The moon, answered I then, suffered the same eclipse.
You have done well, replied he, to put me in mind of it. But would
you have me go on and prosecute the rest of the discourse, as if you
had already supposed and granted that the moon is eclipsed, being
intercepted within the shadow of the earth? Or shall I take for
the subject of a declamation the making a demonstration of it, by
rehearsing to you all the arguments, one after another?
Nay, by Jove, said Theon, let this be the argument of your discourse.
For I indeed stand in need of some persuasion, having only heard that
when these three bodies, the earth, the moon, and the sun, are in a
direct line, then eclipses happen; for that either the earth takes the
sun from the moon, or the moon takes him from the earth. For the sun
suffers an eclipse when the moon, and the moon when the earth, is in
the midst of the three; of which the one happens in the conjunction or
new moon, and the other in the opposition or when the moon is full.
Then said Lucius: These are the principal points, and the summary of
what is said. But in the first place, if you please, take the argument
drawn from the form and figure of the shadow. For this is a cone, as it
must be when a great fire or light that is spherical encompasses a mass
that is also globular but less; whence it comes that, in the eclipses
of the moon, the circumscriptions of the black and dark from the clear
and luminous have their sections always round. For the sections given
or received by one round body applied to another, which way soever they
go, do by reason of the similitude always keep a circular form. Now as
for the second argument, I suppose you understand that the first part
which is eclipsed in the moon is always that which looks towards the
east, and in the sun that which regards the west. Now the shadow of the
earth moves from the east to the west, but the sun and moon from the
west eastward. The experience of the appearances gives us a visible
knowledge of this, nor is there need of many words to make us fully
understand it; and from these suppositions the cause of the eclipse is
confirmed. For, inasmuch as the sun is eclipsed by being overtaken, and
the moon by meeting that which makes the eclipse, it probably or rather
necessarily follows that the one is surprised behind, and the other
before. For the obstruction begins on that side whence that which
causes it first approaches. Now the moon comes upon the sun from the
west, as striving in course with him and hastening after him; but the
shadow of the earth comes from the east, as that which has a contrary
motion.
The third argument is taken from the time and greatness of the
eclipses. For the moon, if she is eclipsed when she is on high in her
apogee (or at her farthest distance from the earth), continues but a
little while in her defect or want of light; but when she suffers the
same accident being low and in her perigee (or near the earth), she
is very much oppressed, and slowly gets out of the shadow; and yet,
when she is low, she moves swifter, and when high, slower. But the
cause of the difference is in the shadow, which is, like pyramids,
broadest at the bottom or basis; and, growing still narrower by little
and little, terminates in a sharp point at the top. Whence it comes,
that when she is low, she is embarrassed within greater circles,
traversing the bottom of the shadow and what is most obscure and dark;
but when she is high, being through the narrowness of the shadow
(as it were) but in a shallow puddle, by which she is sullied, she
immediately gets out again. I omit what was said particularly about
the bases and disposition of parts, for these admit of a rational
explanation, so far as this is possible; but I return to the subject
properly before us, which has its foundation in our senses. For we
see that fire shines forth and appears brighter out of a dark and
shady place, through the thickness of the caliginous air, which admits
no effluxions or diffusions of the fire’s virtue, but keeps in and
contains its substance within itself. Or rather,—if this is a passion
of the senses,—as hot things, when near to cold ones, are felt to be
hotter, and pleasures immediately after pains are found more vehement,
so things that are bright appear better when they are near to such as
are obscure, the imagination being more strained and extended by means
of different passions. But there seems to be a greater appearance of
probability in the first reason. For in the sun, all the nature of fire
not only loses its faculty of illuminating, but is also rendered duller
and more unapt to burn, because the heat of the sun dissipates and
scatters all its force.
If it were then true that the moon, being, as the Stoics say, a muddy
and troubled star, has a weak and duskish fire, it would be meet that
she should suffer none of these accidents which she is now seen to
suffer, but altogether the contrary; to wit, that she should be seen
when she is hidden, and absconded when she appears; that is, she should
be concealed all the rest of the time, being obscured by the environing
air, and again shine forth and become apparent and manifest for six
months together, and afterwards disappear again five months, entering
into the shadow of the earth. For of four hundred and sixty-five
revolutions of ecliptic full moons, four hundred and four are of six
months’ duration, and the rest of five. The moon then should all this
time appear shining in the shadow; but on the contrary we see, that in
the shadow she is eclipsed and loses her light, and recovers it again
after she is escaped and got forth of the shadow. Nay, she appears
often in the daytime, so that she is rather any thing else than a fiery
and starry body.
21. As soon as Lucius had said these things, Pharnaces and Apollonides
ran both together upon him, to oppugn and refute his discourse; and
then Apollonides giving him way, Pharnaces said: This it is that
principally shows the moon to be a star and of a fiery nature, that in
her eclipses she is not wholly obscured and disappearing, but shows
herself with a certain coal-resembling color, terrible to the sight,
yet such as is proper to her.
As for Apollonides, he insisted much in opposition to the word shadow,
saying, that the mathematicians always give that name to the place
which is not enlightened, and that heaven admits no shadow.
To this I thus answered: This instance is rather alleged obstinately
against the name, than naturally or mathematically against the thing.
For if one will not call the place obfuscated by the opposition of
the earth a shadow, but a place deprived of light, yet be it what
it will, you must of necessity confess that the moon being there
becomes obscure; and every way, said I, it is a folly to deny that
the shadow of the earth reaches thither from whence the shadow of the
moon, falling upon our sight here on earth, causes the eclipse of the
sun. And therefore I now address myself to you, Pharnaces; for this
coal-like and burnt color of the moon, which you affirm to be proper
to her, belongs to a body that has thickness and depth. For there is
not wont to remain any relic, mark, or print of flame in a body that
is rare, nor can a coal be made where there is not a solid body which
may receive into it the heat of the fire; as Homer himself shows in a
certain passage, where he says,
Then, when the languid flames at length subside,
He strows a bed of glowing embers wide.[99]
For the coal seems not properly a fire, but a body enkindled and
altered by the fire, which stays and remains in a solid firmly rooted
mass; and whereas flames are the setting on fire and fluxions of a
nutriment and matter, which is of a rare substance, and by reason of
its weakness quickly dissolved and consumed; so that there could not
be any more evident and plain argument to demonstrate that the moon is
solid and earthly, than if her proper color were that of a coal. But
it is not so, my friend Pharnaces; but in her eclipses she diversely
changes her colors, which the mathematicians, determining with respect
to the time and hour, thus distinguish. If she is eclipsed in the
evening, she appears horribly black until the middle of the fourth
hour of the night; if about midnight, she sends forth this reddish and
fire-resembling color, and after the middle of the eighth hour, the
redness disappears; and finally, if about the dawning of the morning,
she takes a blue or grayish color; which is the cause why she is by the
poets, and particularly by Empedocles, called Glaucopis.
Since then they clearly see that the moon changes into so many colors
in the shadow, they do ill to attribute to her only that of a burning
coal, which may be said to be less proper to her than any other, being
only a small remnant and semblance of light, appearing and shining
through a shadow, her own proper color being black and earthy. And
since that here below, red and purple garments, and rivers and lakes,
which receive the rays of the sun, cause neighboring shady places to
take the same appearances of colors and to be illuminated by them,
casting and sending back by reason of reflections several rebated
splendors; what wonder is it if a copious flux of shadow, falling as it
were into an immense celestial sea of light, not steady and quiet, but
agitated by innumerable stars, and besides admitting several mixtures
and mutations in itself, takes from the moon the impression sometimes
of one color, sometimes of another, and sends them hither to us? For it
is not to be denied but that a star of fire cannot appear in a shadow
black, gray, or violet; but there are seen upon hills, plains, and
seas, several various resemblances of colors, caused by the reflection
of the sun, which are the very tinctures that brightness mixed with
shadows and mists, as if it were with painters’ colors, brings upon
them. And as for the tincture or colors of the sea, Homer has indeed
in some sort endeavored to name and express them, when he sometimes
terms the sea violet-colored or red as wine, at other times the
waves purple, and again the sea blue, and the calm white. As for the
diversities of tinctures and colors appearing upon the earth, he has, I
suppose, omitted them, because they are in number infinite. Now it is
not probable that the moon has but one superficies all plain and even,
as the sea; but rather that of its nature it principally resembles the
earth, of which old Socrates in Plato seemed to mythologize at his
pleasure; whether it were, that under covert and enigmatical speeches
he meant it of the moon, or whether he spake it of some other. For it
is neither incredible nor wonderful, if the moon, having in herself
nothing corrupt or muddy, but enjoying a pure and clear light from
heaven, and being full of heat, not of a burning and furious fire, but
of such as is mild and harmless, has in her places admirably fair and
pleasant, resplendent mountains, purple-colored cinctures or zones,
and store of gold and silver, not dispersed here and there within her
bowels, but flourishing in great abundance on the superficies of her
plains, or spread all over her smooth hills and mountains.
And if the sight of all these things comes to us through a shadow,
sometimes in one manner and sometimes in another, by reason of the
diversity and different change of the ambient air, the moon does
not therefore lose the venerable persuasion that is had of her, or
the reputation of divinity; being esteemed by men a heavenly earth,
or rather (as the Stoics say) a troubled, thick, and dreggish fire.
For even the fire itself is honored with barbarian honors among the
Assyrians and Medes, who through fear serve and adore such things as
are hurtful, hallowing them even above such things as are of themselves
indeed holy and honorable. But the very name of the earth is truly dear
and venerable to every Greek, and there is through all Greece a custom
received of adoring and revering it, as much as any of the Gods. And
we are very far from thinking that the moon, which we hold to be a
heavenly earth, is a body without soul and spirit, exempt and deprived
of all that is to be offered to the Gods. For both by law we yield her
recompenses and thanksgivings, for that we receive of her and by nature
we adore what we acknowledge to be of a more excellent virtue and a
more honorable power; and therefore we do not think that we offend in
supposing the moon to be earth.
Now as to the face which appears in her, as this earth on which we
are has in it many great sinuosities and valleys, so it is probable
that the moon also lies open, and is cleft with many deep caves and
ruptures, in which there is water or very obscure air, to the bottom of
which the sun cannot reach or penetrate, but failing there, sends back
a dissipated reflection to us here below.
22. Here Apollonides, taking up the discourse, said: Tell me then,
I beseech you, good sir, even by the moon herself, do you think it
possible that there should be there shadows of caves and chinks, and
that the sight of them should come even to our eyes? Or do you not
regard what will come of it? And must I tell you what it is? But
hearken to me, although you are not ignorant of it. The diameter of the
moon, according to that bigness which appears to us when she is in her
mean and ordinary distances, is twelve digits, and every one of these
black and shady spots is above half a digit, that is above the four and
twentieth part of the diameter. Now if we suppose the circumference of
the moon to be only thirty thousand stadia; and the diameter according
to that supposition to be ten thousand, every one of these shadowy
marks within her will not be less than five hundred stadia. Consider
then, first, whether there can possibly be in the moon such great gaps
and such inequalities as may make such a shadow? And then how is it
possible that, being so great, they are not seen by us?
At this I, smiling upon him, said: You have done me a pleasure, dear
Apollonides, in having found out such a demonstration by which you
will prove that you and I shall be bigger than those giant sons of
Aloeus,[100]—not indeed every hour of the day, but principally morning
and evening,—if indeed you think that, when the sun makes our shadows
so long, he suggests to our minds this goodly argument; if that which
is shadowed is great, that which shadows must of necessity be yet
excessively greater. I know well that neither you nor I have ever been
in Lemnos; yet we have often heard that Iambic verse, so frequent in
every one’s mouth:
Mount Athos’ shade shall hide the Lemnian cow.
For the shadow of that mountain falls, as it seems, on the image of a
brazen heifer which is in Lemnos, extending itself in length over the
sea not less than seven hundred stadia.... The mountain which makes the
shadow causes it, because the distance of the light renders the shadow
of bodies manifoldly greater than the bodies themselves. Consider then
here, that when the moon is in the full, and shows us the form of a
visage most expressly, by reason of the profundity of the shadow, it is
then that she is most remote from the sun; for it is the distance of
the light that makes the shadow bigger, and not the greatness of the
inequalities which are on the superficies of the moon. And you moreover
see, that the brightness of the sun’s beams suffers not the tops of the
mountains to be discerned in open day; but on the contrary, the deep
hollow and shadowy parts appear from afar. It is not therefore any way
absurd or strange, if we cannot so exactly see how the illumination of
the moon and her reception of the sunbeams take place, while yet the
conjunction of things that are obscure and dark to such as are clear
and shining is by reason of this diversity apparent to our sight.
23. But this, said I, seems rather to refute and check the reflection
and reverberation which is said to rebound from the moon; because
those who are within retorted rays do not only see that which is
enlightened, but also that which enlightens. For when, at the resulting
of light from water upon a wall, the sight falls upon the place which
is thus illuminated by the reflection, the eye there beholds three
things, to wit, the ray or light that is driven back, the water which
makes the reflection, and the sun himself, whose light, falling on
the superficies of the water, is repulsed and sent back. This being
confessed, as what is evidently seen, it is required of those who say
that the earth is enlightened from the moon by the reflections of the
sun’s rays upon it, that they show us by night the sun appearing upon
the superficies of the moon, in the same manner as he may be seen by
day appearing in the water on which he shines when there is the said
reflection of his beams. But since the sun does not so appear, they
thence infer that the moon receives her illumination by some other
means, and not by reflection; and if there is no reflection, the moon
then is not earth.
What answer then is to be made them, said Apollonides? For the argument
of this objection against reflection is common also to us.
It is indeed, answered I, in some sort common, and in some sort not.
But first consider the comparison, how perversely and against the
stream they take it. For the water is here below on the earth, and the
moon there above in heaven. So that the reflected and reverberated rays
make the form of their angles quite opposite one to the other, the one
having their point upwards towards the superficies of the moon, and the
other downwards toward the earth. Let them not then require that from
every form of mirror, nor that from every distance and remoteness,
there should be a like and semblable reflection; for so doing they
would repugn notorious and apparent evidence. And as for those who
hold the moon to be a body not smooth, even, and subtile as the water,
but solid, massy, and terrestrial, I cannot conceive why they should
require to see the image of the sun in her as in a glass. For neither
does milk itself render such peculiar images, nor cause reflection of
the sight, by reason of the inequality and ruggedness of its parts.
How then is it possible that the moon should send back the sight from
her superficies, as mirrors do that are more polished? And if in these
also there is any scratch, filth, or dulness on their superficies
whence the reflected sight is wont to receive a form, they are dimmed,
and although the mirrors may be seen, they yield no counterlight. He
then who requires that either the sun should appear in the moon, or
else the moon should not reflect the sun’s light to us, might as well
require that the eye be the sun, the sight light, and man heaven. For
it is probable, that the reflection of the sun’s beams which is made
upon the moon does, by reason of their vehemence and great brightness,
rebound with a stroke upon us. But our sight being weak and slender,
what wonder is it, if it neither give such a stroke as may rebound, or
if it rebounds, that it does not maintain its continuity, but is broken
and fails, as not having such abundance of light that it should not
disgregate and be dissipated within those inequalities and asperities?
For it is not impossible, that the reflection upon water or other sorts
of mirrors, being yet strong, powerful, and near its origin, should
from thence return upon the eye; but though there may perhaps from the
moon be some glimmerings, yet they still will be weak and obscure, and
will fail in the way, by reason of so long a distance. For otherwise
hollow and concave mirrors send back the reverberated and reflected
rays stronger than they came, so that they frequently burn and set on
fire; and those that are convex and embossed like a bowl, because they
beat them not back on all sides, render them dark and feeble. You see
for certain, when two rainbows appear together in the heaven, one cloud
comprehending another, that the rainbow which outwardly environs the
other yields dim colors, and such as are not sufficiently distinguished
and expressed, because the exterior cloud, being more remote, makes not
a strong and forcible reflection. And what needs there any more to be
said, seeing that the very light of the sun, reverberated and sent back
by the moon, loses all its heat; and of his brightness, there comes to
us with much ado but a small remainder, and that very languishing and
weak? Is it then possible, that our sight, turning the same course,
should bring back any part of the solar image from the moon? I for my
part think it is not. But consider, I said, yourselves, that if our
sight were in one and the same manner affected and disposed towards the
water and towards the moon, the full moon would of necessity represent
to us the images of the earth, plants, men, and stars, as is done by
the water and all other sorts of mirrors. And if there is no such
reflection of our sight as to bring us back these images, either by
reason of our said sight’s weakness, or through the rugged inequality
of the moon’s superficies, let us no longer require that it should
rebound against the sun.
24. We have then, said I, related, as far as our memory would carry
it away, whatever was there said. It is now time to desire Sylla, or
rather to exact of him, that he would make us his narration, as being
on such condition admitted to hear all this discourse. If you think
good therefore, let us give over walking, and sitting down on these
seats, make him a quiet and settled audience.
Every one approved this motion. And therefore, when we had seated
ourselves, Theon thus began: I am indeed, O Lamprias, as desirous as
any of you can be to hear what shall be said; but I would gladly first
understand something concerning those who are said to dwell in the
moon; not whether there are any persons inhabiting it, but whether
it is impossible there should be any; for if it is not possible for
the moon to be inhabited, it is also unreasonable to say that she is
earth; otherwise she would have been created in vain and to no end, not
bearing any fruits, not affording a place for the birth or education
of any men, for which causes and ends this earth wherein we live was
made and created, being (as Plato says) our nurse and true guardian,
producing and distinguishing the day from the night. Now you know, that
of this matter many things have been said, as well merrily and in jest
as seriously and in earnest. For of those who dwell under the moon,
it is said that she hangs over their heads, as if they were so many
Tantaluses; and on the contrary, of those who inhabit her, that being
tied and bound to her, like a sort of Ixions, they are with violence
turned and whirled about. Nor is the moon indeed moved by one only
motion, but is, as they were wont to call her, Trivia, or Three-wayed;
performing her course together according to length, breadth, and depth
in the Zodiac; the first of which motions mathematicians call a direct
revolution, the second volutation, or an oblique winding and wheeling
in and out; and the third (I know not why) an inequality; although they
see that she has no motion uniform, settled, and certain, in all her
circuits and reversions. Wherefore it is not greatly to be admired, if
through violence of her motion there sometime fell a lion from her into
Peloponnesus, but it is rather to be wondered, that we do not daily
see ten thousand falls of men and women and shocks of other animals
tumbling down thence with their heels upwards on our heads; for it
would be a mockery to dispute about their habitation there, if they
can have there neither birth nor existence. For seeing the Egyptians
and the Troglodytes, over whose heads the sun directly stands only one
moment of one day in the solstice, and then presently retires, can
hardly escape being burnt, by reason of the air’s excessive dryness;
is it credible that those who are in the moon can bear every year
twelve solstices, the sun being once a month just in their zenith,
when the moon is full? As for winds, clouds, and showers, without
which the plants can neither come up nor, when they are come up, be
preserved, it cannot be so much as imagined there should be any, where
the ambient air is so hot, dry, and subtile; since even here below,
the tops of mountains never feel those hard and bitter winters, but
the air, being there pure and clear, without any agitation, by reason
of its lightness, avoids all that thickness and concretion which is
amongst us; unless, by Jupiter, we will say that, as Minerva instilled
nectar and ambrosia into the mouth of Achilles, when he received no
other food, so the moon, which both is called and indeed is Minerva,
nourishes men, producing for them and sending them every day ambrosia,
with which, as old Pherecydes was wont to say, the Gods themselves are
fed. For as touching that Indian root, which, as Megasthenes says, some
people in those parts, who neither eat nor drink, but have pure mouths,
burn and smoke, living on the smell of its perfume; whence should they
have any of it there, the moon not being watered or refreshed with rain?
25. When Theon had spoken these things; You have very dexterously
and gently, said I to him, by this facetiousness of yours smoothed
as it were the brow, and taken off the chagrin and sourness of this
discourse; which encourages and emboldens us to return an answer,
since, however we may chance to fail, we expect not any severe or
rigorous chastisement. For, to speak the truth, they who are extremely
offended with these things and wholly discredit them, not being willing
mildly to consider what probability and possibility there may be in
them, are not much less in fault than those that are too excessively
persuaded of them. First then, I say, it is not necessary that the moon
must have been made in vain and to no end or purpose, if there are not
men who dwell in it; for we see that this very earth here is not all
cultivated or inhabited, but that only a small part of it, like so many
promontories or demi-islands arising out of the deep, engenders, brings
forth, and breeds plants and animals; the rest being through excessive
cold or heat wholly desert and barren, or (which is indeed the greatest
share of it) covered and plunged under the vast ocean. But you, who
are always so great a lover and admirer of Aristarchus, give no ear to
Crates when he reads in Homer,
The sea, which gave to Gods and men their birth,
Covers with waves the most part of the earth.[101]
And yet those parts are far from having been made in vain. For the sea
exhales and breathes out mild vapors; and the snow, leisurely melting
from the cold and uninhabited regions, sends forth and spreads over all
our countries those gentle breezes which qualify the scorching heat
of summer; and in the midst, as Plato says, is placed the faithful
guardian and operator of night and day. There is then nothing to
hinder but that the moon may be without living creatures, and yet
give reflections to the light that is diffused about her, and afford
a receptacle to the rays of the stars, which have their confluence
and temperature in her, for to digest the evaporation rising from the
earth and moderate the over-violent and fiery heat of the sun. And
attributing much to ancient fame, we will say that she is styled Diana,
as being a virgin and fruitless, but otherwise greatly salutary,
helpful, and profitable to the world. Moreover, of all that has been
said, my friend Theon, there is nothing which shows it impossible for
the moon to be inhabited. For her turning about, being gentle, mild,
and calm, dulcifies and polishes the ambient air, and distributes it in
so good order about her, that there is no occasion to fear the falling
or slipping out of those who live in her. And as to the diversity and
multiplicity of her motion, it proceeds not from any inequality, error,
or uncertainty, but the astrologers show in this an admirable order
and course, enclosing her within circles, which are turned by other
circles; some supposing that she herself stirs not, others making her
always move equally, smoothly, and with the same swiftness. For it is
these ascensions of divers circles, with their turnings and habitudes,
one towards another and with respect to us, which most exactly make
those heights, depths, and depressions, that appear to us in her
motion, and her digressions in latitude, all joined with the ordinary
revolution she makes in longitude. As to the great heat and continual
inflammation of the sun, you will cease to fear it, if first to the
eleven estival conjunctions you oppose the full moons, and then to
the excesses the continuity of change which permits them not to last
long, reducing them to a proper and peculiar temperature, and taking
from them both what is over much; for the middle, or what is between
them, it is probable, has a season most like to the spring. And,
moreover, the sun sends his beams to us through a gross and troubled
air, and casts on us an heat fed by exhalation; whereas the air, being
there subtile and transparent, dissipates and disperses his lustre,
which has no nourishment nor body on which it may settle. Trees and
fruits are here nourished by showers; but elsewhere, as in the higher
countries with you about Thebes and Syene, the earth drinking in
not aerial but earth-bred water, and being assisted with refreshing
winds and dew, will not (such is the virtue and temperature of the
soil) yield the first place for fertility to the best watered land in
the world. And the same sorts of trees which in our country, having
suffered a long and sharp winter, bring forth abundance of good fruit,
are in Africa and with you in Egypt soon offended with cold and very
fearful of the winter. And the provinces of Gedrosia and Troglodytis,
which lie near the ocean sea, being by reason of drought barren and
without any trees, there grow nevertheless in the adjacent sea trees
of a wonderful height and bigness, and green even to the very bottom;
some of which they call olive-trees, others laurels, and others the
hair of Isis. And those plants which are named anacampserotes, being
hanged up after they are plucked out of the ground, not only live,
but—which is more—bud and put forth green leaves. Some seeds are sown
in winter; and others in the heat of summer, like sesame and millet.
And thyme or centaury, if it is sown in a rich and fat earth, and
there well drenched and watered, degenerates from its natural quality
and all its virtue, because it loves dryness and thrives in its own
proper natural soil. Others cannot bear so much as the least dew, of
which kind are the most part of the Arabian plants, and if they are
but once wet, they wither, fade, and die. What wonder is it then, if
there grow in the moon roots, seeds, and plants which have no need
of rains or winter colds, and are appropriated to a dry and subtile
air, such as is that of summer? And why may it not be probable that
the moon sends forth warm winds, and that her shaking and agitation,
as she moves, is accompanied by comfortable breezes, fine dews, and
gentle moistures, which are everywhere dispersed to furnish nutriment
for the verdant plants?—seeing she is not of her temperature ardent
or parched with drought, but rather soft, moist, and engendering all
humidity. For there come not from her to us any effects of dryness,
but many of a feminine moisture and softness, such as are the growing
of plants, the putrefaction of flesh, the changing and flatness of
wines, the tenderness and rotting of wood, and the easy deliveries of
child-bearing women. But because I am afraid of irritating again and
provoking Pharnaces—who all this while speaks not a word—if I should
allege the flowing and ebbing of the great ocean (as they themselves
say), and the increasings of the friths and straits, which swell and
rise by the moon augmenting the moisture; therefore I will rather turn
myself to you, my friend Theon. For you, interpreting this verse of the
poet Alcman,
Such things as dew, Jove’s daughter and the moon’s,
Does nourish,
tell us, that in this place he calls the air Jupiter, which, being
moistened by the moon, is by Nature changed into dew. For she seems,
my good friend, to be of a nature almost wholly contrary to the sun,
not only in that she is wonted to moisten, dissolve, and soften what
he thickens, dries, and hardens; but moreover, in that she allays and
cools his heat, when it lights upon her and is mingled with her.
Those then who think the moon to be a fiery and burning body are in
an error; and in like manner those who would have all such things to
be necessary for the generation, life, food, and entertainment of the
animals dwelling there as are requisite to those that are here below,
consider not the vast diversity and inequality there is in Nature; in
which there are found greater varieties and differences between animals
and animals, than there are between animals and other subjects that are
not animated. There are surely not in the world any men of such pure
mouths that they feed only on smells.... But that power of Nature which
Ammonius himself has shown us, and which Hesiod has obscurely signified
in these words,