopment of the
head. And the moisture, rising up under the sutures, watered and
closed in the skin
upon the crown, forming a sort of knot. The diversity of the
sutures
was caused by the power of the courses of the soul and of the food, and
the more
these struggled against one another the more numerous they became, and
fewer
if the struggle were less violent. This skin the divine power
pierced all round with fire,
and out of the punctures which were thus made the
moisture issued forth, and the liquid and heat which was pure came
away, and a
mixed part which was composed of the same material as the skin, and had
a fineness equal to the punctures, was borne up by its own impulse and
extended far outside the head, but being too slow to escape, was thrust
back by the external air,
and rolled up underneath the skin, where it
took root. Thus the hair sprang up in the skin, being akin to it
because it is like threads of leather, but rendered harder and closer
through the pressure of the cold, by which each hair, while in process
of separation from the skin, is compressed and cooled. Wherefore
the creator
formed the head hairy, making use of the causes which I have mentioned,
and
reflecting also that instead of flesh the brain needed the hair to be a
light
covering or guard, which would give shade in summer and shelter in
winter, and at the same time would not impede our quickness of
perception. From
the combination of sinew, skin, and bone, in the structure of the
finger,
there arises a triple compound, which, when dried up, takes the form of
one
hard skin partaking of all three natures, and was fabricated by these
second causes, but designed by mind which is the principal cause with
an eye to the future. For our creators well knew that women and
other
animals would some day be framed out of men, and they further knew that
many animals would require the use of nails for many purposes;
wherefore they
fashioned in men at their first creation the rudiments of nails.
For this
purpose and for these reasons they caused skin, hair, and nails to grow
at the extremities of the limbs. And now that all the parts and members
of the mortal animal had come together, since its life of necessity
consisted of fire and
breath, and
it therefore wasted away by dissolution and depletion, the Gods contrived
the following remedy: They mingled a nature akin to that of man
with
other forms and perceptions, and thus created another kind of
animal.
These are the trees and plants and seeds which have been improved by
cultivation
and are now domesticated among us; anciently there were only the wild
kinds, which are older than the cultivated. For everything that
partakes
of life may be truly called a living being, and the animal of which we
are now speaking partakes of the third kind of soul, which is said to
be seated between the midriff and the navel, having no part in opinion
or reason
or mind, but only in feelings of pleasure and pain and the desires
which accompany them. For this nature is always in a passive
state,
revolving in and about itself, repelling the motion from without and
using its own,
and accordingly is not endowed by nature with the power of observing or
reflecting on its own concerns. Wherefore it lives and does not
differ from a living being, but is fixed and rooted in the same spot,
having no power of self-motion. Now after the superior powers had
created all these natures to be food
for us who are of the inferior nature, they cut various channels
through the body as through a garden, that it might be watered as from
a running stream. In the first place, they cut two hidden
channels or veins
down the back where the skin and the flesh join, which answered
severally to the right and left side of the body. These they let
down along the
backbone, so as to have the marrow of generation between them, where it
was most likely to flourish, and in order that the stream coming down
from above might flow freely to the other parts, and equalize the
irrigation. In the next place, they divided the veins about the
head, and interlacing them, they sent them in opposite directions;
those coming from the right side they sent to the left of the body, and
those from the left they diverted towards the right, so that they and
the skin might together form a bond which should fasten the head to the
body, since the crown of the head
was not encircled by sinews; and also in order that the sensations from
both sides might be distributed over the whole body. And next,
they
ordered the water-courses of the
body in a manner which I will describe, and which
will be more easily understood if we begin by admitting that all things
which have lesser parts retain the greater, but the greater cannot
retain the lesser. Now of all natures fire has the smallest parts,
and
therefore penetrates through earth
and water and air and their compounds, nor
can anything hold it. And a similar principle applies to the
human
belly; for when meats and drinks enter it, it holds them, but it cannot
hold air
and fire, because the
particles of which they consist are smaller than its
own structure. These elements, therefore, God employed for the sake of
distributing moisture from the belly into the veins, weaving together a
network of
fire and air like a weel, having at the
entrance two lesser weels; further he constructed one of these with two
openings, and from the lesser weels he extended cords reaching all
round to the extremities of the
network. All the interior of the net he made of fire, but the lesser weels
and their cavity, of air.
The network he took and spread over the
newly-formed animal in the following manner:--He let the lesser weels
pass into the mouth; there were two of them, and one he let down by the
air-pipes into the lungs,
the other by the side of the air-pipes
into the belly.
The former he divided into two branches, both of which he made to meet
at
the channels of the nose, so that when the way through the mouth did
not
act, the streams of the mouth as well were replenished through the
nose. With the other cavity (i.e. of the greater weel) he
enveloped the hollow
parts of the body, and at one time he made all this to flow into the
lesser weels, quite gently, for they are composed of air, and at another time
he caused the lesser weels to flow back again; and the net he made to
find
a way in and out through the pores of the body, and the rays of fire which are bound fast
within followed the passage of the air either way, never
at any time ceasing so long as the mortal being holds together.
This
process, as we affirm, the name-giver named inspiration and
expiration.
And all this movement, active as well as passive, takes place in order
that the body, being watered and cooled, may receive nourishment and
life; for
when the respiration is going in and out, and the fire, which is fast bound
within, follows it, and ever and anon moving to and fro, enters through
the belly and reaches the meat and drink, it dissolves them, and
dividing
them into small portions and guiding them through the passages where it
goes, pumps them as from a fountain into the channels of the veins, and
makes
the stream of the veins flow through the body as through a conduit. Let
us once more consider the phenomena of respiration, and enquire into
the causes which have made it what it is. They are as
follows:--Seeing that there is no such thing as a vacuum into which any
of those things which are moved can enter, and the breath is carried
from us into the external air,
the next point is, as will be clear to every one, that it does not go
into a vacant space, but pushes its neighbour out of its
place, and that which is thrust out in turn drives out its neighbour;
and in
this way everything of necessity at last comes round to that place from
whence the breath came forth, and enters in there, and following the
breath,
fills up the vacant space; and this goes on like the rotation of a
wheel,
because there can be no such thing as a vacuum. Wherefore also
the breast
and the lungs, when they emit the breath, are replenished by the air which surrounds the body
and which enters in through the pores of the flesh
and is driven round in a circle; and again, the air which is sent away and
passes out through the body forces the breath inwards through the
passage of the mouth and the nostrils. Now the origin of this
movement
may be supposed to be as follows. In the interior of every animal
the
hottest part is that which is around the blood and veins; it is in a
manner an internal fountain of fire,
which we compare to the network of a creel, being woven all of fire and extended through
the centre of the body,
while the outer parts are composed of air. Now we must admit
that heat
naturally proceeds outward to its own place and to its kindred element;
and as
there are two exits for the heat, the one out through the body, and the
other through the mouth and nostrils, when it moves towards the one, it
drives round the air at the
other, and that which is driven round falls into
the fire and becomes
warm, and that which goes forth is cooled. But
when the heat changes its place, and the particles at the other exit
grow warmer, the hotter air
inclining in that direction and carried towards its
native element, fire,
pushes round the air at the
other; and this being
affected in the same way and communicating the same impulse, a circular
motion swaying to and fro is produced by the double process, which we
call inspiration and expiration. The phenomena of medical
cupping-glasses and of the swallowing of drink
and of the projection of bodies, whether discharged in the air or bowled
along the ground, are to be investigated on a similar principle; and
swift and slow sounds, which appear to be high and low, and are
sometimes
discordant on account of their inequality, and then again harmonical on
account of
the equality of the motion which they excite in us. For when the
motions of the antecedent swifter sounds begin to pause and the two are
equalized,
the slower sounds overtake the swifter and then propel them. When
they overtake them they do not intrude a new and discordant motion, but
introduce the beginnings of a slower, which answers to the swifter as
it dies away, thus producing a single mixed expression out of high and
low, whence arises a pleasure which even the unwise feel, and which to
the
wise becomes a higher sort of delight, being an imitation of divine harmony
in mortal motions. Moreover, as to the flowing of water, the fall of
the thunderbolt, and the marvels that are observed about the attraction
of amber and the Heraclean stones,--in none of these cases is there any
attraction; but he who investigates rightly, will find that such
wonderful phenomena are attributable to the combination of certain
conditions--the non-existence of a vacuum, the fact that objects push
one another round, and that they change places, passing severally into
their proper
positions as they are divided or combined. Such as we have seen, is the
nature and such are the causes of
respiration, --the subject in which this discussion originated.
For the fire
cuts the food and following the breath surges up within, fire and breath rising
together and filling the veins by drawing up out of the belly and
pouring into them the cut portions of the food; and so the streams of
food are
kept flowing through the whole body in all animals. And fresh
cuttings
from kindred substances, whether the fruits of the earth or herb of the
field, which God planted to
be our daily food, acquire all sorts of colours by their inter-mixture;
but red is the most pervading of them, being
created by the cutting action of fire and by the impression
which it makes on a moist substance; and hence the liquid which
circulates in the body has a colour such as we have described.
The liquid itself we call
blood, which nourishes the flesh and the whole body, whence all parts
are watered and empty places filled. Now the process of repletion and
evacuation is effected after the
manner of the universal motion by which all kindred substances are
drawn towards
one another. For the external elements which surround us are
always
causing us to consume away, and distributing and sending off like to
like; the particles of blood, too, which are divided and contained
within the
frame of the animal as in a sort of heaven, are compelled to imitate
the
motion of the universe. Each, therefore, of the divided parts
within us,
being carried to its kindred nature, replenishes the void. When
more is
taken away than flows in, then we decay, and when less, we grow and
increase. The frame of the entire creature when young has the triangles
of each
kind new, and may be compared to the keel of a vessel which is just off
the stocks; they are locked firmly together and yet the whole mass is
soft
and delicate, being freshly formed of marrow and nurtured on
milk.
Now when the triangles out of which meats and drinks are composed come
in from without, and are comprehended in the body, being older and
weaker than
the triangles already there, the frame of the body gets the better of
them
and its newer triangles cut them up, and so the animal grows great,
being nourished by a multitude of similar particles. But when the
roots
of the triangles are loosened by having undergone many conflicts with
many
things in the course of time, they are no longer able to cut or
assimilate the food which enters, but are themselves easily divided by
the bodies which come in from without. In this way every animal
is overcome and
decays, and this affection is called old age. And at last, when
the bonds by
which the triangles of the marrow are united no longer hold, and are
parted by the strain of existence, they in turn loosen the bonds of the
soul, and she, obtaining a natural release, flies away with joy.
For that which
takes place according to nature is pleasant, but that which is contrary
to
nature is painful. And thus death, if caused by disease or
produced by
wounds, is painful and violent; but that sort of death which comes with
old age and fulfils the debt of nature is the easiest of deaths, and is
accompanied with pleasure rather than with pain. Now every one can see
whence diseases arise. There are four
natures out of which the body is compacted, earth and fire and water and air, and the unnatural excess
or defect of these, or the change of any of them from
its own natural place into another, or--since there are more kinds than
one
of fire and of the other
elements--the assumption by any of these of a
wrong kind, or any similar irregularity, produces disorders and
diseases; for when any of them is produced or changed in a manner
contrary to nature,
the parts which were previously cool grow warm, and those which were
dry
become moist, and the light become heavy, and the heavy light; all
sorts of changes occur. For, as we affirm, a thing can only
remain the
same with itself, whole and sound, when the same is added to it, or
subtracted
from it, in the same respect and in the same manner and in due
proportion;
and whatever comes or goes away in violation of these laws causes all
manner of changes and infinite diseases and corruptions. Now
there is a
second class of structures which are also natural, and this affords a
second
opportunity of observing diseases to him who would understand
them. For
whereas marrow and bone and flesh and sinews are composed of the four
elements, and the blood, though after another manner, is likewise
formed out of them, most diseases originate in the way which I have
described; but the worst of
all owe their severity to the fact that the generation of these
substances proceeds in a wrong order; they are then destroyed.
For the
natural order is that the flesh and sinews should be made of blood, the
sinews out of
the fibres to which they are akin, and the flesh out of the clots which
are formed when the fibres are separated. And the glutinous and
rich
matter which comes away from the sinews and the flesh, not only glues
the
flesh to the bones, but nourishes and imparts growth to the bone which
surrounds
the marrow; and by reason of the solidity of the bones, that which
filters through consists of the purest and smoothest and oiliest sort
of
triangles, dropping like dew from the bones and watering the
marrow. Now
when each process takes place in this order, health commonly results;
when in the opposite order, disease. For when the flesh becomes
decomposed
and sends back the wasting substance into the veins, then an
over-supply of blood
of diverse kinds, mingling with air
in the veins, having variegated colours and bitter properties, as well
as acid and saline qualities, contains
all sorts of bile and serum and phlegm. For all things go the
wrong
way, and having become corrupted, first they taint the blood itself,
and then ceasing to give nourishment to the body they are carried along
the
veins in all directions, no longer preserving the order of their
natural courses, but at war with themselves, because they receive no
good from one
another, and are hostile to the abiding constitution of the body, which
they
corrupt and dissolve. The oldest part of the flesh which is
corrupted,
being hard to decompose, from long burning grows black, and from being
everywhere corroded becomes bitter, and is injurious to every part of
the body
which is still uncorrupted. Sometimes, when the bitter element is
refined away, the black part assumes an acidity which takes the place
of the
bitterness; at other times the bitterness being tinged with blood has a
redder
colour; and this, when mixed with black, takes the hue of grass; and
again, an auburn colour mingles with the bitter matter when new flesh
is
decomposed by the fire
which surrounds the internal flame;--to all which symptoms
some physician perhaps, or rather some philosopher, who had the power
of
seeing in many dissimilar things one nature deserving of a name, has
assigned
the common name of bile. But the other kinds of bile are
variously distinguished by their colours. As for serum, that sort
which is
the watery part of blood is innocent, but that which is a secretion of
black and acid bile is malignant when mingled by the power of heat with
any
salt substance, and is then called acid phlegm. Again, the
substance
which is formed by the liquefaction of new and tender flesh when air is present,
if inflated and encased in liquid so as to form bubbles, which
separately
are invisible owing to their small size, but when collected are of a
bulk
which is visible, and have a white colour arising out of the generation
of foam--all this decomposition of tender flesh when intermingled with air
is termed by us white phlegm. And the whey or sediment of
newly-formed phlegm is sweat and tears, and includes the various daily
discharges by which
the body is purified. Now all these become causes of disease when
the
blood is not replenished in a natural manner by food and drink but
gains bulk
from opposite sources in violation of the laws of nature. When
the
several parts of the flesh are separated by disease, if the foundation
remains,
the power of the disorder is only half as great, and there is still a
prospect of an easy recovery; but when that which binds the flesh to
the bones is diseased, and no longer being separated from the muscles
and sinews,
ceases to give nourishment to the bone and to unite flesh and bone, and
from
being oily and smooth and glutinous becomes rough and salt and dry,
owing to
bad regimen, then all the substance thus corrupted crumbles away under
the flesh and the sinews, and separates from the bone, and the fleshy
parts fall away from their foundation and leave the sinews bare and
full of brine, and the flesh again gets into the circulation of the
blood and
makes the previously-mentioned disorders still greater. And if
these
bodily affections be severe, still worse are the prior disorders; as
when the
bone itself, by reason of the density of the flesh, does not obtain
sufficient air, but becomes
mouldy and hot and gangrened and receives no nutriment, and the natural
process is inverted, and the bone crumbling passes into
the food, and the food into the flesh, and the flesh again falling into
the blood makes all maladies that may occur more virulent than those
already mentioned. But the worst case of all is when the marrow
is
diseased, either from excess or defect; and this is the cause of the
very greatest and most fatal disorders, in which the whole course of
the body is reversed. There is a third class of diseases which may be
conceived of as arising
in three ways; for they are produced sometimes by wind, and sometimes
by phlegm, and sometimes by bile. When the lung, which is the
dispenser of the air to the
body, is obstructed by rheums and its passages are not
free, some of them not acting, while through others too much air enters, then
the parts which are unrefreshed by air corrode, while in other
parts the
excess of air forcing its
way through the veins distorts them and decomposing
the body is enclosed in the midst of it and occupies the midriff; thus
numberless painful diseases are produced, accompanied by copious
sweats. And oftentimes when the flesh is dissolved in the body, wind,
generated within and unable to escape, is the source of quite as much
pain as the
air coming in from without;
but the greatest pain is felt when the wind gets about the sinews and
the veins of the shoulders, and swells them up,
and so twists back the great tendons and the sinews which are connected
with
them. These disorders are called tetanus and opisthotonus, by reason of
the tension which accompanies them. The cure of them is
difficult;
relief is in most cases given by fever supervening. The white
phlegm, though dangerous when detained within by reason of the air-bubbles, yet if it
can communicate with the outside air,
is less severe, and only discolours
the body, generating leprous eruptions and similar diseases. When
it
is mingled with black bile and dispersed about the courses of the head,
which are the divinest part of us, the attack if coming on in sleep, is
not so severe; but when assailing those who are awake it is hard to be
got rid
of, and being an affection of a sacred part, is most justly called
sacred. An acid and salt phlegm, again, is the source of all
those diseases which
take the form of catarrh, but they have many names because the places
into
which they flow are manifold. Inflammations of the body come from
burnings and inflamings, and all of them originate in bile. When
bile finds a means of discharge, it
boils up and sends forth all sorts of tumours; but when imprisoned
within, it generates many inflammatory diseases, above all when mingled
with pure blood; since it then displaces the fibres which are scattered
about in
the blood and are designed to maintain the balance of rare and dense,
in
order that the blood may not be so liquefied by heat as to exude from
the
pores of the body, nor again become too dense and thus find a
difficulty in circulating through the veins. The fibres are so
constituted as to maintain this balance; and if any one brings them all
together when the blood is dead and in process of cooling, then the
blood which remains becomes fluid, but if they are left alone, they
soon congeal by reason
of the surrounding cold. The fibres having this power over the
blood, bile, which is only stale blood, and which from being flesh is
dissolved again into blood, at the first influx coming in little by
little, hot and
liquid, is congealed by the power of the fibres; and so congealing and
made to cool, it produces internal cold and shuddering. When it
enters
with more of a flood and overcomes the fibres by its heat, and boiling
up throws
them into disorder, if it have power enough to maintain its supremacy,
it penetrates the marrow and burns up what may be termed the cables of
the soul, and sets her free; but when there is not so much of it, and
the
body though wasted still holds out, the bile is itself mastered, and is
either utterly banished, or is thrust through the veins into the lower
or upper belly, and is driven out of the body like an exile from a
state in which there has been civil war; whence arise diarrhoeas and
dysenteries, and
all such disorders. When the constitution is disordered by excess
of
fire, continuous heat and
fever are the result; when excess of air is the
cause, then the fever is quotidian; when of water, which is a more sluggish element
than either fire or air, then the fever is a
tertian; when of earth,
which is the most sluggish of the four, and is only purged away
in a four-fold period, the result is a quartan fever, which can with
difficulty be shaken off. Such is the manner in which diseases of the
body arise; the disorders of the soul, which depend upon the body,
originate as follows. We
must acknowledge disease of the mind to be a want of intelligence; and
of
this there are two kinds; to wit, madness and ignorance. In
whatever
state a man experiences either of them, that state may be called
disease; and excessive pains and pleasures are justly to be regarded as
the greatest diseases to which the soul is liable. For a man who
is in great
joy or in great pain, in his unseasonable eagerness to attain the one
and to avoid the other, is not able to see or to hear anything rightly;
but he is
mad, and is at the time utterly incapable of any participation in
reason. He who has the seed about the spinal marrow too plentiful
and overflowing, like a tree overladen with fruit, has many throes, and
also obtains many pleasures in his desires and their offspring, and is
for the most part
of his life deranged, because his pleasures and pains are so very
great;
his soul is rendered foolish and disordered by his body; yet he is
regarded
not as one diseased, but as one who is voluntarily bad, which is a
mistake. The truth is that the intemperance of love is a disease of the
soul due chiefly to the moisture and fluidity which is produced in one
of the elements by the loose consistency of the bones. And in
general,
all that which is termed the incontinence of pleasure and is deemed a
reproach
under the idea that the wicked
voluntarily do wrong is not justly a matter for reproach. For no
man is voluntarily bad; but the bad become bad
by reason of an ill disposition of the body and bad education, things
which are hateful to every man and happen to him against his
will. And in
the case of pain too in like manner the soul suffers much evil from the
body. For where the acid and briny phlegm and other bitter and
bilious humours
wander about in the body, and find no exit or escape, but are pent up
within
and mingle their own vapours with the motions of the soul, and are
blended
with them, they produce all sorts of diseases, more or fewer, and in
every degree of intensity; and being carried to the three places of the
soul, whichever they may severally assail, they create infinite
varieties of ill-temper and melancholy, of rashness and cowardice, and
also of forgetfulness and stupidity. Further, when to this evil
constitution of body evil forms of government are added and evil
discourses are uttered
in private as well as in public, and no sort of instruction is given in
youth to cure these evils, then all of us who are bad become bad from
two
causes which are entirely beyond our control. In such cases the
planters
are to blame rather than the plants, the educators rather than the
educated. But however that may be, we should endeavour as far as
we can by education,
and studies, and learning, to avoid vice and attain virtue; this,
however,
is part of another subject. There is a corresponding enquiry concerning
the mode of treatment by
which the mind and the body are to be preserved, about which it is meet
and
right that I should say a word in turn; for it is more our duty to
speak of
the good than of the evil. Everything that is good is fair, and
the
fair is not without proportion, and the animal which is to be fair must
have due proportion. Now we perceive lesser symmetries or
proportions and
reason about them, but of the highest and greatest we take no heed; for
there
is no proportion or disproportion more productive of health and
disease,
and virtue and vice, than that between soul and body. This
however we
do not perceive, nor do we reflect that when a weak or small frame is
the
vehicle of a great and mighty soul, or conversely, when a little soul
is
encased in a large body, then the whole animal is not fair, for it
lacks the most important of all symmetries; but the due proportion of
mind and body is
the fairest and loveliest of all sights to him who has the seeing
eye. Just as a body which has a leg too long, or which is
unsymmetrical in some other respect, is an unpleasant sight, and also, when doing its share of
work, is much distressed and makes convulsive efforts, and often
stumbles through awkwardness, and is the cause of infinite evil to its
own self--in like manner we should conceive of the double nature which
we call the living being; and when in this compound there is an
impassioned soul more
powerful than the body, that soul, I say, convulses and fills with
disorders the whole inner nature of man; and when eager in the pursuit
of some sort of learning or study, causes wasting; or again, when
teaching or disputing
in private or in public, and strifes and controversies arise, inflames
and dissolves the composite frame of man and introduces rheums; and the
nature of this phenomenon is not understood by most professors of
medicine, who ascribe it to the opposite of the real cause. And
once more, when
a body large and too strong for the soul is united to a small and weak
intelligence, then inasmuch as there are two desires natural to
man,--one of food for the sake of the body, and one of wisdom for the
sake of the diviner part of us--then, I say, the motions of the
stronger, getting
the better and increasing their own power, but making the soul dull,
and stupid, and forgetful, engender ignorance, which is the greatest of
diseases. There is one protection against both kinds of
disproportion:-- that we should not move the body without the soul or
the soul without
the body, and thus they will be on their guard against each other, and
be healthy and well balanced. And therefore the mathematician or
any
one else whose thoughts are much absorbed in some intellectual pursuit,
must
allow his body also to have due exercise, and practise gymnastic; and
he who
is careful to fashion the body, should in turn impart to the soul its
proper motions, and should cultivate music and all philosophy, if he
would
deserve to be called truly fair and truly good. And the separate
parts
should be treated in the same manner, in imitation of the pattern
of the universe; for as the body is heated and also cooled within by
the elements which enter into it, and is again dried up and moistened
by external things,
and experiences these and the like affections from both kinds of
motions,
the result is that the body if given up to motion when in a state of
quiescence is overmastered and perishes; but if any one, in imitation
of that
which we call the foster-mother and nurse of the universe, will not
allow the
body ever to be inactive, but is always producing motions and
agitations
through its whole extent, which form the natural defence against other
motions
both internal and external, and by moderate exercise reduces to order
according to their affinities the particles and affections which are
wandering
about the body, as we have already said when speaking of the universe,
he will not allow enemy placed by the side of enemy to stir up wars and
disorders in the body, but he will place friend by the side of friend,
so as to create health. Now of all motions that is the best which
is
produced in a thing by itself, for it is most akin to the motion of
thought and of the universe; but that motion which is caused by others
is not so good, and worst of all is that which moves the body, when at
rest, in parts only
and by some external agency. Wherefore of all modes of purifying
and
re- uniting the body the best is gymnastic; the next best is a surging
motion, as in sailing or any other mode of conveyance which is not
fatiguing;
the third sort of motion may be of use in a case of extreme necessity,
but
in any other will be adopted by no man of sense: I mean the
purgative treatment of physicians; for diseases unless they are very
dangerous
should not be irritated by medicines, since every form of disease is in
a
manner akin to the living being, whose complex frame has an appointed
term of life. For not the whole race only, but each
individual--barring
inevitable accidents--comes into the world having a fixed span, and the
triangles
in us are originally framed with power to last for a certain time,
beyond which no man can prolong his life. And this holds also of
the
constitution of diseases; if any one regardless of the appointed time
tries to subdue them by medicine, he only aggravates and multiplies
them.
Wherefore we ought always to manage them by regimen, as far as a man
can spare the
time, and not provoke a disagreeable enemy by medicines. Enough of the
composite animal, and of the body which is a part of him,
and of the manner in which a man may train and be trained by himself so
as
to live most according to reason: and we must above and before
all
provide that the element which is to train him shall be the fairest and
best adapted to that purpose. A minute discussion of this subject
would be a serious task; but if, as before, I am to give only an
outline, the
subject may not unfitly be summed up as follows. I have often remarked
that there are three kinds of soul located within
us, having each of them motions, and I must now repeat in the fewest
words possible, that one part, if remaining inactive and ceasing from
its
natural motion, must necessarily become very weak, but that which is
trained and exercised, very strong. Wherefore we should take care
that the
movements of the different parts of the soul should be in due
proportion. And we should consider that God gave the sovereign part of
the human
soul to be the divinity of each one, being that part which, as we say,
dwells at the top of the body, and inasmuch as we are a plant not of an
earthly
but of a heavenly growth, raises us from earth to our kindred who are
in heaven. And in this we say truly; for the divine power
suspended
the head and root of us from that place where the generation of the
soul first began, and thus made the whole body upright. When a
man is always
occupied with the cravings of desire and ambition, and is eagerly
striving to satisfy them, all his thoughts must be mortal, and, as far
as it is possible altogether to become such, he must be mortal every
whit,
because he has cherished his mortal part. But he who has been
earnest in
the love of knowledge and of true wisdom, and has exercised his
intellect more
than any other part of him, must have thoughts immortal and divine, if
he
attain truth, and in so far as human nature is capable of sharing in
immortality, he must altogether be immortal; and since he is ever
cherishing the
divine power, and has the divinity within him in perfect order, he will
be perfectly happy. Now there is only one way of taking care of
things, and this is to give to each the food and motion which are
natural to
it. And the motions which are naturally akin to the divine
principle within us
are the thoughts and revolutions of the universe. These each man
should follow, and correct the courses of the head which were corrupted
at our birth, and by learning the harmonies and revolutions of the
universe, should assimilate the thinking being to the thought, renewing
his
original nature, and having assimilated them should attain to that
perfect life which the Gods
have set before mankind, both for the present and the future. Thus our
original design of discoursing about the universe down to the creation
of man is nearly completed. A brief mention may be made
of the generation of other animals, so far as the subject admits of
brevity; in this manner our argument will best attain a due
proportion. On
the subject of animals, then, the following remarks may be
offered. Of the
men who came into the world, those who were cowards or led unrighteous
lives may with reason be supposed to have changed into the nature of
women in the second generation. And this was the reason why at
that time the
Gods created in us the desire
of sexual intercourse, contriving in man one animated substance, and in
woman another, which they formed
respectively in the following manner. The outlet for drink by
which liquids pass
through the lung under the kidneys and into the bladder, which receives
and
then by the pressure of the air
emits them, was so fashioned by them as to penetrate also into the body
of the marrow, which passes from the head along the neck and through
the back, and which in the preceding
discourse we have named the seed. And the seed having life, and
becoming
endowed with respiration, produces in that part in which it respires a
lively desire of emission, and thus creates in us the love of
procreation. Wherefore also in men the organ of generation becoming
rebellious and masterful, like an animal disobedient to reason, and
maddened with the sting of lust, seeks to gain absolute sway; and the
same is the case
with the so-called womb or matrix of women; the animal within them is
desirous of procreating children, and when remaining unfruitful long
beyond its proper time, gets discontented and angry, and wandering in
every
direction through the body, closes up the passages of the breath, and,
by
obstructing respiration, drives them to extremity, causing all
varieties of disease, until at length the desire and love of the man
and the woman, bringing
them together and as it were plucking the fruit from the tree, sow in
the
womb, as in a field, animals unseen by reason of their smallness and
without form; these again are separated and matured within; they are
then
finally brought out into the light, and thus the generation of animals
is completed. Thus were created women and the female sex in
general. But the
race of birds was created out of innocent light-minded men, who,
although their minds were directed toward heaven, imagined, in their
simplicity, that
the clearest demonstration of the things above was to be obtained by sight; these were remodelled and
transformed into birds, and they grew feathers instead of hair.
The race of wild pedestrian animals, again, came
from those who had no philosophy in any of their thoughts, and never
considered at all about the nature of the heavens, because they had
ceased to use
the courses of the head, but followed the guidance of those parts of
the
soul which are in the breast. In consequence of these habits of
theirs
they had their front-legs and their heads resting upon the earth to which they
were drawn by natural affinity; and the crowns of their heads were
elongated
and of all sorts of shapes, into which the courses of the soul were
crushed
by reason of disuse. And this was the reason why they were
created
quadrupeds and polypods: God
gave the more senseless of them the more
support that they might be more attracted to the earth. And the most
foolish
of them, who trail their bodies entirely upon the ground and have no
longer any
need of feet, he made without feet to crawl upon the earth. The fourth
class were the inhabitants of the water:
these were made out of the most entirely senseless and ignorant of all,
whom the transformers did not
think any longer worthy of pure respiration, because they possessed a
soul
which was made impure by all sorts of transgression; and instead of the
subtle and pure medium of air,
they gave them the deep and muddy sea to be
their element of respiration; and hence arose the race of fishes and
oysters,
and other aquatic animals, which have received the most remote
habitations
as a punishment of their outlandish ignorance. These are the laws
by
which animals pass into one another, now, as ever, changing as they
lose or
gain wisdom and folly. We may now say that our discourse about the
nature of the universe has
an end. The world has received animals, mortal and immortal, and
is
fulfilled with them, and has become a visible animal containing the
visible--the sensible God
who is the image of
the intellectual, the greatest, best, fairest, most perfect--the one
only-begotten heaven.