Bot-S: Lucretius, Epictetus, Aurelius

GREAT BOOKS
OF THE WESTERN WORLD

ROBERT MAYNARD HUTCHINS, EDITOR IN CHIEF

12 .

LUCRETIUS
EPICTETUS
MARCUS AURELIUS

Mortimer J. Adler, Associate Editor

Members of the Advisory Board: Stringfellow Barr, Scott Buchanan, John Erskinb,
Clarence H. Faust, Alexander Meiklejohn, Joseph J. Schwab, Mark Van Doren.
Editorial Consultants: A. F. B. Clark, F. L. Lucas, Walter Murdoch.
Wallace Brockway, Executive Editor

LUCRETIUS:

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS

Translated by H. A. J. Munro

THE DISCOURSES OF EPICTETUS

Translated by George Long

THE MEDITATIONS
OF MARCUS AURELIUS

Translated by George Long

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GENERAL CONTENTS

Lucretius: On the Nature of Things, Page 1
Translated by H. A. J. Mij^JRO

The Discourses of Epictetus, Page 105
Translated by George Long

The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, Page 253
Translated by George Long

LUCRETIUS

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

Lucretius, C.98-C.55 b.c.

Titus Lucretius Carus was born somewhere
between 99 and 95 b.c., probably at Rome.
The Lucrctian gens to which he belonged was
one of the oldest of the great Roman houses,
and it is likely that he was a member of either
a senatorial or an equestrian family. In his
poem he speaks to the aristocratic Gaius Mem-
mius, to whom he dedicated his work, as to an
equal.

Nothing is known of the poet’s education
except what might be inferred from the pres-
ence in Rome during his youth of eminent
Greek teachers of the Epicurean sect who
lived on terms ot intimacy with members of
the governing class. Lucretius* reading is evi-
dent from his poem. In addition to the works
of his master, Epicurus, he shows knowledge
of the philosophical poem of Empedocles and
at least an acquaintance with the works of
Democritus, Anaxagoras, Heraclitus, Plato,
and the Stoics. Of the other Greek prose writ-
ers he knew Thucydides and Hippocrates.
Among the poets he expresses highest admira-
tion for Homer, frequently reproduces Eurip-
ides, and shows a close study of Ennius.

The only account of Lucretius’ life is a short
note by St. Jerome written more than four
centuries after the poet’s death. St. Jerome in
his Chronicle under the year 94 b.c, has the

entry: “Titus Lucretius the poet is born. He
was rendered insane by a love-philtre and,
after writing during intervals of lucidity, some
books, which Cicero emended, he died by his
own hand in the forty-third year of his life.”

The account of St. Jerome, though perhaps
based on a lost work of Suetonius, has not
been traced to any earlier source and has been
found incapable of cither proof or disproof.
Historians have pointed out that love potions,
which occasionally caused madness, were suffi-
ciently common at the time of Lucretius to
necessitate a legal penalty against their use.
Some critics have argued that the supposed
mental ailment is compatible with the impres-
sion the poem makes and have pointed to the
evidence of its not having received a final re-
vision. Other critics have inferred that the
whole story is a fiction invented by the ene-
mies of Epicureanism to discredit the work of
its greatest expositor.

Cicero’s relation to the poem as emendcr or
editor rests on no other authority than that of
St. Jerome. A letter of Cicero’s to his brother
does reveal that the poem, probably published
posthumously, was being read in 54 b.c.

Donaiu*?, in his Lije of Virgil, states that
Lucretius died on the same day in 55 b.c. that
Virgil assumed the toga virilis.

CONTENTS

Bioorxphio^l Note, p. ix
Book I, p. i Book II, p. 15 Book III, p. 30
Book IV, p. 44 Book V, p. 61 Book VI, p. 80

LUCRETIUS

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS

•BOOK ONE-

Mother of the Acneadac, darling of men and
gods, increase-giving Venus, who beneath the
gliding signs of heaven fillest with thy presence
the shiparrying sea, the corn-bearing lands,
since through thee every kind of living things
is conceived, rises up and beholds the light of
the sun. Before thee, goddess, flee the winds,
the clouds of heaven; before thee and thy ad-
vent; for the^^ earth manifold in works puts
forth swcet-smelling flowers; for thee the levels
of the sea do laugh and heaven propitiated
shines with outspread light. For soon as the
vernal aspect of day is disclosed, and the birth-
favouring breeze of Favonius unbarred is blow-
ing fresh, first the fowls of the air, O lady,
show signs of thee indthyentcringin, through-
ly smitten in heart by thy power. Next the wild
herds bound over the glad pastures and swim
the rapid rivers: in such wise each made pris-
oner by thy charms follows thee with desire,
whither thou goest to lead it on. Yes, through-
out seas and mountains and sweeping rivers
and leafy homes of birds and grassy plains,
striking fond love into the breasts of all thou
constrainest them each after its kind to con-
tinue their races with desire. Since thou then
art sole mistress of the nature of things and
without thee nothing rises up into the divine
borders of light, nothing grows to be glad or
lovely, fain would I have thee for a helpmate in
writing the verses which I essay to pen on the
nature of things for our own son of the Mem-
mii, whom thou, goddess, hast willed to have
no peer, rich as he ever is in every grace.
Wherefore all the more, O lady, lend my lays
an everliving charm. Cause meanwhile the sav-
age works of war to be lulled to rest through-
out all seas and lands; for thou alone canst
bless mankind with calm peace, seeing that

Mavors lord of battle controls the savage works
of war, Mavors who often flings himself into
thy lap quite vanquished by the never-healing
wound of love; and then with upturned face
and shapely neck thrown back feeds with love
his greedy sight gazing, goddess, open-mouthed
on thee; and as backward he reclines, his breath
stays hanging on thy lips. While then, lady, he
is reposing on thy holy body, shed thyself about
him and above, and pour from thy lips sweet
discourse, asking, glorious dame, gentle peace
for the Romans. For neither can we in our
country’s day of trouble with untroubled mind
think only of our work, nor can the illustrious
offset of Memmius in times like these be want-
ing to the general weal. ... for what remains
to tell, apply to true reason unbusied ears and
a keen mind withdrawn from cares, lest my
gifts set out for you with steadfast zeal you
abandon with disdain, before they are under-
stood. For I will essay to discourse to you of the
most high system of heaven and the gods and
will open up the first beginnings of things, out
of which nature gives birth to all things and in-
crease and nourishment,and into which nature
likewise dissolves them back after their destruc-
tion. These we are accustomed in explaining
their reason to call matter and begetting bodies
of things and to name seeds of things and also
to term first bodiCsS, because from them as first
elements all things are.

62] When human life to view lay foully pros-
trate upon earth crushed down under the
weight of religion, who showed her head from
the quarters of heaven with hideous aspect
lowering upon mortak»,a man of Greece* ven-
tured first to lift up his' mortal eyes to her face
and first to withstand her to her face. Him

^ Epicurus.

2 LUCRETIUS 69-149

neither story of gods nor thunderbolts nor a fixed limit to their woes, they would be aUe

heaven with threatening roar could quell: they
only chafed the more the eager courage of his
soul, filling him with desire to be the first to
burst the fast bars of nature’s portals. Therefore
the living force of his soul gained the day: on
he passed far beyond the flaming walls of the
world and traversed throughout in mind and
spirit the immeasurable universe; whence he
returns a conqueror to tell us what can, what
cannot come into being; in short on what prin-
ciple each thing has its powers defined, its
deepset boundary mark. Hierefore religion is
put under foot and trampled u[x>n in turn; us
his victory brings level with heaven.

80] This is what I fear herein, lest haply you
should fancy that you are entering on unholy
grounds of reason and treading the path of sin;
whereas on the contrary often and often that
very religion has given birth to sinful and un-
holy deeds. Thus in Aulis the chosen chief-
tains of the Danal, foremost of men, foully pol-
luted with Iphianassa’s' blood the altar of the
Trivian maid. Soon as the fillet encircling her
maiden tresses shed itself in equal lengths
adown each cheek, and soon as she saw her
father standing sorrowful before the altars and
beside him the ministering priests hiding the
knife and her countrymen at sight of her shed-
ding tears, speechless in terror she dropped
down on her knees and sank to the ground.
Nor aught in such a moment could it avail the
luckless girl that she had first bestowed the
name of father on the king. For lifted up in the
hands of the men she was carried shivering to
the altars, not after due performance of the
customary rites to be escorted by the clear-ring-
ing bridal song, but in the very season of mar-
riage, stainless maid mid the stain of blood, to
fall a sad victim by the sacrificing stroke of a
father, that thus a happy and prosperous de-
parture might be granted to the fleet. So great
the evils to which religion could prompt!

102] You yourself some time or other over-
come by the terror-speaking tales of the seers
will seek to fall away from us. Ay indeed for
how many dreams may they now imagine for
you, enough to upset the calculations of life
and trouble all your fortunes with fear! And
with good catise; for if men saw that there was

^Iphigenia.

in some way to withstand the religious scruples
and threatenings of the seers. As it is, there is
no way, no means of resisting, since they must
fear after death everlasting pains. For they can-
not tell what is the nature of the soul, whether
it be born or on the contrary find its way into
men at their birth, and whether it perish to-
gether with us when severed from us by death
or visit the gloom of Orcus and wasteful pools
or by divine decree find its way into brutes in
our stead, as sang our Ennius who first brought
down from delightful Helicon a crown of un-
fading leaf, destined to bright renown through-
out Italian clans of men. And yet with all this
Ennius sets forth that there are Acherusian
quarters, publishing it in immortal verses;
though in our passage thither neither our souls
nor bodies hold together, but only certain idols
pale m wondrous wise. From these places he
tells us the ghost of everliving Homer uprose
untold in words the nature of things. Where-
before him and began to shed salt tears and to
fore we must well grasp the principle of things
above, the principle by which the courses of the
sun and moon go on, the force by which every
thing on earth proceeds, but above all we must
find out by keen reason wh9t the soul and the
nature of the mind consist of, and what thing it
is which meets us when awake and frightens
our minds, if we are under the influence ot dis-
ease; meets and frightens us too when we arc
buried in sleep; so that we seem to sec and hear
speaking to us face to face them who are dead,
whose bones earth holds in its embrace.

136] Nor does my mind fail to perceive how
hard it is to make clear in Latin verses the dark
discoveries of the Greeks, especially as many
points must be dealt with in new terms on ac-
count of the poverty of the language and the
novelty of the questions. But yet your worth
and the looked-for pleasure of Iwcet friendship
prompt me to undergo any labour and lead me
on to watch the clear nights through, seeking
by what words and in what vecke 1 may be able
in the end to shed on your mind so clear a light
that you can thoroughly scan hidden things.

146] This terror then and darkness of mind
must be dispelled not by the rays of the sun and
glittering shafts of day, but by the aspect and
the law of nature; the warp of whose design we

iso-228 on the nature OF THINGS, BOOK I

shall begin with this first principle, nothing is
ever gotten out of nothing by divine power.
Fear in sooth holds so in check all mortals, be-
cause they see many operations go on in earth
and heaven, the causes of which they can in no
way understand, believing them therefore to
be done by power divine. For these reasons
when we shall have seen that nothing can be
produced from nothing, we shall then more
correctly ascertain that which we are seeking,
both the elements out of which every thing can
be produced and the manner in which all things
are done without the hand of the gods.

159] If things came from nothing, any kind
might be born of any thing, nothing would re-
quire seed. Men for instance might rise out of
the sea, the scaly race out of the earth, and birds
might burst out of the sky; horned and other
herds, every kind of wild beasts would haunt
with changing brood tilth and wilderness alike.
Nor would th** same fruits keep constant to
trees, but would change; any tree might bear
any fruit. For if there were not begetting bodies
for each, how could things have a fixed un-
varying mother? But in fact because things arc
all produced from fixed seeds, each thing is
born and goes forth into the borders of light
out of that in which resides its matter and first
bodies; and for this reason all things cannot be
gotten out of all things, because in particular
things resides a distinct power. Again why do
we sec the rose put forth in spring, corn in the
season of heat, vines yielding at the call of
autumn, if not because, when the fixed seeds
of things have streamed together at the proper
time, whatever is born discloses itself, while the
due seasons are there and the quickened earth
brings its weakly products in safety forth into
the borders of light? But if they came from
nothing, they would rise up suddenly at un-
certain periods and unsuitable times of year,
inasmuch as there would be no first-beginnings
to be kept from a begetting union by the uo-
propitious season. No nor would time be re-
quired for the growth of things after the meet-
ing of the seed, if they could increase out of
nothing. Little babies would at once grow into
men and trees in a moment would rise and
spring out of the ground. But none of these
events it is plain ever comes to pass, since all
diings grow step by step at a fixed time, as is

natural, since they all grow from a fixed seed
and in growing preserve their kind; so that you
may be sure that all things increase in size and
are fed out of their own matter. Furthermore
without fixed seasons of rain the earth is un-
able to put forth its gladdening produce, nor
again if kept from food could the nature of liv-
ing things continue its kind and sustain life; so
that you may hold with greater truth that many
bodies are common to many things, as we see
letters common to different words, than that
any thing could come into being without first-
beginnings. Again why could not nature have
produced men of such a size and strength as to
be able to wade on foot across the sea and rend
great mountains with their hands and outlive
many generations of living men, if not because
an unchai^ng matter has been assigned for
begetting mings and what can arise out of this
matter is fixed? We must admit therefore that
nothing can come from nothing, since things
require seed before they can severally be born
and be brought out into the buxom fields of
air. Lastly since we see that tilled grounds sur-
pass untilled and yield a better produce by the
labour of hands, we may infer that there are in
the earth first-beginnings of things which by
turning up the fruitful clods with the share
and labouring the soil of the earth we stimu-
late to rise. But if there were not such, you
would see all things without any labour of ours
spontaneously come forth in much greater per-
fection.

215] Moreover nature dissolves every thing
back into its first bodies and does not annihilate
things. For if aught were mortal in all its parts
alike, the thing in a moment would be snatched
away to destruction from before our eyes; since
no force would be needed to produce disrup-
tion among its parts and undo their fastenings.
Whereas in fact, as all things consist of an im-
perishable seed, nature suffers the destruction
of nothing to be seen, until a force has encoun-
tered it sufficient to dash things to pieces by a
blow or to pierce through the void places within
them and break them up. Again if time, when-
ever it makes away with things through age,
utterly destroys them ^ing up all their mat-
ter, out of W'hat does Venus bring back into the
light of life the race of living things each after
its kind, or, when they are brought back, out

4 LUCRETIUS 22^308

of what docs earth manifold in works give
them nourishment and increase, furnishing
them with food each after its kind ? Out o£ what
do its own native fountains and extraneous riv-
ers from far and wide keep full the sea? Out of
what docs ether feed the stars? For infinite
time gone by and lapse of days must have eaten
up all things which arc of mortal body. Now if
in that period of time gone by those things
have existed, of which this sum of things is
composed and recruited, they are possessed no
doubt of an imperishable body, and cannot
therefore any of them return to nothing. Again
the same force and cause would destroy all
things without distinction, unless everlasting
matter held them together, matter more or less
closely linked in mutual entanglement: a touch
in sooth would be sufficient cause of death, in-
asmuch as any amount of force must of course
undo the texture of things in which no parts at
all were of an everlasting body. But in fact, be-
cause the fastenings of first-beginnings one with
the other arc unlike and matter is everlasting,
things continue with body uninjured, until a
force is found to encounter them strong enough
to overpower the texture of each. A thing
therefore never returns to nothing, but all
things after disruption go back into the first
bodies of matter. Lastly rains die, when father
ether has tumbled them into the lap of mother
earth; but then goodly crops spring up and
boughs are green with leaves upon the trees,
trees themselves grow and are laden with fruit;
by them in turn our race and the race of wild
beasts arc fed, by them we see glad towns teem
with children and the leafy forests ring on all
sides with the song of new birds; through them
cattle wearied with their load of fat lay their
bodies down about the glad pastures and the
white milky stream pours from the distended
udders; through them a new brood with weak-
ly limbs frisks and gambols over the soft grass,
rapt in their young hearts with the pure new
milk. None of the things therefore which seem
to be lost is utterly lost, since nature replenishes
one thing out of another and does not suffer
any thing to be begotten, before she has been
recruited by the death of some other.

265] Now mark me: since 1 have taught that
things cannot be born from nothing, cannot
when begotten be brought back to nothing, that

you may not haply yet begin in any shape to
mistrust my words, because thehrst-l^ginnings
of things cannot be seen by the eyes, take more-
over this list of bodies which you must yourself
admit are in the number of things and cannot
be seen. First of all the force of the wind when
aroused beats on the harbours and whelms huge
ships and scatters clouds; sometimes in swift
whirling eddy it scours the plains and straws
them with large trees and scourges the moun-
tain summits with forest-rending blasts: so
fiercely does the wind rave with a shrill howl-
ing and rage with threatening roar. Winds
therefore sure enough arc unseen bodies which
sweep the seas, the lands, ay and the clouds of
heaven, tormenting them and catching them
up in sudden whirls. On they stream and
spread destruction abroad in just the same way
as the soft liquid nature of water, when all at
once it is borne along in an overflowing stream,
and a great downfall of water from the high
hills augments it with copious rains, Hinging
together fragments of forests and entire trees;
nor can the strong bridges sustain the sudden
force of coming water: in such wise turbid with
much rain the river dashes upon the piers with
mighty force: makes havoc with loud noise and
rolls under its eddies hug?^ stones: wherever
aught opposes its waves, down it dashes it. In
this way then must the blasts of wind as well
move on, and when they like a mighty stream
have borne down in any direction, they push
things before them and throw them down with
repeated assaults, sometimes catch them up in
curling eddy and carry them away in swift-
circling whirl. Wherefore once and again I say
winds are unseen bodies, since in their works
and ways they are found to rival great rivers
which are of a visible body. Then again we per-
ceive the diflerent smells of things, yet never
sec them coming to our nostrils; nor do we be-
hold heats nor can we observe cold with the
eyes nor arc we used to sec voices. Yet all these
things must consist of a bodily nature, since
they arc able to move the sen^s; for nothing
but body can touch and be touched. Again
clothes hung up on a shore which waves break
upon become moist, and then get dry if spread
out in the sun. Yet it has not been seen in what
way the moisture of water has sunk into them
nor again in what way this has been dispelled

309-395 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK I

by heat. The moisture therefore is dispersed in-
to small particles which the eyes are quite un-
able to see. Again after the revolution of many
of the sun’s years a ring on the finger is thinned
on the underside by wearing, the dripping
from the eaves hollows a stone, the bent plough-
share of iron imperceptibly decreases in the
fields, and we behold the stone-paved streets
worn down by the feet of the multitude; the
brass statues too at the gates show their right
hands to be wasted by the touch of the numer-
ous passers by who greet them. These things
then we see are lessened, since they have been
thus worn down; but what bodies depart at any
given time the nature of vision has jealously
shut out our seeing. Lastly the bodies which
time and nature add to things by little and
little, constraining them to grow in due meas-
ure, no exertion of the eyesight can behold; and
so too wherever things grow old by age and
decay, and when rocks hanging over the sea
arc eaten away by the gnawing salt spray, you
cannot sec what they lose at any given moment.
Nature therefore works by unseen bodies.

329] And yet all things arc not on all sides
jammed together and kept in by body: there is
also void in things. To have learned this will
be good for you on many accounts; it will not
suffer you to wander in doubt and be to seek
in the sum of things and distrustful of our
words. If there were not void, things could not
move at all; for that which is the property of
body, to let and hinder, would be present to all
things at all times; nothing therefore could go
on, since no other thing would be the first to
give way. But in fact throughout seas and lands
and the heights of heaven we see before our
eyes many things move in many ways for vari-
ous reasons, which things, if there were no
void, I need not say would lack and want rest-
less motion: they never would have been begot-
ten at all since matter jammed on all sides
would have been at rest. Again however solid
things are thought to be, you may yet learn
from this that they arc of rare body: in rocks
and caverns the moisture of water oozes through
and all things weep with abundant drops; food
distributes itself through the whole body of liv-
ing things; trees grow and yield fruit in season,
because food is diffused through the whole from
the very roots over the stem and all the boughs.

Voices pass through walls and fly through
houses shut, stiffening frost pierces to the bones.
Now if there are no void parts, by what way
can the bodies severally pass? You would see it
to be quite impossible. Once more, why do we
see one thing surpass another in weight though
not larger in size? For if there is just as much
body in a ball of wool as there is in a lump of
lead, it is natural it should weigh the same,
since the property of body is to weigh all things
downwards, while on the contrary the nature
of void is ever without weight.Thereforewhen
a thing is just as large, yet is found to be lighter,
it proves sure enough that it has more of void
in it; while on the other hand that which is
heavier shows that there is in it more of body
and that it contains within it much less of void.
Therefore that which we are seeking with keen
reason exi^s sure enough, mixed up in things;
and we call it void.

370] And herein I am obliged to forestall this
point which some raise, lest it draw you away
from the truth. The waters they say make way
for the scaly creatures as they press on, and
open liquid paths, because the fish leave room
behind them, into which the yielding waters
may stream; thus other things too may move
and change place among themselves, although
the whole sum be full. This you are to know
has been taken up on grounds wholly false. For
on what side I ask can the scaly creatures move
forwards, unless the waters have first made
room? again on what side can the waters give
place, so long as the fish are unable to go on?
Therefore you must either strip all bodies of
motion or admit that in things void is mixed
up from which every thing gets its first start in
moving. Lastly if two broad bodies after con-
tact quickly spring asunder, the air must surely
fill all the void which is formed between the
bodies. Well, however rapidly it stream to-
gether with swift-circling currents, yet the
whole space will not be able to be filled up in
one moment; for it must occupy first one spot
and then another, until the whole is taken up.
But if haply any one supposes that, when the
bodies have started asunder, that result follows
because the air condenses, he is mistaken; for
a void is then formcd'which was not before,
and a void also is filled which existed before;
nor can the air condense in such a way, nor

6 LUCRETIUS

supposing it could, could it methinks without
void draw into itself and bring its parts to-
gether.

398] Wherefore, however long you hold out
by urging many objections, you must needs in
the end admit that thete is a void in things.
And many more arguments I may sute to you
in order to accumulate proof on my words; but
these slight footprints are enough for a keen-
searching mind to enable you by yourself to
find out all the rest. For as dogs often discover
by smell the lair of a mountain-ranging wild
beast though covered over with leaves, when
once they have got on the sure tracks, thus you
in cases like this will be able by yourself alone
to see one thing after another and find your
way into all dark corners and draw forth the
truth. But if you lag or swerve a Jot from the
reality, this I can promise you, Memmius, with-
out more ado: such plenteous draughts from
abundant wellsprings my sweet tongue shall
pour from my richly furnished breast, that I
fe^ slow age will steal over our limbs and
break open in us the fastnesses of life, ere the
whole store of reasons on any one question has
by my verses been dropped into your ears.

418] But now to resume the thread of therle-
sign which I am weaving in verse: all nature
then, as it exists by itself, is founded on two
things: there are bodies and there is void in
which these bodies arc placed and through
which they move about. For that body exists by
itself the general feeling of mankind declares;
and unless at the very first belief in this be firm-
ly grounded, there will be nothing to which we
can appeal on hidden things in order to prove
anything by reasoning of mind. Then again, if
room and space which we call void did not
exist, bodies could not be placed anywhere nor
move about at all to any side; as we have dem-
onstrated to you a little before. Moreover there
is nothing which you can affirm to be at once
separate from all body and quite distinct from
void, which would so to say count as the dis-
covery of a third nature. For whatever shall
exist, this of itself must be something or other.
Now if it shall admit of touch in however slight
and small a measure, it wiU, be it with a large
or be it with a little addition, provided it do
exist, increase the amount of body and Join the
sum. But if it shall be intangible and unable

to hinder any thing from passing through it on
any side, this you are to know will be that
which we call empty void. Again whatever
shall exist by itself, will either do something or
will itself suffer by the action of other things,
or will be of such a nature as things are able to
exist and go on in. But no thing can do and
suffer without body, nor aught furnish room
except void and vacancy. Therefore beside void
and bodies no third nature taken by itself can
be left in the number of things, either such as
to fall at any time under the ken of our senses
or such as any one can grasp by the reason of
his mind.

449] For whatever things are named, you
will either find to be properties linked to these
two things or you will see to be accidents of
these things. That is a property which can in
no case be disjoined and separated without ut-
ter destruction accompanying the severance,
such as the weight of a stone, the heat of fire,
the fluidity of water. Slavery on the other hand,
poverty and riches, liberty, war, concord, and
all other things which may come and go while
the nature of the thing remains unharmed,
these we are wont, as it is right we should, to
call accidents. Time also exists not by itself, but
simply from the things whi!!h happen the sense
apprehends what has been done in time past, as
well as what is present and what is to follow
after. And we must admit that no one feels
time by itself abstracted from the motion and
calm rest of things. So when they say that the
daughter of Tyndarus was ravished and the
Trojan nations were subdued in war, we must
mind that they do not force us to admit that
these things arc by themselves, since those gen-
erations of men, of whom these things were ac-
cidents, time now gone by has irrevocably
swept away. For whatever shal{ have been done
may be termed an accident in|one case of the
Tcucran people, in another df the countries
simply. Yes for if there had b^n no matter of
things and no room and space |n w hich things
severally go on, never had the^re, kindled by
love of the beauty of Tynd|rus* daughter,
blazed beneath the Phrygian hreast of Alex-
ander and lighted up the famous struggles of
cruel war, nor had the timber horse unknown
to the Trojans wrapt Pergama in flames by its
night issuing brood of sons of the Greeks; so

479-563 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK I 7

that you may clearly perceive that all actions
from first to last exist not by themselves and
are not by themselves in the way that body is,
nor are terms of the same kind as void is, but
are rather of such a kind that you may fairly
call them accidents of body and of the room in
which they severally go on.

483] Bodies again are partly first-beginnings
of things, partly those which are formed of a
union of first-beginnings. But those which are
first-beginnings of things no force can quench:
they are sure to have the better by their solid
body. Although it seems difficult to believe that
aught can be found among things with a solid
body. For the lightning of heaven passes
through the walls of houses, as well as noise
and voices; iron grows red-hot in the fire and
stones burn with fierce heat and burst asunder;
the hardness of gold is broken up and dissolved
by heat; the ice of brass melts vanquished by
the flame; warmth and piercing cold ooze
through stiver, since we have felt both, as we
held cups with the hand in due fashion and the
water was poured down into them. So uni-
versally there is found to be nothing solid in
things. But yet because true reason and the
nature of things constrains, attend until we
make clear in a few verses that there arc such
things as consist of solid and everlasting body,
which we teach are seeds of things and first-
beginnings, out of which the whole sum of
things which now exists has been produced.

503] First of all then since there has been
found to exist a two-fold and widely dissimilar
nature of two things, that is to say of body and
of place in which things severally go on, each
of the two must exist for and by itself and quite
unmixed. For wherever there is empty space
which we call void, there body is not; wherever
again body maintains itself, there empty void
no wise exists. First bodies therefore are solid
and without void. Again since there is void in
things begotten, solid matter must exist about
this void, and no thing can be proved by tni^
reason to conceal in its body and have within it
void, unless you choose to allow that that which
holds it in is solid. Again that can be nothing
but a union of ^tter which can keep in the
void of things. Matter therefore, which con-
sists of a solid body, may be everlasting, though
all things else are dissolved. Moreover if there

were no empty void, the universe would be
solid; unless on the other hand there were cer*
tain bodies to fill up whatever places they oc-
cupied, the existing universe would be empty
and void space. Therefore sure enough b^y
and void are marked off in alternate layers,
since the universe is neither of a perfect full-
ness nor a perfect void. There arc therefore cer-
tain bodies which can vary void space with full.
These can neither be broken in pieces by the
stroke of blows from without nor have their
texture undone by aught piercing to their core
nor give way before any other kind of assault;
as we have proved to you a little before. For
without void nothing seems to admit of being
crushed in or broken up or split in two by cut-
ting, or of taking in wet or permeating cold or
penetrating Are, by which all things are de-
stroyed. Ahd the more anything contains with-
in it of void, the more thoroughly it gives way
to the assault of these things. Therefore if first
bodies are as I have shown solid and without
void, they must be everlasting. Again unless
matter had been eternal, all things before this
would have utterly returned to nothing and
whatever things we see would have been born
anew from nothing. But since I have proved
above that nothing can be produced from noth-
ing, and that what is begotten cannot be re-
called to nothing, first-beginnings must be of
an imperishable body into which all things can
be dissolved at their last hour, that there may
be a supply of matter for the reproduction of
things. Therefore first-beginnings are of solid
singleness, and in no other way can they have
been preserved through ages during infinite
time past in order to reproduce things.

551] Again if nature had set no limit to the
breaking of things, by this time the bodies of
matter would have been so far reduced by the
breaking of past ages that nothing could with-
in a fixed time be conceived out of them and
reach its utmost growth of being. For we see
that anything is more quickly destroyed than
again renewed; and thereforeathat which the
long, the infinite duration of all bygone time
had broken up, demolished and destroyed,
could never be reproduced in all remaining
time. But now sure enough a fixed limit to
their breaking has been set, since we see each
thing renewed, and at the same time definite

8 LUCRETIUS 564-^45

periods fixed for things each after its kind to
reach the flower of their age. Moreover while
the bodies of matter are most solid, it may yet
be explained in what way all things which are
formed soft, as air, water, earth, fires, arc so
formed and by what force they severally go on,
since once for all there is void mixed up in
things. But on the other hand if the first-begin-
nings of things be soft, it cannot be explained
out of what enduring basalt and iron can be
produced; for their whole nature will utterly
lack a first foundation to begin with. First-
beginnings therefore are strong in solid single-
ness, and by a denser combination of these all
things can be closely packed and exhibit endur-
ing strength.

577] Again if no limit has been set to the
breaking of bodies, nevertheless the several
bodies which go to things must survive from
eternity up to the present time, not yet assailed
by any danger. But since they arc possessed of a
frail nature, it is not consistent with this that
they could have continued through eternity
harassed through ages by countless blows.
Again too since a limit of growing and sustain-
ing life has been assigned to things each after
its kind, and since by the laws of nature it
stands decreed what they can each do and what
they cannot do, and since nothing is changed,
but all things arc so constant that the different
birds all in succession exhibit in their body the
distinctive marks of their kind, they must sure
enough have a body of unchangeable matter
also. For if the first-beginnings of things could
in any way be vanquished and changed, it
would then be uncertain too what could and
what could not rise into being, in short on what
principle each thing has its powers defined, its
deepset boundary mark; nor could the genera-
tions reproduce so often each after its kind the
nature habits, way of life and motions of the
parents.

599] Then again since there is ever a bound-
ing point to bodies, which appears to us to be
a least, there OMght in the same way to be a
bounding point the least conceivable to that
first body which already is beyond what our
senses can perceive: that point sure enough is
without parts and consists of a least nature and
never has existed apart by itself and will not
be able in future so to exist, since it is in itself

a part of that other; and so a first and single
part and then other and other similar parts in
succession fill up in close serried mass the na-
ture of the first body; and since these cannot
exist by themselves, they must cleave to that
from which they cannot in any way be torn.
First-beginnings therefore are of solid single-
ness, massed together and cohering closely by
means of least parts, not compounded out of a
union of those parts, but, rather, strong in ever-
lasting singleness. From them nature allows
nothing to be torn, nothing further to be worn
away, reserving them as seeds for things. Again
unless there shall be a least, the very smallest
bodies will consist of infinite parts, inasmuch
as the half of the half will always have a half
and nothing will set bounds to the division.
Therefore between the sum of things and the
least of things what difference will there be?
There will be no distinction at all; for how ab-
solutely infinite soever the whole sum is, yet
the things which arc smallest will equally con-
sist of infinite parts. Now since on this head
true reason protests and denies that the mind
can believe it, you must yield and admit that
there exist such things as arc possessed of no
parts and arc of a least nature. And since these
exist, those first bodies also ygu must admit to
be solid and everlasting. Once more, if nature
creatress of things had been wont to compel all
things to be broken up into least parts, then too
she would be unable to reproduce anything out
of those parts, because those things which are
enriched with no parts cannot have the prop-
erties which l?€gclting matter ought to have,
I mean the various entanglements, weights,
blows, clashings, motions, by means of which
things severally go on.

635] For which reasons they who have held
fire to be the matter of things ai>d the sum to be
formed out of fire alone, arc sceatohave strayed
most widely from true reason. At the head of
whom enters Heraclitus to da battle, famous
for obscurity more among the frivolous than
the earnest Greeks who seek 'the truth. For
fools admire and like all things the more which
they perceive to be concealed under involved
language, and determine things to be true
V'hich can prettily tickle the cars and arc var-
nished over with finely sounding phrase.

645] For I want to know how things can be

646-728 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK / 9

so various, if they arc formed out of fire one
and unmixed: it would avail nothing for hot
fire to be condensed or rarefied, if the same na-
ture which the whole lire has, belonged to the
parts of fire as well. The heat would be more
intense by compression of parts, more faint by
their severance and dispersion. More than this
you cannot think it in the power of such causes
to effect, far less could so great a diversity of
things come from mere density and rarity of
fires. Observe also, if they suppose void to be
mixed up in things, fire may then be condensed
and left rare; but because they see many things
rise up in contradiction to them and shrink
from leaving unmixed void in things, fearing
the steep, they lose the true road, and do not
perceive on the other hand that if void is taken
from things, all things are condensed and out
of all things is formed one single body, which
cannot briskly radiate anything from it, in the
way heat-giving fire emits light and warmth,
letting you see that it is not of closely com-
pressed parts. But if they haply think that in
some other way fires may be quenched in the
union and change their body, you are to know
that if they shall scruple on no side to do this,
all heat sure enough will be utterly brought to
nothing, and all things that are produced will
be formed out of nothing. For whenever a
thing changes and quits its proj^r limits, at
once this change of state is the death of that
which was before. Therefore something or oth-
er must needs be left to those fires of theirs un-
dcstroyed, that you may not have all things ab-
solutely returning to nothing, and the whole
store of things born anew and flourishing out
of nothing. Since then in fact there are some
most unquestionable bodies which always pre-
serve the same nature, on whose going or com-
ing and change of order things change their
nature and bodies are transformed, you arc to
know that these first bodies of things are not
of fire. For it would matter nothing that some
should withdraw and go away and others
should be added on and some should have
their order changed, if one and all they yet re-
tained the nature of heat; for whatever they
produced would-be altogether fire. But thus
methinks it is: there arc certain bodies whose
clashings, motions, order, position, and shapes
produce fires, and which by a change of order

change the nature of the things and do not re-
semble fire nor anything else which has the
power of sending bodies to our senses and
touching by its contact our sense of touch.

690] Again to say that all things are fire and
that no real thing except fire exists in the num-
ber of things, as this same man docs, appears to
be sheer dotage. For he himself takes his stand
on the side of the senses to fight against the
senses and shakes their authority, on which
rests all our belief, ay from which this fire as
he calls it is known to himself; for he believes
that the senses can truly perceive fire, he docs
not believe they can perceive all other things
which are not a whit less clear. Now this ap-
pears to me to be as false as it is foolish; for to
what shall we appeal.^ what surer test can we
have than the senses, whereby to note truth and
falsehood? Again why should any one rather
abolish all things and choose to leave the single
nature of heat, than deny that fires exist, while
he allows anything else to be? it seems to be
equal madness to affirm either this or that.

705] For these reasons they who have held
that (ire is the matter of things and that the
sum can be formed out of fire, and they who
have determined air to be the first-beginning
in begetting things, and all who have held that
water by itself alone forms things, or that earth
produces all things and changes into all the dif-
ferent natures of things, appear to have strayed
exceedingly wide of the truth; as well as they
who make the first-beginnings of things two-
fold coupling air with fire and earth wnth water,
and they who believe that all things grow out
of four things, fire, earth and air and water.
Chief of whom is Agrigentinc Empedocles:
him within the three-cornered shores of its
lands that island bore, about which the Ionian
sea flows in large cranklings, and splashes up
brine from its green waves. Here the sea racing
in its straitened frith divides by its waters the
shores of Italia’s lands from the other's coasts;
here is wasteful Charybdis and here the rum-
blings of Aetna threaten anew to gathcrup such
fury of flames, as again with force to belch
forth the fires bursting from its throat and
carry up to heaven onccmorc the lightnings of
flame. Now though this great country is seen
to deserve in many ways the wonder of man-
kind and is held to be well worth visiting, rich

to LUCgETIUS 72^a

in aO good things, guarded by large force of the body of fire and of earth and air and the

men, yet seems it to have held within it noth-
ing more glorious than this man, nothing more
holy, marvellous and dear. The verses too of his
godlike genius cry with a loud voice and set
forth in such wise his glorious discoveries that
he hardly seems born of a mortal stock.

734] Yet he and those whom we have men-
tioned above immeasurably inferior and far be-
neath him, although, the authors of many ex-
cellent and godlike discoveries, they have given
responses from so to say their hearts' holy of
holies with more sanctity and on much more
unerring grounds than the Pythia who speaks
out from the tripod and laurel of Phoebus, have
yet gone to ruin in the first-beginnings of
things: it is there they have fallen, and, great
themselves, great and heavy has been that fall;
first because they have banished void from
things and yet assign to them motions, and al-
low things soft and rare, air, sun, fire, earth,
living things and corn, and yet mix not up void
in their body; next because they suppose that
there is no limit to the division of bodies and
no stop set to their breaking and that there
exists no least at all in things; though we see
that that is the bounding point of any thing
which seems to be least to our senses, so that
from this you may infer that because the things
which you do not sec have a bounding point,
there is a least in them. Moreover since they as-
sign soft first-beginnings of things, which we
see to have birth and to be of a body altogether
mortal, the sum of things must in that case re-
vert to nothing and the store of things be born
anew and flourish out of nothing: how wide
now of the truth both these doctrines are you
will already comprehend. In the next place
these bodies are in many ways mutually hostile
and poisonous; and therefore they will cither
perish when they have met, or will fly asunder
just as we see, when a storm has gathered,
lightnings and rains and winds fly asunder.

763] Again if all things are produced from
four things and all again broken up into those
things, how can they be called first-beginnings
of things any more than things be called their
first-beginnings, the supposition being re-
versed? For they are begotten time about and
interchange colour and their whole nature
without ceasing. But if haply you suppose that

moisture of water meet in such a way that none
of them in the union changes its nature, no
thing I tell you can be then produced out of
them, neither living thing nor thing with in-
animate body, as a tree; in fact each thing amid
the medley of this discordant mass will dis-
play its own nature and air will be seen to be
mixed up with earth and heat to remain in
union with moisture. But first-beginnings ought
in begetting things to bring with them a latent
and unseen nature in order that no thing stand
out, to be in the way and prevent whatever is
produced from having its own proper being.

782] Moreover they go back to heaven and
its fires for a beginning, and first suppose that
fire changes into air, next that from air water
is begotten and earth is produced out of water,
and that all in reverse order come back from
earth, water first, next air, then heat, and that
these cease not to interchange, to pass from
heaven to earth, from earth to the stars of ether.
All which first-beginnings must on no account
do; since something unchangeable must needs
remain over, that things may not utterly be
brought back to nothing. For whenever a thing
changes and quits its proper limits, at once this
change of state is the death of that which was
before. Wherefore since those things which we
have mentioned a little before pass into a state
of change, they must be formed out of others
which cannot in any case be transformed, that
you may not have things returning altogether
to nothing. Why not rather hold that there are
certain bodies possessed of such a nature, that,
if they have haply produced fire, the same may,
after a few have been taken away and a few
added on and the order and motion changed,
produce air; and that all other things may in
the same way interchange with one another?

803] **But plain matter of fact clearly proves"
you say "that all things grow ujI into the air
and are fed out of the earth; ai^ unless the
season at the propitious period sei|d such abun-
dant showers that the trees reel| beneath the
soaking storms of rain, and unlefs the sun on
its part foster them and supply heit, com, trees,
and living things could not grow/’ Quite true,
and unless solid food and soft water should re-
cruit us, our substance would waste away and
life break wholly up out of all the sinews and

812-888 ON THE NATURE OP THINGS, BOOK I

bones; for we beyond doubt arc recruited and
fed by ceruin things^ this and that other thing
by certain other things. Because many first-
beginnings common to many things in many
ways are mixed up in things, therefore sure
enough different things are fed by different
things. And it often makes a great difference
with what things and in what position the same
first-beginnings are held in union and what
motions they mutually impart and receive; for
the same make up heaven, sea, lands, rivers,
sun, the same make up corn, trees, and living
things; but they are mixed up with different
things and in different ways as they move. Nay
you see throughout even in these verses of
ours many elements common to many words,
though you must needs admit that the lines and
words differ one from the other both in mean-
ing and in sound wherewith they sound. So
much can elements effect by a mere change of
order; but those elements which are the first-
beginnings of .kings can bring with them more
combinations out of which different things can
severally be produced.

830] Let us now also examine the homoco-
meria of Anaxagoras as the Greeks term it,
which the poverty of our native speech docs
not allow us to name in our own tongue;
though it is easy enough to set forth in words
the thing itself. First of all then, when he
speaks of the homoeomcria of things, you must
know he supposes bones to be formed out of
very small and minute bones and flesh of very
small and minute fleshes and blood by the com-
ing together of many drops of blood, and gold
he thinks can be composed of grains of gold
and earth be a concretion of small earths, and
fires can come from fires and water from waters,
and everything else he fancies and supposes to
be produced on a like principle. And yet at the
same time he does not allow that void exists
anywhere in things, or that there is a limit to
the division of things. Wherefore he appears
to me on both these grounds to be as much mis*
taken as those whom we have already spoken
of above. Moreover the first-beginnings which
he supposes are too frail; if first-beginnings
they which are possessed of a nature like to
the things themselves and are just as liable to
suffering and death, and which nothing reins
back from destruction. For which of them will

hold out, so as to escape death, beneath so strong
a pressure within the very jaws of destruction?
fire or water or air? which of these? blood or
bones? Not one methinks, where everything
will be just as essentially mortal as those things
which we see with the senses perish before our
eyes vanquished by some force. But I appeal to
facts demonstrated above for proof that things
cannot fall away to nothing nor on the other
hand grow from nothing. Again since food
gives increase and nourishment to the body,
you are to know that our veins and blood and
bones and the like are formed of things foreign
to them in kind; or if they shall say that all
foods are of a mixed body and contain in them
small bodies of sinews and bones and veins as
well and particles of blood, it will follow that
all food, solid as well as liquid, must be held
to be con^>osed of things foreign to them in
kind, of bones that is and sinews and matter and
blood mixed up. Again if all the bodies which
grow out of the earth, are in the earths, the
earth must be composed of things foreign to it
in kind which grow out of these earths. Apply
again this reasoning to other things, and you
may use just the same words. If flame and
smoke and ash are latent in woods, woods must
necessarily be composed of things foreign to
them in kind. Again all those bodies, to which
the earth gives food, it increases out of things
foreign to them in kind which rise out of the
earth: thus too the bodies of flame which issue
from the woods, are fed out of things foreign
to them in kind which rise out of these woods.

875] Here some slight opening is left for
evasion, which Anaxagoras avails himself of,
choosing to suppose that all things though latent
are mixed up in things, and that is alone visible
of which there are the largest number of bodies
in the mixture and these more ready to hand
and stationed in the first rank. This however
is far banished from true reason. For then it
were natural that corn too should often, when
crushed by the formidable force of the stone,
show some mark of blood or some other of the
things which have their nourishment in our
body. For like reasons it were fitting that from
grasses too, when we rub them between two
stones, blood should noze out; that waters
should yield sweet drops, in flavour like to the
udder of milk in sheep; yesand that often, when

12 LUCRETIUS 889-968

clods of earth have been crumbled, kinds of
grasses and corn and leaves should be found to
lurk distributed among the earth in minute
quantities; and lastly that ash and smoke and
minute fires should be found latent in woods,
when they were broken off. Now since plain
matter of fact teaches that none of these results
follows, you are to know that things are not so
mixed up in things; but rather seeds common
to many things must in many ways be mixed
up and latent in things.

897] **But it often comes to pass on high
mountains”, you say, “that contiguous tops of
tall trees rub together, the strong southwinds
constraining them so to do, until the flower of
flame has broken out and they have burst into
a blaze.” Quite true and yet fire is not innate in
woods; but there are many seeds of heat, and
when they by rubbing have streamed together,
they produce conflagrations in the forests. But
if the flame was stored up ready made in the
forests, the fire could not be concealed for any
length of time, but would destroy forests, burn
up trees indiscriminately. Do you now see, as
we said a little before, that it often makes a
very great difference with what things and in
what position the same first-beginnings are
held in union and what motions they mutually
impart and receive, and that the same may
when a little changed in arrangement produce
say fires and a fir.^ just as the words too consist
of elements only a little changed in arrange-
ment, though we denote firs and fires with two
quite distinct names. Once again, if you sup-
pose that whatever you perceive among visible
things cannot be produced without imagining
bodies of matter possessed of a like nature, in
this way, you will find, the first-beginnings of
things are destroyed: it will come to this that
they will be shaken by loud fits of convulsive
laughter and will bedew with salt tears face and
cheeks.

921] Now mark and learn what remains to
be known and hear it more distinctly. Nor does
my mind fail to perceive how dark the things
are; but the great hope of praise has smitten my
heart with sharp thyrsus, and at the same time
has struck into my breast sweet love of the
Muses, with which now inspired I traverse in
blooming thought the pathless haunts of the
Pierides never yet trodden by soteof man. I love

to approach the untasted springs and to quaff,
I love to cull fresh flowers and gather for my
head a distinguished crown from spots whence
the Muses have yet veiled the brows of none;
first because I teach of great things and essay
to release the mind from the fast bonds of re-
ligious scruples, and next because on a dark
subject I pen such lucid verses o’erlaying all
with the Muses’ charm. For that too would
seem to be not without good grounds: just as
physicians when they purpose to give nauseous
wormwood to children, first smear the rim
round the bowl with the sweet yellow juice of
honey, that theunthinkingage of children may
be fooled as farasthe lips, and meanwhile drink
up the bitter draught of wormwood and though
beguiled yet not be betrayed, but rather by such
means recover health and strength; so I now,
since this doctrine seems generally somewhat
bitter to those by whom it has not been handled,
and the multitude shrinks back from it in dis-
may, have resolved to set forth to you our doc-
trine in sweet-toned Pierian verse and o’erlay
it as it were with the pleasant honey of the
Muses, if haply by such means I might engage
your mind on my verses, till you clearly per-
ceive the whole nature of things, its shape and
frame. ^

951] But since I have taught that most solid
bodies of matter fly about forever unvanquished
through all time, mark now, let us unfold
whether there is or is not any limit to their sum;
likewise let us clearly sec whether that which
has been found to be void,orroom and space, in
which things severally go on, is all of it alto-
gether finite or stretches without limits and to
an unfathomable depth.

958] Well then the existing universe is
bounded in none of its dimensions; for then it
must have had an outside. Again it is seen that
there can be an outside of nothing, unless there
be something beyond to bound it, so that that
is seen, farther than which the tiature of this
our sense docs not follow the thibg. Now since
we must admit that there is nothing outside
the sum, it has no outside, and therefore is
without end and limit. And it matters not in
which of its regions you take your stand; so
invariably, whatever position any one has taken
up. he leaves the universe just as infinite as
before in all directions. Again if for the mo-

969-1045 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK I

ment all existing space be held to be bounded,
supposing a man runs forward to its outside
borders, and stands on the utmost verge and
then throws a winged javelin, do you choose
that when hurled with vigorous force it shall
advance to the point to which it has been sent
and fly to a distance, or do you decide that
something can get in its way and stop it?
for you must admit and adopt one of the two
suppositions; either of which shuts you out
from all escape and compels you to grant
that the universe stretches without end. For
whether there is something to get in its way
and prevent its coming whither it was sent and
placing itself in the point intended, or whether
it is carried forward, in either case it has not
started from the end. In this way I will go on
and, wherever you have placed the outside bor-
ders,! willask what then becomes of thejavelin.
The result will be that an end can nowhere be
fixed, and that the room given for flight will
still prolong ihc power of flight. Lastly one
thing is seen by the eyes to end another thing;
air bounds off hills, and mountains air, earth
limits sea and sea again all lands; the universe
however there is nothing outside to end.

988] Again if all the space of the whole sum
were enclosed within fixed borders and were
bounded, in that case the store of matter by its
solid weights would have streamed together
from all sides to the lowest point nor could any-
thing have goneon under the canopy of heaven,
no nor would there have been a heaven nor
sunlight at all, inasmuch as all matter, settling
down through infinite time past, would lie to-
gether in a heap. But as it is, sure enough no
rest is given to the bodies of the first-begin-
nings, because there is no lowest point at all,
to which they might stream together as it were,
and where they might take up their positions.
All things are ever going on in ceaseless mo-
tion on all sides and bodies of matter stirred to
action are supplied from beneath out of in-
finite space. Therefore the nature of room and
the space of the unfathomable void are such
as bright thunderbolts cannot race through in
their course though gliding on through endless
tract of time, no por lessen one jot the journey
that remains to go by all their travel: so huge
a room is spread out on all sides for things with-
out any bounds in all directions round.

1008] Again nature keeps the sum of things
from setting any limit to itself, since she com-
pels body to be ended by void and void in turn
by body, so that either she thus renders the uni-
verse infinite by this alternation of the two, or
else the one of the two, in case the other does
not bound it, with its single nature stretches
nevertheless immeasurably. But void I have al-
ready proved to be infinite; therefore matter
must be infinite: for if void were infinite, and
matter finite neither sea nor earth nor the glit-
tering quarters of heaven nor mortal kind nor
the holy bodies of the gods could hold their
ground one brief passing hour; since forced
asunder from its union the store of matter would
be dissolved and borne along the mighty void,
or rather I should say would never have com-
bined to produce any thing, since scattered
abroad it Should never have been brought to-
gether. For verily not by design did the first-
beginnings of things station themselves each in
its right place guided by keen intelligence, nor
did they bargain sooth to say what motions
each should assume, but because many in num-
ber and shifting about in many ways through-
out the universe they are driven and tormented
by blows during infinite time past, after trying
motions and unionsof every kind at length they
fall into arrangements such as those out of
which this our sum of things has been formed,
and by which too it is preserved through many
great years when once it has been thrown into
the appropriate motions, and causes the streams
to replenish the greedy sea with copious river
waters and the earth, fostered by the heat of
the sun, to renew its produce, and the race of
living things to come up and flourish, and the
gliding fires of ether to live: all which these
several things could in no wise bring to pass,
unless a store of matter could rise up from in-
finite space, out of which store they are wont
to make up in due season whatever has been
lost. For as the nature of living things when
robbed of food loses its substance and wastes
away, thus all things must be broken up, as
soon as matter has ceased to be supplied, di-
verted in any way from its proper course. Nor
can blows from witho^^ hold together all the
sum which has been brought into union. They
can, it is true, frequently strike upon and stay
a part, until others come and the sum can be

M LUCRETIUS

completed. At times however they are com-
pelled to rebound and in so doing grant to the
first-beginnings of things room and time for
flighty to enable them to get clear away from
the mass in union. Wherefore again and again
I repeat many bodies must rise up; nay for the
blows themselves not to fail, there is need of an
infinite supply of matter on all sides.

1052] And herein, Memmius, be far from be-
lieving this, that all things as they say press to
the centre of the sum, and that for this reason
the nature of the world stands fast without any
strokes from the outside and the uppermost
and lowest parts cannot part asunder in any
direction, because all things have been always
pressing towards the centre (if you can believe
that anything can rest upon itself); or that the
heavy bodies which are beneath the earth all
press upwards and are at rest on the earth,
turned topsy-turvy, just like the images of
things we see before us in the waters. In the
same way they maintain that living things
walk head downwards and cannot tumble out
of earth into the parts of heaven lying below
them any more than our bodies can spontane-
ously fly into the quarters of heaven; that when
those see the sun, we behold the stars of night;
and that they share with us time about the sea-
sons of heaven and pass nights equal in length
to our days. But groundless error has devised
such dreams for fools, because they have em-
braced false principles of reason. For there can
be no centre where the universe is infinite; no
nor, even if there were a centre, could any-
thing take up a position there any more on
that account than for some quite different rea-
son be driven away. For all room and space,
which we term void, must through centre,
through no-centre alike give place to heavy
bodies, in whatever directions their motions
tend. Nor is there any spot of such a sort that
when bodies have reached it, they can lose their
force of gravity and stand upon void; and
that again which is void must not serve to sup-
port anything, but must, as its nature craves,
continually give place. Things cannot there-
fore in such a way be held in union, o’ermas-

tered by love of a centre.

X083] Again since they do not suppose that
all bodies press to the centre, but only those of
earth, and those of water, both such as descend
to the earth in rain and those which arc held
in by the earth’s body, so to say, the fluid of
the sea and great waters from the mountains;
while on the other hand they teach that the
subtle element of air and hot fires at the same
time arc carried away from the centre and that
for this reason the whole ether round bickers
with signs and the sun’s flame is fed through-
out the blue of heaven, because heat flying
from the centre all gathers together there, and
that the topmost boughs of trees could not put
forth leaves at all, unless from time to time
nature supplied food from the earth to each
throughout both stem and boughs, their rea-
sons are not only false, but they contradict
each other. Space I have already proved to be
infinite; and space being infinite matter as I
have said must also be infinite lest after the
winged fashion of flames the walls of the
world should suddenly break up and fly
abroad along the mighty void, and all other
things follow for like reasons and the inner-
most quarters of heaven tumble in from above
and the earth in an instant withdraw from be-
neath our feet and amid the commingled ruins
of things in it and of heaven, ruins unloosing
the first bodies, should wholly pass away
along the unfathomable void, so that in a mo-
ment of time not a wrack should be left be-
hind, nothing save untenanted space and view-
less first-beginnings. For on whatever side you
shall first determine first IxKiies to be wanting,
this side will be the gate of death for things,
through this the whole crowd of matter will
fling itself abroad.

1 1 14] If you will thoroughly con these things,
then carried to the end with siij|ht trouble you
will be able by yourself to unckrstand all the
rest. For one thing after another will grow
clear and dark night will not fob you of the
road and keep you from surveying the utmost
ends of nature: in such wise tmngs will light
the torch for other things. -

BOOK TWO •

It is sweet, when on the great sea the winds
trouble its waters, to behold from land an-
other’s deep distress; not that it is a pleasure
and delight that any should be afEicted, but
because it is sweet to sec from what evils you
arc yourself exempt. It is sweet also to look
upon the mighty struggles of war arrayed
along the plains without sharing yourself in
the danger. But nothing is more welcome than
to hold the lofty and serene positions well for-
tiHed by the learning of the wise, from which
you may look down upon others and see them
wandering all abroad and going astray in their
search for the path of life, see the contest
among them of intellect, the rivalry of birth,
the striving night and day with surpassing
effort to stru^ic up to the summit of power
and be masters of the world.

14] O miserable minds of men! O blinded
breasts! in what darkness of life and in how
great dangers is passed this term of life what-
ever its duration! not choose to see that nature
craves for herself no more than this, that pain
hold aloof from the body, and she in mind en-
joy a feeling of pleasure exempt from care and
fear.? Therefore we sec that for the body’s na-
ture few things are needed at all, such and
such only as take away pain. Nay, though
more gratefully at times they can minister to
us many choice delights, nature for her part
wants them not, when there are no golden
images of youths through the house holding in
their right hands flaming lamps for supply of
light to the nightly banquet, when the house
shines not with silver nor glitters with gold
nor do the panelled and gilded roofs re-echo to
the harp, what time, though these things be
wanting, they spread themselves in groups on
the soft grass beside a stream of water under
the boughs of a high tree and at no great cost
pleasantly refresh their bodies, above all when
the weather smiles and the seasons of the year
besprinkle the green grass with flowers. Nor
do hot fevers sooner quit the body, if you toss
about on pictured tapestry and blushing pur-
ple, than if you must lie under a poor man’s

blanket. Wherefore since treasures avail noth-
ing in respect of our body nor birth nor the
glory of kingly power, advancing farther you
must hold that they are of no service to the
mind as well; unless may be when you see
your legions swarm over the ground of the
campus waging the mimicry of war, strength-
ened flank and rear by powerful reserves and
great force of cavalry, and you marshall them
equipped in arms and animated with one
spirit, thereupon you find that religious scru-
ples scared by these things fly panic-stricken
from the mind; and that then fears of death
leave the Hi^ast unembarrassed and free from
care, when you see your fleet swarm forth and
spread itself far and wide. But if we see that
these things are food for laughter and mere
mockeries, and in good truth the fears of men
and dogging cares dread not the clash of arms
and cruel weapons, if unabashed they mix
among kings and kesars and stand not in awe
of the glitter from gold nor the brilliant sheen
of the purple robe, how can you doubt that
this is wholly the prerogative of reason, when
the whole of life withal is a struggle in the
dark? For even as children are flurried and
dread all things in the thick darkness, thus we
in the daylight fear at times things not a whit
more to be dreaded than those which children
shudder at in the dark and fancy sure to be.
This terror therefore and darkness of mind
must be dispelled not by the rays of the sun
and glittering shafts of day, but by the aspect
and law of nature.

62] Now mark and I will explain by what
motion the begetting bodies of matter do beget
different things and after they are begotten
again break them up, and by what force they
are compelled so to do and what velocity is
given to them for travelling through the great
void: do you mind to give heed to my words.

66] For verily matter does not cohere insep-
arably massed together^# since we see that
everything wanes and ^rceive that all things
ebb as it were by length of time and that age
withdraws them from our sight, though yet

the sum is seen to remain unimpaired by rea-
son that the bodies which quit each thing,
lessen the things from which they go, gift with
increase those to which they have come, com-
pel the former to grow old, the latter to come
to their prime, and yet abide not with these.
Thus the sum of things is ever renewed and
mortals live by a reciprocal dependency. Some
nations wax, others wane, and in a brief space
the races of living things are changed and like
runners hand over the lamp of life.

So] If you think that first-beginnings of
things can lag and by lagging give birth to new
motions of things, you wander far astray from
the path of true reason: since they travel about
through void, the first-beginnings of things
must all move on either by their own weight
or haply by the stroke of another. For when
during motion they have, as often happens,
met and clashed, the result is a sudden re-
bounding in an opposite direction; and no
wonder, since they are most hard and of weight
proportioned to their solidity and nothing be-
hind gets in their way. And that you may
more clearly see that all bodies of matter are
in resdess movement, remember that there is
no lowest point in the sum of the universe, and
that first bodies have not where to take their
stand, since space is without end and limit
and extends immeasurably in all directions
round, as I have shown in many words and as
has been proved by sufe reason. Since this
then is a certain truth, sure enough no rest is
given to first bodies throughout the unfathom-
able void, but driven on rather in ceaseless and
varied motion they partly, after they have
pressed together, rebound leaving great spaces
between, while in part they arc so dashed
away after the stroke as to leave hut small
spaces between. And all that form a denser ag-
gregation when brought together and rebound
leaving trifling spaces between, held fast by
their own close-tangled shapes, theke form en-
during bases of stone and unyielding bodies of
iron and the rest of their class, few in number,
which travel onward along the great void. All
the others spring far off and rebound far leav-
ing great spaces between: these furnish us
with thin air and bright sunlight. And many
more travel along the great void, which have
been thrown off from the unions of things or

72-/5/

though admitted have yet in no case been able
likewise to assimilate their motions. Of this
truth, which I am telling, we have a repre-
sentation and picture always going on before
our eyes and present to us: observe whenever
the rays are let in and pour the sunlight
through the dark chambers of houses: you
will see many minute bodies in many ways
through the apparent void mingle in the midst
of the light of the rays, and as in never-ending
conflict skirmish and give battle combating in
troops and never halting, driven about in fre-
quent meetings and partings; so that you may
guess from this, what it is for first-beginnings
of things to be ever tossing about in the great
void. So far as it goes, a small thing may give
an illustration of great things and put you on
the track of knowledge. And for this reason
too it is meet that you should give greater heed
to these bodies which arc seen to tumble about
in the sun’s rays, because such tumblings im-
ply that motions also of matter latent and un-
seen arc at the bottom. For you will observe
many things were impelled by unseen blows
to change their course and driven back to re-
turn the way they came now this way now
that way in all directions round. All you arc
to know derive this restlcfijncss from the first-
beginnings. For the first-beginnings of things
move first of themselves; next those bodies
which form a small aggregate and come near-
est so to say to the powers of the first-begin-
nings, are impelled and set in movement by
the unseen strokes of those first lx)dies, and
they next in turn stir up bodies which are a
little larger. Thus motion mounts up from the
first-beginnings and step by step issues forth to
our senses, so that those bodies also move,
which we can discern in the sunlight, though
it is not clearly seen by what blows they so act.

142] Now what velocity is given to bodies of
matter, you may apprehend, Memmius, in few
words from this: when mori|ing first sprinkles
the earth with fresh light and the different
birds flitting about the pathlqss woods through
the buxom air fill all place| with their clear
notes, we see it to be plain and evident to all
how suddenly the sun after rising is wont at
such a time to overspread all things and clothe
them with his light. But that heat which the
»un emits and that bright light pass not

LUCRETIUS

lS2r-22J

through empty void; and therefore they are
forced to travel more slowly, until they cleave
through the waves so to speak of air. Nor do
the several minute bodies of heat pass on one
by one, but closely entangled and massed to-
gether; whereby at one and the same time they
are pulled back by one another and are im-
peded from without, so that they are forced to
travel more slowly. But the first-beginnings
which arc of solid singleness, when they pass
through empty void and nothing delays them
from without and they themselves, single from
the nature of their parts, are borne with head-
long endeavour towards the one single spot to
which their efforts tend, must sure enough sur-
pass in velocity and be carried along much
more swiftly than the light of the sun, and
race through many times the extent of space
in the same time in which the beams of the sun
fill the heaven throughout. . . . nor follow up
the several first-beginnings to see by what law
each thing goc« on.

167] But some in opposition to this, ignorant
of matter, believe that nature cannot without
the providence of the gods in such nice con-
formity to the ways of men vary the seasons
of the year and bring forth crops, ay and all
the other things, which divine pleasure the
guide of life prompts men to approach, escort-
ing them in person and enticing them by her
fondlings to continue their races through the
arts of Venus, that mankind may not come to
an end. Now when they suppose that the gods
designed all things for the sake of men, they
seem to me in all rcs|x:cts to have strayed most
widely from true reason. For even if I did not
know what first-beginnings arc, yet this, judg-
ing by the very arrangements of heaven, I
would venture to affirm, and led by many
other circumstances to maintain, that the na-
ture of the world has by no means been made
for us by divine power: so great are the defects
with which it stands encumbered. All which,
Memmius, we will hereafter make clear to
you: we will now go on to explain what re-
mains to be told of motions.

184 ] Now methinks is the place, herein to
prove this point also that no bodily thing can
by its own power bcT borne upwards and travel
upwards; that the bodies of flames may not in
this manner lead you into error. For they are

begotten with an upward tendency, and in the
same direction receive increase, and goodly
crops and trees grow upwards, though their
weights, so far as in them is, all tend down-
wards. And when fires leap to the roofs of
houses and with swift flame lick up rafters and
beams, we are not to suppose that they do so
spontaneously without a force pushing them
up. Even thus blood discharged from our body
spirts out and springs up on high and scatters
gore about. Sec you not too with what force the
liquid of water spits out logs and beams.? The
more deeply we have pushed them sheer down
and have pressed them in, many of us together,
with all our might and much painful effort,
with the greater avidity it vomits them up and
casts them forth, so that they rise and start out
more than half their length. And yet me-
thinks we 4pubt not that these, so far as in
them is, arc all borne downwards through the
empty void. In the same way flames also ought
to be able, when squeezed out, to mount up-
ward through the air, although their weights,
so far as in them is, strive to draw them down.
See you not too that the nightly meteors of
heaven as they fly aloft draw after them long
trails of flames in whatever direction nature
has given them a passage? Do you not per-
ceive stars and constellations fall to the earth?
The sun also from the height of heaven sheds
its heat on all sides and sows the fields with
light; to the earth therefore as well the sun’s
heat tends. Lightnings also you sec fly athwart
the rains: now from this side now from that
fires burst from the clouds and rush about; the
force of flame falls to the earth all round.

216] This point too herein we wish you to
apprehend: when bodies arc borne downwards
sheer through void by their own weights, at
quite uncertain times and uncertain spots they
push themselves a little from their course: you
just and only just can call it a change of in-
clination. If they were not used to swerve, they
would all fall down, like drops of rain, through
the deep void, and no clashing would have
been begotten nor blow produced among the
first-beginnings: thus nature never would have
produced aught.

225] But if haply any oufe believes that heavi-
er bodies, as they are carried more quickly
sheer through space, can fall from above on

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK II

tS UUCRETIUS 228-306

the lighter and so beget blows able to produce
begetting motions, be goes most widely astray
fnm true reason. For whenever bodies fall
through water and thin air, they must quicken
their descents in proportion to their weights,
because the body of water and subdc nature of
air cannot retard everything in equal degree,
but more readily give way, overpowered by
the heavier: on the other hand empty void can*
not offer resistance to anything in any direc-
tion at any time, but must, as its nature craves,
continually give way; and for this reason all
things must be moved and borne along with
equal velocity though of unequal weights
through the unresisting void. Therefore heavi-
er things will never be able to fall from above
on lighter nor of themselves to beget blows suf-
ficient to produce the varied motions by which
nature carries on things. Wherefore again and
again I say bodies must swerve a little; and yet
not more than the least possible; lest we be
found to be imagining oblique motions and
this the reality should refute. For this we see
to be plain and evident, that weights, so far as
in them is, cannot travel obliquely, when they
fall from above, at least so far as you can per-
ceive; but that nothing swerves in any case
from the straight course, who is there that can
perceive?

351] Again if all motion is ever linked to-
gether and a new ipotion ever springs from
another in a fixed order and first-beginnings
do not by swerving make some commence-
ment of motion to break through the decrees
of fate, that cause follow not cause from ever-
lasting, whence have all living creatures here
on earth, whence, I ask, has been wrested from
the fates the power by which we go forward
whither the will leads each, by which likewise
we change the direction of our motions neither
at a fixed time nor fixed place; but when and
where the mind itself has prompted? For
beyond a doubt in these things;^^his own will
makes for each a beginning and from this be-
ginning motions are welled through the limbs.
See you not too, when the barriers are thrown
q>en at a given moment, that yet the eager
powers of the horses cannot start forward so
insuntaneously as the mind itself desires? the
whole store of matter through the whole body
must be sought out, in order that stirred up

through all the frame it may follow with undi-
viefed effort the bent of the mind; so that you
see the beginning of motion is born from
the heart, and the action first conunenccs in
the will of the mind and next is transmitted
through the whole body and frame. Quite dif-
ferent is the case when we move on propdled
by a stroke inflicted by the strong might and
strong compulsion of another; for then it is
quite clear that all the matter of the whole
body moves and is btirried on against our incli-
nation, until the will has reined it in through-
out the limbs. Do you see then in this case that,
though an outward force often pushes men
on and compels them frequently to advance
against their will and to be hurried headlong
on, there yet is something in our breast suffi-
cient to struggle against and resist it? And
when too this something chooses, the store of
matter is compelled sometimes to change its
course through the limbs and frame, and after
it has been forced forward, is reined in and set-
tles back into its place. Wherefore in seeds too
you must admit the same, admit that besides
blows and weights there is another cause of
motions, from which this power of free action
has been begotten in us, since we see that noth-
ing can come from nothing. For weight for-
bids that all things be dbne by blows through
as it were an outward force; but that the mind
itself does not feel an internal necessity in all
its actions and is not as it were overmastered
and compelled to bear and put up with this,
is caused by a minute swerving of first-
beginnings at no fixed part of space and no
fixed time.

294] Nor was the store of matter ever more
closely massed nor held apart by larger spaces
between; for nothing is cither added to its bulk
or lost to it. Wherefore the bodies of the first-
beginnings in time gone by moved in the same
way in which now they move, and will ever
hereafter be borne along ^ like manner, and
the things which have hem wont to be begot-
ten will be begotten aftei| the same law and
will be and will grow and will wax in strength
so far as is given to each the decrees of na-
ture. And no force can change the sum of
things; for there is nothing outside, either into
which any kind of matter can escape out of
the universe or out of which a new supply can

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK II

arise and burst into the universe and change
all the nature of things and alter their motions.

308] And herein you need not wonder at
this^ that though the first-beginnings of things
are all in motion, yet the sum is seen to rest in
supreme repose, unless where a thing exhibits
motions with its individual body. For all the
nature of first things lies far away from our
senses beneath their ken; and therefore since
they are themselves beyond what you can sec,
they must withdraw from sight their motion
as well; and the more so that the things which
we can see, do yet often conceal their motions
when a great distance off. Thus often the wool-
ly flocks as they crop the glad pastures on a
hill, creep on whither the grass jewelled with
fresh dew summons and invites each, and the
lambs fed to the full gambol and playfully
butt; all which objects appear to us from a dis-
tance to be blended together and to rest like a
white spot on a green hill. Again when mighty
legions fill with their movements all parts of
the plains waging the mimicry of war, the glit-
ter then lifts itself up to the sky and the whole
earth round gleams with brass and beneath a
noise is raised by the mighty trampling of men
and the mountains stricken by the shouting
re-echo the voices to the stars of heaven, and
horsemen fly about and suddenly wheeling
scour across the middle of the plains, shaking
them with the vehemence of their charge. And
yet there is some spot on the high hills, seen
from which they appear to stand still and to
rest on the plains as a bright spot.

333] Now mark and next in order apprehend
of what kind and how widely differing in their
forms are the beginnings of all things, how
varied by manifold diversities of shape; not
that a scanty number are possessed of a like
form, but because as a rule they do not all re-
semble one the other. And no wonder; for since
there is so great a store of them that, as 1 have
shown, there is no end or sum, they must sure
enough not one and all be marked by an equa!*
bulk and like shape, one with another. Let the
race of man pass before you in review, and the
mute swimming shoals of the scaly tribes and
the blithe herds a^d wild beasts and the differ-
ent birds which haunt the gladdenin^watel^
ing spots about river-banks and sprigs and
pools, and those which flit about ^nid throng

the pathless woods: then go and take any one
you like in any one kind, and you will yet find
that they differ in their shapes, every one from
every other. And in no other way could child
recognise mother or mother child; and this we
see that they all can do, and that they are just
as well known to one another as human be-
ings are. Thus often in front of the beauteous
shrines of the gods a calf falls sacrificed beside
the incense-burning altars, and spirts from its
breast a warm stream of blood; but the be-
reaved mother as she ranges over the green
lawns knows the footprints stamped on the
ground by the cloven hoofs, scanning with her
eyes every spot to see if she can anywhere be-
hold her lost youngling: then she fills with her
meanings the leafy wood each time she desists
from her search and again and again goes back
to the stalls pierced to the heart by the loss of
her calf; nor can the soft willows and grass
quickened with dew and yon rivers gliding
level with their banks comfort her mind and
put away the care that has entered into her,
nor can other forms of calves throughout the
glad pastures divert her mind and ease it of
its care: so persistently she seeks something
special and known. Again the tender kids with
their shaking voices know their horned dams
and the butting lambs the flocks of bleating
sheep; thus they run, as nature craves, each
without fail to its own udder of milk. Lastly
in the case of any kind of corn you like you
will yet find that any one grain is not so simi-
lar to any other in the same kind, but that
there runs through them some difference to
distinguish the forms. On a like principle of
difference we see the class of shells paint the
lap of earth, where the sea with gende waves
beats on the thirsty sand of the winding shore.
Therefore again and again I say it is necessary
for like reasons that first-beginnings of things,
since they exist by nature and are not made by
hand after the exact model of one, should fly
about with shapes in some cases differing one
from the other.

381 ] It is right easy for us on such a principle
to explain why the fire of lightning has much
more power to pierce tl^ ours which is born
earthly pine wood: ^ou may say that the
h(^^ly fire of lightning subtle as it is is
formed of smaller shapes and therefore passes

20 LUCRETIUS 387 ^ 4 e 8

through openings which this our Hre cannot with justice thought to be neither smooth nor

pass born as it is of woods and sprung from altogether hooked with barbed points^ but

pine. Again light passes through horn, but rain rather to have minute angles slightly project-

is thrown off. Why? but that those Hrst bodies ing, so that they can tickle rather than hurt the

of light are smaller than those of which the senses; of which class tartar of wine is formed

nurturing liquid of water is made. And quick- and the flavours of elecampane. Again that hot

ly as we see wines flow through a strainer, slug- fires and cold frost have fangs of a dissimilar

gish oil on the other hand is slow to do so, kind wherewith to pierce the senses, is proved

because sure enough it consists of elements to us by the touch of each. For touch, touch, ye

either larger in size or more hooked and tan- holy divinities of the gods, the body’s feeling

gled in one another, and therefore it is that the is, either when an extraneous thing makes its

first-beginnings of things cannot so readily be way in, or when a thing which is born in the

separated from each other and severally stream body hurts it, or gives pleasure as it issues forth

through the several openings of any thing. by the birth-bestowing ways of Venus, or when

398] Moreover the liquids honey and milk from some collision the seeds are disordered

excite a pleasant sensation of tongue when held within the body and distract the feeling by

in the mouth; but on the other hand the nausc- their mutual disturbance; as if haply you were
ous nature of wormwood and of harsh centaury yourself to strike with the hand any part of the

writhes the mouth with a noisome flavour; so body you please and so make trial. Wherefore
that you may easily see that the things which the shapes of the first-beginnings must differ
are able to affect the senses pleasantly, consist widely, since they are able to give birth to dif-
of smooth and round elements; while all those ferent feelings.

on the other hand which are found to be bitter 444] Again things which look to us hard and
and harsh, arc held in connexion by particles dense must consist of particles more hooked

that are more hooked and for this reason are together, and be held in union because welded

wont to tear open passages into our senses and all through with branch-like elements. In this

in entering in to break through the body. class first of all diamond stones stand in forc-

408] All things in short which are agreeable most line inured to despise blows, and stout

to the senses and all which arc unpleasant to blocks of basalt and the strcrigth of hard iron

the feeling arc mutually repugnant, formed as and brass bolts which scream out as they hold

they arc out of an unlike first shape; lest haply fast to their staples. Those things which are

you suppose that the harsh grating of the creak- liquid and of fluid body ought to consist more

ing saw consists of elements as smooth as those of smooth and round elements; for the several

of tuneful melodies which musicians wake into drops have no mutual cohesion and their on-

lifc with nimble fingers and give shape to on ward course too has a ready flow downwards,

strings; or suppose that the first-beginnings arc All things lastly which you sec disperse them-

of like shape which pass into the nostrils of selves in an instant, as smoke mists and flames,

men, when noisome carcases arc burning, and if they do not consist entirely of smooth and

when the stage is fresh sprinkled with Cilician round, must yet not be held fast by closely
saffron, while the altar close by exhales Pan- tangled elements, so that they may be able to
chaean odours; or decide that the pleasant col- pierce the body and enter it with biting power,
ours of things which arc able to feast the eyes yet not stick together: thus you may easily
are formed of a seed like to the seed of those know, that whatever we see the senses have

which make the pupil smart and force it to
shed tears or from their disgusting aspect look
hideous and foul. For every shape which grati-
fies the senses has been formed not without a

been able to allay, consists not ibf tangled but
of pointed elements. Do not however hold it
to be wonderful that some thihgs which are
fluid you see to be likewise bitter, for instance

smoothness in its elements; but on the other
hand whatever is painful and harsh, has
produced not without some roughness
ter. There arc too some elements

(W^are pains;

the sea’s moisture: because it is fluid, it con-
flM^^mooth and round particles, and many
dies mixed up with these produce
pains; ^^^et they must not be hooked so as

469-545 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK II

to hold together: you are to know that though
rough, they are yet spherical, so that while they
roll freely on, they may at the same time hurt
the senses. And that you may more readily be-
lieve that with smooth are mixed rough first-
beginnings from which Neptune’s body is
made bitter, there is a way of separating these,
and of seeing how the fresh water, when it is
often filtered through the earth, flows by itself
into a trench and sweetens; for it leaves above
the first-beginnings of the nauseous saltness,
inasmuch as the rough particles can more
readily stay behind in the earth.

478] And now that I have shown this, I will
go on to link to it a truth which depends on
this and from this draws its proof: the first-
beginnings of things have different shapes,
but the number of shapes is finite. If this were
not so, then once more it would follow that
some seeds must be of infinite bulk of body.
For in the same seed, in the single small size of
any first body you like the sha[:>es cannot vary
much from one another: say for instance that
first bodies consist of three least parts, or aug-
ment them by a few more; when to wit in all
possible ways, by placing each in turn at the
top and at the bottom, by making the right
change places with the left, you shall have
tried all those parts of one first body and found
what manner of shajx: each different arrange-
ment gives to the whole of that body, if after
all this haply you shall wish still to vary the
shapes, you will have to add other parts; it will
next follow that for like reasons the arrange-
ment will require other parts, if haply you shall
wish still again to vary the shapes. From all
this it results that increase of bulk in the body
follows upon newness of the shapes. Where-
fore you cannot possibly believe that seeds
have an infinite variety of forms, lest you
force some to be of a monstrous hugeness,
which as I have above shown cannot be proved.
Moreover I tell you barbaric robes and radiant
Mclibocan purple dipped in Thessalian dye of
shells and the hues which arc displayed by the
golden brood of peacocks stee}x:d in laughing
beauty would all be thrown aside surpassed by
some new colour of things; the smell of myrrh
would be despised and the flavours of honey,
and the melodies of the swan and Phoelican
tunes set off by the varied play of strings would

in like sort be suppressed and silenced; for
something ever would arise more surpassing
than the rest. All things likewise might fall
back into worse states, even as we have said
they might advance to better; for reversely too
one thing would be more noisome than all
other things to nostril, ear and eye and taste.
Now since these things are not so, but a fixed
limit has been assigned to things which bounds
their sum on each side, you must admit that
matter also has a finite number of different
shapes. Once more from summer fires to chill
frosts a definite path is traced out and in like
manner is again travelled back; for every
degree of cold and heat and intermediate
warmths lie between those extremes, filling up
in succession the sum. Therefore the things
produced differ by finite degrees, since at both
ends they are marked off by points, one at one,
another at fhe other, molested on the one hand
by flames, on the other by stiffening frosts.

522] And now that I have shown this, I will
go on to link to it a truth which depends on
this and from this draws its proof: the first-
beginnings of things which have a like shape
one with the other, arc infinite in number. For
since the difference of forms is finite, those
which are like must be infinite or the sum of
matter will be finite, which I proved not to be
the case, when I showed in my verses that the
minute bodies of matter from everlasting con-
tinually uphold the sum of things through an
uninterrupted succession of blows on all sides.
For though you see that some animals are
rarer than others and discern a less fruitful na-
ture in them, yet in another quarter and spot
and in distant lands there may be many of that
kind and the full tale may be made up; just as
we see that in the class of four-footed beasts
snake-handed elephants are elsewhere especial-
ly numerous; for India is so fenced about with
an ivory rampart made out of many thousands
of these, that its inner parts cannot be reached,
so great is the quantity of brutes, of which we
sec but very few samples. But yet though I
should grant this point too: be there even as
you will some one thing sole in its kind exist-
ing alone with a body that had birth, and let
no other thing resemble i^ in the whole world;
yet unless there shall b^ an infinite supply of
matter out of which it may be conceived and

ujcmrws

brought into being, it cannot be produced,
and, more than this, it cannot have growth and
food. For though I should assume this point
also that birth-giving bodies of some one thing
are tossed about in finite quantity throughout
the universe, whence, where, by what force
and in what way shall they meet together and
combine in so vast a sea, such an alien medley
of matter? They have methinks no way of
uniting; but even as when great and numerous
shipwrecks have occurred, the great sea is wont
to tumble about banks, rudders, yards, prow,
masts and swimming oars, so that poop-Bttings
are seen floating about along every shore and
utter to mortals a warning to try to shun the
snares and violence and guile of the faithless
sea, and never at any time to trust to it, when
the winning face of calm ocean laughs treach-
erously; thus too if you shall once decide that
certain first-beginnings are finite, different cur^
rents of matter must scatter and tumble them
about through all time, so that they can never
be brought into union and combine, nor abide
in any union nor grow up and increase. But
plain matter of fact shows that each of these
results manifestly does take place, that things
can be brought into being and when begotten
advance in growth. It is clear then that in any
class you like the first-beginnings of things
are infinite, out of which all supplies are fur-
nished.

569] Thus neither can death-dealing mo-
tions keep the mastery always nor entomb
existence for evermore, nor on the other hand
can the birth and increase giving motions of
things preserve them always after they are
bom. Tlius the war of first-beginnings waged
from eternity is carried on with dubious issue:
now here now there the life-bringing elements
of things get ^e mastery and are o’ermastered
in turn: with the funeral wail blends the cry
which babies raise when they enter the borders
of light; and no night ever followed day nor
morning night that heard not mingling with
the sickly infant’s cries wailings the attendants
on death and Uack funeral.

581 ] And herein it is proper you should keep
under seal, and guard, there consigned, in
faithful memory this truth, that there is noth-
ing whose nature is apparent to sense, which
consists of one kind of first-beginnings; noth-

ing which is not formed by a mixing of seed.
And whenever a thing possesses in itself in
larger measure many powers and properties,
in that measure it shows that there are in it the
greatest number of different kinds and varied
shapes of first-beginnings. First of all the earth
has in her first bodies out of which springs
rolling coolness along replenish without fail
the boundless sea, she has bodies out of which
fires rise up; for in many spots the earth’s crust
is on fire and bums, though headstrong Aetna
rages with fire of surpassing force. Then too
she has bodies out of which she can raise for
mankind goodly crops and joyous trees, out of
which too she can supply to the mountain-
ranging race of wild beasts rivers, leaves, and
glad pastures. Wherefore she has alone been
named great mother of gods and mother of
beasts and parent of our body.

600] Of her the old and learned poets of
the Greeks have sung, that borne aloft on high
raised seat in a chariot she drives a pair of
lions, teaching that the great earth hangs in
the expanse of air and that earth cannot rest on
earth. To her chariot they have yoked wild
beasts, because a brood however savage ought
to be tamed and softened by the kind offices of
parents. They have encircled the top of her
head with a mural crown, hgcausc fortified in
choice positions she sustains towns; adorned
with which emblem the image of the divine
mother is carried now-a-days through wide
lands in awe-inspiring state. Her different na-
tions after old-established ritual term Idaean
mother, and give for escort Phrygian bands,
because they tell that from those lands corn
first began to be produced throughout the
world. They assign her Galli,‘ because they
would show by this type that they who have
done violence to the divinity of the mother and
have proved ungrateful to their parents, are to
be deemed unworthy to brii^ a living ofiE-
spring into the borders of light. Tight-stretched
tambourines and hollow cymbals resound all
round to the stroke of their o^n hands, and
horns menace with hoarse-sci^nding music,
and the hollow pipe stirs their^inds in Phry-
gian mood. They carry weapo^ before them,
emUems of furious rage, meet (o fill the thank-
less souls and godless breasts of the rabble with
>The eunuch priests of the cult of Cy bele.

6 a^oj ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK II

terror for the divinity of the goddess. There-*
fore when first borne in procession through
great cities she mutely enriches mortals with a
blessing not expressed in words, they strew all
her path with brass and silver presenting her
with bounteous alms, and scatter over her a
snow-shower of roses, o’ershadowing the
mother and her troops of attendants. Here an
armed band to which the Greeks give the
name of Phrygian Curetes, in that it haply
joins in the game of arms and springs up in
measure all dripping with blood, shaking with
its nodding the frightful crests upon the head,
represents the Dictacan Curetes who, as the
story is, erst drowned in Crete that infant cry
of Jove, when the young band about the young
babe in rapid dance arms in hand to measured
tread beat brass on brass, that Saturn might
not get him to consign to his devouring jaws
and stab the mother to the heart with a never-
healing wound. For these reasons they escort
in arms the Great Mother, or else because they
mean by thia sign that the goddess preaches to
men to be willing with arms and valour to de-
fend their country and be ready to be a safe-
guard and an ornament to their parents.

644 ] All which, well and beautifully as it is
set forth and told, is yet widely removed from
true reason. For the nature of gods must ever
in itself of necessity enjoy immortality to-
gether with supreme of repose, far removed
and withdrawn from our concerns; since ex-
empt from every pain, exempt from all dan-
gers, strong in its own resources, not wanting
aught of us, it is neither gained by favours
nor moved by anger. And here if any one
thinks proper to call the sea Neptune and corn
Ceres and chooses rather to misuse the name
of Bacchus than to utter the term that belongs
to that liquor, let us allow him to declare that
the earth is mother of the gods, if he only for-
bear in earnest to stain his mind with foul re-
ligion. The earth however is at all lime with-
out feeling, and because it receives into it the
first-beginnings of many things, it brings them
forth in many ways into the light of the sun.

661] And $0 the woolly flocks and the mar-
tial breed of horses and horned herds, though
often cropping the grass from one field be-
neath the same canopy of ^heaven and slaking
their thirst from one stream of water, yet have

all their life a dissimilar appearance and retain
the nature of their parents and severally imi-
tate their ways each after its kind: so great is
the diversity of matter in any kind of herbage,
so great in every river. And hence too any one
you please out of the whole number of living
creatures is made up of bones, blood, veins,
heat, moisture, flesh, sinews; and these things
again differ widely from one another and are
composed of first-beginnings of unlike shape.
Furthermore whatever things are set on fire
and burned, store up in their body, if nothing
else, at least those particles, out of which they
may radiate fire and send out light and make
sparks fly and scatter embers all about. If you
will go over all other things by a like process
of reasoning, you will thus find that they con-
ceal in their body the seeds of many things and
contain elements of various shapes. Again you
see many things to which are given at once
both colour and taste together with smell;
especially those many offerings which are
burned on the altars. These must therefore be
made up of elements of different shapes; for
smell enters in where colour passes not into
the frame, colour too in one way, taste in an-
other makes its entrance into the senses; so
that you know they differ in the shapes of
their first elements. Therefore unlike forms
unite into one mass and things are made up of
a mixture of seed. Throughout moreover these
very verses of ours you see many elements com-
mon to many words, though yet you must ad-
mit that the verses and words one with another
are different and composed of different ele-
ments; not that but few letters which are in
common run through them or that no two
words or verses one with another are made up
entirely of the same, but because as a rule they
do not all resemble one the other. Thus also
though in other things there are many first-
beginnings common to many things, yet they
can make up one with the other a quite dis-
similar whole; so that men and corn and joy-
ous trees may fairly be said to consist of dif-
ferent elements.

700] And yet we are not to suppose that all
things can be joined together in all ways; for
then you would see prq^Kgies produced on all
hands, forms springing up half man half beast
and sometimes ull boughs sprouting frcmi the

living body, and many limbs of land-creaturcs
joined with those of sea-animals, nature too
throughout the all-bearing lands feeding
chimeras which breathed flames from noisome
mouth. It is plain however that nothing of the
sort is done, since we sec that all things pro-
duced from fixed seeds and a fixed mother
can in growing preserve the marks of their
kind. This you are to know must take place
after a fixed law. For the particles suitable for
each thing from all kinds of food when inside
the body pass into the frame and joining on
produce the appropriate motions; but on the
other hand we see nature throw out on the
earth those that are alien, and many things
with their unseen bodies fly out of the body im-
pelled by blows: those 1 mean which have not
been able to join on to any part nor when in-
side to feel in unison with and adopt the vital
motions. But lest you haply supjx)se that living
things alone are bound by these conditions,
such a law keeps all things within their limits.
For even as things begotten are in their whole
nature all unlike one the other, thus each must
consist of first-beginnings of unlike shape; not
that a scanty number are possessed of a like
form, but because as a rule they do not all re-
semble one the other. Again since the seeds
differ, there must be a difference in the spaces
between, the passages, the connexions, the
weights, the blows, the clash ings, the motions;
all which not only disjoin living bodies, but
hold apart the lands and the whole sea, and
keep all heaven away from the earth.

730] Now mark, and apprehend precepts
amassed by my welcome toil, lest haply you
deem that those things which you see with
your eyes to be bright, because white arc
formed of white principles, or that the things
which arc black are born from black seed; or
that things which are steeped in any other
colour, bear that colour because the bodies of
matter arc dyed with a colour like to it. For
the bodies of matter have no colour at all
cither like to the things or unlike. But if haply
it seems to you that no impression of the mind
can throw itself into these bodies, you wander
far astray. For since men born blind who have
never beheld the light of the sun, yet recognise
bodies by touch, though linked with no colour
for them from their first birth, you are to

704-784

know that bodies can fall under the ken of our
mind too, though stained with no colour.
Again whatever things we ourselves touch in
the thick darkness, we do not perceive to be
dyed with any colour. And since I prove that
this is the case, I will now show that there are
things which are possessed of no colour. Well,
any colour without any exception changes into
any other; and this first-beginnings ought in
no wise to do: something unchangeable must
remain over, that all things be not utterly re-
duced to nothing. For whenever a thing
changes and quits its proper limits, at once
this change of state is the death of that which
was before. Therefore mind not to dye with
colour the seeds of things, that you may not
have all things altogether returning to nothing.

757] Moreover it no quality of colour is as-
signed to first-beginnings and they are yet pos-
sessed of varied shapes out of which they beget
colours of every kind and change them about
by reason that it makes a great difference with
what other seeds and in what position the seeds
are severally held in union and what motions
they mutually impart and receive, you can ex-
plain at once with the greatest ease why those
things which just before were of a black colour,
may become all at once of marble whiteness; as
the sea, when mighty w'inds have stirred up
its waters, is changed into white waves of the
brightness of marble: you may say that when
the matter of that which we often see to be
black, has been mixed up anew and the ar-
rangement of its first-beginnings has been
changed and some have been added and some
been taken away, the immediate result is that
it appears bright and white. But if the waters
of the sea consisted of azure seeds, they could
in no wise become white; for however much
you jumble together seeds which are azure,
they can never pass into a marble colour. But
if the seeds which make up the one unmixed
brightness of the sea are dyed some with one,
some with othei colours, just as often out of
different forms and varied stiapcs something
square and of a uniform figufe is made up, in
that case it were natural that as we sec unlike
forms contained in the square, so we should
sec in the water of the sea or in any other one
and unmixed brightness colours widely unlike
and different to one another. Moreover the

LUCRETIUS

7B5-S63 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK II

unlike figures do not in the least hinder or
prevent the whole figure from being a square
on the outside; but the various colours of
things are a let and hindrance to the whole
things being of a uniform brightness.

788] Then too the reason which leads and
draws us on sometimes to assign colours to the
first-beginnings of things, falls to the ground,
since white things arc not produced from
white, nor those which arc black from black,
but out of things of various colours. For white
things will much more readily rise up and be
born from no colour than from a black or any
other colour which thwarts and opposes it.

795] Moreover since colours cannot exist
without light and first-beginnings of things do
not come out into the light, you may be sure
they arc clothed with no colour. For what
colour can there be in total darkness.^ nay it
changes in the light itself according as its
brightness comes from a straight or slanting
stroke of light- After this fashion the down
which encircles and crowns the nape and
throat of doves shows itself in the sun: at one
time it is ruddy with the hue of bright pyro-
pus; at another it appears by a certain way of
looking at it to blend with coral-red green
emeralds. The tail of the peacock when it is
saturated with abundant light, changes in like
fashion its colours as it turns about. And since
these colours are begotten by a certain stroke
of light, sure enough you must believe that
they cannot be produced without it. And since
the pupil receives into it a kind of blow, when
it is said to perceive a white colour, and then
another, when it perceives black or any other
colour, and since it is of no moment with
what colour the things which you touch are
provided, but rather with what sort of shape
they are furnished, you are to know that first-
beginnings have no need of colours, but pro-
duce sensations of touch varying according to
their various shapes.

817] Moreover since no particular kind of
colour is assigned to particular shapes and
every configuration of first-beginnings can
exist in any colour, why on a like principle are
not the things w'hich are formed out of them
in every kind o*erlaid with colours of every
kind? For then it were natural that crows loo
in flying should often display a white colour

from white wings and that swans should come
to be black from a black seed, or of any other
different colour you please.

826] Again the more minute the parts are
into which any thing is rent, the more you may
perceive the colour fade away by little and lit-
tle and become extinct; as for instance if a piece
of purple is torn into small shreds: when it has
been plucked into separate threads, the purple,
and the scarlet far the most brilliant of colours,
are quite effaced; from which you may infer
that the shreds part with all their colour be-
fore they come back to the seeds of things.

834] Lastly since you admit that all bodies do
not utter a voice nor emit a smell, for this rea-
son you do not assign to all sounds and smells.
So also since we cannot perceive all things
with the eyes, you arc to know that some
things are as much denuded of colour as others
are without^ smell and devoid of sound, and
that the keen-discerning mind can just as well
apprehend these things as it can take note of
things which are destitute of other qualities.

842] But lest haply you suppose that first
bodies remain stripped of colour alone, they
arc also wholly devoid of warmth and cold
and violent heat, and are judged to be barren
of sound and drained of moisture, and emit
from their body no scent of their own. Just as
when you set about preparing the balmy
liquid of sweet marjoram and myrrh and the
flower of spinkenard which gives forth to the
nostrils a scent like nectar, before all you
should seek, so far as you may and can find it,
the substance of scentless oil, such as gives out
no perfume to the nostrils, that it may as little
as possible meddle with and destroy by its own
pungency the odours mixed in its body and
boiled up with it; for the same reason the first-
beginnings of things must not bring to the be-
getting of things a smell or sound of their
own, since they cannot discharge anything
from themselves, and for the same reason no
taste either nor cold nor any heat moderate or
violent, and the like. For as these things, be
they w^hat they may, arc still such as to be
liable to death, whether pliant with a soft,
brittle with a crumbling, or hollow with a
porous body, they must «|U be withdrawn from
the first-beginnings, if we wish to assign to
things imperishable foundations for the whole

a6 LUCRETIUS

mm of existence to rest upon: that you may
not have things returning altogether to noth-
ing.

865] To come to another point, whatever
things we perceive to have sense, you must yet
admit to be all composed of senseless first-be-
ginnings: manifest tokens which are open to
all to apprehend, so far from refuting or con-
tradicting this, do rather themselves take us
by the hand and constrain us to believe that, as
I say, living things are begotten from senseless
things. We may see in fact living worms spring
out of stinking dung, when the soaked earth
has gotten putridity after excessive rains; and
all things besides change in the same way:
rivers, leaves, and glad pastures change into
cattle, catde change their substance into our
bodies, and often out of these the powers of
wild beasts and the bodies of the strong of
wing are increased. Therefore nature changes
all foods into living bodies and engenders out
of them all the senses of living creatures, much
in the same way as she dissolves dry woods
into flames and converts all things into fires.
Now do you see that it is of great moment in
what sort of arrangement the first-beginnings
of things are severally placed and with what
others they are mixed up, when they iinpart
and receive motions?

886] Then again what is that which strikes
your mind, affects that mind and constrains
it to give utterance to many different thoughts,
to save you from believing that the sensible
is begotten out of senseless things? Sure
enough it is because stones and wood and
earth however mixed together are yet unable
to produce vital sense. This therefore it will be
well to remember herein, that I do not assert
that the sensible and sensations are forthwith
begotten out of all elements without exception
which produce things; but that it is of great
moment first how minute the particles are
which make up the sensible thing and then
what shape they possess and what in short
they are in their motions, arrangements and
positions. None of which conditions we find in
woods and clods; and yet even these when they
have so to speak become rotten through the
rains, bring forth worms, because bodies of
matter driven from their ancient arrangements
by a new condition are combined in the man-

ner needed for the begetting of living ciea^
tures. Next they who hold that the sensible
can be produced out of sensible elements, ac-
customed thus to derive their own sense from
elements which are sensible in their turn, do
thus render their own seeds mortal, when
they make them soft; for all sense is bound up
with flesh, sinews and veins; which in every-
thing we see to be soft and formed of a mortal
body. But even suppose that these things can
remain eternal: they must yet I presume either
have the sense of some part or else be deemed
to possess a sense similar to the entire living
creatures. But the parts cannot possibly have
sense by themselves alone; for all sense of the
different members has reference to something
else; nor can the hand when severed from us
nor any other part of the body whatever by
itself maintain sensation. It remains to assume
that they resemble the entire living creatures.
In this case it is necessary that they should feel
the things which we feel in the same way as
we do, in order that they may be able in all
points to work in concert with the vital sense.
How then can they be called first-beginnings
of things and shun the paths of death, seeing
that they are living things, and that living
things are one and the same with mortal
things? Nay granting they^ could do this, yet
by their meeting and union they will make
nothing but a jumble and medley of living
things; just, you are to know, as men, cattle,
and wild beasts would be unable to beget any
other thing by all their mixing with one an-
other. But if haply they lose from their body
their own sense and adopt another, what use
was it to assign what is again withdrawn?
moreover, the instance to which we had before
recourse, inasmuch as we see the eggs of fowls
change into living chicks and worms burst
forth, when putridity has seized on the earth
after excessive rains, you are t|> know that sen-
sations can be begotten out of no-sensations.

931] But if haply any one sl|all say that sense
so far may arise from no-sens|tion by a process
of change, or because it is brought forth by a
kind of birth, it will be enough to make plain
and to prove to him that no birth takes place
until a union of elements has first been ef-
fected, and that nothing changes without their
having been united. Above all senses cannot

938-1015 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK II

didst in any body before the nature itself of the
living thing has been begotten, because sure
enough the matter remains scattered about in
air, rivers, earth, and things produced from
earth, and has not met together and combined
in appropriate fashion the vital motions by
which the all>discerning senses are kindled
into action in each living thing.

944] Again a blow more severe than its na-
ture can endure, prostrates at once any living
thing and goes on to stun all the senses of body
and mind. For the positions of the first-begin-
nings are broken up and the vital motions en-
tirely stopped, until the matter, disordered by
the shock through the whole frame, unties
from the body the vital fastenings of the soul
and scatters it abroad and forces it out through
all the pores. For what more can we suppose
the infliction of a blow can do, than shake
from their place and break up the union of the
several elements? Often too when the blow is
inflicted with less violence, the remaining
vital motions arc wont to prevail, ay, prevail
and still the huge disorders caused by the blow
and recall each part into its proper channels
and shake off the motion of death now reign-
ing as it were paramount in the body and
kindle afresh the almost lost senses. For in
what other way should the thing be able to
gather together its powers of mind and come
back to life from the very threshold of death,
rather than pass on to the goal to which it had
almost run and so pass away?

963} Again since there is pain when the
bodies of matter are disordered by any force
throughout the living flesh and frame and
quake in their seats within, and as when they
travel back into their place, a soothing pleasure
ensues, you are to know that first-beginnings
can be assailed by no pain and can derive no
pleasure from themselves; since they are not
formed of any bodies of first-beginnings, so
as to be distressed by any novelty in their mo-
tion or derive from it any fruit of fostering de-
light; and therefore they must not be pos-
sessed of any sense.

973] Again if in order that living creatures
may severally have sense, sense is to be as-
signed to their fim-beginnings as well, what
are we to say of those of which mankind is
specifically made? Sure enough they burst into

fits of shaking laughter and sprinkle with
dewy tears face and cheeks and have the cun-
ning to say mftch about the composition of
things and to enquire next what their own
first-beginnings are; since like in their natures
to the entire mortals they must in their turn be
formed out of other elements, then those oth-
ers out of others, so that you can venture no-
where to come to a stop: yes, whatever you
shall say speaks and laughs and thinks, I will
press you with the argument that it is formed
of other things performing these same acts.
But if we see these notions to be sheer folly
and madness, and a man may laugh though
not made of laughing things, and think and
reason in learned language though not formed
of thoughtful and eloquent seeds, why cannot
the things which we see to have sense, just as
well be ma^e up of a mixture of things alto-
gether devoid of sense?

991 ] Again we are all sprung from a heaven-
ly seed, all have that same father, by whom
mother earth the giver of increase, when she
has taken in from him liquid drops of mois-
ture, conceives and bears goodly crops and
joyous trees and the race of man, bears all
kinds of brute beasts, in that she supplies food
with which all feed their bodies and lead a
pleasant life and continue their race; where-
fore with good cause she has gotten the name
of mother. That also which before was from
the earth, passes back into the earth, and that
which was sent from the borders of ether, is
carried back and taken in again by the quar-
ters of heaven. Death does not extinguish
things in such a way as to destroy the bodies
of matter, but only breaks up the union
amongst them, and then joins anew the dif-
ferent elements with others; and thus it comes
to pass that ali things change their shapes and
alter their colours and receive sensations and
in a moment yield them up; so that from all
this you may know it matters much with what
others and in what position the same first-be-
ginnings of things are held in union and what
motions they do mutually impart and receive,
and you must not suppose that that which we
see floating about on the surfiice of things and
now born, then at onc^r^perishing, can be a
property inherent in everlasting first bodies.
Nay in our verses themselves it matters much

a8 LUCRETIUS ioi6-io8f

with what other elements and in what kind of
order the several elements are placed. If not all,
yet by far the greatest number are alike; but
the totals composed of them are made to differ
by the position of these elements. Thus in ac-
tual things as well when the clashings, mo-
tions, arrangement, position, and shapes of
matter change about, the things must also
change.

T023] Apply now, we entreat, your mind to
true reason. For a new question struggles
earnestly to gain your ears, a new asjiect of
things to display itself. But there is nothing so
easy as not to be at first more difficult to be-
lieve than afterwards; and nothing too so
great, so marvellous, that all do not gradually
abate their admiration of it. Look up at the
bright and unsullied hue of heaven and the
stars which it holds within it, wandering all
about, and the moon and the sun’s light of
dazzling brilliancy; if all these things were
now for the first time, if I say they were now
suddenly presented to mortals beyond all ex-
pectation, what could have been named that
would be more marvellous than these things,
or that nations beforehand would less venture
to believe could be? Nothing, methinks: so
wondrous strange had been this sight. Yet how
little, you know, wearied as all are to satiety
with seeing, any one now cares to look up into
heaven’s glittering quarters! Cease theretorc to
be dismayed by the mere* novelty and so to re-
ject reason from your mind with loathing:
weigh the questions rather with keen judge-
ment and if they seem to you to be true, sur-
render, or if they arc a falsehood, gird your-
self to the encounter. For since the sum of
space is unlimited outside beyond these walls
of the world, the mind seeks to apprehend
what there is yonder there, to which the spirit
ever yearns to look forward, and to which the
mind’s immission reaches in free and unem-
barrassed flight.

T048] In the first place we sec that round in
all directions, about, above, and underneath,
throughout the universe there is no bound, as
I have shown and as the thing of itself pro-
claims with loud voice and as clearly shines
out in the nature of bottomless space. In no
wise then can it be deemed probable, when
space yawns illimitable towards all points and

seeds in number numberless and sum unfath-
omable fly about in manifold ways driven on
in ceaseless motion, that this single earth and
heaven have been brought into being, that
those bodies of matter so many in number do
nothing outside them; the more so that this
world has been made by nature, just as the
seeds of things have chanced spontaneously to
clash, after being brought together in mani-
fold wise without purpose, without foresight,
without result, and at last have filtered through
such seeds as, suddenly thrown together, were
fitted to become on each occasion the rudi-
ments of great things, of earth, sea, and heav-
en and the race of living things. Wherefore
again and again I say you must admit that
there are elsewhere other combinations of mat-
ter like to this which ether holds in its greedy
grasp.

1067] Again when much matter is at hand,
when room is there and there is no thing, no
cause to hinder, things sure enough must go
on and l>c completed. Well then if on the one
hand there is so great a store of seeds as the
whole life of living creatures cannot reckon
up, and if the same force and nature abide in
them and have the power to throw the seeds
of things together into their several places in
the same way as they are iTTrown together into
our world, you must admit that in other parts
of space there are other earths and various
races of men and kinds of wild beasts.

1077] Moreover in the sum of all there is no
one thing which is begotten single in its kind
and grows up single and sole of its kind; but
a thing always belongs to some class and there
arc many other things in the same kind. First
in the case of living things, most noble Mem-
mius, you will find that in this sort has been
begotten the mountain-ranging race of wild
beasts, in this sort the breed of men, in this
sort too the mute shoals of scaly creatures and
all bodies of fowls. Wherefore on a like princi-
ple you must admit that eartb and sun, moon,
sea, and all things else that a|te, are not single
in their kind, but rather in niimber past num-
bering; since the deep-set boundary-mark of
life just as much awaits these and they are just
as much of a body that had birth, as any class
of things which here on earth abounds in
samples of its kind.

1090-1166 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK II

1090] If you well apprehend and keep in
mind these things, nature free at once and rid
of her haughty lords is seen to do all things
spontaneously of herself without the meddling
of the gods. For I appeal to the holy breasts of
the gods who in tranquil peace pass a calm
time and an unruffled existence, who can rule
the sum, who hold in his hand with control-
ling force the strong reins, of the immeasur-
able deep? who can at once make all the differ-
ent heavens to roll and warm with ethereal
fires all the fruitful earths, or be present in all
places at all times, to bring darkness with
clouds and shake with noise the heaven’s se-
rene expanse, to hurl lightnings and often
throw down his own temples, and withdraw-
ing into the deserts there to spend his rage in
practising his bolt which often passes the
guilty by and strikes dead the innocent and
unoffending?

1105] And since the birth-time of the world
and first day of being to sea and earth and the
formation of the sun many bodies have been
added from without, many seeds added all
round, which the great universe in tossing to
and fro has contributed; that from them the
sea and lands might increase and from them
heaven’s mansion might enlarge its expanse
and raise its high vaults far above earth, and
that air might rise up around. For all bodies
from all quarters are assigned by blows each
to its appropriate thing and all withdraw to
their proper classes; moisture passes to mois-
ture, from an earthy body earth increases and
fires forge fires and ether ether, until nature,
parent of things, with finishing hand has
brought all things on to their utmost limit of
growth. And this comes to pass when that
which is infused into the life-arteries is no
more than that which ebbs from them and
withdraws: at this point the life-growth in all
things must stop, at this point nature by her
powers checks further increase. For whatever
things you see grow in size with joyous in-
crease and mount by successive steps to ma-
ture age, take to themselves more bodies than
they discharge from themselves, while food is
readily infused into all the arteries and the
things are not so widely spread out as to throw
off many particles and occasion more waste
than their age can take in as nourishment.

For no doubt it must be conceded that many
bodies ebb away and withdraw from things;
but still more must join them, until they have
touched the utmost point of growth. Then
piece by piece age breaks their powers and
matured strength and wastes away on the side
of decay. For the larger a thing is and the
wider, as soon as its growth is stopped, at once
it sheds abroad and discharges from it more
bodies in all directions round; and its food is
not readily transmitted into all its arteries and
is not enough, in proportion to the copious ex-
halations which the thing throws off, to enable
a like amount to rise up and be supplied. For
food must keep all things entire by renewing
them, food must uphold, food sustain all
things: all in vain, since the arteries refuse to
hold what is sufficient, and nature does not
furnish the needful amount. With good reason
therefore ^1 things perish, when they have
been rarefied by the ebb of particles and suc-
cumb to blows from without, since food
sooner or later fails advanced age, and bodies
never cease to destroy a thing by thumping it
from without and to overpower it by aggres-
sive blows.

1148] In this way then the walls too of the
great world around shall be stormed and fall
to decay and crumbling ruin. Yes and even
now the age is enfeebled and the earth ex-
hausted by bearing scarce produces little living
creatures, she who produced all races and gave
birth to the huge bodies of wild beasts. For
methinks no golden chain let down to earth
from heaven above the races of mortal beings,
nor did the sea and waves which lash the
rocks produce them, but the same earth bare
them which now feeds them out of herself.
Moreover she first spontaneously of herself pro-
duced for mortals goodly corn-crops and joy-
ous vineyards; of herself gave sweet fruits and
glad pastures; which now-a-days scarce attain
any size when furthered by our labour: we
exhaust the oxen and the strength of the
husband-men; we wear out our iron, scarcely
fed after all by the tilled fields; so niggardly are
they of their produce and after so much labour
do they let it grow. And now the aged plough-
man shakes his head jamd sighs again and
again to think that the labours of his hands
have come to nothing; and when he compares

present dmcs with times past, he often praises
the fortunes of his sire and harps on the
theme, how the men of old rich in piety com-
fortably supported life on a scanty ^ot of
ground, since the allotment of land to each
man was far less of yore than now. The sor-

Ii6y^ii74: 1^4
rowful planter too of the exhausted and shriv^
elled vine impeaches the march of time and
wearies heaven, and comprehends not that all
things arc gradually wasting away and passing
to the grave, quite forspent by age and length
of days.

LUCRETIUS

•BOOK THREE •

Thee, who first wast able amid such thick
darkness to raise on high so bright a beacon
and shed a light on the true interests of life,
thee I follow, glory of the Greek race, and
plant now my footsteps firmly fixed in thy im-
printed marks, not so much from a desire to
rival thee as that from the love I bear thee I
yearn to imitate thee; for why need the swal-
low contend with swans, or what likeness is
there between the feats of racing performed by
kids with tottering limbs and by the powerful
strength of the horse? Thou, father, art dis-
coverer of things, thou furnishest us with
fatherly precepts, and like as bees sip of all
things in the flowery lawns, we, O glorious be-
ing, in like manner feed from out thy pages
upon all the golden maxims, golden l.say,
most worthy ever of endless life. For soon as
thy philosophy issuing from a godlike intellect
has begun with loud voice to proclaim the
nature of things, the terrors of the mind are
dispelled, the walls of the world part asunder,
I see things in operation throughout the
whole void: the divinity of the gods is revealed
and their tranquil abodes which neither winds
do shake nor clouds drench with rains nor
snow congealed by sharp frosts harms with
hoary fall: an ever cloudless ether o’ercanopies
them, and they laugh with light shed largely
round. Nature too supplies all their wants and
nothing ever impairs their peace of mind. But
on the other hand the Acherusian quarters are
nowhere to be seen, though earth is no bar to
all things being described, which are in opera-
tion underneath our feet throughout the void.
At all this a kind of godlike delight mixed
with shuddering awe comes over me to think
that nature by thy power is laid thus visibly
open, is thus unveiled on every side.

31] And now since I have shown what-like

the beginnings of all things are and how di-
verse with varied shapes as they fly spontane-
ously driven on in everlasting motion, and
how all things can be severally produced out of
these, next after these questions the nature of
the mind and soul should methinks be cleared
up by my verses and that dread of Acheron be
driven headlong forth, troubling as it does the
life of man from its inmost depths and over-
spreading all things with the blackness of
death, allowing no pleasure to be pure and un-
alloyed. For as to what men often give out
that diseases and a life of shame are more to be
feared than Tartarus, place of death, and that
they know the soul to be of blood or it may be
of wind, if haply their choice so direct, and
that they have no need at all of our philosophy,
you may perceive for the" following reasons
that all these boasts arc thrown out more for
glory’s sake than because the thing is really be-
lieved. These very men, exiles from their coun-
try and banished far from the sight of men,
live degraded by foul charge of guilt, sunk in
a word in every kind of misery, and whither-
soever the poor wretches arc come, they yet do
offer sacrifices to the dead and slaughter black
sheep and make libations to the gods Manes
and in times of distress turn their thoughts to
religion much more earnestly. Wherefore you
can better test the man in dopbts and dangers
and mid adversity learn wh^ he is; for then
and not till then the words o| truth are forced
out from the bottom of his h|^art: the mask is
torn off, the reality is left. A|raricc again and
blind lust of honours which constrain unhappy
men to overstep the bounds 01 right and some-
times as partners and agents of crimes to strive
night and day with surpassing effort to strug-
gle up to the summit of power — these sores of
Hie are in no small measure fostered by the

6s-i44 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK III

dread of death« For foul scorn and pinching
want in every case are seen to be far removed
from a life of pleasure and security and to be
a loitering so to say before the gates of death.
And while men driven on by an unreal dread
wish to escape far away from these and keep
them far from them, they amass wealth by
civil bloodshed and greedily double their riches
piling up murder on murder; cruelly triumph
in the sad death of a brother and hate and
fear the tables of kinsfolk. Often likewise from
the same fear envy causes them to pine: they
make moan that before their very eyes he is
powerful, he attracts attention, who walks ar-
rayed in gorgeous dignity, while they are wal-
lowing in darkness and dirt. Some wear them-
selves to death for the sake of statues and a
name. And often to such a degree through
dread of death does hate of life and of the
sight of daylight seize upon mortals, that they
commit self-murder with a sorrowing heart,
quite forgetting that this fear is the source of
their cares, this fear which urges men to every
sin, prompts this one to put all shame to rout,
another to burst asunder the bonds of friend-
ship, and in fine to overturn duty from its
very base; since often ere now men have be-
trayed country and dear parents in seeking to
shun the Acheru^^ian quarters. For even as
children are flurried and dread all things in
the thick darkness, thus we in the daylight
fear at times things not a whit more to be
dreaded than what children shudder at in
the dark and fancy sure to be. This terror
therefore and darkness of mind must be dis-
pelled not by the rays of the sun and glitter-
ing shafts of day, but by the aspect and law of
nature.

94] First then I say that the mind which we
often call the understanding, in which dwells
the directing and governing principle of life,
is no less part of the man, than hand and foot
and eyes are parts of the whole living creature.
Some however affirm that the sense of the
mind does not dwell in a distinct part, but is a
certain vital state of the body, which the
Greeks call harmonia, because by it, they say,
we live with sense, though the understanding
is in no one part;*just as when good health is
said to belong to the body^ though yet it is not
any one part of the man in health. In this way

they do not assign a dbtinct part to the sense
of the mind; in all which they appear to me to
be grievously at fault in more ways than one.
Oftentimes the body which is visible to sight,
is sick, while yet we have [Measure in another
hidden part; and oftentimes the case is the
very reverse, the man who is unhappy in mind
feeling pleasure in his whole body; just as if,
while a sick man’s foot is pained, the head
meanwhile should be in no pain at all. More-
over when the limbs are consigned to soft sleep
and the burdened body lies diffused without
sense, there is yet a something else in us which
during that time is moved in many ways and
admits into it all the motions of joy and im-
real cares of the heart. Now that you may
know that the soul as well is in the limbs and
that the body is not wont to have sense by any
harmony, this is a main proof: when much of
the body has been taken away, still life often
stays in the limbs; and yet the same life, when
a few bodies of heat have been dispersed abroad
and some air has been forced out through the
mouth, abandons at once the veins and quits
the bones: by this you may perceive that all
bodies have not functions of like importance
nor alike uphold existence, but rather that
those seeds which constitute wind and heat,
cause life to stay in the limbs. Therefore vital
heat and wind are within the body and aban-
don our frame at death. Since then the nature
of the mind and that of the soul have been
proved to be a part as it were of the man, sur-
render the name of harmony, whether brought
down to musicians from high Helicon, or
whether rather they have themselves taken it
from something else and transferred it to that
thing which then was in need of a distinctive
name; whatever it be, let them keep it: do you
take in the rest of my precepts.

136] Now I assert that the mind and the soul
are kept together in close union and make up a
single nature, but that the directing principle
which we call mind and understanding, is the
head so to speak and reigns paramount in the
whole body. It has a fixed seat in the middle
region of the breast: here throb fear and ap-
prehension, about these spots dwell soothing
joys; therefore here is ^e understanding or
mind. All the rest of the soul disseminated
through the whole body obeys and moves at

the will and inclination of the mind. It by it-
self alone knows for itself, rejoices for itself,
at times when the impression does not move
either soul or body together with it. And as
when some part of us, the head or the eye, suf-
fers from an atuck of pain, we do not feel the
anguish at the same time over the whole body,
thus the mind sometimes suffers pain by itself
or is inspirited with joy, when all the rest of
the soul throughout the limbs and frame is
stirred by no novel sensation. But when the
mind is excited by some more vehement appre-
hension, we see the whole soul feel in unison
through all the limbs, sweats and paleness
spread over the whole body, the tongue falter,
the voice die away, a mist cover the eyes, the
ears ring, the limbs sink under one; in short
we often see men drop down from terror of
mind; so that anybody may easily perceive
from this that the soul is closely united with
the mind, and, when it has been smitten by the
influence of the mind, forthwith pushes and
strikes the body.

i6i ] This same principle teaches that the na-
ture of the mind and soul is bodily; for when
it is seen to push the limbs, rouse the body
from sleep, and alter the countenance and
guide and turn about the whole man, and
when we see that none of these effects can
take place without touch nor touch without
body, must we not admit that the miitd and
the soul are of a bodily nature.^ Again you per-
ceive that our mind in our body suflFers to-
gether with the body and feels in unison with
it. When a weapon with a shudder-causing
force has been driven in and has laid bare
bones and sinews within the body, if it does
not take life, yet there ensues a faintness and a
lazy sinking to the ground and on the ground
the turmoil of mind which arises, and some-
times a kind of undecided inclination to get
up. Therefore the nature of mind must be
bodily, since it suffers from bodily weapons
and blows.

177] I will now go on to explain in my verses
of what kind of body the mind consists and
out of what it is formed. First of all I say that
it is extremely fine and formed of exceedingly
minute bodies. That this is so you may, if you
please to attend, clearly perceive from what
follows: nothing that is seen takes place with

145-^24

a velocity equal to that of the mind when it
starts some suggestion and actually sets it ago-
ing; the mind therefore is stirred with greater
rapidity than any of the things whose nature
stands out visible to sight. But that which is
so passing nimble, must consist of seeds ex-
ceedingly round and exceedingly minute, in
order to be stirred and set in motion by a small
moving power. Thus water is moved and
heaves by ever so small a force, formed as it
is of small particles apt to roll. But on the other
hand the nature of honey is more sticky, its
liquid more sluggish and its movement more
dilatory; for the whole mass of matter coheres
more closely, because sure enough it is made
of bodies not so smooth, fine, and round. A
breeze however gentle and light can force, as
you may see, a high heap of fx)ppy seed to be
blown away from the top downwards; but on
the other hand Eurus itself cannot move a
heap of stones. Therefore lx)dies possess a pow-
er of moving in proportion to their smallness
and smoothness; and on the other hand the
greater weight and roughness bodies prove to
have, the more stable they are. Since then the
nature of the mind has been found to be emi-
nently easy to move, it must consist of bodies
exceedingly small, smooth, and round. The
knowledge of which fact, ffty good friend, will
on many accounts prove useful and be service-
able to you. The following fact too likewise
demonstrates how fine the texture is of which
its nature is com^xjscd, and how small the room
is in which it can be contained, could it only
be collected into one mass: soon as the un-
troubled sleep of death has gotten hold of a
man and the nature of the mind and soul has
withdrawn, you can [perceive then no diminu-
tion of the entire body cither in appearance or
weight: death makes all good save the vital
sense and heat. Therefore the whole soul must
consist of very small seeds and be inwoven
through veins and flesh and tinews; inasmuch
as, after it has all withdrawn from the whole
body, the exterior contour of the limbs pre-
serves itself entire and not a tittle of the weight
is lost. Just in the same way when the flavour
of wine is gone or when the delicious aroma of
a perfume has lx*cn dispersed into the air or
when the savour has left some body, yet the
rhing itself does not therefore look smaller to

LUCRETIUS

22^j0/

the eye, nor does aught seem to have been
taken from the weight, because sure enough
many minute seeds make up the savours and
the odour in the whole body of the several
things. Therefore, again and again I say, you
arc to know that the nature of the mind and
.the soul has been formed of exceedingly mi-
nute seeds, since at its departure it takes away
none of the weight.

231] We are not however to suppose that
this nature is single. For a certain subtle spirit
mixed with heat quits men at death, and then
the heat draws air along with it; there l)eing
no heat which has not air too mixed with it: for
since its nature is rare, many first-beginnings
of air must move about through it. Thus the
nature of the mind is proved to be three-
fold; and yet these things all together are not
sufficient to produce sense; since the fact of the
case does not admit that any of these can pro-
duce sense-giving motions and the thoughts
which a man Kvrns over in mind. Thus some
fourth nature too must be added to these: it
is altogether without name; than it nothing
exists more nimble or more fine, or of smaller
or smoother elements: it first transmits the
sense-giving motions through the frame; for it
is first stirred, made up as it is of small parti-
cles; next the heat and the unseen force of the
spirit receive the motions, then the air; then all
things arc set in action, the blood is stirred,
every part of the flesh is filled with sensation;
last of all the feeling is transmitted to the bones
and marrow, whether it be one of pleasure or
an opposite excitement. No pain however can
lightly pierce thus far nor any sharp malady
make its way in, without all things being so
thoroughly disordered that no room is left for
life and the parts of the soul fly abroad through
all the |)ores of the body. But commonly a stop
is put to these motions on the surface as it were
of the body: for this reason we are able to re-
tain life.

258] Now tliough I would fain explain in
what way these are mixed up together, by what
means united, when they exert their powers,
the poverty of my native speech deters me sore-
ly against my will: yet will I touch upon them
and in summary 'fashion to the best of my
ability: the first-beginnings by their mutual
motions are interlaced in such a way that none

of them can be separated by itself, nor can the
function of any go on divided from the rest by
any interval; but they arc so to say the several
powers of one body. Even so in any flesh of
living creature you please without exception
there is smell and some colour and a savour,
and yet out of all these is made up one single
bulk of body. Thus the heat and the air and
the unseen power of the spirit mixed together
produce a single nature, together with that
nimble force which transmits to them from it-
self the origin of motion; by which means
sense-giving motion first takes its rise through
the fleshly frame. For this nature lurks secreted
in its inmost depths, and nothing in our body
is farther beneath all ken than it, and more
than this it is the very soul of the w'hole soul.
Just in the same way as the fx>wer of the mind
and the filiation of the soul are latent in our
limbs and throughout our body, because they
arc each formed of small and few bodies: even
so, you arc to know, this nameless power made
of minute bodies is concealed and is moreover
the very soul so to say of the whole soul, and
reigns supreme in the whole body. On a like
principle the spirit and air and heat must, as
they exert their powers, be mixed up together
through the frame, and one must ever be more
out of view or more prominent than another,
that a single substance may be seen to be
formed from the union of all, lest the heat and
spirit apart by themselves and the power of the
air apart by itself should destroy sense and dis-
sipate it by their disunion.

288] Thus the mind possesses that heat which
it displays when it boils up in anger and fire
flashes from the keen eyes; there is too much
cold spirit comrade of fear, which spreads a
shivering over the limbs and stirs the whole
frame; yes and there is also that condition of
still air which has place when the breast is calm
and the looks cheerful. But they have more of
the hot whose keen heart and passionate mind
lightly boil up in anger. Foremost in this class
comes the fierce violence of lions who often as
they chafe break their hearts with their roar-
ing and cannot contain within their breast the
billows of their rage. Then the chilly mind of
stags is fuller of the sp^t and more quickly
rouses through all the flesh its icy currents
which cause a shivering motion to pass over

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK III

the limbs. But the nature of oxen has its life
rather from the still air» and never does the
smoky torch of anger applied to it stimulate
it too much, shedding over it the shadow of
murky gloom, nor is it transfixed and stiffened
by the icy shafts of fear; it lies between the
o^er two, stags and cruel lions. And thus it is
with mankind; however much teaching ren-
ders some equally refined, it yet leaves behind
those earliest traces of the nature of each mind;
and we are not to suppose that evil habits can
be so thoroughly plucked up by the roots, that
one man shall not be more prone than another
to keen anger, a second shall not be somewhat
more quickly assailed by fear, a third shall not
take some things more meekly than is right. In
many other points there must be differences
between the varied natures of men and the
tempers which follow upon these; though at
present I am unable to set forth the hidden
causes of these or to find names enough for the
different shapes which belongs to the first-
beginnings, from which shapes arises this
diversity of things. What herein I think I may
affirm is this; traces of the different natures
left behind, which reason is unable to expel
from us, are so exceedingly slight that there is
nothing to hinder us from living a life worthy,
of gods.

323] Well this nature is conuined by the
whole body and is in turn t)>e body’s guardian
and the cause of its existence; for the two ad-
here together with common roots and cannot
it is plain be riven asunder without destruction.
Even as it is not easy to pluck the perfume out
of lumps of frankincense without quite des-
troying its nature as well; so it is not easy to
withdraw from the whole body the nature of
the mind and soul without dissolving all alike.
With hrst-beginnings $0 interlaced from their
earliest birth are they formed and gifted with
a life of joint partnership, and it is plain that
fbat faculty of the body and of the mind
cannot feel separately, each alone without the
other’s power, but sense is kindled throughout
our flesh and blown into flame between the
two by the |oint motions on the part of both,
liifereover die body by itself is never cither be-
gotten or grows or, it is plain, continues to exist
after death. For not in the way that the liquid
of water often loses the heat which has been

given to it, yet is not for that reason itself riven
in pieces, but remains unimpaired—* not in this
way, I say, can the abandoned frame endure
the separation of the soul, but riven in pieces it
utterly perishes and rots away. Thus the mu-
tual connexions of body and soul from the first
moment of their existence learn the vital mo-
tions even while hid in the body and womb of
the mother, so that no separation can take place
without mischief and ruin. Thus you may sec
tha^ since the cause of existence lies in their
joint action, their nature too must be a joint
nature.

350] Furthermore if anyone tries to disprove
that the body feels and believes that the soul
mixed through the whole body takes upon it
this motion which we name sense, he combats
even manifest and undoubted facts. For who
will ever bring forward any explanation of
what the body’s feeling is, except that which
the plain fact of the case has itself given and
taught to us? But when the soul it is said has
departed, the body throughout is without sense;
yes, for it loses what was not its own peculiar
property in life; ay and much else it loses, be-
fore that soul is driven out of it.

359] Again to say that the eyes can see no
object, but that the soul discerns through them
as through an open door, is far from easy, since
their sense contradicts this; for this sense e’en
draws it and forces it out to the pupil: nay
often we are unable to perceive shining things,
because our eyes are embarrassed by the lights.
But this is not the case with doors; for, because
we ourselves see, the open doors do not there-
fore undergo any fatigue. Again if our eyes
are in the place of doors, in that case when the
eyes arc removed the mind ought it would seem
to have more power of seeing things, after
doors, jambs and all, have been jtaken out of
the way.

370] And herein you must ty no means
adopt the opinion which the reveijbd judgement
of the worthy man Democritus I^s down, that
the first-beginnings of body an(i| mind placed
together in successive layers confe in alternate
order and so weave the tissue of 4ur limbs. For
not only are the elements of t|e soul much
smaller than those of which our body and flesh
are formed, but they are also much fewer in
number and are disseminated merely in scanty

LUCRETIUS

yff -454 ON THE NATURE OP

number through the frame, so that you can
warrant no more than this: the first-'beginnings
of the soul keep spaces between them at least
as great as are the smallest bodies which, if
thrown upon it, are first able to excite in our
body the sense-giving motions. Thus at times
we do not feel the adhesion of dust when it set-
tles on our body, nor the impact of chalk when
it rests on our limbs, nor do we feel a mist at
night or a spider's slender threads as they come
against us, when we are caught in its meshes
in moving along, nor the same insect’s flimsy
web when it has fallen on our head, nor the
feathers of birds and down of plants as it flies
about, which commonly from exceeding light-
ness does not lightly fall, nor do we feel the
tread of every creeping creature whatsoever
nor each particular foot-print which gnats and
the like stamp on our body. So very many first-
beginnings must be stirred in us, before the
seeds of the soul mixed up in our bodies feel
that these hav^ been disturbed, and by thump-
ing with subh spaces between can clash, unite,
and in turn recoil.

396] The mind has more to do with holding
the fastnesses of life and has more sovereign
sway over it than the power of the soul. For
without the understanding and the mind no
part of the soul can maintain itself in the frame
the smallest fraction of time, but follows at
once in the other’s train and passes away into
the air and leaves the cold limbs in the chill
of death. But he abides in life whose mind
and understanding continue to stay with him:
though the trunk is mangled with its limbs
shorn all round about it, after the soul has
been taken away on all sides and been severed
from the limbs, the trunk yet lives and inhales
the ethereal airs of life. When robbed, if not of
the whole, yet of a large portion of the soul, it
still lingers in and cleaves to life; just as, after
the eye has been lacerated all round if the pupil
has continued uninjured, the living power of
sight remains, provided always you do not de-
stroy the whole ball of the eye and pare close
round the pupil and leave only it; for that will
not be done even to the ball without the entire
destruction of the eye. But if that middle por-
tion of the eye, small as it is, is eaten into,
the sight is gone at once and darkness ensues,
though a man have the bright ball quite unim-

THINGS, BOOK III 35

paired. On such terms of union soul and mind
are ever bound to each other.

417] Now mark me: that you may know that
the minds and light souls of living creatures
have birth and are mortal, I will go on to set
forth verses worthy of your attention, got to-
gether by long study and invented with wel-
come effort. Do you mind to link to one name
both of them alike, and when for instance I
shall choose to speak of the soul, showing it to
be mortal, believe that I speak of the mind as
well, inasmuch as both make up one thing and
are one united substance. First of all then since
I have shown the soul to be fine and to be
formed of minute bodies and made up of much
smaller first-beginnings than is the liquid of
water or mist or smoke: — ^for it far surpasses
these in nimbleness and is moved, when struck
by a far slenderer cause; inasmuch as it is
moved by images of smoke and mist; as when
for instance sunk in sleep we see altars steam
forth their heat and send up their smoke on
high; for beyoncT a doubt images are begot-
ten for us from these things: — well then since
you sec on the vessels being shattered the water
flow away on all sides, and since mist and
smoke pass away into air, believe that the soul
too is shed abroad and perishes much more
quickly and dissolves sooner into its first bod-
ies, when once it has been taken out of the
limbs of a man and has withdrawn. For, when
the body that serves for its vessel cannot hold
it, if shattered from any cause and rarefied by
the withdrawal of blood from the veins, how
can you believe that this soul can be held by
any air? How can that air which is rarer than
our body hold it in?

445] Again we perceive that the mind is be-
gotten along with the body and grows up to«
gether with it and becomes old along with it.
For even as children go about with a tottering
and weakly body, so slender sagacity of mind
follows along with it; then when their life has
reached the maturity of confirmed strength,
the judgement too is greater and the power of
the mind more developed. Afterwards when
the body has been shattered by the mastering
might of time and the frame has drooped with
its forces dulled, then tte intellect halts, the
tongue dotes, the mind gives way, all faculties
fail and are found wanting at the same time.

3,6

It naturally follows then that the whole nature
of the soul is dissolved, like smoke, into the
high air; since we see it is begotten along with
the body and grows up along with it and, as I
have shown, breaks down at the same time
worn out with age.

459] Moreover we see that even as the body
is liable to violent diseases and severe pain, so
is the mind to sharp cares and grief and fear;
it naturally follows therefore that it is its part-
ner in death as well. Again in diseases of the
body the mind often wanders and goes astray;
for it loses its reason and drivels in its speech
and often in a profound lethargy is carried
into deep and never-ending sleep with droop-
ing eyes and head; out of which it neither
hears the voices nor can recognise the faces of
those who stand round calling it back to life
and bedewing with tears, face and cheeks.
Therefore you must admit that the mind too
dissolves, since the infection of disease reaches
to it; for pain and disease are both forgers of
death; a truth we have fully learned ere now
by the death of many. Again, when the pun-
gent strength of wine has entered into a man
and its spirit has been infused into and trans-
mitted through his veins, why is it that a
heaviness of the limbs follows along with this,
his legs are hampered as he reels about, his
tongue falters, his mind is besotted, his eyes
swim, shouting, hiccuping, wranglings are
rife, together with all the other usual con-
comitants^ why is all this, if not because the
overpowering violence of the wine is wont to
disorder the soul within the body? But when-
ever things can be disordered and hampered,
they give token that if a somewhat more po-
tent cause gained an entrance, they would
perish and be robbed of all further existence.

487I Moreover it often happens that some
one constrained by the violence of disease sud-
denly drops down before our eyes, as by a
stroke of lightning, and foams at the mouth,
moans and shivers through his frame, loses his
reason, stiffens his muscles, is racked, gasps for
breath fitfully, and wearies his limbs with toss-
ing. Sure enough, because the violence of the
disease spreads itself through his frame and
disorders him, he foams as he tries to eject his
soul, just as in the salt sea the waters boil with
the mastering might of the winds. A moan too

455 - 53 }

is forced out, because the limbs arc seized with
pain, and mainly because seeds of voice are
driven forth and are carried in a close mass
out by the mouth, the road which they arc
accustomed to take and where they have a
well-paved way. Loss of reason follows, be-
cause the powers of the mind and soul are dis-
ordered and, as I have shown, arc riven and
forced asunder, torn to pieces by the same
baneful malady. Then after the cause of the
disease has bent its course back and the acrid
humours of the distempered body return to
their hiding-places, then he first gets up like
one reeling, and by little and little comes back
into full possession of his senses and regains
his soul. Since therefore even within the body
mind and soul are harassed by such violent
distempers and so miserably racked by suffer-
ings, why believe that they without the body
in the open air can continue existence battling
with fierce winds? And since we perceive that
the mind is healed like the sick body, and we
sec that it can be altered by medicine, this too
gives warning that the mind has a mortal
existence. For it is natural that whosoever es-
says and attempts to change the mind or seeks
to alter any other nature you like, should add
new parts or change the arrangement of the
present, or withdraw in short some little from
the sum. But that which is immortal wills not
to have its parts transposed nor any addition
to be made nor one tittle to ebb away; for
whenever a thing changes and quits its proper
limits, this change is at once the death of that
which was before. Therefore the mind,
whether it is sick or whether it is altered by
medicine, alike, as I have shown, gives forth
mortal symptoms. So invariably is truth found
to make head against false reason and to cut
off all retreat from the assailant and by a two-
fold refutation to put falsehood to tout.

526] Again we often see a man , pass gradu-
ally away and limb by limb loservital sense;
first the toes of his feet and the nails turn
livid, then the feet and shanks die, then next
the steps of chilly death creep with slow pace
over the other members. Tlierefoirc since the
nature of the soul is rent and passes away and
does not at one time stand forth in its entire-
ness, it must be reckoned mortal. But if haply
you s*jppose that it can draw itself in through

LUCRETIUS

S34r^ii ON THE NATURE OF THINGS. BOOK III

the whole frame and mass its parts together
and in this way withdraw sense from all the
limbs, yet then that spot into which so great a
store of soul is gathered, ought to show itself
in possession of a greater amount of sense.
But as this is nowhere found, sure enough as
we said before, it is torn in pieces and scat-
tered abroad, and therefore dies. Moreover if
I were pleased for the moment to grant what
is false and admit that the soul might be col-
lected in one mass in the body of those who
leave the light dying piecemeal, even then you
must admit the soul to be mortal; and it makes
no difference whether it perish dispersed in
air, or gathered into one lump out of all its
parts lose all feeling, since sense ever more and
more fails the whole man throughout and less
and less of life remains throughout.

548] And since the mind is one part of a
man which remains fixed in a particular spot,
)ust as are the ears and eyes and the other
senses which guide and direct life; and just as
the hand or eye or nose when separated from
us cannot feel and exist apart, but in however
short a time wastes away in putrefaction, thus
the mind cannot exist by itself without the
body and the man s self which as you sec
serves for the mind’s vessel or any thing else
you choose to imagine which implies a yet
closer union with it, since the body is at-
tached to it by the nearest ties.

558] Again the quickened powers of body
and mind by their joint partnership enjoy
health and life; for the nature of the mind can-
not by itself alone without the body give forth
vital motions nor can the body again bereft of
the soul continue to exist and make use of its
senses; just, you are to know, as the eye itself
torn away from its roots cannot sec anything
when apart from the whole body, thus the
soul and mind cannot it is plain do anything
by themselves. Sure enough, because mixed up
through veins and flesh, sinews and bones,
their first-beginnings are confined by all the
body and arc not free to bound away leaving
great spaces between, therefore thus shut in
they make those sense-giving motions which
they cannot make after death when forced out
of the body into the air by reason that they are
not then confined in a like znanner; for the air
will be a body and a living thing, if the soul

shall be able to keep itself together and to en-
close in it those motions which it used before
to perform in the sinews and within the body.
Moreover even while it yet moves within the
confines of life, often the soul shaken from
some cause or other is seen to wish to pass out
and be loosed from the whole body, the fea-
tures are seen to droop as at the last hour and
all the limbs to sink flaccid over the bloodless
trunk: just as happens, when the phrase is
used, the mind is in a bad way, or the soul is
quite gone; when all is hurry and every one is
anxious to keep from parting the last tic of
life; for then the mind and the power of the
soul are shaken throughout and both are quite
loosened together with the body; so that a
cause somewhat more powerful can quite
break them up. Why doubt I would ask that
the soul when driven forth out of the body,
when in th^' open air, feeble as it is, stript of
its covering, not only cannot continue through
eternity, but is unable to hold together the
smallest fraction of time.^ Therefore, again
and again I say, when the enveloping body
has been all broken up and the vital airs have
been forced out, you must admit that the
senses of the mind and the soul are dissolved,
since the cause of destruction is one and in-
separable for both body and soul.

595] Again since the body is unable to bear
the separation of the soul without rotting away
in a noisome stench, why doubt that the power
of the soul gathering itself up from the in-
most depths of body has oozed out and dis-
persed like smoke, and that the crumbling
body has changed and tumbled in with so total
a ruin for this reason because its foundations
throughout are stirred from their places, the
soul oozing out abroad through the frame,
through all the winding passages which are in
the body, and all openings? So that in ways
manifold you may learn that the nature of
the soul has been divided piecemeal and gone
forth throughout the frame, and that it has
been torn to shreds within the body, ere it
glided forth and swam out into the air. For no
one when dying apjiears to feel the soul go
forth entire from his whole body or first mount
up to the throat and guljot, but all feel it fail
in that part which lies in a particular quarter;
just as they know that the senses as well suffer

38 LUCRETIUS 6/>^9

dissolution each in its own place. But if our
mind were immortal, it would not when dying
complain so much of its dissolution, as of pass-
ing abroad and quitting its vesture, like a
snake.

615] Again why are the mind's understand-
ing and judgement never begotten in the head
or feet or hands, but cling in all alike to one
spot and fixed quarter, if it be not that par-
ticular places are assigned for the birth of
everything, and nature has determined where
each is to continue to exist after it is born?
Our body then must follow the same law and
have such a manifold organisation of parts,
that no perverted arrangement of its members
shall ever show itself: so invariably effect fol-
lows cause, nor is flame wont to be born in
rivers nor cold in fire.

624] Again if the nature of the soul is im-
mortal and can feel when separated from our
body, methinks we must suppose it to be pro-
vided with five senses; and in no other way
can we picture to ourselves souls below flitting
about Acheron. Painters therefore and former
generations of writers have thus represented
souls provided with senses. But neither eyes
nor nose nor hand can exist for the soul apart
from the body nor can tongue, nor can ears
perceive by the sense of hearing or exist for the
soul by themselves apart from the body.

634] And since we perceive that vital sente
is in the whole body and We see that it is all
endowed with life, if on a sudden any force
with swift blow shall have cut it in twain so as
quite to dissever the two halves, the power of
the soul will without doubt at the same time
be cleft and cut asunder and dashed in twain
tc^ether witli the body. But that which is cut
and divides into any parts, you are to know
disclaims for itself an everlasting nature.
Stories are told how scythed chariots reeking
with indiscriminate slaughter often lop off
limbs so instantaneously that that which has
fallen down lopped off from the frame is seen
to quiver on the ground, while yet the mind
and faculty of the man from the suddenness of
the mischief cannot feel the pain; and because
his mind once for all is wholly given to the
business of fighting, with what remains of his
body he mingles in the fray and carnage, and
often perceives not that the wheels and de-

vouring scythes have carried off among the
horses' feet his left arm shield and all; an-
other sees not that his right arm has dropped
from him, while he mounts and presses for-
ward. Another tries to get up after he has lost
his leg, while the dying foot quivers with its
toes on the ground close by. The head too
when cut off from the warm and living trunk
retains on the ground the expression of life
and open eyes, until it has yielded up all the
remnants of soul. To take another case, if, as
a serpent’s tongue is quivering, as its tail is
darting out from its long body, you choose to
chop with an axe into many pieces both tail
and body, you will see all the separate portions
thus cut off writhing under the fresh wound
and bespattering the earth with gore, the fore
part with the mouth making for its own
hinder part, to allay with burning bite the
pain of the wound with which it has been
smitten. Shall we say then that there are entire
souls in all those pieces? why from that argu-
ment it will follow that one living creature had
many souls in its body; and this being absurd,
therefore the soul which was one has been
divided together with the body; therefore each
alike must be reckoned mortal, since each is
alike chopped up into many pieces.

670] Again if the nature of^e soul is im-
mortal and makes its way into our body at the
time of birth, why arc we unable to remember
besides the time already gone, and why do we
retain no traces of past actions? If the power
of the mind has been so completely changed,
that all remembrance of past things is lost,
that methinks differs not widely from death;
therefore you must admit that the soul which
was before has perished and that which now
is has now been formed.

679] Again if the quickened power of the
mind is wont to be put into us after our body
is fully formed, at the insunt of qur birth and
our crossing the threshold of Ife, k ought
agreeably to this to live not in suc| a way as to
seem to have grown with the I|pdy and to-
gether with its members within tte blood, but
as in a den apart by and to itself: the very con-
trary to what undoubted fact teaches; for it is
so closely united with the body throughout
the veins, flesh, sinews, and bones, that the
very teeth have a share of sense; as their aching

69^66 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK III

proves and the sharp twinge of cold water and
the crunching of a rough stone, when it has
got into them out of bread. Wherefore, again
and again I say, we must believe souls to be
neither without a birth nor exempted from the
law of death; for we must not believe that
they could have been so completely united
with our bodies, if they found their way into
them from without, nor, since they are so
closely inwoven with them, does it appear that
they can get out unharmed and unloose them-
selves unscathed from all the sinews and
bones and joints. But if haply you believe that
the soul finds its way in from without and is
wont to ooze through all our limbs, so much
the more it will perish thus blended with the
body; for what oozes through another is dis-
solved, and therefore dies. As food distributed
through all the cavities of the body, while it is
transmitted into the limbs and the whole
frame, is destroyed and furnishes out of itself
the matter of an^^'^ther nature, thus the soul and
mind, though they pass entire into a fresh
body, yet in oozing through it arc dissolved,
whilst there are transmitted so to say into the
frame through all the cavities those particles
of which this nature of mind is formed, which
now is sovereign in our body, being born out
of that soul which then perished when dis-
persed through the frame. Wherefore the na-
ture of the soul is seen to be neither without a
birthday nor exempt from death.

713I Again are seeds of the soul left in the
dead body or not? If they are left and remain
in it, the soul cannot fairly be deemed im-
mortal, since it has withdrawn lessened by the
loss of some j^rts; but if when taken away
from the yet untainted limbs it has fled so en-
tirely away as to leave in the body no parts of
itself, whence do carcases exude worms from
the now rank flesh and whence docs such a
swarm of living things, boneless and blood-
less, surge through the heaving frame? But if
haply you believe that souls find their way into
worms from without and can severally pass
each into a body and you make no account of
why many thousands of souls meet together in
a place from which one has withdrawn, this
question at least must, it seems, be raised and
brought to a decisive test, whether souls hunt
out several seeds of worms and build for

themselves a place to dwell in, or find their
way into bodies fully formed so to say. But
why they should on their part make a body
or take such trouble, cannot be explained; since
being without a body they are not plagued as
they flit about with diseases and cold and hun-
ger, the body being more akin to, more
troubled by such infirmities, and by its con-
tact with it the mind suffering many ills.
Nevertheless be it ever so expedient for them
to make a body, when they are going to enter,
yet clearly there is no way by which they can
do so. Therefore souls do not make for them-
selves bodies and limbs; no nor can they by
any method find their way into bodies after
they arc fully formed; for they will neither be
able to unite themselves with a nice precision
nor will any connexion of mutual sensation
be formed between them.

741] Again why does untamed fierceness go
along with the sullen brood of lions, cunning
with foxes and proneness to flight with stags?
And to take any other instance of the kind,
why are all qualities engendered in the limbs
and temper from the vei7 commencement of
life, if not because a fixed power of mind de-
rived from its proper seed and breed grows up
together with the whole body? If it were im-
mortal and wont to pass into different bodies,
living creatures would be of interchangeable
dispositions; a dog of Hyrcanian breed would
often fly before the attack of an antlered stag,
a hawk would cowxr in mid air as it fled at the
approach of a dove, men would be without
reason, the savage races of wild beasts would
have reason. For the assertion that an im-
mortal soul is altered by a change of body is
advanced on a false principle. What is changed
is dissolved, and therefore dies: the parts are
transposed and quit their former order; there-
fore they must admit of being dissolved too
throughout the frame, in order at last to die
one and all together with the body. But if
they shall say that souls of men always go into
human bodies, I yet will ask how it is a soul
can change from wise to foolish, and no child
has discretion, and why the mare's foal is not
so well trained as the powerful strength of the
horse. You may be sureT they will fly to the
subterfuge that the mind grows weakly in a
weakly body. But granting this is so, you must

admit the soul to be mortal, since changed so
completely throughout the frame it loses its
former life and sense. Then too in what way
will it be able to grow in strength uniformly
with its allotted body and reach the coveted
flower of age, unless it shall be its partner at
its first beginning? Or what means it by pass-
ing out from the limbs when decayed with
age? Does it fear to remain shut up in a crum-
bling body, fear that its tenement, worn out by
protracted length of days, bury it in its ruins?
Why an immortal being incurs no risks.

776] Again for souls to stand by at the
unions of Venus and the birth-throes of beasts
seems to be passing absurd, for them the im-
mortals to wait for mortal limbs in number
numberless and struggle with one another in
forward rivalry, which shall first and by pref-
erence have entrance in; unless haply bar-
gains are struck among the souls on these
terms, that whichever in its flight shall first
come up, shall first have right of entry, and
that they shall make no trial at all of each
other’s strength.'

784 J Again a tree cannot exist in the ether,
nor clouds in the deep sea nor can fishes live
in the fields nor blood exist in woods nor sap
in stones. Where each thing can grow and
abide is fixed and ordained. Thus the nature
of the mind cannot come into being alone
without the body nor exist far away from tKc
sinews and blood. But if (for this would be
much more likely to happen than that) the
force itself of the mind might be in the head or
shoulders or heels or might be born in any
other part of the body, it would after all be
wont to abide in one and the same man or
vessel. But since in our body even it is fixed
and seen to be ordained where the soul and
the mind can severally be and grow, it must
still more strenuously be denied that it can
abide and be born out of the body altogether.
Therefore when the body has died, wc must
admit that the soul has perished, wrenched
away throughout the body. To link forsooth a
mortal thing with an everlasting and suppose
that they can have sense in common and can
be reciprocally acted upon, is sheer folly; for
what can be conceived more incongruous,
more discordant and inconsistent with itself,

*C£. Er's visickD: Plato, Republic^ x.

than a thing which is mortal. linked with an
immortal and everlasting thing, trying in such
union to weather furious storms?*

819] But if haply the soul is to be accounted
immortal for this reason rather, because it is
kept sheltered from death-bringing things,
either because things hostile to its existence do
not approach at all, or because those which do
approach, in some way or other retreat dis-
comfited before we can feel the harm they do,
manifest experience proves that this can not
be true. For besides that it sickens in sympathy
with the maladies of the body, it is often at-
tacked by that which frets it on the score of
the future and keeps it on the rack of suspense
and wears it out with cares; and when ill
deeds are in the past, remorse for sins yet
gnaws: then there is madness peculiar to the
mind and forgetfulness of all things: then too
it often sinks into the black waters of lethargy.

830] Death therefore to us is nothing, con-
cerns us not a jot, since the nature of the
mind is proved to be mortal; and as in time
gone by we felt no distress, when the Poeni
from all sides came together to do battle, and
all things shaken by war’s troublous uproar
shuddered and quaked beneath high heaven,
and mortal men were in doubt which of the
two i>eoples it should be to wTTose empire all
must fall by sea and land alike, thus when wc
shall be no more, when there shall have been
a separation of botly and soul, out of both of
which wc are each formed into a single being,
to us, you may be sure, who then shall lie no
more, nothing whatever can ha|)pen to excite
sensation, not if earth shall be mingled with
sea and sea with heaven. And even supposing
the nature of the mind and power of the soul
do feel, after they have been severed from our
body, yet that is nothing to us who by the
binding tie of marriage between body and
soul arc formed each into one finglc being.
And if time should gather up ouit matter after
our death and put it once more ijhto the posi-
tion in which it now is, and the light of life be
given to us again, this result even would con-
cern us not at all, when the chain of our self-
consciousness has once been snapped asunder.

•T*ic Miinro translation omits lines 806-818, which
occur also in v. 351-63, where they seem to be more ap-
propriate.

LUCRETIUS

852-924 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK III

So now wc give ourselves no concern about
any self which we have been before, nor do
we feel any distress on the score of that self.
For when you look back on the whole past
course of immeasurable time and think how
manifold are the shapes which the motions of
matter take, you may easily credit this too,
that these very same seeds of which wc now
are formed, have often before been placed in
the same order in which they now are; and
yet we cannot recover this in memory: a break
in our existence has been interposed, and all
the motions have wandered to and fro far
astray from the sensations they produced. For
he whom evil is to befall, must in his own per-
son exist at the very time it comes, if the mis-
ery and suffering are haply to have any place
at all; but since death precludes this, and for-
bids him to be, upon whom the ills can be
brought, you may be sure that we have noth-
ing to fear after death, and that he who exists
not, cannot become miserable, and that it mat-
ters not a whit whether he has been born into
life at any other time, when immortal death
has taken away his mortal life.

870] Therefore when you see a man be-
moaning his hard case, that after death he shall
either rot with his body laid in the grave or be
devoured by flames or the jaws of wild beasts,
you may be sure that his ring betrays a flaw
and that there lurks in his heart a secret goad,
though he himself declare that he docs not be-
lieve that any sense will remain to him after
death. He docs not methinks really grant the
conclusion which he professes to grant nor the
principle on which he so professes, nor docs he
take and force himself root and branch out of
life, but all unconsciously imagines something
of self to survive. For when any one in life
suggests to himself that birds and beasts will
rend his body after death, he makes moan for
himself: he docs not separate himself from
that self, nor withdraw himself fully from the
body so thrown out, and fancies himself
that other self and stands by and impreg-
nates it with his own sense. Hence he makes
much moan that he has been born mortal,
and sees not that after real death there will be
no other self to remain in life and lament to
self that his own self has met death, and there
to stand and grieve that his own self there ly«

ing is mangled or burnt. For if it is an evil
after death to be pulled about by the devour-
ing jaws of wild beasts, I cannot see why it
should not be a cruel pain to be laid on Bres
and burn in hot flames, or to be placed in
honey and stifled, or to stiffen with cold,
stretched on the smooth surface of an icy slab
of stone, or to be pressed down and crushed
by a load of earth above.

894] “Now no more shall thy house admit
thee with glad welcome, nor a most virtuous
wife and sweet children run to be the first to
snatch kisses and touch thy heart with a silent
joy. No more mayst thou be prosperous in thy
doings, a safeguard to thine own. One disas-
trous day has taken from thee luckless man in
luckless wise all the many prizes of life,” This
do men say; but add not thereto “and now no
longer does 'any craving for these things beset
thee withal.” For if they could rightly perceive
this in thought and follow up the thought in
words, they would release themselves from
great distress and apprehension of mind.
“Thou, even as now thou art, sunk in the
sleep of death, shalt continue so to be all time
to come, freed from all distressful pains; but
we with a sorrow that would not be sated wept
for thee, when close by thou didst turn to an
ashen hue on thy appalling funeral pile, and
no length of days shall pluck from our hearts
our ever-during grief.” This question there-
fore should be asked of this speaker, what
there is in it so passing bitter, if it come in the
end to sleep and rest, that any one should pine
in never-ending sorrow.

912] This too men often, when they have re-
clined at table cup in hand and shade their
brows with crowns, love to say from the heart,
“short is this enjoyment for poor weak men;
presently it will have been and never after may
it be called back.” As if after their death it is
to be one of their chiefest afflictions that thirst
and parching drought is to burn them up hap-
less wretches, or a craving for any thing else
is to beset them. What folly! no one feels the
want of himself and life at the time when
mind and body are together sunk in sleep;
for all we care this sleep might be everlasting,
no craving whatever for ourselves then moves
us. And yet by no means do those first-begin-
nings throughout our frame wander at that

42 LUCRETIUS 925^/oD/

dme far away from their sense*producing mo- parture sated and filled widi good things. Now

tions^ at the moment when a man starts up
from sleep and collects himself. Death there-
fore must be thought to concern us much less,
if less there can be than what we see to be
nothing; for a greater dispersion of the mass
of matter follows after death, and no one
wakes up^ upon whom the chill cessation of
life has once come.

931] Once more, if the nature of things
could suddenly utter a voice and in person
could rally any of us in such words as these,
**What hast thou, O mortal, so much at heart,
that thou goest such lengths in sickly sorrows?
Why bemoan and bewail death? For say thy
life past and gone has been welcome to thee
and thy blessings have not all, as if they were
poured into a perforated vessel, run through
and been lost without avail: why not then
take thy departure like a guest filled with life,
and with resignation, thou fool, enter upon
untroubled rest? But if all that thou hast en-
joyed, has been squandered and lost, and life
is a grievance, why seek to make any addition,
to be wasted perversely in its turn and lost ut-
terly without avail? Why not rather make an
end of life and travail? For there is nothing
more which I can contrive and discover for
thee to give pleasure: all things arc ever the
same. Though thy body is not yet decayed
with years nor thy frame worn out and ex-
hausted, yet all things remain the same, ay
though in length of life thou shouldst oudast
all races of things now living, nay even more
if thou shouldst never die,” what answer have
we to make save this, that nature sets up
against us a well-founded claim and puts forth
in her pleading a true indictment?

952] If however one of greater age and more
advanced in years should complain and lament
poor wretch his death more than is right,
would she not with greater cause raise her
voice and rally him in sharp accents, "'Away
from this time brth with thy tears, rascal; a
truce to thy complainings: thou decayest after
full enjoyment of all the prizes of life. But be-
cause thou ever yearnest for what is not pres-
ent, and despisest what is, life has slipped from
thy grasp unfinished and unsatisfying, and or
ever thou thoughtest, death has taken his stand
at thy pillow, before thou canst uke thy de-

however resign all things unsuited to thy age,
and with a good grace up and greatly go:
thou must.” With good reason methinks she
would bring her charge, with reason rally and
reproach; for old things give way and are sup-
planted by new without fail, and one thing
must ever be replenished out of other things;
and no one is delivered over to the pit and
black Tartarus: matter is needed for after gen-
erations to grow; all of which though will fol-
low thee when they have finished their term
of life; and thus it is that all these no less than
thou have before this come to an end and here-
after will come to an end. Thus one thing will
never cease to rise out of another, and life is
granted to none in fee-simple, to all in usu-
fruct. Think too how the bygone antiquity of
everlasting time before our birth was nothing
to us. Nature therefore holds this up to us as a
mirror of the time yet to come after our death.
Is there aught in this that looks appalling,
aught that wears an aspect of gloom? Is it not
more untroubled than any sleep?

978] And those things sure enough, which
arc fabled to be in the deep of Acheron, do all
exist for us in this life. No Tantalus, numbed
by groundless terror, as the sto^y is, fears poor
wretch a huge stone hanging in air; but in life
rather a baseless dread of the god vexes mor-
tals: the fall they fear is such fall of luck as
chance brings to each. Nor do birds cat a way
into Tityos laid in Acheron, nor can they
sooth to say find during eternity food to peck
under his large breast. However huge the bulk
of body he extends, though such as to take up
with outspread limbs not nine acres merely,
but the whole earth, yet will he not be able to
endure everlasting pain and supply food from
his own body for ever. But he is for us a
Tityos, whom, as he grovels in Iqve, vultures
rend and bitter bitter anguish feats up or
troubled thoughts from any othcl passion do
rive. In life too we have a Sisyphul before our
eyes who is bent on asking from tw people the
rods and cruel axes, and alwayf retires de-
feated and disappointed. For to asi for power,
which empty as it is is never given; and always
in the chase of it to undergo severe toil, this
is forcing up-hill with much effort a stone
which after all rolls back again from the sum-

wa -/075 ON THE NATURE OP THINGS, BOOK III

mat and seeks in headlong haste the levels of
the i^in. Then to be ever feeding the thank-
less nature of the mind, and never to fill it full
and sate it with good things, as the seasons of
the year do for us, when they come round and
bring their fruits and varied delights, though
after all we are never filled with the enjoy-
ments of life, this mcthinks is to do what is
told of the maidens in the flower of their age,
to keep pouring water into a perforated vessel
which in spite of all can never be filled full.
Moreover Cerberus and the furies and yon pri-
vation of light are idle tales, as well as all the
rest, Ixion’s wheel and black Tartarus belching
forth hideous Hres from his throat: things
which nowhere are nor sooth to say can be.
But there is in life a dread of punishment for
evil deeds, signal as the deeds are signal, and
for atonement of guilt, the prison and the
frightful hurling down from the rock, scourg-
ings, executioners, the dungeon of the doomed,
the pitch, the nieial plate, torches; and even
though these arc wanting, yet the conscience-
stricken mind through boding fears applies to
itself goads and frightens itself with whips,
and sees not meanwhile what end there can
be of ills or what limit at last is to be set to
punishments, and fears lest these very evils be
enhanced after death. The life of fools at
length becomes a hell here on earth.

1024] This too you may sometimes say to
yourself, “Even worthy Ancus has quitted the
light with his eyes, who was far far better than
thou, unconscionable man. And since then
many other kings and kesars have been laid
low, who lorded it over mighty nations. Hc^
toe, even he who erst paved a way over the great
sea and made a path for his legions to march
over the deep and taught them to pass on foot
over the salt pools and set at naught the roar-
ings of the sea, trampling on them with his
horses, had the light taken from him and shed
forth his soul from his dying body. The son of
the Scipios, thunderbolt of war, terror of Car-
thage, yielded his bones to earth just as if he
were the lowest menial. Think too of the in-
ventors of all sciences and graceful arts, think
of the companions of the Heliconian maids;
among whom Homer bore the sceptre without
a peer, and he now sleeps the same sleep as
tXenet.

others. Then there is Democritus, who, when
a ripe old age had warned him that the mem-
ory-waking motions of his mind were waning,
by his own spontaneous act offered up his
head to death. Even Epicurus passed away,
when his light of life had run its course, he
who surpassed in intellect the race of man and
quenched the light of all, as the ethereal sun
arisen quenches the stars.” Wilt thou then
hesitate and think it a hardship to die? Thou
for whom life is well nigh dead whilst yet
thou livest and scest the light, who spendest
the greater part of thy time in sleep and snor-
est wide awake and ceasest not to see visions
and hast a mind troubled with groundless
terror and canst not discover often what it is
that ails thee, when besotted man thou art
sore pressed on all sides with full many cares
and goest iStray tumbling about in the way-
ward wanderings of thy mind.

1053I just as they are seen to feel that a
load IS on their mind which wears them out
with its pressure, men might apprehend from
what causes too it is produced and whence
such a pile, if I may say so, of ill lies on their
breast, they would not spend their life as we
see them now for the most part do, not know-
ing any one of them what he means and want-
ing ever change of place as though he might
lay his burden down. The man who is sick of
home often issues forth from his large man-
sion, and as suddenly comes back to it, finding
as he does that he is no better off abroad. He
races to his country-house, driving his jennets
in headlong haste, as if hurrying to bring help
to a house on Are: he yawns the moment he
has reached the door of his house, or sinks
heavily into sleep and seeks forgetfulness, or
even in haste goes back again to town. In this
way each man flics from himself (but self
from whom, as you may be sure is commonly
the case, he cannot escape, clings to him in his
own despite), hates too himself, because he is
sick and knows not the cause of the malady;
for if he could rightly see into this, relin-
quishing all else each man would study to
learn the nature of things, since the point at
stake is the condition for ^ernity, not for one
hour, in which mortals^ have to pass all the
time which remains for them to expect after
death.

1076] Once more what evil lust of life is this
which constrains us with such force to be so
mightily troubled in doubts and dangers? A
sure term of life is fixed for mortals, and death
cannot be shunned, but meet it we must.
Moreover we arc ever engaged, ever involved
in the same pursuits, and no new pleasure is
struck out by living on; but whilst what we
crave is wanting, it seems to transcend all the
rest; then, when it has been gotten, we crave
something else, and ever does the same thirst
of life possess us, as we gape for it open-
mouthed. Quite doubtful it is what fortune

/076-/09^; 7-56
the future will carry with it or what chance
will bring us or what end is at hand. Nor by
prolonging life do we take one tittle from the
time past in death nor can we fret anything
away, whereby we may haply be a less long
time in the condition of the dead. Therefore
you may complete as many generations as you
please during your life; none the less however
will that everlasting death await you; and for
no less long a time will he be no more in be-
ing, who beginning with to-day has ended his
life, than the man who has died many months
and years ago.

LUCRETIUS

•BOOK FOUR •

I TRAVERSE the pathless haunts of the Pierides
never yet trodden by sole of man. I love to ap-
proach the untasted springs and to quaff, I
love to cull fresh flowers and gather for my
head a distinguished crown from spots whence
the Muses have yet veiled the brows of none;
first because I teach of great things and essay
to release the mind from the fast bonds of re-
ligious scruples, and next because on a dark
subject 1 pen such lucid verses overlaying all
with the Muses’ charm. For that too would
seem to be not without good grounds: even gs
physicians when they propose to give nauseous
wormwood to children, first smear the rim
round the bowl with the sweet yellow juice of
honey, that the unthinking age of children
may be fooled as far as the lips, and mean-
while drink up the bitter draught of worm-
wood and though beguiled yet not be be-
trayed, but rather by such means recover
health and strength: $0 I now, since this doc-
trine seems generally somewhat bitter to those
by whom it has not been handled, and the
multitude shrinks back from it in dismay,
have resolved to set forth to you our doctrine
in sweet-toned Pierian verse and o erlay it as
it were with the pleasant honey of the Muses,
if haply by such means I might engage your
mind on my verses, till such time as you ap-
prehend all the nature of things and thorough-
ly feel what use it has.

26] And now that I have taught what the
nature of the mind is and out of what things

it is formed into one quickened being with the
body, and how it is dissevered and returns into
its first-beginnings, I will attempt to lay before
you a truth which most nearly concerns these
questions, the existence of things which wc
call idols of things: these, like films [>eeled off
from the surface of things, fly to and fro
through the air, and do likewise frighten our
minds when they present themselves to us
awake as well as in sleep, wl^t time we be-
hold strange shapes and idols of the light-
bereaved, which have often startled us in ap-
palling wise as we lay relaxed in sleep: this 1
will essay, that wc may not haply believe that
souls break loose from Acheron or that shades
fly about among the living or that something
of us is left behind after death, when the body
and the nature of the mind destroyed together
have taken their departure into their several
first-beginnings.

42] 1 say then that pictures of things and
thin shapes arc emitted from things off their
surface,* to which an image serves as a kind of
film, or name it if you like a rincl,:bccausc such
image bears an appearance and ^form like to
the thing whatever it is from wh^sc body it is
shed and wanders forth. This yem may learn
however dull of apprehension frDm what fol-
lows.

54] First of all since among things open to
sight many emit bodies, some in a state of loose
diffusion, like smoke which logs of oak, heat
^ Munro drops a few lines that seem to be out of order.

57-133 ON THE NATURE OP THINGS, BOOK IV

which fires emit; some of a closer and denser
texture, like the gossamer coats which at
times cicades doff in summer, and the films
which calves at their birth cast from the sur-
face of their body, as well as the vesture which
the slippery serpent puts off among the thorns;
for often we see the brambles enriched with
their flying spoils; since these cases occur, a
thin image likewise must be emitted from
things off their surface. For why those films
should drop off and withdraw from things
rather than films which are really thin, not
one tittle of proof can be given; especially
since there are on the surface of things many
minute bodies which may be discharged in the
same order they had before and preserve the
outline of the shape, and be discharged with
far more velocity, inasmuch as they arc less
liable to get hamjicrcd being few in number
and stationed in the front rank. For without
doubt we see many things discharge and freely
give not only irom the core and centre, as
we said before, but from their surfaces, be-
sides other things colour itself. And this is
commonly done by yellow and red and dark-
blue awnings, when they are spread over large
theatres and flutter and wave as they stretch
across their poles and crossbeams; for then
they dye the seated assemblage below and all
the show of the stage and the richly attired
company of the fathers, and compel them to
dance about in their colour. And the more
these objects are shut in all round by the walls
of the theatre the more do all of them within
laugh on all hands, o’erlaid with graceful
hues, the light of day being, narrowed. There-
fore since sheets of canvas emit colour from
their surface, all things will naturally emit
thin pictures too, since in each case alike they
discharge from the surface. There arc there-
fore as now shown sure outlines of shapes,
which fly all about possessed of an exquisitely
small thickness and cannot when separate be
seen one at a time. Again all smell, smoke,
heat, and other such-like things stream off
things in a state of diffusion, because while
they are coming from the depths of the body
having arisen within it, they arc torn in their
winding passage, and there arc no straight
orifices to the paths, for them to make their
way out by in a mass. But on the other hand

when a thin film of surface colour is dis-
charged, there is nothing to rend it, since it is
ready to hand stationed in front rank. Lastly
in the case of all idols which show themselves
to us in mirrors, in water or any other shining
object, since their outsides are possessed of an
appearance like to the things they represent,
they must be formed of emitted images of
things. There are therefore thin shapes and
pictures like to the things, which, though
no one can see them one at a time, yet
when thrown off by constant and repeated re-
flexion give back a visible image from the
surface of mirrors; and in no other way it
would seem can they be kept so entire that
shapes are given back so exceedingly like
each object.

no] Now mark, and learn how thin the na-
ture of an Hnage is. And first of all, since the
first-beginnings are so far below the ken of
our senses and much smaller than the things
which our eyes first begin to be unable to see,
to strengthen yet more the proof of this also,
learn in a few words how minutely fine are
the lieginnings of all things. First, living
things arc in some cases so very little, that
their third part cannot be seen at all. Of whaf:
size are we to suppose any gut of such crea
turcs to bc.^ Or the ball of the heart or the
eyes? the limbs? Or any part of the frame?
How small they must be! And then further the
several first-beginnings of which their soul
and the nature of their mind must be formed?
Do you not perceive how fine, how minute
they are? Again in the case of all things which
exhale from their body a pungent smell, all-
heal, nauseous wormwood, strong-scented
southernwood and the bitter centauries, any
one of which, if you happen to feel it lightly
between two fingers, will impregnate them
with a strong smell, . . . but rather you are
to know that idols of things wander about
many in number in many ways, of no force,
powerless to excite sense.

129] But lest haply you suppose that only
those idols of things which go off from things
and no others wander about, there are like-
wise those which are sjximaneously begotten
and arc formed by themselves in this lower
heaven which is called air: these fashioned in
many ways arc borne along on high and being

^ LUCRETIUS 134^208

in a 0uid state cease not to alter their appear-
ance and change it into the outline of shapes of
every possible kind; as we see clouds some-
times gather into masses on high and blot the
calm clear face of heaven, fanning the air
with their motion. Thus often the faces of
giants are seen to fly along and draw after
them a far-spreading shadow; sometimes great
mountains and rocks torn from the mountains
are seen to go in advance and pass across the
sun; and then some huge beast is observed to
draw with it and bring on the other storm-
clouds.

143] Now I will proceed to show with what
ease and celerity they are begotten and how
incessantly they flow and fall away from
things. The outermost surface is ever stream-
ing off from things and admits of being dis-
charged: when this reaches some things, it
passes through them, glass especially. But
when it reaches rough stones or the matter of
wood, it is then so torn that it cannot give
back any idol. But when objects at once shin-
ing and dense have been put in its way, a mir-
ror especially, none of these results has place:
it can neither pass through it, like glass, nor
can it be torn either; such perfect safety the
polished surface minds to ensure. In conse-
quence of this idols stream back to us horn
such objects; and however suddenly at any
moment you place any thing opposite a mir-
ror, an image shows itself: hence you may be
sure that thin textures and thin shapes of
things incessantly stream from their surface.
Therefore many idols are begotten in a short
time, so that the birth of such things is with
good reason named a rapid one. And as the
sun must send forth many rays of light in a
short time in order that all things may be con-
tinually filled with it, so also for a like reason
there must be carried ^way from things in a
moment of time idols of things, many in num-
ber, in many ways, in all directions Yound;
since to whatever part of them we present a
mirror before their surfaces, other things cor-
respond to these in the mirror of a like shape
and like colour. Moreover though the state of
heaven has just before been of unsullied pur-
ity, with exceeding suddenness it becomes so
hideously overcast, that you might imagine all
its darkness had abandoned Acheron through-

out and filled up the great vaults of heaven:
in such numbers do faces of black horror rise
up from amid the frightful night of storm-
clouds and hang over us on high. Now there
is no one who can tell how small a fraction of
these an image is, or express that sum in
language.

176] Now mark: how swift the motion is
with which idols are borne along, and what
velocity is assigned to them as they glide
through the air, so that but a short hour is
spent on a journey through long space, what-
ever the spot towards which they go with a
movement of varied tendency, all this I will
tell in sweetly worded rather than in many
verses; as the short song of the swan is better
than the loud noise of cranes scattered abroad
amid the ethereal clouds of the south. First of
all we may very often observe that things
which are light and made of minute bodies
are swift. Of this kind are the light of the sun
and its heat, because they are made of minute
first things which are knocked forward so to
speak and do not hesitate to pass through the
space of air between, ever driven on by a
blow following behind; for light on the in-
stant is supplied by fresh light and brightness
goaded to show its brightness in what you
might call an ever on-moving team. There-
fore in like manner idols must be able to scour
in a moment of time through space unspeak-
able, first because they arc exceedingly small
and there is a cause at their back to carry and
impel them far forward; where moreover they
move on with such winged lightness; next be-
cause when emitted they are possessed of so
rare a texture, that they can readily pass
through any things and stream as it were
through the space of air between. Again if
those minute bodies of things which arc given
out from the inmost depths of th^se things, as
the light and heat of the sun, seen in a
moment of time to glide and ^rcad them-
selves through the length andf breadth of
heaven, fly over sea and lands sfind flood the
heaven, what then of those whidi stand ready
posted in front rank, when they a^c discharged
and nothing obstructs their egress) How much
faster, you see, and farther must they travel,
scouring through many times the same
amount of space in the same time that the sun-

20jh286

light takes ta spread over heaveni This too
appears to be an eminently true proof of the
velocity urith which idols of things are borne
along: as soon as ever the brightness of water
is set down in the open air, if the heaven is
starry, in a moment the clear radiant constel-
lations of ether imaged in the water corre-
spond to those in the heaven. Now do you see
in what a moment of time an image drops
down from the borders of heaven to the bor-
ders of earth? Therefore again and again I
repeat you must admit that bodies capable of
striking the eyes and of provoking vision con-
stantly travel with a marvellous velocity.
Smells too incessantly stream from certain
things; as does cold from rivers, heat from the
sun, spray from the waves of the sea, that
enter into walls near the shore. Various sounds
also cease not to fly through the air. Then
too a moist salt flavour often comes into the
mouth, when we are moving about beside
the sea; and wiien wc look on at the mixing
of a decoction of wormwood, its bitterness
affects us. In such a constant stream from all
things the several qualities are carried and are
transmitted in all directions round, and no
delay, no respite in the flow is ever granted,
since we constantly have feeling, and may
at any time see, smell, and hear the sound of
anything.

230] Again since a particular figure felt by
the hands in the dark is known to be the same
which is seen in the bright light of day, touch
and sight must be excited by a quite similar
cause. Well then if we handle a square thing
and it excites our attention in the dark, in the
daylight what square thing will be able to fall
on our sight, except the image of that thing?
Therefore the cause of seeing, it is plain, lies in
images and no thing can be perceived without
them.

239] Well the idols of things I speak of are
borne along all round and are discharged and
transmitted in all directions; but because we
can see with the eyes alone, the consequence
is that, to whatever point we turn our sight,
there all the several things meet and strike it
with their shape and colour. And the image
gives the power to see and the means to dis-
tinguish how far each thing is distant from us;
for as soon as ever it is discharged, it pushes

before it and impels all the air which lies be-
tween it and the eyes; and thus that air all
streams through our eyes and brushes so to
say the pupils and so passes through. The con-
sequence is that we see how fstr distant each
thing is. And the greater the quantity of air
which is driven on before it and the larger the
current which brushes our eyes, the more dis-
tant each different thing is seen to be. You
must know these processes go on with ex-
treme rapidity, so that at one and the same
moment we see what like a thing is and how
far distant it is. And this must by no means
be deemed strange herein that, while the idols
which strike the eyes cannot be seen one at a
time, the things themselves are seen. For thus
when the wind too beats us with successive
strokes and when piercing cold streams, we
are not woft to feel each single particle of that
wind and cold, but rather the whole result;
and then we perceive blows take effect on our
body just as if something or other were beating
it and giving us a sensation of its body out-
side. Again when we thump a stone with a
finger, we touch merely the outermost colour
on the surface of the stone, and yet we do not
feel that colour by our touch, but rather we
feel the very hardness of the stone seated in
its inmost depths.

269] Now mark, and learn why the image
is seen beyond the mirror; for without doubt it
is seen withdrawn far within. The case is just
the same as with things which are viewed in
their reality beyond a door, when it offers
through it an unobsuucted prospect and lets
many things outside be seen from a house.
That vision too is effected by two separate
airs: first there is an air seen in such a case in-
side the doorway; next come the leaves of the
door right and left; next a light outside brush-
es the eyes, then a second air, then those things
outside which are viewed in their reality. Thus
when the image of the mirror has first dis-
charged itself, in coming to our sight it pushes
forw^ard and impels all the air which lies be-
tween it and the eyes, and enables us to see the
wholeof itbeforethemirror. But when wc have
perceived the mirror as >^dl,at once the image
which is conveyed from iis reaches the mirror
and then is reflected and comes back to our
eyes, and drives on and rolls in front of it a

ON THE NATURE OP THINGS, BOOK IV

48 LUCRETIUS 282-J64

second air and lets us see this before itself,
and for this reason it looks so far withdrawn
from the mirror. Wherefore again and again
I repeat there is no cause at all to wonder why
the images give back the reflexion from the
surface of mirrors in the spot they do, since
in both the given cases the result is produced
by two airs. To proceed, the right side of our
body is seen in mirrors to be on the left, be-
cause when the image comes and strikes on
the plane of the mirror, it is not turned back
unaltered, but is beaten out in a right line
backwards, just as if you were to take a plaster
mask before it is dry and dash it on a pillar or
beam, and it forthwith were to preserve the
lines of its features undistorted in front and
were to strike out an exact copy of itself
straight backwards. The result will be that the
eye which was right will now be left; and
conversely the left become the right. An image
may also be so transmitted from one mirror to
another that five or six idols are often pro-
duced. And thus all the things which lurk in
the inmost corners of a house, however far
they arc withdrawn into tortuous recesses,
may yet be all brought out through winding
passages by the aid of a number of mirrors and
be seen to be in the house. So unfailingly does
the image reflect itself from mirror to mirror;
and when the left side is presented, it becomes
the right in the new image; then it is changed
back again and turns round to w'hat it was.
Moreover all little sides of mirrors which
possess a curvature resembling our side, send
back to us idols with their right corresponding
to our right either for this reason, because the
image is transmitted from one mirror to an-
other, and then after it has been twice struck
out flies to us, or else because the image, when
it has come to the mirror, wheels about, be-
cause the curved shape of the mirror teaches it
to turn round and face us. Again you would
think that idols step out and put down their
foot at the same time with us and mimic our
action, because from before whatever part of a
mirror you move away, from that part forth-
with no idols can be reflected; since nature
constrains all things, when they arc carried
back and recoil from things, to 1^ given back
at angles equal to those at which they im-
pinged.

324] Bright things again the eyes eschew and
shun to look upon: the sun even blinds them,
if you persist in turning them towards it, be-
cause its power is great and idols are borne
through the clear air with great downward
force from on high, and strike the eyes and
disorder their fastenings. Moreover any vivid
brightness often burns the eyes, because it
contains many seeds of fire which make a way
in and beget pain in the eyes. Again whatever
the jaundiced look at, becomes a greenish-
yellow, because many seeds of greenish-yellow
stream from their body and meet the idols of
things, and many too arc mixed up in their
eyes, and these by their infection tinge all
things with sallow hues.

337] Again we see out of the dark things
which are in the light for this reason; when
the black air of darkness being the nearer has
first entered and taken possession of the open
eyes, the bright white air follows straightway
after and cleanses them so to say and dispels
the black shadows of the other air; for this is a
great deal more nimble, a great deal more sub-
tle and more efficacious. As soon as it has filled
with light and opened up the passages of the
eyes which the black air had before blocked
up, forthwith the idols of^^ings which arc
situated in the light follow and excite them so
that we see. This we cannot do conversely in
the dark out of the light, because the grosser
air of darkness follows behind and quite fills
all the openings and blocks up the passages of
the eyes, not letting the idols of any things at
all be thrown into the eyes to move them.

353] Again when we descry far off the
square towers of a town, they often appear to
be round for this reason; all the angles are
seen from a distance to look obtuse, or rather
arc not seen at all, and their blow is lost and
their stroke never makes its w^iy to our sight,
because while the idols are boi^ne on through
much air, the air by repeated collisions blunts
the stroke perforce. When in this way all the
angles have together eluded ^he sense, the
stone structures are rounded off as if by the
lathe; yet they do not look tike the things
which are close before us and really round,
but somewhat resembling them as in shadowy
outline.

364] Our shadow likewise seems to move ia

365-440 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK IV

the sunshine and to follow our steps and
mimic our action; if you think forsooth that
air deprived of life can step, imitating the mo-
tions and the actions of men; for that which
we are wont to term shadow can be nothing
but air devoid of light. Sure enough because
the earth in certain spots successively is de-
prived of light wherever we intercept it in
moving about, while that part of it which we
have quitted is filled with light, therefore that
which was the shadow of our body, seems to
have always followed us unchanged in a direct
line with us. For new rays of light ever pour
in and the old arc lost, just as if wool were
drawn into the fire. Therefore the earth is
readily stripped of light, and again filled, and
cleanses itself from black shadows.

379] And yet in all this we do not admit
that the eyes are cheated one whit. For it is
their province to observe in what spot soever
light and shade arc; but w^hether the lights are
still the saiac or not, and whether it is the
same shadow which was in this spot that is
now passing to that, or whether what wc said
a little before is not rather the fact, this the
reason of the mind, and only it, has to de-
termine; nor can the eyes know the nature of
things. Do not then fasten upon the eyes this
frailty of the mind.

387] The ship in which wc are sailing,
moves on while seeming to stand still; that
one which remains at its moorings, is believed
to be passing by. The hills and fields seem to
be dropping astern, past which we are driving
our ship and flying under sail. The stars all
seem to be at rest fast fixed to the ethereal
vaults, and yet are all in constant motion,
since they rise and then go back to their far-
off places of setting, after they have traversed
the length of heaven with their bright bodies.
In like manner sun and moon seem to stay in
one place, bodies which simple fact proves
are carried on. And though between moun-
tains rising up afar off from amid the waters
there opens out for fleets a free passage of wide
extent, yet a single island seems to be formed
out of them united into one. When children
have stopped turning round themselves, the
halls appear to them to whirl about and the
pillars to course round to such a degree, that
they can scarce believe that the whole roof is

not threatening to tumble down upon them.

404] Again when nature begins to raise on
high the sun’s beam ruddy with bickering
fires and to lift it up above the mountains,
those hills above which the sun then seems to
you to be, as blazing close at hand he dyes
them with his own fire, are distant from us
scarce two thousand arrow-flights, yea often
scarce five hundred casts of a javelin; and yet
between them and the sun lie immense levels
of sea, spread out below the huge borders of
ether, and many thousands of lands are be-
tween, held by divers peoples and races of
wild beasts. Then a puddle of water not more
than a finger-breadth deep, which stands be-
tween the stones in the streets, offers a pros-
pect beneath the earth of a reach as vast, as
that with which the high yawning maw of
heaven opl^s out above the earth; so that you
seem to discern clouds and see the bodies of
birds far withdrawn into that w^ondrous sky
beneath the earth. Again when our stout
horse has stuck in the middle of a river and
we have looked down on the swift waters of
the stream, some force seems to carry athwart
the current the body of the horse which is
standing still and to force it rapidly up the
stream; and to whatever point we cast our
eyes about all things seem to be carried on and
to be flowing in the same way as we arc. Again
although a portico runs in parallel lines from
one end to the other and stands supported by
equal columns along its whole extent, yet
when from the top of it it is seen in its entire
length, it gradually forms the contracted top
of a narrowing cone, until uniting roof with
floor and all the right side with the left it has
brought them together into the vanishing
point of a cone.

432] To sailors on the sea the sun appears
to rise out of the waters and in the waters to
set and bury his light; just because they be-
hold nothing but water and sky; that you
may not lightly suppose the credit of the
senses to be shaken on all hands. Then to
people unacquainted with the sea, ships in har-
bour seem to be all askew and with poop-fit-
tings broken to be prying up against the
water. For whatever part of the oars is raised
above the salt water, is straight, and the rud-
ders in their upper half are straight: the parts

which are sunk below the water-level, appear
to be broken and bent round and to slope up
and turn back towards the Surface and to be so
much twisted back as well-nigh to float on the
top of the water. And when the winds carry
the thinly scattered clouds across heaven in the
night-time, then do the glittering signs ap-
pear to glide athwart the rack and to be travel-
ling on high in a direction quite different to
their real course. Then if our hand chance to
be placed beneath one eye and press it below,
through a certain sensation all things which
we look at appear then to become double as
we look; the light of lamps brilliant with
flames to be double, double too the furniture
through the whole house, double men’s faces
and men’s bodies. Again when sleep has
chained down our limbs in sweet slumber and
the whole body is sunk in profound repose,
yet then we seem to ourselves to be awake and
to be moving our limbs, and mid the thick
darkness of night we think we see the sun and
the daylight; and though in a confined room,
we seem to be passing to new climates, seas,
rivers, and mountains, and to be crossing
plains on foot and to hear noises, though the
austere silence of night prevails all round, and
to be uttering speech though quite silent.

462] Many are the other marvels of this sort
we see, which all seek to shake as it were the
credit of the senses: quite in vain, since the
greatest part of these cases cheats us on ac-
count of the mental suppositions which we add
of ourselves, taking those things as seen which
have not been seen by the senses. For nothing
is harder than to separate manifest facts from
doubtful which straightway the mind adds on
of itself.

469] Again if a man believe that nothing is
known, he knows not whether this even can
be known, since he admits he knows nothing.
I will therefore decline to argue the case
against him who places himself with head
where his feet should be. And yet granting
that he knows this, I would still put this
question, since he has never yet seen any
truth in things, whence he knows what know-
ing and not knowing severally are, and what
it is that has produced the knowledge of the
true and the hilse and what has proved the
doubtful to difier from the certain. You will

find that from the senses first has proceeded
the knowledge of the true and that the senses
cannot be refuted. For that which is of itself
to be able to refute things false by true things
must from the nature of the case be proved to
have the higher certainty. Well then what
must fairly be accounted of higher certainty
than sense? Shall reason founded on false
sense be able to contradict them, wholly
founded as it is on the senses? And if they are
not true, then all reason as well is rendered
fiilsc. Or shall the ears be able to take the eyes
to task, or the touch the ears? Again shall the
taste call in question this touch, or the nostrils
refute or the eyes controvert it? Not so, I
guess; for each apart has its own distinct office,
each its own power; and therefore we must
perceive what is soft and cold or hot by one
distinct faculty, by another perceive the dif-
ferent colours of things and thus sec all objects
which are conjoined with colour. Taste toe
has its faculty apart; smells spring from one
source, sounds from another. It must follow
therefore that any one sense cannot confute
any other. No nor can any sense take itself to
task, since equal credit must be assigned to it
at all times. What therefore has at any time
appeared true to each sense, is true. And if
reason shall be unable to explain away the
cause why things which close at hand were
square, at a distance looked round, it yet is
better, if you arc at a loss for the reason, to
state erroneously the causes of each shape,
than to let slip from your grasp on any side
things manifest and ruin the groundwork of
belief and wrench up all the foundations on
which rest life and existence. For not only
would all reason give way, life itself would at
once fall to the ground, unless you choose to
trust the senses and shun pijecipices and all
things else of this sort that atje to be avoided,
and to pursue the opposite lihings. All that
host of words then be sure ii quite unmean-
ing, which has been drawn ouf in array against
the senses. f

513] Once more, as in a budding, if the rule
first applied is wry, and the ^uare is untrue
and swerves from its straight lines, and if
there is the slightest hitch in any part of the
level, all the construction must be faulty, all
must be wry, crooked, sloping, leaning for-

UJCRETIUS

SiS-59^ ON THE NATURE OF THINGS. BOOK IV

wards, leaning backwards, without symmetry,
so that some parts seem ready to fall, others
do fall, ruined all by the first erroneous meas-
urements; so too all reason of things must
needs prove to you distorted and false, which
is founded on false senses.

522} And now to explain in what way the
other senses do each perceive their several ob^
^cts, is the nowise arduous task which is still
left.

524] In the first place all sound and voice is
heard when they have made their way into the
ears and have struck with their body the sense
of hearing. For voice too and sound you must
admit to be bodily, since they are able to act
upon the senses. Again voice often abrades the
throat, and shouting in passing forth makes
the windpipe more rough: when to wit the
first-beginnings of voices have risen up in
larger mass and commenced to pass abroad
through their strait passage, you are to know
the door of. iht: mouth now crammed itself is
abraded. There is no doubt then that voices
and words consist of bodily first-beginnings,
with the power to hurt; nor can you fail to
know how much of body is taken away and
how much is withdrawn from men’s very
sinews and strength by a speech continued
without interruption from the dawning
brightness of morning to the shadow of black
night, above all if it has been poured forth
with much loud shouting. Voice therefore
must be bodily, since a man by much speak-
ing loses a portion from his body. Next rough-
ness of voice comes from roughness of first-
beginnings, as smoothness is produced from
smoothness. Nor arc the first-beginnings of
like shape which pierce the ears in these two
cases: when the trumpet brays dully in deep
low tones, the barbarian country roused echo-
ing back the hoarse hollow sound, and when
swans from the headstrong torrents of Heli-
con raise their clear-toned dirge with plaintive
voice.

549] When therefore we force these voices
forth from the depths of our body and dis-
charge them straight out at the mouth, the
pliant tongue deft fashioner of words gives
them articulate utterance and the structure of
the lips does its part in shaping them. There-
fore when the distance is not long between the

point from which each several voice has
started and that at which it arrives, the very
words too must be plainly heard and dis-
tinguished syllable by syllable; for each voice
retains its structure and retains its shape. But
if the space between be more than is suitable,
the words must be huddled together in pass-
ing through much air and the voice be dis-
organised in its flight through the same.
Therefore it is that you can hear a sound, yet
cannot distinguish what the meaning of the
words is: so huddled and hampered is the
voice when it comes. Again a single word
often stirs the ears of a whole assembly of
people, when uttered by the crier’s mouth.
One voice therefore in a moment starts asun-
der into many voices, since it distributes itself
separately into all the ears, stamping upon
them the ferm and distinct sound of the word.
But such of the voices as do not fall directly
on the ears, arc carried past and lost, fruitless-
ly dispersed in air: some striking upon solid
spots are thrown back and give back a sound
and sometimes mock by an echo of the word.

572] When you fully perceive all this, you
may explain to yourself and others how it is
that in lonely spots rocks give back in regular
succession forms of words like to those sent
forth, as we seek our comrades straying about
among the darkened hills and with loud voice
call upon them scattered abroad. I have seen
places give back as many as six or seven
voices, when you sent forth one: in such wise
did the very hills dash back on hills and re-
peat the words thus trained to come back.
These spots the people round fancy that the
goat-footed satyrs and nymphs inhabit, and
tell that they are the fauns by whose night-
pervading noise and sportive play as they de-
clare the still silence is broken and sounds pro-
duced of stringed instruments and sweet plain-
tive melodies, such as the pipe pours forth
when beaten by the fingers of the players, the
country-people hearing far and wide, what
time Pan nodding tlie piny covering of his
head half a beast's oft runs over the gaping
reeds with curved lip, making the pipe with-
out ceasing to pour for^ its woodland song.
Other such like prodi^es and marvels they
tell of, that they may not haply be thought to
inhabit lonely places, abandoned even by the

5 ^

gods. On this account they vaunt such won*
ders in their stories or are led on by some other
reason; inasmuch as the whole race of man is
all too greedy after listening cars.

595] To proceed, you need not wonder how
it is that through places, through which the
eyes cannot see plain things, voices come and
strike the cars. We often see a conversation go
on even through closed doors, sure enough be-
cause the voice can pass uninjured through the
winding openings of things, while idols re-
fuse to pass; they are torn to shreds, if the
openings through which they glide are not
straight, like those of glass, through which
every image passes. Again a voice distributes
itself in all directions, since voices are begot-
ten one out of another, when a single voice
has once gone forth and sprung into many, as
a spark of fire is often wont to distribute itself
into its constituent fires. Therefore places are
filled with voices, which though far with-
drawn out of view yet are all in commotion
and stirred by sound. But idols all proceed in
straight courses as soon as they have been dis-
charged; and therefore you can never see be-
yond a wall, but you may hear voices outside
it. And yet this very voice even in passing
through the walls of houses is blunted and en-
ters the ears in a huddled state, and we seem
to hear the sound rather than the actual words.

615] The tongue and palate whereby we per-
ceive flavour, have not in them anything that
calls for longer explanation or offers more
difficulty. In the first place we perceive flavour
in the mouth when we press it out in chew-
ing our food, in the same way as when one
haply begins to squeeze with his hand and
dry a sponge full of water. Next the whole
of what we press out distributes itself through
the cavities of the palate and the intricate
openings of the porous tongue. Therefore
when the bodies of oozing flavour are smooth,
they plcasandy touch and pleasantly feel all
the parts about the moist exuding quarters
of the palate. But on the other hand when
they rise in a mass they puncture and tear the
sense according to the degree in which they
are pervaded by roughness. Next the pleasure
from the flavour reaches as far as the palate;
when however it has passed down through
the throat, there is no pleasure while it is ail

592-665

distributing itself into the frame. And it makes
no matter what the food is with which the
body is nurtured, provided you can digest
what you take and transmit it into the frame
and keep the stomach in an equable condition
of moistness.

633] I will now explain how it is that dif-
ferent food is pleasant and nutritious for dif-
ferent creatures; also why that which to some
is nauseous and bitter, may yet to others seem
passing sweet; and why in these matters the
difference and discrepancy is so great that
what to one man is food, to another is rank
poison; and there is actually a serpent which
on being touched by a man’s spittle wastes
away and destroys itself by gnawing its body.
Again hellebore for us is rank poison, but
helps to fatten goats and quails. That you may
know how this comes to pass, first of all you
must remember what we have said before,
that the seeds which are contained in things
are mixed up in manifold ways. Again all liv-
ing creatures soever which take food, even as
they are unlike on the outside, and, differing
in each after its kind, an exterior contour of
limbs bounds them, so likewise are they
formed of seeds of varying shape. Again since
the seeds differ, there musij^e a discrepancy in
the spaces between and the passages, which we
name openings, in all the limbs and mouth
and palate as well. Some openings therefore
must be smaller, some larger; some things
must have them three-cornered, others square;
many must be round, some many-angled after
many fashions. For as the relation between the
shapes of seeds and their motions require, the
openings also must differ accordingly in their
shapes; and the passages must vary, as varies
the texture formed by the seeds which bound
them. For this reason when that which is
sweet to some becomes bitter to others, for
that creature to whom it is svireet the smooth-
est bodies must enter the cavitSes of the palate
with power to feel them all bver; but on the
other hand in the case of thc^se to whom the
same thing is bitter within, rough and barbed
seeds sure enough pass down the throat. It is
easy now from these principles to understand
all particular cases: thus when a fever has at-
tacked anyone from too great a flow of bile,
or a violent disease has been excited in any

LUCRETIUS

666^39 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK IV

other way, thereupon the whole body is dis-
ordered and all the arrangements of particles
then and there changed; the consequence of
which is that the bodies which before were
suited to excite sensation, suit no more; and
those fit it better, which are able to make their
way in and beget a bitter sense. Both kinds
for instance are mixed up in the flavour of
honey: a point we have often proved before.

673] Now mark me, and I will discuss the
way in which the contact of smell affects the
nostrils: and first there must be many things
from which a varied flow of smells streams
and rolls on; and we must suppose that they
thus stream and discharge and disperse them-
selves among all things alike; but one smell
fits itself better to one creature, another to an-
other on account of their unlike shapes; and
therefore bees are drawn on by the smell of
honey through the air to a very great distance,
and so are vultures by carcases. Also the on-
ward-reaching power of scent in dogs leads
them withersoever the cloven hoof of wild
beasts has carried them in their course; and
the smell of man is felt far away by the saviour
of the Roman’s citadel, the bright white
goosc.^ Thus different scents assigned to dif-
ferent creatures lead each to its appropriate
food and constrain them to recoil from nause-
ous poison, and in this way the races of beasts
are preserved.

687] Of all these different smells then which
strike the nostrils one may reach to a much
greater distance than another; though none of
them is carried so far as sound, as voice, to say
nothing of things which strike the eyesight
and provoke vision. For in its mazy course
each comes slowly on and is sooner lost, being
gradually dispersed into the readily receiving
expanse of air; first because coming out of its
depths it with difficulty discharges itself from
the thing: for the fact that all things are found
to have a stronger smell when crushed, when
pounded, when broken up by fire, shows that
odours stream and withdraw from the inner
parts of things: next you may see that smell is
fonned of larger first-beginnings than voice,
since it does not pass through stone walls,
through which voice and sound arc borne

^Having heard the Gauls, the white geese cackled and
loused the guards of the Capitol (387 b. c.).

without fail. For this reason also you will find
that it is not so easy to trace out in what quar-
ter a thing which smells b situated; for the
blow cools down as it loiters through the air,
and the courier particles of things are no
longer hot when they finish their race to
sense; for which reason dogs are often at fault
and lose the scent.

706] But what I have said is not found in
smells and in the class of flavours only, but
also the forms and colours of things are not all
so well suited to the senses of all, but that some
will be more distressing to the sight than oth-
ers. Moreover ravenous lions cannot face and
bear to gaze upon a cock with flapping wings
putting night to rout and wont to summon
morning with shrill voice: in such wise they at
once bethink themselves of flight, because sure
enough in the body of cocks are certain seeds,
and these, when they have been discharged
into the eyes of lions, bore into the pupils and
cause such sharp pain that courageous though
they be, they cannot continue to face them;
while at the same time these things cannot
hurt at all our sight either because they do not
enter in or because the moment they enter, a
free passage out of the eyes is granted them,
so that they cannot by staying behind hurt the
eyes in any part.

722] Now mark, and hear what things move
the mind, and learn in a few words whence
the things which come into it do come. I say
first of all that idols of things wander about
many in number, in many ways, in all direc-
tions round, extremely thin; and these when
they meet, readily unite, like a cobweb or
piece of gold-leaf. For these idols arc far thin-
ner in texture than those which take posses-
sion of the eyes and provoke vision; since
these enter in through the porous parts of the
body and stir the fine nature of the mind
within and provoke sensation. Therefore we
see Centaurs and limbs of Scyllas and Cer-
berus-like faces of dogs and idols of those who
are dead whose bones earth holds in its em-
brace; since idols of every kind arc everywhere
borne about, partly those which are spontane-
ously produced within air, partly all those
which withdraw from various things and
those which are formed by compounding the
shapes of these. For assuredly no image of

C^taur is formed out of a live one» since no
such nature of living creature ever existed;
but when images of a horse and a man have
by chance come together, they readily adhere
at once, as we said before, on account of their
fine nature and thin texture. All other things
of the kind are produced in like fashion. And
when these from extreme lightness are borne
on with velocity, as I showed before, any one
subtle composite image you like readily moves
the mind by a single stroke; for the mind is
fine and is itself wondrously nimble.

749] That all this is done as I relate you may
easily learn from what follows. So far as the
one is like the other, seeing with the mind and
seeing with the eyes must be produced in a
like way. Well then since I have shown that I
perceive for instance a lion by means of idols
which provoke the eyes, you may be sure that
the mind is moved in a like way, which by
means of idols sees a lion or anything else )ust
as well as the eyes, with this difference that it
perceives much thinner idols.

757] And when sleep has prostrated the
body, for no other reason does the mind*s in«
telligence wake, except because the very same
idols provoke our minds which provoke them
when we arc awake, and to such a degree that
we seem without a doubt to perceive him
whom life has left and death and earth gotten
hold of. This nature constrains to come to
pass because all the senses bl the body are then
hampered and at rest throughout the limbs
and cannot refute the unreal by real things.
Moreover memory is prostrate and relaxed in
sleep and protests not that he has long been
in ^e grasp of death and destruction whom
the mind believes it secs alive.

768] Furthermore it is not strange that idols
move and throw about their arms and other
limbs in regular measure: for sometimes in
sleep an image is seen to do this: when the
first to wit has gone and a second then been
born in another posture, that former one seems
to have altered its attitude. This remember
you must assume to take place with exceeding
celerity: so great is the velocity, so great the
store of things; so great in any one unit of
time that sense can seize is the store of par-
ticles, out of which the supply may go on.

777] And here many questions present

themselves and many pmnts must be cleared
up by us, if we desire to give a plain exposi-
tion of things. The first question is why, when
the wish has occurred to any one to think of a
thing, his mind on the instant thinks of that
very thing. Do idols observe our will, and so
soon as we will does an image present itself
to us, if sea, if earth, ay or heaven is what we
wish? Assemblies of men, a procession, feasts,
battles, everything in short does nature at
command produce and provide? And though
to increase the marvel the mind of others in
the same spot and room is thinking of things
all quite difierent. What again are we to say,
when we see in sleep idols advance in meas-
ured tread and move their pliant limbs, when
in nimble wise they put out each pliant arm in
turn and represent to the eyes over and over
again an action with foot that moves in time?
Idols to wit are imbued with art and move
about well-trained, to be able in the night-
time to exhibit such plays. Or will this rather
be the truth? Because in one unit of time,
when we can perceive it by sense and while
one single word is uttered, many latent times
are contained which reason finds to exist,
therefore in any time you please all the several
idols are at hand ready prepared in each sev-
eral place. And because theyMare so thin, the
mind can see distinctly only those which it
strains itself to see; therefore all that there are
besides are lost, save only those for which it
has made itself ready. Moreover it makes itself
ready and hopes to see that which follows
upon each thing; therefore the result docs fol-
low. Do you not sec that the eyes also, when
they essay to discern things which arc thin and
fine, strain themselves and make themselves
ready, and without that we cannot sec dis-
tinctly? And yet you may observe even in
things which are plain before us,^that if you do
not attend, it is just as if the thiifg were all the
time away and far distant. Wha| wonder then,
if the mind loses all other thiifgs save those
with which it is itself carnes^y occupied?
Then too from small indication! we draw the
widest inferences and by our ^wn fault en-
tangle ourselves in the meshes of self-delusion.

818] Sometimes it happens too that an image
of the same kind is not supplied, but what be-
fo.*’e was a woman, turns out in our hands to

LUCRETIUS

921^95 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK IV

have changed into a man; or a different face
and age succeed to the first. But sleep and for*
getfulness prevent us from feeling surprise at
this.

823] And herein you should desire with all
your might to shun the weakness, with a lively
apprehension to avoid the mistake of suppos-
ing that the bright lights of the eyes were
made in order that we might see; and that the
tapering ends of the shanks and hams are at-
tached to the feet as a base in order to enable
us to step out with long strides; or again that
the forearms were slung to the stout upper
arms and ministering hands given us on each
side, that we might be able to discharge the
needful duties of life. Other explanations of
like sort which men give, one and all put
effect for cause through wrongheaded reason-
ing; since nothing was born in the body that
we might use it, but that which is born be-
gets for itself a use: thus seeing did not exist
before the eyes were born, nor the employment
of speech ere the tongue was made; but rather
the birth of the tongue was long anterior to
language and the cars were made long before
sound was heard, and all the limbs, I trow,
existed before there was any employment for
them: they could not therefore have grown
for the purpose of being used. But on the other
hand engaging in the strife of battle and man-
gling the body and staining the limbs with
gore were in vogue long before glittering darts
ever flew; and nature prompted to shun a
wound or ever the left arm by the help of art
held up before the person the defence of a
shield. Yes and consigning the tired body to
rest is much older than a soft-cushioned bed,
and the slaking of thirst had birth before cups.
These things therefore which have been in-
vented in accordance with the uses and wants
of life, may well be believed to have been dis-
covered for the purpose of being used. Far
otherwise is it with all those things which first
were born, then afterwards made known the
purposes to which they might be put; at the
head of which class we see the senses and the
limbs. Wherefore again and again I repeat, it
is quite impossible to believe that they could
have been made for the duties which they dis-
charge.

858] It ought likewise to cause no wonder

that the nature of the body of each living
creature absolutely requires food. I have
shown that bodies ebb away and withdraw
from things, many in number in many ways;
but most numerous must be those which with-
draw from living things; for because these are
tried by active motion, and many particles are
pressed out from the depths of the frame and
carried off by sweating, many breathed out
through the mouth, when they pant from ex-
haustion, from such causes the body becomes
rarefied and the whole nature undermined;
and this state is attended by pain. Food there-
fore is taken in order to give support to the
frame and recruit the strength by its infusion,
and to close up the open-mouthed craving for
meat throughout limbs and veins. The mois-
ture too passes into all the parts which call
for moistiKe; and many accumulated bodies
of heat which cause a burning in our stomach,
the approach of liquid scatters and quenches
as if they were fire, so that dry heat can no
longer parch the frame. In this way then you
sec gasping thirst is drenched out of our body,
in this way the hungry craving is satisfied.

877] Now how it comes to pass that we are
able to step out when we please, and how it is
given us to move about our limbs, and what
cause is wont to push forward the great load
of this our body I will tell: do you take in my
words. I say that idols of walking first present
themselves to our mind and strike on the
mind, as we said before: then the will arises;
for no one begins to do anything, until his
mind has first determined what it wills. From
the very tact that it determines such thing,
there is an image of that thing. When there-
fore the mind bestirs itself in such a way as to
will to walk and step out, it strikes at the
same moment the force of the soul which is
spread over the whole body throughout the
limbs and frame; and this is easily done, since
the whole is held in close union with the
mind. Next the soul in its turn strikes the
body, and thus the whole mass by degrees is
pushed on and set in motion. Then again the
body becomes also rarefied, and the air, as you
see its nature is, being always so nimble in
moving, comes and pa^es in great quantity
through the opened pores and is thus dis-
tributed into the most minute parts of the

56 LUCRETIUS 896-971

body. In this way then by these two causes and beaten by its repeated blows; and for this

acting in two ways the body like a ship is
carried on by sails and wind. And herein it
need not excite any surprise that such very
minute bodies can steer so great a body and
turn about the whole of this our load; for
wind though fine with subtle body drives and
pushes on a large ship of large moving mass
and one hand directs it however great the
speed at which it is going and one rudder
steers it to any point you like; and by means
of blocks of pulleys and tread-wheels a ma-
chine stirs many things of great weight and
raises them up with slight effort.

907] Now by what means yon sleep lets a
stream of repose over the limbs and dispels
from the breast the cares of the mind» I will
tell in sweetly worded rather than in many
verses; as the short song of the swan is better
than the loud noise of cranes scattered abroad
amid the ethereal clouds of the south. Do you
lend me a nice ear and a keen mind^ that you
may not deny what I say to be possible and
secede with breast disdainfully rejecting the
words of truth, you yourself being in fault the
while and unable to discern. Sleep mainly
takes place when the force of the soul has
been scattered about through the frame, and
in part has been forced abroad and taken its
departure, and in part has been thrust back
and has withdrawn into the depths o£ the
body; after that the limbs are relaxed and
droop. For there is no doubt that this sense
exists in us by the agency of the soul; and
when sleep oktructs the action of this sense,
then we must assume that our soul has been
disordered and forced abroad; not indeed all;
for then the body would lie steeped in the
everlasting chill of death. Where no part of
the soul remained behind concealed in the
limbs, as fire remains concealed when buried
under much ash, whence could sense be sud-
denly rekindled through the limbs, as flame
can spring up from hidden fire?

929] But by what means this change of con-
dition is accom[dished and from what the
soul can be disordered and the body grow
faint, 1 will explain: do you mind that I waste
not my words on the wind. In the first place
the body in its outer side, since it is next to
and is touched by the air, must be thumped

reason all things as a rule are covered cither
by a hide or else by shells or by a callous skin
or by bark. When creatures breathe, this air
at the same time buffets the inner side also,
as it is inhaled and exhaled. 'Therefore since
the body is beaten on both sides alike and
blows arrive by means of the small apertures
at the primal parts and primal elements of our
body, there gradually ensues a sort of break-
ing up throughout our limbs, the arrange-
ments of the first-beginnings of body and
mind getting disordered. Then next a part of
the soul is forced out and a part withdraws
into the inner recesses; a part too scattered
about through the frame cannot get united
together and so act and be acted upon by mo-
tion; for nature intercepts all communication
and blocks up all the passages; and therefore
sense retires deep into the frame as the mo-
tions are all altered. And since there is nothing
as it were to lend support to the frame, the
body becomes weak and all the limbs arc
faint, the arms and eyelids droop and the
hams even in bed often give way under you
and relax their powers. Then sleep follows on
food, because food produces just the same
effects as air, while it is distributed into all
the veins; and that sleep isasuch the heaviest
which you take when full or tired, because
then the greatest number of bodies fall into
disorder, bruised by much exertion. On the
same principle the soul comes in part to be
forced more deeply into the frame, and there is
also a more copious emission of it abroad, and
at the same time it is more divided and scat-
tered in itself within you.

962] And generally to whatever pursuit a
man is closely tied down and strongly at-
tached, on whatever subject we have pre-
viously much dwelt, the mind having been put
to a more than usual strain in it, during sleep
we for the most part fancy that t|ve are engaged
in the same; lawyers think thfy plead causes
and draw up covenants of sal^, generals that
they fight and engage in battle, sailors that
they wage and carry on war With the winds,
we think we pursue our task ttnd investigate
the nature of things constantly and consign
it when discovered to writings in our native
tongue. So all other pursuits and arts are seen

972-/o5« on the nature OF THINGS, BOOK IV

for the most part during sleep to occupy and
mock the minds of men. And whenever men
have given during many days in succession
undivided attention to games, we generally
see that after they have ceased to perceive
these with their senses, there yet remain
passages open in the mind through which the
same idols of things may enter. Thus for many
days those same objects present themselves to
the eyes, so that even when awake they see
dancers as they think moving their pliant
limbs, and receive into the ears the clear music
of the harp and speaking strings, and behold
the same spectators and at the same time the
varied decorations of the stage in all their
brilliancy.

984] So great is the influence of zeal and
inclination, so great is the influence of the
things in which men have been habitually en-
gaged, and not men only but all living crea-
tures. Thus you will see stout horses, even
when their hollies are lying down, yet in their
sleep sweat and pant without ceasing and
strain their powers to the utmost as if for the
prize, or as if the barriers were thrown open.
And often during soft repose the dogs of hunt-
ers do yet all at once throw about their legs
and suddenly utter cries and repeatedly snuff
the air with their nostrils, as though they had
found and were on the tracks of wild beasts;
and after they are awake often chase the shad-
owy idols of stags, as though they saw them
in full flight, until they have shaken off their
delusions and come to themselves again. And
the fawning brood of dogs brought up tame
in the house haste to shake their body and
raise it up from the ground, as if they beheld
unknown faces and features. And the fiercer
the different breeds arc, the greater rage they
must display in sleep. But the various kinds of
birds flee and suddenly in the night-time
trouble with their wings the groves of the
gods, when in gentle sleep hawks and pur-
suing birds have appeared to show fight and
offer battle.

loii] Again the minds of men which pur-
sue great aims under great emotions, often
during sleep pursue and carry on the same in
like manner; kings take by storm, arc taken,
join battle, raise a loud cry as if stabbed on
the spot. Many struggle hard and utter groans

in pain, and as if gnawed by the bite of pan-
ther or cruel lion fill all the place with loud
cries. Many during sleep speak of important
affairs and have often and often disclosed their
own guilt. Many meet death; many as if tum-
bling down from high precipices to the
ground with their whole body, are scared
with terror and after sleep as if out of their
judgement scarce come to themselves again,
quite disordered by their body's turmoil.
Again a thirsty man sits down beside a river
or a pleasant spring and gulps down well-
nigh all the stream. Cleanly people often,
when sound asleep, believing that they are lift-
ing their dress beside a urinal or the public
vessels, pour forth the filtered liquid of their
whole body, and the Babylonian coverlets of
surpassing brilliancy are drenched. Then too
those, into the boiling currents of whose age
seed is for the first time passing, when the
ripe fulness of days has produced it in their
limbs, idols encounter from without from
what body soever, harbingers of a glorious
face and a beautiful bloom, which stir and ex-
cite the frame.

1037I That seed we have spoken of before is
stirred up in us, as soon as ripe age fortifies the
frame. For as different causes set in motion
and excite different things, so from man the
sole influence of man draws forth human seed.
As soon then as it has been forced out from
and quits its proper seats throughout the
limbs and frame, it withdraws itself from the
whole body and meets together in appropriate
places and rouses forthwith the appropriate
parts of the body. The places are excited and
swell with seed, and the inclination arises to
emit the seed towards that to which the fell
desire all tends, and the body seeks that object
from which the mind is wounded by love; for
all as a rule fall towards their wound and the
blood spirts out in that direction whence comes
the stroke by which we are struck; and if he is
at close quarters, the red stream covers the foe.
Thus then he who gets a hurt from the weap-
ons of Venus, whatever be the object that hits
him, inclines to the quarter whence he is
wounded, and yearns to unite with it and join
body with body; for o^ute desire gives a
presage of the pleasure.'

1058] This pleasure is for us Venus; from

5S LUCRETIUS ^ 059 ^//J !5

that desiie is the Latin name of love, from
that desire has first trickled into the heart yon
drop of Venus’ honeyed )oy, succeeded soon by
chilly care; for though that which you love is
away> yet idols of it are at hand and its sweet
name is present to the ears. But it is meet to
fly idols and scare away all that feeds love and
turn your mind on another object, distract
your passion elsewhere and not keep it, with
your thoughts once set on one object by love
of it, and so lay up for yourself care and un-
failing pain. For the sore gathers strength and
becomes inveterate by feeding, and every day
the madness grows in violence and the misery
becomes aggravated, unless you erase the first
wounds by new blows and first heal them
when yet fresh, roaming abroad after Venus
the pandemian, or transfer to something else
the emotions of your mind.

1073] Nor is he who shuns love without the
fruits of Venus, but rather enjoys those bless-
ings which are without any pain: doubtless
the pleasure from such things is more unal-
loyed for the healthy-minded than for the love-
sick; for in the very moment of enjoying the
burning desire of lovers wavers and wanders
undecided, and they cannot tell what first to
enjoy with eyes and hands. What they have
sought, they tightly squeeze and cause pain of
body and often imprint their teeth on the lips
and clash mouth to mouth in kissing, because
the pleasure is not pure and there are hidden
stings which stimulate to hurt even that what-
ever it is from which spring those germs of
frenzy. But Venus with light hand breaks the
force of these pains during love, and the fond
pleasure mingled therein reins in the bites.
For in this there is hope, that from the same
body whence springs their burning desire,
their flame may likewise be quenched; though
nature protests that the very opposite is the
truth; and this is the one thing of all, in which,
when we have most of it, then all the more the
breast bums with fell desire. Meat and drink
are taken into the body; and as they can fill up
certain fixed parts, in this way the craving for
drink and bread is easily satisfied; but from
the face and beautiful bloom of man nothing
is given into the body to enjoy save flimsy
idols; a sorry hope which is often snatched ok
by the wind.

XO97] As when in sleep a thirsty man seeks
to drink and water is not given to quench the
burning in his frame, but he seeks the idols of
waters and toils in vain and thirsts as he
drinks in the midst of the torrent stream, thus
in love Venus mocks lovers with idols, nor
can bodies satisfy them by all their gazing
upon them nor can they with their hands rub
aught off the soft limbs, wandering undecided
over the whole body. At last when they have
united and enjoy the flower of age, when the
body now has a presage of delights and Venus
is in the mood to sow the fields of woman,
they greedily clasp each other’s body and suck
each other’s lips and breathe in, pressing
meanwhile teeth on each other’s mouth; all in
vain, since they can rub nothing off nor enter
and pass each with his whole body into the
other’s body; for so sometimes they seem to
will and strive to do: so greedily are they held
in the chains of Venus, while their limbs melt
overpowered by the might of the pleasure. At
length when the gathered desire has gone
forth, there ensues for a brief while a short
pause in the burning passion; and then re-
turns the same frenzy, then comes back the
old madness, when they are at a loss to know
what they really desire to get, and cannot find
what device is to conquemhat mischief; in
such utter uncertainty they pine away by a
hidden wound.

1 121 ] Then too they waste their strength and
ruin themselves by the labour, then too their
life is passed at the beck of another. Mean-
while their estate runs away and is turned into
Babylonian coverlets; duties are neglected and
their good name staggers and sickens. On her
feet laugh elastic and beautiful Sicyonian
shoes, yes, and large emeralds with green light
are set in gold and the sea-coloured dress is
worn constantly and much used drinks in the
sweat. The noble earnings of fj^eir fathers are
turned into hair-bands, heaci-dresses; some-
times are changed into a swejtping robe and
Alidensian and Cean dresses.^ Feasts set out
with rich coverlets and viands^^ games, numer-
ous cups, perfumes, crowns, aid garlands are
prepared; all in vain, since out of the very
welUpring of delights rises up something of
titte^ to pain amid the very flowers; either
when the conscience-stricken mind haply

ri36-no8 ON THE NATURE OP THINGS. BOOK IV 59

gnaws itself with remorse to think that it is
passing a life of sloth and ruining itself in
brothels, or because she has launched forth
some word and left its meaning in doubt and
it cleaves to the love-sick heart and burns like
living fire, or because it fancies she casts her
eyes too freely about or looks on another, and
it sees in her face traces of a smile.

1141} And these evils are found in love that
is lasting and highly prosperous; but in
crossed and hopeless love are ills such as you
may seize with closed eyes, past numbering;
so that it is better to watch beforehand in the
manner I have prescribed, and be on your
guard not to be drawn in. For to avoid falling
into the toils of love is not so hard as, after
you are caught, to get out of the nets you are
in and to break through the strong meshes of
Venus. And yet even when you are entangled
and held fast you may escape the mischief, un-
less you stand in your own way and begin by
overlooking^ ail the defects of her mind or
those of her body, whoever it is whom you
court and woo. For this men usually do,
blinded by passion, and attribute to the be-
loved those advantages which are not really
theirs. We therefore sec women in ways mani-
fold deformed and ugly to be objects of en-
dearment and held in the highest admiration.
And one lover jeers at others and advises them
to propitiate Venus, since they arc troubled by
a disgraceful passion, and often, poor wretch,
gives no thought to his own ills greatest of all.

1160] The black is a brunc, the filthy and
rank has not the love of order; the cat-cyed is
a miniature Pallas, the stringy and wizened a
gazelle; the dumpy and dwarfish is one of the
Graces, from top to toe all grace; the big and
overgrown is awe-inspiring and full of dig-
nity. She is tongue-tied, cannot speak, then she
has a lisp; the dumb is bashful; then the fire-
spit, the teasing, the gossiping turns to a shin-
ing lamp. One becomes a slim darling then
when she cannot live from want of flesh; and
she is only spare, who is half-dead with cough.
Then the fat and big-breasted is a Ceres’ self
big-breasted from lacchus; the pug-nosed is a
she Silenus and a satyress; the thick-lipped a
very kiss. It were tedious to attempt to report
other things of the kind! Let her however be
of ever so great dignity of appearance; such

that the power of Venus goes forth from all
her limbs; yet there are others too; yet have we
lived without her before; yet does she do, and
we know that she does, in all things the same
as the ugly woman; and fumigates herself,
poor wretch, with nauseous perfumes, her very
maids running from her and giggling behind
her back. But the lover, when shut out, often
in tears covers the threshold with flowers and
wreaths, and anoints the haughty doorposts
with oil of marjoram and imprints kisses,
poor wretch, on the doors. When however he
has been admitted, if on his approach but one
single breath should come in his way, he
would seek specious reasons for departing,
and the long-conned deeplrawn complaint
would fall to the ground; and then he would
blame his folly, on seeing that he had attrib-
uted to hessmore than it is right to concede to
a mortal. Nor is this unknown to our Venuses;
wherefore all the more they themselves hide
with the utmost pains all that goes on behind
the scenes of life from those whom they wish
to retain in the chains of love; but in vain,
since you may yet draw forth from her mind
into the light all these things and search into
all her smiles; and if she is of a fair mind and
not troublesome, overlook them in your turn
and make allowance for human failings.

1192] Nor docs the woman sigh always with
feigned passion, when she locks in her em-
brace and joins with her body the man’s body
and holds it, sucking his lips into her lips and
drinking in his kisses. Often she does it from
the heart, and seeking mutual joys courts him
to run the complete race of love. And in no
other way could birds, cattle, wild beasts,
sheep, and mares submit to bear the males,
except because the very exuberance of nature
in the females is in heat and burns and joy-
ously draws in the Venus of the covering
males. Sec you not too how those whom mu-
tual pleasure has chained are often tortured in
their common chains? How often in the high-
ways do dogs, desiring to separate, eagerly
pull different ways with all their might, while
all the time they are held fiist in the strong
fetters of Venus! This they would never do,
unless they experienedd* mutual joys, strong
enough to force them into the snare and hold
them in its meshes. Wherefore again and again

€o LUCRETIUS 120^1281

I repeat there is a common pleasure. once passes away and is repelled and with-

1209] And when haply in mixing her seed
with the man's the woman by sudden force
has overpowered and seized for herself his
force, then children are formed from the
mothers’ seed like to the mothers, as from the
fathers’ seed like to the fathers. But those
whom you see with a share of both forms,
blending equally the features of the parents,
grow from the union of the father’s body and
the mother’s blood, when the mutual ardour
of desire working in concert has brought and
clashed together the seeds roused throughout
the frame by the goads of Venus; and neither
of the two has gotten the mastery nor has been
mastered. Sometimes too the children may
spring up like their grandfathers and often
resemble the forms of their grandfathers’
fathers, because the parents often keep con-
cealed in their bodies many first-beginnings
mixed in many ways, which first proceeding
from the original stock one father hands down
to the next father; and then from these Venus
produces forms after a manifold chance and
repeats not only the features, but the voices
and hair of their forefathers. And the female
sex equally springs from the father’s seed and
males go forth equally formed from the
mother’s body; since these distinctions no
more proceed from the fixed seed of one or
other parent than our faces and bodies and
limbs: the birth is always formed out of the
two seeds; and whichever parent that which
is produced more resembles, of that parent it
has more than an equal share; as you may
equally observe, whether it is a male child or
a female birth.

1233] Nor do the divine powers debar any-
body from the power of begetting, forbidding
him ever to receive the name of father from
sweet children and forcing him to pass his
life in a barren wedlock; as men commonly
fancy when in sorrow they drench the altars
with much blood and pile the raised altars
with offerings, to make their wives pregnant
with abundant seed. In vain they weary the
divinity of the gods and the sacred lots. They
are barren sometimes from the too great thick-
ness of the seed, sometimes from its undue
fluidity and thinness: because the thin is un-
able to get a firm hold on the right spots, it at

drawn abortively: since by others again a too
thick seed is discharged in a state more solid
than is suitable, it either docs not fly forth
with so prolonged a stroke or cannot equally
pass into the proper spots or when it has
passed in with difficulty mixes with the
woman’s seed. For well-assorted matches are
found to be of great importance; and some
males impregnate some females more readily
than others, and other females conceive and
become pregnant more readily from other
males. And many women have hitherto been
barren during several marriages and have yet
in the end found mates from whom they could
conceive children and be enriched with a
sweet offspring. And often even for those, to
whom hitherto wives however fruitful had
been unable in their house to bear, has been
found a compatible nature, enabling them to
fortify their age with sons. Of such great im-
portance is it, in order that seeds may agree
and blend with seeds in a way to promote
birth, whether the thick comes into contact
with the fluid and the fluid with the thick.
And on this point it matters much on what
diet life is supported; for by some foods seed
is thickened in the limbs, and by others again
is thinned and wasted. And in what modes the
intercourse goes on, is likewise of very great
moment; for women are commonly thought
to conceive more readily after the manner of
wild beasts and quadrupeds, because the seeds
in this way can find the pro})er spots in con-
sequence of the position of the body. Nor have
wives the least use for effeminate motions: a
woman hinders and stands in the way of her
own conceiving, when thus she acts; for she
drives the furrow out of the direct course and
path of the share and turns away from the
proper spots the stroke of the seed. And thus
for their own ends harlots are Wont to move,
in order not to conceive and lie in child-bed
frequently, and at the same t^e to render
Venus more attractive to men. This our wives
have surely no need of.

1278] Sometimes too by no divine grace and
arrows of Venus a sorry women of inferior
beauty comes to be loved; for the wife some-
times by her own acts and accommodating
manners and by elegant neatness of person

i282r-i287:i-63 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK V 6 i

readily habituates you to pass your life with
her. Moreover custom renders love attractive;
for that which is struck by oft-repeated blows
however lightly, yet after long course of time

is overpowered and gives way. See you not too
that drops of water falling on stones after
long course of time scoop a hole through these
stones?

• BOOK FIVE •

Who is able with powerful genius to frame a
poem worthy of the grandeur of the things
and these discoveries? Or who is so great a
master of words as to be able to devise praises
equal to the deserts of him who left to us such
prizes won and earned by his own genius?
None methinks who is formed of mortal body.
For if we must speak as the acknowledged
grandeur of the things itself demands, a god
he was, a god, most noble Memmius, who first
found out that plan of life which is now
termed wisdom, and who by trained skill
rescued life frem such great billows and such
thick darkness and moored it in so perfect a
calm and in so brilliant a light. Compare the
godlike discoveries of others in old times:
Ceres is famed to have pointed out to mortals
corn, and Liber the vine-born* juice of the
grape; though life might well have subsisted
without these things, as we are told some na-
tions even now live without them. But a hap-
py life was not possible without a clean breast;
wherefore with more reason this man is
deemed by us a god, from whom come those
sweet solaces of existence which even now are
distributed over great nations and gently
soothe men s minds. Then if you shall sup-
pose that the deeds of Hercules surpass his,
you will be carried still farther away from true
reason. For what would yon great gaping
maw of Nemean lion now harm us and the
bristled Arcadian boar? Ay or what could the
bull of Crete do and the hydra plague of Ler-
na, fenced round with its envenomed snakes?
Or how could the triple-breasted might ot
threefold Geryon, how could the birds with
brazen arrowy feathers that dwelt in the
Stymphalian swamps do us such mighty in-
jury, and the horses of Thracian Diomede
breathing fire from their nostrils along the
Bistonian borders and Ismara? And the ser-
pent which guards the bright golden apples of

the Hcsperidcs, fierce, dangerous of aspect,
girding the tree’s stem with his enormous
body, what harm pray could he do us beside
the Atlantic shore and its sounding main,
which none of us goes near and no barbarian
ventures to approach? And all other monsters
of the kind which have been destroyed, if they
had not been vanquished, what harm could
they do, I ask, though now alive? None me-
thinks: th^ earth even now so abounds to re-
pletion in wild beasts and is filled with trou-
blous terror throughout woods and great
mountains and deep forests; places which we
have it for the most part in our own power to
shun. But unless the breast is cleared, what
battles and dangers must then find their way
into us in our own despite! What poignant
cares inspired by lust then rend the distressful
man, and then also what mighty fears! And
pride, filthy lust and wantonness? What disas-
ters they occasion, and luxury and all sorts of
sloth? He therefore who shall have subdued
all these and banished them from the mind
by words, not arms, shall he not have a just
title to be ranked among the gods? And all
the more so that he was wont to deliver many
precepts in beautiful and god-like phrase
about the immortal gods themselves and to
open up by his teachings all the nature of
things.

55 ] While walking in his footsteps I follow
out his reasonings and teach by my verses, by
what law all things are made, what necessity
there is then for them to continue in that law,
and how impotent they are to annul the bind-
ing statutes of time: foremost in which class
of things the nature of the mind has been
proved to be formed of a body that had birth
and to be unable to endure unscathed through
great time, mere idols I)Cing wont to mock the
mind in sleep, when we seem to see him
whom life has abandoned: to continue, the

LUCRETIUS 64-^42

order of my design has now brought me to this
point, where I must proceed to show that the
world is formed of a mortal body and at the
same time had birth; to show too in what
way that union of matter founded earth, heav-
en, sea, stars, sun, and the ball of the moon;
also what living creatures sprang out of the
earth, as well as those which never at any time
were bom; in what way too mankind began to
use with one another varied speech by the
names conferred on things; and also in what
ways yon fear of the gods gained an entry in-
to men’s breasts, and now throughout the
world maintains as holy fanes, lakes, groves,
altars, and idols of the gods. Furthermore I
shall make clear by what force piloting nature
guides the courses of the sun and the wander-
ings of the moon; lest haply we imagine that
these of their own free will between heaven
and earth traverse their everlasting orbits, gra-
ciously furthering the increase of crops and
living creatures, or we think they roll on by
any forethought of the gods. For they who
have been righdy taught that the gods lead a
life without care, if nevertheless they wonder
by what plan all things can be carried on,
above all in regard to those things which are
seen overhead in the ethereal borders, are
borne back again into their old religious
scruples and take unto themselves hard task-
masters, whom they poor wretches believe
to be almighty, not knowing what can, what
cannot be, in short by what system each thing
has its powers defined, its deep-set boundary
mark.

91] Well then not to detain you any longer
by mere promises, look before all on seas and
lands and heaven: their threefold nature,
their three bodies, Memmius, three forms so
unlike, three such wondrous textures a single
day shall give over to destruction; and the
mass and fabric of the world upheld for many
years shall tumble to ruin. Nor can J fail to
perceive with what a novel and strange effect
it falls upon the mind, this destruction of heav-
en and earth that is to be, and how hard it is
for me to produce a full conviction of it by
words; as is the case when you bring to the
ears a thing hitherto unexampled, and yet you
cannot sulmit it to the eyesight nor put it into
the hands; through which the straightest high-

way of belief leads into the human breast and
quarters of the mind. But yet I will speak out;
it well may be that the reality itself will bring
credit to my words and that you will see earth-
quakes arise and all things grievously shat-
tered to pieces in short time. But this may
pilot fortune guide far away from us, and may
reason rather than the reality convince that all
things may be overpowered and tumble in
with a frightful crash.

1 10] But before I shall begin on this question
to pour forth decrees of fate with more sanc-
tity and much more certainty than the Pythia
who speaks out from the tripod and laurel of
Phoebus, I will clearly set forth to you many
comforting topics in learned language; lest
held in the yoke of religion you haply suppose
that earth and sun and heaven, sea, stars, and
moon must last for ever with divine body; and
therefore think it right that they after the
fashion of the giants should all suffer punish-
ment for their monstrous guilt, who by their
reasoning displace the walls of the world and
seek to quench the glorious sun of heaven,
branding immortal things in mortal speech;
though in truth these things are so far from
possessing divinity and are so unworthy of be-
ing reckoned in the number of gods, that they
may be thought to afford a notable instance of
what is quite without vital motion and sense.
For it is quite impossible to suppose that the
nature and judgement of the mind can exist
with any body whatever; even as a tree cannot
exist in the ether nor clouds «n the salt sea, nor
can fishes live in the fields nor blood exist in
woods nor sap in stones. Where each thing can
grow and abide is fixed and ordained. Thus
the nature of the mind cannot come into being
alone without the body nor exist far away
from the sinews and blood. But if (for this
would be much more likely to happen than
that) the force itself of the mii|d might be in
the head or shoulders or heel| or might be
born in any other part of the $ody, it would
after all be wont to abide in onq and the same
man or vessel. But since in our t>ody even it is
fixed and seen to be ordained ^here the soul
and the mind can severally be and gmw, it
must still more strenuously be denied that it
can abide out of the body and the living room
altogether in crumbling clods of earth or in

143-219 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK V 63

the fire of the sun or in water or in the high
borders of ether. These things therefore are
not possessed of divine sense, since they cannot
be quickened with the vital feeling.

X46] This too you may not possibly believe,
that the holy seats of the gods exist in any parts
of the world: the fine nature of the gods far
withdrawn from our senses is hardly seen by
the thought of the mind; and since it has ever
eluded the touch and stroke of the hands, it
must touch nothing which is tangible for us;
for that cannot touch which does not admit of
being touched in turn. And therefore their
seats as well must be unlike our seats, fine,
even as their bodies arc fine. All which I will
prove to you later in copious argument. To say
again that for the sake of men they have willed
to set in order the glorious nature of the world
and therefore it is meet to praise the work of
the gods calling as it does for all praise, and to
believe that it will be eternal and immortal,
and that iti« an unholy thing ever to shake by
any force from its fixed seats that which by the
forethought of the gods in ancient days has
been established on everlasting foundations
for mankind, or to assail it by speech and ut-
terly overturn it from top to bottom; and to
invent and add other figments of the kind,
Memmius, is all sheer folly. For what advan-
tage can our gratitude bestow on immortal
and blessed beings, that for our sakes they
should take in hand to administer aught?
And what novel incident should have induced
them hitherto at rest so long after to desire to
change their former life?

170] For it seems natural he should rejoice
in a new state of things, whom old things an-
noy; but for him whom no ill has befallen in
times gone by, when he passed a pleasant exist-
ence, what could have kindled in such a one
a love of change? Did life lie grovelling in
darkness and sorrow, until the first dawn of
the birth-time of things? Or what evil had it
been for us never to have been born? Who;
ever has been born must want to continue in
life, so long as fond pleasure shall keep him;
but for him who has never tasted the love,
never been on the lists, of life, what harm not
to have been bom? Whence again was first
implanted in the gods a pattern for begetting
things in general as well as the preconception

of what men are, $0 that they knew and saw in
mind what they wanted to make? And in
what way was the power of first-beginnings
ever ascertained, and what they could effect by
a change in their mutual arrangements, unless
nature herself gave the model for making
things? For in such-wise the first-beginnings
of things many in number in many ways im-
pelled by blows for infinite ages back and kept
in motion by their own weights have been
wont to be carried along and to unite in all
manner of ways and thoroughly test every
kind of production possible by their mutual
combinations; that it is not strange if they have
also fallen into arrangements and have come
into courses like to those out of which this sum
of things is now carried on by constant re-
newing.

195] Bu^Jf I did not know what first-begin-
nings of things are, yet this judging by the
very arrangements of heaven I would venture
to affirm, and led by many other facts to main-
tain, that the nature of things has by no means
been made for us by divine power: so great are
the defects with which it is encumbered. In
the first place of all the space which the vast
reach of heaven covers, a portion greedy
mountains and forests of wild beasts have oc-
cupied, rocks and wasteful pools take up and
the sea which holds wide apart the coasts of
different lands. Next of nearly two thirds
burning heat and the constant fall of frost rob
mortals. What is left for tillage, even that na-
ture by its power would overrun with thorns,
unless the force of man made head against it,
accustomed for the sake of a livelihood to
groan beneath the strong hoe and to cut
through the earth by pressing down the
plough. Unless by turning up the fruitful clods
with the share and labouring the soil of the
earth we stimulate things to rise, they could
not spontaneously come up into the clear air;
and even then sometimes when things earned
with great toil now put forth their leaves over
the lands and are all in blossom, cither the
ethereal sun burns them up with excessive
heats or sudden rains and cold frosts cut them
ofi, and the blasts of the winds waste them by
a furious hurricane, ^jgain why does nature
give food and increase to the frightful race of
wild beasts dangerous to mankind both by sea

and land? Why do the seasons of the year
bring diseases in their train? Why stalks
abroad untimely death? Then too the baby,
like to a sailor cast away by the cruel waves,
lies naked on the ground, speechless, wanting
every furtherance of life, soon as nature by the
throes of birth has shed him forth from his
mother’s womb into the borders of light: he
fills the room with a rueful wauling, as well
he may whose destiny it is to go through in life
so many ills. But the different flocks, herds,
and wild beasts grow up; they want no rattles;
to none of them need be addressed the fond
broken accents of the fostering nurse; they ask
not different dresses according to the season;
no nor do they want arms or lofty walls,
whereby to protect their own, the earth itself
and nature manifold in her works producing
in plenty all things for all.

235] First of all, since the body of the earth
and water and the light breath of air and
burning heats, out of which this sum of things
is seen to be formed, do all consist of a body
that had a birth and is mortal, the whole na-
ture of the world must be reckoned of a like
body. For those things whose parts and mem-
bers we see to be of a body that had a birth
and of forms that are mortal, we perceive to bc
likewise without exception mortal, and at the
same time to have had a birth. Since therefore
I see that the chiefest members and parfs of
the world arc destroyed and begotten anew, I
may be sure that for heaven and earth as well
there has been a time of beginning and there
will be a time of destruction.

247] And herein that you may not think I
have unfairly seized on this point for myself,
because I have assumed that earth and fire are
mortal and have not doubted that water and
air perish, and have said that these are like-
wise begotten and grow afresh, mark the
proofs: first of all some portion of the earth,
burnt up by constant suns, trampled by a mul-
titude of feet, sends forth a cloud and flying
eddies of dust, which the strong winds dis-
perse over the whole air. Part too of the soil is
put under water by rains, and rivers graze
against and eat into the banks. Again what-
ever increases something else, is in its turn re-
plenished; and since beyond a doubt earth the
universal mother is found at the same time to

aao-295

be the general tomb of things, therefore you
see she is lessened and increases and grows
again.

261] Furthermore, that sea, rivers, fountains
always stream over with new moisture and
that waters well up without ceasing, it needs
no words to prove: the great flow of waters
from all sides clearly shows it. But then the
water on the surface is always taken off, and
thus it is that on the whole there is no over-
flow, partly because the seas are lessened by
the strong winds sweeping over them and by
the ethereal sun decomposing them with his
rays; partly, because the water is diffused be-
low the surface over all lands; for the salt is
strained off and the matter of liquid streams
back again to the source and all meets to-
gether at the riverheads, and then flows over
the lands in a fresh current, where a channel
once scooped out has carried down the waters
with liquid foot.

273] And next I will speak of the air which
is changed over its whole body every hour in
countless ways. For whatever ebbs from things,
is all borne always into the great sea of air;
and unless it in return were to give back bodies
to things and to recruit them as they ebb, all
things ere now would have been dissolved and
changed into air. It therefor? ceases not to be
begotten from things and to go back into
things, since it is a fact that all things con-
stantly ebb.

281] Likewise the abundant source of clear
light, the ethereal sun, constantly floods heav-
en with fresh brightness and supplies the place
of light on the instant by new light; for every
previous emission of brightness is quite lost to
it, wherever it falls. This you may know from
the following examples: as soon as ever clouds
begin to pass below the sun and to break off so
to say the rays of light, forthwith their lower
part is wholly lost, and the earth is over-shad-
owed wherever the clouds pals over; so that
you may know that things coilstantly require
new irradiation and that all [the preceding
emissions of light are lost, and In no other way
can things be seen in the sun, unless the foun-
tain head of light itself send a supply. More-
over, you see, nightly lights which belong to
earth, such as hanging lamps and torches
bright with darting flames, hasten in like fash-

LUCRETIUS

296-373 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK V 65

ion amid great darkness with ministering heat
to supply new light; are eager to bicker with
fires, ay eager; nor is the light ever broken off
nor does it quit the spots illuminated: with
such suddenness is its destruction concealed by
the swift birth of flame from all the fires at
once. In the same way then we must believe
that sun, moon, and stars emit light from fresh
and ever fresh supplies rising up, and always
lose every previous discharge of flames; that
you may not haply believe that these flourish
indestructible.

306] Again see you not that even stones are
conquered by time, that high towers fall and
rocks moulder away, that shrines and idols of
gods arc worn out with decay, and that the
holy divinity cannot prolong the bounds of
fate or struggle against the fixed laws of na-
ture? Then sec we not the monuments of men,
fallen to ruin, ask for themselves as well
whether you’d believe that they decay with
years? See wc jot basalt rocks tumble down
riven away from high mountains and unable
to endure and suffer the strong might of finite
age? Surely they would never fall suddenly
thus riven away, it for infinite time past they
had held out against all the batteries of age
without a crash.

318] Again gaze on this, which about and
above holds in its embrace all the earth: if it
begets all things out of itself, as some say, and
takes them back when they are destroyed, then
the whole of it has had a birth and is of a
mortal body; for whatever gives increase and
food but of itself to other things, must be les-
sened; and must be replenished, when it takes
things back.

324] Again if there was no birth-time of
earth and heaven and they have been from
everlasting, why before the Theban war and
the destruction of Troy have not other poets
as well sung other themes? Whither have so
many deeds of men so often passed away, why
live they nowhere embodied in lasting records
of fame? The truth methinks is that the sum
has but a recent date and the nature of the
world is new and has but lately had its com-
mencement. Wherefore even now some arts
are receiving their last polish, some are even
in course of growth: just now many improve-
ments have been made in ships; only yesterday

musicians have given birth to tuneful melo-
dies; then too this nature or system of things
has been discovered lately, and I the very first of
all have only now been found able to transfer
it into native words. But if haply you believe
that before this all things have existed just the
same, but that the generations of men have
perished by burning heat, or that cities have
fallen by some great concussion of the world,
or that after constant rains devouring rivers
have gone forth over the earth and have
whelmed towns, so much the more you must
yield and admit that there will be entire de-
struction too of earth and heaven; for when
things were tried by so great distempers and
so great dangers, at that time had a more dis-
astrous cause pressed upon them, they would
far and wide have gone to destruction and
mighty ruio. And in no other way are we
proved to be mortals, except because we all
alike in turn fall sick of the same diseases
which those had whom nature has withdrawn
from life.

351] Again whatever things last for ever,
must either, because they arc of solid body, re-
pel strokes and not suffer aught to pass into
them, sufficient to disunite the closely massed
parts within; such are the bodies of matter
whose nature we have shown before: or they
must be able to endure through all time for
this reason, because they are exempt from
blows, as void is which remains untouched
and suffers not a jot from any stroke; or else
because there is no extent of room around, in-
to which things so to say may depart and be
broken up: in this way the sum of sums is eter-
nal and there is no place outside into which
things may spring asunder, nor are there any
bodies which can fall upon them and dissolve
them by a powerful blow. But the nature of
the world, as I have showm, is neither of solid
body, since void is mixed up in things, nor is
it again like void, no nor is there lack of bodies
that may haply rise up in mass out of the in-
finite and overthrow this sum of things with
furious tornado or bring upon them some
other perilous disaster; nor further is the na-
ture of room or the space of deep void want-
ing, into which the waUfof the world may be
scattered abroad; or they may be assailed and
perish by some other force. Tlierefore the gate

66 LOCRETIUS 37^448

6l death is not closed against heaven or sun or and began to get the mastery, as the story goes.

earth or the deep waters of the sea, but stands
open and loolu towards them with huge
wide-gaping maw. And therefore also you
must admit that these things likewise had a
birth; for things which are of mortal body
could not for an infinite time back up to the
present have been able to set at naught the
puissant strength of immeasurable age.

380] Again since the chiefest members of
the world fight so hotly together, fiercely stirred
by no hallowed civil warfare, see you not that
some limit may be set to their long struggle?
Either when the sun and all heat shall have
drunk up all the waters and gotten the mas-
tery: this they are ever striving to do, but as yet
are unable to accomplish their endeavours:
such abundant supplies the rivers furnish, and
threaten to turn aggressors and fiood all
things with a deluge from the deep gulfs of
ocean; all in vain, since the winds sweeping
over the seas and the ethereal sun decompos-
ing them with his rays do lessen them, and
trust to be able to dry all things up before
water can attain the end of its endeavour.
Such a war do they breathe out with unde-
cided issue, and strive with each other to de-
termine it for mighty ends; though once by
the way fire got the upper hand and once, as
the story goes, water reigned paramount in
the fields. Fire gained the mastery and licked
and burnt up many things, when the head-
strong might of the horses of the sun dashed
from the course and hurried Phaethon through
the whole sky and over all lands. But the al-
mighty hither, stirred then to fierce wrath,
with a sudden thunderstroke dashed Phae-
thon down from his horses to earth, and the
sun meeting him as he fell caught from him
the ever-burning lamp of the world and got
in hand the scattered steeds and yoked them
shaking all over; then guided them on their
proper course and gave fresh life to a^ things.
Thus to wit have the old poets of the Greeks
sung; though it is all too widely at variance
with true reason. Fire may gain the mastery
when more bodies of matter than usual have
gathered themselves up out of the infinite;
and then its powers decay, vanquished in some
way or other, or else things perish burnt up by
the torrid air. Water too of yore gathered itself

when it whelmed many cities of men; and
then when all that force that had gathered it-
self up out of the infinite, by some means or
other was turned aside and withdrew, the
rains were stayed and the rivers abated their
fury.

416] But in what ways yon concourse of
matter founded earth and heaven and the
deeps of the sea, the courses of the sun and
moon, I will next in order describe. For verily
not by design did the first-beginnings of
things station themselves each in its right
place by keen intelligence, nor did they bar-
gain sooth to say what motions each should
assume, but because the first-beginnings of
things many in number in many ways im-
pelled by blows for infinite ages back and kept
in motion by their own weights have been
wont to be carried along and to unite in all
manner of ways and thoroughly to test every
kind of production possible by their mutual
combinations, therefore it is that spread abroad
through great time after trying unions and
motions of every kind they at length meet to-
gether in those masses which suddenly brought
together become often the rudiments of great
things, of earth, sea, and heaven and the race
of living things.

432] At this time then neither could the
sun’s disc be discerned flying aloft with its
abundant light, nor the stars of great ether,
nor sea nor heaven, no nor earth nor air, nor
could any thing be seen like lo our things, but
only a strange stormy crisis and medley, gath-
ered together out of first-beginnings of every
kind, whose state of discord joining batde dis-
ordered their interspaces, passages, connexions,
weights, blows, clashings, and motions, be-
cause by reason of their unlike forms and var-
ied shapes they could not all remain thus
joined together nor fall into mtitually harmo-
nius motions. Then next the se^ral parts be-
gan to fly asunder and things to)be joined like
with like and to mark off the vAorld and por-
tion out its members and arrange its mighty
parts, that is to say, to separate! high heaven
from earth, and let the sea sptkad itself out
apart with its unmixcd water, and likewise let
the fires of ether spread apart pure and un-
mixed.

^9-5^7 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK V 67

449] P6r first the several bodies of earth, be-
cause they were heavy and closely entangled,
met together in the middle and took up all of
them the lowest positions; and the more they
got entangled and the closer their union, the
more they squeezed out those particles which
were to make up sea, stars, sun, and moon and
the walls of the great world. All these are of
smooth and round seeds and of much smaller
elements than the earth. Therefore the fire-
laden ether first burst out from the different
parts of the earth through all the porous open-
ings and lightly bore off with itself many fires;
much in the same way as we often see, so soon
as the morning light of the beaming sun
blushes golden over the grass jewelled with
dew, and the pools and the ever-running
rivers exhale a mist, and even as the earth it-
self is sometimes seen to smoke; and when all
these are gathered together aloft, then do
clouds on high with a now cohering body
weave a covcrin|: beneath heaven. In this way
therefore then the light and expansive ether
with its now cohering body swept round and
arched itself on all sides and expanding wide-
ly in all directions round in this way fenced all
other things in with its greedy grasp.

471 ] After it followed the rudiments of sun
and moon, whose spheres turn round in air
midway beneath earth and ether: these neither
earth has taken unto itself nor greatest ether,
because they were neither heavy enough to
sink and settle down nor light enough to glide
along the uppermost borders; they yet how-
ever arc so placed between the two as to wheel
along their life-like bodies and still to be parts
of the whole world; just as in us some mem-
bers may be at rest, while others at the same
time are in motion. These things then being
withdrawn, the earth in those parts where the
vast azure level of ocean now spreads, in a
moment sank in and drenched with salt flood
the hollows. At every day the more the heats
of ether round and the rays of the sun on all
sides compressed the earth into a close mass by
oft-repeated blows on all its outer edges, so
that thus buffeted it was condensed and drawn
together about its centre, ever the more did the
salt sweat squeezed out of its body increase by
its oozings the sea and floating fields, and ever
the more did those many bodies of heat and air

escape and fly abroad and condense far away
from earth the high glittering quarters of
heaven. The plains sank down, the high hills
grew in elevation; for the rocks could not set-
tle down nor all the parts sink to one uniform
level.

495] Thus then the ponderous mass of earth
was formed with close-cohering body and all
the slime of the world so to speak slid down
by its weight to the lowest point and settled at
the bottom like dregs. Then the sea, then the
air, then the fire-laden ether itself, all are left
unmixed with their clear bodies; and some
arc lighter than others, and clearest and light-
est of all ether floats upon the airy currents,
and blends not its clear body with the troubled
airs; it suffers all these things below to be up-
set with furious hurricanes, suffers them to be
troubled by |yayward storms; while it carries
along its own fires gliding with a changeless
onward sweep. For that ether may stream on
gently and with one uniform effort the Pontos
shows, a sea which streams with a changeless
current, ever preserving one uniform gliding
course.

509] Let us now sing what causes the mo-
tions of the stars. In the first place, if the great
sphere of heaven revolves, we must say that an
air presses on the pole at each end and con-
fines it on the outside and closes it in at both
ends; and then that a third air streams above
and moves in the same direction in which roll
on as they shine the stars of the eternal world;
or else that this third air streams below in or-
der to carry up the sphere in the contrary
direction; just as we see rivers turn wheels
and water-scoops. It is likewise quite possible
too that all the heaven remains at rest, while
at the same time the glittering signs are car-
ried on; either because rapid heats of ether
are shut in and whirl round while seeking a
way out and roll their fires in all directions
through heaven’s Summanian quarters; or
else an air streaming from some part from
another source outside drives and whirls the
fires; or else they may glide on of themselves
going whithersoever the food of each calls and
invites them, feeding their flamy bodies every-
where throughout heave^For which of these
causes is in operation in this world, it is not
easy to affirm for certain; but what can be and

68 LUCRETIUS 528-602

is done throughout the universe in various
worlds formed on various plans, this 1 teach,
and I go on to set forth several causes which
may exist throughout the universe for the mo-
tions of stars; one of which however must in
this world also be the cause that imparts lively
motion to the signs; but to dictate which of
them it is, is by no means the duty of the man
who advances step by step.

534] And in order that the earth may rest in
the middle of the world, it is proper that its
weight should gradually pass away and be
lessened, and that it should have another na-
ture underneath it conjoined from the begin-
ning of its existence and formed into one be-
ing with the airy portions of the world in
which it is embodied and lives. For this reason
it is no burden and does not weigh down the
air; just as his limbs are of no weight to a man
nor is his head a burden to his neck, nor do
we feel that the whole weight of the body
rests on the feet; but whatever weights come
from without and are laid upon us, hurt us
though they are often very much smaller: of
such great moment it is what function each
thing has to perform. Thus then the earth is
not an alien body suddenly brought in and
forced from some other quarter on air alien
to it, but was conceived together with it at the
first birth of the world and is a fixed portion
of that world, just as our limbs are seen to be
to us. Again the earth when suddenly shaken
by loud thunder shakes by its motion all the
things which are above it; and this it could in
no wise do, unless it had been fast bound
with the airy portions of the world and with
heaven. For the earth and they cohere with
one another by common roots, conjoined and
formed into a single being from the beginning
of their existence. See you not too that great as
is the weight of our body, the force of the
soul, though of the extremest fineness, sup-
ports it, because it is so closely conjoined and
formed into a single being with it? Then too
what is able to lift the body with a nimble
bound save the force of the mind which guides
the limbs? Now do you see what powxr a
subtle nature may have, when it is conjoined
with a heavy body, as the air is conjoined with
the earth and the force of the mind with us?

564] Again the disc of the sun cannot be

much larger nor its body of heat much smaller,
than they appear to be to our senses. For from
whatever distances fires can reach us with
their light and breathe on our limbs burning
heat, those distances take away nothing by
such spaces between from the body of the
flames, the fire is not in the least narrowed in
appearance. Therefore since the heat of the
sun and the light which it sheds reach our
senses and stroke the proper places, the form
too and size of the sun must be seen from this
earth in their real dimensions, so that you may
not add anything whatever more or less. And
whether the moon as it is borne on illumi-
nates places with a borrowed light, or emits
its own light from its own body, whatever that
is, the form with which it is thus borne on is
not at all larger than the one which it presents
to our eyes seems to us to be. For all things
which wc see at a great distance through much
air, look dimmed in appearance before their
size is diminished. Therefore since the moon
presents a bright aspect and well-defined form,
it must be seen on high by us from this earth
precisely such as it is in the outline which de-
fines it, and of the size it actually is. Lastly in
the case of all those fires of ether which you
observe from this earth — since in the case of
fires which we see here 6B earth, so long as
their flickering is distinct, so long as their heat
is perceived, their size is seen sometimes to
change to a very very small extent either way,
according to the distance at which they arc —
you may infer that the fires of ether may be
smaller than they look in an extremely minute
degree, or larger by a very small and insig-
nificant fraction.

592] This likewise need not excite wonder,
how it is that so small a body as yon sun can
emit so great a light, enough to flood com-
pletely seas and all lands and heaven and to
steep all things in its burning heat. It well may
be that a single spring for >the whole world
may open up from this spo^and gush out in
plenteous stream and shoot forth light, because
elements of heat meet together from all sides
out of the whole world in luch manner and
the mass of them throwm together streams to a
point in such manner, that this heat wells forth
from a single source. Sec you not too w'hat
a breadth of mcadowland a small spring of

6o3~68i

water sometimes floods, streaming out over
the fields? It is likewise possible that heat
from the sun’s flame though not at all great
may infect the whole air with fervent fires, if
haply the air is in a suitable and susceptible
state, so that it can be kindled when struck by
small bodies of heat; thus we see sometimes a
general conflagration from a single spark catch
fields of corn and stubble. Perhaps too the sun
as he shines aloft with rosy lamp has round
about him much fire with heats that are not
visible, and thus the fire may be marked by no
radiance, so that fraught with heat it increases
to such a degree the stroke of the rays.

614] Nor with regard to the sun is there
one single explanation, certain and manifest,
of the way in which he passes from his sum-
mer positions to the midwinter turning-point
of Capricorn and then coming back from
thence bends his course to the solstitial goal of
Cancer, and how the moon is seen once a
month to pass f'vcr that space, in traversing
which the sun spends the period of a year. No
single plain cause, I say, has been assigned for
these things. It seems highly probable that that
may be the truth which the revered judge-
ment of the worthy man Democritus main-
tains: the nearer the different constellations
are to the earth, the less they can be carried
along with the whirl of heaven; for the veloc-
ity of its force, he says, passes away and the
intensity diminishes in the lower parts, and
therefore the sun is gradually left behind with
the rearward signs, because he is much lower
than the burning signs. And the moon more
than the sun: the lower her path is and the
more distant she is from heaven and the near-
er she approaches to earth, the less she can
keep pace with the signs. For the fainter the
whirl is in which she is borne along, being as
she is lower than the sun, so much the more
all the signs around overtake and pass her.
Therefore it is that she appears to come back
to every sign more quickly, because the signs
go more quickly back to her. It is quite pos-
sible too that from quarters of the world cross-
ing the sun’s path two airs may stream each in
its turn at a fixed time; one of which may
force the sun away^from the summer signs so
far as his midwinter turning-point and freez-
ing cold, and the other may force him back

from the freezing shades of cold as far as the
heat-laden quarters and burning signs. And in
like manner we must suppose that the moon,
and the stars which make revolutions of great
years in great orbits may pass by means of airs
from opposite quarters in turn. See you not
too that clouds from contrary winds pass in
contrary directions, the upper in a contrary
way to the lower? Why may not yon stars just
as well be borne on through their great orbits
in ether by currents contrary one to the other?

650] But night buries the earth in thick
darkness, either when the sun after his long
course has struck upK)n the utmost parts of
heaven and now exhausted has blown forth all
his fires shaken by their journey and weak-
ened by passing through much air: or else be-
cause the same force which has carried on his
orb above the earth, compels him to change his
course and pass below the earth.

656] At a fixed time too Matuta spreads rosy
morning over the borders of ether and opens
up her light, either because the same sun, com-
ing back below the earth, seizes heaven before
his time trying to kindle it with his rays; or
because fires meet together and many seeds of
heat are accustomed to stream together at a
fixed time, which cause new sunlight to be
born every day. Thus they tell that from the
high mountains of Ida scattered fires are seen
at day-break, that these then unite as it were
into a single ball and make up an orb. And
herein it ought to cause no surprise that these
seeds of fire stream together at a time so surely
fixed and reproduce the radiance of the sun.
For we see many occurrences which take place
at a fixed time in all things. At a fixed time
trees blossom and at a fixed time shed their
blossoms; and at a time no less surely fixed age
bids the teeth be shed and the boy put on the
soft dress of puberty and let a soft beard fall
down equally from each cheek. Lastly light-
nings, snow, rains, clouds, and winds take
place at not very irregular seasons of year. For
where causes from their very first-beginnings
have been in this way and things have thus
fallen out from the first birth of the world, in
due sequence too they now come round after a
fixed order.

680] Likewise days may lengthen and
nights wane, and days shorten when the

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK V

90 WCKETWS

nights receive increase, either because the same and obstructing her in all manner cd ways and

sun running his course below the earth and
above in curves of unlike length parts the
borders of ether and divides his orbit into un-
equal halves; and as he comes round adds on
in the opposite half just as much as he has
subtracted from the other of the nvo halves,
until he has arrived at that sign of heaven,
where the node of the year makes the shades
of night of the same length as the daylight.
For when the sun*s course lies midway be-
tween the blast of the north and of the south,
heaven keeps his two goals apart at distances
now rendered exaedy equal on account of the
position of the whole starry circle, in gliding
through which the sun takes up the period of
a year, lighting with slanting rays earth and
heaven; as is clearly shown by the plans of
those who have mapped out all the quarters of
heaven as they are set oS with their array of
signs. Or else because the air is denser in cer-
tain parts, therefore the quivering beam of
fire is retarded below the earth and cannot
easily pass through and force its way out to
its place of rising: for this reason in winter-
time nights linger long, ere the beamy badge
of day arrive. Or else, because in the way just
mentioned at alternate parts of the year fires
are accustomed to stream together more slowly
and more quickly, which cause the sun to rise
in a certain point, therefore it is that those ap-
pear to speak the truth who suppose a fresh
sun to be born every day.

705] The moon may shine because struck by
the sun’s rays, and turn that light every day
more and more direedy towards our sight, in
proportion as she recedes from the sun’s orb,
until just opposite to him she has shone out
with full light and at her rising as she soars
aloft has beheld his setting; and then by slow
steps reversing as it were her course she must
in the same way hide her light, the nearer and
nearer she now glides to the sun from a dif-
ferent quarter through the circle of the signs;
according to the theory of those who suppose
the moon to be like a ball and to hold on her
course under the sun. She may also very pos-
sibly revolve with her own light and display
various phases of brightness; for there may
wdl be another body which is carried on and
glides in her company getting before her path

yet cannot be seen, because it glides on with-
out light. She may also revolve, like it may be
to a spherical ball steeped over one half in shin-
ing light, and as she rolls round this sphere
she may present changing phases, until she has
turned that half which is illuminated full to-
wards our sight and open eyes; then by slow
steps she whirls back and withdraws the light-
fraught half of the spherical ball; as the Baby-
lonian science of the Chaldees refuting the
system of the astronomers essays to prove in
opposition to them; just as though that which
each party fights for might not be equally
true, or there were any reason why you should
venture to embrace the one theory less than
the other. Again, why a new moon should not
be born every day after a regular succession of
forms and regular phases, and each day the
one which is born perish and another be pro-
duced in its room and stead, it is not easy to
teach by reasoning or prove by words, since
so many things can be born in such a regular
succession.

737] Spring and Venus go their way, and
the winged harbinger of Venus steps on be-
fore; and close on Zephyr’s footprints mother
Flora strews all the way before them and cov-
ers it over with the chWeest colours and
odours. Next in order follows parching heat,
and in its company dusty Ceres and the Etesi-
an blasts of the north winds. Next autumn ad-
vances and Euhius Euan steps on together.
Then other seasons and winds follow, loud-
roaring Volturnus and the south-wind stored
with lightning. At last midwinter brings with
it snows and gives back benumbing cold; after
it follows winter with teeth chattering with
cold. It is therefore the less strange that a
moon is begotten at a fixed time and at a fixed
time is destroyed again, since things may
take place at a time so surelf fixed.

751 ] The eclipses of the suit likewise and the
olxKrurations of the moon yoi| may suppose to
take place from many different causes. For
why should the moon be able|o shut the earth
out from the sun’s light and 4n the earthward
side put in his way her high-exalted head,
placing her dark orb before his burning rays;
and yet at the same time it be thought that an-
other body gliding on ever without light can-

75 M 31 ON THE NATURE OP THINGS, BOOK V

not do the same? Why too should not the sun
be able, quite exhausted, to lose his fires at a
fixed time, and again reproduce his light
when in his journey through the air he has
passed by spots fatal to his flames, which cause
his fires to be quenched and to perish? And
why should the earth be able in turn to rob
the moon of light and moreover herself to
keep the sun suppressed, while in her monthly
course she glides through the well-defined
shadows of the cone; and yet at the same time
another body not be able to pass under the
moon or glide above the sun’s orb, breaking
off its rays and the light it sheds forth? Yes
and if the moon shines with her own bright-
ness, why should she not be able to grow
faint in a certain part of the world, while she
is passing through spots hostile to her own
light?

772] And now further since I have explained
in what way everything might take place
throughout the Wue of the great heaven; how
we might know what force and cause set in
motion the varied courses of the sun and wan-
derings of the moon; and in what way their
light might be intercepted and they be lost to
us and spread darkness over the earth little ex-
pecting it, when so to speak they close their
eye of light and opening it again survey all
places shining in bright radiance, I now go
back to the infancy of the world and the ten-
der age of the fields of earth and show what
first in their early essays of production they
resolved to raise into the borders of light and
give in charge to the wayward winds.

783 J In the beginning the earth gave forth
all kinds of herbage and verdant sheen about
the hills and over all the plains; the flowery
meadows glittered with the bright green hue,
and next in order to the different trees was
given a strong and emulous desire of growing
up into the air with full unbridled powers.
As feathers and hairs and bristles are first born
on the limbs of four-footed beasts and the
body of the strong of wing, thus the new earth
then first put forth grass and bushes, and next
gave birth to the races of mortal creatures
springing up many in number in many ways
after divers fashions. For no living creatures
can have dropped from heaven nor can those
belonging to ^e land have come out of the

salt pools. It follows that with good reason the
earth has gotten the name of mother, since all
things have been produced out of the earth.
And many living creatures even now spring
out of the earth taking form by rains and the
heat of the sun. It is therefore the less strange
if at that time they sprang up more in num-
ber and larger in size, having come to matur-
ity in the freshness of earth and ether. First of
all the race of fowls and the various birds
would leave their eggs, hatched in the spring-
time, just as now in summer the cicades leave
spontaneously their gossamer coats in quest
of a living and life. Then you must know did
the earth first give forth races of mortal men.
For much heat and moisture would then
abound in the fields; and therefore wherever a
suitable spot offered, wombs would grow at-
tached to th^ earth by roots; and when the
warmth of the infants, flying the wet and
craving the air, had opened these in the fulness
of time, nature would turn to that spot the
pores of the earth and constrain it to yield
from its opened veins a liquid most like to
milk, even as now-a-days every woman when
she has borne, is filled with sweet milk, be-
cause all that current of nutriment streams
towards the breasts. To the children the earth
would furnish food, the heat raiment, the
grass a bed rich in abundance of soft down.
Then the fresh youth of the world would give
forth neither severe colds nor excessive heats
nor gales of great violence; for all things grow
and acquire strength in a like proportion.

821] Wherefore again and again I say the
earth with good title has gotten and keeps the
name of mother, since she of herself gave birth
to mankind and at a time nearly fixed shed
forth every beast that ranges wildly over the
great mountains, and at the same time the
fowls of the air with all their varied shapes.
But because she must have some limit set to
her bearing, she ceased like a woman worn
out by length of days. For time changes the
nature of the whole world and all things must
pass on from one condition to another, and
nothing continues like to itself: all things quit
their bounds, all things nature changes and
compels to alter. One tblbg crumbles away
and is worn and enfeebled with age, then an-
other comes unto honour and issues out of its

7 a LUCRETIUS 834-907

state of contempt. In this way then time
changes the nature of the whole world and
the earth passes out of one condition into an-
other: what once it could, it can bear no more,
in order to be able to bear what before it did
not bear.

837] And many monsters too the earth at
that time essayed to produce, things coming
up with strange face and limbs, the man-
woman, a thing between the two and neither
the one sex nor the other, widely differing
from both; some things deprived of feet, oth-
ers again destitute of hands, others too proving
dumb without mouth, or blind without eyes,
and things bound fast by the adhesion of their
limbs over all the body, so that they could not
do anything nor go anywhere nor avoid the
evil nor take what their needs required.
Every other monster and portent of this kind
she would produce, but all in vain, since na-
ture set a ban on their increase and they could
not reach the coveted flower of age nor find
food nor be united in marriage. For we see
that many conditions must meet together in
things in order that they may beget and con-
tinue their kinds; first a supply of food, then
a way by which the birth-producing seeds
throughout the frame may stream from- the
relaxed limbs; also in order that the woman
may be united with the male, the possession
of organs whereby they may each interchange
mutual joys.

855] And many races of living things must
then have died out and been unable to beget
and continue their breed. For in the case of all
things which you sec breathing the breath of
life, cither craft or courage or else speed has
from the beginning of its existence protected
and preserved each particular race. And there
arc many things which, recommended to us by
their useful services, continue to exist con-
signed to our protection. In the first place the
fierce breed of lions and the savage races their
courage has protected, foxes their craft and
stags their pronencss to fight. But light-sleep-
ing dogs with faithful heart in breast and
every kind which is born of the seed of beasts
of burden and at the same time the woolly
flocks and the horned herds arc all consigned,
Memmius, to the protection of man. For they
have ever fled with eagerness from wild beasts

and have ensued peace and plenty of food ob-
tained without their own labour, as we give it
in requital of their useful services. But those
to whom nature has granted none of these
qualities, so that they could neither live by
their own means nor perform for us any useful
service in return for which we should suffer
their kind to feed and be safe under our pro-
tection, those, you are to know, would lie ex-
posed as a prey and booty of others, hampered
all in their own death-bringing shackles, until
nature brought that kind to utter destruction.

878] But Centaurs never have existed, and
at no time can there exist things of twofold
nature and double body formed into one
frame out of limbs of alien kinds, such that
the faculties and powers of this and that por-
tion cannot be sufficiently like. This however
dull of understanding you may learn from
what follows. To begin, a horse when three
years have gone round is in the prime of his
vigour, far different the boy: often even at
that age he will call in his sleep for the milk
of the breast. Afterwards when in advanced
age his lusty strength and limbs now faint
with ebbing life fail the horse, then and not
till then youth in the flower of age commences
for that boy and clothes his cheeks in soft
down; that you may not h^ly believe that out
of a man and the burden-carrying seed of
horses Centaurs can be formed and have be-
ing; or that Scyllas with bodies half those of
fishes girdled round with raving dogs can
exist, and all other things of the kind, whose
limbs we see cannot harmonize together; as
they neither come to their flower at the same
time nor reach the fulness of their bodily
strength nor lose it in advanced old age, nor
burn with similar passions nor have compat-
ible manners, nor feel the same things give
pleasure throughout their frames. Thus we
may see bearded goats often f:|tten on hemlock
which for man is rank poison.

901 ] Since flame moreover fs wont to scorch
and burn the tawny bodies ^f iions just as
much as any other kind of fle|h and blood ex-
isting on earth, how could it! be that a single
chimera with triple body, in front a lion, be-
hind a dragon, in the middle the goat whose
name it bears, could breathe out at the mouth
fierce flame from its body? Wherefore also he

908-9^3 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK V

who fables that in the new time of the earth
and the fresh youth of heaven such living crea-
tures could have been begotten, resting upon
this one futile term new, may babble out
many things in like fashion, may say that riv-
ers then ran with gold over all parts of the
earth and that trees were wont to blossom
with precious stones, or that man was born
with such giant force of frame that he could
wade on foot across deep seas and whirl the
whole heaven about him with his hands. For
the fact that there were many seeds of things
in the earth what time it first shed forth living
creatures, is yet no proof that there could have
been produced beasts of different kinds mixed
together, and limbs of different living things
formed into a single frame, because the kinds
of herbage and corn and joyous trees which
even now spring in plenty out of the earth yet
cannot be produced with the several sorts
plaited into one, but each thing goes on after
its own fashion, and all preserve their dis-
tinctive differences according to a fixed law of
nature.

925] But the race of man then in the fields
was much hardier, as beseemed it to be, since
the hard earth had produced it; and built on a
groundwork of larger and more solid bones
within, knit with powerful sinews throughout
the frame of flesh; not lightly to be disabled
by heat or cold or strange kinds of food or any
malady of body. And during the revolution of
many lustres of the sun through heaven they
led a life after the roving fashion of wild
beasts. No one then was a sturdy guidcr of the
bent plough or knew how to labour the fields
with iron or plant in the ground young sap-
lings or lop with pruning'hooks old boughs
from the high trees. What the sun and rains
had given, what the earth had produced spon-
taneously, was guerdon sufficient to content
their hearts. Among acorn-bearing oaks they
would refresh their bodies for the most part;
and the arbute-berries which you now see in
the winter-time ripen with a bright scarlet
hue, the earth would then bear in greatest
plenty and of a larger size; and many coarse
kinds of food besides the teeming freshness of
the world then bare, more than enough for
poor wretched men. But rivers and springs in-
vited to slake thirst, even as now a rush of

water down from the great hills summons
with clear plash far and wide the thirsty races
of wild beasts. Then too as they ranged about
they would occupy the well-knowm woodland
haunts of the nymphs, out of which they knew
that smooth-gliding streams of water with a
copious gush bathed the dripping rocks, the
dripping rocks, trickling down over the green
moss; and in parts welled and bubbled out
over the level plain. And as yet they knew not
how to apply fire to their purposes or to make
use of skins and clothe their body in the spoils
of wild beasts, but they would dwell in woods
and mountain-caves and forests and shelter in
the brushwood their squalid limbs when
driven to shun the buffeting of the winds and
the rains. And they were unable to look to
the general weal and knew not how to make a
common us? of any customs or laws. What-
ever prize fortune threw in his way, each man
would bear off, trained at his own discretion
to think of himself and live for himself alone.
And Venus would join the bodies of lovers in
the woods; for each woman was gained over
either by mutual desire or the headstrong vio-
lence and vehement lust of the man or a bribe
of some acorns and arbute-berries or choice
pears. And trusting to the marvellous powers
of their hands and feet they would pursue the
forest-haunting races of wild beasts with show-
ers of stones and club of ponderous weight;
and many they would conquer, a few they
would avoid in hiding-places; and like to
bristly swine just as they were they would
throw their savage limbs all naked on the
ground, when overtaken by night, covering
themselves up with leaves and boughs. Yet
never w^ith loud wailings would they call for
the daylight and the sun, wandering terror-
stricken over the fields in the shadows of
night, but silent and buried in sleep they
would wait, till the sun with rosy torch car-
ried light into heaven; for accustomed as they
had been from childhood always to see dark-
ness and light begotten time about, never
could any wonder come over them, nor any
misgiving that never-ending night would cov-
er the earth and the light pi the sun be with-
drawn for evermore. Bfit what gave them
trouble w^as rather the races of wild beasts
which would often render repose fatal to the

74 LVCRSTWS 984-1061

poor wretches. And driven from their home tures they declared in stammering speech that
they would fly from their rocky shelters on the meet it is for all to have mercy on the weak«

approach of a foaming bear or a strong lion,
and in the dead of night they would surrender
in terror to their savage guests their sleeping*
places strewn with leaves.

988] Nor then much more than now would
the races of mortal men leave the sweet light
of ebbing life. For then this one or that other
one of them would be more likely to be seized,
and torn open by their teeth would furnish to
the wild beasts a living food, and would fill
with his moaning woods and mountains and
forests as he looked on his living flesh buried
in a living grave. But those whom flight had
saved with body eaten into, holding ever after
their quivering palms over the noisome sores
would summon death with appalling cries, un*
til cruel gripings had rid them of life, forlorn
of help, unwitting what wounds wanted. But
then a single day gave not over to death many
thousands of men marching with banners
spread, nor did the stormy waters of the sea
dash on the rocks men and ships. At this time
the sea would often rise up and rage without
aim, without purpose, without result, and just
as lighdy put off its empty threats; nor pould
the winning wiles of the calm sea treacherous-
ly entice any one to his ruin with laughing
waters, when the reckless craft of the skipper
had not yet risen into the light. Then too want
of food would consign to death their fainting
frames, now on the contrary ’tis plenty sinks
into ruin. They unwittingly would often pour
out poison for themselves; now with nicer skill
men give it to their son’s wife instead.

loii] Next after they had got themselves
huts and skins and fire, and the woman united
with the man passed with him into one domi-
cile and the duties of wedlock were learnt by
the two, and they saw an offspring born from
them, then first mankind began to soften. For
fire made their chilled bodies less able now to
bear the frost beneath the canopy of heaven,
and Venus impaired their strength and chil-
dren with their caresses soon broke down the
haughty temper of parents. Then too neigh-
bours txgan to join in a league of friendship
mutually desiring neither to do nor suffer
harm; and asked for indulgence to children
and womankind, when with cries and ges-

And though harmony could not be established
without exception, yet a very large portion ob-
served their agreements with good faith, or
else the race of man would then have been
wholly cut off, nor could breeding have con-
tinued their generations to this day.

1028] But nature impelled them to utter the
various sounds of the' tongue and use struck
out the names of things, much in the same
way as the inability to speak is seen in its turn
to drive children to the use of gestures, when
it forces them to point with the finger at the
things which are before them. For every one
feels how far he can make use of his peculiar
powers. Ere the horns of a calf arc formed and
project from his forehead, he butts with it
when angry and pushes out in his rage. Then
whelps of panthers and cubs of lions fight with
claws and feet and teeth at a time when teeth
and claws are hardly yet formed. Again we
see every kind of fowl trust to wings and seek
from pinions a fluttering succour. Therefore
to suppose that some one man at that time ap-
portioned names to things and that men from
him learnt their first words, is sheer folly. For
why should this particular man be able to de-
note all things by words and to utter the var-
ious sounds of the tongue, and yet at the same
time others be supposed not to have been able
to do so? Again if others as well as he had not
made use of words among themselves, whence
was implanted in this man the previous con-
ception of its use and whence was given to
him the original faculty, to know and perceive
in mind what he wanted to doP Again one
man could not constrain and subdue and force
many to choose to learn the , names of things.
It it no easy thing in any way to teach and
convince the deaf of whatsis needful to be
done; for they never would Isuffer nor in any
way endure sounds of voice pitherto unheard
to continue to be dinned fniitlessly into their
ears. Lastly what is there so passing strange in
this circumstance, that the rice of men whose
voice and tongue were in full force, should de-
note things by different wprds as different
feelings prompted? Since dumb brutes, yes
and the races of wild beasts are accustomed to
gave forth distinct and varied sounds, when

io 62 ^tiS 5 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS. BOOK V

they have fear or pain and when joys are rife.

1062] This you may learn from facts plain
to sense: when the large spongy open lips of
Molossian dogs begin to growl enraged and
bare their hard teeth, thus drawn back in rage
they tiireaten in a tone far different from that
in which they bark outright and Hll with
sounds all the places round. Again when they
essay fondly to lick their whelps with their
tongue or when they toss them with their feet
and snapping at them make a feint with light*
ly closing teeth of swallowing though with
gentle forbearance, they caress them with a
yelping sound of a sort greatly differing from
that which they utter when, left alone in a
house, they bay or when they slink away howl-
ing from blows with a crouching body. Again
is not the neigh too seen to differ, when a
young stallion in the flower of age rages
among the mares smitten by the goads of
winged love, and when with wide-stretched
nostrils he snorts out the signal to arms, and
when as it chances on any other occasion he
neighs with limbs all shaking? Lastly the race
of fowls and various birds, hawks and ospreys
and gulls seeking their living in the salt water
mid the waves of the sea, utter at a different
time noises widely different from those they
make when they aic fighting for food and
struggling with their prey. And some of them
change together with the weather their harsh
croakings, as the long-lived races of crows and
flocks of rooks when they are said to be calling
for water and rain and sometimes to be sum-
moning winds and gales. Therefore if differ-
ent sensations compel creatures, dumb though
they be, to utter different sounds, how much
more natural it is that mortal men in those
times should have been able to denote dissimi-
lar things by many different words I

1091] And lest haply on this head you ask in
silent thought this question, it was lightning
that brought fire down on earth for mortals
in the beginning; thence the whole heat of
flames is spread abroad. Thus we see many
things shine dyed in heavenly flames, when the
stroke from heaven has stored them with its
heat. Ay and without this when a branching
tree sways to and fro and tosses about under
the buffeting of the winchi, pressing against
the boughs of another tree, fire is forced out

by the power of the violent friction, and some-
times the burning heat of flame flashes out,
the boughs and stems rubbing against each
other. Now either of these accidents may have
given fire to men. Next the sun taught them
to cook food and soften it with the heat of
flame, since they would see many things grow
mellow, when subdued by the strokes of the
rays and by beat throughout the land.

1105] And more and more every day men
who excelled in intellect and were of vigorous
understanding, would kindly show them how
to exchange their former way of living for new
methods. Kings began to build towns and lay
out a citadel as a place of strength and of ref-
uge for themselves, and divided cattle and
lands and gave to each man in proportion to
his personal beauty and strength and intellect;
for beauty and vigorous strength were much
esteemed. Afterwards wealth was discovered
and gold found out, which soon robbed of
their honours strong and beautiful alike; for
men however valiant and beautiful of person
generally follow in the train of the richer man.
But were a man to order his life by the rules
of true reason, a frugal subsistence joined to
a contented mind is for him great riches; for
never is there any lack of a little. But men de-
sired to be famous and powerful, in order that
their fortunes might rest on a Arm foundation
and they might be able by their wealth to lead
a tranquil life; but in vain, since in their strug-
gle to mount up to the highest dignities they
rendered their path one full of danger; and
even if they reach it, yet envy like a thunder-
bolt sometimes strikes and dashes men down
from the highest point with ignominy into
noisome Tartarus; since the highest summits
and those elevated above the level of other
things are mostly blasted by envy as by a thun-
derbolt; so that far better it is to obey in peace
and quiet than to wish to rule with power su-
preme and be the master of kingdoms. There-
fore let men wear themselves out to no pur-
pose and sweat drops of blood, as they struggle
on along the strait road of ambition, since they
gather their knowledge from the mouths of
others and follow after things from hearsay
rather than the dictates their own feelings;
and this prevails not now nor will prevail by
and by any more than it has prevailed before.

76 LUCRETIUS 1x36-121^

1136] Kings therefore being slain the old powers. And they would give them life ever-
tnajesty of thrones and proud sceptres were lasting, because their face would ever appear

overthrown and laid in the dust, and the glor-
ious badge of the sovereign head bloodstained
beneath the feet of the rabble mourned for its
high prerogative; for that is greedily trampled
on which before was too much dreaded. It
would come then in the end to the lees of ut-
termost disorder, each man seeking for him-
self empire and sovereignty. Next a portion of
them taught men to elect legal officers, and
drew up codes, to induce men to obey the laws.
For mankind, tired out with a life of brute
force, lay exhausted from its feuds; and there-
fore the more readily it submitted of its own
freewill to laws and stringent codes. For as
each one moved by anger took measures to
avenge himself with more severity than is
now permitted by equitable laws, for this rea-
son men grew sick of a life of brute force.
Thence fear of punishment mars the prizes of
life; for violence and wrong enclose all who
commit them in their meshes and do mostly
recoil on him from whom they began; and it
is not easy for him who by his deeds tran-
gresses the terms of the public peace to pass a
tranquil and a peaceful existence. For though
he eludes God and man, yet he cannot but feel
a misgiving that his secret can be kept for
ever; seeing that many by speaking in their
dreams or in the wanderings of disease "have
often we are told betrayed themselves and
have disclosed their hidden deeds of evil and
their sins.

1161} And now what cause has spread over
great nations the worship of the divinities of
the gods and filled towns with altars and led
to the performance of stated sacred rites, rites
now in fashion on solemn occasions and in
solemn places, from which even now is im-
planted in mortals a shuddering awe which
raises new temples of the gods over the whole
earth and prompts men to crowd them on fes-
tive days, all this it is not so difficult to explain
in words. Even then in sooth the races of mor-
tal men would sec in waking mind glorious
forms, would see them in sleep of yet more
marvellous size of body. To these then they
would attribute sense, because they seemed to
move their limbs and to utter lofty words suit-
able to their glorious aspect and surpassing

before them and their form abide; yes and yet
without all this, because they would not be-
lieve that beings possessed of such powers
could lightly be overcome by any force. And
they would believe them to be pre-eminent in
bliss, because none of them was ever troubled
with the fear of death, and because at the same
time in sleep they would see them perform
many miracles, yet feel on their part no fatigue
from the effort. Again they would see the sys-
tem of heaven and the different seasons of the
years come round in regular succession, and
could not find out by what causes this was
done; therefore they would seek a refuge in
handing over all things to the gods and sup-
posing all things to be guided by their nod.
And they placed in heaven the abodes and
realms of the gods, because night and moon
are seen to roll through heaven, moon, day,
and night and night’s austere constellations
and night-wandering meteors of the sky and
flying bodies of flame, clouds, sun, rains, snow,
winds, lightnings, hail, and rapid rumblings
and loud threatful thunderclaps.

1194] O hapless race of men, when that they
charged the gods with such acts and coupled
with them bitter wrath I What groanings did
they then beget for themselves, what wounds
for us, what tears for our children’s children!
No act is it of piety to be often seen with veiled
head to turn to a stone and approach every
altar and fall prostrate on the ground and
spread out the palms before the statues of the
gods and sprinkle the altars with much blood
of beasts and link vow on to vow, but rather
to be able to look on all things with a mind at
peace. For when we turn our gaze on the heav-
enly quarters of the great upper world and
ether fast above the glittering stars, and direct
our thoughts to the courses of the sun and
moon, then into our breasts [burdened with
other ills that fear as well begins to exalt its re-
awakened head, the fear that^ wt may haply
find the power of the gods tb be unlimited,
able to wheel the bright stars: in their varied
motion; for lack of power to solve the ques-
tion troubles the mind with doubts, whether
there was ever a birth-time of the world, and
v/hether likewise there is to be any end; how

I 2 i 4 r‘i 289 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK V

far the walls of the world can endure this
strain of restless motion; or whether gifted by
the grace of the gods with an everlasting exis-
tence they may glide on through a never-end-
ing tract of time and defy the strong powers
of immeasurable ages. Again who is there
whose mind does not shrink into itself with
fear of the gods, whose limbs do not cower in
terror, when the parched earth rocks with the
appalling thunderstroke and rattlings run
through the great heaven? Do not peoples and
nations quake, and proud monarchs shrink in-
to themselves smitten with fear of the gods,
lest for any foul transgression or overweening
word the heavy time of reckoning has arrived
at its fulness? When too the utmost fury of
the headstrong wind passes over the sea and
sweeps over its waters the commander of a
fleet together with his mighty legions and ele-
phants, does he not draw near with vows to
seek the mercy of the gods and ask in prayer
with fear and fTrmbling a lull in the winds
and propitious gales; but all in vain, since of-
ten caught up in the furious hurricane he is
borne none the less to the shoals of death? so
constantly does some hidden power trample
on human grandeur and is seen to tread under
its heel and make sport for itself of the re-
nowned rods and cruel axes. Again when the
whole earth rocks under their feet and towns
tumble with the shock or doubtfully threaten
to fall, what wonder that mortal men abase
themselves and make over to the gods in
things here on earth high prerogatives and
marvelous powers, sufficient to govern all
things ?

1241] To proceed, copper and gold and iron
were discovered and at the same time weighty
silver and the substance of lead, when Hre with
its heat and burnt up vast forests on the great
hills, either by a discharge of heaven’s light-
ning, or else because men waging with one an-
other a forest-war had carried fire among the
enemy in order to strike terror, or because
drawn on by the goodness of the soil they
would wish to clear rich fields and bring the
country into pasture, or else to destroy wild
beasts and enrich themselves with the booty;
for hunting with the pitfall and with fire
came into use before the practice of enclosing
the lawn with toils and stirring it with dogs.

Whatever the fact is, from whatever cause the
heat of flame had swallowed up the forests
with a frightful crackling from their very
roots and had thoroughly baked the earth
with fire, there would run from the boiling
veins and collect into the hollows of the
ground a stream of silver and gold, as well as
of copper and lead. And when they saw these
afterwards cool into lumps and glitter on the
earth with a brilliant gleam, they would lift
them up attracted by the bright and polished
lustre, and they would see them to be moulded
in a shape the same as the outline of the cav-
ities in which each lay. Then it would strike
them that these might be melted by heat and
cast in any form or shape soever, and might
by hammering out be brought to tapering
points of any degree of sharpness and fineness,
so as to furiush them with tools and enable
them to cut the forests and hew timber and
plane smooth the planks, and also to drill and
pierce and bore. And they would set about
these works just as much with silver and gold
at first as with the overpowering strength of
stout copper, but in vain, since their force
would fail and give way and not be able like
copper to stand the severe strain. At that time
copper was in higher esteem and gold would
lie neglected on account of its uselessness, with
its dull blunted edge: now copper lies neg-
lected, gold has mounted up to the highest
place of honour. Thus time as it goes round
changes the seasons of things. That which was
in esteem, falls at length into utter disrepute;
and then another thing mounts up and issues
out of its degraded state and every day is more
and more coveted and blossoms forth high in
honour when discovered and is in marvellous
repute with men.

1281 ] And now, Memmius, it is easy for you
to find out by yourself in what way the nature
of iron was discovered. Arms of old were
hands, nails, and teeth and stones and boughs
broken off from the forests, and flame and fire,
as soon as they had become known. After-
wards the force of iron and copper was dis-
covered; and the use of copper was known be-
fore that of iron, as its nature is easier to work
and it is found in greater qfiantity. With cop-
per they would labour the soil of the earth,
with copper stir up the billows of war and

deal about wide-ga|niig wounds and seize cat-
tle and lands; for every thing defenceless and
unarmed would readily yield to them with
arms in hand. Then by slow steps the sword
of iron gained ground and the make of the
copper sickle became a by-word; and with iron
they began to plough through the earth’s soil,
and the struggles of wavering war were ren-
dered equal. And the custom of mounting in
arms on the back of a horse and guiding him
with reins and showing prowess with the right
hand is older than that of tempting the risks
of war in a two-horsed chariot; and yoking a
pair of horses is older than yoking four or
mounting in arms scythed chariots. Next the
Poeni taught the Lucan kinc‘ with towered
body, hideous of aspect, with snake-like hand,
to endure the wounds of war and to disorder
the mighty ranks of Mars. Thus sad discord
begat one thing after another, to affright na-
tions of men under arms, and every day made
some addition to the terrors of war.

1308] They made trial of bulls too in the
service of war and essayed to send savage boars
against the enemy. And some sent before them
valorous lions with armed trainers and cour-
ageous keepers to guide them and to hold
them in chains; but in vain, since heated With
promiscuous slaughter they would disorder in
their rage the troops without distinction, shak-
ing all about the frightful crests upon their
heads; and the horsemen were not able to calm
the breasts of the horses scared by the roaring
and turn them with the bridle upon the en-
emy. The lionesses with a spring would throw
their enraged bodies on all sides and would
attack in the face those who met them, and
others off their guard they would tear down
from behind and twining round them would
bring them to the ground overpowered by the
wound, fastening on them with firm bite and
with hooked claws. The bulls would toss their
own friends and trample them under foot, and
gore with their horns the flanks and bellies of
the horses underneath and turn up the earth
with threatening front. The boars too would
rend their friends with powerful tusks, in
their rage dyeing with their blood the weapons
broken in them, ay dyeing with their blood
the weapons broken in their own bodies; and
ifikphanti.

/a90*/j70

would put to promiscuous rout horse and
foot; for the tame beasts would try to avoid by
shying to the side the cruel push of the tusk,
or would rear up and paw the winds, all in
vain, since you might see them tumble down
with their tendons severed and strew th^
ground in their heavy fall. Those whom they
believed before to have been sufficiently bro-
ken in at home, they would see lash them-
selves into fury in the heat of action from
wounds and shouting, flight, panic, and up-
roar; and they could not rally any portion of
them; for all the different kinds of wild beasts
would fly all abroad; just as now the Lucan
kinc when cruelly mangled by the steel fly
often all abroad, after inflicting on their
friends many cruel sufferings. But men chose
thus to act not so much in any hope of victory,
as from a wish to give the enemy something to
rue at the cost of their own lives, when they
mistrusted their numbers and were in want of
arms.

^350] A garment tied on the body was in
use before a dress of woven stuff. Woven stuff
comes after iron, because iron is needed for
weaving a web; and in no other way can such
finely polished things be made, as heddles and
spindles, shuttles and rising yarn-beams.
And nature impelled men to work up the
wool before womankind: for the male sex in
general far excels the other in skill and is
much more ingenious: until the rugged coun-
trymen so upbraided them with it, that they
were glad to give it over into the hands of the
women and take their share in supporting
hard toil, and in such hard work hardened
body and hands.

1361] But nature parent of things was her-
self the first model of sowing and first gave
rise to grafting, since berries find acorns drop-
ping from the trees would |)ut forth in due
season swarms of young shoots underneath;
and hence also came the fasfiion of inserting
grafts in their stocks and Iplanting in the
ground young saplings overt the fields. Next
they would try another and ^t another kind
of tillage for their loved pne of land and
would see the earth better^ the wild fruits
through genial fostering and kindly cultiva-
tion. And they would force the forests to re-
cede every day higher and higher up the hill-

WCRETIUS

on the nature OP THINGS, BOOK V

side and yield the ground below to tilth, in or-
der to have on the uplands and plains mead-
ows, tanks, runnels, corn-fields, and glad vine-
yards, and allow a grey-green strip of olives to
run between and mark the divisions, spread-
ing itself over hillocks and valleys and plains;
just as you now see richly dight with varied
beauty all the ground which they lay out and
plant with rows of sweet fruit-trees and en-
close all round with plantations of other good-
ly trees.

1379] But imitating with the mouth the
clear notes of birds was in use long before men
were able to sing in tune smooth-running
verses and give pleasure to the car. And the
whistlings of the zephyr through the hollows
of reeds first taught peasants to blow into hol-
low stalks. Then step by step they learned
sweet plaintive ditties, which the pipe pours
forth pressed by the fingers of the players,
heard through pathless woods and forests and
lawns, through' die unfrequented haunts of
shepherds and abodes of unearthly calm.
These things would soothe and gratify their
minds when sated with food; for then all things
of this kind are welcome. Often therefore
stretched in groups on the soft grass beside a
stream of water under the boughs of a high
tree at no great cost they would pleasantly re-
fresh their bodies, above all when the weather
smiled and the seasons of the year painted the
green grass with flowers. Then went round the
jest, the tale, the peals of merry laughter; for
the peasant muse was then in its glory; then
frolick mirth would prompt to entwine head
and shoulders with garlands plaited with flow-
ers and leaves, and to advance in the dance
out of step and move the limbs clumsily and
with clumsy foot beat mother earth; which
would occasion smiles and peals of merry
laughter, because all these things then from
their greater novelty and strangeness were in
high repute. And the wakeful found a solace
for want of sleep in this, in drawing out a
variety of notes and going through tunes and
running over the reeds with curving lip;
whence even at the present day watchmen ob-
serve these traditions and have lately learned
to keep the proper fune; and yet for all this
receive not a jot more of enjoyment, than erst
the rugged race of sons of earth received. For

that which we have in our hands, if we have
known before nothing pleasanter, pleases above
all and is thought to be the best; and as a rule
the later discovery of something better spoils
the taste for the former things and changes the
feelings in regard to all that has gone before.
Thus began distaste for the acorn, thus were
abandoned those sleeping-places strewn with
grass and enriched with leaves. The dress too
of wild beasts’ skin fell into neglect; though I
can fancy that in those days it was found to
arouse such jealousy that he who first wore it
met his death by an ambuscade, and after all
it was torn in pieces among them and
drenched in blood was utterly destroyed and
could not be turned to any use. In those times
therefore skins, now gold and purple plague
men’s lives with cares and wear them out with
war. And in -this methinks the greater blame
rests with us; for cold would torture the
naked sons of earth without their skins; but
us it harms not in the least to do without a
robe of purple, spangled with gold and large
figures, if only we have a dress of the people
to protect us. Mankind therefore ever toils
vainly and to no purpose and wastes life in
groundless cares, because sure enough they
have not learnt what is the true end of getting
and up to what point genuine pleasure goes
on increasing: this by slow degrees has car-
ried life out into the deep sea and stirred up
from their lowest depths the mighty billows of
war.

1436] But those watchful guardians, sun
and moon, traversing with their light all
round the great revolving sphere of heaven
taught men that the seasons of the year came
round and that the system was carried on after
a fixed plan and fixed order.

1440] Already they would pass their life
fenced about with strong towers, and the
land, portioned out and marked off by bound-
aries, be tilled; the sea would be filled with
ships scudding under sail; towns have auxil-
iaries and allies as stipulated by treaty, when
poets began to consign the deeds of men to
verse; and letters had not been invented long
before. For this reason our age cannot look
back to what has gone bef^, save where rea-
son points out any traces.

1448] Ships and tillage, walls, laws, arms,

8o LUCRETIUS i44^i^^y;

roads, dress, and all such like things, all the
prizes, all the elegancies too of life without ex*
ception, poems, pictures, and the chiselling of
fine-wrought statues, all these things practiced
together with the acquired knowledge of the
untiring mind taught men by slow degrees as
they advanced on the way step by step. Thus

time by degrees brings each several thing forth
before men’s eyes and reason raises it up into
the borders of light; for things must be
brought to light one after the other and in
due order in the different arts, until these
have reached their highest point of develop*
ment.

• BOOK SIX •

In days of yore Athens of famous name first
imparted corn-producing crops to suffering
mankind, and modelled life anew and passed
laws; and first too bestowed sweet solaces of
existence, when she gave birth to a man who
showed himself gifted with such a genius and
poured forth all knowledge of old from his
truth-telling mouth; whose glory, even now
that he is dead, on account of his godlike dis-
coveries confirmed by length of time is spread
abroad among men and reaches high as heav-
en. For when he saw that the things which
their needs imperiously demand for subsist-
ence, had all without exception been already
provided for men, and that life, so far as was
possible, was placed on a sure footing,* that
men were great in affluence of riches and
honours and glory and swelled with pride in
the high reputation of their children, and yet
that none of them at home for all that had a
heart the less disquieted, and that this heart in
despite of the understanding plagued life
without any respite and was constrained to
rave with distressful complainings, he then
perceived that the vessel itself did cause the
corruption and that by its corruption all the
things that came into it and were gathered
from abroad, however salutary were spoilt
within it; partly because he saw it to be leaky
and full of holes so that it could never by any
means be filled full; partly bccatkse he per-
ceived that it befouled so to say with a nause-
ous flavour everything within it, which it had
taken in. He therefore cleansed men’s breasts
with truth-telling precepts and fixed a limit to
lust and fear and explained what was the chief
good which we all strive to reach, and pointed
out the road along which by a short cross*
track we might arrive at it in a straightforward

course; he showed too what evils existed in
mortal affairs throughout, rising up and mani-
foldly flying about by a natural — call it chance
or force, because nature had so brought it
about; and from what gates you must sally out
duly to encounter each; and he proved that
mankind mostly without cause arouse in their
breast the melancholy tumbling billows of
cares. For even as children are flurried and
dread all things in the thick darkness, thus we
in the daylight fear at times things not a whit
more to be dreaded than what children shud-
der at in the dark and fancy sure to be. This
terror therefore and darkness of mind must
be dispelled not by the rays of the sun and
glittering shafts of day, but by the aspect and
law of nature. Whereforc*^ the more readily I
will go on in my verses to complete the web of
my design.

43] And since I have shown that the quar-
ters of ether arc mortal and that heaven is
formed of a body that had a birth, and since
of all the things which go on and must go on
in it, I have unravelled most, hear further
what remains to be told; since once for all I
have willed to mount the illustrious chariot of
the Muses, and ascending to heaven to explain
the true law of winds and storms, which men
foolishly lay to the charge of the gods, telling
how, when they arc angry, ^ they raise fierce
tempests; and, when there is^a lull in the fury
of the winds, how that anget is appeased, how
the omens which have been i^e again changed,
when their fury has thus been appeased: I
have willed at the same timtf to explain all the
other things which mortals observe to go on
upon earth and in heaven, when often they
are in anxious suspense of mind, and which
abase their souls with fear of the gods and

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK VI 8i

weigh and press them down to earth, because
ignorance of the causes constrains them to
submit things to the empire of the gods and
to make over to them the kingdom. For they
who have been rightly taught that the gods
lead a life without care, if nevertheless they
wonder on what plan all things can be carried
on, above all in regard to those things which
are seen overhead in the ethereal borders, are
borne back again into their old religious
scruples and take unto themselves hard task-
masters, whom they poor wretches believe to
be almighty, not knowing what can, what
cannot be, in short on what principle each
thing has its powers defined, its deep-set
boundary mark; and therefore they are led
all the farther astray by blind reason.

68] Now unless you drive from your mind
with loathing all these things, and banish far
from you all belief in things degrading to the
gods and inconsistent with their peace, then
often will the. ho!’* deities of the gods, having
their majesty lessened by you, do you hurt; not
that the supreme power of the gods can be so
outraged, that in their wrath they shall resolve
to exact sharp vengeance, but because you will
fancy to yourself that they, though they enjoy
quiet and calm |)eacc, do roll great billows of
wrath; nor will you approach the sanctuaries
of the gods with a calm breast nor will you be
able with tranquil |)eacc of mind to take in
those idols which are carried from their holy
body into the minds of men, as heralds of
their divine form. And what kind of life fol-
lows after this, may be conceived. But in order
that most veracious reason may drive it far
away from us, though much has already gone
forth from me, much however still remains
and has to be embellished in smooth-polished
verses; the law and aspect of heaven have to
be grasped; storms and bright lightnings,
what they do and from what cause they are
borne along, ail this has to be sung; that you
may not mark out the heaven into quarters
and be startled and distracted on seeing from
which of them the volant fire has come or to
which of the two halves it has betaken itself,
in what way it has gained an entrance within
walled places, and hbw after lording it with
tyrant sway, it has gotten itsdf out from these.
Do thou, deft muse Calliope, solace of men

and joy of gods, point out the course before
me as I race to the white boundary-line of the
final goal, that under thy guidance I may win
the crown with signal applause.

96] In the first place the blue of heaven is
shaken with thunder, because the ethereal
clouds clash together as they fly aloft when
the winds combat from opposite quarters.
For no sound ever comes from a cloudless
part of heaven, but wheresoever the clouds
are gathered in a denser mass, from that part
with greater frequency comes a clap with a
loud growl. Again clouds cannot be either of
so dense a body as stones and timbers, nor
again so fine as mists and flying bodies of
smoke; for then they must either fall borne
down by their dead weight like stones, or like
smoke they would be unable to keep together
and hold within frozen snows and hail-
showers. They also give forth a sound over
the levels of the wide-stretching upper world,
just as at times a canvas-awning stretched
over large theatres makes a creaking noise,
when it tosses about among the poles and
beams; sometimes, too, rent by the boisterous
gales it madly howls and closely imitates the
rasping noise of pieces of paper: for this kind
of noise too you may observe in thunder: you
may observe again the sound which is heard
when the winds whirl about with their blows
and buffet through the air either a hanging
cloth or flying bits of paper. For sometimes
the clouds cannot meet front to front in direct
collision, but must rather move from the flank
and so with contrary motions graze leisurely
along each other’s bodies; whence comes that
dry sound which brushes the ears and is long
drawn out, until they have made their way
out of their confined positions.

121] In this way also all things appear to
quake often from the shock of heavy thunder,
and the mighty walls of the far-stretching
ether seem in an instant to have been riven
and to have sprung asunder; when a storm of
violent wind has suddenly gathered and
worked itself into the clouds and, there shut
in, with its whirling eddy ever more and more
on all sides, forces the cloud to become hollow
with a thick surrounding afiist of body; after-
wards when its force and impetuous onset
have split it, then the cloud thus rent gives

8 a LUCRETIUS 129-201

foith a crash with a frightful hurtling noise.
And no wonder, when a small bladder filled
with air often emits a hideous sound if sud-
denly burst.

132] It can also be explained how the winds,
when they blow through the clouds, make
noises; we see branching and rough clouds
often borne along in many ways; thus, you
are to know, when the blasts of the northwest
blow through a dense forest, the leaves give
forth a rustling and the boughs a crashing.
Sometimes too the force of the strong wind in
rapid motion rends the cloud, breaking
through it by an assault right in front: what
a blast of wind can do there, is shown by facts
plain to sense, when here on earth where it is
gentler it yet twists out tall trees and tears
them up from their deepest roots. There are
also waves among the clouds and they give a
kind of roar as they break heavily; just as in
deep rivers and on the great sea when the surf
breaks. Sometimes too when the burning
force of thunder has fallen out of one cloud
into another, if haply the latter contains much
moisture when it has taken the fire into it, it
drowns it at once with a loud noise; just so
iron glowing hot from the fiery furnaces
sometimes hisses, when we have plunged it
quickly into cold water. Again if the cloud
which receives the fire is drier, it is set on
fire in an instant and burns with a loud ftoise;
)ust as if a flame should range over the laurel-
covered hills through a whirlwind and burn
them up with its impetuous assault; and
there is not anything that burns in the crack-
ling flame with a more startling sound than
the Delphic laurel of Phoebus, Then often
too much crashing of ice and tumbling in
of hail make a noise in the great clouds on
high; for when the wind packs them to-
gether into a confined space, the mountains
of storm-clouds congealed and mixed with
hail break up.

160] It lightens too, when the clouds have
struck out by their collision many seeds of fire;
just as if a stone were to strike another stone
of a piece of iron; for then too light bursts
out and fire scatters about bright sparks. But
we hear the thunder with our ears after the
eyes see the flash of lightning, because things
always travel more slowly to the ears than

those which excite vision travel to the eyes.
This you may perceive from the following in-
stance as well; when you see a man at a dis-
tance cutting with a double-edged axe a large
tree, you perceive the stroke before the blow
carries the sound to the ear: thus we see light-
ning too before we hear the thunder, which is
discharged at the same time as the fire from
the same cause, being born indeed from the
same collision.

X73] Also in the following manner clouds
dye places with winged light and the storm
flashes out with a rapid quivering movement.
When the wind has made its way into a cloud
and whirling about in it has, as I have shown
above, made the cloud hollow with a dense
crust, it becomes hot by its own velocity: thus
you see all things thoroughly heated and fired
by motion; nay a leaden ball in whirling
through a long course even melts. When there-
fore this wind now on fire has rent the black
cloud. It scatters abroad at once seeds of fire
pressed out by force so to speak, and these pro-
duce the throbbing flashes of flame; then fol-
lows a sound which strikes on the ears more
slowly than the things which travel to our
eyes strike on them. This you are to know
takes place when the clouds are dense and at
the same time piled up on high one above the
other in marvellous accumulation; that you
be not led into error, because wc see how great
their breadth is below, rather than to how
great a height they are piled up. Observe, at a
time when the winds shall carry clouds like to
mountains with a slanting course through the
air, or when you shall see them piled on the
sides of great mountains one on the top of the
other and pressing down from above perfectly
at rest, the winds being buried on all sides:
you will then be able to observe their great
masses and to see caverns as at were built of
hanging rocks; and when a $torm has gath-
ered and the winds have flilled these, they
chafe with a loud roaring ^hut up in the
clouds, and bluster in theiri^dens after the
fashion of wild beasts: now trom this point,
now from that the winds sena their growlings
through the clouds, and seeking a way out
whirl about and roll together seeds of fire out
of the clouds and then gather many into a
mass and make flame rotate in the hollow fur-

ON THE NATURE OP THINGS, BOOK VI 83

itaces within, until they have burst the cloud
and shone forth in forked flashes.

204] From this cause again yon golden
colour of clear bright fire flies down with
velocity to the earth: the clouds mu 5 it them-
selves have very many seeds of fire; for when
they arc without any moisture, they arc mostly
of a brilliant flame colour. Moreover they
must take in many from the sun’s light, so
that with good cause they are ruddy and shed
forth fires. When therefore the wind has
driven, thrust, squeezed together, and col-
lected into one spot these clouds, they press
out and shed forth seeds which cause the
colours of flame to flash out. It also lightens,
when the clouds of heaven are rarefied as
well. For when the wind lightly unravels
them and breaks them up as they move,
those seeds which produce the lightning must
fall perforce; and then it lightens without
a hideous startling noise and without any
uproar.

219] Well, to proceed, what kind of nature
thunderbolts possess, is shown by their strokes
and the traces of their heat which have burnt
themselves into things and the marks which
exhale the noxious vapours of sulphur: all
these are signs of fire, not of wind or rain.
Again they often set on fire even the roofs of
houses and with swift flame rule resistless
within the house. This fire subtle above all
fires nature, you are to know, forms of minute
and lightly moving bodies, and it is such as
nothing whatever can withstand. The mighty
thunderbolt passes through the walls of
houses, like a shout and voices, passes through
stones, through brass, and in a moment of
time melts brass and gold; and causes wine
too in an instant to disappear, while the ves-
sels are untouched, because sure enough its
heat on reaching it readily loosens and rarefies
all the earthen material of the vessel on every
side and forcing a way within lighdy sepa-
rates and disperses the first-beginnings of the
wine. This the sun’s heat would be unable to
accomplish in an age, though beating on it
incessantly with its quivering heat: so much
more nimble and overpowering is this other
force.

239] And now in what way these are begot-
ten and are formed with a force so resistless as

to be able with their stroke to burst asunder
towers, throw down houses, wrench away
beams and rafters, and cast down and burn up
the monuments of men, to strike men dead,
prostrate cattle far and near, by what force
they can do all this and the like, I will make
clear and will not longer detain you with mere
professions.

246] Thunderbolts we must suppose to be
begotten out of dense clouds piled up high;
for they are never sent forth at all when the
sky is clear or when the clouds are of a slight
density. That this is so beyond all question is
proved by facts evident to sense: clouds at
such times form so dense a mass over the
whole sky that we might imagine all its dark-
ness had abandoned Acheron throughout and
filled up the great vaults of heaven: in such
numbers, ga|hcring up out of the frightful
night of storm-clouds, do faces of black horror
hang over us on high; what time the storm
begins to forge its thunderbolts. Very often
again a black storm-cloud too out at sea, like a
stream of pitch sent down from heaven, falls
in such wise upon the waters heavily charged
with darkness afar off and draws down a
black tempest big with lightnings and storms,
itself so fraught above all the rest with fires
and winds, that even on land men shudder
and seek shelter. Thus then we must suppose
that the storm above our head reaches high
up; for the clouds would never bury the earth
in such thick darkness, unless they were built
up high heap upon heap, the sunlight totally
disappearing; nor could the clouds when they
descend drown it with so great a rain, as to
make rivers overflow and put fields under
water, if they were not piled high up in the
sky. In this case then all things are filled with
winds and fire; therefore thundcrings and
lightnings go on all about. For I have shown
above that hollow clouds have very many
seeds of heat, and they must also take many
'-;in from the sun’s rays and their heat. On this
account when the same wind which happens
to collect them into any one place, has forced
out many seeds of heat and has mixed itself up
with that fire, then the eddy of wind forces a
way in and whirls stbo}/f in the straitened
room and points the thunderbolt in the fiery
furnaces within; for it is kindled in two ways

at once: it is heated by its own velocity and
from the contact of fire. After that when the
force of the wind has been thoroughly heated
and the impetuous power of the fire has en-
tered in, then the thunderbolt fully forged as
it were suddenly rends the cloud, and the
heat put in motion is carried on traversing all
places with flashing lights.

285] Close upon it falls so heavy a clap that
it seems to crush down from above the quar-
ters of heaven which have all at once sprung
asunder. Then a trembling violently seizes
the earth and rumblings run through high
heaven; for the whole body of the storm then
without exception quakes with the shock and
loud roarings are aroused. After this shock
follows so heavy and copious a rain that the
whole ether seems to be turning into rain and
then to be tumbling down and returning to
a deluge: so great a flood of it is discharged by
the bursting of the cloud and the storm of
wind, when the sound flies forth from the
burning stroke. At times too the force of the
wind set in motion from without falls on a
cloud hot with a fully forged thunderbolt;
and when it has burst it, forthwith there falls
down yon fiery eddying whirl which in our
native speech we call a thunderbolt. The same
takes place on every other side towards which
the force in question has borne down. Some-
times too the power of the wind though dis-
charged without fire, yet ^catches fire in the
course of its long travel, and while it is pass-
ing on, it loses on the way some large bodies
which cannot like the rest get through the
air; and gathers together out of the air itself
and carries along with it other bodies of very
small size which mix with it and produce fire
by their flight; very much in the same way as
a leaden ball becomes hot during its course,
when it loses many bodies of cold and has
taken up fire in the air. Sometimes too the
force of the blow itself strikes out fire, when
the force of wind discharged in a cold state
without fire has struck, because sure enough,
when it has smitten with a powerful stroke,
the elements of heat arc able to stream to-
gether out of the wind itself and at the same
time out of the thing which then encounters
the stroke. Thus, when we strike a stone with
iron, fire flies out; and none the less, because

280-349

the force of the iron is cold, do its seeds of
fiery brightness meet together upon the stroke.
Therefore in the same way too a thing ought
to be set on fire by the thunderbolt, if it has
happened to be in a state suited to receive and
susceptible of the flames. At the same time
the might of the wind cannot lightly be
thought to be absolutely and decidedly cold,
seeing that it is discharged with such force
from above; but if it is not already set on fire
during its course, it yet arrives in a warm
state with heat mixed up in it.

323] But the velocity of thunderbolts is
great and their stroke powerful, and they run
through their course with a rapid descent, be-
cause their force when set in motion first in all
cases collects itself in the clouds and gathers
itself up for a great effort at starting; then
when the cloud is no longer able to hold the
increased moving power, their force is pressed
out and therefore flies with a marvellous mov-
ing power, like to that with which missiles
are carried when discharged from powerful
engines. Then too the thunderbolt consists of
small and smooth elements, and such a nature
it is not easy for anything to withstand; for
it flies between and passes in through the por-
ous passages; therefore it is not checked and
delayed by many collisions, and for this reason
it glides and flies on with a swift moving
power. Next, all weights without exception
naturally pressing downward, when to this a
blow is added, the velocity is doubled and yon
moving power becomes so intense that the
thunderbolt dashes aside more impetuously
and swiftly whatever gets in its way and tries
to hinder it, and pursues its journey. Then
too as it advances with a long-continued mov-
ing powxr, it must again and again receive
new velocity which ever increases as it goes on
and augments its [)owerful might and gives
vigour to its stroke; for it forces all the seeds
of the thunder to be borne r|ght onward to
one spot so to speak, throwiiig them all to-
gether, as on they roll, into diat single line.
Perhaps too as it goes on it ^attracts certain
bodies out of the air itself, an^ these by their
blows kindle apace its velocity. It passes too
through things without injuring them, and
leaves many things quite whole after it has
g^ne through, because the clear bright fire

LUCRETIUS

350-4^2 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK VI 85

flics through by the pores. And it breaks to
pieces many things, when the first bodies of
the thunderbolt have fallen exactly on the first
bodies of these things, at the points where
they are intertwined and held together. Again
it easily melts brass and fuses gold in an in-
stant, because its force is formed of bodies
minutely small and of smooth elements, which
easily make their way in and when they are
in, in a moment break up all the knots and
untie the bonds of union.

357] And more especially in autumn the
mansion of heaven studded with glittering
stars and the whole earth arc shaken on all
sides, and also when the flowery season of
spring discloses itself. For during the cold
fires are wanting and winds fail during the
heat, and the clouds then arc not of so dense
a body. When therefore the seasons of heaven
arc between the two extremes, the dillcrcnt
causes of thunder and lightning all combine;
for the very cross-current of the year mixes up
cold and heat, both of which a cloud needs
for forging thunderbolts; so that there is great
discord in things and the air raving with fires
and winds heaves in mighty disorder. I'he
first part of heat ami the last of cold is the
spring-time; therefore unlike things must bat-
tle with one another and be turbulent when
mixed together. And when the last heat mixed
with the first cold rolls on its course, a time
which goes by the name of autumn, then too
fierce winters arc in conflict with summers.
Therefore these seasons arc to he called the
cross-seas of the yca^; and it is not wonderful
that in that season thunderbolts arc most fre-
quent and troublous storms arc stirred up in
heaven; since both sides then engage in the
troublous medley of dubious war, the one
armed with flames, the other with winds and
water commingled.

379] This is the way to sec into the true na-
ture of the thunderbolt and to understand by
what force it produces each effect, and not the
turning over the scrolls of Tyrrhene charms
and vainly searching for tokens of the hidden
will of the gods, in order to know from what
quarter the volant .fire has come or to which
of the two halves it has betaken itself, in what
way it has gained an entrance within walled
places, and how after lording it with tyrant

sway it has gotten itself out from these; also
what harm the thunderstroke from heaven
can do. But if Jupiter and other gods shake
with an appalling crash the glittering quar-
ters of heaven, and hurl their fire whither
each is so minded, why strike they not those
whoever they be who have recked not of com-
mitting some abominable sin and make them
give forth the flames of lightning from breast
pierced through and through, a sharp lesson
to men.? and why rather is he whose con-
science is burdened with no foul offence, in-
nocent though he be, wrapped and enveloped
in the flames, in a moment caught up by the
whirlwind and fire of heaven? Why too aim
they at solitary spots and spend their labour
in vain? Or are they then practising their
arms and strengthening their sinews? And
why do they suffer the father’s bolt to be
blunted on the earth? Why does he allow it
himself, and not spare it for his enemies?
Why again, when heaven is unclouded on all
sides, does Jupiter never hurl a bolt on the
earth or send abroad his claps? Or docs he, so
soon as clouds have spread under, then go
down in person into them, that from them he
may aim the strokes of his bolt near at hand?
Ay and for what reason does he hurl into the
sea? Of what has he to impeach its waters and
liquid mass and floating fields? Again if he
wills us to avoid the thunderstroke, why fears
he to let us see it discharged? Or if he wills to
crush us off our guard with his fire, why
thunders he from that side, to enable us to
shun it? Why stirs he up beforehand darkness
and roarings and rumblings? And how can
you believe that he hurls at many points at the
same time? Or would you venture to maintain
that it never has happened that more than one
stroke was made at one time? Nay often and
often it has happened and must happen that,
even as it rains and showers fall in many dif-
ferent quarters, so many thundcrings go on at
one time. Once more why docs he dash down
the holy sanctuaries of the gods and his own
gorgeous scats with the destroying thunder-
bolt, and break the finewrought idols of the
gods, and spoil his own ^ages of their glory
by an overbearing wound? and why does he
mostly aim at lofty spots, and why do we sec
most traces of his fire on the mountain tops?

86 LUCRETIUS 4 ^ 3^499

423 1 To proceed, it is easy from these facts they smoke with the thick darkness of a

to understand in what way those things,
which the Greeks from their nature have
named presteres, come down from above into
the sea. For sometimes a pillar so to speak
is let down from heaven and descends into
the sea, and round about it the surges boil,
stirred up by heavy blasts of winds; and all
ships caught in that turmoil are dashed about
and brought into extreme danger. This takes
place when at times the force of the wind put
in motion cannot burst the cloud which it es-
says to burst, but weighs it down, so that it is
like a pillar let down from heaven into the
sea, yet gradually, just as if a thing were
thrust down from above and stretched out to
the level of the waters by the fist and push of
the arm; and when the force of the wind has
rent this cloud, it bursts out from it into the
sea and occasions a marvellous boiling in the
waters; for the whirling eddy descends and
brings down together with it yon cloud of
limber body; and as soon as it has forced it
down full-charged as it is to the levels of the
sea, the eddy in a moment plunges itself en-
tire into the water, and stirs up the whole sea
with a prodigious noise and forces it to boil.
Sometimes too the eddy of wind wraps itself
up in clouds and gathers out of the air seeds
of cloud and imitates in a sort the prester let
down from heaven. When this prester has let
itself down to the land and has burst, it
belches forth a whirlwind and storm of enor-
mous violence; but as it seldom takes place at
all and as mountains cannot but obstruct it on
land, it is seen more frequently on the sea
with its wide prospect and unobstructed hori-
zon.

451] Clouds arc formed, when in this upper
space of heaven many bodies flying about have
in some one instant met together, of a rough-
er sort, such as are able, though they have got
the very slightest holds of each other, to catch
together and be held in union. These bodies
first cause small clouds to form; and these
next catch together and collect into masses
and increase by joining with each other and
are carried on by the winds continually until
a fierce storm has gathered. The nearer too
the tops of a mountain in each case are to
heaven, the more coostandy at this elevation

swarthy cloud, because, as soon as clouds
form, before the eyes can see them, thin as
they are, the winds carry and bring them to-
gether to the highest summits of a mountain;
and then at last when they have gathered in a
greater mass, being now dense they are able
to make themselves visible and at the same
time they are seen to rise up from the very top
of the mountain into the ether: the very fact
of the case and our sensations, when we climb
high mountains, prove that the regions which
stretch up on high arc windy. Again clothes
hung up on the shore, when they drink in the
clinging moisture, prove that nature takes up
many bodies over the whole sea as well. Tliis
makes it still more plain that many bodies
may likewise rise up out of the salt heaving
sea to add to the bulk of clouds; for the two
liquids are near akin in their nature. Again
we see mists and steam rise out of all rivers
and at the same lime from the earth as well;
and they forced out like a breath from these
parts arc then carried upwards and overcast
heaven with their darkness and make up
clouds on high as they gradually come to-
gether; for the heat of starry ether at the same
time presses down too on them and by con-
densing as it were weaves a web of clouds be-
low the blue. Sometimes there come here into
heaven from without those bodies which form
clouds and the flying storm-rack; for I have
shown that their number passes numbering
and that the sum of the deep is infinite; and
I have proved with what velocity bodies fly
and how in a moment of time they are wont
to pass through space unspeakable. It is not
therefore strange that a tempest and darkness
often in a short time cover over with such
great mountains of clouds seas and lands, as
they hang down upon them Overhead, since
on all sides through all the cavities of ether
and as it were through the vejits of the great
world around the power of going out and
coming in is accorded to the 4 ^ments.

495] Now mark and I will i^xplain in what
way the rainy moisture is formed in the clouds
above and then is sent down and falls to the
earth in the shape of rain. And first I will
p-ove that many seeds of water rise up to-
gether with the clouds themselves out of all

SOO-S7^

things and that both the clouds and the water
which is in the clouds thus increase together;
just as our body increases together with the
blood, as well as the sweat and all the mois-
ture which is in the frame. The clouds like-
wise imbibe much sea-water as well, like hang-
ing fleeces of wool, when the winds carry
them over the great sea. In like manner mois-
ture is taken up out of all rivers into the
clouds; and when the seeds of waters full
many in number in many ways have met in
them, augmented from all sides, then the
close-packed clouds endeavour to discharge
their moisture from two causes: the force of
the wind drives them together, and likewise
the very abundance of the rain-clouds, when
a greater mass than usual has been brought
together, pushes down, presses from above
and forces the rain to stream out. Again when
the clouds arc also rarefied by the winds, or
arc dispersed, being smitten at the same time
by the heat of th^ sun, they discharge a rainy
moisture and trickle down, just as wax over a
hot fire melts away and turns fast into liquid.
But a violent rain follows, when the clouds
are violently pressed upon by both causes, by
their own accumulated weight and by the im-
petuous assault of the wind. And rains arc
wont to hold out and to last long, when many
seeds of waters are stirred to action, and
clouds upon clouds and rack upon rack well-
ing forth from all quarters round about arc
borne along, and when the recking earth
steams moisture back again from its whole
surface. When in such a case the sun has shone
with his rays amid the murky tempest right
opposite the dripping rainlouds, then the
colour of the rainbow shows itself among the
black clouds.

527] As to the other things which grow by
themselves and are formed by themselves, as
well as the things which arc formed within
the clouds, all, without exception all, snow,
winds, hail, and cloud hoarfrosts and the great
force of ice, the great congealing power of
waters, and the slop which everywhere curbs
running rivers, it is yet most easy to find out
and apprehend in mind how all these things
take place and in what way they arc formed,
when you have fully understood the proper-
ties assigned to elements.

535I Now mark and learn what the law of
earthquakes is. And first of all take for granted
that the earth below us as well as above is
filled in all parts with windy caverns and bears
within its bosom many lakes and many
chasms, cliffs and craggy rocks; and ycru must
suppose that many rivers hidden beneath the
crust of the earth roll on with violence, waves,
and submerged stones; for the very nature of
the case requires it to be throughout like to it-
self. With such things then attached and
placed below, the earth quakes above from the
shock of great falling masses, when under-
neath time has undermined vast caverns;
whole mountains indeed fall in, and in an in-
stant from the mighty shock tremblings
spread themselves far and wide from that
centre. And with good cause, since buildings
beside a road tremble throughout when
shaken by a waggon of not such very great
weight; and they rock no less, where any
sharp pebble on the road jolts up the iron tires
of the wheels on both sides. Sometimes too,
when an enormous mass of soil through age
rolls down from the land into great and ex-
tensive pools of water, the earth rocks and
sways with the undulation of the water; just
as a vessel at times cannot rest, until the liquid
within has ceased to sway about in unsteady
undulations.

557] Again when the wind gathering itself
together in the hollow places underground
bears down on one point and pushing on
presses with great violence the deep caverns,
the earth leans over on the side to which the
headlong violence of the wind presses. Then
all buildings which are above ground, and
ever the more, the more they tower up to-
wards heaven, lean over and bulge out yield-
ing in the same direction, and the timbers
wrenched from their supports hang over ready
to give way. And yet men shrink from believ-
ing that a time of destruction and ruin awaits
the nature of the great world, though they see
so great a mass of earth hang ready to fall!
And if the winds did not abate their blowing,
no force could rein things in or hold them up
on their road to destruction. As it is, because
by turns they do abate atl 9 then increase in
violence, and so to speak rally and return to
the charge, and then arc defeated and retire,

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK VI

88 LUCRETIUS 572^46

for this reason the earth oftener threatens to 608] First of all they wonder that nature

fall than really falls: it leans over and then
sways back again, and after tumbling for-
ward recovers in equal poise its fixed jx)sition.
For this reason the whole house rocks, the top
more than the middle, the middle than the bot-
tom, the bottom in a very very slight degree.

577] The same great quaking likewise arises
from this cause, when on a sudden the wind
and some enormous force of air gathering
either from without or within the earth have
flung themselves into the hollows of the earth,
and there chafe at first with much uproar
among the great caverns and arc carried on
with a whirling motion, and when their force
afterwards stirred and lashed into fury bursts
abroad and at the same moment cleaves the
deep earth and opens up a great yawning
chasm. This fell out in Syrian Sidon and took
place at Aegium in the Peloponnese, two
towns which an outbreak of wind of this sort
and the ensuing earthquake threw down. And
many walled places besides fell dowm by great
commotions on land and many towns sank
down engulfed in the sea together with their
burghers. And if they do not break out, still
the impetuous fury of the air and the fierce
violence of the wind spread over the numerous
passages of the earth like a shivering-fit and
thereby cause a trembling; just as cold when
it has pierced into our frames to the very mar-
row, sets them a-shivering in spile of them-
selves, forcing them to shake and move. Men
are therefore disturbed by a twofold terror
throughout their cities: they fear the roofs
above their heads, they dread lest the nature
of the earth in a moment break up her cav-
erns underneath, and rent asunder display her
own wide-gaping maw and wildly rumbled to-
gether seek to fill it up with her own ruins.
Let them then fancy as much as they please
that heaven and earth shall be incorruptible
and consigned to an everlasting exemption
from decay; and yet sometimes the very pres-
ent force of danger applies on some side or
other this goad of fear among others, that the
earth shall in an instant be withdrawn from
under their feet and carried down into the pit,
and that the sum of things shall utterly give
way and follow after and a jumbled wreck of
world ensue.

does not increase the bulk of the sea, w'hen
there is so great a flow of water into it, when
all rivers from all quarters fall into it. Add to
these passing rains and Hying storms, which
bespatter every sea and moisten every land;
add its own s[)rings; yet all these compared
with the sum of the sea will be like an addi-
tion of bulk hardly amounting to a single
drop; it is therefore the less wonderful that
the great sea docs not increase. Again the sun
absorbs a great deal with his heat: we sec him
with his burning rays thoroughly dry clothes
dripping with wet: but wc know seas to be
many in number and to stretch over a wide
surface. Therefore however small the portion
of moisture which the sun draws off the sur-
face from any one spot, it will yet in so vast
an expanse take largely from its waters. Then
again the winds loo may withdraw a great
deal of moisture as they sweep over the sur-
face, since we very often sec the roads dried
by the winds in a single night and the soft
mud form into hard crusts. Again I have
shown that the clouds take oft much moisture
too imbibed from the great surface of the sea
and scatter it about over the whole earth, when
it rains on land and the winds carry on the
clouds. Lastly since the earij] is of a porous
body and is in contact with the sea, girding
its shores all round, just as water comes from
the earth into the sea, in the same way it must
ooze into the land out of the salt sea; for the
salt is strained off and the matter of liquid
streams back again to the source and all flows
together to the river-heads, and then passes
anew over the lands in a fresh current, where
a channel once sc(>of>ed out has carried down
the waters with liquid foot.

639] And now I will explain why it is that
fires breathe forth at times through the gorges
of Mount Aetna with such hurricane-like
fury; for with a destroying torce of no or
dinary kind the flame-storm gadliered itself up
and lording it over the lands of the Sicilians
drew on itself the gaze of neighbouring na-
tions, when seeing all the quarters of heaven
smoke and sparkle men were filled in heart
with awe-struck apprehension, not knowing
what strange change nature was travailing to
work.

647-723 ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK VI 89

647] In these matters you must look far and
deep and make a wide survey in all directions,
in order to bear in mind that the sum of
things is unfathomable and to perceive how
very small, how inconceivably minute a frac-
tion of the whole sum one heaven is, not so
large a fraction of it as one man is of the
whole earth. If you should clearly compre-
hend, clearly sec this point well put, you would
cease to wonder at many things. Docs any one
among us wonder if he has gotten into his
frame a fever that has broken out with burn-
ing heat, or into his body the pains of any
other disease? The foot suddenly swells, sharp
pain often seizes the teeth, or else attacks the
eyes; the holy fire breaks out and creeping
over the body burns whatever part it has seized
upon, and spreads over the frame, because
sure enough there arc seeds of many things,
and this earth and heaven bring to us evil
enough to allow of a measureless amount of
disease springing up. In this way then we
must suppose that all things are supplied out
of the infinite to the whole heaven and earth
in quantity sufficient to allow the earth in a
moment to be shaken and stirred, and a rapid
hurricane to scour over sea and land, the fire
of Aetna to overflow, the heaven to be in
flames; for that too is seen and the heavenly
quarters are on fire; and rain-storms gather in
a heavier mass, when the seeds of water have
haply come together for such an end. “Ay but
the stormy rage of the conflagration is too too
gigantic.” Yes and so any river you like is
greatest to him who has never before seen any
greater, and thus a tree and a man seem gi-
gantic, and in the case of all things of all kinds
the greatest a man has seen he fancies to be
gigantic, though yet all things with heaven
and earth and sea included arc nothing to the
whole sum of the universal sum.

680] And now at last I will explain in w’hat
ways yon flame roused to fury in a moment
blazes forth from the huge furnaces of Aetna.
And first the nature of the whole mountain is
hollow underneath, undcr-prop^ied through-
out with caverns of basalt rocks. Furthermore
in all caves arc wind and air; for wind is pro-
duced, when the air has been stirred and put
in motion. When this air has been thoroughly
heated and raging about has imparted its heat

to all the rocks round, wherever it comes in
contact with them, and to the earth, and has
struck out from them fire burning with swift
flames, it rises up and then forces itself out on
high straight through the gorges; and so car-
ries its heat far and scatters far its ashes and
rolls on smoke of a thick pitchy blackness and
flings out at the same time stones of prodigious
weight; leaving no doubt that this is the
stormy force of air. Again the sea to a great
extent breaks its waves and sucks back its surf
at the roots of that mountain. Caverns reach
from this sea as far as the deep gorges of the
mountain below. Through these you must ad-
mit that air mixed up with water passes; and
the nature of the case compels this air to enter
in from that open sea and pass right within
and then go out in blasts and so lift up flame
and throw out stones and raise clouds of sand;
for on the summit are craters, as they name
them in their own language; what we call
gorges and mouths.

703] There are things too not a few for
which it is not sufficient to assign one cause;
you must give several, one of which at the
same time is the real cause. For instance
should you see the lifeless body of a man lying
at some distance, it would be natural to men-
tion all the different causes of death, in order
that the one real cause of that man’s death be
mentioned among them. Thus you may be
able to prove that he has not died by steel or
cold or from disca.se or haply from poison; yet
we know that it is something of this kind
which has befallen him; and so in many other
cases we may make the same remark.

712] The Nile rises every summer and over-
flows the plains, that one sole river through-
out the whole land of Egypt. It waters Egypt
often in the middle of the hot season, either
because in summer there are north winds oj>
positc its mouths, which at that time of year
go by the name of Etesian winds. Blowing up
the river they retard it and driving the waters
backwards fill its channel full and force the
river to .stand still; for beyond a doubt these
blasts which start from the icy constellations
of the pole are carried right up the stream.
That river comes from thp south out of the
heat-fraught country, rising far up from the
central region of day among races of men

90 LUCRETIUS 7 ^^^

Mack in their sun-baked complexion. It is to the Manes gods. Now all these things go on

quite possible too that the great accumulation
of sand may bar up the mouths against the
opposing waves, when the sea stirred up by
the winds throws up the sand within the chan-
nel; whereby the outlet of the river is rendered
less free and the current of the waters at the
same time less rapid in its downward flow. It
may be also that the rains are more frequent
at its source in that season, because the Etesian
blasts of the north winds drive all the clouds
together into those parts at that time. And,
you are to know, when they have been driven
on to the central region of day and have gath-
ered together, then the clouds jammed close
against the high mountains are massed to-
gether and violently compressed. Perhaps too it
gets its increase high up from the lofty moun-
tains of the Ethiopians, when the all-surveying
sun with his thawing rays constrains the white
snows to descend into the plains.

738] Now mark, and I will make clear to
you what kind of nature the several Avernian
places and lakes possess. First of all, as to the
name Avernian by which they are called, it
has been given to them from their real nature,
because they are noxious to all birds; for when
they have arrived in flight just opposite those
spots, they forget to row with their wings,
they drop their sails and fall with soft neck
outstretched headlong to the earth, if so be
that the nature of the gfound admit of that,
or into the water, if so be that a lake of Aver-
nus spreads below. There is such a spot at
Cumae, where the mountains are charged
with acrid sulphur, and smoke enriched with
hot springs. Such a spot there also is within
the Athenian walls, on the very summit of the
citadel, beside the temple of bountiful Tri-
tonian Pallas; which croaking crows never
come near on the wing; no not when the high
altars smoke with offerings: so constantly they
fly, not before the sharp wrath of Pallas for the
sake of yon vigil kept, as the poets of the
Greeks have sung, but the nature of the place
suffices by its own proper power. In Syria too
as well a spot, we are told, is found to exist of
such a sort that as soon as ever even four-
footed beasts have entered in, its mere natural
power forces them to fall down heavily, just
as if they were felled in a moment as sacrifices

by a natural law, and it is quite plain whence
spring the causes from which they are pro-
duced; that the gate of Orcus be not haply be-
lieved to exist in such spots; and next we im-
agine that the Manes gods from beneath do
haply draw souls down from them to the bor-
ders of Acheron; as wing-footed stags are
supposed often by their scent to draw out
from their holes the savage serpent-tribes.
How widely opposed to true reason this is,
now learn; for now I essay to tell of the real
fact.

769] First of all I say, as I have often said
before, that in the earth arc elements of things
of every kind: many, which serve for food,
helpful to life; and many whose property it is
to cause diseases and hasten death. And we
have shown before that one thing is more
adapted to one, another thing to another liv-
ing creature for the purposes of life, because
of their natures and their textures and their
primary elements being all unlike the one to
the other. Many which arc noxious pass
through the cars, many make their way too
through the nostrils, dangerous and harsh
when they come in contact; and not a few arc
to be shunned by the touch, and not a few to
be avoided by the sight, and others are nau-
seous in taste.

781] Again you may sec how many things
are for man of a virulently noxious sensation
and are nauseous and oppressive; to certain
trees for instance has been given so very op-
pressive a shade that they often cause hcai
aches when a man has lain down under them
extended on the grass. There is a tree too on
the great hills of Helicon which has the prop-
erty of killing a man by the noisome scent of
its flower. All these things you arc to know
rise up out of the earth, because it contains
many seeds of many things ^n many ways
mixed up together and gives :them out in a
state of separation. Again whfen a newly ex-
tinguished night-light encounters the nostrils
with its acrid stench, it send! to sleep then
and there a man who from disease is subject
to falling down and foaming at the mouth. A
woman is put to sleep by oppressive castor and
falls back in her seat, and her gay work drops
out of her soft hands, if she has smelt it at the

on the nature OF THINGS, BOOK VI

time when she has her monthly discharges.
And many things besides relax through all the
frame the fainting limbs and shake the soul in
its scats within. Then too if you linger long in
the hot baths when you are somewhat full and
do bathe, how liable you are to tumble down
in a fit while seated in the midst of the hot
water! Again how readily do the oppressive
power and fumes of charcoal make their way
into the brain, if we have not first taken
water! But when burning violently it has filled
the chambers of a house, the fumes of the
virulent substance act on the nerves like a
murderous blow. Sec you not too that even
within the earth sulphur is generated and as-
phalt forms incrustations of a noisome stench?
Sec you not, when they arc following up the
veins of silver and gold and searching with
the pick quite into the bowels of the earth,
what stenches Scaptcnsula exhales from be-
low? Then what mischief do gold mines ex-
hale! To what sta^e do they reduce men's faces
and what a complexion they produce! Know
you not by sight or hearsay how they com-
monly perish in a short time and how all vital
power fails those whom the hard compulsion
of necessity confines in such an employment?
All such exhalations then the earth steams
forth and breathes out into the open air and
light of heaven.

8i8] Thus too the Avernian spots must send
up some power deadly to birds, which rises up
from the earth into the air so as to poison a
certain portion of the atmosphere; in such a
way that a bird as soon as ever it is borne on
its wings into it, is then attacked by the un-
seen poison and so palsied that it tumbles
plump down on the spot where this exhala-
tion has its course. And when it falls into it,
then the same power of that exhalation robs
all its limbs of the remnants of life: first of all
it causes a sort of dizziness; but afterwards,
when the birds have tumbled into the very
springs of the poison, then life too has to be
vomited forth, because all round rises up large
store of mischievous matter.

830] Sometimes too this power of exhala-
tion of Avernus dispels whatever air lies be-
tween the birds and earth, so that almost a
void is left there. And when the birds have
arrived in their flight just opposite this spot,

at once the buoyant force of their pinions is
crippled and rendered vain and all the sustain-
ing efforts of their wings are lost on both sides.
So when they arc unable to buoy themselves
up and lean upon their wings, nature, you
know, compels them by their weight to tum-
ble down to earth, and lying stark through
what is now almost a void they disperse their
soul through all the openings of their body.
Again during summer the water in wells be-
comes colder, because the earth is rarefied by
heat and rapidly sends out into the air what-
ever seeds of heat it happens to have. The
more then the earth is drained of heat, the
colder becomes the water which is hidden in
the earth. Again when all the earth is com-
pressed by cold and contracts and so to say
congeals, then, you arc to know, while it con-
tracts, it presses out into the wells whatever
heat it contains itself.

848] At the fane of Hammon there is said
to be a fountain which is cold in the daylight
and hot in the night-time. This fountain men
marvel at exceedingly and suppose that it sud-
denly becomes hot by the influence of the
fierce sun below the earth, when night has
covered the earth with awful darkness. But
this is far far removed from true reason. Why
when the sun though in contact with the un-
covered body of the water has not been able to
make it hot on its upper side, though his light
above possesses such great heat, how can he
below the earth which is of so dense a body
boil the water and glut it with heat? above
all when he can scarcely with his burning
rays force his heat through the walls of
houses. What then is the cause? this sure
enough: the earth is more porous and warmer
round the fountain than the rest of the earth,
and there arc many seeds of fire near the body
of water. For this reason when night has bur-
ied the earth in its dewy shadows, the earth at
once becomes quite cold and contracts: in this
way just as if it were squeezed by the hand it
forces out into the fountain whatever seeds of
fire it has; and these make the water hot to
the touch and taste. Next when the sun has
risen and with his rays has loosened the earth
and has rarefied it as his h^at waxes stronger,
the first-beginnings of fire return back to their
ancient seats and all the heat of the water

92 LUCRETIUS 873-^49

withdraws into the earth: for this reason the a chain of rings hanging down from it. Thus

fountain becomes cold in the daylight. Again
the liquid of water is played upon by the sun’s
rays and in the daytime is rarefied by his
throbbing heat; and therefore it gives up
whatever seeds of fire it has; just as it often
parts with the frost which it holds in itself,
and thaws the ice and loosens its bonds.

879] There is also a cold fountain of such
a nature that tow often when held over it im-
bibes fire forthwith and emits flame; a pine-
torch in like manner is lighted and shines
among the waters, in whatever direction it
swims under the impulse of the winds. Be-
cause sure enough there are in the water very
many seeds of heat, and from the earth itself
at the bottom must rise up bodies of fire
throughout the whole fountain and at the
same time pass abroad in exhalations and go
forth into the air, not in such numbers how-
ever that the fountain can become hot, for
these reasons a force compels those seeds to
burst out through the water and disperse
abroad and to unite when they have mounted
up. In the sea at Aradus is a fountain of this
kind, w^hich wells up w'ith fresh water and
keeps off the salt waters all round it; and in
many other quarters the sea affords a season-
able help in need to thirsting sailors, vomiting
forth fresh waters amid the salt. In this way
then those seeds may burst forth through that
fountain and well out; and when they are met
together in the tow or cohere in the body of
the pine-torch, they at once readily take fire,
because the tow and pinewood contain in
them likewise many seeds of latent fire. Sec
you not too that, when you bring a newly ex-
tinguished wick near night-lamps it catches
light before it has touched the flame; and the
same with the pinewood.^ And many things
beside catch fire at some distance touched
merely by the heat, before the fire in actual
contact infects them. This therefore you must
suppose to take place in that fountain as well.

906] Next in order I will proceed to discuss
by what law of nature it comes to pass that
iron can be attracted by that stone which the
Cireeks call the Magnet from the name of its
native place, because it has its origin within
the bounds of the country of the Magnesia ns.
This stone men wonder at; as it often produces

you may see sometimes five and more sus-
pended in succession and tossing about in the
light airs, one always hanging down from one
and attached to its lower side, and each in
turn one from the other cx})ericiicing tlic bind-
ing power of the stone: with such a continued
current its force flics through all.

917] In things of this kind many points
must be established before you can assign the
true law of the thing in question, and it must
be approached by a very circuitous road;
wherefore all the more I call for an attentive
ear and mind.

921] In the first place from all things what-
soever w'hich we see there must incessantly
stream and be discharged and scattered
abroad such bodies as strike the eyes and pro-
voke vision. Smells too incessantly stream from
certain things; as does cold from rivers, heat
from the sun, spray from the waves of the sea,
that cat into walls near the shore. Various
sounds too cease not to stream through the air.
Then a moist salt flavour often comes into the
mouth, when we are moving about beside the
sea; and when we look on at the mixing of a
decoction of wormwood, its bitterness affects
us. In such a constant stream from all things
the several qualities of things arc carried and
are transmitted in all directions round, and no
delay, no respite in the flow is ever granted,
since we constantly have feeling, and may at
any time sec, smell and hear the sound of any-
thing.

936] And now I will state once again how
rare a body all things have: a question made
clear in the first part of my poem also: al-
though the knowledge of this is of importance
in regard to many things, above all in regard
to this very question which I am coming to
discuss, at the very outset it is necessary to es-
tablish that nothing comes *inder sense save
body mixed with void. For instance in caves
rocks overhead sweat with moisture and
trickle down in oozing dro|>s. Sweat too oozes
out from our whole body; the beard grows,
and hairs over all our limbs and frame. Food
is distributed through all the veins, gives in-
crease and nourishment to the very extremities
and nails. We feel, too, cold and heat pass
through brass, we feel them pass through gold

950-I03I ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK VI 93

and silver, when we hold full cups. Again and brass; for form is seen to stream through

voices fly through the stone partitions of
houses; smell passes through and cold, and the
heat of fire which is wont ay to pierce even
the strength of iron, where the Gaulish cuirass
girds the body round. And when a storm has
gathered in earth and heaven, and when along
with it the influence of disease makes its way
in from without, they both withdraw respec-
tively to heaven and earth and there work
their wills, since there is nothing at all that is
not of a rare texture of body.

950] Furthermore all bodies whatever which
are discharged from things arc not qualified
to excite the same sensations nor are adapted
for all things alike. The sun for instance bakes
and dries up the earth, but thaws ice,and forces
the snows piled up high on the high hills to
melt away Ixmcath his rays; wax again turns
to liquid when placed within reach of his heat.
Fire also melts brass and fuses gold, but shriv-
els up and draws together hides and flesh. The
liquid of water after fire hardens steel, but
softens hides and flesh hardened by heat. The
wild olive delights the bearded she-goats as
much as if the flavour it > icldcd w'ere of am-
brosia and steeped in nectar; hut nothing that
puts forth leaf is more hitter to man than this
food. Again a swine ( schews marjoram-oil and
dreads all perfumes; for they are rank poison
to bristly sw'inc, though they arc found at
times to give us as it w'crc fresh life. fSut on
the other hand though mire is to us the nastiest
filth, it is found to he so welcome to sw'inc
that they wallow in it all over with a craving
not to be satisfied.

979] There is still one point left which it
seems proper to mention, Ixrforc I come to
speak of the matter in hand. Since many pores
are assigned to various things, they must pos-
sess natures differing the one from the other
and must have each its own nature, its own
direction: thus there are in living creatures
various senses, each of which takes into it in
its own peculiar way its own sjxcial object;
for we see that sounds pass into one thing,
taste from different flavours into another
thing, smells into another. Again one thing is
seen to stream through stones and another
thing to pass through woods, another through
gold, and another still to go out through silver

this passage, heat through that, and one thing
is seen to pass through by the same way more
quickly than other things. The nature of the
passages, you are to know, compels it so to be,
varying in manifold wise, as we have shown
a little above, owing to the unlike nature and
textures of things.

998] Therefore now that these points have
all been established and arranged for us as
premisses ready to our hand, for what re-
mains, the law will easily be explained out of
them, and the w^hole cause be laid open which
attracts the strength of iron. First of all there
must stream from this stone very many seeds
or a current if you wnll which dispels with
blows all the air which lies between the stone
and iron. When this space is emptied and
much room left void between, forthwith the
first-beginnings of iron fall headlong forward
into the void in one mass, and in consequence
the ring itself follows and then goes on with
its whole body. And nothing has its primal
elements more intricately entangled or coheres
in closer connexion than the nature of stub-
born iron and its coldness that makes you
shiver. Therefore what I say is the less strange,
that from among such elements as these bodies
cannot gather in large numbers out of the iron
and be carried into the void without the whole
ring following. This it does do, and follows on
until it has quite reached the stone and fas-
tened on it with unseen bonds of connexion.
The same thing takes place in all directions:
on whatever side a void is formed, wdiether
athwart or from above the first bodies next it
are at once carried on into the void; for they
arc set in motion by blows from another
source and cannot by their own free act rise
up into the air. Moreover (to render it more
feasible, this thing also is helped on by exter-
nal aid and motion) as soon as the air in front
of the ring has Ix'cn made rarer and the space
more empty and void, it follows at once that
all the air which lies behind, carries and
pushes it on as it were at its back. For the
air which lies around them always beats on
things; but at such a time as this it is liable
to push on the iron, be^sc on one side a
space is void and receives the iron into it. This
air of which I am speaking to you makes its

way with much subtlety through the frequent
pores of the iron to its minute parts and then
thrusts and pushes it on> as the wind a ship
and its sails. Again all things must have air in
their body, since they are of a rare body and
air surrounds and is in contact with all things.
This air therefore which is in the inmost re-
cesses of the iron, is ever stirred in restless mo-
tion and therefore beats the ring without a
doubt and stirs it within, you know: the ring
is carried in the direction in which it has
once plunged forward, and into the void part
towards which it has made its start.

1042] Sometimes too it happens that the na-
ture of iron is repelled from this stone, being
in the habit of flying from and following it in
turns. I have seen Samothracian iron rings
even jump up, and at the same time filings of
iron rave within brass basins, when this Mag-
net stone had been placed under: such a
strong desire the iron seems to have to fly
from the stone. So great a disturbance is
raised by the interposition of the brass, be-
cause sure enough when the current of the
brass has first seized on and taken possession
of the open passages of the iron, the current
of the stone comes after and find all things
full in the iron and has no opening to swim
through as before. It is forced therefore to
dash against and beat with its wave the iron
texture; by which means it repels from it and
sets in motion through the brass that which
without the brass it often draws to itself. And
forbear herein to wonder that the current
from this stone is not able to set in motion
other things as well as iron: some of these
stand still by the power of their own weight;
for instance gold; and others, because they are
of so rare a body that the current flies through
them uninterrupted, cannot in any case be set
in motion; to which class wood is found to
belong. When therefore the nature of iron ly-
ing between the two has received into it cer-
tain Rrst bodies of brass, then do the Magnet
stones set it in motion with their stream.

1065] And yet these cases are not $0 much
at variance wi^ other things, that I have only
a scanty store of similar instances to relate of
things mutually fitted one for the other and
for nothing else: stones for instance you see
are cemented by mortar alone; wood is united

/oja-//o6

with wood so firmly by bulls’ glue only, that
the veins of boards often gape in cracks be-
fore the binding power of the glue can be
brought to loosen its hold. Vine-born juices
venture to mix with streams of water, though
heavy pitch and light oil cannot. Again the
purple dye of the shellfish so unites with the
body of wool alone, that it cannot in any case
be severed, not were you to take pains to undo
what is done with Neptune’s wave, not if the
whole sea were willed to wash it out with all
its waters. Then too is there not one thing
only that fastens gold to gold, and is not
brass soldered to brass by tin? and how many
other cases of the kind might one find! What
then? You have no need whatever of such
long circuitous roads, nor is it worth my
while to spend so much pains on this, but it is
better briefly to comprise many things in few
words: things whose textures have such a
mutual correspondence, that cavities fit solids,
the cavities of the first the solids of the sec-
ond, the cavities of the second the solids of the
first, form the closest union. Again some
things may be fastened together and held in
union with hooks and eyes as it were; and this
seems rather to be the case with this stone
and iron.

1090] And now I will explain what the law
of diseases is and from what causes the force
of disease may suddenly gather itself up and
bring death-dealing destruction on the race
of man and the troops of brute beasts. And
first I have shown above that there are seeds
of many things helpful to our life; and on
the other hand many must fly about conduc-
ing to disease and death. When these by
chance have happened to gather together and
have disordered the atmosphere, the air be-
comes distempered. And all that force of
disease and that pestilence come cither from
without down through the attnosphere in the
shape of clouds and mists, ot else do gather
themselves up and rise out of jthe earth, when
soaked with wet it has contracted a taint,
being beaten upon by unseasonable rains and
suns. See you not too that all who come to a
place far away from country and home are
affected by the strangeness of climate and
Abater, because there are wide differences in
such things? For what a difference may we

LUCRETIUS

nof-uSo ON THE NATURE OF THINGS, BOOK VI 95

suppose between the climate of the Briton and
that of Egypt where the pole of heaven slants
askew, and again between that in Pontus and
that of Gades and so on to the races of men
black with sun-baked complexion?

1 1 10] Now as we see these four climates
under the four opposite winds and quarters
of heaven all differing from each other, so
also the complexions and faces of the men are
seen to differ widely and diseases varying in
kind are found to seize upon the different
races. There is the elephant disease which is
generated beside the streams of Nile in the
midst of Egypt and nowhere else. In Attica
the feet are attacked and the eyes in Achaean
lands. And so different places arc hurtful to
different parts and members: the variations of
air occasion that. Therefore when an atmos-
phere which happens to put itself in motion
unsuited to us and a hurtful air begin to ad-
vance, they creep slowly on in the shape of
mist and cloud and disorder everything in
their line of advance and compel all to change;
and when they have at length reached our
atmosphere, they corrupt it too and make it
like to themselves and unsuited to us. This
new destroying power and pestilence there-
fore all at once cither fall upon the waters or
else sink deep into the corn-crops or other
food of man and provender of beast; or else
their force remains suspended within the at-
mosphere, and when we inhale from it mixed
airs, wc must absorb at the same time into our
body those things as well. In like manner
pestilence often falls on kinc also and a dis-
temper too on the silly sheep. And it makes
no difference whether w^e travel to places un-
favourable to us and change the atmosphere
which wraps us round, or whether nature
without our choice brings to us a tainted at-
mosphere or something to the use of which
wc have not been accustomed, and which is
able to attack us on its first arrival.

1138] Such a form of disease and a death-
fraught miasm erst within the borders of
Cccrops defiled the whole land with dead,
and dispeopled the streets, drained the town
of burghers.^ Rising first and starting from
the inmost corners ^of Egypt, after traversing
much air and many floating fields, the plague
*For the followmg passage, cf, Thucydides, 11. 47.

brooded at last over the whole people of Pan-
dion; and then they were handed over in
troops to disease and death. First of all they
would have the head seized with burning heat
and both eyes blood-shot with a glare dif-
fused over; the livid throat within would ex-
ude blood and the passage of the voice be
clogged and choked with ulcers, and the
mind’s interpreter the tongue drip with gore,
quite enfeebled with sufferings, heavy in
movement, rough to touch. Next when the
force of disease passing down the throat had
filled the breast and had streamed together
even into the sad heart of the sufferers, then
would all the barriers of life give away. The
breath would pour out at the mouth a noisome
stench, even as the stench of rotting carcases
thrown out unburied. And then the powers of
the entire mind, the whole body would sink
utterly, now on the very threshold of death.
And a bitter bitter despondency was the con-
stant attendant on insufferable ills and com-
plaining mingled with moaning. An ever-
recurring hiccup often the night and day
through, forcing on continual spasms in sin-
ews and limbs, would break men quite, for-
wearying those forspent before. And yet in
none could you perceive the skin on the sur-
face of the body burn with any great heat, but
the body would rather offer to the hand a
lukewarm sensation and at the same time be
red all over with ulcers burnt into it so to
speak, like unto the holy fire as it spreads
over the frame. The inward parts of the men
however would burn to the very bones, a
flame would burn within the stomach as with-
in furnaces. Nothing was light and thin
enough to apply to the relief of the body of
any one; ever wind and cold alone. Many
would plunge their limbs burning with dis-
ease into the cool rivers, throwing their body
naked into the water. Many tumbled head-
foremost deep down into the wells, meeting the
water straight with mouth wide-agape. Parch-
ing thirst with a craving not to be appeased,
drenching their bodies, would make an abun-
dant draught no better than the smallest
drop. No respite was there of ill: their bodies
would lie quite spent. Thf healing art would
mutter low in voiceless fear, as again and
again they rolled about their eyeballs wide

96 LUCRETIUS 1181-1260

open, burning with disease, never visited by
sleep.

1182] And many symptoms of death besides
would then be given, the mind disordered in
sorrow and fear, the clouded brow, the fierce
delirious expression, the cars too troubled and
filled with ringings, the breathing quick or
else strangely loud and slow-rccurring, and
the sweat glistening wet over the neck, the
spittle in thin small flakes, tinged with a saf>
fron-colour, salt, scarce forced up the rough
throat by coughing. The tendons of the hands
ceased not to contract, the limbs to shiver, a
coldness to mount with slow sure pace from
the feet upwards. Then at their very last mo-
ments they had nostrils pinched, the tip of the
nose sharp, eyes deep-sunk, temples hollow,
the skin cold and hard, on the grim mouth a
grin, the brow tense and swollen; and not
long after their limbs would be stretched stiff
in death: about the eighth day of bright sun-
light or else on the ninth return of his lamp
they would yield up life. And if any of them
at that time had shunned the doom of death,
yet in after time consumption and death
would await him from noisome ulcers and
the black discharge of the bowels, or else a
quantity of purulent blood accompanied by
headache would often pass out by the gorged
nostrils: into these the whole strength and
substance of the man would stream. Then too
if any one had escaped the acrid discharge of
noisome blood, the disease would yet pass into
his sinews and joints and onward even into
the sexual organs of the body; and some from
excessive dread of the gates of death would
live bereaved of these parts by the knife; and
some though without hands and feet w'ould
continue in life, and some wcnild lose their
eyes: with such force had the fear of death
come upon them. And some were seized with
such utter loss of memory that they did not
know themselves.

1215] And though bodies lay in h(faps above
bodies unburied on the ground, yet would the
race of birds and beasts either scour far away,
to escape the acrid stench, or where any one
had tasted, it drooped in near-following death.
Though hardly at all in those days would any
bird appear, or the sullen breeds of wild beasts
quit the forests. Many would droop with dis-

ease and die: above all faithful dogs would
lie stretched in all the streets and yield up
breath with a struggle; for the power of dis-
ease would wrench life from their frame.
Funerals lonely, unattended, would be hur-
ried on with emulous haste. And no sure and
general method of cure was found; for that
which had given to one man the pow'cr to in-
hale the vital air and to gaze on the quarters
of heaven, would be destruction to others and
would bring on death. But in such times this
was what was deplorable and above all em-
inently heart-rending: when a man saw him-
self enmeshed by the disease, as though he
were doomed to death, losing all spirit he
would lie with sorrow-stricken heart, and
with his thoughts turned on death would sur-
render his life then and there. Ay for at no
time did they cease to catch from one another
the infection of the devouring plague, like to
woolly flocks and horned herds. And this
above all heajx:d death on death; whenever
any refused to attend their own sick, killing
neglect soon after would punish them for
their too great love of litc and fear of death
by a foul and evil death, abandoned in turn,
forlorn of help. Hut they who had stayed by
them, would perish by infection and the
labour which shame wouldj^hen compel them
to undergo and the sick man’s accents of af-
fection mingled with those of complaining;
this kind of death the most virtuous would
meet. . . . and different bodies on different
piles, struggling as they did to bury the mul-
titude of their dead; then spent with tears and
grief they would go home; and in great part
they would take to their bed from sorrow.
And none could lx: found whom at so fearful
a time neither disease nor death nor mourn-
ing assailed.

1252] Then too every shepherd and herds-
man, ay and sturdy giiidcr of the bent plough
sickened; and their bodies would lie huddled
together in the corners of a hut, delivered
over to death by poverty and disease. Some-
times you might sec lifeless bodies of parents
above their lifeless children, and then the re-
verse of this, children giving up life above
their mothers and fathers. And in no small
measure that affliction streamed from the land
into the town, brought thither by the sicken-

j26:-J286 on WE NATURE OF THINGS. BOOK VI

ing crowd of peasants meeting plague-stricken
from every side. They would fill all places
and buildings: wherefore ail the more the heat
would destroy them and thus closc-packcd
death would pile them up in heaps. Many
bodies drawn forth by thirst and tumbled out
along the street would lie extended by the
fountains of water, the breath of life cut off
from their too great delight in water; and
over all the open places of the people and the
streets you might see many limbs drooping
with their half-lifeless body, foul with stench
and covered with rags, perish away from filth
of body, with nothing but skin on their
bones, now nearly buried in noisome sores
and dirt. All the holy sanctuaries of the
gods too death had filled with lifeless bodies,
and all the temples of the heavenly powers

in all parts stood burdened with carcases: all
which places the wardens had thronged with
guests.

For now no longer the worship of the gods
or their divinities were greatly regarded: so
overmastering was the present affliction. Nor
did those rites of sepulture continue in force
in the city, with which that pious folk had al-
ways been wont to be buried; for the whole
of it was in dismay and confusion, and each
man would sorrowfully bury as the present
moment allowed. And the sudden pressure
and poverty prompted to many frightful acts;
thus with a loud uproar they would place
their own kinsfolk upon the funeral piles of
others, and apply torches, quarrelling often
with much bloodshed sooner than abandon
the bodies.

THE DISCOURSES OF
EPICTETUS

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

Epictetus, c. a.d. 6o-r. 138

Epictetus was born sometime in the reign of
Nero and lived through the greater part, if
not all, of the reign of Hadrian. He was a
native of Phrygia, and his language was
Greek. His original name is unknown. The
name Epictetus (“ac(]uired”) refers to his
servitude; as a boy he was a slave in Rome of
Epaphroditus, a freedman and courtier of
Nero.

While still a slave, Epictetus attended the
lectures of the Stoic philosopher, Musonius
Rufus, who, he records, “spoke in such fashion
that each of us as he sat there thought he was
himself accuse*!.’* The slave apparently came
to appreciate Musonius’ teaching that “the
gifted soul is all the more inclined towards its
natural object, the more you try to l^ieat it off.”
According to Celsus, as quoted by Origen,
Epictetus was permanently lamed by his mas-
ter. “When his master was twisting his leg,”
it is said, “Epictetus only smiled and noted
calmly, ‘You will break it,* and when it was
broken, ‘1 told you so.’ ”

Sometime before the year 8q, Epictetus ob-
tained his freedom and became a teacher of
philosophy in Rome. But along with other
philosophers suspected of republicanism he
was exj^lled from Rome and Italy by Domi-

tian around the year 90. Epictetus withdrew
to northern Greece, to the city of Nicopolis,
which had been founded by Augustus to cele-
brate the victory of Actium. There he spent
the rest of his long life, expounding Stoic doc-
trine. He lived in poverty, having only, as he
said, earth, sky, and a cloak.

Epictetus wrote nothing, but he acquired
renown as a teacher. “When he was speaking,
his hearers,” we learn from one of them,
“were forced to feel just what he would have
them feel.” Their reverence for him is attested
by Lucian’s story that after his death an ad-
mirer paid three thousand drachmas for an
earthenware lamp he had used.

Among his pupils, who came from all parts
of the Empire, was a certain Flavius Arrian,
later consul under Hadrian and the historian
of Alexander. Arrian took careful notes of the
lectures and teaching of Epictetus and pub-
lished them in the eight books of the D/V-
courses, of which the first four have survived.
Arrian says in his preface that the Discourses
are “in the very language Epictetus used, so
far as possible,” and preserve “the directness
of his speech.” Arrian also compiled out of his
lecture notes a compendium of the main tenets
of Epictetus, the Encheiridion, or Manual.

101

CONTENTS

Biographical Note, p. loi

BOOK I

I Of the things which are in our Pow-

er, and not in our Power 105

II How a man on every occasion can

maintain his proper character 106

III How a man should proceed from the

principle of God being the father
of all men to the rest 108

IV Of progress or improvement 108

V Against the academics 110

VI 0/ providence no

VII Of the use of sophistical arguments,

and hypothetical, and the li}(e 112

VIII That the faculties arc not safe to the

acted 1 13

IX How from the fact that we are ahjn
to God a man may proceed to the
consequences 1 14

X Against those who eagerly see\ pre-

ferment at Rome 116

XI Of natural affection 116

XII Of contentment 118

XIII How everything may be done accept-

ably to the Gods 120

XIV That the deity oversees all things 120

XV What philosophy promises 121

XVI Of providence 121

XVII That the logical art is necessary 122

XVIII That we ought not to he angry with

the errors of others 124

XIX How we should behave to tyrants 125

XX About reason, how it contemplates

itself 126

XXI Against those who wish to be ad-

mired 127

XXII Of precognitions 127

XXIII Against Epicurus 128

XXIV How we should struggle with cir-

cumstances 129

XXV On the same 129

XXVI What is the law of life 131

XXVII In how many ways appearances exist,
and what aids we should provide
against them 132

XXVIII That we ought not to he angry with
men; and what are the small and
the great things among men 133

XXIX On constancy 134

XXX What wc ought to have ready in dif-

ficult circumstances 138

BOOK II

I That confidence is not inconsistent

with caution 138

II Of Tranquillity 140

III To those who recommend persons to

philosophers 14 1

IV Against a person who had once been

dHected in adultery 142

V How magnanimity is consistent with

care 142

VI Of indifferertce 144

VII How wc ought to use divination 145

VIII What is the nature of the good 146

IX That when we cannot fulfill that
which the character of a man
promises, we assume the charac-
ter of a philosopher 147

X How we may discover the duties of

life from names 148

XI What the beginning of philosophy is 150

XII Of disputation or discussion 151

XIII On anxiety 152

XIV To Naso 153

XV To or against those who obstinately

persist in what they have deter-
mined 155

XVI That we do not strive to use our

opinions about good and evil 156

XVII How we must adapt preconceptions

to partidflar cases 158

XVIII How we should struggle against ap-
pearances 161

XIX Against those who embrace philo-
sophical opinions only in words 162

XX Against the Epicureans and Aca-

demics 164

XXI Of inconsistency 166

XXII On friendship 167

XXIII On the power of spea\ing 170

XXIV To a person who gvos one of those

who were not valued by him 172

XXV That logic is necessary 174

XXVI What is the property of error 174

103

104 CONTENTS

BOOK III

I Of finery^ in dress 175

II In what a man ought to be exercised

who has made proficiency; and
that we neglect the chief things 177

III What is the matter on which a good

man should be employed, and in
what we ought chiefly to practice

ourselves 178

IV Against a person who showed his

partisanship in an unseemly way
in a theatre 180

V Against those who on account of

sicl^ness go away home 180

VI Miscellaneous 181

VII To the administrator of the free cities

who was an Epicurean 182

VIII How we must exercise ourselves

against appearances 184

IX To certain rhetorician who was go-

ing up to Rome on a suit 1^4

X In what manner we ought to bear

sickness 185

XI Certain miscellaneous matters 187

XII About exercise 187

XIII What solitude is, and what hind of

person a solitary man is 188

XIV Certain miscellaneous matters 1H9

XV That we ought to proceed with cir-

cumspection to everything 190

XVI That wc ought with caution to enter

into familiar intercourse with men 191

XVII On providence 19 1

XVIII That we ought not to be disturbed by

any news 192

XIX What is the condition of a common

hind of man and of a philosopher 192

XX That we can derive advantage from

all external things 192

XXI Against those who readily come to

the profession of sophists 193

XXII About cynism 195

XXIII To those who read and discuss for

the sahe of ostentation 201

XXIV That we ought not to be moved by a

desire of those things which are
not in our power 203

XXV To those who fall off from their pur-

pose 210

XXVI To those who fear want 210

BOOK IV

I About freedom 213

II On familiar intimacy 223

III What things we should exchange for

other things 224

IV To those who are desirous of passing

life in tranquility 225

V Against the quarrelsome and fero-

cious 228

VI Against those who lament over being

pitied 230

VII On freedom from fear 2^2

VIII Against those who hastily rush into

the use of the philosophic dress 235
IX To a person who had been changed

to a character of sljamelessness 237

X What things we ought to despise,

and what things wc ought to value 2

XI About purity 240

XII On attention 242

XIII Against or to those who readily tell

their own affairs 244

THE DISCOURSES OF
EPICTETUS

• BOOK ONE •

Chapter i. Of the things which are in our
Power, and not in our Power
Of all the faculties, you will find not one which
is capable of contemplating itself; and, conse-
quently, not capable either of approving or dis-
approving. How far does the grammatic art
possess the coniciiiplating power? As far as
forming a judgment about what is written and
spoken. And how far music? As far as judging
about meloily either of them then con-

template itself? By no means. But when you
must write something to your friend, grammar
will tell you what words you must write; but
whether you should write or not, grammar will
not tell you. Anti so it is with music as to musi-
cal sounds; but whether you should sing at the
present time and play on the lute, or do neither,
music will not tell you. What faculty then will
tell you? That which contemplates both itself
and all other things. And what is this faculty?
The rational faculty;* for this is the only faculty
that we have received which examines itself,
what it is, and what power it has, and what is
the value of this gift, and examines all other
faculties: for what else is there which tells us
that golden things are beautiful, for they do
not say so themselves? Evidently it is the faculty
which is capable of judging of appearances.
What else judges of music, grammar, and the
other faculties, proves their uses and points
out the occasions for using them? Nothing else.

As then it was fit to be so, that w'hich is best
of all and supreme over all is the only thing
which the gods have placed in our power, the
right use of appearances; but all other things
they have not placed in our power. Was it be-
cause they did nof choo.se? I indeed think
that, if they had been able, they would have
^Marcus Aurelius, xi. i.

put these other things also in our power, but
they certainly could not.“ For as we exist on the
earth, and are bound to such a body and to
such companions, how was it possible for us not
to be hindered as to these things by externals?

But what says Zeus? “Epictetus, if it were
possible, I wpuld have made both your little
body and your little property free and not ex-
posed to hindrance. But now be not ignorant of
this: this body is not yours, but it is clay finely
tempered. And since I was not able to do for
you what 1 have mentioned, I have given you a
small portion of us, this faculty of pursuing an
object and avoiding it, and the faculty of desire
and aversion, and, in a word, the faculty of
using the appearances of things; and if you
will take care of this faculty and consider it
your only possession, you will never be hin-
dered, never meet with impediments; you will
not lament, you will not blame, you will not
flatter any person.”

“Well, do these seem to you small matters?”
I hope not. “Be content with them then and
pray to the gods.” But now when it is in our
power to look after one thing, and to attach
ourselves to it, w'e prefer to look after many
things, and to be bound to many things, to the
body and to property, and to brother and to
friend, and to child and to slave. Since, then,
we arc bound to many things, we are depressed
by them and dragged down. For this reason,
when the weather is not fit for sailing, we sit
down and torment ourselves, and continually
look out to see what wind is blowing. “It is
north.” What is that to us? “When will the
west wind blow?” When it shall choose, my
good man, or when it shiffl please iEolus; for
God has not made you the manager of the

^ Compare Marcus .\urclius, ii. 3.

105

io6 EPICTETUS

winds» but ^Eolus. What then? We must make
the best use that we can of the things which
are in our power, and use the rest according to
their nature. What is their nature then? As
God may please.

“Must I, then, alone have my head cut off?”
What, would you have all men lose their heads
that you may be consoled? Will you not stretch
out your neck as Lateranus^ did at Rome
when Nero ordered him to be beheaded? For
when he had stretched out his neck, and re-
ceived a feeble blow, which made him draw
it in for a moment, he stretched it out again.
And a little before, when he was visited by
Epaphroditus, Nero’s freedman, who asked
him about the cause of offense which he had
given, he said, “If I choose to tell anything, I
will tell your master.”

What then should a man have in readiness
in such circumstances? What else than this?
“What is mine, and what is not mine; and
what is permitted to me, and what is not per-
mitted to me.” I must die. Must I then die la-
menting? I must be put in chains. Must I then
also lament? I must go into exile. Does any
man then hinder me from going with smiles
and cheerfulness and contentment? “Tell me
the secret which you possess.” I will not, for
this is in my power. “But I will put you in
chains.” ‘ Man, what are you talking about?
Me in chains? You may fetter my leg, but my
will not even Zeus himself can overpower. “I
will throw you into prison.” My poor body,
you mean. “I will cut your head off.” When,
then, have I told you that my head alone can-
not be cut off? These are the things which
philosophers should meditate on, which they
should write daily, in which they should ex-
ercise themselves.

Thrasea* used to say, “I would rather be
killed to-day than banished to-morrow.” What,
then, did Rufus ^ say to him? “If you choose
death as the heavier misfortune, how great is
the folly of your choice? But if, as the lighter,
who has given you the choice? Will you not
study to be content with that which has been
given to you?”

^Tacitus, Armabn xv. 49, 60.

* Euripides, Bacchantes » 492 and followin^r.

^Tacitus, Annals^ xvi. 21-35.

^Tacitus, Histories, iii. 81.

What, then, did Agrippinus” say? He said,
“I am not a hindrance to myself.” When it was
reported to him that his trial was going on in
the Senate, he said, “I hope it may turn out
well; but it is the fifth hour of the day” — this
was the time when he was used to exercise
himself and then take the cold bath — “let us
go and take our exercise.” After he had taken
his exercise, one comes and tells him, “You
have been condemned.” “To banishment,” he
replies, “or to death?” “To banishment.”
“What about my property?” “It is not taken
from you.” “Let us go to Aricia then,” he said,
“and dine.”

This it is to have studied what a man ought
to study; to have made desire, aversion, free
from hindrance, and free from all that a man
would avoid. I must die. If now, I am ready to
die. If, after a short time, I now dine because
it is the dinner-hour; after this I will then die.
How? Like a man who gives up what belongs
to another.

Chapter 2. How a Man on every occasion can

maintain his Proper Character
To the rational animal only is the irrational in-
tolerable; but that which is rational is tolerable.
Blows arc not naturally implcrable. “How is
that?” See how the Lacedemonians endure
whipping when they have learned that whip-
ping is consistent with reason. “To hang your-
self is not intolerable.” When, then, you have
the opinion that it is rational, you go and hang
yourself. In short, if we observe, we shall find
that the animal man is pained by nothing so
much as by that which is irrational; and, on
the contrary, attracted to nothing so much as
to that which is rational.

But the rational and the irrational appear
such in a different way to different persons,
just as the good and the bad, the profitable and
the unprofitable. For this rea^n, particularly,
we need discipline, in order fo learn how to
adapt the preconception of thcVational and the
irrational to the several thingf conformably to
nature. But in order to deternline the rational
and the irrational, wc use not only the estimates
of external things, but we consider also what is
appropriate to each person. For to one man it is
o:>nsistent with reason to hold a chamber pot

^Tacitus, Annals, xvL 28.

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

for another, and to look to this only, that if he
does not hold it, he will receive stripes, and he
will not receive his food: but if he shall hold
the pot, he will not suffer anything hard or dis-
agreeable. But to another man not only does
the holding of a chamber pot appear intoler-
able for himself, but intolerable also for him to
allow another to do this office for him. If, then,
you ask me whether you should hold the cham-
ber pot or not, I shall say to you that the receiv-
ing of food is worth more than the not receiv-
ing of it, and the being scourged is a greater
indignity than not being scourged; so that if
you measure your interests by these things, go
and hold the chamber pot. “But this,” you say,
“would not be worthy of me.” Well, then, it is
you who must introduce this consideration into
the inquiry, not I; for it is you who know your-
self, how much you arc worth to yourself, and
at what price you sell yourself; for men sell
themselves at various prices.

For this reason, when Florus was deliberat-
ing whether he should go down to Nero^s spec-
tacles ' and also perform in them himself,
Agrippinus said to him, “Go down”: and when
Florus asked Agrippinus, “Why do not you go
down?” Agrippinus replied, “Because I do not
even deliberate about the matter.” For he who
has once brought himself to deliberate about
such matters, and to calculate the value of ex-
ternal things, comes very near to those who
have forgotten their own character. For why
do you ask me the question, whether death is
preferable or life? I say “life.” “Pain or pleas-
ure?” I say “pleasure.” But if I do not lake a
part in the tragic acting, I shall have my head
struck off. Go then and take a part, but I will
not. “Why?” Because you consider yourself to
be only one thread of those which are in the
tunic. Well then it was fitting for you to take
care how you should be like the rest of men,
just as the thread has no design to be anything
superior to the other threads. But I wish to be
purple, that small part which is bright, and
makes all the rest appear graceful and beauti-
ful. Why then do you tell me to make myself
like the many? and if I do, how shall I still be
purple?

Priscus Hclvidius * also saw this, and acted

^Tacitus. Annals^ xiv. 14.

* Tacitus, Histories, iv. 4, 5.

conformably. For when Vespasian sent and
commanded him not to go into the senate, he
replied, “It is in your power not to allow me to
be a member of the senate, but so long as I am,

I must go in.” “Well, go in then,” says the
emperor, “but say nothing.” “Do not ask my
opinion, and I will be silent.” “But I must ask
your opinion.” “And I must say what I think
right.” “But if you do, I shall put you to death.”
“When then did I tell you that I am immortal?
You will do your part, and I will do mine: it is
your part to kill; it is mine to die, but not in
fear: yours to banish me; mine to depart with-
out sorrow.”

What good then did Priscus do, who was
only a single person? And what good does the
purple do for the toga? Why, what else than
this, that it is conspicuous in the toga as pur-
ple, and is displayed also as a fine example to
all other things? But in such circumstances an-
other would have replied to Cxsar who for-
bade him to enter the senate, “I thank you for
sparing me.” But such a man Vespasian would
not even have forbidden to enter the senate,
for he knew that he would either sit there
like an earthen vessel, or, if he spoke, he
would say what Caesar wished, and add even
more.

In this way an athlete also acted who was in
danger of dying unless his private parts were
amputated. His brother came to the athlete,
who was a philosopher, and said, “Come,
brother, what are you going to do? Shall we
amputate this member and return to the gym-
nasium?” But the athlete persisted in his reso-
lution and died. When some one asked Epicte-
tus how he did this, as an athlete or a philoso-
pher, “As a man,” Epictetus replied, “and a
man who had been proclaimed among the
athletes at the Olympic games and had con-
tended in them, a man who had been familiar
with such a place, and not merely anointed in
Baton’s school. Another would have allowed
even his head to be cut off, if he could have
lived without it. Such is that regard to charac-
ter which is so strong in those who have been
accustomed to introduce it of themselves and
conjoined with other thin^into their delibera-
tions.”

“Come, then, Epictetus, shave yourself.” “If
I am a philosopher,” I answer, “I will not shave

io8 EPICTETUS

myself/^ “But I will take off your head?” If
that will do you any good, take it off.

Some person asked, “How then shall every
man among us perceive what is suitable to his
character?” How, he replied, does the bull
alone, when the lion has attacked, discover his
own powers and put himself forward in de-
fense of the whole herd? It is plain that with
the powers the perception of having them is
immediately conjoined; and, therefore, who-
ever of us has such powers will not be ignorant
of them. Now a bull is not made suddenly, nor
a brave man; but we must discipline ourselves
in the winter for the summer campaign, and
not rashly run upon that which does not con-
cern us.

Only consider at what price you sell your
own will; if for no other reason, at least for
this, that you sell it not for a small sum. But
that which is great and superior perhaps be-
longs to Socrates and such as arc like him.
“Why then, if we are naturally such, are not a
very great number of us like him?” Is it true
then that all horses become swift, that all dogs
arc skilled in tracking footprints? “What,
then, since I am naturally dull, shall I, for this
reason, take no pains?” I hope not, Epictetus
is not superior to Socrates; but if he is not in-
ferior, this is enough for me; for I shall never
be a Milo, and yet I do not neglect my body;
nor shall I be a Creesus, and yet I do not neglect
my property; nor, in a word, do we neglect
looking after anything because we despair of
reaching the highest degree.

Chapter 3. How a man should proceed from

the principle of God being the father of all

men to the rest

If a man should be able to assent to this doc-
trine as he ought, that we arc all sprung from
God in an especial manner, and that God is
the father both of men and of gods, I suppose
that he would never have any ignoble or mean
thoughts about himself. But if Cxsar should
adopt you, no one could endure your arrogance;
and if you know that you arc the son of Zeus,
will you not be elated? Yet we do not so; but
since these two things arc mingled in the gen-
eration of man, body in common with the ani-
mals, and reason and intelligence in common
with the gods, many incline to this kinship.

which is miserable and mortal; and some few
to that which is divine and happy. Since then
it is of necessity that every man uses everything
according to the opinion which he has about it,
those, the few, who think that they are formed
for fidelity and modesty and a sure use of ap-
pearances have no mean or ignoble thoughts
about themselves; but with the many it is quite
the contrary. For they say, “What am I? A
poor, miserable man, with my wretched bit of
flcsh.”Wretched, indeed; but you possess some-
thing better than your “bit of flesh.” Why then
do you neglect that which is better, and why
do you attach yourself to this?

Through this kinship with the flesh, some of
us inclining to ir become like wolves, faithless
and treacherous and mischievous: some be-
come like lions, savage and untamed; but the
greater part of us become foxes and other
worse animals. For what else is a slanderer and
a malignant man than a fox, or some other
more wretched and meaner animal? Sec,*
then, and take care that you do not become
some one of these miserable things.

Chapter 4. Of progress or ifnprouement
He who is making progress, having learned
from philosophers that desire means the desire
of good things, and aversion.jjicans aversion
from bad things; having learned too that hajv
piness and tranquillity are not attainable by
man otherwise than by not failing to obtain
what he desires, and not falling into that which
he would avoid; such a man takes from him-
self desire altogether and defers it, but he em-
ploys his aversion only on things which are de-
pendent on his will. For if he attempts to avoid
anything independent of his will, he knows
that sometimes he will fall in with something
which he wishes to avoid, and he will be un-
happy. Now if virtue promises good fortune
and tranquillity and happiness, certainly also
the progress toward virtue is progress toward
each of these things. For it is always true that to
whatever point the perfecting of anything leads
us, progress is an approach toward this point.

How then do we admit that virtue is such
as I have said, and yet seek progress in other
things and make a display of it? What is the
product of virtue? Tranquillity. Who then
16. 6.

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

makes improvement? It is he who has read
many books of Chrysippus? But docs virtue
consist in having understood Chrysippus? If
this is so, progress is clearly nothing else than
knowing a great deal of Chrysippus. But now
we admit that virtue produces one thing, and
we declare that approaching near to it is an-
other thing, namely, progress or improvement.
“Such a person,” says one, “is already able to
read Chrysippus by himself.” Indeed, sir, you
are making great progress. What kind of prog-
ress? But why do you mock the man? Why do
you draw him away from the perception of his
own misfortunes? Will you not show him the
effect of virtue that he may learn where to look
for improvement? Seek it there, wretch, where
your work lies. And where is your work? In
desire and in aversion, that you may not be
disappointed in your desire, and that you may
not fall into that which you would avoid; in
your pursuit and avoiding, that you commit
no error; in assent and suspension of assent,
that you be not deceived. The first things, and
the most necessary, arc those which I have
named.' Hut if with trembling and lamenta-
tion you seek not to fall into that which you
avoid, tell me how you are improving.

Do you then show me your improvement in
these things? If I were talking to an athlete, I
should say, “Show me your shoulders”; and
then he might say, “Here arc my haltercs.”
You and your haltercs^ look to that. I should
reply, “I wish to see the effect of the halteres.”
So, when you say: “Take the treatise on the ac-
tive powers, and sec how I have studied it.” 1
reply, “Slave, I am not inquiring about this,
but how you exercise pursuit and avoidance,
desire and aversion, how your design and pur-
pose and prepare yourself, whether conform-
ably to nature or not. If conformably, give me
evidence of it, and I will say that you are mak-
ing progress: but if not conformably, be gone,
and not only expound your books, but write
such books yourself; and what will you gain
by it? Do you not know that the whole book
costs only five denarii? Docs then the ex-
pounder seem to be worth more than five
denarii? Never, then, look for the matter it-

* Compare iii, 2.

* Galen. Pe Sariitafe tuenda. Halteres were m.isses
of lead, used hy the Greeks for exercise and in making
jumps.

self in one place, and progress toward it in
another.”

Where then is progress? If any of you, with-
drawing himself from externals, turns to his
own will to exercise it and to improve it by
labour, so as to make it conformable to nature,
elevated, free, unrestrained, unimpeded, faith-
ful, modest; and if he has learned that he who
desires or avoids the things which arc not in
his power can neither be faithful nor free, but
of necessity he must change with them and be
tossed about with them as in a tempest, and of
necessity must subject himself to others who
have the power to procure or prevent what he
desires or would avoid; finally, when he rises
in the morning, if he observes and keeps these
rules, bathes as a man of fidelity, eats as a mod-
est man; in like manner, if in every matter that
occurs he works out his chief principles as the
runner docs with reference to running, and the
trainer of the voice with reference to the voice
— this is the man who truly makes progress, and
this is the man who has not traveled in vain.
But if he has strained his efforts to the practice
of reading books, and labours only at this, and
has traveled for this, I tell him to return home
immediately, and not to neglect his affairs
there; for this for which he has traveled is noth-
ing. But the other thing is something, to study
how a man can rid his life of lamentation and
groaning, and saying, “Woe to me,” and
“wretched that I am,” and to rid it also of mis-
fortune and disappointment, and to learn what
death is, and exile, and prison, and poison, that
he may be able to say when he is in fetters,
“Dear Crilo,* if it is the will of the gods that
it be so, let it be so”; and not to say, “Wretched
am I, an old man; have I kept my gray hairs
for this?” Who is it that speaks thus? Do you
think that I shall name some man of no repute
and of low condition? Docs not Priam say
this? Docs not CEdipus say this? Nay, all kings
say it!' For what else is tragedy than the per-
turbations of men who value externals ex-
hibited in this kind of poetry? But if a man
must learn by fiction that no external things
which are independent of the will concern us,
for my part I should like this fiction, by the aid
of which I should live hap[^ and undisturbed.

*0>mparc Plato, Cr/Vo, i.

* Compare Marcus Aurelius, xi. 6.

no EPICTETUS

But you must consider for yoursdves what you Shall I still argue with this man? And what

wish.

What then docs Chrysippus teach us? The
reply is, “to know that these things arc not
false, from which happiness comes and tran-
quillity arises. Take my books, and you will
learn how true and conformable to nature are
the things which make me free from perturba-
tions.” O great good fortune! O the great bene-
factor who points out the way! To Triptolc-
mus all men have erected temples and altars,
because he gave us food by cultivation; but to
him who discovered truth and brought it to
light and communicated it to all, not the truth
which shows us how to live, but how to live
well, who of you for this reason has built an
altar, or a temple, or has dedicated a statue, or
who worships God for this? Because the gods
have given the vine, or wheat, we sacrifice to
them: but because they have produced in the
human mind that fruit by which they designed
to show us the truth which relates to happi-
ness, shall we not thank God for this?

Chapter 5. Against the academics
If a man, said Epictetus, opposes evident truths,
it is not easy to And arguments by which we
shall make him change his opinion. But this
does not arise either from the man’s strength or
the teacher’s weakness; for when the man,
though he has been confuted, is hardened like
a stone, how shall we then be able to deal with
him by argument?

Now there are two kinds of hardening, one
of the understanding, the other of the sense of
shame, when a man is resolved not to assent to
what is manifest nor to desist from contradic-
tions. Most of us are afraid of mortification of
the body, and would contrive all means to
avoid such a thing, but we care not about the
soul’s mortification. And indeed with regard
to the soul, if a man be in such a state as not to
apprehend anything, or understand at all, we
think that he is in a bad condition: but if the
sense of shame and modesty are deadened, this
we call even power.

Do you comprehend that you are awake? “I
do not,” the man replies, “for I do not even
comprehend when in my sleep I imagine that
I am awake.” Does this appearance then not
differ from the other? “Not at all,” he replies.

fire or what iron shall I apply to him to make
him feel that he is deadened? He does per-
ceive, but he pretends that he does not. He is
even worse than a dead man. He does not see
the contradiction: he is in a bad condition. An-
other does see it, but he is not moved, and
makes no improvement: he is even in a worse
condition. His modesty is extirpated, and his
sense of shame; and the rational faculty has
not been cut off from him, but it is brutalized.
Shall I name this strength of mind? Certainly
not, unless we also name it such in catamites,
through which they do and say in public what-
ever comes into their head.

Chapter 6. Of providence
From everything which is or happens in the
world, it is easy to praise Providence, if a man
possesses these two qualities, the faculty of see-
ing what belongs and happens to all persons
and things, and a grateful disposition. If he
docs not possess these two qualities, one man
will not see the use of things which arc and
which happen; another will not be thankful
for them, even if he does know them. If God
had made colours, but had not made the faculty
of seeing them, what would have been their
use? None at all. On the othc^Jiand, if He had
made the faculty of vision, but had not made
objects such as to fall under the faculty, what
in that case also would have been the use of it?
None at all. Well, suppose that I le had made
both, but had not made light ? In that case, al-
so, they would have been of no use. Who is it,
then, who has btted this to that and that to
this? And who is it that has fitted the knife to
the case and the case to the knife? Is it no one?
And, indeed, from the very structure of things
which have attained their completion, we are
accustomed to show that the work is certainly
the act of some artificer, and that it has not
been constructed without a pur{K)se. Docs then
each of these things dcmonstliate the work-
man, and do not visible things and the faculty
of seeing and light demonstrate Htni ? And the
existence of male and female, ahd the desire of
each for conjunction, and the power of using
the parts which are constructed, do not even
these declare the workman? If they do not, let
us consider the constitution of our understand-

DISCOURSES. BOOK I

ing according to which, when we meet with
sensible objects, we do not simply receive im-
pressions from them, but we also select some-
thing from them, and subtract something, and
add, and compound by means of them these
things or those, and, in fact, pass from some to
other things which, in a manner, resemble
them; is not even this sufiBcient to move some
men, and to induce them not to forget the
workman? If not so, let them explain to us
what it is that makes each several thing, or
how it is possible that things so wonderful and
like the contrivances of art should exist by
chance and from their own proper motion?

What, then, are these things done in us only.
Many, indeed, in us only, of which the rational
animal had peculiar need; but you will find
many common to us with irrational animals.
Do they them understand what is done? By no
means. For use is one thing, and understand-
ing is another: God had need of irrational ani-
mals to make iise o'" appearances, but of us to
understand the use of appearances. It is there-
fore enough for them to eat and to drink, and
to sleep and to copulate, and to do all the other
things which they severally do. But for us, to
whom He has given also the intellectual fac-
ulty, these things arc not sufficient; for unless
we act in a proper and orderly manner, and
conformably to the nature and constitution of
each thing, we shall never attain our true end.
For where the constitutions of living beings are
different, there also the acts and the ends are
different. In those animals, then, whose consti-
tution is adapted only to use, use alone is
enough: but in an animal which has also the
power of understanding the use, unless there
be the due exercise of the understanding, he
will never attain his proper end. Well then
God constitutes every animal, one to be eaten,
another to serve for agriculture, another to
supply cheese, and another for some like use;
for which purposes what need is there to un-
derstand appearances and to be able to distin-
guish them? But God has introduced man to
be a spectator of God and of His works; and
not only a spectator of them, but an interpreter.
For this reason it is shameful for man to be-
gin and to end where" irrational animals do,
but rather he ought to begin where they begin,
and to end where nature ends in us; and nature

ends in contemplation and understanding, and
in a way of life conformable to nature. Take
care then not to die without having been spec-
tators of these things.

But you take a journey to Olympia to sec the
work of Phidias, and all of you think it a mis-
fortune to die without having seen such things.
But when there is no need to take a journey,
and where a man is, there he has the works (of
God) before him, will you not desire to sec and
understand them? Will you not perceive either
what you arc, or what you were born for, or
what this is for which you have received the
faculty of sight? But you may say, “There arc
some things disagreeable and troublesome in
life.” And are there none in Olympia? Arc you
not scorched? Are you not pressed by a crowd?
Arc you not without comfortable means of bath-
ing? Are you not wet when it rains? Have you
not abundance of noise, clamour, and other dis-
agreeable things? But I suppose that setting all
these things off against the magnificence of the
spectacle, you bear and endure. Well, then, and
have you not received faculties by which you
will be able to bear all that happens? Have you
not received greatness of soul? Haveyou not re-
ceived manliness ? Have you not received endur-
ance? And why do I trouble myself about any-
thing that can happen if I possess greatness of
soul ? What shall distract my mind or disturb
me, or appear painful ? Shall I not use the pow-
er for the purposes for which I received it, and
shall I grieve and lament over what happens?

“Yes, but my nose runs.”' For what purpose
then, slave, have you hands? Is it not that you
may wipe your nose? “Is it, then, consistent
with reason that there should be running of
noses in the world?” Nay, how much better it
is to wipe your nose than to find fault. What do
you think that Hercules would have been if
there had not been such a lion, and hydra, and
stag, and boar, and certain unjust and bestial
men, whom Hercules used to drive away and
clear out? And what would he have been do-
ing if there had been nothing of the kind? Is it
not plain that he would have wrapped himself
up and have slept? In the first place, then, he
would not have been a Hcrci^s, when he was
dreaming away all his life irfsuch luxury and
ease; and even if he had been one what would

^ Compare ii, i6.

II2 EPICTETUS

have been the use of him ? and what the use of
his arms, and of the strength of the other parts
of his body, and his endurance and noble spirit,
if such circumstances and occasions had not
roused and exercised him? “Well, then, must
a man provide for himself such means of exer-
cise, and seek to introduce a lion from some
place into his country, and a boar and a hy-
dra?” This would be folly and mailncss: but
as they did exist, and wore found, they were
useful for showing what Hercules was and for
exercising him. Come then do you also having
observed these things look to the faculties
which you have, and when you have looked at
them, say: “Bring now, O Zeus, any difficulty
that Thou plcasest, for I have means given to
me by Thee and powers for honoring myself
through the things which happen.” You do not
so; but you sit still, trembling for fear that some
things will happen, and weeping, and lament-
ing, and groaning for what does happen: and
then you blame the gods. For what is the con-
sequence of such meanness of spirit bu( im-
piety? And yet God has not only given us these
faculties; by which wc shall be able to bear
everything that happens without being lc-
pressed or broken by it; but, like a good king
and a true father, He has given us these facul-
ties free from hindrance, subject to no compul-
sion, unimpeded, and has put them entirely in
our own power, without even having reserved
to Himself any power of hindering or imped-
ing. You, who have received these powers free
and as your own, use them not: you do not
even see what you have received, and from
whom; some of you being blinded to the giver,
and not even acknowledging your benefactor,
and others, through meanness of spirit, betak-
ing yourselves to fault-finding and making
charges against God. Yet I will show to you
that you have jx»wers and means for greatness
of soul and manliness: but what powers you
have for finding fault and making accusations,
do you show me.

Chapter 7. Of the use of sophistical arguments,
and hypothetical, and the lil(e
The handling of sophistical and hypothetical
arguments, and of those which derive their
conclusions from questioning, and in a word
the handling of all such arguments, relates to

the duties of life, though the many do not
know this truth. For in every matter wc in-
quire how the wise and good man shall dis-
cover the proper path and the proper method
of dealing with the matter. Let, then, people
cither say that the grave man will not descend
into the contest of (lucstioii and answer, or that,
if he docs descend into the cojitest, he will take
no care about not conducting himself rashly
or carelessly in questioning and answering. But
if they do not allow either the one or the other
of these things, they must admit that some in-
quiry ought to be made into those topics on
which particularly questioning anti answering
arc employed. For what is the cntl proposed in
reasoning? To establish true propositions, to
remove the false, to withhold assent from those
which arc not plain. Is it enough then to have
learned only this? “It is enough,” a man may
reply. Is it, then, also enough for a jnan, who
would not make a mistake in the use of coined
money, to have hcanl this precept, that he
should receive the genuine drachma- and reject
the spurious? “h is not enough.” What, then,
ought to be added to this precept? What else
than the faculty which proves and distinguishes
the genuine and the spurious drachm.t? Con-
sequently also in reasoning what has been said
is not enough; but is it necessary that a man
should acquire the faculty of examining and
distinguishing the true and the false, and that
which is not plain? “It is necessary.” Besides
this, what is proposed in reasoning? “That you
should accept what follows from that which
you have properly granted.” Well, is it then
enough in this case also to know this? It is not
enough; but a man must learn how one thing
is a consccjiiencc of other things, and when one
thing follows from one thing, and when it fol-
lows from several collectively. C'onsidcr, then,
if it be not necessary that this power should
also Ixr accjuircd by him who purposes to con-
duct himself skillfully in reasoning, the power
of demonstrating h’mscif the several things
which he has proposed, and the power of un-
derstanding the dcmonstralioOs of others, and
of not being deceived by sophists, as if they
were demonstrating. Therefore there has arisen
among us the practice and exercise of conclu-
sive arguments and figures^ and it has been
shown to be necessary.

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

But in fact in some cases we have properly
granted the premissesor assumptions, and there
results from them something; and though it is
not true, yet none the less it does result. What
then ought I to do? Ought I to admit the false-
hood? And how is that possible? Well, should
I say that I did not properly grant that which
we agreed upon? “But you arc not allowed to
do even this.” Shall I then say that the conse-
quence does not arise through what has been
conceded? “But neither is it allowed.” What
then must be done in this case? Consider if it
is not this: as to have borrowed is not enough
to make a man still a debtor, but to this must
be added the fact that he continues to owe the
money and that the debt is not paid, so it is not
enough to compel you to admit the inference
that you have granted the premisses, but you
must abide by what you have granted. Indeed,
if the premisses continue to the end such as
they were when they were granted, it is abso-
lutely necessary for us to abide by what we
have granted, and we must accept their con-
sequences: but if the premisses do not remain
such as they were when they were granted, it
is absolutely necessary for us also to withdraw
from what we granted, and from accepting
what docs not follow from the words in which
our concessions were made. For the inference
is now not our inference, nor does it result with
our assent, since we have withdrawn from the
premisses which we granted. We ought then
both to examine such kind of premisses, and
such change and variation of them, by which
in the course of questioning or answering, or
in making the syllogistic conclusion, or in any
other such way, the premisses undergo varia-
tions, and give occasion to the foolish to be con-
founded, if they do not sec what conclusions arc.
For what reason ought we to examine? In order
that we may not in this matter be employed in
an improper manner nor in a confused way.

And the same in hypotheses and hypotheti-
cal arguments; for it is necessary sometimes to
demand the granting of some hypothesis as a
kind of passage to the argument which follows.
Must we then allow every hypothesis that is
ptoposed, or not allow every one? And if not
every one, which should we allow? And if a
man has allowed an hypothesis, must he in
every case abide by allowing it? or must he

sometimes withdraw from it, but admit the
consequences and not admit contradictions?
Yes; but suppose that a man says, “If you ad-
mit the hypothesis of a possibility, I will draw
you to an impossibility.” With such a person
shall a man of sense refuse to enter into a con-
test, and avoid discussion and conversation
with him? But what other man than the man
of sense can use argumentation and is skillful
in questioning and answering, and incapable
of being cheated and deceived by false reason-
ing? And shall he enter into the contest, and
yet not take care whether he shall engage in
argument not rashly and not carelessly? And
if he does not take care, how can he be such a
man as we conceive him to be? But without
some such exercise and preparation, can he
maintain a continuous and consistent argu-
ment? Let them show this; and all these specu-
lations become superfluous, aiid arc absurd and
inconsistent with our notion of a good and
serious man.

Why are wc still indolent and negligent and
sluggish, and why do wc seek pretences for
not labouring and not being watchful in culti-
vating our reason? “If then I shall make a mis-
take in these matters may I not have killed my
father?” Slave, where was there a father in this
matter that you could kill him? What, then,
have you done? The only fault that was possi-
ble here is the fault which you have committed.
This is the very remark which I made to Rufus'
when he blamed me for not having discovered
the one thing omitted in a certain syllogism:
“I suppose,” I said, “that I have burnt the Cap-
itol.” “Slave,” he replied, “was the thing omit-
ted here the Capitol?” Or arc these the only
crimes, to burn the Capitol and to kill your
father? But for a man to use the appearances
presented to him rashly and foolishly and care-
lessly, and not to understand argument, nor
demonstration, nor sophism, nor, in a word, to
see in questioning and answering what is con-
sistent with that which we have granted or is
not consistent; is there no error in this?

Chapter 8. T hat the faculties ^ are not safe to

the uninstructed

In as many ways as we cai) change things
which arc equivalent to one )anothcr, in Just so

* Sec i.i; Plutarch Uves, Tiberius Gracchus.

* See below.

XI4 EPICTETUS

many ways we can change the forms of argu-
ments and enthymemes in argumentation. This
is an instance: *‘I£ you have borrowed and not
repaid, you owe me the money: you have not
borrowed and you have not repaid; then you
do not owe me the money.” To do this skill-
fully is suitable to no man more than to the
philosopher; for if the enthymeme is an im-
perfect syllogism, it is plain that he who has
been exercised in the perfect syllogism must be
equally expert in the imperfect also.

**Why then do we not exercise ourselves and
one another in this manner?” Because, I reply,
at present, though we are not exercised in these
things and not distracted from the study of
morality, by me at least, still we make no prog-
ress in virtue. What then must we expect if we
should add this occupation? and particularly
as this would not only be an occupation which
would withdraw us from more necessary
things, but would also be a cause of self-conceit
and arrogance, and no small cause. For great is
the pow'er of arguing and the faculty of persua-
sion, and particularly if it should be much ex-
ercised, and also receive additional ornament
from language: and so universally, every fac-
ulty acquired by the uninstructed and weak
brings with it the danger of these persons be-
ing elated and inflated by it. For by what means
could one persuade a young man who excels in
these matters that he ought not to become an
appendage to them, but to make them an ap-
pendage to himself? I>oes he not trample on
all such reasons, and strut before us elated and
inflated, not enduring that any man should
reprove him and remind him of what he
has neglected and to what he has turned
aside?

“What, then, was not Plato a philosopher?”
I reply,” And was not Hippocrates a physician?
but you sec how Hippocrates speaks.” Does
Hippocrates, then, speak thus in respect of be-
ing a physician? Why do you min^c things
which have been accidentally united in the
same men? And if Plato was handsome and
strong, ought I also to set to work and endeavor
to become handsome or strong, as if this was
necessary for philosophy, because a certain phi-
losopher was at the same time handsome and a
philosopher? Will you not choose to see and
to distinguish in respect to what men become

philosophers, and what things belong to them
in other respects? And if I were a philosopher,
ought you also to be made lame? What then?
Do I take away these faculties which you pos-
sess? By no means; for neither do 1 take away
the faculty of seeing. But if you ask me what is
the good of man, I cannot mention to you any-
thing else than that it is a certain disposition of
the will with respect to appearances.^

Chapter g,Hou/ from the fact that we are ahjn

to God a man may proceed to the

consequences

If the things are true which are said by the
philosophers about the kinship between God
and man, what else remains for men to do than
what Socrates did? Never in reply to the ques-
tion, to what country you belong, say that you
are an Athenian or a Corinthian, but that you
are a citizen of the world. For why do you say
that you arc an Athenian, and why do you not
say that you belong to the small nook only into
which your poor body was cast at birth? Is it
not plain that you call yourself an Athenian or
Corinthian from the place which has a greater
authority and comprises not only that small
nook itself and all your family, but even the
whole country from which the stock of your
progenitors is derived dowaJ:o you? He then
who has observed with intelligence the admin-
istration of the world, and has learned that the
greatest and supreme and the most compre-
hensive community is that which is composed
of men and God, and that from God have de-
scended the seeds not only to my father and
grandfather, but to all beings which are gener-
ated on the earth and are produced, and par-
ticularly to rational beings — ^for these only arc
by their nature formed to have communion
with God, being by means of reason conjoined
with Him* — why should not such a man call
himself a citizen of the world, why not a son of
God,® and why should he be affaid of anything
which happens among men? Is kinship with
Catsar or with any other of t|ic powerful in
Rome sufficient to enable us tjb live in safety,
and above contempt and witl^ut any fear at
all? and to have God for you^ maker and £a-

1 See also i. 20; i. 29.

’Epictetus, t.14; ii. 8.

’Compare Acts, 17. 28.

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

ther and guardian, shall not this release us
from sorrows and fears?

But a man may say, “Whence shall I get
bread to cat when I have nothing?”

And how do slaves, and runaways, on what
do they rely when they leave their masters? Do
they rely on their lands or slaves, or their ves-
sels of silver? They rely on nothing but them-
selves, and food does not fail them/ And shall
it be necessary for one among us who is a phi-
losopher to travel into foreign parts, and trust
to and rely on others, and not to take care of
himself, and shall he be inferior to irrational
animals and more cowardly, each of which, be-
ing self-sufficient, neither fails to get its proper
food, nor to find a suitable way of living, and
one conformable to nature?

I indeed think that the old man^ ought to
be sitting here, not to contrive how you may
have no mean thoughts nor mean and ignoble
talk about yourselves, but to take care that
there be not among us any young men of such
a mind that, when they have recognized their
kinship to Ciod, and that we are fettered by
these bonds, the body, I mean, and its posses-
sions, and whatever else on accoiyit of them is
necessary to us for the economy and commerce
of life, they should intend to throw ofl these
things as if they were burdens painful and in-
tolerable, and to depart to their kinsmen. But
this is the labour that your teacher and instruc-
tor ought to be employed upon, if he really
were what he should be. You should come to
him and say, “Epictetus, we can no longer en-
dure being bound to this poor body, and feed-
ing it and giving it drink, and rest, and clean-
ing it, and for the sake of the body complying
with the wishes of these and of those. Are not
these things indifferent and nothing to us, and
is not death no evil? And are we not in a man-
ner kinsmen of God, and did we not come
from Him? Allow us to depart to the place
from which we came; allow us to be released
at last from these bonds by which we arc bound
and weighed down. Here there arc robbers
and thieves and courts of justice, and those
who arc named tyrants, and think that they
Ltivc some power over us by means of the body
and its possessions. Permit us to show them
that they have no power over any man.” And

^ Matt. 5. 26; 6. 25-34. * Epictetus.

I on my part would say, “Friends, wait for
God; when He shall give the signal® and re-
lease you from this service, then go to Him;
but for the present endure to dwell in this place
where He has put you; short indeed is this
time of your dwelling here, and easy to bear
for those who are so disposed: for what tyrant
or what thief, or what courts of justice, arc
formidable to those who have thus considered
as things of no value the body and the posses-
sions of the body? Wait then, do not depart
without a reason.”

Something like this ought to be said by the
teacher to ingenuous youths. But now what
happens? The teacher is a lifeless body, and
you are lifeless bodies. When you have been
well filled to-day, you sit down and lament
about the morrow, how you shall get some-
thing to eat. Wretch, if you have it, you will
have it; if you have it not, you will depart from
life. The door is open.^ Why do you grieve?
where does there remain any room for tears?
and where is there occasion for flattery? why
shall one man envy another? why should a
man admire the rich or the powerful, even if
they be both very strong and of violent tem-
per? for what will they do to us? We shall not
care for that which they can do; and what we
do care for, that they cannot do. How did
Socrates behave with respect to these matters?
Why, in what other way than a man ought to
do who was convinced that he was a kinsman
of the gods? “If you say to me now,” said
Socr.aics to his judges, “ ‘Wc will acquit you
on the condition that you no longer discourse
in the way in which you have hitherto dis-
coursed, nor trouble either our young or our
old men,’ I shall answ'er, ‘you make yourselves
ridiculous by thinking that, if one of our com-
manders has appointed me to a certain post,
it is my duty to keep and maintain it, and to
resolve to die a thousand times rather than de-
sert it; but if God has put us in any place and
way of life, we ought to desert it.’ ” Socrates
speaks like a man who is really a kinsman of
the gods. But we think about ourselves as if we
were only stomachs, and intestines, and shamc-

® Cicero, De ReptthUca, iv. Marcus Aurelius, ii.
17; iii. S; V. 3^

^ I'.pictetus 1. 24; i.2s; ii.i. C^pare Mat. 6. 31.

® Plato, Apology, 29.

ii6 EPICTETUS

fill parts; we fear, we desire; we flatter those
who are able to help us in these matters^ and
we fear them also.

A man asked me to write to Rome about
him» a man who, as most people thought, had
been unfortunate, for formerly he was a man
of rank and rich, but had been stripped of all,
and was living here. I wrote on his behalf in a
submissive manner; but when he had read the
letter, he gave it back to me and said, “I wished
for your help, not your pity: no evil has hap-
pened to me.”

Thus also Musonius Rufus, in order to try
me, used to say: ”This and this will befall you
from your master”; and I replied that these
were things which happen in the ordinary
course of human affairs. “Why, then,” said he,
“should I ask him for anything when I can
obtain it from you?” For, in fact, what a man
has from himself, it is superfluous and foolish
to receive from another? Shall I, then, who am
able to receive from myself greatness of soul
and a generous spirit, receive from you land
and money or a magisterial office? I hope not:
I will not be so ignorant about my own posses-
sions. But when a man is cowardly and mean,
what else must be done for him than to write
letters as you would about a corpse. “Please to
grant us the body of a certain person and a
sextarius of poor blood.” For such a person is,
in fact, a carcass and a sextarius of blood, ^nd
nothing more. But if he were anything more,
he would know that one man is not miserable
through the means of another.

Chapter io. Against tho^e who eagerly see^

preferment at Rome

If we applied ourselves as busily to our own
work as the old men at Rome do to those mat-
ters about which they are employed, perhaps
we also might accomplish something. I am ac-
quainted with a man older than myself who is
now superintendent of corn at Rome, and 1 re-
member the time when he came hete on his
way back from exile, and what he said as he
related the events of his former life, and how
he declared that with respect to the future after
his return he would look after nothing else
than passing the rest of his life in quiet and
tranquillity. “For how little of life,” he said,
“remains for me.” I replied, “You will not do

it, but as soon as you smell Rome, you will for-
get all that you have said; and if admission is
allowed even into the imperial palace, you will
gladly thrust yourself in and thank God.” “If
you find me, Epictetus,” he answered, “setting
even one foot within the palace, think what
you please.” Well, what then did he do? Be-
fore he entered the city he was met by letters
from Csesar, and as soon as he received them
he forgot all, and ever after has added one
piece of business to another. I wish that I were
now by his side to remind him of what he said
when he was passing this way and to tell him
how much better a seer I am than he is.

Well, then, do I say that man is an animal
made for doing nothing?' Certainly not. But
why are we not active? For example, as to my-
self, as soon as day comes, in a few words I re-
mind myself of what I must read over to my
pupils; then forthwith 1 say to myself, “But
what is it to me how a certain person shall
read? the first thing for me is to sleep.” And
indeed what resemblance is there between what
other persons do and what we do? If you ob-
serve what they do, you will understand. And
what else do^they do all day long than make
up accounts, inquire among themselves, give
and take advice about some small quantity of
grain, a bit of land, and sucl 3 L,kind of profits?
Is it then the same thing to receive a petition
and to read in it: “I entreat you to permit me
to export a small quantity of corn”; and one to
this effect: “I entreat you to learn from Chry-
sippus what is the administration of the world,
and what place in it the rational animal holds;
consider also who you arc, and what is the
nature of your good and bad.” Are these things
like the other, do they require equal care, and
is it equally base to neglect these and those?
Well, then, arc we the only persons who are
lazy and love sleep? No; but much rather you
young men arc. For we old mean, when we sec
young men amusing themselves, are eager to
play with them; and if I sawjyou active and
zealous, much more should I ^ eager myself
to join you in your serious puriuits.

Chapter ii. 0/ natural affection

When he was visited by one of the magistrates,

Epictetus inquired of him about several partic-

1 Marcus Aurelius, v. i; viii, 19.

DISCOURSES, BOOK I 117

ulars» and asked if he had children and a wife.
The man replied that he had; and Epictetus in-
quired further, how he felt under the circum-
stances. ^‘Miserable/’ the man said. Then Epic-
tetus asked, **In what respect,*’ for men do not
marry and beget children in order to be wretch-
ed, but rather to be happy. “But I,” the man
replied, “am so wretched about my children
that lately, when my little daughter was sick
and was supposed to be in danger, I could not
endure to stay with her, but I left home till a
person sent me news that she had recovered.’*
Well then, said Epictetus, do you think that
you acted right? “1 acted naturally,** the man
replied. But convince me of this that you acted
naturally, and I will convince you that every-
thing which takes place according to nature
takes place rightly. “This is the case,** said the
man, “with all or at least most fathers.’’ I do
not deny that: but the matter about which we
are inquiring is whether such behaviour is
right; for in respect to this matter wc must say
that tumours also come for the good of the
body, because they do come; and generally we
must say that to do wrong is natural, because
nearly all or at least most of us do wrong. Do
you show me then how your behaviour is nat-
ural. “I cannot,” he said; “but do you rather
show me how it is not according to nature and
is not rightly done,**

Well, said Epictetus, if we were inquiring
about white and black, what criterion should
we employ for distinguishing between them?
“The sight,” he said. And if about hot and
cold, and hard and soft, what criterion? “The
touch.” Well then, since wc arc inquiring about
things which are according to nature, and
those which are done rightly or not rightly,
what kind of criterion do you think that we
should employ? “I do not know,” he said. And
yet not to know the criterion of colours and
smells, and also of tastes, is perhaps no great
harm; but if a man do not know the criterion
of good and bad, and of things according to
nature and contrary to nature, does this seem
to you a small harm? “The greatest harm.”
Come tell me, do all things which seem to
some persons to be good and becoming rightly
appear such; and at present as to Jews and Syr-
ians and Egyptians and Ronntans, is it possible
that the opinions of all of them in respect to

food are right? “How is it possible?” he said.
Well, I suppose it is absolutely necessary that,
if the opinions of the Egyptians are right, the
opinions of the rest must be wrong: if the opin-
ions of the Jews are right, those of the rest can-
not be right. “Certainly.” But where there is
ignorance, there also there is want of learning
and training in things which are necessary. He
assented to this. You then, said Epictetus, since
you know this, for the future will employ your-
self seriously about nothing else, and will apply
your mind to nothing else than to learn the
criterion of things which are according to na-
ture, and by using it also to determine each sev-
eral thing. But in the present matter I have so
much as this to aid you toward what you wish.
Docs affection to those of your family appear
to you to be according to nature and to be good?
“Certainly.” Well, is such affection natural and
good, and is a thing consistent with reason not
good? “By no means.” Is then that which is
consistent with reason in contradiction with
affection? “I think not.” You are right, for if
it is otherwise, it is necessary that one of the
contradictions being according to nature, the
other must be contrary to nature. Is it not so?
“It is,” he said. Whatever, then, wc shall dis-
cover to be at the same time affectionate and
also consistent with reason, this we confidently
declare to be right and good. “Agreed.” Well
then to leave your sick child and to go away is
not reasonable, and I suppose that you will not
say that it is; but it remains for us to inquire if
it is consistent with affection. “Yes, let us con-
sider.” Did you, then, since you had an affec-
tionate disposition to your child, do right when
you ran off and left her; and has the mother
no affection for the child ? “Certainly, she has.”
Ought, then, the mother also to have left her,
or ought she not? “She ought not.” And the
nurse, does she love her? “She does.” Ought,
then, she also to have left her? “By no means.”
And the pedagogue, docs he not love her? “He
„docs love her.” Ought, then, he also to have de-
serted her? and so should the child have been
left alone and without help on account of the
great affection of you, the parents, and of those
about her, or should she have died in the hands
of those who neither lovedJicr nor cared for
her? “Certainly not.” Now this is unfair and
unreasonable, not to allow those who have

n8 EPICTETUS

equal affection with yourself to do what you or not doing; but our own opinions and our

think to be proper for yourself to do because
you have affection. It is absurd. Come then, if
you were sick, would you wish your relations
to be so affectionate, and all the rest, children
and wife, as to leave you alone and deserted?
“By no means.” And would you wish to be so
loved by your own that through their excessive
affection you would always be left alone in
sickness? or for this reason would you rather
pray, if it were possible, to be loved by your
enemies and deserted by them? But if this is
so, it results that your behaviour was not at all
an affectionate act.

Well then, was it nothing which moved you
and induced you to desert your child? and how
is that possible? But it might be something of
the kind which moved a man at Rome to wrap
up his head while a horse was running which
he favoured; and when contrary to expectation
the horse won, he required sponges to recover
from his fainting fit. What then is the thing
which moved? The exact discussion of this
does not belong to the present occasion per-
haps; but it is enough to be convinced of this,
if what the philosophers say is true, that we
must not look for it anywhere without, but in
all cases it is one and the same thing which is
the cause of our doing or not doing something,
of saying or not saying something, of being
elated or depressed, of avoiding anything or
pursuing: the very thing which is now the
cause to me and to you, to you of coming to me
and sitting and hearing, and to me of saying
what I do say. And what is this? Is it any other
than our will to do so? “No other.” But if we
had willed otherwise, what else should we
have been doing than that which we willed
to do? This, then, was the cause of Achilles’
lamentation, not the death of Patroclus; for
another man does not behave thus on the death
of his companion; but it was because he chose
to do so. And to you this was the very cause
of your then running away, that you chose
to do so; and on the other side, if you should
stay with her, the reason will be the same.
And now you are going to Rome because you
choose; and if you should change your mind,
you will not go thither. And in a word,
neither death nor exile nor pain nor anything
of the kind is the cause of our doing anything

wills.

Do I convince you of this or not? “You do
convince me.” Such, then, as the causes are in
each case, such also are the effects. When, then,
we are doing anything not rightly, from this
day we shall impute it to nothing else than to
the will from which we have done it: and it is
that which we shall endeavour to take away
and to extirpate more than the tumours and
abscesses out of the body. And in like manner
we shall give the same account of the cause of
the things which we do right; and we shall no
longer allege as causes of any evil to us, either
slave or neighbour, or wife or children, being
persuaded that, if we do not think things to be
what we do think them to be, we do not the
acts which follow from such opinions; and
as to thinking or not thinking, that is in
our power and not in externals. “It is so,”
he said. From this day then wc shall inquire
into and examine nothing else, what its qual-
ity is, or its state, neither land nor slaves nor
horses nor dogs, nothing else than opinions.
“I hope so.” You see, then, that you must be-
come a Scholasticus, an animal whom all ridi-
cule, if you really intend to make an examina-
tion of your own opinions: and that this is
not the work of one hour m day, you know
yourself.

Chapter 12. Of contentment
With respect to gods, there are some who say
that a divine being docs not exist: others say
that it exists, but is inactive and careless, and
takes no forethought al>out anything; a third
class say that such a being exists and exercises
forethought, but only about great things and
heavenly things, and about nothing on the
earth; a fourth class say that a divine being ex-
ercises forethought both about things on the
earth and heavenly things, but in a general
way only, and not about things$everally. There
is a fifth class to whom Ulysses and Socrates
belong, who say: “I move not without thy
knowledge.” ‘

Before all other things, then^ it is necessary
to inquire about each of these opinions, wheth-
er it is affirmed truly or not truly. For if there
are no gods, how is it our proper end to fol-

* Homer, Iliads x. 278.

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

low thcm?^ And if they exist, but take no care
of anything, in this case also how will it be
right to follow them? But if indeed they do
exist and look after things, still if there is
nothing communicated from them to men,
nor in fact to myself, how even so is it right?
The wise and good man, then, after consider-
ing all these things, submits his own mind to
him who administers the whole, as good citi-
zens do to the law of the state. He who is re-
ceiving instruction ought to come to be in-
structed with this intention: “How shall I fol-
low the gods in all things, how shall I be con-
tented with the divine administration, and
how can I become free?” For he is free to
whom everything happens according to his
will, and whom no man can hinder. “What
then, is freedom madness?” Certainly not:
for madness and freedom do not consist.
“But,” you say, “I would have everything re-
sult just as I like, and in whatever way I like.”
You are mad, j'Ot; irc beside yourself. Do you
not know that freedom is a noble and valu-
able thing? But for me inconsiderately to wish
for things to happen as I inconsiderately like,
this appears to be not only not noble, but even
most base. For how do we proceed in the
matter of writing? Do I wish to write the
name of Dion as I choose? No, but I am
taught to choose to write it as it ought to be
written. And how with respect to music? In
the same manner. And what universally in
every art or science? Just the same. If it were
not so, it would Ik: of no value to know any-
thing, if know'ledge were adapted to every
man's whim. Is it, then, in this alone, in this
which is the greatest and the chief thing, I
mean freedom, that I am permitted to will in-
considerately? By no means; but to be in-
structed is this, to learn to wish that every-
thing may happen as it docs.* And how do
things happen? As the disposer has disposed
them? And he has appointed summer and
winter, and abundance and scarcity, and vir-
tue and vice, and all such opposites for the
harmony of the whole; and to each of us he
has given a body, and parts of the body, and
possessions, and companions.

Remembering, then, this disposition of

^ Marcus Aurelius, x. ii.

* Marcus Aurelius, iv. 23.

things, we ought to go to be instructed, not
that we may change the constitution of things
— for we have not the power to do it, nor is it
better that we should have the power — ^but in
order that, as the things around us are what
they are and by nature exist, we may maintain
our minds in harmony with the things which
happen. For can we escape from men? and
how is it possible? And if we associate with
them, can we change them? Who gives us the
power? What then remains, or what method
is discovered of holding commerce with them?
Is there such a method by which they shall do
what seems fit to them, and we not the less
shall be in a mood which is conformable to
nature? But you arc unwilling to endure and
arc discontented: and if you arc alone, you
call it solitude; and if you are with men, you
call them knaves and robbers; and you find
fault with your own parents and children,
and brothers and neighbours. But you ought
when you are alone to call this condition by
the name of tranquillity and freedom, and to
think yourself like to the gods; and when you
are with many, you ought not to call it crowd,
nor trouble, nor uneasiness, but festival and
assembly, and so accept all contentedly.

What, then, is the punishment of those who
do not accept? It is to be what they arc. Is any
person dissatisfied with being alone? let him
be alone. Is a man dissatisfied with his par-
ents? let him be a bad son, and lament. Is he
dissatisfied with his children? let him be a
bad father. “Cast him into prison.” What
prison? Where he is already, for he is there
against his will; and where a man is against
his will, there he is in prison. So Socrates was
not in prison, for he was there willingly.
“Must my leg then be lamed?” Wretch, do
you then on account of one poor leg find
fault with the world? Will you not willingly
surrender it for the whole? Will you not with-
draw from it? Will you not gladly part with
it to him who gave it? And will you be vexed
and discontented with the things established
by Zeus, which he with the Moirx* who were
present and spinning the thread of your gen-
eration, defined and put in order? Know you
not how small a part you ^ire compared with
the whole. I mean with respect to the body,

I Fates.

%20 EPICTETUS

for as to intelligence you are not inferior to have asked for warm water and the slave has

the gods nor less; for the magnitude of intel*
ligence is not measured by length nor yet by
height^ but by thoughts.

Will you not, then, choose to place your
good in that in which you arc equal to the
gods? **Wretch that I am to have such a
&ther and mother.” What, then, was it per-
mitted to you to come forth, and to select, and
to say: *‘Let such a man at this moment unite
with such a woman that I may be produced?”
It was not permitted, but it was a necessity
for your parents to exist first, and then for you
to be begotten. Of what kind of parents? Of
such as they were. Well then, since they are
such as they are, is there no remedy given to
you? Now if you did not know for what pur-
pose you possess the faculty of vision, you
would be unfortunate and wretched if you
closed your eyes when colours were brought
before them; but in that you possess greatness
of soul and nobility of spirit for every event
that may happen, and you know not that you
possess them, are you not more unfortunate
and wretched? Things are brought close to
you which arc proportionate to the power
which you possess, but you turn away this
power most particularly at the very time when
you ought to maintain it open and discerning.
Do you not rather thank the gods that they
have allowed you to be above these things
which they have not placed in your power;
and have made you accountable only for those
which arc in your power? As to your parents,
the gods have left you free from responsibility;
and so with respect to your brothers, and
your body, and possessions, and death and
life. For what, then, have they made you re-
sponsible? For that which alone is in your
power, the proper use of appearances. Why
then do you draw on yourself the things for
which you arc not responsible? It is, indeed,
a giving of trouble to yourself. >

Chapter 13. How everything may be done ac^
ceptably to the gods

When some one asked, how may a man eat
acceptably to the gods, he answered: If he can
cat justly and contentedly, and with equanimity,
and temperately and orderly, will it not be
also accepubly to the gods? But when you

not heard, or if he did hear has brought only
tepid water, or he is not even found to be in
the house, then not to be vexed or to burst
with passion, is not this acceptable to the
gods? ”How then shall a man endure such
persons as this slave?” Slave yourself, will you
not bear with your own brother, who has
Zeus for his progenitor, and is like a son from
the same seeds and of the same descent from
above? But if you have been put in any such
higher place, will you immediately make
yourself a tyrant? Will you not remember who
you arc, and whom you rule? that they arc
kinsmen, that they are brethren by nature,
that they are the offspring of Zeus?* “But I
have purchased them, and they have not pur-
chased me.” Do you sec in what direction you
are looking, that it is toward the earth, to-
ward the pit, that it is toward these wretched
laws of dead men? but toward the laws of the
gods you are not looking.

Chapter 14. That the deity oversees all things
When a person asked him how a man could
be convinced that all his actions are under the
inspection of God, he answered, Do you not
think that all things are united in one?* “I
do,” the person replied. Well, do you not
think that earthly things have a natural agree-
ment and union with heavenly things? “I
do.” And how else so regularly as if by God’s
command, when He bids the plants to flower,
do they flower? when He bids them to send
forth shoots, do they shoot? when He bids
them to produce fruit, how else do they pro-
duce fruit? when He bids the fruit to ripen,
docs it ripen? when again He bids them to
cast down the fruits, how else do they cast
them down ? and when to shed the leaves, do
they shed the leaves? and when He bids them
to fold themselves up and to remain quiet and
rest, how else do they remain quiet and rest?
And how else at the growth apd the wane of
the moon, and at the approaej^ and recession
of the sun, arc $0 great an ^alteration and
change to the contrary seen in earthly things?
But are plants and our bodies so teund up
and united with the whole, and arc not our

* Compare Job, 31.

Marcus Aurelius, vi. 10; viL 9.

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

souls much more? and our souls so bound up
and in contact with God as parts of Him and
portions of Him; and does not God perceive
every motion of these parts as being His own
motion connate with Himself? Now arc you
able to think of the divine administration,
and about all things divine, and at the same
time also about human affairs, and to be
moved by ten thousand things at the same
time in your senses and in your understand-
ing, and to assent to some, and to dissent
from others, and again as to some things to
suspend your judgment; and do you retain in
your soul so many impressions from so many
and various things, and being moved by
them, do you fall upon notions similar to
those Hrst impressed, and do you retain nu-
merous arts and the memories of ten thousand
things; and is not God able to oversee all
things, and to be present with all, and to re-
ceive from all a certain communication? And
is the sun abje illuminate so large a part
of the All, and to leave so little not illumi-
nated, that part only which is occupied by
the earth's shadow; and He who made the sun
itself and makes it go round, being a small
part of Himself compared with the whole,
cannot He perceive all things?

“But I cannot," the man may reply, “com-
prehend all these things at once.” But who
tells you that you have equal power with
Zeus? Nevertheless he has placed by every
man a guardian, every man’s Demon,^ to
whom he has committed the care of the man,
a guardian who never sleeps, is never de-
ceived. For to what better and more careful
guardian could He have intrusted each of us?
When, then, you have shut the doors and
made darkness within, remember never to
say that you arc alone, for you arc not; but
God is within, and your Demon is within,
and what need have they of light to see what
you are doing? To this God you ought to
swear an oath just as the soldiers do to Cxsar.
But they who are hired for pay swear to re-
gard the safety of Cxsar before all things; and
you who have received so many and such
great favours, will you not swear, or when you
have sworn, will you not abide by your oath?
And what shall you swear? Never to be dis-

^ Marcus Aurelius, iii. 5; v, 27. I Cor. 1 . 3. 16.

obedient, never to make any charges, never to
find fault with anything that he has given^
and never unwillingly to do or to suffer any-
thing that is necessary. Is this oath like the
soldier’s oath? The soldiers swear not to pre-
fer any man to Cxsar: in this oath men swear
to honour themselves before all.

Chapter 15. What philosophy promises
When a man was consulting him how he
should persuade his brother to cease being
angry with him, Epictetus replied: Philosophy
does not propose to secure for a man any ex-
ternal thing. If it did philosophy would 1^ al-
lowing something which is not within its
province. For as the carpenter’s material is
wood, and that of the statuary is copper, so
the matter of the art of living is each man’s
life. “What thpn is my brother’s?” That again
belongs to his own art; but with respect to
yours, it is one of the external things, like a
piece of land, like health, like reputation. But
Philosophy promises none of these. “In every
circumstance I will maintain,” she says, “the
governing part conformable to nature.”
Whose governing part? “His in whom I am,”
she says.

“How then shall my brother cease to be an-
gry with me?” Bring him to me and I will tell
him. But I have nothing to say to you about
his anger.

When the man, who was consulting him,
said, “I seek to know this — how, even if my
brother is not reconciled to me, shall I main-
tain myself in a state conformable to nature?”
Nothing great, said Epictetus, is produced
suddenly, since not even the grape or the fig is.
If you say to me now that you want a fig, I
will answer to you that it requires time: let it
flower first, then put forth fruit, and then
ripen. Is, then, the fruit of a fig-tree not per-
fected suddenly and in one hour, and would
you possess the fruit of a man’s mind in so
short a time and so easily? Do not expect it,
even if I tell you.

Chapter 16. Of providence
Do NOT wonder if for other animals than man
all things arc provided foi^Ste liody, not only
food and drink, but beds also, and they have
no need of shoes nor bed materials, nor cloth-

EPICTETUS

ing; but we require all these additional things.
For, animals not being made for themselves,
but for service, it was not fit for them to be
made so as to need other things. For consider
what it would be for us to take care not only
of ourselves, but also about cattle and asses,
how they should be clothed, and how shod,
and how they should eat and drink. Now as
soldiers are ready for their commander, shod,
clothed and armed: but it would be a hard
thing for the chiliarch' to go round and shoe
or clothe his thousand men; so also nature has
formed the animals which are made for serv-
ice, all ready, prepared, and requiring no
further care. So one little boy with only a
stick drives the cattle.

But now' we, instead of being thankful that
we need not take the same care of animals as
of ourselves, complain of God on our own
account; and yet, in the name of Zeus and the
gods, any one thing of those which exist
would be enough to make a man perceive the
providence of God, at least a man who is
modest and grateful. And speak not to me
now of the great things, but only of this, that
milk is produced from grass, and cheese from
milk, and wool from skins. Who made these
things or devised them? “No one,” you say.
Oh, amazing shamelessness and stupidity!

Well, let us omit the works of nature and
contemplate her smaller acts. Is there any-
thing less useful than the hair on the chin?
What then, has not nature used this hair also
in the most suitable manner possible? Has
she not by it distinguished the male and the
female? does not the nature of every man
forthwith proclaim from a distance, “I am a
man; as such approach me, as such speak to
me; look for nothing else; sec the signs”?
Again, in the case of women, as she has
mingled something softer in the voice, so she
has also deprived them of hair (on the chin).
You say: “Not so; the human animal ought
to have been left without marks of distinction,
and each of us should have been obliged to
proclaim, ‘I am a man.’ ” But how is not the
sign beautiful and becoming and venerable?
how much more beautiful than the cock’s
comb, how much more becoming than the
lion’s mane? For this reason we ought to pre-
> Tribune.

serve the signs which God has given, we ought
not to throw them away, nor to confound, as
much as we can, the distinctions of the sexes.

Are these the only works of providence in
us? And what words are sufficient to praise
them and set them forth according to their
worth? For if we had understanding, ought
we to do anything else both jointly and sev-
erally than to sing hymns and bless the deity,
and to tell of his benefits? Ought we not
when we are digging and ploughing and eat-
ing to sing this hymn to God? “Great is God,
who has given us such implements with which
we shall cultivate the earth: great is God who
has given us hands, the power of swallowing,
a stomach, imperceptible growth, and the
power of breathing while we sleep." This is
w'hat we ought to sing on every occasion, and
to sing the greatest and most divine hymn for
giving us the faculty of comprehending these
things and using a proj)er way. Well then,
since most of you have become blind, ought
there not to be some man to fill this office,
and on behalf of all to sing the hymn to God?
For what else can I do, a lame old man, than
sing hymns to God? If then I was a night-
ingale, I would do the part of a nightingale:
if I were a swan, I would do like a swan. But
now I am a rational creatuf^, and I ought to
praise God: this is my work; I do it, nor will
I desert this post, so long as I am allowed to
keep it; and I exhort you to join in this same
song.

Chapter 17. That the logical art is necessary
Since reason is the faculty which analyses and
perfects the rest, and it ought itself not to be
unanalysed, by what should it be analysed?
for it is plain that this should be done cither
by itself or by another thing. Either, then,
this other thing also is reason, or something
else superior to reason; which is impossible.
But if it is reason, again who shall analyse
that reason? For if that reason does this for
itself, our reason also can do it. Bat we shall
require something else, the thing will go on
to infinity and have no end.* Reason therefore
is analysed by itself. “Yes: but it is more ur-
gent to cure (our opinions) and the like.”
Will you then hear a^ut those things? Hear.

^ Marcus Aurelius, xi. i.

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

But if you should say, “I know not whether
you are arguing truly or falsely,” and if I
should express myself in any way ambiguously,
and you should say to me, “ Distinguish,” I
will bear with you no longer, and I shall say to
you, “It is more urgent.” This is the reason, I
suppose, why they* place the logical art first,
as in the measuring of corn we place first the
examination of the measure. But if we do not
determine first what is a modius, and what is
a balance, how shall we be able to measure or
weigh anything?

In this case, then, if we have not fully
learned and accurately examined the criterion
of all other things, by which the other things
are learned, shall we be able to examine accu-
rately and to learn fully anything else? “Yes;
but the iiiodiiis is only wood, and a thing
which produces no fruit.” But it is a thing
which can measure corn. “Logic also produces
no fruit.” As to this indeed we shall sec: but
then even if ? ii xVi should grant this, it is
enough that logic has the power of distinguish-
ing and examining other things, and, as we
may say, of measuring and weighing them.
Who says this? Is it only Chrysippus, and
Zeno, and Clcanthcs? And does not Antis-
thenes say so? And who is it that has written
that the examination of names is the begin-
ning of education? And does not Socrates say
so? And of whom does Xenophon write, that
he began with the examination of names, what
each name signified? Is this then the great and
wondrous thing to understand or interpret
Chrysippus? Who says this? What then is the
wondrous thing? To understand the will of
nature. Well then do you apprehend it your-
self by your own power? and what more have
you need of? For if it is true that all men err
involuntarily, and you have learned the truth,
of necessity you must act right. “But in truth
I do not apprehend the will of nature.” Who
then tells us what it is? They say that it is
Chrysippus. I proceed, and I inquire what this
interpreter of nature says. I begin not to under-
stand what he says; I seek an interpreter of
Chrysippus. “Well, consider how this is said,
just as if it were said in the Roman tongue.”
What then is this superciliousness of the in-
terpreter? There is no superciliousness which

* Stoic teachers.

can justly be charged even to Chrysippus, if
he only interprets the will of nature, but docs
not follow it himself; and much more is this
so with his interpreter. For we have no need
of Chrysippus for his own sake, but in order
that we may understand nature. Nor do we
need a diviner on his own account, but be-
cause we think that through him we shall
know the future and understand the signs
given by the gods; nor do we need the viscera
of animals for their own sake, but because
through them signs are given; nor do we look
with wonder on the crow or raven, but on
God, who through them gives signs?

I go then to the interpreter of these things
and the sacrificer, and I say, “Inspect the vis-
cera for me, and tell me what signs they give.”
The man takes the viscera, opens them, and
interprets them: “Man,” he says, “you have a
will free by nature from hindrance and com-
pulsion; this is written here in the viscera. I
will show you this first in the matter of assent.
Can any man hinder you from assenting to
the truth? No man can. Can any man compel
you to receive what is false? No man can. You
see that in this matter you have the faculty of
the will free from hindrance, free from com-
pulsion, unimpeded.” Well, then, in the mat-
ter of desire and pursuit of an object, is it
otherwise? And what can overcome pursuit
except another pursuit? And what can over-
come desire and aversion except another de-
sire and aversion? But, you object: “If you
place before me the fear of death, you do com-
pel me.” No, it is not what is placed before
you that compels, but your opinion that it is
better to do so-and-so than to die. In this mat-
ter, then, it is your opinion that compelled
you: that is, will comjxilled w'i\\} For if God
had made that part of Himself, which He
took from Himself and gave to us, of such a
nature as to be hindered or compelled either
by Himself or by another, He would not then
be God nor would He be taking care of us as
He ought. “This,” says the diviner, “I find in
the victims: these are the things which are
signified to you. If you choose, you arc free;
if you choose, you will blame no one: you will
charge no one. All will bfr'at the same time
according to your mind and the mind of God.”

* Compare Epictetus, iv. i.

EPICTETUS

For the sake of this divination I go to this
diviner and to the philosopher, not admiring
him for this interpretation, but admiring the
things which he interprets.

Chapter i8. That we ought not to be angry

with the errors of others
If what philosophers say is true, that all men
have one principle, as in the case of assent
the persuasion that a thing is so, and in the
case of dissent the persuasion that a thing is
not so, and in the case of a suspense of iudg»
ment the persuasion that a thing is uncertain,
so also in the case of a movement toward any-
thing the persuasion that a thing is for a man’s
advantage, and it is impossible to think that
one thing is advantageous and to desire an-
other, and to iudge one thing to be proper
and to move toward another, why then arc we
angry with the many? “They arc thieves and
robbers,” you may say. What do you mean by
thieves and robbers? “They arc mistaken
about good and evil.” Ought we then to be
angry with them, or to pity them? But show
them their error, and you will sec how they
desist from their errors. If they do not see
their errors, they have nothing superior to
their present opinion.

“Ought not then this robber and this adul-
terer to be destroyed?” By no means say so,
but speak rather in this way: “This man vho
has been mistaken and deceived about the
most important things, and blinded, not in the
faculty of vision which distinguishes white
and black, but in the faculty which distin-
guishes good and bad, should we not destroy
him?” If you speak thus, you will see how
inhuman this is which you say, and that it is
just as if you would say, “Ought we not to
destroy this blind and deaf man?” But if the
greatest harm is the privation of the greatest
things, and the greatest thing in every man is
the will or choice such as it ought ta be, and
a man is deprived of this will, why are you
also angry with him? Man, you ought not to
be affected contrary to nature by the bad
things of another. Pity him rather: drop this
readiness to be offended and to hate, and these
words which the many utter: “These accursed
and odious fellows.” How have you been
made so wise at once? and how arc you so

peevish? Why then are we angry? Is it be*
cause we value so much the things of which
these men rob us? Do not admire your clothes,
and then you will not be angry with the thief.
Do not admire the beauty of your wife, and
you will not be angry with the adulterer.
Learn that a thief and an adulterer have no
place in the things which are yours, but in
those which belong to others and which arc
not in your power. If you dismiss these things
and consider them as nothing, with whom are
you still angry? But so long as you value these
things, be angry with yourself rather than
with the thief and the adulterer. Consider the
matter thus: you have tine clothes; your neigh-
bor has not: you have a window; you wish to
air the clothes. The thief docs not know
wherein man’s good consists, but he thinks
that it consists in having tine clothes, the very
thing which you also think. Must he not then
come and take them away ? When you show a
cake to greedy persons, and swallow it ail
yourself, do you expect them not to snatch it
from you? Do not provoke them: do not have
a window: do not air your clothes. I also lately
had an iron lamp placed by the side of my
household gods: hearing a noise at the door, I
ran down, and found that the lamp had been
carried off. I reflected that M who had taken
the lamp had done nothing strange. What
then? To-morrow, I said, you will find an
earthen lamp: for a man only loses that which
he has. “I have lost my garment.” The reason
is that you had a garment. “I have pain in my
head.” Have you any pain in your horns?
Why then arc you troubled? for we only lose
those things, we have only pains about those
things which we possess.

“But the tyrant will chain.” What? the leg.
“He will ukc away.” What? the neck. What
then will he not chain and not take away? the
will. This is why the ancients tnught the max-
im, “Know thyself.” Therefone we ought to
exercise ourselves in small thiilgs and, begin-
ning with them, to proceed to^the greater. “I
have pain in the head.” Do ik>t say, “Alas I”
“I have pain in the ear.” Do not say, “Alasl”
And I do not say that you arc not allowed to
groan, but do not groan inwardly; and if your
slave is slow in bringing a bandage, do not
cry out and torment yourself, and say, “Every-

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

body hates me’*: for who would not hate such
a man? For the future^ relying on these opin*
ions, walk about upright, free; not trusting to
the size of your body, as an athlete, for a man
ought not to be invincible in the way that an
ass is.

Who then is the invincible? It is he whom
none of the things disturb which are inde-
pendent of the will. Then examining one cir-
cumstance after another I observe, as in the
case of an athlete; he has come off victorious
in the first contest: well then, as to the sec-
ond? and what if there should he great heat?
and what, if it should be at Olympia? And
the same I say in this case: if you should
throw money in his way, he will despise it.
Well, suppose you put a young girl in his way,
what then? and what, if it is in the dark?
what if it should be a little reputation, or
abuse; and what, if it should be praise; and
what if it should be death? He is able to over-
come all. What then if it be in heat, and what
if it is in the rain, and what if he be in a mel-
ancholy mood, and what if he be asleep? He
will still conquer. This is my invincible athlete.

Chapter 19. How we should behave to tyrants
If a man possesses any superiority, or thinks
that he docs, when he does not, such a man,
if he is uninstructed, will of necessity be
puffed up through it. For instance, the tyrant
says, “I am master of all.” And what can you
do for me? Can you give me desire which
shall have no hindrance? How can you? Have
you the infallible power of avoiding what you
would avoid? Have you the power of moving
toward an object without error? And how do
you possess this power? Come, when you are
in a ship, do you trust to yourself or to the
helmsman? And when you are in a chariot, to
whom do you trust but to the driver? Aod
how is it in all other arts? Just the same. In
what then lies your power? “All men pay re-
spect to me.” Well, I also pay respect to my
platter, and I wash it and wipe it; and for the
sake of my oil flask, I drive a peg into the
wall. Well then, are these things superior to
me? No, but they supply some of my wants,
and for this reason Ltake care of them. Well,
do I not attend to my ass? Do I not wash his
feet? Do I not clean him? Do you not know

that every man has regard to himself, and to
you just the same as he has regard to his ass?
For who has regard to you as a man? Show
me. Who wishes to become like you? Who
imitates you, as he imitates Socrates? “But I
can cut off your head.” You say right. I had
forgotten that I must have regard to you, as
I would to a fever and the bile, and raise an
altar to you, as there is at Rome an altar to
fever.

What is it then that disturbs and terrifies
the multitude? is it the tyrant and his guards?
I hope that it is not so. It is not possible that
what is by nature free can be disturbed by
anything else, or hindered by any other thing
than by itself. But it is a man’s own opinions
which disturb him: for when the tyrant says
to a man, “I will chain your leg,” he who val-
ues his leg sa^s, “Do not; have pity”: but he
who values his own will says, “If it appears
more advantageous to you, chain it.” “Do you
not care?” I do not care. “I will show you that
I am master.” You cannot do that. Zeus has
set me free: do you think that he intended to
allow his own son* to be enslaved? But you are
master of my carcass: take it. “So when you
approach me, you have no regard to me?” No,
but I have regard to myself; and if you wish
me to say that I have regard to you also, I tell
you that I have the same regard to you that
I have to my pipkin.

This is not a perverse self-regard, for the
animal is constituted so as to do all things for
itself. For even the sun docs all things for it-
self; nay, even Zeus himself. But when he
chooses to be the Giver of rain and the Giver
of fruits, and the Father of gods and men, you
see that he cannot obtain these functions and
these names, if he is not useful to man; and,
universally, he has made the nature of the
rational animal such that it cannot obtain any
one of its own proper interests, if it does not
contribute something to the common interest.
In this manner and sense it is not unsociable
for a man to do everything for the sake of
himself. For what do you expect? that a man
should neglect himself and his own interest?
And how in that case can there be one and
the same principle in all aitimals, the principle
of attachment to themselves?

1 Compare i. 3 .

126 EPICTETUS

What then? when absurd notions about
things independent of our will, as if they were
good and bad, lie at the bottom of our opin-
ions, we must of necessity pay regard to ty-
rants; for I wish that men would pay regard
to tyrants only, and not also to the bedchamber
men. How is it that the man becomes all at
once wise, when Caesar has made him super-
intendent of the close stool? How is it that we
say immediately, “Felicion spoke sensibly to
me.” I wish he were ejected from the bed-
chamber, that he might again appear to you
to be a fool.

Epaphroditus' had a shoemaker whom he
sold because he was good for nothing. This
fellow by some good luck was bought by one
of Caesar’s men, and became Caesar’s shoe-
maker. You should have seen what respect
Epaphroditus paid to him; “How docs the
good Felicion do, I pray?” Then if any of us
asked, “What is master doing?” the answer
was, “He is consulting about something with
Felicion.” Had he not sold the man as good for
nothing? Who then made him wise all at once?
This is an instance of valuing something else
than the things which depend on the will.

Has a man been exalted to the tribuneship?
All who meet him offer their congratulations;
one kisses his eyes, another the neck, and the
slaves kiss his hands. He goes to his house, he
finds torches lighted. He ascends the Caprtol:
he offers a sacrifice on the occasion. Now who
ever sacrificed for having had good desires?
for having acted conformably to nature? For
in fact we thank the gods for those things in
which we place our good.^

A person was talking to me to-day about
the priesthood of Augustus. I say to him;
“Man, let the thing alone; you will spend
much for no purpose.” But he replies, “Those
who draw up agreements will write my
name.” Do you then stand by those who read
them, and say to such persons, “It is, I whose
name is written there?” And if you can now
be present on all such occasions, what will you
do when you are dead? “My name will re-
main.” Write it on a stone, and it will remain.
But come, what remembrance of you will
there be beyond Nicopolis? “But I shall wear

»Sec i. I.

* Matt. 6. 21.

a crown of gold.” If you desire a crown at all,
take a crown of roses and put it on, for it will
be more elegant in appearance.

Chapter 20. About reason, how it contem-
plates itself

Every art and faculty contemplates certain
things especially. When then it is itself of the
same kind with the objects which it contem-
plates, it must of necessity contemplate itself
also; but when it is of an unlike kind, it can-
not contemplate itself. For instance, the shoe-
maker’s art is employed on skins, but itself is
entirely distinct from the material of skins;
for this reason it docs not contemplate itself.
Again, the grammarian’s art is employed
about articulate sjx;ech; is then the art also
articulate speech? By no means. For this rea-
son it is not able to contemplate itself. Now
reason, for what purpose has it been given by
nature? For the right use of appearances.
What is it then itself? A system of certain ap-
pearances. So by its nature it has the faculty of
contemplating itself so. Again, sound sense,
for the contemplation of what things docs it
belong to us? Good and evil, and things
which are neither. What is it then itself?
Good. And want of sense, what is it? Evil. Do
you see then that good sens#.. necessarily con-
templates both itself and the opposite? For
this reason it is the chief and the first work of
a philosopher to examine a pjfxra ranees, and to
distinguish them, and to admit none without
examination. You see even in the matter of
coin, in which our interest appears to be some-
what concerned, how we have invented an art,
and how many means the assayer uses to try
the value of coin, the sight, the touch, the
smell, and lastly the hearing. He throws the
coin down, and observes the sound, and he is
not content with its sounding once, but
through his great attention he becomes a musi-
cian, In like manner, where we think that to
be mistaken and not to be mi$taken make a
great difference, there we apply great atten-
tion to discovering the things which can de-
ceive. But in the matter of ouf miserable rul-
ing faculty, yawning and sleeping, we careless-
ly admit every appearance, for the harm is not
noticed.

^Com|)arc i. i and 17.

DISCOURSES, BOOK /

When then you would know how careless
you arc with respect to good and evil, and
how active with respect to things which arc
indifferent, observe how you feel with respect
to being deprived of the sight of the eyes, and
how with respect to being deceived, and you
will discover that you are far from feeling as
you ought to do in relation to good and evil.
“But this is a matter which requires much
preparation, and much labour and study.”
Well then do you expect to acquire the great-
est of arts with small labour? And yet the
chief doctrine of philosophers is very brief. If
you would know, read Zeno’s writings and
you will see. For how few words it requires
to say that man’s end is to follow^ the gods,
and that the nature of good is a proper use of
appearances. But if you say, “What is ‘God,*
what is ‘appearance,* and what is ‘particular’
and what is ‘universal* nature’?” then indeed
many words are necessary. If then Epicurus
should come say that the good must be in
the body; in this case also many words become
necessary, and we must be taught what is the
leading principle in us, and the fundamental
and the substantial; and as it is not probable
that the good of a snail is in the shell, is it
probable that the good of a man is in the
body? But you yourself, Epicurus, possess
something better than this. What is that in
you which deliberates, what is that which ex-
amines everything, what is that which forms
a judgement about the body itself, that it is the
principal part? and why do you light your
lamp and labour for us, and write so many
books? is it that we may not be ignorant of
the truth, who we arc, and what we arc with
rcs|x:ct to you? Thus the discussion requires
many words.

Chapter 21. Against those who wish to be ad-

mired

When a man holds his proper station in life,
he does not gape after things beyond it. Man,
what do you wish to happen to you? “I am
satisfied if I desire and avoid conformably to
nature, if I employ movements toward and
from an object as I am by nature formed to
do, and purpose and design and assent.” Why

* Sec i. 12.

* Marcus Aurelius, v. 25; xi. 5.

then do you strut before us as if you had
swallowed a spit? “My wish has always been
that those who meet me should admire me,
and those who follow me should exclaim, ‘Oh,
the great philosopher.’ ” Who are they by
whom you wish to be admired? Arc they not
those of whom you are used to say that they
are mad? Well then do you wish to be ad-
mired by madmen?

Chapter 22. On precognitions
Precognitions are common to all men, and
precognition is not contradictory to precogni-
tion. For who of us does not assume that Good
is useful and eligible, and in all circumstances
that we ought to follow and pursue it? And
who of us does not assume that Justice is beau-
tiful and becoming? When, then, docs the
contradiction arise? It arises in the adaptation
of the precognitions to the particular cases.
When one man says, “He has done well: he is
a brave man,” and another says, “Not so; but
he has acted foolishly”; then the disputes
arise among men. This is the dispute among
the Jews and the Syrians and the Egyptians
and the Romans; not whether holiness should
be preferred to all things and in all cases
should be pursued, but whether it is holy to
cat pig’s flesh or not holy. You will find this
dispute also between Agamemnon and Achil-
les; for call them forth. What do you say,
Agamemnon ? ought not that to be done which
is pro|Kr and right? “Certainly.” Well, what
do you say, Achilles? do you not admit that
what is gocKl ought to be done? “I do most
certainly.” Adapt your precognitions then to
the present matter. Here the dispute l)egins.
Agamemnon says, “I ought not to give up
Chryscis to her father.” Achilles says, “You
ought.” It is certain that one of the two makes
a wrong adaptation of the precognition of
“ought” or “duty.” Further, Agamemnon
says, “Then if I ought to restore Chryseis, it
is fit that I take his prize from some of you.”
Achilles replies, “Would you then take her
whom I love?” “Yes, her whom you love.”
“Must I then be the only man who goes
without a prize? and must I be the only
man who has no prize P’^TThus the dispute
begins.

What then is education? Education is the

128 EPICTETUS

learning how to adapt the natural precogni-
tions to the particular things conformably to
nature; and then to distinguish that of things
some are in our power, but others are not; in
our power are will and all acts which depend
on the will; things not in our power are the
body, the parts of the body, possessions, par-
ents, brothers, children, country, and, gener-
ally, all with whom we live in society. In what,
then, should we place the good? To what
kind of things shall we adapt it? “To the
things which are in our power?” Is not health
then a good thing, and soundness of limb, and
life? and are not children and parents and
country? Who will tolerate you if you deny
this?

Let us then transfer the notion of good to
these things. Is it possible, then, when a man
sustains damage and does not obtain good
things, that he can be happy? “It is not pos-
sible.” And can he maintain toward society a
proper behavior? He cannot. For I am natural-
ly formed to look after my own interest. If it
IS my interest to have an estate in land, it is
my interest also to take it from my neighbor.
If it is my interest to have a garment, it is my
interest also to steal it from the bath,' This is
the origin of wars, civil commotions, tyrannies,
conspiracies. And how shall I be still able to
maintain my duty toward Zeus? for if I sus-
tain damage and am unlucky, he takes ho
care of me; and what is he to me if he allows
me to be in the condition in which I am? I
now begin to hate him. Why, then, do wc
build temples, why set up statues to Zeus, as
well as to evil demons, such as to Fever; and
how is Zeus the Saviour, and how the Giver
of rain, and the Giver of fruits? And in truth
if we place the nature of Good in any such
things, all this follows.

What should we do then? This is the in-
quiry of the true philosopher who is in la-
bour.* “Now I do not sec what the Good is
nor the Bad. Am I not mad? Yes.” But sup-
pose that I place the good somewhere among
the things which depend on the will: all will
laugh at me. There will come some grey-head
wearing many gold rings on his fingers, and
he will shake his head and say, “Hear, my

^}am. 4. 1.

^Compare Plato, Theatetui, 150.

child. It is right that you should philosophize;
but you ought to have some brains also: all
this that you are doing is silly. You learn the
syllogism from philosophers; but you know
how to act better than philosophers do.” Man,
why then do you blame me, if I know? What
shall I say to this slave? If I am silent, he will
burst. 1 must speak in this way: “Excuse me,
as you would excuse lovers: I am not my own
master: I am mad.”

Chapter 23. Against Epicurus
Even Epicurus perceives that wc arc by nature
social, but having once placed our good in the
husk* he is no longer able to say anything else.
For on the othei hand he strongly maintains
this, that we ought not to admire nor to accept
anything w'hich is detached from the nature of
good; and he is right in maintaining this.
How then arc we [suspicious]/ if we have no
natural affection to our children? Why do you
advise the wise man not to bring up children?
Why arc you afraid that he may thus fall into
trouble? For docs he fall into trouble on ac-
count of the mouse which is nurtured in the
house? What docs he care if a little mouse in
the house makes lamentation to him? But Epi-
curus knows that if once a child is born, it is no
longer in our power not to tevc it nor care
about it. For this reason, Epicurus says that a
man who has any sense also does not engage
in political matters; for he knows what a man
must do who is engaged in such things; for,
indeed, if you intend to behave among men as
you do among a swarm of flies, what hinders
you? But Epicurus, who knows this, ventures
to say that we should not bring up children.
But a sheep does not desert its own offspring,
nor yet a wolf; and shall a man desert his
child? What do you mean? tliat wc should be
as silly as sheep? but not even do they desert
their offspring: or as savage as wolves, but not
even do wolves desert their youifg. Well, who
would follow your advice, if hefsaw his child
weeping after falling on the gre^nd? For my
part I think that, even if youi^ mother and
your father had been told by 4n oracle that
you would say what you have said, they would
not have cast you away.

* See 1 . 20. Compare ii. 20.

* The word is not intelligihle.

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

Chapter 24. How we should struggle with
circumstances

It is circumstances which show what men are.
Therefore when a difficulty falls upon you, re-
member that God, like a trainer of wrestlers,
has matched you with a rough young man.
“For what purpose?*’ you may say. Why, that
you may become an Olympic conqueror; but
it is not accomplished without sweat. In my
opinion no man has had a more profitable
difficulty than you have had, if you choose to
make use of it as an athlete would deal with
a young antagonist. We arc now sending a
scout to Rome; but no man sends a cowardly
scout, who, if he only hears a noise and sees a
shadow anywhere, comes running back in ter-
ror and reports that the enemy is close at hand.
So now if you should come and tell us, “Fear-
ful is the state of affairs at Rome, terrible is
death, terrible is exile; terrible is calumny; ter-
rible is poverty; fly, my friends; the enemy is
near”; we shall answer, “Begone, prophesy for
yourself; we have committed only one fault,
that wc sent such a scout.**

Diogenes,^ who was sent as a scout before
you, made a different report to us. He says
that death is no evil, for neither is it base: he
says that fame is the noise of madmen. And
what has this spy said about pain, about pleas-
ure, and about poverty? He says that to be
naked is better than any purple robe, and to
sleep on the bare ground is the softest bed;
and he gives as a proof of each thing that he
affirms his own courage, his tranquillity, his
freedom, and the healthy appearance and
compactness of his body. “There is no enemy
near,” he says; “all is peace.” How so, Diog-
enes? “See,** he replies, “if I am struck, if I
have been wounded, if I have fled from any
man.” This is what a scout ought to be. But
you come to us and tell us one thing after an-
other. Will you not go back, and you will sec
clearer when you have laid aside fear?

What then shall I do? What do you do
when you leave a ship? Do you take away the
helm or the oars? What then do you take
away? You take what is your own, your bot-
tle and your wallet; and now if you think of
what is your own, 70U will never claim what
belongs to others. The emperor says, “Lay
^ See iii. 22.

aside your laticlavc.*** See, I put on the an-
gusticlave. “Lay aside this also.” See, I have
only my toga. “Lay aside your toga.** Sec, I
am now naked. “But you still raise my envy.”
Take then all my poor body; when, at a man’s
command, I can throw away my poor body, do
I still fear him ?

“But a certain person will not leave to me
the succession to his estate.** What then? had
I forgotten that not one of these things was
mine. How then do we call them mine? Just
as we call the bed in the inn. If, then, the inn-
keeper at his death leaves you the beds, all
well; but if he leaves them to another, he will
have them, and you will seek another bed. If
then you shall not find one, you will sleep on
the ground: only sleep with a good will and
snore, and remember that tragedies have their
place among the rich and kings and tyrants,
but no poor j$lan fills a part in the tragedy, ex-
cept as one of the chorus. Kings indeed com-
mence with prosperity: “ornament the palaces
with garlands,” then about the third or fourth
act they call out, “O Cithxron, why didst thou
receive me?”® Slave, where are the crowns,
where the diadem? The guards help thee not
at all. When then you approach any of these
persons, remember this that you are approach-
ing a tragedian, not the actor but CEdipus
himself. But you say, “Such a man is happy;
for he walks about with many,” and I also
place myself with the many and walk about
with many. In sum remember this: the door
is open;^ be not more timid than little chil-
dren, but as they say, when the thing does not
please them, “I will play no longer,” so do
you, when things seem to you of such a kind,
say I will no longer play, and begone: but if
you stay, do not complain.

Chapter 25. On the same
If these things arc true, and if we are not silly,
and arc not acting hypocritically w’hcn wc say
that the good of man is in the will, and the
evil too, and that everything else does not con-
cern us, why are we still disturl^ed, why arc
we still afraid? The things about which we

^LaticUve, the dress of a s^tor; augusticlave, the
dress of the equestrian order.

Sophocles. CEdipus the Kingt 1390.

* Ompare i. 9.

130 EPICTETUS

have been busied are in no man’s power: and
the things which are in the power of others,
we care not for. What kind of trouble have we
still?

“But give me directions.” Why should I give
you directions? has not Zeus given you direc-
tions? Has he not given to you what is your
own free from hindrance and free from im-
pediment, and what is not your own subject
to hindrance and impediment? What direc-
tions then, what kind of orders did you bring
when you came from him? Keep by every
means what is your own; do not desire what
belongs to others. Fidelity is your own, virtu-
ous shame is your own; who then can take
these things from you? who else than your-
self will hinder you from using them? But
how do you act? when you seek what is not
your own, you lose that which is your own.
Having such promptings and commands from
Zeus, what kind do you still ask from me?
Am I more powerful than he, am I more
worthy of confidence? But if you observe
these, do you want any others besides? “Well,
but he has not given these orders,” you will
say. Produce your precognitions, produce the
proofs of philosophers, produce what you have
often heard, and produce what you have said
yourself, produce what you have read, produce
what you have meditated on (and you will
then see that all these things are from God).^
How long, then, is it fit to observe these pre-
cepts from God, and not to break up the play?*
As long as the play is continued with propriety.
In the Saturnalia^ a king is chosen by lot, tor
it has been the custom to play at this game.
The king commands: “Do you drink,” “Do
you mix the wine,” “Do you sing,” “Do you
go,” “Do you come.” I obey that the game
may not be broken up through me. But if he
says, “Think that you are in evil plight”: I
answer, “I do not think so”; and who will
compel me to think so? Further, we agreed to
play Agamemnon and Achilles. He who is ap-
pointed to play Agamemnon says to me, “Go
to Achilles and tear from him Briscis.” I go.
He says, “Come,” and I come.

1 The conclusion is not in the text, but it is what
Epictetus nneans.

» Sec the end of the preceding chapter. Compare also
Epictetus, ii. i6.

* Compare Tacitus, Annals, xiii. 15.

For as we behave in the matter of hypo-
thetical arguments, so ought we to do in life.
“Suppose it to be night.” I suppose that it is
night. “Well then; is it day?” No, for I ad-
mitted the hypothesis that it was night. “Sup-
pose that you think that it is night?” Suppose
that I do. “But also think that it is night.”
That is not consistent with the hypothesis. So
in this case also: “Suppose that you are unfor-
tunate.” Well, suppose so. “Arc you then un-
happy?” Yes. “Well, then, arc you troubled
with an unfavourable demon?” Yes. “But
think also that you are in misery.” This is not
consistent with the hypothesis; and Another^
forbids me to think so.

How long then must we obey such orders?
As long as it is profitable; and this means as
long as 1 maintain that which is becoming and
consistent. Further, some men arc sour and
of had tcm{x:r, and they say, “I cannot sup
with this man to be obliged to hear him tell-
ing daily how he fought in Mysia: ‘I told you,
brother, how I ascended the hill: then I began
to be besieged again.’ ” lUit another says, “I
prefer to get my supper and to hear him talk
as much as he likes.” And do you compare
these estimates: only do nothing in a depressed
mood, nor as one afflicted, nor as thinking
that you arc in misery, for iro man compels
you to that. Has it smoked in the chamber?
If the smoke is moderate, I will stay; if it is
excessive, 1 go out: for you must always re-
memlx!r this and hold it fast, that the door is
open. Well, but you say to me, “Do not live
in Nicoj)olis.” I will not live there, “Nor in
Athens.” I will not live in Athens. “Nor in
Rome.” I will not live in Rome. “Live in
Gyarus.” I will live in Gyarus, but it seems
like a great smoke to live in Gyarus; and I
depart to the place where no man will hinder
me from living, for that dwelling-place is open
to all; and as to the last garment, that is the
poor body, no one has any power over me be-
yond this. This was the reason why Deme-
trius said to Nero, “You threaten me with
death, but nature threatens yoU.” If I set my
admiration on the poor body, 1 have given my-
self up to be a slave: if on my little possessions,
I also make myself a slave: for I immediately
make it plain with what I may be caught; as
♦Zeus.

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

if the snake draws in his head, I tell you to
strike that part of him which he guards; and
do you be assured that whatever part you
choose to guard, that part your master will
attack. Remembering this, whom will you still
flatter or fear.?

“But I should like to sit where the Senators
sit.” Do you sec that you arc putting yourself
in straits, you are squeezing yourself. “Flow
then shall I see well in any other way in the
amphitheatre?” Man, do not be a spectator at
all; and you will not be squeezed. Why do you
give yourself trouble? Or wait a little, and
when the spectacle is over, scat yourself in the
place reserved for the Senators and sun your-
self. For remember this general truth, that it
is we who squeeze ourselves, who put our-
selves in straits; that is, our opinions squeeze
us and put us in straits. For what is it to be
reviled? Stand by a stone and revile it; and
what will you gain? If, then, a man listens like
a stone, what profit is there to the reviler? But
if the re viler has as a stepping-stone the weak-
ness of him who is reviled, then he accom-
plishes something. “Strip him.” What do you
mean by “him”? Lay hold of his garment,
strip it off. “I have insulted you.” Much good
may it do you.

This was the practice of Socrates: this was
the reason why he always had one face. But
we choose to practice and study anything rath-
er than the means by which we shall be un-
impeded and free. You say, “Philosophers
talk paradoxes.”* But are there no paradoxes
in the other arts? and what is more paradoxi-
cal than to puncture a man’s eye in order that
he may sec? If any one said this to a man ig-
norant of the surgical art, would he not ridi-
cule the speaker? Where is the wonder then if
in philosophy also many things which are true
appear paradoxical to the inex[x;rienccd?

Chapter 26. What is the law of life
When a person was reading hypothetical ar-
guments, Epictetus said: This also is an hypo-
thetical law that we must accept what follows
from the hypothesis. But much before this law
is the law of life, that we must act conformably
to nature. For if in .every matter and circum-
stance we wish to observe what is natural, it

*Scc iv. I.

is plain that in everything we ought to make
it our aim that that which is consequent shall
not csca[x: us, and that we do not admit the
contradictory. First, then, philosophers exer-
cise us in theory, which is easier; and then
next they lead us to the more difficult things;
for in theory, there is nothing which draws us
away from following what is taught; but in
the matters of life, many are the things which
distract us. He is ridiculous, then, who says
that he wishes to begin with the matters of
real life, for it is not easy to begin with the
more difficult things; and we ought to employ
this fact as an argument to those parents who
arc vexed at their children learning philos-
ophy: “Am I doing wrong then, my father,
and do I not know what is suitable to me and
becoming? If indeed this can neither be
learned nor taught, why do you blame me?
but if it can be taught, teach me; and if you
cannot, allow me to learn from those who say
that they know how to teach. For what do you
think? do you suppose that I voluntarily fall
into evil and miss the good? I hope that it
may not be so. What is then the cause of my
doing wrong? Ignorance. Do you not choose
then that I should get rid of my ignorance?
Who was ever taught by anger the art of a
pilot or music? Do you think then that by
means of your anger I shall learn the art of
life?” He only is allowed to speak in this way
who has shown such an intention. But if a
man only intending to make a display at a
banquet and to show that he is acquainted
with hypothetical arguments reads them and
attends the philosophers, what other object has
he than that some man of senatorian rank who
sits by him may admire? For there** are the
really great materials, and the riches here® ap-
pear to be trifles there. This is the reason w'hy
it is difficult for a man to be master of the ap-
pearances, where the things which disturb the
judgement arc great. I know a certain person
who complained, as he embraced the knees of
Epaphroditus, that he had only one hundred
and filly times ten thousand denarii remain-
ing. What then did Epaphroditus do? Did he
laugh at him, as we slaves of Epaphroditus
did? No, but he cried out^with amazement,

■ Rome.

* Nicopolis.

132 EPICTETUS

*Toor man, how then did you keep silence,
how did you endure it?”

When Epictetus had reproved the person
who was reading the hypothetical arguments,
and the teacher who had suggested the read-
ing was laughing at the reader, Epictetus said
to the teacher: "'You are laughing at yourself;
you did not prepare the young man nor did
you ascertain whether he was able to under-
stand these matters; but perhaps you are only
employing him as a reader.’* Weil then, said
Epictetus, if a man has not ability enough to
understand a complex, do we trust him in giv-
ing praise, do we trust him in giving blame,
do we allow that he is able to form a judgement
about good or bad? and if such a man blames
any one, does the man care for the blame ? and
if he praises any one, is the man elated, when
in such small matters as an hypothetical syl-
logism he who praises cannot see what is con-
sequent on the hypothesis?

This then is the beginning of philosophy,^
a man’s perception of the state of his ruling
faculty; for when a man knows that it is weak,
then he will not employ it on things of the
greatest difficulty. But at present, if men can-
not swallow even a morsel, they buy whole
volumes and attempt to devour them; and this
is the reason why they vomit them up or suf-
fer indigestion: and then come gripings, de-
Buxes, and fevers. Such men ought to consider
what their ability is. In theory it is easy to con-
vince an ignorant person; but in the affairs of
real life no one offers himself to be convinced,
and we hate the man who has convinced us.
But Socrates advised us not to live a life which
is not subjected to examination.’

Chapter 27. In how many ways appearances

exist, and what aids we should provide

against them

Appearances arc to us in four ways; for either
things appear as they are; or they are not, and
do not even appear to be; or they are, and do
not appear to be; or they arc not, and yet ap-
pear to be. Further, in all these cases to form
a right judgement is the office of an educated
man. But whatever it is that annoys us, to that
we ought to apply a remedy. If the sophisms

^See ii. 11.

* See Plato, Apology, 38; and Marcus Aurelius, iit. 5.

of Pyrrho and of the Academics are what an-
noys, we must apply the remedy to them. If it
is the persuasion of appearances, by which
some things appear to be good, when they are
not good, let us seek a remedy for this. If it is
habit which annoys us, we must try to seek aid
against habit. What aid then can we find
against habit? The contrary habit. You hear
the ignorant say: “That unfortunate person is
dead: his father and mother are overpowered
with sorrow; he was cut off by an untimely
death and in a foreign land.” Here the con-
trary way of speaking: tear yourself from these
expressions: oppose to one habit the contrary
habit; to sophistry oppose reason, and the ex-
ercise and discipline of reason; against persua-
sive appearances we ought to have manifest
precognitions, cleared of all impurities and
ready to hand.

When death appears an evil, we ought to
have this rule in readiness, that it is fit to avoid
evil things, and that death is a necessary thing.
For what shall I do, and where shall I escape
it? Supjx)sc that I am not Sarpedon, the son of
Zeus, nor able to speak in this noble way; “I
will go and I am resolved either to behave
bravely myself or to give to another the oppor-
tunity of doing so; if I cannot succeed in doing
anything myself, I will not grtidge another the
doing of something noble.” Suppose that it is
above our fx>wcr to act thus; is it not in our
power to reason thus? Tell me where I can es-
cape death: discover for me the country, show
ipe the men to whom I must go, whom death
does not visit. Discover to me a charm against
death. If I have not one, what do you wish me
to do? I cannot escape from death. Shall I not
escape from the fear of death, but shall I die
lamenting and trembling? For the origin of
perturbation is this, to wish for something,
and that this should not happen. Therefore if
I am able to change externals according to my
wish, I change them; but if I Cannot, I am
ready to tear out the eyes of hin^ who hinders
me. For the nature of man is not to endure to
be deprived of the good, and not to endure the
falling into the evil. Then, at lain, when I am
neither able to change circumitanccs nor to
tear out the eyes of him who hinders me, I
sit down and groan, and abuse whom I can,
Zeus and the rest of the gods. For if they do

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

not care for me, what arc they to me? “Yes,
but you will be an impious man.” In what re-
spect then will it be worse for me than it is
now? To sum up, remember this that unless
piety and your interest be in the same thing,
piety cannot be maintained in any man. Do
not these things seem necessary?

Let the followers of Pyrrho and the Aca-
demics come and make their objections. For I,
as to my part, have no leisure for these dis-
putes, nor am I able to undertake the defense
of common consent. If I had a suit even about
a bit of land, I would call in another to defend
my interests. With what evidence then am I
satisfied? With that which belongs to the mat-
ter in hand. How indeed perception is ef-
fected, whether through the whole body or
any parr, perhaps I cannot explain: for both
opinions perplex me. But that you and I arc
not the same, I know with perfect certainty.
“How do you know it?” When I intend to
swallow anythif^y. I never carry it to your
mouth, but to my own. When I intend to take
bread, I never lay hold of a broom, but I al-
ways go to the bread as to a mark. And you
yourselves* who take away the evidence of the
senses, do you act otherwise? Who among
you, when he intended to enter a bath, ever
went into a mill?

What then? Ought we not with all our
power to hold to this also, the maintaining of
general opinion, and fortifying ourselves
against the arguments which are directed
against it? Who denies that we ought to do
this? Well, he should do it who is able, who
has leisure for it; but as to him who trembles
and is perturbed and is inwardly broken in
heart, he must employ his time better on some-
thing else.

Chapter 28. That we ought not to be angry
with men; and what are the small and the
great things among men^

What is the cause of assenting to anything?
The fact that it appears to be true. It is not
possible then to assent to that which appears
not to be true. Why? Because this is the na-
ture of the understanding, to incline to the
true, to be dissatisfied with the false, and in
matters uncertain to withhold assent. What is
* The Pyrrhonists. • See i, 18.

the proof of this? “Imagine, if you can, that it
is now night.” It is not possible. “Take away
your persuasion that it is day.” It is not pos-
sible. “Persuade yourself or take away your
persuasion that the stars arc even in numkr.”
It is impossible. When, then, any man assents
to that which is false, be assured that he did
not intend to assent to it as false, for every
soul is unwillingly deprived of the truth, as
Plato says; but the falsity seemed to him to be
true. Well, in acts what have we of the like
kind as we have here truth or falsehood? We
have the fit and the not fit, the profitable and
the unprofitable, that which is suitable to a
person and that which is not, and whatever is
like these. Can, then, a man think that a thing
is useful to him and not choose it? He cannot.
How says Medea?

“ *Tis true I l^ow what evil I shall do,

But passion overpowers the better counsel/^^

She thought that to indulge her passion and
take vengeance on her husband was more
profitable than to spare her children. “It was
so; but she was deceived.” Show her plainly
that she is deceived, and she will not do it; but
so long as you do not show it, what can she
follow except that which appears to herself?
Nothing else. Why, then, are you angry with
the unhappy w’oman that she has been be-
wildered about the most important things, and
is become a viper instead of a human creature?
And why not, if it is possible, rather pity, as
we pity the blind and the lame, those who are
blinded and maimed in the faculties which arc
supreme?

Whoever, then, clearly remembers this, that
to man the measure of every act is the ap-
pearance — whether the thing appears good or
bad: if good, he is free from blame; if bad,
himself suffers the penalty, for it is impossible
that he who is deceived can be one person, and
he who suffers another person — whoever re-
members this will not be angry with any man,
will not be vexed at any man, will not revile
or blame any man, nor hate nor quarrel with
any man.

“So then all these great and dreadful deeds
have this origin, in thc^ppearancc?” Yes,
this origin and no other. The Iliad is nothing
* Euripides, Medea, 1 079.

134 EPICTETUS

dse than appearance and the use of appear-
ances. It appeared to Paris to carry off the
wife of Menelaus: it appeared to Helen to fol-
low him. If then it had appeared to Menelaus
to feel that it was a gain to be deprived of such
a wife, what would have happened? Not only
would the Iliad have been lost, but the Odys-
sey also. “On so small a matter then did such
great things depend?*’ But what do you mean
by such great things? Wars and civil com-
motions, and the destruction of many men
and cities. And what great matter is this? “Is
it nothing?” But what great matter is the
death of many oxen, and many sheep, and
many nests of swallows or storks being burnt
or destroyed? “Are these things, then, like
those?” Very like. Bodies of men are de-
stroyed, and the bodies of oxen and sheep; the
dwellings of men are burnt, and the nests of
storks. What is there in this great or dread-
ful? Or show me what is the difference be-
tween a man’s house and a stork’s nest, as far as
each is a dwelling; except that man builds his
little houses of beams and tiles and bricks, and
the stork builds them of sticks and mud. “Are
a stork and a man. then, like things?” What
say you? In body they are very much alike.

“Does a man then differ in no respect from
a stork?” Don’t suppose that I say so; but
there is no difference in these matters. “In
w'hat, then, is the difference?” Seek and you
will find that there is a difference in another
matter. Sec whether it is not in a man the un-
derstanding of W'hat he does, sec if it is not in
social community, in fidelity, in modesty, in
steadfastness, in intelligence. Where then is
the great good and evil in men? It is where
the difference is. If the difference is preserved
and remains fenced round, and neither mod-
esty is destroyed, nor fidelity, nor intelligence,
then the man also is preserved; but if any of
these things is destroyed and stormed like a
city, then the man too perishes; and in this
consist the great things. Paris, you say, sus-
tained great damage, then, when the Hellenes
invaded and when they ravaged Troy, and
when his brothers perished. By no means; for
no man is damaged by an action which is not
his own; but what happened at that time was
only the destruction of storks’ nests; now the
ruin of Paris was when he lost the character

of modesty, fidelity, regard to hospitality, and
to decency. When was Achilles ruined? Was
it when Patroclus died? Not so. But it hap-
pened when he began to be angry, when he
wept for a girl, when he forgot that he was at
Troy not to get mistresses, but to fight. These
things arc the ruin of men, this is being be-
sieged, this is the destruction of cities, when
right opinions arc destroyed, when they arc
corrupted.

“When, then, women are carried off, when
children arc made captives, and when the men
are killed, arc these not evils?” How is it then
that you add to the facts these opinions? Ex-
plain this to me also. “I shall not do that; but
how is it that you say that these are not evils?”
Let us come to the rules: produce the precog-
nitions; for it is because this is neglected that
we cannot sufficiently wonder at what men do.
When wc intend to judge of weights, we do
not judge by guess; where we intend to judge
of straight and crooked, we do not judge by
guess. In all cases where it is our interest to
know what is true in any matter, never will
any man among us do anything by guess. But
in things which depend on the first and on the
only cause of doing right or wrong, of hap-
piness or unhappiness, of being unfortunate or
fortunate, there only wc arc Thconsidcrate and
rash. There is then nothing like scales, noth-
ing like a rule: but some appearance is pre-
sented, and straightway I act according to it.
Must I then suppose that I am superior to
Achilles or Agamemnon, so that they by fol-
lowing appearances do and suffer so many
evils: and shall not the appearance be sufficient
for me? And what tragedy has any other be-
ginning? The Atreus of Euripides, what is it?
An appearance. The (Edipus of Sophocles,
what is it? An appearance. The Phwnix? An
appearance. The Hippolytus? An appearance.
What kind of a man then do )Ou suppose him
to be who pays no regard to this matter? And
what is the name of those who follow every
appearance? “They arc called madmen.” Do
wc then act at all differently? .

Chapter 29. On constancy
The being of the Good is a certain Will; the
being of the Bad is a certain kind of Will.
What then arc externals? Materials for the

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

Will, about which the will being conversant
shall obtain its own good or evil. How shall it
obtain the good? If it does not admire the ma-
terials; for the opinions about the materials,
if the opinions are right, make the will good:
but perverse and distorted opinions make the
will bad. God has fixed this law, and says, ‘*If
you would have anything good, receive it
from yourself.” You say, “No, but I will have
it from another.” Do not so: but receive it
from yourself. Therefore when the tyrant
threatens and calls me, I say, “Whom do you
threaten?” If he says, “I will put you in
chains,” I say, “You threaten my hands and my
feet.” If he says, “I will cut off your head,” I
reply, “You threaten my head.” If he says, “I
will throw you into prison,” I say, “You
threaten the whole of this poor body.” If he
threatens me with banishment, I say the same.
“Docs he, then, not threaten you at all?” If I
feel that all these things do not concern me,
he does not threaten me at all; but if I fear any
of them, it is 1 whom he threatens. Whom
then do I fear? the master of what? The
master ot things which are in my own power?
There is no such master. Do I fear the master
of things which arc not in my power? And
what are these things to me?

“Do you philosophers then teach us to de-
spise kings?” I hope not. Who among us
teaches to claim against them the power over
things which they possess? Take my poor
body, take my projierly, take my reputation,
take those who are about me. If I advise any
persons to claim these things, they may truly
accuse me. “Yes, but I intend to command
your opinions also.” And w'ho has given you
this power? How can you conquer the opinion
of another man? “By applying terror to it,”
he replies, “I will conquer it.” Do you not
know that opinion conquers itself, and is not
conquered by another? But nothing else can
conquer Will except the Will itself. For this
reason, too, the law of God is most powerful
and most just, which is this: “Let the stronger
always Ik superior to the weaker.” “Ten are
stronger than one.” For what? For putting in
chains, for killing, for dragging whither they
choose, for taking away what a man has. The
ten therefore conquer the one in this in which
they are stronger. “In what then arc the ten

weaker?” If the one possess right opinions
and the others do not. “Well then, can the
ten conquer in this matter?” How is it pos-
sible? If we were placed in the scales, must
not the heavier draw down the scale in which
it is?

“How strange, then, that Socrates should
have been so treated by the Athenians.” Slave,
why do you say Socrates? Speak of the thing
as it is: how strange that the poor body of
Socrates should have been carried off and
dragged to prison by stronger men, and that
any one should have given hemlock to the
poor body of Socrates, and that it should
breathe out the life. Do these things seem
strange, do they seem unjust, do you on ac-
count of these things blame God? Had Soc-
rates then no equivalent for these things?
Where, then, for him was the nature of good?
Whom shall listen to, you or him? And
what does Socrates say? “Anytus and Mcletus'
can kill me, but they cannot hurt me”: and
further, he says, “If it so pleases God, so let
it be.”

But show me that he who has the inferior
principles overpowers him who is superior in
principles. You will never show this, nor come
near showing it; for this is the law of nature
and of God that the superior shall always
overpower the inferior. In what? In that in
which it is superior. One body is stronger than
another: many arc stronger than one: the
thief is stronger than he who is not a thief.
This is the reason why I also lost my lamp,*
because in wakefulness the thief was superior
to me. But the man bought the lamp at this
price: for a lamp he became a thief, a faithless
fellow, and like a wild beast. This seemed to
him a good bargain. Be it so. But a man has
seized me by the cloak, and is drawing me to
the public place: then others bawl out, “Phi-
losopher, what has been the use of your opin-
ions? see you are dragged to prison, you arc
going to be beheaded.” And what system of
philosophy could I have made so that, if a
stronger man should have laid hold of my
cloak, I should not be dragged off; that if ten
men should have laid hold of me and cast me
into prison, I should not 1^ cast in? Have I
learned nothing else therf? I have learned to

* Plato, Apology, 30; Epictetus, ii. 2. *See i. 18.

X36 EPICTETUS

see that everything which happens, if it be
independent of my will, is nothing to me. I
may ask if you have not gained by this. Why
then do you seek advantage in anything else
than in that in which you have learned that
advantage is?

Then sitting in prison I say: “The man who
cries out in this way neither hears what words
mean, nor understands what is said, nor does
he care at all to know what philosophers say
or what they do. Let him alone.”

But now he says to the prisoner, “Come out
from your prison.” If you have no further need
of me in prison, I come out: if you should have
need of me again, I will enter the prison.
“How long will you act thus?” So long as rea-
son requires me to be with the body: but when
reason docs not require this, take away the
body, and fare you wcll.^ Only we must not do
it inconsiderately, nor weakly, nor for any
slight reason; for, on the other hand, God does
not wish it to be done, and he has need of such
a world and such inhabitants in it.^ But if he
sounds the signal for retreat, as he did to
Socrates, we must obey him who gives the
signal, as if he were a general.*

“Well, then, ought we to say such things to
the many?” Why should we? Is it not enough
for a man to be persuaded himself? When
children come clapping their hands and cry-
ing out, “To-day is the good Saturnalia,”* do
we say, “The Saturnalia are not good?” By no
means, but we clap our hands also. Do you
also then, when you are not able to make a
man change his mind, be assured that he is a
child, and clap your hands with him, and if
you do not choose to do this, keep silent.

A man must keep this in mind; and when
he is called to any such difficulty, he should
know that the time is come for showing if he
has been instructed. For he who is come into
a difficulty is like a young man from a school
who has practiced the resolution of syllogisms;
and if any person proposes to him an easy syl-
logism, he says, “Rather propose to me a syl-
logism which is skillfully complicated that I
may exercise myself on it.” Even athletes are

1 See i. 9.

«Seei. 6.

* Plato, Apology, 38-42; Epictetus, L 9.

^See i. 25.

dissatisfied with slight young men, and say,
“He cannot lift me.” “This is a youth of noble
disposition.” But when the time of trial is
come, one of you must weep and say, “I wish
that I had learned more.” A little more of
what? If you did not learn these things in or-
der to show them in practice, why did you
learn them? I think that there is some one
among you who are sitting here, who is suf-
fering like a woman in labour, and saying,
“Oh, that such a difficulty does not present it-
self to me as that which has come to this man;
oh, that I should be wasting my life in a cor-
ner, when I might be crowned at Olympia.
When will any one announce to me such a
contest?” Such ought to he the disposition of
all of you. Even among the gladiators of
Caesar there are some who complain grievous-
ly that they are not brought forward and
matched, and they offer up prayers to God and
address themselves to their superintendents
entreating that they might fight. And will no
one among you show himself such? I would
willingly take a voyage for this purpose and
sec what my athlete is doing, how he is study-
ing his subject. “I do not choose such a sub-
ject,” he says. Why, is it in your power to take
what subject you choose? There has been
given to you such a body aT you have, such
parents, such brethren, such a country, such a
place in your country: then you come to me
and say, “Change my subject.” Have you not
abilities which enable you to manage the sub-
ject which has been given to you ? “It is your
business to propose; it is mine to exercise my-
self well.” However, you do not say so, but
you say, “Do not propose to me such a tropic,
but such: do not urge against me such an ob-
jection, but such.” There will be a time, per-
haps, when tragic actors will suppose that they
are masks and buskins and thd; long cloak. I
say, these things, man, are your material and
subject. Utter something that We may know
whether you are a tragic actoe or a buffoon;
for both of you have all the rest in common.
If any one then should take alvay the tragic
actor’s buskins and his mask, and introduce
him on the stage as a phantom, is the tragic
actor lost, or does he still remain? If he has
voice, he still remains.

An example of another kind. “Assume the

DISCOURSES, BOOK I

governorship of a province.” I assume it, and
when I have assumed it, I show how an in-
structed man behaves. '‘Lay aside the lati-
clave and^ clothing yourself in rags, come for-
ward in this character.” What then have I
not the power of displaying a good voice?
How, then, do you now appear? As a witness
summoned by God. “Come forward, you, and
bear testimony for me, for you are worthy to
be brought forward as a witness by me: is any-
thing external to the will good or bad? do I
hurt any man? have I made every man's in-
terest dependent on any man except himself?”
What testimony do you give for God? “I am
in a wretched condition. Master, and I am
unfortunate; no man cares for me, no man
gives me anything; all blame me, all speak ill
of me.” Is this the evidence that you are going
to give, and disgrace his summons, who has
conferred so much honour on you, and
thought you worthy of being called to bear
such testimonv?

But suppose that he who has the power has
declared, “I judge you to be impious and pro-
fane.” What has happened to you? “I have
been judged to be impious and profane?”
Nothing else? “Nothing else.” But if the same
person had passed judgment on an hypothet-
ical syllogism, and had made a declaration,
“the conclusion that, if it is day, it is light, I
declare to be false,” what has happened to the
hypothetical syllogism? who is judged in this
case? who has been condemned? the hypo-
thetical syllogism, or the man who has been
deceived by it? Does he, then, who has the
power of making any declaration about you
know what is pious or impious? Has he
studied it, and has he learned it? Where?
From whom? Then is it the fact that a musi-
cian pays no regard to him who declares that
the lowest chord in the lyre is the highest; nor
yet a geometrician, if he declares that the
lines from the centre of a circle to the circum-
ference are not equal; and shall he who is
really instructed pay any regard to the unin-
structed man when he pronounces judgment
on what is pious and what is impious, on
what is just and unjust? Oh, the signal wrong
done by the instructed. Did they learn this
here?

Will you not leave the small arguments

about these matters to others, to lazy fellows,
that they may sic in a corner and receive their
sorry pay, or grumble that no one gives them
anything; and will you not come forward and
make use of what you have learned? For it is
not these small arguments that are wanted
now: the writings of the Stoics arc full of
them. What then is the thing which is
wanted? A man who shall apply them, one
who by his acts shall bear testimony to his
words.^ Assume, I entreat you, this character,
that we may no longer use in the schools the
examples of the ancients, but may have some
example of our own.

To whom then docs the contemplation of
these matters belong? To him who has leisure,
for man is an animal that loves contemplation.
But it is shameful to contemplate these things
as runaway slaves do; we should sit, as in a
theatre, free from distraction, and listen at one
time to the tragic actor, at another time to
the lute-player; and not do as slaves do. As
soon as the slave has taken his station he
praises the actor and at the same time looks
round: then if any one calls out his master’s
name, the slave is immediately frightened and
disturbed. It is shameful for philosophers thus
to contemplate the works of nature. For what
is a master? Man is not the master of man;
but death is, and life and pleasure and pain;
for if he comes without these things, bring
Cxsar to me and you will see how firm I am.
But when he shall come with these things,
thundering and lightning,^ and when I am
afraid of them, what do I do then except to
recognize my master like the runaway slave?
But so long as I have any respite from these
terrors, as a runaway slave stands in the the-
atre, so do I; I bathe, I drink, I sing; but all
this I do with terror and uneasiness. But if I
shall release myself from my masters, that is
from those things by means of which masters
are formidable, what further trouble have I,
what master have I still?

“What then, ought we to publish these
things to all men?” No, but we ought to ac-
commodate ourselves to the ignorant and to
say: “This man recommends to me that which
he thinks good for himjidf: I excuse him.”

^ Jam. 2. 14-18.

* Aristophanes, The Acharmans, 531.

EPICTETUS

138

For Socrates also excused the gaoler, who had
the charge of him in prison and was weeping
when Socrates was going to drink the poison,
and said, ‘*How generously he laments over
us.’*^ Does he then say to the gaoler that for
this reason we have sent away the women?
No, but he says it to his friends who were
able to hear it; and he treats the gaoler as a
child.

Chapter 30. What we ought to have ready in
difficult circumstances

When you arc going into any great personage,
remember that Another also from above secs
what is going on, and that you ought to please
Him rather than the other. He, then, who sees
from above asks you: “In the schools what
used you to say about exile and bonds and
death and disgrace?” I used to say that they
are things indifferent. “What then do you
say of them now? Are they changed at all?”
No. “Are you changed then?” No. “Tell me
^ Plato, Phado, 1 16.

then what things are indifferent?” The things
which are independent of the will. “Tell me,
also, what follows from this.” The things
which are independent of the will are nothing
to me. “Tell me also about the Good, what
was your opinion?” A will such as we ought
to have and also such a use of appearances.
“And the end, what is it?” To follow Thee.
“Do you say this now also?” I say the same
now also.

Then go into the great personage boldly
and remember these things; and you will see
what a youth is who has studied these things
when he is among men who have not studied
them. I indeed imagine that you will have
such thoughts as these: “Why do we make so
great and so many preparations for nothing?
Is this the thing which men name power? Is
this the antechamber? this the men of the
bedchamber? this the armed guards? Is it for
this that I listened to so many discourses? All
this is nothing; but I have been preparing my-
self for something great.”

• BOOK TWO •

Chapter i. That confidence is not inconsist-
ent with caution

The opinion of the philosophers, perhaps,
seems to some to be a paradox; but still let us
examine as well as we can, if it is true that it
is possible to do everything both with caution
and with confidence. For caution seems to be
in a manner contrary to confidence, and con-
traries arc in no way consistent. That which
seems to many to be a paradox in the matter
under consideration in my opinion is of this
kind: if we asserted that we ought to employ
caution and confidence in the same things,
men might justly accuse us of bringing to-
gether things which cannot be united. But
now where is the difficulty in what is said?
for if these things arc true, which have been
often said and often proved, that the nature
of good is in the use of appearances, and the
nature of evil likewise, and that things inde-
pendent of our will do not admit cither the
nature of evil nor of good, what paradox do
the philosophers assert if they say that where

things are not dependent dtl the will, there
you should employ confidence, but where they
are dependent on the will, there you should
employ caution? For if the bad consists in a
bad exercise of the will, caution ought only
to be used where things are dependent on the
will. But if things independent of the will and
not in our power are nothing to us, with re-
spect to these we must employ confidence;
and thus we shall both be cautious and con-
fident, and indeed confident because of our
caution. For by employing caution toward
things which are really bad, it will result that
we shall have confidence with respect to things
which are not so.

Wc arc then in the condition of deer;* when
they flee from the huntsmen’s feathers in
fright, whither do they turn and in what do
they seek refuge as safe? They turn to the
nets, and thus they perish by confounding
things which arc objects of fear with things
that they ought not to fear. Thus wc also act:

» Virgil, Georgies^ iii. 372.

DISCOURSES, BOOK II

in what cases do we fear? In things which are
independent of the will. In what cases, on the
contrary, do we behave with confidence, as if
there were no danger? In things dependent on
the will. To be deceived then, or to act rashly,
or shamelessly or with base desire to seek
something, does not concern us at all, if we
only hit the mark in things which are inde-
pendent of our will. But where there is death,
or exile or pain or infamy, there we attempt
to run away, there we are struck with terror.
Therefore, as we may expect it to happen with
those who err in the greatest matters, we con-
vert natural confidence into audacity, des-
peration, rashness, shamelessness; and wc con-
vert natural caution and modesty into coward-
ice and meanness, which are full of fear and
confusion. For if a man should transfer cau-
tion to those things in which the will may be
exercised and the acts of the will, he will im-
mediately, by willing to be cautious, have also
the power of avoiding what he chooses: but
if he transfer it to the things which are not in
his power and will, and attempt to avoid the
things which are in the power of others, he
will of necessity fear, he will be unstable, he
will be disturbed. For death or pain is not
formidable, but the fear of pain or death. For
this reason we commend the poet who said

Not death is evil, but a shameful death}

Confidence then ought to be employed against
death, and caution against the fear of death.
But now we do the contrary, and employ
against death the attempt to escape; and to our
opinion about it we employ carelessness, rash-
ness and indifference. These things Socrates*
properly used to call “tragic masks”; for as to
children masks appear terrible and fearful
from inexperience, we also are affected in like
manner by events for no other reason than
children are by masks. For what is a child?
Ignorance. What is a child? Want of knowl-
edge. For when a child knows these things, he
is in no way inferior to us. What is death?
A “tragic mask.” Turn it and examine it.
Sec, it docs not bite. The poor body must be
separated from the spirit cither now or later,
as it was separated from it before. Why, then,

* Riiripirles, Fragments,

^ Plato, Vhtrdo, 78.

are you troubled, if it be separated now? for
if it is not separated now, it will be separated
afterward. Why? That the period of the uni-
verse may be completed,* for it has need of
the present, and of the future, and of the past.
What is pain? A mask. Turn it and examine
it. The poor flesh is moved roughly, then, on
the contrary, smoothly. If this does not satisfy
you, the door is open:^ if it does, bear. For
the door ought to be open for all occasions;
and so we have no trouble.

What then is the fruit of these opinions? It
is that which ought to be the most noble and
the most becoming to those who are really
educated, release from perturbation, release
from fear, freedom. For in these matters wc
must not believe the many, who say that free
persons only ought to be educated, but wc
should rather believe the philosophers, who
say that the feducated only arc free. “How is
this?” In this manner. Is freedom anything
else than the power of living as wc choose?
“Nothing else.” Tell me then, ye men, do you
wish to live in error? “Wc do not.” No one
then who lives in error is free. Do you wish to
live in fear? Do you wish to live in sorrow?
Do you wish to live in perturbation? “By no
means.” No one, then, who is in a state of fear
or sorrow or perturbation is free; but whoever
is delivered from sorrows and fears and pertur-
bations, he is at the same time also delivered
from servitude. How then can wc continue to
believe you, most dear legislators, when you
say, “We only dlow free persons to be edu-
cated?” For philosophers say we allow none
to be free except the educated; that is, God
does not allow it. “When then a man has
turned^ round before the praetor his own slave,
has he done nothing?” He has done some-
thing. “What?” He has turned round his own
slave before the praetor. “Has he done nothing
more?” Yes: he is also bound to pay for him
the tax called the twentieth. “Well then, is not
the man who has gone through this ceremony
become free?” No more than he is become free
from perturbations. Have you who arc able to
turn round others no master? is not money
your master, or a girl or a boy, or some tyrant,

* Nf arcus Aurelius, xi. i.

• Sec i. 9.

s Sec also iii. 26.

140 EPICTETUS

or some friend of the tyrant? do you
tremble then when you are going off to any
trial of this kind? It is for this reason that I
often say: Study and hold in readiness these
principles by which you may determine what
those things are with reference to which you
ought to have confidence, and those things
with reference to which you ought to be cau-
tious: courageous in that which does not de-
pend on your will; cautious in that which docs
depend on it.

“Well have I not read to you, and do you
not know what I was doing?” In what? ^*In
my litde dissertations.” Show me how you are
with respect to desire and aversion; and show
me if you do not fail in getting what you wish,
and if you do not fall into the things which
you would avoid: but as to these long and la-
boured sentences, you will take them and blot
them out.

“What then did not Socrates write?” And
who wrote so much? But how? As he could
not always have at hand one to argue against
his principles or to be argued against in turn,
he used to argue with and examine himself,
and he was always treating at least some one
subject in a practical way. These are the things
which a philosopher writes. But little disserta-
tions and that method, which I speak of, he
leaves to others, to the stupid, or to those hap-
py men who being free from perturbations
have leisure, or to such as are too foolish to
reckon consequences.

And will you now, when the opportunity
invites, go and display those things which you
possess, and recite them, and make an idle
show, and say, “Sec how I make dialogues?”
Do not so, my man: but rather say: “See how
I am not disappointed of that which I desire.
See how I do not fall into that which I would
avoid. Set death before me, and you will see.
Set before me pain, prison, disgrace and con-
demnation.” lliis is the proper display of a
young man who is come out of the schools.
But leave the rest to others, and let no one
ever hear you say a word about these things;
and if any man commends you for them, do
not allow it; but think that you are nobody
and know nothing. Only show that you know
this, how never to be disappointed in your de-
sire and how never to fall into that which you

would avoid. Let others labour at forensic
causes, problems and syllogisms: do you labour
at thinking about death, chains, the rack, ex-
ile;^ and do all this with confidence and re-
liance on him who has called you to these suf-
ferings, who has judged you worthy of the
place in which, being stationed, you will show
what things the rational governing power can
do when it takes its stand against the forces
which arc not within the power of our will.
And thus this paradox will no longer appear
either impossible or a paradox, that a man
ought to be at the same time cautious and
courageous: courageous toward the things
which do not depend on the will, and cautious
in things which are within the power of the
will.

Chapter 2. Of Tranquillity
Consider, you who are going into court, what
you wish to maintain and what you wish to
succeed in. For if you wish to maintain a will
conformable to nature, you have every secu-
rity, every facility, you have no troubles. For
if you wish to maintain what is in your own
power and is naturally free, and if you are con-
tent with these, what else do you care for? For
who is the master of such things? Who can
take them away? If you choose to be modest
and faithful, who shall not allo"^ you to be so?
If you choose not to be restrained or com-
pelled, who shall compel you to desire what
you think that you ought not to desire? who
shall compel you to avoid what you do not
think fit to avoid ? But what do you say ? The
judge will determine against you something
that appears formidable; but that you should
also suffer in trying to avoid it, how can he do
that? When then the pursuit of objects and
the avoiding of them arc in your power, what
else do you care for? Let this be your preface,
this your narrative, this your confirmation, this
your victory, this your peroration, this your
applause.

Therefore Socrates said to one who was re-
minding him to prepare for his trial, “Do you
not think then that I have been preparing for
it all my life?” By what kind of preparation?
“I have maintained that which was in my own
power.” How then? “I have never done any-

> See t. 30.

DISCOURSES. BOOK tt

thing unjust either in my private or in my
public life.”

But if you wish to maintain externals also,
your poor body, your little property and your
little estimation, I advise you to make from
this moment all possible preparation, and then
consider both the nature of your judge and
your adversary. If it is necessary to embrace
his knees, embrace his knees; if to weep,
weep; if to groan, groan. For when you have
subjected to externals what is your own, then
be a slave and do not resist, and do not some-
times choose to be a slave, and sometimes not
choose, but with all your mind be one or the
other, either free or a slave, either instructed
or uninstructed, cither a well-bred cock or a
mean one, either endure to be beaten until you
die or yield at once; and let it not happen to
you to receive many stripes and then to yield.
But if these things are base, determine imme-
diately: “Where is the nature of evil and good ?
It is where truth is: where truth is and where
nature is, there is caution: where truth is,
there is courage where nature is.”

For what do you think? do you think that,
if Socrates had wished to preserve externals^
he would have come forward and said: “Any-
tus and Meletus can certainly kill me, but to
harm me they arc not able?” Was he so foolish
as not to see that this way leads not to the
preservation of life and fortune, but to an-
other end? What is the reason then that he
takes no account of his adversaries, and even
irritates them? Just in the same way my friend
Heraclitus, who had a little suit in Rhodes
about a bit of land, nnd had proved to the
judges that his case was just, said, when he
had come to the peroration of his speech, “I
will neither entreat you nor do I care what
judgment you will give, and it is you rather
than I who arc on your trial.” And thus he
ended the business. What need was there of
this? Only do not entreat; but do not also say,
' “I do not entreat”; unless there is a fit occasion
to irritate purposely the judges, as was the case
with Socrates. And you, if you are preparing
such a peroration, why do you wait, why do
you obey the order to submit to trial? For if
you wish to be crucified, wait and the cross
will come: but if you choose to submit and to
plead your cause as well as jrou can, you must

do what is consistent with this (A)ject, pro-
vided you maintain what is your own.

For this reason also it is ridiculous to say,
“Suggest something to me.” What should I
suggest to you? “Well, form my mind so as to
accommodate itself to any event.” Why that is
just the same as if a man who is ignorant of
letters should say, “Tell me what to write
when any name is proposed to me.” For if I
should tell him to write Dion, and then an-
other should come and propose to him not the
name of Dion but that of Theon, what will be
done? what will he write? But if you have
practiced writing, you arc also prepared to
write anything that is required. If you arc not,
what can I now suggest? For if circumstances
require something else, what will you say or
what will you do? Remember, then, this gen-
eral precept and you will need no suggestion.
But if you gape after externals, you must of
necessity ramble up and down in obedience to
the will of your master. And who is the mas-
ter? He who has the power over the things
which you seek to gain or try to avoid.

Chapter 3. To those who recommend persons

to philosophers

Diogenes said well to one who asked from
him letters of recommendation, “That you arc
a man,” he said, “he will know as soon as he
sees you; and he will know whether you are
good or bad, if he is by experience skillful to
distinguish the good and the bad; but if he is
without experience, he will never know, if I
write to him ten thousand times.”^ For it is just
the same as if a drachma asked to be recom-
mended to a person to be tested. If he is skill-
ful in testing silver, he will know what you
are, for you will recommend yourself. We
ought then in life also to have some skill as in
the case of silver coin that a man may be able
to say, like the judge of silver, “Bring me any
drachma and I will test it.” But in the case of
syllogisms I would say, “Bring any man that
p^u please, and I will distinguish for you the
man who knows how to resolve syllogisms and
the man who does not.” Why? Because I
know how to resolve syllogisms. I have the
power, which a man must have who is able to
discover those who have tjjrf power of resolv-
ing syllogisms. But in life how do I act? At

> Compare Euripides, Medea, 518.

i4a EPICTETUS

one time I call a thing good, and at another next to you, or slyly steal it, or place your hand

time bad. What is the reason? The contrary to
that which is in the case of syllogisms, igno-
rance and inexperience.

Chapter 4. Against a person who had once

been detected in adultery
As Epictetus was saying that man is formed
for fidelity, and that he who subverts fidelity
subverts the peculiar characteristic of men,
there entered one of those who are considered
to be men of letters, who had once been de-
tected in adultery in the city. Then Epictetus
continued: But if we lay aside this fidelity for
which we arc formed and make designs
against our neighbor’s wife, what are we do-
ing? What else but destroying and overthrow-
ing? Whom? The man of fidelity, the man of
modesty, the man of sanctity. Is this all? And
are we not overthrowing neighbourhood, and
friendship, and the community; and in what
place are we putting ourselves? How shall I
consider you, man? As a neighbour, as a
friend? What kind of one? As a citizen?
Wherein shall I trust you? So if you were an
utensil so worthless that a man could not use
you, you would be pitched out on the dung
heaps, and no man would pick you up. But if,
being a man, you arc unable to fill any place
which befits a man, what shall wc do with
you? For suppose that you cannot hold the
place of a friend, can you hold the place of a
slave? And who will trust you? Arc you not
then content that you also should be pitched
somewhere on a dung heap, as a useless uten-
sil, and a bit of dung? Then will you say, “No
man cares for me, a man of letters”? They do
not, because you are bad and useless. It is just
as if the wasps complained because no man
cares for them, but all fly from them, and
if a man can, he strikes them and knocks
them down. You have such a sting that you
throw into trouble and pain any man that you
wound with it. What would you have us do
with you? You have no place where you can
be put.

“What then, are not women common by na-
ture?” So I say also; for a little pig is common
to all the invited guests, but when the portions
have been distributed, go, if you think it right,
and snatch up the portion of him who reclines

down by it and lay hold of it, and if you can-
not tear away a bit of the meat, grease your
fingers and lick them. A fine companion over
cups, and Socratic guest indeed! “Well, is not
the theatre common to the citizens?” When
then they have taken their scats, come, if you
think proper, and eject one of them. In this
way women also arc common by nature.
When, then, the legislator, like the master of
a feast, has distributed them, will you not
also look for your own portion and not filch
and handle what belongs to another. “But
I am a man of letters and understand Arche-
demus.” Understand Archedemus then, and
be an adulterer, and faithless, and instead
of a man, be a wolf or an ape: for what is the
difference?

Chapter 5. How magnanimity is consistent

with care

Things themselves are indifferent; but the use
of them is not indifferent. How then shall a
man preserve firmness and tranquillity, and at
the same time be careful and neither rash nor
negligent? If he imitates those who play at
dice. The counters arc indifferent; the dice arc
indifferent. How do I know what the cast will
be? But to use carefully andjcxtcrously the
cast of the dice, this is my business. Thus then
in life also the chief business is this: distin-
guish and separate things, and say, “Externals
arc not in my power: will is in my power.
Where shall I seek the good and the bad?
Within, in the things which arc my own.” But
in what does not belong to you call nothing
cither good or bad, or profit or damage or any-
th! ng of the kind.

“What then? Should we use such things
carelessly?” In no way: for this on the other
hand is bad for the faculty of the will, and
consequently against nature; but we should
act carefully because the use is not indifferent,
and we should also act with firmness and free-
dom from perturbations because the material
is indifferent. For where the material is not
indifferent, there no man can hinder me nor
compel me. Where I can be hindered and
compelled, the obtaining of those things is not
in my power, nor is it good or bad; but the
use is either bad or good, and the use is in my

DISCOURSES, BOOK II

power. But it is difficult to mingle and to
bring together these two things, the careful-
ness of him who is aflected by the matter and
the firmness of him who has no regard for it;
but it is not impossible; and if it is, happiness
is impossible. But we should act as we do in
the case of a voyage. What can I do? I can
choose the master of the ship, the sailors, the
day, the opportunity. Then comes a storm.
What more have I to care for? for my part is
done. The business belongs to another — the
master. But the ship is sinking — what then
have I to do? I do the only thing that I can,
not to be drowned full of fear, nor screaming,
nor blaming God, but knowing that what has
been produced must also perish: for I am not
an immortal being, but a man, a part of the
whole, as an hour is a part of the day: I must
be present like the hour, and past like the hour.
What difference, then, does it make to me
how T pass away, whether by being suffocated
or by a fever, for I must pass through some
such means?

This is just what you will sec those doing
who play at ball skillfully. No one cares about
the ball as being good or bad, but about
throwing and catching it. In this therefore is
the skill, in this the art, the quickness, the
judgement, so that if I spread out my lap I
may not be able to catch it, and another, if I
throw, may catch the ball. But if with {per-
turbation and fear we receive or throw the
ball, what kind of play is it then, and wherein
shall a man be steady, and how shall a man
sec the order in the game? But one will say,
“Throw”; or, “Do not throw”; and another
will say, “You have thrown once.” This is
quarreling, not play.

Socrates, then, knew how to play at ball.
“How?” By using pleasantry in the court
where he was tried. “Tell me,” he says, “Any-
tus, how do you say that 1 do not believe in
God. The Demons, who are they, think you?
Are they not sons of Gods, or compounded of
gods and men?” When Anytus admitted this,
Socrates said, “Who then, think you, can be-
lieve that there are mules, but not asses”; and
this he said as if he were playing at ball.^ And
what was the ball in that case? Life, chains,
banishment, a draught of poison, separation

^ Plato, Apology, 27.

from wife and leaving children orphans. These
were the things with which he was playing;
but still he did play and threw the ball
skillfully. So we should do: we must employ
all the care of the players, but show the same
indifference about the ball. For we ought by
all means to apply our art to some external
material, not as valuing the material, but,
whatever it may be, showing our art in it. Thus
too the weaver does not make wool, but exer-
cises his art upon such as he receives. Another
gives you food and property and is able to take
them away and your poor body also. When
then you have received the material, work on
it. If then you come out without having suf-
fered anything, all who meet you will con-
gratulate you on your escape; but he who
knows how to look at such things, if he shall
see that you have behaved properly in the
matter, will conomend you and be pleased with
you; and if he shall find that you owe your es-
cape to any want of proper behavior, he will
do the contrary. For where rejoicing is rea-
sonable, there also is congratulation reason-
able.

How then is it said that some external
things are according to nature and others con-
trary to nature? It is said as it might be said
if we were separated from union: for to the
foot I shall say that it is according to nature
for it to be clean; but if you take it as a foot
and as a thing not detached, it will befit it both
to step into the mud and tread on thorns, and
sometimes to be cut off for the benefit of the
whole body; otherwise it is no longer a foot.
We should think in some way about ourselves
also. What are you? A man. If you consider
yourself as detached from other men, it is ac-
cording to nature to live to old age, to be rich,
to be healthy. But if you consider yourself as
a man and a part of a certain whole, it is for
the sake of that whole that at one time you
should be sick, at another time take a voyage
and run into danger, and at another time be in
want, and, in some cases, die prematurely.
Why then are you troubled? Do you not
know, that as a foot is no longer a foot if it is
detached from the body, so you are no longer
a man if you are separated from other men.
For what is a man? A partc^f a state, of that
first which consists of Gods and of men; then

EPICTETUS

of that which is called next to it, which is a
small image of the universal state. **What then
must I be brought to trial; must another have
a fever, another sail on the sea, another die,
and another be condemned?” Yes, for it is im-
possible in such a body, in such a universe of
things, among so many living together, that
such things should not happen, some to one
and others to others. It is your duty then, since
you are come here, to say what you ought, to
arrange these things as it is (it. Then some one
says, ”I shall charge you with doing me
wrong.” Much good may it do you; I have
done my part; but whether you also have done
yours, you must look to that; for there is some
danger of this too, that it may escape your
notice.

Chapter 6. Of Indifference
The hypothetical proposition is indifferent:
the judgment about it is not indifferent, but
it is either knowledge or opinion or error.
Thus life is indifferent: the use is not indiffer-
ent. When any man then tells you that these
things also are indifferent, do not become neg-
ligent; and when a man invites you to be care-
ful, do not become abject and struck with ad-
miration of material things. And it is good for
you to know your own preparation and pow-
er, that in those matters where you have not
been prepared, you may keep quiet, and not
be vexed, if others have the advantage over
you. For you, too, in syllogisms will claim to
have the advantage over them; and if others
should be vexed at this, you will console them
by saying, “I have learned them, and you have
not.” Thus also where there is need of any
practice, seek not that which is required from
the need, but yield in that matter to those who
have had practice, and be yourself content
with firmness of mind.

Go and salute a certain person. **How?”
Not meanly. ”But I have been shut out, for I
have not learned to make my way through the
window; and when I have found the door
shut, I must either come back or enter through
the window.” But still speak to him. **In what
way?** Not meanly. But suppose that you have
not got what you wanted. Was this your busi-
ness, and not his? Why then do you claim that
which belongs to another? Always remember

what is your own, and what belongs to an-
other; and you will not be disturbed. Chrysip-
pus therefore said well, '"So long as future
things are uncertain, I always cling to those
which are more adapted to the conservation of
that which is according to nature; for God
himself has given me the faculty of such
choice.” But if 1 knew that it was fated for me
to be sick, I would even move toward it; for
the foot also, if it had intelligence, would move
to go into the mud.* For why are ears of corn
produced? Is it not that they may become dry?
And do they not become dry that they may be
reaped?* for they arc not separated from com-
munion with other things. If then they had
perception, ought they to wish never to be
reaped? But this is a curse upon ears of corn,
never to be reaped. So we must know that in
the case of men too it is a curse not to die, just
the same as not to be ripened and not to be
reaped. But since we must be reaped, and we
also know that we are reaped, we are vexed at
it; for we neither know what we are nor have
we studied what belongs to man, as those who
have studied horses know what belongs to
horses. But Chrysantas, when he was going to
strike the enemy, checked himself when he
heard the trumpet sounding a retreat: so it
seemed better to him to obey the general’s
command than to follow his own inclination.
But not one of us chooses, even when necessity
summons, readily to obey it, but weeping and
groaning we suffer what we do suffer, and we
call them “circumstances.” What kind of cir-
cumstances, man? If you give the name of cir-
cumstances to the things which are around
you, all things arc circumstances; but if you
call hardships by this name, what hardship is
there in the dying of that which has been pro-
duced? But that which destroys is cither a
sword, or a wheel, or the sea, or a tile, or a
tyrant. Why do you care about the way of go-
ing down to Hades? All ways are equal. But
if you will listen to the truth, the way which
the tyrant sends you is shorter. A tyrant never
killed a man in six months: but a fever is often
a year about it. All these things^re only sound
and the noise of empty names.

“I am in danger of my life from Cxsar.**

^ See ii. 5.

* Marcus Aurelius, vii. 40

DISCOURSES, BOOK II

And am not I in danger who dwell in Nicopo-
lis, where there are so many earthquakes: and
when you are crossing the Hadriatic, what
hazard do you run? Is it not the hazard of
your life? “But I am in danger also as to opin-
ion.” Do you mean your own? how? For who
can compel you to have any opinion which
you do not choose? But is it as to another
man’s opinion? and what kind of danger is
yours, if others have false opinions? “But I
am in danger of being banished.” What is it to
be banished? To be somewhere else than at
Rome? “Yes: what then if I should be sent to
Gyara?” If that suits you, you will go there;
but if it does not, you can go to another place
instead of Gyara, whither he also will go, who
sends you to Gyara, whether he choose or not.
Why then do you go up to Rome as if it were
something great? It is not worth all this prep-
aration, that an ingenuous youth should say,
“It was not worth while to have heard so
much and to have written so much and to
have sat so long by •hr side of an old man who
is not worth much.” Only remember that divi-
sion by which your own and not your own arc
distinguished: never claim anything which be-
longs to others. A tribunal and a prison are
each a place, one high and the other low; but
the will can be maintained equal, if you choose
to maintain it equal in each. And we shall
then be imitators of Socrates, when we are able
to write paeans in prison. But in our present
disposition, consider if we could endure in
prison another person saying to us, “Would
you like me to read Paans to you?” “Why do
you trouble me? do you not know the evils
which hold me? Can I in such circumstances?”
What circumstances? “I am going to die.”
And will other men be immortal?

Chapter 7. Hou^ we ought to use divination
Through an unreasonable regard to divina-
tion many of us omit many duties. For what
more can the diviner sec than death or danger
or disease, or generally things of that kind? If
then I must expose myself to danger for a
friend, and if it is my duty even to die for
him, what need have I then for divination?
Have I not within me a diviner who has told
me the nature of good and of evil, and has ex-
plained to me the signs of both? What need

have I then to consult the viscera of victims or
the flight of birds, and why do I submit when
he says, “It is for your interest”? For docs he
know what is for my interest, does he know
what is good; and as he has learned the signs
of the viscera, has he also learned the signs of
good and evil? For if he knows the signs of
these, he knows the signs both of the beauti-
ful and of the ugly, and of the just and of the
unjust. Do you tell me, man, what is the thing
which is signified for me: is it life or death,
poverty or wealth? But whether these things
arc for my interest or whether they are not, I
do not intend to ask you. Why don’t you give
your opinion on matters of grammar, and why
do you give it here about things on which we
are all in error and disputing with one an-
other? The woman, therefore, who intended
to send by a vessel a month’s provisions to
Gratilla in her banishment, made a good an-
swer to him who said that Domitian would
seize what she sent. “I would rather,” she re-
plied, “that Domitian should seize all than
that I should not send it.”

What then leads us to frequent use of divi-
nation? Cowardice, the dread of what will
happen. This is the reason why we flatter the
diviners. “Pray, master, shall I succeed to the
property of my father?” “Let us sec: let us
sacrifice on the occasion.” “Yes, master, as for-
tune chooses.” When he has said, “You shall
succeed to the inheritance,” we thank him as
if we received the inheritance from him. The
consequence is that they play upon us.

What then should we do? We ought to
come without desire or aversion, as the way-
farer asks of the man whom he meets which of
two roads leads (to his journey’s end), with-
out any desire for that which leads to the right
rather than to the left, for he has no wish to go
by any road except the road which leads (to
his end). In the same way ought we to come
to God also as a guide; as we use our eyes, not
asking them to show us rather such things as
wc wish, but receiving the appearances of
things such as the eyes present them to us.
But now we trembling take the augur by the
hand, and, while wc invoke God, wc entreat
the augur, and say, “Master have mercy on
me; suffer me to come safe pot of this difficul-
ty.” Wretch, would you have, then, anything

146 EPICTETUS

other than what is best? Is there then any-
thing better than what pleases God? Why do
you, so far as in your power, corrupt your
judge and lead astray your adviser?

Chapter 8. What is the nature of the good
God is beneficial. But the Good also is bene-
ficial. It is consistent then that where the na-
ture of God is, there also the nature of the
good should be. What then is the nature of
God?^ Flesh? Certainly not. An estate in
land? By no means. Fame? No. Is it intelli-
gence, knowledge, right reason? Yes. Herein
then simply seek the nature of the good; for
I suppose that you do not seek it in a plant.
No. Do you seek it in an irrational animal?
No. If then you seek it in a rational animal,
why do you still seek it anywhere except in the
superiority of rational over irrational animals?
Now plants have not even the power of using
appearances, and for this reason you do not ap-
ply the term good to them. The good then re-
quires the use of appearances. Does it require
this use only? For if you say that it requires
this use only, say that the good, and that hap-
piness and unhappiness are in irrational ani-
mals also. But you do not say this, and you do
right; for if they possess even in the highest
degree the use of appearances, yet they have
not the faculty of understanding the use of
appearances; and there is good reason for this,
for they exist for the purpose of serving otKcrs,
and they exercise no superiority. For the ass,
I suppose, docs not exist for any superiority
over others. No; but because we had need of a
back which is able to bear something; and in
truth we had need also of his being able to
walk, and for this reason he received also the
faculty of making use of appearances, for
otherwise he would not have been able to
walk. And here then the matter stopped. For
if he had also received the faculty of compre-
hending the use of appearances, it is plain that
consistently with reason he would not then
have been subjected to us, nor would he have
done us these services, but he would have been
equal to us and like to us.

Will you not then seek the nature of good
in the rational animal? for if it is not there,
you will not choose to say that it exists in any

^Seeii. 14.

other thing. ‘‘What then? are not plants and
animals also the works of God?” They are;
but they are not superior things, nor yet parts
of the Gods. But you are a superior thing; you
arc a portion separated from the deity; you
have in yourself a certain portion of him.
Why then are you ignorant of your own noble
descent ?“ Why do you not know whence you
came? will you not remember when you arc
eating, who you are who eat and whom you
feed? When you are in conjunction with a
woman, will you not remember who you are
who do this thing.'* When you are in social
intercourse, when you arc exercising yourself,
when you are engaged in discussion, know
you not that you are nourishing a god, that
you are exercising a god.^* Wretch, you are car-
rying about a god with you, and you know it
not.^ Do you think that I mean some God of
silver or of gold, and external? You carry him
within yourself, and you jxrrceivc not that you
arc polluting him by impure thoughts and
dirty deeds. And if an image of God were
present, you would not dare to do any of the
things which you arc doing: but when CJod
himself is present within and sees all and
hears all, you arc not ashamed of thinking
such things and doing such things, ignorant
as you are of your own nature and subject to
the anger of God. Then why"*(lo we fear when
we arc sending a young man from the school
into active life, lest he should do anything im-
properly, cat improperly, have improper in-
tercourse with women; and lest the rags in
which he is wrapped should debase him, lest
fine garments should make him proud? This
youth docs not know his own God: he knows
not with whom he sets out. But can we en-
dure when he says, “I wish I had you with
me.” Have you not God with you? and do
you seek for any other, when you have him?
or will God tell you anything else than this?
If you were a statue of Phidia^ either Athena
or Zeus, you would think both of yourself
and of the artist, and if you had any under-
standing you would try to do nothing un-
worthy of him who made yo\i or of yourself,
and try not to appear in an unbecoming dress
to those who look on you. But now because

* Sw i. 9.

Cor. 6. 19; II Cor. 6. 16.

DISCOURSES, BOOK II

Zeus has made you, for this reason do you
care not how you shall appear? And yet is the
artist like the artist in the other? or the work
in the one case like the other? And what work
of an artist, for instance, has in itself the facul-
ties, which the artist shows in making it? Is
it not marble or bronze, or gold or ivory? and
the Athena of Phidias when she has once ex-
tended the hand and received in it the figure
of Victory* stands in that attitude forever. But
the works of God have power of motion, they
breathe, they have the faculty of using the ap-
pearances of things, and the power of examin-
ing them. Being the work of such an artist,
do you dishonor him? And what shall I say,
not only that he made you, but also intrusted
you to yourself and made you a deposit to
yourself? Will you not think of this too, but
do you also dishonor your guardianship? But
if God had intrusted an orphan to you, would
you thus neglect him? He has delivered your-
self to your care, and says, “1 had no one fitter
to intrust him to Uian yourself: keep him for
me such as he is by nature, modest, faithful,
erect, unterrified, free from passion and per-
turbation.” And then you do not keep him.
such.

But some will say, “Whence has this fellow
got the arrogance which he displays and these
supercilious looks?” I have not yet so much
gravity as befits a philosopher; for I do not yet
feel confidence in what I have learned and in
what I have assented to: I still tear my own
weakness. Let me get confidence and then
you shall sec a countenance such as 1 ought to
have and an attitude such as I ought to have:
then I will show to you the statue, when it is
perfected, when it is polished. What do you
expect? a supercilious countenance? Does the
Zeus at Olympia lift up his brow? No, his
look is fixed as becomes him who is ready to
say

Irrevocable is my word and shall not jail?
Such will I show myself to you, faithful,
modest, noble, free from perturbation. “What,
and immortal too, exempt from old age, and
from sickness?” No, but dying as becomes a
god, sickening as becomes a god. This power
I possess; this I can dg. But the rest 1 do not

» See i. 6.

* Flomcr, lUad^ i. 526.

possess, nor can I do. I will show the nerves of
a philosopher. “What nerves^ are these?” A
desire never disappointed, an aversion^ which
never falls on that which it would avoid, a
proper pursuit, a diligent purpose, an assent
which is not rash. These you shall see.

Chapter 9. That when we cannot fulfill that

which the character of a man promises, we

assume the character of a philosopher
It is no common thing to do this only, to ful-
fill the promise of a man’s nature. For what is
a man? The answer is: “A rational and mor-
tal being.” Then, by the rational faculty, from
whom are we separated?^ From wild beasts.
And from what others? From sheep and like
animals. Take care then to do nothing like a
wild beast; but if you do, you have lost the
character of a man; you have not fulfilled your
promise. See that you do nothing like a
sheep; but if you do, in this case the man is
lost. What then do we do as sheep? When we
act gluttonously, when we act lewdly, when
we act rashly, filthily, inconsiderately, to what
have vve declined? To sheep. What have we
lost? The rational faculty. When we act con-
tcntiously and harmfully and passionately,
and violently, to what have we declined? To
wild beasts. Consequently some of us arc great
wild beasts, and others little beasts, of a bad
disposition and small, whence w'c may say,
“Let me be eaten by a lion.” But in all these
ways the promise of a man acting as a man is
destroyed. For when is a conjunctive proposi-
tion maintained? When it fulfills what its na-
ture promises; so that the preservation of a
complex proposition is when it is a conjunc-
tion of truths. When is a disjunctive main-
tained? When it fulfills what it promises.
When are flutes, a lyre, a horse, a dog, pre-
served? What is the wonder then if man also
in like manner is preserved, and in like man-
ner is lost? Each man is improved and pre-
served by corresponding acts, the carpenter by
acts of carpentry, the grammarian by acts of
grammar. But if a man accustoms himself to
write ungrammatically, of necessity his art will
be corrupted and destroyed. Thus modest ac-*

* See i. 4; li. 18; iii. 22.

* Sec lii. 2.

^ Sec Kpictetus, ii. 8.

148 EPICTETUS

tions preserve the modest man, and immodest
actions destroy him: and actions of fidelity
preserve the faithful man, and the contrary ac-
tions destroy him. And on the other hand
contrary actions strengthen contrary charac-
ters: shamelessness strengthens the shameless
man, faithlessness the faithless man, abusive
words the abusive man, anger the man of an
angry temper, and unequal receiving and giv-
ing make the avaricious man more avaricious.

For this reason philosophers admonish us
not to be satisfied with learning only, but also
to add study, and then practice. For we have
long been accustomed to do contrary things,
and we put in practice opinions which are con-
trary to true opinions. If then we shall not
also put in practice right opinions, we shall be
nothing more than the expositors of the opin-
ions of others. For now who among us is not
able to discuss according to the rules of art
about good and evil things.^ “That of things
some are good, and some are bad, and some
are indifferent: the good then arc virtues, and
the things which participate in virtues; and
the bad arc the contmry; and the indifferent
are wealth, health, reputation.” Then, if in
the midst of our talk there should happen
some greater noise than usual, or some of those
who arc present should laugh at us, we arc
disturbed. Philosopher, where arc the things
which you were talking about? Whence did
you produce and utter them? From the lips,
and thence only. Why then do you corrupt
the aids provided by others? Why do you
treat the weightiest matters as if you were
playing a game of dice? For it is one thing to
lay up bread and wine as in a storehouse, and
another thing to eat. That which has been
eaten, is digested, distributed, and is become
sinews, flesh, bones, blood, healthy colour,
healthy breath. Whatever is stored up, when
you choose you can readily take and show it;
but you have no other advantage from it ex-
cept so far as to appear to possess it. For what
is the difference between explaining these doc-
trines and those of men who have different
opinions? Sit down now and explain accord-
ing to the rules of art the opinions of Epicur-
us, and perhaps you will explain his opinions
in a more useful manner than Epicurus him-
self. Why then do you call yourself a Stoic?

Why do you deceive the many? Why do you
act the part of a Jew, when you are a Greek?
Do you not see how each is called a Jew, or a
Syrian or an Egyptian? and when we see a
man inclining to two sides, we are accustomed
to say, “This man is not a Jew, but he acts as
one.” But when he has assumed the affects of
one who has been imbued with Jewish doc-
trine and has adopted that sect, then he is in
fact and he is named a Jew.* Thus we too be-
ing falsely imbued, are in name Jews, but in
fact we arc something else. Our affects arc in-
consistent with our words; we arc far from
practicing what we say, and that of which we
arc proud, as if we knew it. Thus being un-
able to fulfill even what the character of a man
promises, we even add to it the profession of a
philosopher, which is as heavy a burden, as if
a man who is unable to bear ten pounds
should attempt to raise the stone which Ajax^
lifted.

Chapter to. How we may discover the duties

of life from names

Consider who you arc. In the first place, you
arc a man; and this is one who has nothing
superior to the faculty of the will, but all other
things subjected to it; and the faculty itself he
possesses unenslavcd and freejrom subjection.
Consider then from what things you have
been separated by reason. You have been sep-
arated from wild beasts: you have been sep-
arated from domestic animals. Further, you
arc a citizen of the world,® and a part of it,
not one of the subservient, but one of the prin-
cipal parts, for you arc capable of compre-
hending the divine administration and of con-
sidering the connection of things. What then
docs the character of a citizen promise? To
hold nothing as profitable to himself; to de-
liberate about nothing as if he were detached
from the community, but to act as the hand or
foot would do, if they had reason and under-
stood the constitution of nature, for they
would never put themselves inlmotion nor de-
sire anything otherwise than with reference
to the whole. Therefore the philosophers say
well, that if the good man had foreknowl-

^ See iv. 7; Rom. 2. 17-29.

* See ii. 24; Homer, Uiad^ vii. 264, etc.

^ See i. 9. Nlarcus Aurelius, vi. 44.

DISCOURSES, BOOK II

edge of what would happen, he would co-
operate toward his own sickness and death
and mutilation, since he knows that these
things are assigned to him according to the
universal arrangement, and that the whole is
superior to the part, and the state to the citi-
zen.^ But now, because we do not know the
future, it is our duty to stick to the things
which are in their nature more suitable for our
choice, for we were made among other things
for this.

After this, remember that you arc a son.
What does this character promise? To con-
sider that everything which is the son’s be-
longs to the father, to obey him in all things,
never to blame him to another, nor to say or
do anything which docs him injury, to yield
to him in all things and give way, co-operating
with him as far as you can. After this know
that you are a brother also, and that to this
character it is due to make concessions; to be
easily persuaded, to speak good of your broth-
er, never to claim in opposition to him any of
the things which arc independent of the will,
but readily to give them up, that you may
have the larger share in what is dependent on
the will. For see what a thing it is, in place of
a lettuce, if it should so happen, or a seat, to
gain for yourself goodness of disposition.
How great is the advantage.

Next to this, if you are senator of any state,
remember that you are a senator: if a youth,
that you are a youth: if an old man, that you
are an old man; for each of such names, if it
comes to be examined, marks out the proper
duties. But if you go and blame your brother,
I say to you, “You have forgotten who you arc
and what is your name.” In the next place, if
you were a smith and made a wrong use of
the hammer, you would have forgotten the
smith; and if you have forgotten the brother
and instead of a brother have become an en-
emy, would you appear not to have changed
one thing for another in that case? And if in-
stead of a man, who is a tame animal and
social, you are become a mischievous wild
beast, treacherous, and biting, have you lost
nothing? But, you must lose a bit of money
that you may suffer damage? And does the
loss of nothing else do a man damage? If you

^ Marcus Aurelius, vi. 42.

had lost the art of grammar or music, would
you think the loss of it a damage? and if you
shall lose modesty, moderation and gentle-
ness, do you think the loss nothing? And yet
the things first mentioned are lost by some
cause external and independent of the will,
and the second by our own fault; and as to the
first neither to have them nor to lose them is
shameful; but as to the second, not to have
them and to lose them is shameful and matter
of reproach and a misfortune. What does the
pathic lose? He loses the man. What does he
lose who makes the pathic what he is? Many
other things; and he also loses the man no less
than the other. What does he lose who com-
mits adultery? He loses the modest, the tem-
perate, the decent, the citizen, the neighbour.
What does he lose who is angry? Something
else. What do^s the coward lose? Something
else. No man is bad without suffering some
loss and damage. If then you look for the
damage in the loss of money only, all these
men receive no harm or damage; it may be,
they have even profit and gain, when they ac-
quire a bit of money by any of these deeds.
But consider that if you refer everything to a
small coin, not even he who loses his nose is in
your opinion damaged, “Yes,” you say, “for
he is mutilated in his body.” Well; but does
he who has lost his smell only lose nothing?
Is there, then, no energy of the soul which is
an advantage to him who possesses it, and a
damage to him who has lost it? “Tell me what
sort you mean.” Have we not a natural mod-
esty? "We have.” Does he who loses this sus-
tain no damage? is he deprived of nothing,
docs he part with nothing of the things which
belong to him? Have we not naturally fidel-
ity? natural affection, a natural disposition to
help others, a natural disposition to forbear-
ance? The man then who allows himself to
be damaged in these matters, can he be free
from harm and uninjured? “What then? shall
Lnot hurt him, who has hurt me?”^ In the
first place consider what hurt is, and remem-
ber what you have heard from the philoso-
phers. For if the good consists in the will, and
the evil also in the will,® see if what you say is
not this: “What then, since^at man has hurt

* Plato, Crito, 49.

*See ii. 16.

150 EPICTETUS

himself by doing an unjust act to me» shall I a man says, ‘*do I not know the beautiful and

not hurt myself by doing some unjust act to
him?” Why do we not imagine to ourselves
something of this kind? But where there is
any detriment to the body or to our possession,
there is harm there; and where the same thing
happens to the faculty of the will, there is no
harm; for he who has been deceived or he who
has done an unjust act neither suffers in the
head nor in the eye nor in the hip, nor does he
lose his estate; and we w'ish for nothing else
than these things. But whether we shall have
the will modest and faithful or shameless and
faithless, we care not the least, except only in
the school so far as a few words are concerned.
Therefore our proficiency is limited to these
few words; but beyond them it docs not exist
even in the slightest degree.

Chapter ii. What the beginning of philos-
ophy is

The beginning of philosophy to him at least
who enters on it in the right way and by the
door, is a consciousness of his own weakness
and inability about necessary things. For we
come into the world with no natural notion
of a right-angled triangle, or of a diesis, or of
a half tone; but we learn each of these things
by a certain transmission according to art; and
for this reason those who do not know them,
do not think that they know them. But a? to
good and evil, and bcautiful.and ugly, and be-
coming and unbecoming, and happiness and
misfortune, and proper and improper, and
what we ought to do and what we ought not
to do, whoever came into the world without
having an innate idea of them? Wherefore
we all use these names, and we endeavor to fit
the preconceptions ‘ to the several cases thus:
“He has done well, he has not done well; he
has done as he ought, not as he ought; he has
been unfortunate, he has been fortunate; he
is unjust, he is just”: who docs not 1430 these
names? who among us defers the use of them
till he has learned them, as he defers the use
of the words about lines or sounds? And the
cause of this is that we come into the world al-
ready taught as it were by nature some things
on this matter, and proceeding from these we
have added to them self-conceit. “For why,”
>Scei. 2.

the ugly? Have I not the notion of it?” You
have. “Do I not adapt it to particulars?” You
do. “Do I not then adapt it properly?” In that
lies the whole question; and conceit is added
here. For, beginning from these things which
are admitted, men proceed to that which is
matter of dispute by means of unsuitable
adaptation; for if they possessed this power of
adaptation in addition to those things, what
would hinder them from being perfect? But
now since you think that you properly adapt
the preconceptions to the particulars, tell me
whence you derive this. Because I think so.
But it does not seem so to another, and he
thinks that he also makes a proper adaptation;
or docs he not think so? He docs think so. Is
it possible then that both of you can properly
apply the preconceptions to things about
which you have contrary opinions? It is not
possible. Can you then show us anything bet-
ter toward adapting the preconceptions be-
yond your thinking that you do? Does the
madman do any other things than the things
which seem to him right? Is then this cri-
terion sufficient for him also? It is not suffici-
ent. Come then to something which is superior
to seeming. What is this?

Observe, this is the beginning of philosophy,
a perception of the disagreement of men with
one another, and an inquiry into the cause of
the disagreement, and a condemnation and
distrust of that which only “seems,” and a
certain investigation of that which “seems”
whether it “seems” rightly, and a discovery of
some rule, as we have discovered a balance in
the determination of weights, and a car-
penter’s rule in the case of straight and
crooked things. This is the beginning of phi-
losophy. “Must we say that all things arc right
which seem so to all?” And how is it possible
that contradictions can be right? “Not all
then, but all which seem to us to be right.”
How more to you than those which seem
right to the Syrians? why more than what
seem right to the Egyptians? yi/hy more than
what seems right to me or to any other man?
“Not at all more.” What then “seems” to
every man is not sufficient for determining
what “is”; for neither in the case of weights
or measures are we satisfied with the bare ap-

DISCOURSES, BOOK II

pearance, but in each case we have discovered
a certain rule. In this matter then is there no
rule superior to what “seems?” And how is it
possible that the most necessary things among
men should have no sign, and be incapable of
being discovered? There is then some rule.
And why then do we not seek the rule and
discover it, and afterward use it without vary-
ing from it, not even stretching out the finger
without it?^ For this, I think, is that which
when it is discovered cures of their madness
those who use mere “seeming” as a measure,
and misuse it; so that for the future proceeding
from certain things known and made clear wc
may use in the case of particular things the
preconceptions which are distinctly fixed.

What is the matter presented to us about
which we are inquiring? “Pleasure.” Subject
it to the rule, throw it into the balance. Ought
the good to be such a thing that it is fit that
wc have confidence in it? “Yes.” And in
which wc oug^'t u confide? “It ought to be.”
Is it fit to trust to anything which is insecure?
“No.” Is then pleasure anything secure?
“No.” Take it then and throw it out of the
scale, and drive it far away from the place of
good things. But if you are not sharp-sighted,
and one balance is not enough for you, bring
another. Is it fit to be elated over what is
good? “Yes.” Is it proper then to be elated
over present pleasure? See that you do not say
that it is projjer; but if you do, I shall then
not think you are worthy even of the balance.
Thus things are tested and weighed when the
rules arc ready. And to philosophize is this, to
examine and confirm the rules; and then to
use them when they are known is the act of a
wise and good man.

Chapter 12. Of disputation or discussion
What things a man must learn in order to be
able to apply the art of disputation, has been
accurately shown by our philosophers;^ but
with respect to the proper use of the things,
we arc entirely without practice. Only give to
any of us, whom you please, an illiterate man
to discuss with, and he cannot discover how to
deal with the man. But when he has moved
the man a little, if hc‘answcrs beside the pur-
pose, he does not know how to treat him, but
* Marcus Aurelius, ii. 16. *Thc Stoics.

he then either abuses or ridicules him, and
says, “He is an illiterate man; it is not pos-
sible to do anything with him.” Now a guide,
when he has found a man out of the road
leads him into the right way: he docs not
ridicule or abuse him and then leave him. Do
you also show this illiterate man the truth,
and you will sec that he follows. But so long
as you do not show him the truth, do not
ridicule him, but rather feel your own in-
capacity.

How then did Socrates act? He used to com-
pel his adversary in disputation to bear testi-
mony to him, and he wanted no other wit-
ness.® Therefore he could say, “I care not for
other witnesses, but I am always satisfied with
the evidence of my adversary, and I do not
ask the opinion of others, but only the opinion
of him who i^ disputing with me.” For he
used to make the conclusions drawn from nat-
ural notions so plain that every man saw the
contradiction and withdrew from it: “Docs
the envious man rejoice?” “By no means, but
he is rather pained.” Well, “Do you think that
envy is pain over evils? and what envy is
there of evils?” Therefore he made his ad-
versary say that envy is pain over good things.
“Well then, would any man envy those who
are nothing to him?” “By no means.” Thus
having completed the notion and distinctly
fixed it he would go away without saying to
his adversary, “Define to me envy”; and if
the adversary had defined envy, he did not
say, “You have defined it badly, for the terms
of the definition do not correspond to the
thing defined.” These arc technical terms,
and for this reason disagreeable and hardly
intelligible to illiterate men, which terms we
cannot lay aside. But that the illiterate man
himself, who follows the appearances pre-
sented to him, should be able to concede any-
thing or reject it, w'c can never by the use of
these terms move him to do. Accordingly, be-
ing conscious of our own inability, wc do not
attempt the thing; at least such of us as have
any caution do not. But the greater part and
the rash, when they enter into such disputa-
tions, confuse themselves and confuse others;
and finally abusing theic^adversaries and
abused by them, they walk away.

® Plato, Corgias, 472, 474.

EPICTETUS

Now this was the first and chief peculiarity
of Socrates, never to be irritated in argument,
never to utter anything abusive, anything in-
sulting, but to bear with abusive persons and
to put an end to the quarrel. If you would
know what great power he had in this way,
read the Symposium of Xenophon,^ and you
will see how many quarrels he put an end to.
Hence with good reason in the poets also this
power is most highly praised,

Quickly with skill he settles great disputes.

Well then; the matter is not now very safe,
and particularly at Rome; for he who attempts
to do it, must not do it in a corner, you may
be sure, but must go to a man of consular
rank, if it so happen, or to a rich man, and ask
him, “Can you tell me, Sir, to whose care you
have intrusted your horses?” “I can tell you.”
Have you intrusted them to any person indif-
ferently and to one who has no experience of
horses? “By no means.” Well then; can you
tell me to whom you intrust your gold or
silver things or your vestments? “I don’t in-
trust even these to any one indiflFcrcntly.”
Well; your own body, have you already con-
sidered about intrusting the care of it to any
person? “Certainly.” To a man of experience,
I suppose, and one acquainted with the aliptic,
or with the healing art? “Without doubt.”
Are these the best things that you have, or do
you also possess something else which is bet-
ter than all these? “What kind of a thing do
you mean?” That I mean which makes use of
these things, and tests each of them, and de-
liberates. “Is it the soul that you mean?”
You think right, for it is the soul that I mean.
“In truth I do think that the soul is a much
better thing than all the others which I pos-
sess.” Can you then show us in what way you
have taken care of the soul? for it is not likely
that you, who are so wise a man and have a
reputation in the city, inconsiderately and
carelessly allow the most valuable thing that
you possess to be neglected and to perish?
“Certainly not.” But have you taken care of
the soul yourself; and have you learned from
another to do this, or have you discovered the
means yourself? Here comes the danger that
in the first place he may say, “What is this to

i Compare Epictetus, iii. i6; iv. 5.

you, my good man, who are you?” Next, if you
persist in troubling him, there is danger that
he may raise his hands and give you blows. I
was once myself also an admirer of this mode
of instruction until I fell into these dangers.

Chapter 13. On anxiety
When I see a man anxious, I say, “What docs
this man want? If he did not want something
which is not in his power, how could he be
anxious?” For this reason a lute player when
he is singing by himself has no anxiety, but
when he enters the theatre, he is anxious even
if he has a good voice and plays well on the
lute; for he not only wishes to sing well, but
also to obtain applause: but this is not in his
power. Accordingly, where he has skill, there
he has confidence. Bring any single person
who knows nothing of music, and the musi-
cian docs not care for him. But in the matter
where a man knows nothing and has not been
practiced, there he is anxious. What matter is
this? He knows not what a crowd is or what
the praise of a crowd is. However he has
learned to strike the lowest chord and the
highest; but what the praise of the many is,
and what power it has in life he neither knows
nor has he thought about it. Hence he must
of necessity tremble and grow pale. I cannot
then say that a man is not a lute player when
I sec him afraid, but I can say something else,
and not one thing, but many. And first of all
I call him a stranger and say, “This man docs
not know in what part of the world he is, but
though he has been here so long, he is igno-
rant of the laws of the State and the customs,
and what is permitted and what is not; and he
has never employed any lawyer to tell him and
to explain the laws.” But a man docs not write
a will, if he docs not know how it ought to be
written, or he employs a person who docs
know; nor does he rashly seal i bond or write
a security. But he uses his di^ire without a
lawyer’s advice, and aversioi^ and pursuit,
and attempt and purpose. “How do you mean
without a lawyer?” He does nk know that he
wills what is not allowed, and docs not will
that which is of necessity; aild he does not
know cither what is his own or what is an-
other, man’s; but if he did know, he would
never be impeded, he would never be hin-

DISCOURSES, BOOK II

dercd, he would not be anxious. “How so?*’
Is any man then afraid about things which are
not evils? “No.” Is he afraid about things
which are evils, but still so far within his pow-
er that they may not happen ? “Certainly he is
not.” If, then, the things which arc independ-
ent of the will arc neither good nor bad, and
all things which do depend on the will arc
within our power, and no man can either take
them from us or give them to us, if we do not
choose, where is room left for anxiety? But we
are anxious about our poor body, our little
property, about the will of Carsar; but not anx-
ious about things internal. Are we anxious
about not forming a false opinion? No, for
this is in my power. About not exerting our
movements contrary to nature? No, not even
about this. When then you see a man pale, as
the physician says, judging from the com-
plexion, this man’s spleen is disordered, that
man’s liver; so also say, this man’s desire and
aversion are disordered, he is not in the right
way, he is in a fever. For nothing else changes
the colour, or causes trembling or chattering
of the teeth, or causes a man to

Sinfi in his \nccs aud shijt from foot to foot}
For this reason when Zeno was going to meet
Antigonus, he was not anxious, for Antigonus
had no power over any of the things which
Zeno admircil; and Zeno did not care for those
things over which Antigonus had power. But
Antigonus was anxious when he was going to
meet Zeno, for he wished to please Zeno; but
this was a thing external. But Zeno did not
want to please Antigonus; for no man who is
skilled in any art wishes to please one who has
no such skill.

Should I try to please you? Why? I suppose,
you know the measure by which one man is
estimated by another. Have you taken pains to
learn what is a good man and what is a bad
man, and how a man becomes one or the
other? Why, then, arc you not good yourself?
“How,” he replies, “am I not good?” Because
no good man laments or groans or weeps, no
good man is pale and trembles, or says, “How
will he receive me, how will he listen to me?”
Slave, just as it pleases him. Why do you care
about what belongs to others? Is it now his
fault if he receives badly what proceeds from

^ Homer, Iliad, xiii. 281.

you? “Certainly.” And is it possible that a
fault should be one man’s, and the evil in an-
other? “No.” Why then arc you anxious about
that which belongs to others? “Your question
is reasonable; but I am anxious how I shall
speak to him.” Cannot you then speak to him
as you choose? “But I fear that I may be dis-
concerted?” If you arc going to write the
name of Dion, are you afraid that you would
be disconcerted? “By no means.” Why? is it
not because you have practiced writing the
name? “Certainly.” Well, if you were going to
read the name, would you not feel the same?
and why? Because every art has a certain
strength and confidence in the things which
belong to it. Have you then not practiced
speaking? and what else did you learn in the
school? Syllogisms and sophistical proposi-
tions?* For what purpose? was it not for the
purpose of discoursing skillfully? and is not
discoursing skillfully the same as discoursing
seasonably and cautiously and with intelli-
gence, and also without making mistakes and
without hindrance, and besides all this with
confidence? “Yes.” When, then, you are
mounted on a horse and go into a plain, arc
you anxious at being matched against a man
who is on foot, and anxious in a matter in
which you are practiced, and he is not? “Yes,
but that person has power to kill me.” Speak
the truth then, unhappy man, and do not
brag, nor claim to be a philosopher, nor re-
fuse to acknowledge your masters, but so long
as you present this handle in your body, follow
every man who is stronger than yourself. Soc-
rates used to practice speaking, he who talked
as he did to the tyrants, to the dicasts, he who
talked in his prison. Diogenes had practiced
speaking, he who spoke as he did to Alex-
ander, to the pirates, to the person who bought
him. These men were confident in the things
which they practiced. But do you walk off to
your own affairs and never leave them: go
and sit in a corner, and weave syllogisms, and
propose them to another. There is not in you
the man who can rule a state.

Chapter 14. To Naso

When a certain Roman tnf6rcd with his son
and listened to one reading, Epictetus said,
* See I. 7.

154 EPICTETUS

‘This is the method of instruction”; and he to learn that there is a God and that he pro-

stopped.