BOOK V

Who is there that by energy of mind

Could build a poem worthy of our theme’s

Majesty and of these discoveries?

Or who has such a mastery of words

As to devise praises proportionate

To his deserts, who to us has bequeathed

Such prizes, earned by his own intellect?

No man, I think, formed of a mortal body.

For if we are to speak as the acknowledged

Majesty of our theme demands, a god

Was he, most noble Memmius, a god,

Who first found out that discipline of life

Which now is called philosophy, and whose skill

From such great billows and a gloom so dark

Delivered life, and steered it into a calm

So peaceful and beneath so bright a light.

For compare the divine discoveries

Of others in old times. ’Tis told that Ceres

First revealed corn to men, Liber the juice

Of grape-born wine; though life without these things

Might well have been sustained; and even now

’Tis said there are some people that live so.

But to live happily was not possible

Without a serene mind. Therefore more justly

Is this man deemed by us a god, from whom

Came those sweet solaces of life, which now

Already through great nations spread abroad

Have power to soothe men’s minds. Should you suppose

Moreover that the deeds of Hercules

Surpass his, then yet further will you drift

Out of true reason’s course. For what harm now

Would those great gaping jaws of Nemea’s lion

Do to us, and the bristly Arcadian boar?

What could the bull of Crete, or Lerna’s pest

The Hydra fenced around with venomous snakes,

And threefold Gerion’s triple-breasted might,

Or those brazen-plumed birds inhabiting

Stymphalian swamps, what injury so great

Could they inflict upon us, or the steeds

Of Thracian Diomede, with fire-breathing nostrils

Ranging Bistonia’s wilds and Ismarus?

Also the serpent, guardian of the bright

Gold-gleaming apples of the Hesperides,

Fierce and grim-glancing, with huge body coiled

Round the tree’s stem, how were it possible

He could molest us by the Atlantic shore

And those lone seas, where none of us sets foot,

And no barbarian ventures to draw near?

And all those other monsters which likewise

Have been destroyed, if they had not been vanquished,

What harm, pray, could they do, though now alive?

None, I presume: for the earth even now abounds

With wild beasts to repletion, and is filled

With shuddering terror throughout its woods, great mountains

And deep forests, regions which we have power

For the most part to avoid. But if the heart

Has not been purged, what tumults then, what dangers

Must needs invade us in our own despite!

What fierce anxieties, offspring of desire,

Rend the distracted man, what mastering fears!

Pride also, sordid avarice, and violence,

Of what calamities are not they the cause!

Luxury too, and slothfulness! He therefore

Who could subdue all these, and banish them

Out of our minds by force of words, not arms,

Is it not right we should deem such a man

Worthy to be numbered among the gods?

The more that he was wont in beautiful

And godlike speech to utter many truths

About the immortal gods themselves, and set

The whole nature of things in clear words forth.

I, in his footsteps treading, follow out

His reasonings and expound in my discourse

By what law all things are created, how

They are compelled to abide within that law,

Without power to annul the immutable

Decrees of time; and first above all else

The mind’s nature was found to be composed

Of a body that had birth, without the power

To endure through a long period unscathed:

For it was found to be mere images

That are wont to deceive the mind in sleep,

Whenever we appear to behold one

Whom life has abandoned. Now, for what remains,

The order of my argument has brought me

To the point where I must show both how the world

Is composed of a body which must die,

Also that it was born; and in what way

Matter once congregating and uniting

Established earth sky sea, the stars, the sun,

And the moon’s globe: also what living creatures

Rose from the earth, and which were those that never

At any time were born: next in what way

Mankind began to employ varied speech

One with another by giving names to things:

Then for what causes that fear of the gods

Entered their breasts, and now through the whole world

Gives sanctity to shrines, lakes and groves,

Altars and images of gods. Moreover

I will make plain by what force and control

Nature pilots the courses of the sun

And the wanderings of the moon, lest we perchance

Deem that they traverse of their own free will

Their yearly orbits between heaven and earth,

Obsequiously furthering the increase

Of crops and living things, or should suppose

That they roll onwards by the gods’ design.

For those who have learnt rightly that the gods

Lead a life free from care, if yet they wonder

By what means all things can be carried on,

Such above all as are perceived to happen

In the ethereal regions overhead,

They are borne back again into their old

Religious fears, and adopt pitiless lords,

Whom in their misery they believe to be

Almighty; for they are ignorant of what can

And what cannot exist; in fine they know not

Upon what principle each thing has its powers

Limited, and its deep-set boundary stone.

But now, lest I detain you with more promises,

In the first place consider, Memmius,

The seas, the land, the sky, whose threefold nature,

Three bodies, three forms so dissimilar,

And three such wondrous textures, a single day

Shall give to destruction, and the world’s vast mass

And fabric, for so many years upheld,

Shall fall to ruin. Nor am I unaware

How novel and strange, when first it strikes the mind,

Must appear this destruction of earth and heaven

That is to be, and for myself how difficult

It will prove to convince you by mere words,

As happens when one brings to a man’s ears

Some notion unfamiliar hitherto,

If yet one cannot thrust it visibly

Beneath his eyes, or place it in his hands;

For the paved highway of belief through touch

And sight leads straightest into the human heart

And the precincts of the mind. Yet none the less

I will speak out. Reality itself

It may be will bring credence to my words,

And in a little while you will behold

The earth terribly quaking, and all things

Shattered to ruins. But may pilot fortune

Steer far from us such disaster, and may reason

Convince us rather than reality

That the whole universe may well collapse,

Tumbling together with a dread crash and roar.

But before I attempt concerning this

To announce fate’s oracles in more holy wise,

And with assurance far more rational

Than doth the Pythoness, when from the tripod

And laurel wreath of Phoebus her voice sounds,

Many consolatories will I first

Expound to you in learned words, lest haply

Curbed by religion’s bit you should suppose

That earth and sun and sky, sea, stars and moon,

Their substance being divine, must needs abide

Eternally, and should therefore think it just

That all, after the manner of the giants,

Should suffer penance for their monstrous guilt

Who by their reasoning shake the world’s firm walls,

And fain would quench the glorious sun in heaven,

Shaming with mortal speech immortal things;

Though in fact such objects are so far removed

From any share in divine energy,

And so unworthy to be accounted gods,

That they may be considered with more reason

To afford us the conception of what is quite

Devoid of vital motion and of sense.

For truly by no means can we suppose

That the nature and judgment of the mind

Can exist linked with every kind of body,

Even as in the sky trees cannot exist,

Nor clouds in the salt waters, nor can fish

Live in the fields, neither can blood be found

In wood, nor sap in stones: but where each thing

Can dwell and grow, is determined and ordained.

Even so the nature of mind cannot be born

Alone without a body, nor exist

Separated from sinews and from blood.

But if (for this is likelier by far)

The mind’s force might reside within the head

Or shoulders, or be born down in the heels,

Or in any part you will, it would at least

Inhabit the same man and the same vessel.

But since even in our body it is seen

To be determined and ordained where soul

And mind can separately dwell and grow,

All the more must it be denied that mind

Cannot have being quite outside a body

And a living form, in crumbling clods of earth,

In the sun’s fire, or water, or aloft

In the domains of ether. Such things therefore

Are not endowed with divine consciousness,

Because they cannot be quickened into life.

This too you cannot possibly believe,

That there are holy abodes of deities

Anywhere in the world. For so tenuous

Is the nature of gods, and from our senses

So far withdrawn, that hardly can the mind

Imagine it. And seeing that hitherto

It has eluded touch or blow of hands,

It must touch nothing which for us is tangible:

For naught can touch that may not itself be touched.

So even their abodes must be unlike

Our own, tenuous as their bodies are.

All this hereafter I will prove to you

By plentiful argument. Further, to say

That for the sake of mankind the gods willed

To frame the wondrous nature of the world,

And that on this account we ought to extol

Their handiwork as worthy of all praise,

And to believe that it will prove eternal

And indestructible, and to think it sin

Ever by any effort to disturb

What by the ancient wisdom of the gods

Has been established everlastingly

For mankind’s benefit, or by argument

To assail and overthrow it utterly

From top to bottom, and to invent besides

Other such errors--all this, Memmius,

Is folly. For what advantage could our thanks

Bestow upon immortal and blessed beings

That for our sakes they should bestir themselves

To perform any task? Or what new fact

Could have induced them, tranquil hitherto,

After so long to change their former life?

For it seems fitting he should take delight

In a new state of things, to whom the old

Was painful: but for him whom in past times,

While he was living in felicity,

No evil had befallen, for such a one

What could have kindled a desire for change?

Must we imagine that their life lay prostrate

In darkness and in misery, till the birth

And origin of things first dawned upon them?

Besides, what evil had it been to us

Not to have been created? For whoever

Has once been born, must wish to abide in life

So long as luring pleasure bids him stay:

But one who has never tasted the love of life,

Nor even been numbered in life’s ranks, what harm

Were it for him not to have been created?

Again whence first was implanted in the gods

A pattern for begetting things? Whence too

The preconception of what men should be,

So that they knew and imaged in their minds

What they desired to make? And by what means

Could they have ever ascertained the energy

Latent in primal atoms, or what forms

Might be produced by changes in their order,

Unless Nature herself had given them first

A sample of creation? For indeed

These primal atoms in such multitudes

And in so many ways, through infinite time

Impelled by blows and moved by their own weight,

Have been borne onward so incessantly,

Uniting in every way and making trial

Of every shape they could combine to form,

That ’tis not strange if they have also fallen

Into such grouping, and acquired such motions

As those whereby the present sum of things

Is carried on and ceaselessly renewed.

But even were I ignorant how things

Were formed of primal elements, yet this

Would I have ventured to affirm, and prove

Not only from the system of the heavens,

But from much other evidence, that nature

Has by no means been fashioned for our benefit

By divine power; so great are the defects

Which are its bane. First, of the whole space

Covered by the enormous reach of heaven,

A greedy portion mountains occupy

And forests of wild beasts; rocks and waste swamps

Possess it, or the wide land-sundering sea.

Besides, well nigh two-thirds are stolen from men

By burning heat and frost ceaselessly falling.

All that is left for husbandry, even that

The force of Nature soon would overspread

With thorns, unless resisted by man’s force,

Ever wont for his livelihood to groan

Over the strong hoe, and with down-pressed plough

To cleave the earth. For if we do not turn

The fertile clods with coulters, and subduing

The soil of earth, summon the crops to birth,

They could not of their own accord spring up

Into the bright air. Even then sometimes,

When answering our long toil throughout the land

Every bud puts forth its leaves and flowers,

Either the sun in heaven scorches them

With too much heat, or sudden gusts of rain

Or nipping frosts destroy them, or wind-storms

Shatter them with impetuous whirling blasts.

Furthermore why does Nature multiply

And nourish terrible tribes of savage beasts

By land and sea, dangerous to mankind?

Why does untimely death range to and fro?

Then again, like a mariner cast ashore

By raging waves, the human infant lies

Naked upon the ground, speechless, in want

Of every help needful for life, when first

Nature by birth-throes from his mother’s womb

Thrusts him into the borders of the light,

So that he fills the room with piteous wailing,

As well he may, whose fate in life will be

To pass through so much misery. But flocks

And herds of divers kind, and the wild beasts,

These, as they grow up, have no need of rattles:

To none of them a foster-nurse must utter

Fond broken speech: they seek not different dresses

To suit each season: no, nor do they need

Weapons nor lofty walls whereby to guard

What is their own, since all things for them all

The Earth herself brings forth abundantly,

And Nature, the creatress manifold.

First of all, since the substance of the earth,

Moisture, and the light breathings of the air,

And burning heats, of which this sum of things

Is seen to be composed, have all been formed

Of a body that was born and that will die,

Of such a body must we likewise deem

That the whole nature of the world was made.

For things whose parts and members we see formed

Of a body that had birth and shapes that die,

These we perceive are themselves always mortal,

And likewise have been born. Since then we see

That the chief parts and members of the world

Decay and are reborn, it is no less certain

That once for heaven and earth there was a time

Of origin, and will be of destruction.

Herein lest you should think that without proof

I have seized this vantage, in that I have assumed

Earth and fire to be mortal, and have not doubted

That moisture and air perish, but maintained

That these too are reborn and grow afresh,

Consider first how no small part of the earth

Ceaselessly baked by the sun’s rays and trampled

By innumerable feet, gives off a mist

And flying clouds of dust, which the strong winds

Disperse through the whole atmosphere. Part too

Of the earth’s soil is turned to swamp by rains,

While scouring rivers gnaw their banks away.

Furthermore whatsoever goes to augment

Some other thing, is in its turn restored;

And since beyond all doubt the all-mother Earth

Is seen to be no less the general tomb,

You thus may see how she is ever lessened,

Yet with new growth increases evermore.

Next, that the sea, the rivers and the springs

Are always amply fed by new supplies

Of moisture oozing up perennially,

It needs no words to explain. The vast down-flow

Of waters from all sides is proof of this.

But as the water that is uppermost

Is always taken away, it comes to pass

That on the whole there is no overflow;

Partly because strong winds, sweeping the seas,

Diminish them, and the sun in heaven unweaves

Their fabric with his rays; partly because

The water is distributed below

Throughout all lands. For the salt is strained off,

And the pure fluid matter, oozing back,

Gathers together at the river-heads,

Thence in fresh current streams over the land,

Wherever it finds a channel ready scooped

To carry down its waves with liquid foot.

Now must I speak of air, which every hour

Is changed through its whole body in countless ways.

For always whatsoever flows from things

Is all borne into the vast sea of air:

And if it were not in its turn to give

Particles back to things, recruiting them

As they dissolve, all would have been long since

Disintegrated, and so changed to air.

Therefore it never ceases to be born

Out of things, and to pass back into things,

Since, as we know, all are in constant flux.

Likewise that bounteous fountain of clear light,

The sun in heaven, ceaselessly floods the sky

With fresh brightness, and momently supplies

The place of light with new light: for each former

Emission of his radiance perishes,

On whatsoever spot it falls. This truth

You may thus learn. So soon as clouds begin

To pass below the sun, and as it were

To break off the light’s rays, their lower part

Forthwith perishes wholly, and the earth

Is shadow-swept, wherever the clouds move.

Thus you may know that things have ever need

Of fresh illumination, and that each

Former discharge of radiance perishes,

Nor in any other way could things be seen

In sunlight, if the fountain-head itself

Did not send forth a perpetual supply.

Also those lights we use here upon earth

At night-time, hanging lamps, and torches bright

With darting beams, rich with abundant smoke,

Are in haste in like fashion to supply

New radiance with ministering fire;

The very flames seem eager, eager to flicker;

Nor does the still unbroken stream of light

One instant quit the spots whereon it played,

So suddenly is its perishing concealed

By the swift birth of flame from all these fires.

It is thus then you must think sun moon and stars

Shoot forth their light from ever fresh supplies,

And that they always lose whatever beams

Come foremost; lest perchance you should believe

Their energy to be indestructible.

Again, is it not seen that even stones

By time are vanquished, that tall towers fall

And rocks crumble away, that shrines and idols

Of gods grow worn out and dilapidate,

Nor may the indwelling holiness prolong

The bounds of destiny, or strive against

The laws of Nature? Then do we not see

The monuments of men, fallen to ruin,

Ask for themselves whether you would believe

That they also grow old?[F] See we not rocks

Split off from mountain heights fall crashing down

Unable more to endure the powerful stress

Of finite years? Surely they would not fall

Thus suddenly split off, if through the lapse

Of infinite past years they had withstood

All the assaults of time, without being shattered.

Now contemplate that which around and above

Compasses the whole earth with its embrace.

If it begets all things out of itself,

As some have told us, and receives them back

When they have perished, then the whole sky is made

Of a body that had birth and that must die.

For whatsoever nourishes and augments

Other things from itself, must needs be minished,

And be replenished, when it receives them back.

Moreover, if there never was a time

Of origin when earth and heaven were born,

If they have always been from everlasting,

Why then before the Theban war and Troy’s

Destruction, have not other poets sung

Of other deeds as well? Whither have vanished

So many exploits of so many men?

Why are they nowhere blossoming engrafted

On the eternal monuments of fame?

But in truth, as I think, this sum of things

Is in its youth: the nature of the world

Is recent, and began not long ago.

Wherefore even now some arts are being wrought

To their last polish, some are still in growth.

Of late many improvements have been made

In navigation, and musicians too

Have given birth to new melodious sounds.

Also this theory of the nature of things

Has been discovered lately, and I myself

Have only now been found the very first

Able to turn it into our native words.

Nevertheless, if you perchance believe

That long ago these things were just the same,

But that the generations of mankind

Perished by scorching heat, or that their cities

Fell in some great convulsion of the world,

Or else that flooded by incessant rains

Devouring rivers broke forth over the earth

And swallowed up whole towns, so much the more

Must you admit that there will come to pass

A like destruction of earth and heaven too.

For when things were assailed by such great maladies

And dangers, if some yet more fatal cause

Had whelmed them, they would then have been dissolved

In havoc and vast ruin far and wide.

And in no other way do we perceive

That we are mortal, save that we all alike

In turn fall sick of the same maladies

As those whom Nature has withdrawn from life.

Again, whatever things abide eternally,

Must either, because they are of solid body,

Repulse assaults, nor suffer anything

To penetrate them, which might have the power

To disunite the close-locked parts within:

(Such are those bodies whereof matter is made,

Whose nature we have shown before:) or else

They must be able to endure throughout

All time, because they are exempt from blows,

As void is, which abides untouched, nor suffers

One whit from any stroke: or else because

There is no further space surrounding them,

Into which things might as it were depart

And be dissolved; even as the sum of sums

Is eternal, nor is there any space

Outside it, into which its particles

Might spring asunder, nor are there other bodies

That could strike and dissolve them with strong blows.

But neither, as I have shown, is this world’s nature

Solid, since there is void mixed up in things;

Nor yet is it like void; nor verily

Are atoms lacking that might well collect

Out of the infinite, and overwhelm

This sum of things with violent hurricane,

Or threaten it with some other form of ruin;

Nor further is there any want of room

And of deep space, into which the world’s walls

Might be dispersed abroad; or they may perish

Shattered by any other force you will.

Therefore the gates of death are never closed

Against sky, sun or earth, or the deep seas;

But they stand open, awaiting them with huge

Vast-gaping jaws. So you must needs admit

That all these likewise once were born: for things

Of mortal body could not until now

Through infinite past ages have defied

The strong powers of immeasurable time.

Again, since the chief members of the world

So mightily contend together, stirred

By unhallowed civil warfare, see you not

That some end may be set to their long strife?

It may be when the sun and every kind

Of heat shall have drunk all the moisture up,

And gained the mastery they were struggling for,

Though they have failed as yet to achieve their aim:

So vast are the supplies the rivers bring,

Threatening in turn to deluge every land

From out the deep abysses of the ocean;

All in vain, since the winds, sweeping the seas,

Diminish them, and the sun in heaven unweaves

Their fabric with his rays; and ’tis their boast

That they are able to dry all things up,

Before moisture can achieve its end.

So terrible a war do they breathe out

On equal terms, striving one with another

For mighty issues: though indeed fire once

Obtained the mastery, so the fable tells,

And water once reigned supreme in the fields.

For fire prevailing licked up and consumed

Many things, when the ungovernable might

Of the Sun’s horses, swerving from their course,

Through the whole sky and over every land

Whirled Phaëthon. But then the almighty Father,

Stirred to fierce wrath, with sudden thunder-stroke

Dashed great-souled Phaëthon from his team to the earth,

And as he fell the Sun-god meeting him

Caught from him the world’s everlasting lamp,

And brought back tamed and trembling to the yoke

The scattered steeds; then on their wonted course

Guiding them, unto all things gave fresh life.

Thus verily the old Greek poets sang,

Though straying from true reason all too far.

For fire can only gain the mastery

When an excess of fiery particles

Have flocked together out of infinite space;

And then its strength fails, vanquished in some way,

Or else things perish, utterly consumed

By scorching gusts. Likewise moisture once

Gathering together, as the story tells,

Strove for the mastery, when it overwhelmed

Many cities of mankind. But afterwards,

When all that force, which out of infinite space

Had gathered itself up, was by some means

Diverted and withdrew, the rains ceased then,

And the violence of the rivers was abated.

But in what ways matter converging once

Established earth and heaven and the sea’s deeps,

The sun’s course and the moon’s, I will set forth

In order. For in truth not by design

Did the primordial particles of things

Arrange themselves each in its own right place

With provident mind, nor verily have they bargained

What motions each should follow; but because

These primal atoms in such multitudes

And in so many ways through infinite time

Impelled by blows and moved by their own weight,

Have been borne onward so incessantly,

Uniting in every way and making trial

Of every shape they could combine to form,

Therefore it is that after wandering wide

Through vast periods, attempting every kind

Of union and of motion, they at last

Collect into such groups as, suddenly

Flocking together, oftentimes become

The rudiments of mighty things, of earth,

Sea and sky, and the race of living creatures.

At that time neither could the disk of the sun

Be seen flying aloft with bounteous light,

Nor the stars of great heaven, nor sea, nor sky,

Nor yet earth nor the air, nor anything

Resembling those things which we now behold,

But only a sort of strange tempest, a mass

Gathered together out of primal atoms

Of all kinds, which discordantly waged war

Disordering so their interspaces, paths,

Connections, weights, collisions, meetings, motions,

Since with their unlike forms and varied shapes,

They could not therefore all remain united,

Nor move among themselves harmoniously.

Thereupon parts began to fly asunder,

And like things to unite with like, and so

To separate off the world, and to divide

Its members, portioning out its mighty parts;

That is, to mark off the high heaven from earth,

And the sea by itself, that it might spread

With unmixed waters, and likewise the fires

Of aether by themselves, pure and unmixed.

Now first the several particles of earth,

Since they were heavy and close-packed, all met

Together in the middle, and took up

The lowest places: and the more they met

In close-packed throngs, the more did they squeeze out

Those particles which were to form sea, stars,

Sun and moon, and the walls of the great world.

For all these are of smoother rounder seeds,

And of much smaller elements than earth.

So first through porous openings in the soil

The fire-laden aether here and there

Bursting forth rose and lightly carried off

Many fires with it, much in the same way

As often we may see when first the beams

Of the radiant sun with golden morning light

Blush through the grasses gemmed with dew, and lakes

And ever-flowing rivers exhale mist,

While earth itself is sometimes seen to smoke;

And when floating aloft these vapours all

Unite on high, then taking bodily shape

As clouds, they weave a veil beneath the heavens.

Thus then the light diffusive aether once

Took bodily shape, and, arched round on all sides,

Far into every quarter spreading out,

So with its greedy embrace hemmed in all else.

Next came the rudiments of sun and moon,

Whose globes turn in the air midway between

Aether and earth; for neither did the earth

Nor the great aether claim them for itself,

Since they were not so heavy as to sink

And settle down, nor so light as to glide

Along the topmost borders: yet their course

Between the two is such, that as they roll

Their lifelike bodies onward, they are still

Parts of the whole world; even as with us

Some of our members may remain at rest,

While at the same time others may be in motion.

So when these things had been withdrawn, the earth,

Where now the ocean’s vast blue region spreads,

Sank suddenly down, and flooded with salt surge

Its hollow parts. And day by day the more

The encircling aether’s heats and the sun’s rays

Compressed the earth into a closer mass

By constant blows upon its outer surface

From every side, so that thus beaten upon

It shrank and drew together round its centre,

The more did the salt sweat squeezed from its body

Increase by its oozings the sea’s floating plains,

And the more did those many particles

Of heat and air escaping fly abroad,

And far away from the earth condensing, form

The lofty glittering mansions of the sky.

The plains sank lower, the high mountains grew

Yet steeper; for the rocks could not sink down,

Nor could all parts subside to one same level.

Thus then the earth’s ponderous mass was formed

With close-packed body, and all the slime of the world

Slid to the lowest plane by its own weight,

And at the bottom settled down like dregs.

Then the sea, then the air, then the fire-laden

Aether itself, all these were now left pure

With liquid bodies. Some indeed are lighter

Than others, and most liquid and light of all

Over the airy currents aether floats,

Not blending with the turbulent atmosphere

Its liquid substance. All below, it suffers

To be embroiled by violent hurricanes,

Suffers all to be tossed with wayward storms,

While itself gliding on with changeless sweep

Bears its own fires along. For, that the aether

May stream on steadily with one impulse,

The Pontos demonstrates, that sea which streams

With an unchanging tide, unceasingly

Preserving as it glides one constant pace.

Now let us sing what cause could set the stars

In motion. First, if the great globe of heaven

Revolves, then we must needs maintain that air

Presses upon the axis at each end,

And holds it from outside, closing it in

At both poles; also that there streams above

Another current, moving the same way,

In which the stars of the eternal world

Roll glittering onward; or else that beneath

There is another stream, that drives the sphere

Upwards the opposite way, just as we see

Rivers turn mill-wheels with their water-scoops.

It likewise may well be that the whole sky

Remains at rest, yet that the shining signs

Are carried onwards; either because within them

Are shut swift tides of aether, that whirl round

Seeking a way out, and so roll their fires

On all sides through the sky’s nocturnal mansions;

Or else that from some other source outside

An air-stream whirls and drives the fires along;

Or else they may be gliding of themselves,

Moving whithersoever the food of each

Calls and invites them, nourishing everywhere

Their flaming bodies throughout the whole sky.

For it is hard to affirm with certainty

Which of these causes operates in this world:

But what throughout the universe both can

And does take place in various worlds, created

On various plans, this I teach, and proceed

To expound what divers causes may exist

Through the universe for the motion of the stars:

And one of these in our world too must be

The cause which to the heavenly signs imparts

Their motive vigour: but dogmatically

To assert which this may be, is in no wise

The function of those advancing step by step.

Now in order that the earth should be at rest

In the world’s midst, it would seem probable

That its weight gradually diminishing

Should disappear, and that the earth should have

Another nature underneath, conjoined

And blent in union from its earliest age

With those aerial portions of the world

Wherein it lives embodied. For this cause

It is no burden, nor weighs down the air,

Just as to a man his own limbs are no weight,

Nor is the head a burden to the neck,

Nor do we feel that the whole body’s weight

Rests on the feet: yet a much smaller burden

Laid on us from outside, will often hurt us.

Of such great moment is it what each thing’s

Function may be. Thus then the earth is not

An alien body intruded suddenly,

Nor thrust from elsewhere into an alien air,

But was conceived together with the world

At its first birth as a fixed portion of it,

Just as our limbs are seen to be of us.

Moreover the earth, when shaken suddenly

With violent thunder, by its trembling shakes

All that is over it; which in no wise

Could happen, if it were not closely bound

With the world’s airy parts, and with the sky.

For they all, as though by common roots, cohere

One with another, from their earliest age

Conjoined and blent in union. See you not too

That heavy as our body’s weight may be,

Yet the soul’s force, though subtle exceedingly,

Sustains it, being so closely joined and blent

In union with it? Also what has power

To lift the body with a nimble leap,

Except the mind’s force that controls the limbs?

Do you not now perceive how great the power

May be of a subtle nature, when ’tis joined

With a heavy body, even as with the earth

The air is joined, and the mind’s force with us?

Also the sun’s disk cannot be much larger,

Nor its heat be much less, than to our sense

They appear to be. For from whatever distance

Fires can fling light, and breathe upon our limbs

Their warming heat, these intervening spaces

Take away nothing from the body of flame;

The fire is not shrunken visibly.

So since the sun’s heat and the light it sheds

Both reach our senses and caress our limbs,

The form also and contour of the sun

Must needs be seen from the earth in their true scale,

With neither addition nor diminishment.

Also the moon, whether it moves along

Illuminating earth with borrowed light,

Or throws out its own rays from its own body,

Howe’er that be, moves with a shape no larger

Than seems that shape which our eyes contemplate.

For all things which we look at from far off

Through much air, seem to our vision to grow dim

Before their contours lessen. Therefore the moon,

Seeing that it presents a clear aspect

And definite shape, must needs by us on earth

Be seen on high in its defining outline

Just as it is, and of its actual size.

Lastly consider all those fires of aether

You see from the earth. Since fires, which here below

We observe, for so long as their flickering

Remains distinct, and their heat is perceived,

Are sometimes seen to change their size to less

Or greater to some very slight extent

According to their distance, you may thence

Know that the fires of aether can be smaller

Only by infinitesimal degrees,

Or larger by the tiniest minute fraction.

This also is not wonderful, how the sun

Small as it is, can shed so great a light,

As with its flood to fill all seas and lands

And sky, with warm heat bathing everything.

For from this spot perhaps a single well

For the whole world may open and gush out,

Shooting forth an abundant stream of light,

Because from everywhere throughout the world

In such wise do the particles of heat

Gather together, and their united mass

Converges in such wise, that blazing fire

Streams forth here from a single fountain-head.

See you not too how wide a meadow-land

One little spring of water sometimes floods,

Overflowing whole fields? It may be also

That from the sun’s flame, though it be not great,

Heat pervades the whole air with scorching fires,

Should the air chance to be susceptible

And ready to be kindled, when it is struck

By tiny heat-rays. Then we sometimes see

A wide-spread conflagration from one spark

Catch fields of corn or stubble. Perhaps too

The sun shining on high with ruddy torch

May be surrounded by much fire and heats

Invisible, fire which no radiance

Reveals, but laden with heat it does no more

Than reinforce the stroke of the sun’s rays.

Nor is there any single theory,

Certain and obvious, of how the sun

Out of his summer stations passing forth

Approaches the midwinter turning-point

Of Capricorn, and how coming back thence

He bends his course to the solstitial goal

Of Cancer; then too how the moon is seen

To traverse every month that space, whereon

The journeying sun spends a year’s period.

For these events, I say, no single cause

Can be assigned. It seems most probable

That the august opinion of Democritus

Should be the truth; the nearer to the earth

The several constellations move, the less

Can they be borne on with the whirl of heaven:

For in the lower portions of this whirl

He says its speed and energy diminish

And disappear; so that little by little

The sun is outstripped by the signs that follow,

Since he is far beneath the burning stars.

And the moon, so he says, more than the sun.

The lower and the further from the sky

Her course is, and the nearer to the earth,

The less can she keep even with the signs.

For the more languid is the whirl whereby

She is borne along, being lower than the sun,

The more do all the signs around her path

Overtake and pass by her. Thus it is

That she seems to move backward to each sign

More quickly, because the signs come up to her.

It may be also that two streams of air

Cross the sun’s path at fixed times, each in turn

Flowing from opposite quarters of the world,

Whereof the first may thrust the sun away

Out of the summer signs, until he comes

To his winter turning-point and the icy frost;

While the other from the freezing shades of cold

Sweeps him right back to the heat-laden regions

And the torrid constellations. And just so

We must suppose that the moon and the planets,

Which roll in their huge orbits through huge years,

May move on streams of air alternately

From opposite quarters. Do you not also see

How clouds are shifted by opposing winds,

The lower in directions contrary

To those above? Why should not yonder stars

Be likewise carried by opposing currents

Upon their mighty orbits through the sky?

But night covers the earth with vast darkness

Either when after his long course the sun

Has entered on the uttermost parts of heaven,

And now grown languid has breathed forth his fires,

Exhausted by their journey, and worn out

By traversing much air; or else because

That same force which has borne his orb along

Above the earth, compels him now to turn

Backward his course and pass beneath the earth.

Likewise at a fixed time Matuta spreads

The rosy dawn abroad through the sky’s borders,

And opens out her light; either because

The same sun, travelling back below the earth,

Seizes the sky beforehand, and is fain

To kindle it with his rays; or else because

Fires meet together, and many seeds of heat

Are wont at a fixed time to stream together

Causing new sunlight each day to be born.

Even so ’tis told that from the mountain heights

Of Ida at daybreak scattered fires are seen;

These then unite as if into one globe

And make up the sun’s orb. Nor yet herein

Should it cause wonder that these seeds of fire

Can stream together at a time so fixed,

Repairing thus the radiance of the sun.

For everywhere we see many events

Happening at fixed times. Thus trees both flower

And shed their blossoms at fixed times; and age

At a time no less fixed bids the teeth drop,

And the boy clothe his features with the down

Of puberty, and let a soft beard fall

From either cheek. Lastly lightning and snow,

Rains, clouds and winds happen at more or less

Regular yearly seasons. For where causes

From the beginning have remained the same,

And things from the first origin of the world

Have so fallen out, they still repeat themselves

In regular sequence after a fixed order.

The cause too why days lengthen and nights wane,

While daylight shortens as the nights increase,

May either be because the same sun, journeying

Underneath and above the earth in curves

Of unlike length, parts the celestial regions

And into unequal halves divides his orbit:

Whatever he has subtracted from one half,

Just so much does he add, when he comes round,

On to the other half, till he has reached

That sign of heaven where the year’s node makes

The night’s shade equal to the light of day.

For in the sun’s mid course between the blasts

Of south wind and of north, the heaven holds

His turning-points apart at distances

Now equalised, since such is the position

Of the whole starry circle, to glide through which

The sun takes up the period of a year,

Lighting the earth and sky with slanting rays,

As is shown by the arguments of those

Who have mapped out all the quarters of the sky,

Adorned with their twelve signs spaced out in order.

Or else because the air in certain parts

Is thicker, therefore the trembling lamp of fire

Is hindered in its course beneath the earth,

And cannot easily force a passage through

And emerge at the place where it should rise.

So in winter-time the nights are long and lingering,

Ere the day’s radiant oriflamme comes forth.

Or else again those fires which cause the sun

To rise from a fixed point, for a like reason

Are wont to stream together slower or quicker

In alternating periods of the year.

So those would seem to speak the truth who hold

That every morning a new sun is born.

It may be the moon shines because she is struck

By the sun’s rays, and turns towards our eyes

A larger portion of this light each day,

The further she recedes from the sun’s orb,

Until over against him with full light

She has shone forth, and as she rises up

Has looked upon his setting from on high.

Thereafter in her gradual backward course

In the same manner she must hide her light,

The nearer she now glides to the sun’s fire

Travelling through the circle of the signs

From an opposite direction: as those hold

Who fancy that the moon is like a ball,

And moves along a course below the sun.

It is also possible that she revolves

With her own light, and yet shows varying

Phases of brightness: for there may well be

Another body which glides on beside her,

Obstructing and occulting her continually,

And yet cannot be seen, because it moves

Without light. Or perhaps she may turn round

Like a ball, let us say, whose sphere is tinged

With glowing light over one-half its surface;

And as she turns her sphere, she may present

Varying phases, till she has turned that side

Which glows with fire towards our gazing eyes;

Then she twists gradually back once more

And hides the luminous half of her round ball:

As the Chaldean sages seek to prove,

Refuting with their Babylonian doctrine

The opposing science of the astronomers;

Just as though what each sect is fighting for

Might not be true, or there were any reason

Why you should risk embracing the one creed

Less than the other. Again why every time

There should not be created a fresh moon,

With fixed succession of phases and fixed shapes,

So that each day this new-created moon

Would perish, and another in its stead

Be reproduced, this were no easy task

To prove by argument convincingly,

Since there can be so many things created

In fixed succession. Thus Spring goes its way,

And Venus, and the wingèd harbinger

Of Venus leads them on; while treading close

On Zephyr’s footsteps, mother Flora strews

The path before them, covering it all over

With every loveliest colour and rich scent.

Next in procession follows parching heat,

With dusty Ceres in its company,

And the Etesian blasts of the North winds.

After these Autumn comes, and by its side

Advances Euhius Euan,[G] following whom

The other Seasons with their winds appear,

Volturnus thundering on high, and Auster

Terrible with its lightnings. Then at length

December brings snow and renews numb frost.

Winter follows with teeth chattering for cold.

Wherefore it seems less wonderful that the moon

Should be begotten and destroyed again

At fixed times, seeing that so many things

Can come to pass at times so surely fixed.

Likewise the occultations of the sun

And the moon’s vanishings you must suppose

May be produced by many different causes.

For why should the moon be able to shut out

The earth from the sun’s light, and lift her head

On high to obstruct him from the earthward side,

Blocking his fiery beams with her dark orb,

And yet at the same time some other body

Gliding on without light continually

Should be supposed unable to do this?

Why too should not the sun at a fixed time

Grow faint and lose his fires, and then again

Revive his light, when he has had to pass

Through tracts of air so hostile to his flames

That awhile his fires are quenched by them and perish?

And why should the earth have power in turn to rob

The moon of light, and likewise keep the sun

Suppressed, while in her monthly course the moon

Glides through the clear-cut shadows of the cone,

And yet at the same time some other body

Should not have power to pass under the moon,

Or glide above the sun’s orb, breaking off

The beams of light he sheds? And furthermore,

If the moon shines with her own radiance,

Why in a certain region of the world

Might she not grow faint, while she makes her way

Through tracts that are unfriendly to her light?

Now since I have demonstrated how each thing

Might come to pass throughout the azure spaces

Of the great heaven, how we may know what force

Can cause the varying motions of the sun,

And wanderings of the moon, and in what way

Their light being intercepted they might vanish

Covering with darkness the astonished earth,

When as it were they close their eye of light,

And opening it again, survey all places

Radiant with shining brightness,--therefore now

I will go back to the world’s infancy

And the tender age of the world’s fields, and show

What in their first fecundity they resolved

To raise into the borders of the light

And give in charge unto the wayward winds.

In the beginning the Earth brought forth all kinds

Of plants and growing verdure on hillsides

And over all the plains: the flowering meadows

Shone with green colour: next to the various trees

Was given a mighty emulous impulse

To shoot up into the air with unchecked growth.

As feathers, hairs and bristles first are born

On limbs of quadrupeds and on the bodies

Of winged fowl, so the new Earth then put forth

Grasses and brushwood first, and afterwards

Gave birth to all the breeds of mortal things,

That sprang up many in number, in many modes

And divers fashions. For no animals

Can have dropped from the sky, nor can land-creatures

Have issued from the salt pools. Hence it is

That with good reason the Earth has won the name

Of Mother, since from the Earth all things are born.

And many living creatures even now

Rise from the soil, formed by rains, and the sun’s

Fierce heat. Therefore the less strange it appears

If then they arose more numerous and more large

Fostered by a new earth and atmosphere.

So first of all the varied families

And tribes of birds would leave their eggs, hatched out

In the spring season, as now the cicadas

In summer-time leave of their own accord

Their filmy skins in search of food and life.

Then was the time when first the Earth produced

The race of mortal men. For in the fields

Plenteous heat and moisture would abound,

So that wherever a fit place occurred,

Wombs would grow, fastened to the earth by roots:

And when the warmth of the infants in due time,

Avoiding moisture and demanding air,

Had broken these wombs open, then would Nature

Turn to that place the porous ducts of the Earth,

Compelling it to exude through open veins

A milk-like liquid, just as nowadays

After child-bearing every woman is filled

With sweet milk; for with her too the whole flow

Of nutriment sets streaming towards her breasts.

Earth to these children furnished food, the heat

Clothing, the grass a bed, well lined with rich

Luxuriance of soft down. Moreover then

The world in its fresh newness would give rise

Neither to rigorous cold nor extreme heat,

Nor violent storms of wind, for in a like

Proportion all things grow and gather strength.

Therefore again and yet again I say

That with good reason the Earth has won and keeps

The name of Mother, since she of herself

Gave birth to humankind, and at a period

Well nigh determined shed forth every beast

That roams o’er the great mountains far and wide,

Likewise the birds of air, many in shape.

But because she must have some limit set

To her time of bearing, she ceased, like a woman

Worn out by lapse of years. For Time transforms

The whole world’s nature, and all things must pass

From one condition to another: nothing

Continues like itself. All is in flux:

Nature is ever changing and compelling

All that exists to alter. For one thing

Moulders and wastes away grown weak with age,

And then another comes forth into light,

Issuing from obscurity. So thus Time

Changes the whole world’s nature, and the Earth

Passes from one condition to another:

So that what once it bore it can no longer,

And now can bear what it did not before.

And many monsters too did the Earth essay

To produce in those days, creatures arising

With marvellous face and limbs, the Hermaphrodite,

A thing of neither sex, between the two,

Differing from both: some things deprived of feet;

Others again with no hands; others dumb

Without mouths, or else blind for lack of eyes,

Or bound by limbs that everywhere adhered

Fast to their bodies, so that they could perform

No function, nor go anywhere, nor shun

Danger, nor take what their need might require.

Many such monstrous prodigies did Earth

Produce, in vain, since Nature banned their increase,

Nor could they reach the coveted flower of age,

Nor find food, nor be joined in bonds of love.

For we see numerous conditions first

Must meet together, before living things

Can beget and perpetuate their kind.

First they must have food, then a means by which

The seeds of birth may stream throughout the frame

From the relaxed limbs; also that the male

And female may unite, they must have that

Whereby each may exchange mutual joys.

And many breeds of creatures in those days

Must have died out, being powerless to beget

And perpetuate their kind. For those which now

You see breathing the breath of life, ’tis craft,

Or courage, or else speed, that from its origin

Must have protected and preserved each race.

Moreover many by their usefulness

Commended to us, continue to exist

Favoured by our protection. The fierce breed

Of lions first, and the other savage beasts,

Their courage has preserved, foxes their craft,

Stags their swift flight. But the light-slumbering hearts

Of faithful dogs, and the whole family

Born from the seed of burden-bearing beasts,

Also the woolly flocks and horned herds,

All these by man’s protection are preserved.

For their desire has always been to shun

Wild beasts and to live peaceably, supplied

Without toil of their own with food in plenty,

Which to reward their services we give them.

But those whom Nature has not thus endowed

With power either to live by their own means

Or else to render us such useful service

That in return we allow their race to feed

And dwell in safety beneath our guardianship,

All these, ’tis plain, would lie exposed a prey

To others, trammelled in their own fatal bonds,

Till Nature had extinguished that whole kind.

But Centaurs there have never been, nor yet

Ever can things exist of twofold nature

And double body moulded into one

From limbs of alien kind, whose faculties

And functions cannot be on either side

Sufficiently alike. That this is so,

The dullest intellect may be thus convinced.

Consider first that a horse after three years

Is in his flower of vigour, but a boy

By no means so: for often in sleep even then

Will he seek milk still from his mother’s breasts

Afterwards, when the horse’s lusty strength

Fails him in old age, and his limbs grow languid

As life ebbs, then first for a boy begins

The flowering time of youth, and clothes his cheeks

With soft down. Do not then believe that ever

From man’s and burden-bearing horse’s seed

Centaurs can be compounded and have being;

Nor yet Scyllas with half-fish bodies girdled

With raging dogs, and other suchlike things,

Whose limbs we see discordant with themselves,

Since neither do they reach their flower together,

Nor acquire bodily strength, nor in old age

Lose it at the same time: dissimilar

In each the love that burns them, and their modes

Of life incongruous: nor do the same things give

Their bodies pleasure. Thus we may often see

Bearded goats thrive on hemlock, which for man

Is virulent poison. Since moreover flame

Is wont to scorch and burn the tawny bodies

Of lions no less than every other kind

Of flesh and blood on earth, how could it be

That one, yet with a triple body, in front

A lion, behind a serpent, in the midst

Its goat’s self, a Chimaera should breathe forth

From such a body fierce flame at the mouth?

Therefore he who can fable that when earth

Was new and the sky young, such animals

Could have been propagated, resting alone

Upon this vain term, newness, he no doubt

Will babble out many follies in like fashion,

Will say that rivers then throughout the earth

Commonly flowed with gold, that trees were wont

To bloom with jewels, or that man was born

Of such huge bulk and force that he could wade

With giant strides across deep seas and turn

The whole heaven round about him with his hands.

For the fact that there were many seeds of things

Within the earth at that time when it first

Shed living creatures forth, is yet no proof

That beasts could have been born of mingled kinds,

Or limbs of different animals joined together;

Because the various families of plants,

The crops and thriving trees, which even now

Teem upward from the soil luxuriantly,

Can yet never be born woven together;

But each thing has its own process of growth:

All must preserve their mutual differences,

Governed by Nature’s irreversible law.

But that first race of men in the open fields

Was hardier far, (small wonder, since hard Earth

Had brought it forth,) built too around a frame

Of bones more large and solid, knit together

By powerful sinews; nor was it easily

Impaired by heat or cold, nor by strange foods,

Nor yet by any bodily disease.

And during many revolving periods

Of the sun through the sky, they lived their lives

After the roving habit of wild beasts.

No one was then the bent plough’s stalwart guide,

None yet had knowledge how to till the fields

With iron, or plant young saplings in the soil,

Nor how to lop old boughs from the tall trees

With pruning-hooks. What suns and rains had given,

What of her own free will Earth had brought forth,

Was enough bounty to content their hearts.

’Neath acorn-bearing oak-trees their wont was

To alleviate their hunger; and those berries

Which now upon the arbutus you see

Ripening to scarlet hues in winter-time,

The Earth then bore more plentifully and larger

Than in these days. Moreover then the world’s

Luxuriant youth gave birth to many kinds

Of coarse food, ample enough for wretched men.

But to allay their thirst rivers and springs

Invited, as now waters, tumbling down

From the great mountains with clear-sounding plash,

Summon from far the thirsting tribes of beasts.

Furthermore in their roamings they would visit

Those renowned silvan precincts of the Nymphs,

Caverns wherefrom they knew that copious streams,

Gushing forth smoothly, bathed the dripping rocks,

(The dripping rocks, o’er green moss trickling down,)

Or sometimes welled up over the level plain.

As yet they knew not how to employ fire,

Or to make use of skins, and clothe their bodies

With spoils of wild beasts; but inhabiting

Woods, mountains, caves and forests, they would shelter

Their squalid limbs in thickets, when compelled

To shun the buffeting of winds and rains.

No regard could they have to a general good,

Nor did they know how to make use in common

Of any laws or customs. Whatsoever

Fortune might set before him, that would each

Take as his prize, cunning to thrive and live

As best might please him, each one for himself.

And in the woods Venus would join the bodies

Of lovers, whether a mutual desire,

Or the man’s violence and vehement lust

Had won the woman over, or a bribe

Of acorns, arbute-berries or choice pears.

Endowed with marvellous strength of hands and feet

They chased the forest-roaming tribes of beasts;

And many with flung stones and ponderous club

They overcame, some few they would avoid

In hiding-places. And like bristly swine

Just as they were they flung their savage limbs

Naked upon the ground, when night o’ertook them,

Enveloping themselves with leaves and boughs.

Nor did they call for daylight and the sun

Wandering terror-stricken about the fields

With loud wails through the shadows of the night,

But silently, buried in sleep they lay

Waiting until the sun with rosy torch

Brought light into the sky. For since from childhood

They had been wont to see darkness and light

Alternately begotten without fail,

Never could they feel wonder or misgiving

Lest night eternal should possess the earth

And the sun’s light for ever be withdrawn.

But ’twas a worse anxiety that wild beasts

Often made sleep unsafe for these poor wretches.

For driven from their homes in sheltering rocks

They fled at the entrance of a foaming boar

Or strong lion, yielding up at dead of night

Their leaf-strewn beds in panic to fierce guests.

Yet no more often in those days than now

Would mortal men leave the sweet light of life

With lamentation. Each one by himself

Would doubtless be more likely then than now

To be seized and devoured by wild beasts’ teeth,

A living food, and with his groans would fill

Mountains and forests, while he saw his own

Live flesh in a live monument entombed.

But those whom flight had saved with mangled body,

From that time forth would hold their trembling hands

Over their noisome scars, with dreadful cries

Invoking death, till agonising throes

Rid them of life, with none to give them aid,

Ignorant of what wounds required. But then

A single day did not consign to death

Thousands on thousands, marshalled beneath standards,

Nor did the turbulent waters of the deep

Shatter upon the rocks both ships and men.

At that time vainly, without aim or result

The sea would often rise up and turmoil;

Nor could the winsome wiles of the calm deep

Lure men on treacherously with laughing waves,

While reckless seamanship was yet unknown.

Moreover lack of food would then consign

Their fainting limbs to death: now rather plenty

Sinks men to ruin. Often for themselves

Would they pour poison out unwittingly:

To others now with subtler skill they give it.

Afterwards, when they had learnt the use of huts,

And skins, and fire; when woman, joined with man

In wedlock, dwelt apart in one abode,

And they saw offspring born out of themselves,

Then first the human race began to soften.

For fire made their chilly bodies now

Less able to endure the cold beneath

The roof of heaven: Venus impaired their strength:

And children easily by their blandishments

Broke down the haughty temper of their parents.

Then too neighbours began to join in bonds

Of friendship, wishing neither to inflict

Nor suffer violence: and for womankind

And children they would claim kind treatment, pleading

With cries and gestures inarticulately

That all men ought to have pity on the weak.

And though harmony could not everywhere

Be established, yet the most part faithfully

Observed their covenants, or man’s whole race

Would even then have perished, nor till now

Could propagation have preserved their kind.

But it was Nature that constrained their tongues

To utter various sounds; and need struck out

The names of things, in the same way almost

As impotence of tongue is itself seen

To teach gesture to infants, prompting them

To point at things around them. For all creatures

Divine by instinct how far they can use

Their natural powers. Thus before horns are born

And stand out on the forehead of a calf,

When he is angry, he butts and charges with it.

Then panther cubs and lion whelps will fight

With claws and feet and teeth, even at a time

When teeth and claws have hardly yet been formed.

Also we see how the whole race of birds

Trusting their wings, will seek a fluttering succour

From new-fledged pinions. Therefore to suppose

That somebody once apportioned names to things,

And that from him men learnt to use words first,

Is mere folly. For why should this one man

Be able to denote all things by words

And with his tongue form varied sounds, yet others

At the same time be deemed incapable

To have done the like? Besides, if others too

Had not made use of words among themselves,

Whence was the preconception of their usefulness

Implanted in this man, and whence was given him

The primal power to know and comprehend

What he desired to do? Again, one man

Could not subdue by force the wills of many

And compel them to learn the names of things.

It is no easy labour to convince

Deaf men, and teach them what they ought to do;

Since not for long would they endure his voice,

Nor suffer unintelligible sounds

Fruitlessly to be dinned into their ears.

Lastly what should there be to wonder at

So much in this, that mankind, when their voice

And tongue were in full vigour, should name things

By different sounds as different feelings bade them,

Since dumb cattle, and even the wild beasts,

Are wont to emit distinct and varied sounds,

When they feel fear or pain, or when joy moves them.

This indeed may be learnt from manifest facts.

When the large soft mouths of Molossian dogs

Begin to growl, angrily laying bare

Their hard teeth, then far different is the tone

In which they threaten, savagely thus drawn back,

From the clear sound which, when they bark outright,

Fills the whole neighbourhood. And when they essay

In gentle mood to lick their cubs, or when

They toss them with their paws, and snapping at them

Tenderly make as though they would devour them

With half-closed teeth, thus fondling them they yelp

With a quite different sound from their deep bay

When left alone in houses, or from the whimper

With which crouching they shrink away from blows.

Furthermore does not a young stallion’s neigh

Seem different, when he rages among the mares

Pierced in his flower of age by winged love’s goads,

From when with wide-stretched nostrils he snorts out

The battle signal, or when at other times

Perchance he whinnies trembling in all his limbs?

Lastly the race of fowl and varied birds,

Hawks and ospreys and gulls that seek their living

In the salt waters of the ocean waves,

Utter at different times quite different cries

From those they make when they fight over food,

Or struggle with their prey. And some will change

Their harsh notes in accordance with the weather,

As do the long-lived tribes of crows, and flocks

Of rooks, when they are said to call for rain,

Or sometimes to be summoning wind-storms.

Since therefore various feelings can compel

Animals, speechless though they be, to utter

Such varying sounds, how much more natural

Is it that in those days men could denote

Dissimilar things by many different sounds!

In answer to your silent questioning here,

I say it was the lightning first brought fire

Down to the earth for men; and from that flame

All other flames have spread. Thus we behold

Many things blaze forth, lit by fire from heaven,

When the sky’s stroke has charged them with its heat.

Yet when a branching tree, tossed by the wind,

Chafing the branches of another tree,

Sways to and fro, then fire may be forced out

By violent stress of friction; and at times

Hot flames are kindled and flash forth from boughs

And stems rubbing together. Of these two chances

Either may first have given fire to men.

Next the sun taught them to cook food, heating

And softening it with flame; since they would note

Many things mellowing about the fields

Smitten and conquered by his scorching rays.

And more and more each day men who excelled

In subtlety and power of mind, would show them

How by new methods and by using fire

To improve their former means of livelihood.

Kings began to found cities and build forts

As refuges and strongholds for themselves,

Dividing cattle and lands, and portioning

To each his share according to his beauty,

His strength and intellect; for comeliness

Was much esteemed, and strength was paramount.

Afterwards property was devised, and gold

Discovered, which with ease robbed both the strong

And beautiful of their honours: for most men,

However brave and beautiful by birth,

Follow the fortunes of the richer man.

But whosoever by true reason’s rule

Governs his days, for him plain frugal living

And a contented spirit is mighty wealth;

For of a little never is there lack.

Yet men wished to become renowned and powerful,

That so their fortunes on a stable base

Might rest, and they, being wealthy, might have power

To lead a tranquil life: in vain! For while

They strove to mount to the highest pitch of honour

Their path was perilous: and even although

They have reached the summit, envy will sometimes

Strike like a thunderbolt and hurl men down

Contemptuously to noisome Tartarus:

Since highest things, lifted above all else,

Are most wont as by lightning to be blasted

By envy; so that quietly to obey

Is better than to crave sovereign power

And lordship over realms. Therefore let men

Sweat drops of blood, wearying themselves in vain,

Struggling along ambition’s narrow road;

Since from the mouths of others comes their wisdom,

And ’tis from hearsay rather than their own

Authentic feelings, they pursue such aims:

Nor does this happen now, nor will it happen

Hereafter any more than once it did.

Kings therefore being slain, the ancient majesty

Of thrones and haughty sceptres was laid low.

The glorious symbol of the sovereign head,

Trodden bloodstained beneath the people’s feet,

Mourned its proud honour lost; for that is greedily

Trampled down which before was too much feared.

Thus to the very lees of anarchy

The whole state was reduced, while each man grasped

At lordship and dominion for himself.

Then some among them taught how to create

Magistrates, and established codes, that all

Might learn to obey laws. For now mankind,

Utterly wearied of a violent life,

Lay languishing by reason of its feuds.

Therefore the sooner of its own free will

Did it submit to laws and stringent codes.

For seeing that each, when anger prompted him,

Strove more severely to avenge himself

Than just laws now permit, for this cause men

Grew tired of a life of violence.

Thenceforward fear of punishment infects

The enjoyment of life’s prizes: for the nets

Of violence and wrong entangle all those

Who inflict them, and most often they recoil

On such as used them first: nor is it easy

For him to pass a quiet and peaceful life,

Whose deeds transgress the bonds of public peace.

For though he should elude both gods and men,

Yet he must needs mistrust whether his guilt

Will remain veiled for ever, since ’tis said

That many often by talking in their dreams,

Or in delirious sickness have betrayed

Their secrets, and revealed long-hidden crimes.

Now what may be the cause that has spread wide

The cult of deities over mighty nations,

And filled cities with altars, and prescribed

The observance of such sacred rites as now

At solemn times and places are performed,

Whence even now is implanted in men’s minds

Religious awe, that over the whole earth

Raises new temples to the gods, and prompts

Worshippers to frequent them on feast-days--

Why this should be, ’tis easy to explain.

For in those early times mortals would see

With waking mind the glorious images

Of deities and behold them in their sleep

Of size yet more gigantic. To these then

They would attribute sense, because they seemed

To move their limbs and utter stately speech

Worthy of their noble aspect and great powers.

Also they deemed eternal life was theirs,

Because their images continually

Would reappear, and their form did not change,

But most because they could not well conceive

How beings who seemed gifted with such powers

Could lightly be subdued by any force.

And they believed that their felicity

Must be beyond compare, since none of them

Was ever troubled by the fear of death,

Because moreover in sleep they beheld them

Performing without effort many miracles.

Again they saw how the orderings of heaven

And the year’s varying seasons would return

According to fixed law, yet could they not

Discover from what causes this took place.

Therefore they found a refuge from such doubts

In handing all things over to the deities

And deeming all to be guided by their nod.

The abodes of their divinities they placed

In heaven, because they saw night and the moon

Progressing through the sky, moon day and night,

The severe constellations of the night,

The sky’s night-wandering meteors and gliding fires,

Clouds sun and snow, lightning and winds and hail,

Thunder’s swift crash and mightily threatening murmurs.

O unhappy race of men, that could assign

Such functions to the deities, and thereto

Add cruel wrath! What groans then for themselves

Did they beget, what wounds for us, what tears

For our children’s children! ’Tis no piety

To be seen often with veiled head to turn

Towards a stone, visiting every altar,

Nor to fall grovelling with outspread palms

Prostrate before the temples of the gods,

Nor sprinkling altars with much blood of beasts

To add to votive offering votive offering;

But this rather is piety, to have power

To survey all things with a tranquil mind.

For when we lift our eyes to the celestial

Temples of the great universe, and the aether

Studded with glittering stars, and contemplate

The paths of sun and moon, then in our breasts,

Burdened with other evils, this fear too

Begins to lift its reawakened head,

Lest perchance it be true that with the gods

Resides a boundless power, which can move

Upon their various courses the bright stars.

For ignorance of cause troubles the mind,

So that it doubts whether there ever was

A birth-time and beginning for the world,

And likewise whether there shall be an end;

How far the world’s walls can endure this strain

Of restless motion, or whether by the gods

With eternal stability endowed

They may glide on through endless lapse of time,

Defying the strong powers of infinite age.

Again whose mind shrinks not with awe of gods,

Whose limbs creep not for terror, when beneath

The appalling stroke of thunder the parched earth

Shudders, and mutterings run through the vast sky?

Do not the peoples and the nations quake,

And proud kings, stricken with religious dread

Sit quailing, lest for any wicked deed

Or overweening word, the heavy time

Of reckoning and punishment be ripe?

Also when the full violence of a wind

Raging across the sea, sweeps o’er the waves

The high commander of a fleet, with all

His powerful legions and his elephants,

Does he not supplicate the gods with vows

For mercy, and with craven prayers entreat them

To lull the storm and grant propitious gales?

But all in vain; since often none the less,

Seized by the violent hurricane, he is whirled

Onto the shoals of death. Thus evermore

Some hidden power treads human grandeur down,

And seems to make its sport of the proud rods

And cruel axes, crushed beneath its heel.

Lastly, when the whole earth rocks under them,

And cities tumble with the shock, or stand

In doubt, threatening to fall, what wonder is it

That mortal creatures should abase themselves,

Assigning vast dominion to the gods,

And wondrous powers to govern all below?

Now must be told how copper gold and iron,

And weighty silver also, and solid lead

Were first discovered when on the great hills

Fire had consumed huge forests with its heat,

Kindled either by lightning from the sky,

Or because men waging some forest war

Had carried fire among their enemies

For terror’s sake; or else because, drawn on

By the soil’s goodness, they would wish to clear

Fat lands and turn them unto pasturage,

Or to kill beasts and grow rich with the spoils.

For hunting with the pitfall and with fire

Came into use before woods were enclosed

With nets or drawn by dogs. Howe’er that be,

From whatsoever cause the heat of flame

With terrible crackling had devoured whole forests

Down to their deepest roots, and throughly baked

The soil with fire, forth from the burning veins

There would ooze and collect in cavities

Streams of silver and gold, of copper too,

And lead. When afterwards men found these metals

Cooled into masses glittering on the ground

With brilliant colours, they would pick them up,

Attracted by their bright smooth loveliness;

And they would then observe how each was formed

Into a shape similar to the imprint

Of the hole where it lay. Next it would strike them

That, melted down by heat, these could be made

To run into any form and mould they pleased,

And further could by hammering be wrought

Into points tapering as sharp and fine

As they might need, so furnishing themselves

With tools wherewith to cut down woods, hew timber

And plane planks smooth, to drill and pierce and bore.

And this they would attempt with silver and gold

No less than with stout copper’s mighty strength.

But in vain, since their yielding force would fail,

Being proved less fit to endure toil and strain.

In those days copper was more highly esteemed;

Gold lay despised as useless with its dull

And blunted edge: now copper lies neglected,

Whereas gold has attained the pitch of honour.

Thus Time as it revolves is ever changing

The seasons of things. What was once esteemed

Becomes at length of no repute; whereon

Some other thing, issuing from contempt,

Mounts up and daily is coveted more and more,

And, once discovered, blossoms out in praises,

Rising to wondrous honour among men.

Now, Memmius, you will easily of yourself

Understand in what way were first discovered

The properties of iron. Man’s earliest weapons

Were hands nails teeth and stones, and boughs torn off

From forest trees, and flame and fire, as each

Became known. Afterwards the force of iron

And copper was discovered. And the use

Of copper was known earlier than of iron,

Since it was easier to be worked, and found

More copiously. With copper they would till

The soil of earth, with copper they stirred up

The waves of war, and dealt wide-gaping wounds,

And seized on lands and cattle: for all else,

Being naked and unarmed, would yield to those

Who carried weapons. Then by slow degrees

The sword of iron made progress, while the type

Of the copper sickle came to be despised.

With iron they began to cleave the soil,

And through its use wavering war’s conflicts

Were rendered equal. Earlier was the custom

Of mounting armed upon a horse’s back

And guiding it with reins, and dealing blows

With the right arm, long before men dared tempt

The risks of battle in the two-horsed car.

And they would learn the art to yoke two steeds

Earlier than to yoke four, or to mount armed

Upon scythed chariots. Next the Poeni taught

The uncouth Lucanian kine,[H] with towered backs

And snake-like hands, to endure the wounds of war,

And rout great troops of martial chivalry.

Thus miserable discord brought to birth

One thing after another, to appal

Mankind’s embattled nations, every day

Making addition to war’s frightfulness.

Also in warfare they made trial of bulls,

And sought to drive fierce boars against the foe.

And some sent mighty lions in their van

With armed trainers and savage guardians

To govern them and hold them in with chains;

In vain, for heated with promiscuous carnage

They put to flight whole squadrons in their rage

Without distinction, tossing on every side

Their terrible crests; nor could the horsemen calm

Their horses, panic-stricken by the roaring,

Or turn them by the bridle against their foes.

The she-lions would spring fiercely on all sides

Right in the faces of their adversaries,

Or from behind seizing them off their guard

Would clasp and tear them wounded down to the earth,

Gripping them with their strong teeth and hooked claws.

The bulls would toss and trample underfoot

Their own friends, goring the horses from beneath

In belly and flank, tearing the soil up savagely.

Fierce boars would rend their allies with strong tusks.

Staining the broken weapons with their blood,

And put to rout both horse and foot together.

The steeds, to escape from the tusk’s cruel push,

Would swerve aside or rearing paw the air,

In vain, for with severed tendons they would crash

Heavily down to the earth and lie stretched out.

Beasts, by the keepers deemed to have been tamed

Sufficiently at home, they now would see

Heated to madness in the hour of battle,

By wounds and shouts, flight panic and uproar.

No portion of all the different kinds of beasts,

Once scattered in wild flight, could they recall.

So often nowadays the Lucanian kine,

Gashed cruelly with the steel, will fly dispersed,

Inflicting ruinous havoc on their friends.

Thus might these men have acted: yet I scarce

Can think they were not able to foresee

And calculate how horrible a disaster

Was certain to befall both sides alike.

But men chose to act thus, not in the hope

Of victory so much, as from the wish,

Though they themselves perished, to give their foes

Cause to lament, being desperate through mistrust

Of their own numbers, or through lack of arms.

The plaited garment came before the dress

Of woven stuff. Weaving comes after iron,

Since weaving tools need iron to fashion them.

By no means else can such smooth things be made

As heddles, spindles, shuttles and clattering yarn-beams.

Men before womankind did Nature prompt

To work wool; for in general the male sex

Is by far the more skilful and ingenious:

Till the rough peasants chided them so sternly

That at length they consented to resign

Such lighter tasks into the hands of women,

And themselves took their share in heavier toils,

Hardening with hard labour limbs and hands.

But Nature, the creatress, herself first

Taught men to sow and prompted them to graft.

For berries and acorns dropping from the trees

Would put forth in due season underneath

Swarms of seedlings: and hence the fancy came

To insert grafts upon the boughs, and plant

Young saplings in the soil about the fields.

Next they would try another and yet another

Method of tilling their loved piece of land,

And so could watch how kindly fostering culture

Helped the earth to improve its own wild fruits.

And they would force the forests day by day

To retreat higher up the mountain-sides

And yield the ground below to husbandry,

That so meadows and ponds, rivulets, crops,

And glad vineyards might cover hill and plain,

While grey-green boundary strips of olive trees

Might run between the fields, stretching far out

O’er hillock, valley and plain; as now we see

Whole countrysides glowing with varied beauty,

Adorned with rows of sweet fruit-bearing trees,

And enclosed round about with joyous groves.

But the art of imitating with their mouths

The liquid notes of birds, came long before

Men could delight their ears by singing words

To smooth tunes; and the whistlings of the zephyr

In hollow reeds first taught the husbandman

To blow through hollow stalks. Then by degrees

They learnt those sweet sad ditties, which the pipe,

Touched by the fingers of the melodist,

Pours forth, such as are heard ’mid pathless woods,

Forests and glades, or in the lonely haunts

Of shepherds, and the abodes of magic calm.

Thus would they soothe and gratify their minds,

When satiate with food; for all such things

Give pleasure then. So often, couched together

On the soft grass, beside a waterbrook

Beneath a tall tree’s boughs, at no great cost

They would regale their bodies joyously,

At those times chiefly when the weather smiled,

And the year’s seasons painted the green herbage

With flowers. Then went round the jest, the tale,

The merry laugh, for then the rustic muse

Was in full force: then frolick jollity

Would prompt them to enwreathe their heads and shoulders

With plaited garlands woven of flowers and leaves,

Or dancing out of measure to move their limbs

Clumsily, and with clumsy foot to beat

Their mother earth; whence smiles and jovial laughter

Would rise; since the more novel then and strange

All such sports seemed, the more they were admired.

And they would find a salve for wakefulness

In giving voice to many varied tones

Of winding melody, running with curved lip

Over the reed-pipes: and from them this custom

Is handed down to watchmen nowadays,

Who, though they have better learnt to observe time,

Yet not one whit more pleasure do they enjoy

Than once that silvan race of earth-born men.

For what is present, if we have never known

Anything more delightful, gives us pleasure

Beyond all else, and seems to be the best;

But if some better thing be afterwards

Discovered, this will often spoil for us all

That pleased us once, and change our feelings towards it.

Thus it was acorns came to be disliked:

Thus were abandoned those beds of strewn grass

And heaped leaves: the dress too of wild beast’s skin

Fell thus into contempt. Yet I suppose

That when it was invented it would rouse

Such envy, that the man who wore it first

Would be waylaid and slain: yet after all

It would be torn to pieces among the thieves

And with much bloodshed utterly destroyed,

So that it never could be turned to use.

Therefore skins then, now gold and purple vex

Men’s lives with cares and wear them out with war.

And here, I think, the greater guilt is ours;

For the cold would torment these earth-born men

Naked without their skins; but us no harm

Whatever can it cause to go without

A purple robe broidered with large designs

In gold thread, so we have but on our backs

A plain plebeian cloak to keep us warm.

Therefore mankind is always toiling vainly,

Fruitlessly wasting life in empty cares,

Doubtless because they will not recognise

The limits of possession, nor the bounds

Beyond which no true pleasure can increase.

And so by slow degrees this ignorance

Has carried life out into the deep seas,

And from the bottom stirred up war’s huge waves.

But those vigilant watchers, sun and moon,

That circling round illumine with their light

The vast revolving temple of the sky,

Taught mankind how the seasons of the year

Return, and how all things are brought to pass

According to fixed system and fixed law.

And now men dwelt securely fenced about

By strong towers, and the land was portioned out

And marked off to be tilled. Already now

The sea was white with flitting sails, and towns

Were joined in league of friendship and alliance.

Then first poets made record in their songs

Of men’s deeds: for not long before this time

Letters had been invented. For which cause

Our age cannot look backward to things past,

Save where reason reveals some evidence.

Shipping and agriculture, city-walls,

Laws, arms, roads, robes and other suchlike things,

Moreover all life’s prizes and refinements,

Poems and pictures, and the chiselling

Of fine-wrought statues, every one of these

Long practice and the untiring mind’s experience

Taught men by slow degrees, as they progressed

Step after step. Thus time little by little

Brings forth each several thing, and reason lifts it

Into the borders of the light; for first

One thing and then another must in turn

Rise from obscurity, until each art

Attains its highest pitch of excellence.