BOOK II

[THE NATURE OF AIR. THUNDER AND LIGHTNING]

I

Every inquiry into the nature and constitution of the universe falls 1

into three divisions--astronomy, meteorology, and geography. The first

investigates the nature of the heavenly bodies, the size and shape

of the fires that ring-in the world. It inquires whether the heavens

are solid, composed of strong rigid material, or woven of a fine thin

stuff; whether they receive or impart motion; whether the heavenly

bodies are beneath them or fixed in their texture; in what manner the

sun maintains the succession of the seasons; whether he returns upon

his track or not, and all the other questions of a similar character.

The second division deals with what lies between heaven and earth, to 2

wit, clouds, rain, snow, and

Thunder that frights the heart of man:

in short, all that the atmosphere does or suffers. This subject is

called meteorology (_sublimia_ = raised on high), because it deals with

phenomena exalted above the low earth. The third part inquires about

waters, lands, trees, crops, or to use a legal phrase, everything that

is contained in the soil.

How comes it, you ask me, that you have put the question of 3

earthquakes in the division under which you are going to treat of

thunder and lightning? For that is my plan. Well, the earthquake

is due to air, and air is the atmosphere in violent motion. Now,

though the air may enter the earth in order to produce earthquakes,

the treatment of earthquakes does not fall under geography, but more

properly belongs to meteorology, which deals with the sphere to which

nature has assigned the atmosphere. I can tell you something that will

sound stranger still: I must speak of the earth when dealing with

the heavenly bodies. Why? you ask. For this reason: we discuss in 4

their own proper place, as part of geography, the properties of the

earth, for example, whether it is broad, projecting unequally in a

huge bulge to one side, or whether it all assumes the shape of a ball,

gathering up its parts into a globe; whether it binds its waters or

is itself bound by them; whether it is an animal or a lifeless mass

without feeling, full of air no doubt, but not its own breath. These,

and all other questions of the kind, as often as they crop up, will 5

be relegated to geography, and be placed in the lowest category. But

when the question comes to be the situation of the earth, the part of

the universe in which it has settled, its position with respect to the

heavens and heavenly bodies, then the inquiry will take its place in

the higher category,[34] and obtain higher rank so to speak.

[34] Viz. that of the heavenly bodies which constitute the subject

matter of astronomy.

II

Having described the three divisions into which all the material of 1

nature falls, I must add a few general remarks on the subject. And this

must be premised, that the atmosphere belongs to the class of bodies

that possess unity. What exactly this means, and why it must be laid

down as an axiom, will appear if I go back a little, and entering more

fully into the subject, tell you that certain bodies are continuous,

and certain formed, by a union of different elements.[35] Continuity

may be defined as unbroken union of parts one with another. Unity 2

is continuity without a break; it is the contact of two bodies joined

to one another. There can be no shadow of doubt that of the bodies

around us which we see and handle, and which are either perceived or

perceive, certain are composite. They are so either through nexus or 3

through mere accumulation; take as illustrations a rope, corn, a ship.

Again, there are bodies that are not composite, as a tree, a stone.

You must, therefore, grant that likewise among the objects that elude

sense, and are grasped only by thought, some are possessed of unity[36]

[while some arise from junction of parts]. See how careful I am of your

susceptibilities. If I had chosen to employ the jargon of philosophy, 4

I might have got out of the difficulty by merely saying “united

bodies.” You must, in turn, be duly grateful for this concession to

your weakness! What am I driving at? This: if at any time I speak of

“unity” in this connection, bear in mind that it is not used of number,

but has reference to the composition of a body that coheres through no

external aid, but by its own unity. To this category the atmosphere

belongs.

[35] This difficult passage, according to Gercke’s text, runs:

You will understand the meaning of this, and the necessity for my

axiomatic position if I take up the argument a little farther back,

and say that there is one kind of body possessing unity, another that

is continuous, and another that is formed by junction. For junction

is the contact of two bodies joined one to another, continuity is the

uninterrupted joining of parts one to another, unity is continuity

without junction (_i.e._ without a break).

[36] That is, are not composite.

III

The universe embraces all the objects that fall, or that can fall, 1

under our cognisance. Of these some are its parts, the remaining ones

must form its material. Nature, just like every manual art everywhere,

requires material. Let me make this a little plainer. In ourselves 2

the parts are hand, bones, sinews, eyes; the material is the sap of the

digested food, which will be distributed for the nourishment of the

parts. Again, blood is in a certain sense a part of us, but still it is

material as well. For it goes to form other parts, and, none the less,

it is among the parts that go to make up the whole body.

IV

So the atmosphere is a part, a most necessary one, of the world. 1

This it is that joins heaven and earth, separating highest and lowest

in such a way as yet to unite them. It separates by coming in between,

it unites by rendering possible communication between the two. It

transmits to the higher regions what it receives from the earth; and

again, it transfuses terrestrial objects with the influences of the

heavenly bodies. I call it a part of the world in the same sense as

animals and trees are parts. The whole class of animals and trees forms 2

part of the universe, since it has to be taken in to make up the

whole, and without it the universe is not complete. A single animal or

tree is a quasi-part: though it is lost, that from which it is lost is

still entire. Now the atmosphere, as I have been saying, adheres both

to sky and earth. In both it is inborn. Whatever is an inborn part of

anything else possesses unity, for without unity nothing can be born.

V

The earth is at once part and material of the world. You are not, I 1

think, more likely to ask why it is a part than why the sky is a part.

The one is just as essential as the other to the existence of the

whole, which they go to make up, and from which [from the one no less

than from the other][37] sustenance is provided for all animals and

crops and stars. From the earth all the strength of every man, all 2

the energy of the world with its ceaseless demands, are supplied. Hence

proceeds the force that, by day and by night, sustains in their labours

so many stars, so active and so eager, and that provides their food.

The universal nature derives from this source what suffices for its

nourishment. The world has appropriated all that it requires throughout

eternity. To adopt a tiny illustration of a great subject: eggs enclose

within them as much moisture as they require for the completion of the

creature that is to be hatched.

[37] The words in brackets are in all probability spurious, the

addition of some commentator. The whole passage is very uncertain.

VI

The atmosphere is in unbroken contact with the earth, in such close 1

juxtaposition that it must always occupy the space that she has just

quitted. It is a part, as I have said, of the universe. At the same

time it receives all that the earth sends forth for the nourishment

of the heavenly bodies; so that, of course, it should be understood

in this connection as material rather than part. It is these earthy

elements that cause its fickleness and constant turmoil. Some

authorities believe the atmosphere to be composed of separate bodies as

dust is, but they are sadly in error. For there can never be internal

effort in a body held together in any other way than by unity,[38] 2

since the elements must be in agreement in order to contribute their

united strength toward the tension. Now, the atmosphere, if assumed

to be cut up into atoms, must be dispersed. Scattered elements cannot

hold together as one body. But, as a matter of fact, the tension of

the atmosphere is proved by inflated objects that will not yield to

a blow. It is proved, too, by weights carried up to a great height

merely by the support of the wind. It is proved by the sound of

voices sinking or swelling, according to the stirring (= vibration)

of the air. For what is voice save tension of the air moulded by a 3

stroke of the tongue so as to become audible? What is all running and

motion? Are they not the effects of tense air? This it is that imparts

strength to the sinews, and endows the runner with his speed. When,

being violently stirred, it has twisted itself into an eddy, it uproots

trees and woods, carries aloft and shatters whole buildings. When the

sea lies all peaceful, the air raises it in waves. Or, to descend to 4

less violent manifestations, what song can be sung without tension of

breath? Or, take horns and trumpets, or those organs that by means of

hydraulic pressure can produce a greater volume of sound than the mouth

is capable of doing: is it not through atmospheric tension that they

display their functions? Or, let us note what an enormous force is 5

exerted in secret by quite tiny seeds, whose smallness has allowed them

to find a lodgment in the clefts of stones. Their slender diminutive

roots gather strength enough to dislodge huge boulders, split statues,

and cleave crags and rocks. And to what is this due but air tension, 6

without which there is no strength, over which no strength can prevail?

The unity of the atmosphere may, in fact, be inferred from the mere

coherence of our bodies. What else is it that holds them together

save air? What else is it by which the soul is stirred (literally,

moved)?[39] What constitutes that motion if it be not tension? What 7

tension can there be except from unity? What unity could there be

unless it were in the air? What else, too, brings forth from the earth

its fruits and slender grain, and sets erect the verdant trees, and

stretches out their branches, or sets them on high, but the tension and

unity of air?

[38] Or, except in a body of uniform texture.

[39] Nisard translates, What imparts movement, in man, to the vital

principle?

VII

Some writers believe that the air is rent and separated into small 1

parts with void spaces, as they suppose, between. They consider the

easy flight of birds through it a proof that it has not a compact

body, but has large empty spaces: fowls, great and small, pass through

it without difficulty. But this is a mistake. For water also affords

the same easy motion, and there is no doubt of its unity. When it 2

receives bodies, it always retreats in the direction opposite to them.

This the Stoics call displacement, in Greek it is peristasis,[40] which

takes place in air just as it does in water. For it literally stands

round every body by which it is pressed. There is no need to assume an

admixture of vacuum with the element. But more of this another time.

[40] περίστασις = a standing around. The Latin equivalent in the text

is _circumstantia_, rendered “displacement.”

VIII

From what has been said it must be inferred that in nature there 1

exists a principle of activity of enormous force. For there is nothing

that does not become more active through tension; and it is no less

true, nothing will be found capable of tension from another body unless

it have in itself capacity of tension.[41] In the same way we say that

nothing could be moved by another body without possessing the quality

of mobility in itself. But what element can be conceived more likely

to possess tension in itself than air? Will any one deny that it can

be subject to that force after seeing how it tosses about the earth 2

with its mountains, houses, and walls and towers, and great cities

with their inhabitants, seas, and whole coast-lines? The tension of

air is proved, too, by its velocity and expansion. Illustrations of

these properties are common: in an instant the eye extends its sight

over many miles; a single voice resounds at the same moment through

whole cities; light does not creep forth little by little, but is shed

simultaneously over the whole world.

[41] The reading at several points is so uncertain that one cannot

be at all sure of the meaning. Probably the whole passage is very

corrupt. So far as the main theme is concerned, the argument seems to

be, As mobility is a presupposition of motion, so tensibility is a

necessary condition of actual tension produced in a body by another

body. One is tempted to employ “elasticity,” but the term contains

implications with which the author was apparently unfamiliar.

IX

Again, how could water be subject to tension without the aid of 1

air? You entertain no doubt, I suppose, that the jet of water in the

amphitheatre, which is thrown from the centre of the arena to the

highest pinnacle, is accompanied by tension of the water? And yet

neither hand[42] nor any other engine can send or force water more

effectively than air. It lends itself readily to the influence of the 2

air, by the compelling force of which within the pipe it is raised. Its

nature is to flow down, but under pressure it mounts and accomplishes

great results contrary to its nature. Yes, and do not heavily laden

vessels also prove that it is the resistance of air, not of water, that

prevents their sinking? The water of itself would give way, and would

be unable to bear up the burthens, were it not itself upborne. So,

too, a quoit thrown from a height into a pond does not fall straight 3

in, but recoils, and that merely because the air bears it back. In

what way, again, could the sound of a voice be transmitted through the

thick barrier of a wall unless the solid masonry contained some air to

receive and transmit the sound from without? The tension of the air,

of course, affects not only what is exposed, but what is concealed

and enclosed as well. This is easy for it to do, since it is never 4

divided, but maintains an unbroken continuity even through the centre

of objects by which it appears to be parted. The interposition of walls

and high mountains renders it impassable by us, but is no obstacle to

itself. The air is there all the same,[43] but a portion is enclosed

and we cannot follow it through; that’s all.

[42] A conjecture widely adopted gives “crane.”

[43] The general sense is clear, but the particular text is uncertain.

X

Thus the air passes through the middle of an obstacle by which it is 1

apparently divided. It not merely surrounds and encircles all objects,

but permeates them likewise. It is shed abroad from the bright ether on

high down to the very earth. It is nimbler and rarer and more exalted

than the earth, and no less so than the waters of earth; but, on the

contrary, it is thicker and heavier than the ether, and is naturally

cold and dark, its light and heat coming from without. It is not of

the same specific quality in every region, but borrows its qualities

from its surroundings. The highest part of it is extremely dry and 2

hot, and so, very rare also, from the proximity of the eternal fires,

the endless motions of the stars, and the constant revolution of the

heavens. But the lowest portion next the earth is dense and dark,

because it forms a receptacle for the exhalations of the earth. The

intermediate portion, in dryness and rarity, runs to neither extreme as

compared with the highest and lowest strata, but is colder than either.

The reason is this: The higher parts are affected by the heat of the 3

heavenly bodies that are close by; and again the lower parts are warmed

in the first place by the earth’s breath which is charged with heat,

while in addition the sun’s rays are reflected from the ground, and as

far as the reflection extends it renders the atmosphere kindlier and

more genial. Besides, the temperature of the lower air is raised by the

warm breath of all animals, trees, and crops, whose life is dependent

on heat. Add to this also fires on the earth, not merely the 4

artificial ones about which we know, but also those concealed beneath

it, some of which have ere this broken out, and myriads of which are

blazing away in the hidden depths incessantly. Add, too, that all the

fertile parts of the earth have some degree of heat which is exhaled

into the air: heat is a condition of generation, the frigid is sterile.

So, then, the middle portion of the atmosphere being remote from all

these influences abides in its native cold: for air is by nature chilly.

XI

Such being the divisions of the atmosphere, I may observe that in 1

its lowest layer it is most variable, unstable, and changeful. It is

near the earth that the air is, so to speak, most enterprising and

most long-suffering, as it tosses or is tossed. But withal, it is not

all affected in the same way, but at different times at different

points its different parts are in unrest and turmoil. The reasons

of the changefulness and inconstancy are in part derived from the

earth: her position turning hither and thither is a potent factor in

determining the quality of the atmosphere. Other reasons are due to

the heavenly bodies, chiefly the sun, whose course directs the year,

whose solstices determine winter and summer. Next in importance is the

moon’s influence. But even the other stars produce an effect alike on 2

the earth and on the air that rests upon the face of the earth. Their

rising or their corresponding setting and their disturbances cause now

cold, now rain, now other damage such as earth is subject to.

It was necessary for me to make these preliminary remarks before going

on to speak of thunder and thunderbolts and lightnings. For as these

phenomena occur in the atmosphere, I had to explain the nature of

the latter, that it might more readily appear what active or passive

capacities it possessed.

XII

There are, I have just said, three phenomena--lightnings, 1

thunderbolts, thunderings: the last is simultaneous in occurrence with

the others, but its sound reaches us subsequently. Lightning (_i.e._

sheet) merely reveals fire, the thunderbolt (forked lightning) actually

despatches it on its mission. The former is, so to speak, a threatening

and feint without a blow, the latter a stroke and a blow. There are

some of the facts connected with the phenomena of thunder and lightning

on which there is general agreement, others on which there is much

diversity of opinion. For example, there is agreement that they 2

occur in the clouds and issue from the clouds; further, it is agreed

that lightning of both kinds is either composed of fire or at any rate

presents the appearance of fire. But to pass on to the points which are

disputed--some authorities believe that the fire is actually resident

in the clouds, some that it is merely produced for the occasion,

and that it does not exist until it issues out. But yet there is no

agreement as to what brings out the fire. One explains it as due to 3

light. Again, a certain author says that the sun’s rays accumulate

through recurrent intersection, and kindle the fire. Anaxagoras asserts

that it is distilled from the ether, that from such heat in the sky

many sparks fall which the clouds enclose and retain for a long time.

Aristotle supposes that the fire does not gather in the clouds any long

time previously, but rather that it bursts out at the same instant

as it is formed. His opinion runs thus: Two elements of the world, 4

land and water, lie in its lower part; each exhales its peculiar

emanation. The vapour of earth is dry, resembling smoke, and produces

wind, thunder, and lightning; the breath of water, on the other hand,

is moist, and produces rain and snow. But that dry vapour from the

earth, to which [as mentioned] winds owe their origin, on account

of its accumulation in large masses, is subject to violent lateral

pressure when it is condensed for the formation of clouds. Thereupon

it strikes the adjacent clouds over a larger surface, and the blow 5

reverberates loudly [in thunder]. The effect is analogous to that

produced by the crackling of flame from the moisture contained in green

unseasoned firewood. In this case the air enclosed in the wood has some

moisture in it, and when it accumulates it bursts out in the flame. So

likewise the air which, as I said a little ago, is driven out through

a collision of two clouds, cannot burst or leap out without noise. The

sound varies according to the variety of impact in the clouds; the 6

larger cavity in some clouds, the smaller in others account for the

variety. That air violently driven out is fire, which is called sheet

lightning when it forms a fitful flame of no great violence. We see the

flash before we can hear the sound: eyesight is swifter than hearing,

and far outstrips it.

XIII

The mistakenness of the opinion that the fire is stored up in the 1

clouds may be inferred from many considerations. For example, if the

fire merely falls from the sky, why does it not do so every day from

the glowing mass that is constantly up there? Then, again, the theory

gives no explanation of the downward course of the fire, an element

which naturally rises. Fires on earth from which embers fall belong to

a different category; the embers possess a certain amount of weight,

which carries them down. Fire cannot descend in the same way, but must

be forced or conducted down. Nothing analogous to a terrestrial fire 2

can take place in that pure ethereal fire which contains nothing that

can carry it down to earth. Otherwise, if any portion of it fall down,

the whole is endangered; for anything susceptible of gradual diminution

piecemeal may evidently also fall in a mass. Besides, if an element

whose lightness habitually prevents its fall contain any weight in its

hidden depths, how could it maintain itself in the place whence it

fell? But, it is urged, are not certain forms of fire wont to descend

into the lower parts of air very much like these bolts of lightning

that we are investigating? Admitted. Only they are conveyed, they do 3

not proceed of themselves. Some force not resident in the ether carries

them down. For in the ether no violent compulsion, no breach, no

interruption of the wonted continuity, can occur. It preserves a fixed

succession; its fire cleansed of impurity claims the upper regions as

its own, and performs its functions in preservation of the universe

with beautiful precision. It cannot leave its place, no, nor even be

thrust from it by external force, because no disturbing body can find

lodgment in ether. Its fixed and ordered composition renders conflict

impossible.

XIV

Some of your friends the philosophers, a critic may say to me, in 1

giving an explanation of shooting stars have told us that some parts

of the atmosphere contract fire which is drawn from these same higher

regions, and that the fires are kindled by the glow of the ether.

Yes, but I reply that it makes all the difference whether the fire is

alleged to fall from the ether, which is incompatible with its nature;

or whether it is asserted that from its fierce glow the heat leaps the

boundary between it and the lower regions, firing them by its power.

For on the latter assumption, the fire does not fall from the upper

region, which is impossible, but is kindled in the lower. Surely, too,

when a widely spread conflagration occurs in one of our cities, we 2

see detached blocks which have for long been heated by the fire from a

distance at last catch fire of themselves. So in the upper atmosphere,

which is endowed with the power of drawing fire, in all probability

there are cases of ignition from the heat of the superposed ether. In

nature there is never a sudden transition from one element to a totally

different one. Hence there must be some congruity between lowest ether

and highest atmosphere; conversely highest atmosphere cannot be wholly

dissimilar to lowest ether. On the confines the two elements pass so

imperceptibly into one another that at a particular point there might

well be doubt whether one is in atmosphere or in ether.

XV

Some of the Stoics believe that air, being interchangeable with other

elements such as fire and water, does not derive from without a fresh

cause of fire; it kindles itself by its internal motion. Then in

dissipating masses of thick, compact clouds it necessarily emits a

loud noise from the bursting of such large bodies. Besides, the very

conflict of the resisting clouds contributes to the energy of the

fire. In the same way the hand contributes to the cutting power of an

instrument, but the actual cutting is done by the steel.

XVI

Let me now explain the difference between the flash and the bolt of

lightning which you naturally wish to know. The flash is the fire

widely spread out, the bolt is the condensed fire hurled with violence.

Let me use a homely illustration. We sometimes join our two hands in

order to take up water in them; then we squeeze our palms together

and squirt out the water like a syringe. Imagine something like this

to take place in the clouds. When they are compressed the restricted

space drives out the air between them, setting it on fire at the same

time, and hurling it forth like a cannon ball. The missiles from our

balistae[1] and scorpions[44] give forth a loud noise as they are

hurled.

[44] The ancient counterparts of cannon.

XVII

A certain number of writers are of opinion that the air of itself emits

a report as it traverses the cold and moist regions. Iron, they point

out, when heated cannot be dipped in moisture without noise. A mass of

heated metal when plunged in water causes a loud sputtering as it is

cooled; so, according to Anaximenes, air meeting cloud produces peals

of thunder; then as it rushes struggling through the obstructions that

bar its way it kindles the flame of lightning merely by its escape.

XVIII

Anaximander refers all the phenomena of thunder to air. Peals of

thunder are, he says, the sounds of blows on a cloud. He explains

the inequality of the peals by the inequality of the blows. To the

question, why it thunders in a clear sky also, he answers that even

in absence of cloud the atmosphere is shaken and rent by the bursting

forth of air. But why is there thunder sometimes and yet no lightning?

The rarity and feebleness of the air render it incapable of producing

flame, while yet sufficient to produce sound. Lightning, according

to him, then, is really a disturbance where the atmosphere is merely

parted and rushes hither and thither, displaying a faint fire that will

not issue from its place. As for the thunderbolt, it is the career of

the more active and denser air.

XIX

Anaxagoras says all the phenomena correspond to the descent of some 1

force from the ether to the lower regions. So when the fire encounters

cold clouds it emits a sound; when it cleaves them there is a flash;

less violence in the fires produces lightning, greater, thunderbolts. 2

XX

Diogenes of Apollonia asserts that thunder arises in some cases from 1

fire, in some from air. Fire precedes those it produces, to herald

them. Those that are attended with rattling noise, but without flash,

are produced by air. Either sound or flash, I grant, can and sometimes

does occur without the other. Still, their powers are not distinct,

each may be produced by each. For will any one say that air borne

with great violence, when it can produce sound, will not also produce

fire? Will not every one grant, too, that fire as well as air may 2

sometimes burst the clouds without darting from them, for example, if

it has burst through a few of the clouds, but is buried beneath an

accumulation of them? So fire will pass into air, and lose its shining

appearance in cutting through some cloudy obstacles and kindling

what is within. Add now another inevitable result--the rush of the

thunderbolt sends out blasts of air and drives them before it, and

raises a wind behind it through the great extent of its impact on the

atmosphere. Thus, through the vibration caused by the wind which the

fire drives in front of it, all objects quiver before they are actually

struck by the bolt of lightning.

XXI

We must now dismiss our tutors and try to walk alone as we pass on 1

from what is admitted to what is debatable in this subject. What is to

be classed as admitted? It is admitted that the thunderbolt is fire

of some kind; similarly with the lightning flash, which is simply

flame ready to become a bolt if it had more strength. The difference

between the two is not in character but in force. The fiery nature of

the bolt is proved by its heat. Apart from that, its effects prove it,

for it has often been the cause of great conflagrations. Forests and 2

portions of cities have been burnt to ashes by it. Even objects that

are not struck are yet seen to be scorched, some are discoloured as if

by smoky grime. Then, again, everything that lightning strikes has the

smell of sulphur. And so it is beyond dispute that both phenomena are a

form of fire, and that they differ merely in their method of movement.

A flash is a bolt that has not strength to carry it down to the 3

earth. And conversely you may say that the bolt is a flash that has

been conveyed right down to the ground. It is not for the purpose of

refinement of terms that I deal at some length with them, but in order

to prove the phenomena related and of the same category and character.

A bolt is something more than a flash. Inverting the statement, a flash

is all but a bolt.

XXII

Now that it is agreed that the two things are both fire, let us see 1

how fire arises on earth, for no doubt the same method prevails aloft.

There are two common methods of producing fire--one by striking it out,

as, for example, from a stone; the other by the more tedious method

of friction, as when two pieces of wood are rubbed together for some

time. It is, of course, not every kind of substance that gives the

desired result; you must choose one suitable for giving out fire, for

example, laurel, ivy, and other trees familiar to shepherds for this

purpose. Probably, therefore, clouds may in the same way emit fire

either from a blow or from friction. Consider for a moment the force

with which squalls rush forth, the impetuous eddying revolution of 2

the whirlwind. Anything that encounters a missile from an engine of war

is scattered and removed and driven far from its position. What wonder,

then, that such violence in the wind extracts fire either from some

external object or merely from itself? You can readily see what a glow

all neighbouring bodies grazed by its passage must receive. But the

force of storms cannot for a moment be compared with the energy of the

heavenly bodies, whose immense power is beyond question.

XXIII

Perchance, too, when the wind only blows softly and exerts no great 1

force, the clouds, wafted against each other, will emit fire strong

enough to show a gleam, though not to issue from them. Less force is

required for lightning than for the thunderbolt. We found above what a

glow the friction of certain woods caused. Now when the air, which is

interchangeable with fire, [has been changed in full force into fire 2

and][45] undergoes friction, it is credible and even probable that fire

is struck out, but of an evanescent and transitory character, as it

arises from no solid material and has no fuel in which it can lodge. It

therefore quickly passes; its duration is no longer than its route and

course; it has nothing to support it when hurled forth into space.

[45] These words seem of more than doubtful genuineness.

XXIV

But how, you ask me, when you philosophers say that it is the nature 1

of fire to rise, does the bolt seek the earth? Perhaps what you said

about fire is not true? It seems to take its course down as well as up.

Both my statements, I reply, may be true. Fire naturally does rise

and mounts if nothing prevents it, just as water naturally gravitates

downwards. But water if affected by a force which drives it uphill is

pressed up in the direction from which it was precipitated in rain. In

like manner the same force as launched the bolt from the cloud causes

it to fall to the ground. Something of the same kind happens to these 2

celestial fires as to trees when bent. The topmost branches if slender

may be dragged down so as to touch the ground; but when you let them

go, they rebound to their original position. You must not regard the

condition which an object involuntarily assumes as characteristic of

it. If you allow fire to go where it will, it will return to the sky,

the abode of all the lightest bodies. But when there is anything to

carry it down and divert it from its natural course, that is not a mark

of its disposition but a token of its subjection.

XXV

You and your friends say, an objector interposes, that clouds emit fire

through mutual friction when they are moist, indeed wet. How can such

clouds produce fire, which is no more likely to be generated by a cloud

than by pure water?

XXVI

Well, first of all, the fire which is thus produced is, as it is 1

found in the clouds, not water, but thick air, adapted for the

generating of water; it is not yet changed into it, but is already

inclined toward, and ready for, the change. There is no ground for

supposing that water is first gathered in the clouds and afterwards

shed from them. It falls simultaneously with its formation. But in

the second place, though I grant that the cloud is moist and charged

with fully formed water, still there is nothing to prevent fire being

drawn from what is moist, yes--and what will surprise you more to

learn--out of pure moisture. Some authorities have actually affirmed 2

that nothing can be converted into fire without a prior change into

water. A cloud, then, without prejudice to the water it may contain,

may emit fire at some part of it, just as often one end of a log is

blazing while the other exudes moisture. I do not deny that fire and

water are opposing elements and that the one destroys the other. But

where the fire is stronger than the water it wins the day. On the

other hand, where there is a superabundant supply of moisture, then

fire is powerless. That is why green wood won’t burn. The result

depends, therefore, on the quantity of water present. If it is small,

no effectual resistance is offered, the fire is not prevented. Why, 3

according to Posidonius’ account, when an island rose in the Aegean Sea

long ago in our forefathers’ days, the sea was lashed into foam for a

long time previously and sent up smoke from its depths. At last fire

was emitted, not continuously, but in flames shooting out at intervals,

after the fashion of thunderbolts, just as often as the fervent heat

of what lay below had overcome the weight of water above it. By and by

boulders were thrown up and rocks, part of them still unimpaired, 4

which the air had thrust out before their calcination, part of them

corroded by the fire and changed to light pumice; at last the cone of

a blasted mountain issued from the waves. Subsequently, there was an

addition to its height, and the rock grew in extent into an island.

The same thing happened within our own recollection during the second

consulship of Valerius Asiaticus.

Why have I narrated these incidents? My purpose was to make it 5

evident that neither is fire necessarily extinguished by having the

whole sea poured over it, nor its violence prevented from bursting out

by the weight of huge waves. Asclepiodotus, a pupil of Posidonius, has

left it on record that the height to which the fire mounted, after

overcoming the resistance of the waves, was a hundred fathoms. Now,

if such a huge mass of water was unable to overcome the force of the

flames that rose from its depths, how much less can the thin, dewy

moisture in the clouds extinguish fire in the atmosphere? In short, the 6

moisture of the clouds is so far from presenting any obstacle to the

formation of fire that lightning is never seen to flash except when

the sky threatens rain. A clear sky has no bolts to hurl. No terror

of that sort proceeds from a bright day, nor for the matter of that

from a night that is not enveloped in cloud. But what! I hear some one

say. Does it not sometimes lighten in a calm night when the stars are

visible? It does, but you must remember that there are clouds all the 7

same in that quarter whence issues the flash; only, the earth’s hump

does not allow them to be seen by us. Add, too, what is quite possible,

that low clouds near the earth may produce fire through friction. This

fire when forced up to the upper regions becomes visible in the clear

bright part of the sky, but none the less its place of origin was in

the dark vicinity of earth.

XXVII

Some writers have distinguished different kinds of thunder, saying 1

there was one kind with a deep growl like that which precedes an

earthquake, when the wind moans and tries to burst its prison walls,

Let me tell you how they suppose this kind of thunder to arise. When

the clouds have enclosed air, it rolls through their cavernous depths

and emits a hoarse, regular, continuous sound like bellowing. So also

when that quarter of the heavens is charged with moisture, its exit is

prevented until the thunder begins. Therefore, thunder of this kind 2

is a sure sign that rain is to follow. There is another kind, which is

sharp, and it might be described more accurately as a crackling than as

a regular sound; it resembles the report one hears when a bladder is

burst over some one’s head. Such thunder is the result of the breaking

up of a densely massed cloud and the release of the air by which it

was inflated. This is appropriately named a peal, sudden and violent.

When it occurs, people collapse and are sometimes literally frightened

to death by it; others retain life, but are dazed and completely lose

their wits: we call them thunder-struck, for that sound in the heavens

has quite unhinged their minds. This sound may also be produced by 3

the atmosphere shut up in a hollow cloud being rarefied, merely through

motion, and expanded. By and by in seeking more room for itself it

resounds against the walls that envelop it. In fact, is it not just

similar to the applause given out by the clapping of the hands? only,

when the clouds collide, the sounds may be expected to correspond in

volume to the greatness of the encountering bodies.

XXVIII

But clouds, says some one, are seen striking upon mountains. without 1

causing any sound. How is that consistent with your theory? Well, in

the first place, a sound is not caused by any and every method of cloud

collision, but only when there is an arrangement of their position

suitable for producing a sound. Striking the backs of the hands does

not produce clapping, but the contact of palm with palm does. It makes

a great difference, too, whether the clouds that strike are hollow,

or flat and extended. In the second place, the clouds must not merely

drift, as against a mountain, but be driven with great tempestuous

violence. Besides, a mountain does not cut through a cloud, it merely 2

disperses it by displacing the successive front layers of it. Even a

bladder does not give a report irrespectively of the method in which it

emits the air in it; it depends on the way in which the air escapes.

If the bladder is cut with a knife, the air is emitted without the ear

perceiving it. It must be burst, not cut, in order to give a report.

The same, I assert, holds in regard to the clouds: they emit no peal

unless broken up with great violence. Besides, clouds driven against a

mountain are not broken up, but merely pour round certain parts of 3

the mountain, tree branches, shrubs, and rough projecting boulders.

They are rent thereby, and emit by numerous exits whatever air they may

contain; but there is no rattle unless the air all burst out at once.

In proof of this, bear in mind that the wind blowing through a tree, 4

which cuts it, hisses but does not roar. A broad blow, so to speak,

that dissipates the whole mass at once, is required in order to the

emission of a sound such as is heard when there is thunder.

XXIX

Moreover, the atmosphere is by constitution adapted to the transmission

of sound.[46] Of necessity this is so, since sound is nothing but an

impact of the atmosphere. The clouds that [as indicated] are completely

rent must therefore be hollow and taut. One sees how much more resonant

empty vessels are than full, and distended ones than slack. So this

accounts for the sound of tambourines and cymbals; the former resound

because the blow upon the air is resisted at the farther side; the

latter are beaten against the air directly, but unless there were a

cavity in the instrument it would not tinkle.

[46] The specific word _vox_ = voice is used in the text.

XXX

Some authors, including Asclepiodotus, are convinced that thunder 1

and lightning may also be produced by the collision of certain solid

bodies. Once Etna was in violent eruption and cast up a huge quantity

of burning sand. The daylight was veiled with the cloud of dust, and

sudden night terrified the world. On that occasion, they allege,

there was much thunder and lightning, produced, they maintain, by

the concourse of dry bodies, not of clouds: with such a glow in the

firmament there probably were no clouds at all. Cambyses once sent an

army to the temple of Jupiter Ammon in the desert. The sand raised by 2

the south wind fell on it like snowflakes, first covering and finally

overwhelming it. Probably on that occasion also there was thunder and

lightning, caused by the mutual friction of the particles of sand. Such

a view is not inconsistent with my contention above. I have said that 3

the earth’s exhalations contain bodies of two kinds, dry and moist,

portions of which roam through the whole expanse of the atmosphere.

So if any heavy element be introduced, it makes a cloud thicker and

more solid than if its texture were of pure air exclusively. Such a

[solid] cloud may burst with a loud report. The elements I have 4

mentioned, whether they have charged the atmosphere with moist fires or

with earth-sweeping winds, must produce a cloud before they produce a

report. Dry elements no less than moist may make up a cloud. For cloud,

as we have already said, is just a condensation of thick air.

XXXI

But further, if you will but open your eyes to them, there are 1

marvellous effects in lightning that leave no doubt that a subtle

divine power is inherent in it. For example, coins are fused while

the purse containing them is uninjured and intact. A sword is melted

while the sheath remains. The iron point is fused in a javelin, but

the wooden shaft suffers no damage. The jar is smashed and the wine

frozen, but the stiffness does not last for more than three days.

There are other no less notable effects of lightning. The head of 2

man or other animal struck by it always points in the direction whence

the lightning issued: the twigs of all trees that are struck rise

straight up in the direction of the lightning. Let me add, too, when

venomous serpents or other animals whose bite is fatal are struck with

lightning, all the poison disappears. How, you say, can I tell that? In

the dead bodies of poisonous animals worms are not produced. But when

struck with lightning they breed worms within a few days.

XXXII

Lightning portends the future, too. Nor do the signs it gives refer 1

to only one or two events. Often a complete series of fate’s succeeding

decrees is intimated, with proof, too, plain to demonstration, far more

distinct than if it were recorded in writing. There are differences

of interpretation, however, between our countrymen and the Tuscans,

the latter of whom possess consummate skill in the explanation of the

meaning of lightning. We think that because clouds collide, therefore 2

lightning is emitted; they hold that clouds collide in order that

lightning may be emitted. They refer everything to the will of God:

therefore they are strong in their conviction that lightning does not

give an indication of the future because it has occurred, but occurs

because it is meant to give this indication. Whether the indication is

its purpose or its consequence makes no difference in the method of its

occurrence. How, then, do they give indication unless they are sent by

God? Just in the same way as birds give favourable or unfavourable 3

omens, though they are not moved on their flight for the express

purpose of meeting us. God moves them too, it is urged. You imagine He

has so little to do that He can attend to trifles of this sort, if you

will have Him arrange visions for one, entrails of victims for another.

Nevertheless, all those things are managed by Divine agency, not, 4

however, in the sense that the wings of birds are immediately directed

by God, or the bowels of cattle arranged by Him in certain forms under

the priest’s axe. It is in far other way that the roll of fate is

unfolded; it sends ahead in all directions intimations of what is to

follow, which are in part familiar, in part unknown to us. Everything

that happens is a sign of something that is going to happen: mere

chance occurrences uncontrolled by any rational principle do not

admit of the application of divination. An event that belongs to a 5

series thereby becomes capable of being predicted. But why, then, is

the honour conferred upon the eagle of giving omens concerning great

events? or a similar function assigned to the raven and a very few

other birds, while all the rest give no presage by their notes? The

reason simply is that some departments have not yet been brought within

the sphere of the art of augury, while some are incapable of ever being

brought within it, because our acquaintance with them is too slight.

As a matter of fact, there is no living creature whose movement or 6

meeting with us does not foretell something. Of course, only some, not

all, can be observed. The omen lies in the observation. So it concerns

the person who directs his attention to it. But other things as well

concern him, though they pass unheeded. For instance, the Chaldaeans

confined their observation to the five great planets. But do you

suppose that the influence of so many thousands of other bright stars

is naught? The essential error of those who pretend to skill in 7

casting the horoscope lies in limiting our destinies to the influence

of a few of the stars, while all that float above us in the heavens

claim some share in us. Perchance the lower stars exert their force

on us more directly; and[47] the same may be true of the stars that

by reason of their more frequent movements turn their view upon man

in a different way from that in which it is turned upon other living

creatures. But even those stars that are either stationary or, from

their velocity being the same as that of the world as a whole, seem

to be so, are not without sway and dominion over us. Add one other 8

consideration and you have the subject set out with due arrangement of

its parts:[48] it is not more easy to ascertain what the power of the

stars is than justifiable to doubt that they possess such power.

[47] Or, Turn their view upon man no less than on the other living

creatures now from one point, now from another, _i.e._ under more

varied aspects. The passage is doubtful. The general sense is plain:

nearness, frequency of appearance, and variety of aspect severally

are or may be special factors in determining a star’s influence on

the fate of man.

[48] The text is corrupt and the sense more or less conjectural.

Ruhkopf suggests that the words may have been transferred from some

other passage to this. One would be inclined to suspect that _adjice_

= add, instead of _aspice_ = see, regard, is the correct word at the

beginning of the sentence.

XXXIII

To return now to lightning: the art relating to it falls into three

divisions--its observation, its interpretation, its deprecation. The

first has regard to the category in which it should be placed, the

second to divination, the third to the propitiation of the gods, whose

blessings we ought to ask and whose threats we must avert by prayer.

We must ask them to fulfil their promises, pray them to remit their

threats.

XXXIV

People are convinced that lightning possesses sovereign power, 1

because its occurrence destroys the force of other portents. On the

other hand, whatever it portends is regarded as unalterable, and the

appearance of no other omen lessens its import. Anything threatened

by unfavourable entrails or inauspicious birds will be cancelled by

favourable lightning. But any warning given by lightning cannot be

defeated by opposing entrail or omen. Now this belief seems to me

mistaken. My reason? Simply that nothing can be truer than the truth. 2

If birds have truly foretold the future, the omen cannot be nullified

by lightning: if it can, then it was not a true prophecy the birds

uttered. It is not bird and lightning whose force I am here comparing,

but two revelations of truth, which must be equal in authority if

they are equally intimations of truth. Therefore, if the occurrence

of lightning destroys the indications given by priests or augurs,

there must have been a flaw in the inspection of the entrails or the

observation of the auguries. It is not a question of which of the 3

two kinds of omen possesses the more exalted or powerful character:

if both have furnished indications of truth, they are so far equal.

You would be quite justified in asserting that the power of flame

was greater than that of smoke; but flame has just the same power as

smoke, and no more, in giving indication of the existence of fire. So

if the statement is confined to the assertion of the greater authority

of lightning on occasions when the entrails give one indication and

lightning a different one, I shall perhaps agree. But if the statement

go on to affirm that although other signs have foretold the truth, 4

yet the lightning stroke has destroyed all that went before and claims

credit only for itself, then the statement is untrue. And for this

reason: the mere number of the auspices makes no difference. Fate is

but one. If it was rightly understood through the first auspice, it

is not destroyed through the second; it remains just the same. And so

I say again it does not matter whether the means of our inquiry (=

auspice) is the same or different, since the object of the inquiry

remains the same.

XXXV

Fate cannot be changed by lightning. And why? Lightning is itself 1

a part of fate. Well, then, it may be asked, what is the good of

expiation and atonement if the fates are immutable? Let me uphold the

rigid sect that takes exception to such rites and regards vows as but

comfort to a breast ill at ease. The fates perform their function in a

far different way from that supposed; they are not moved by any prayer

nor changed by pity nor by favour. The course they hold is irrevocable;

once they have entered upon it they flow on by unalterable decree. 2

As the water of rushing cataracts returns not upon itself, nor yet

lingers, since each succeeding wave drives headlong that which went

before; so the order of events is rolled on by the eternal succession

of fate, whose first law it is to abide by its decrees.

XXXVI

For what is one to understand as meant by fate? I suppose it is the 1

binding necessity of all events and actions, a necessity that no force

can break. If you believe that such a power can be prevailed upon to

change through sacrifice or the head of a snow-white lamb, you know

little about the Divine dispensation. You say that even a wise man 2

does not change his mind: how much less is God a man that he should

change? Even the wise man knows what is best under present conditions;

to the Divine wisdom everything is present. Still, I wish, for the

moment, to advocate the views of those who hold that atonement should

be made for lightning, and who have no doubt that expiation is of

avail, now to remove dangers, now to mitigate them, now to delay them.

XXXVII

In a little I will follow up what I have said and show the 1

consequences involved. Meantime we have so much in common with the

persons last mentioned in holding that vows are of service, but without

prejudice to the power and sway of fate. Some things are, in fact,

left by the immortal gods in such a state of suspense as to turn to

the advantage of worshippers if they employ prayer to heaven and take

vows upon them. This, then, is so far from being opposed to fate that

it is actually a part of fate. But my opponent argues thus: an event is

either going or is not going to take place. If it is going to, then 2

it will take place, even though you take no vows upon you. If it is not

going to, then it won’t, even though you take the vows. The dilemma, I

reply, is no valid one: you overlook an alternative that lies between

those horns of yours. This, say I, will take place, but not unless vows

have been taken upon those concerned. This, too, one may say, must be

included in the order of fate, either that you undertake the vows or

that you do not.

XXXVIII

Suppose that I surrender at discretion and admit that it is likewise 1

included in fate that vows be assuredly performed. Then for that

reason they will be performed. It is fated that a man be eloquent, but

only if he use due means and apply himself to study. The same destiny

enjoins that he should study; therefore he will study. Another will be

rich, but he must first go to sea. But in the order of fate in which

he is promised a great fortune, it is also decreed that he go to sea;

therefore he will go to sea. In regard to expiation, I apply just 2

the same principle. A man is fated to escape danger if he expiate the

threats foretold by heaven. But it is likewise contained in fate that

he offer expiation; therefore he will offer it.

An objection is usually urged against this view which seeks to prove

that no freedom of will is on this assumption left to us, all sway

is handed over to fate. When I come to treat of that subject, I will

explain how, without infringing the power of fate, something may still

be left to human choice. For the nonce, I have explained the point at 3

issue, viz. how, consistently with an order fixed by fate, perils from

prodigies may be averted through expiation and sacrifice, inasmuch as

they do not conflict with fate, but, on the contrary, are assumed by

the very law of fate. What benefit, then, you say, can I derive from

a soothsayer? In any case I must of necessity offer expiation, even

though he be not by to advise it. He so far does good in that he is the

instrument of fate. In like manner, when recovery from illness seems

the work of fate, it is due at the same time to the doctor, because the

boon of fate passes through his hands in order to reach us.

XXXIX

There are, Caecina says, three kinds of lightning--the counselling, 1

the authoritative, and what is called the ordinary. The counselling

occurs before an event, but after the design is formed. When something

is simmering in one’s mind, the lightning stroke either urges it or

deters from it. The authoritative one succeeds an event, indicating

its outcome as good or ill fortune. In the ordinary case, people 2

are busied neither with action nor design when the lightning suddenly

occurs. The flash conveys either threat, promise, or warning. The

last form is indeed called admonitory: I am disposed to think it is

identical with the counselling mentioned above. One who warns at

the same time counsels. Yet there is a distinction between them.

Therefore they are put in different classes. The one applies suasion

or dissuasion, the other is restricted to warning how to avoid

an impending danger; as, for example, fire, or deception from 3

neighbours, or a plot by slaves. Besides, I can perceive another

difference between the two kinds: if one has a design, then the

lightning that occurs counsels; but if one has no such design, it

warns. Each situation has its own peculiar features. In deliberation

advice is appropriate, but a warning comes unsought.

XL

On the face of it, one’s comment on this view would be that these 1

are so many kinds of prognostications and not of lightning. Of the

latter the kinds are the boring, the splitting, and the scorching.

The first has a subtle flame, which from its unalloyed purity can win

escape through the tiniest aperture. The second, which scatters to the

winds what it strikes, is massed fire with an admixture of condensed

tempestuous wind. So the first kind escapes again by the opening by

which it entered. The second spreads wide the effects of its violence,

it bursts what it strikes, and does not perforate it. The third kind

mentioned, the scorching, has much earthiness in its composition, 2

and contains fire rather than flame. It therefore leaves deep scars of

fire, which will be branded in what it has struck. No lightning, it is

true, that comes to earth is fireless, but this kind is distinctively

called fiery, because it imprints the marks of fire so manifestly, by

either scorching or staining. It scorches in three different ways,

that is, it either breathes on its object, so to speak, inflicting

slight injury, or burns it right up, or sets it on fire. All those

are methods of what I have called scorching, differing, however, in

character and degree. Whatever is, for example, burnt up is necessarily

scorched as well. But [the converse is not equally true], everything 3

that is scorched is not necessarily burnt up. And so with what is set

on fire; it is not necessarily consumed, the fire may merely have

scorched it in passing. Everybody knows that things may be scorched

without breaking out into fire, but that nothing can break out into

fire without being scorched. I have only one further remark on the

point: an object may be consumed without being set on fire; it may also

be set on fire without being consumed.

XLI

I pass on now to the kind of lightning that stains objects struck by 1

it. The staining is either discolouring or colouring, between which I

draw a distinction. When the colour is spoiled, without being changed,

there is discolouring. On the contrary, there is colouring when the

aspect of an object becomes different in kind from what it was, for

example, when it turns dark blue or black or pale. So far the Etruscans

and the philosophers are in agreement. But disagreement begins when

the former go on to assert that lightning is sent by Jupiter, to whom

they assign three species of bolt. The first, according to their 2

statement, gives a peaceful warning, being sent by Jove’s own counsel.

The second is, it is true, sent also by him, but by advice of his

council, to which he summons the twelve gods as assessors. This bolt

is no doubt beneficial, but not without doing damage to some extent.

The third kind of bolt is still of Jove’s sending, but he summons into

council the so-called supreme veiled gods. This bolt causes destruction

of what it encounters, and in particular it changes the existing

condition of private and public affairs that it finds. For fire allows

nothing to remain as it is.

XLII

Taking a superficial view one would pronounce these old beliefs all 1

wrong. What could be more absurd than to believe that Jupiter hurls

bolts from the clouds, aiming at pillars, trees, aye, and statues of

himself sometimes, or that, passing by the sacrilegious unbelievers, he

strikes sheep, sets fire to altars, and smites innocent flocks? or can

one imagine that great Jove should call the gods into council, as if

he were himself lacking in counsel? Or that those bolts bring promise

of peace and joy that he hurls unaided, and those cause destruction in

whose despatch a greater crowd of deities was concerned? If you ask my 2

opinion on the point, however, I may tell you that I do not for a

moment suppose those people of old were so obtuse as to believe that

Jupiter was evilly disposed or, to say the least of it, insufficiently

prepared with his missiles. When he issued fiery bolts to pass over

the heads of the wicked and strike the innocent, as is alleged, did

he, do you suppose, refuse to send them with truer aim, or did he miss

his shot? If that cannot be the explanation, what was the idea of

those ancients in speaking as they did? Being men of profound wisdom 3

they were, in my opinion, of the settled conviction that fear was

essential to restrain the passions of the ignorant; we must reverence

something higher than ourselves. In a time of such audacious crime it

was expedient that there be a belief in something which no criminal

could seem powerful enough to resist. And so it was to terrify those

wretches, against whose passions innocence is no protection unless

backed up by fear, that they placed over us in the heavens the image of

an avenger, and him well armed.

XLIII

Why, therefore, on this assumption, is the bolt that Jupiter sends

alone, peaceful, while the other is destructive on which he has sought

counsel, and which he has sent down with the approval of other gods

besides? The reason is that Jupiter, that is, an absolute monarch, when

acting alone ought to be always a power for good; he should not inflict

injury unless when a numerous council has ratified the decision.

From this let all those who have inherited great earthly power learn

that not even the bolt of heaven is sent without counsel taken. Let

them call to them their advisers, let them ponder the opinions of a

multitude of counsellors, let them temper the rigour of their decrees;

and when some blow must fall, let them not forget that even Jupiter

needs more than his own wisdom to guide him.

XLIV

Nor, again, were the ancient sages so stupid as to suppose that 1

Jupiter changed his missiles. It is only the licence of poetry that can

with decency say:

There is another and lighter bolt to which the Cyclopes’ hands

Have added less of harshness and of flame, less, too, of wrath.

The dwellers above call them missiles of peace.

Those men of exalted wisdom were undoubtedly not possessed with the 2

delusion that Jupiter sometimes employs lighter bolts, weapons of the

practising school, so to speak. Their object was to warn those who

have to direct their bolts against the sins of men, that all offences

are not to be visited after the same fashion: some offenders must be

crushed, some censured and lightly punished, some[49] dismissed with an

admonition.

[49] _Admoneri_ = to be admonished, seems necessary, instead of

the authoriser _admoveri_, to which it is impossible to attach any

satisfactory meaning in this connection. The word means to be moved

towards; _amoveri_ = to be removed, would make sense.

XLV

Nor yet did these ancient sages believe that the Jupiter we worship 1

in the Capitol and the rest of the temples ever really hurled

thunderbolts from his hand. They recognised the same Jupiter as we do,

the guardian and ruler of the universe, its soul and breath, the maker

and lord of this earthly frame of things, to whom every name of power

is appropriate. If you prefer to call him fate, you will not be wrong.

He it is on whom depend all things, from whom proceed all causes of

causes. If you prefer to call him providence, you will still be right;

for he it is by whose counsel provision is made for the world that 2

it may pursue its orderly course and unfold the drama of its being.

If you prefer to call him nature, you will make no mistake; for it is

he from whom all things derive being, and by whose breath we live. If

you prefer to call him the world, you will not be in error; for he is

everything that you can see, he is wholly infused in all his parts,

self-sustained through inherent power. The Etruscans thought so too.

They said bolts were sent by Jove, just because nothing is performed

except by his power.

XLVI

But, you ask, why does Jupiter pass over the guilty and strike the

innocent? That is too big a question to enter on here; it shall have

its own place and time. Meantime I insist on this, that bolts are not

sent directly by Jupiter, but that all things are so arranged that even

what is not done by him is yet not done without some plan, which plan

is his. The force of the bolts is a consequence of his permission. For

even though Jupiter does not make them, he caused them to be made. He

does not superintend every detail; but to all he gives the signal,

force, and cause.

XLVII

There is another division of them made to which I cannot agree. They

are, according to the assertion of some, either constant or limited

or deferred. The constant are those whose prognostication extends all

over life, not merely intimating a single occurrence, but embracing the

series of coming events through the whole subsequent life. This is the

kind of bolt that occurs first after entrance on an inheritance, or

when an individual or a city has entered on a new phase of existence.

Limited ones answer exactly to a definite date. Deferred are those

whose threats may be delayed, though they cannot be averted and

completely avoided.

XLVIII

I will now state my reasons for disagreeing with this division. One 1

is that even the bolt which is called constant lasts for a limited

period. Such bolts correspond no less than others to a definite date.

Nor do they cease to be limited because the period they signify is a

long one. So, too, what is thought to be deferred is limited. For by

the admission of the advocates of this division the period for which

delay can be procured is a definite one. Bolts that relate to private

matters cannot, according to them, be delayed longer than ten years,

those relating to public affairs not more than thirty. So this class,

as well as the first, is limited, as it includes the date beyond which

the prognostication cannot be deferred. There is thus a fixed period 2

for bolts and results of every kind. For of what is uncertain there

could be no distinct knowledge. Then, too, these people talk in too

vague and general terms about the points to be noted in lightning. They

ought rather to divide them according to the scheme of the philosopher

Attalus, who had specialised in this department. The inspection

should determine where the lightning occurred, when, to whom, in what

connection, of what kind, of what amount. If I were to attempt to

arrange and classify all these, I should just be committing myself to

an endless task.

XLIX

Let me now glance at the names of the lightning adopted by Caecina, 1

and explain my own opinion of them. He calls one kind imperative, as

it demands the re-establishment of sacrifices neglected or informally

offered. Admonitory is the second kind, giving information of what

must be guarded against. Pestilential is a kind that portends death or

exile. Deceptive is that which, under guise of some benefit, inflicts

injury; for example, it gives the consulship to some one whose ruin 2

the office will prove, or bestows an estate the profit of which

must be compensated by some great loss. The avertible, again, bring

an appearance of danger without real danger. The destructive remove

the threats of previous lightning. The attested signify an agreement

with former lightning. The earth-borne occur in a covered place. The

overwhelming strike what was previously struck without due atonement

having been made. The royal smite either the election ground or the 3

government quarter of a free city; their prognostication threatens a

free state with an absolute monarchy. Infernal are when fire issues

from the ground. Hospitable summon or, to use a more polite word,

invite Jupiter to share a sacrificial feast with us. If he happen to

be angry with his host when he is invited, then his coming, Caecina

says, is fraught with danger to his entertainers. Auxiliary come by

summons too, but bring good to the summoner.

L

But how much simpler is the division employed by our distinguished 1

Stoic, Attalus, who combined skill in the Etruscan lore with all the

subtlety of Greek thought! Of the different kinds of lightning, he

says, one gives intimation of something that concerns us, another kind

intimates either a thing of no importance or something whose meaning

does not reach us. Of the significant lightning there are several

varieties--one is favourable, one unfavourable, a third neither one

nor other. Of the unfavourable there are all these forms--the evils 2

portended may be either unavoidable or avoidable, or such as may be

mitigated, or such as may be delayed. Again, the benefits foretold

by the favourable may be either abiding or transient. The mixture of

favourable and unfavourable may either consist of half and half, good

and ill; or ill may be turned by them into good, or good into ill.

The lightning that is neither unfavourable nor favourable gives us

intimation of some action by which we need neither be terrified nor

elated, for example, a journey abroad from which there is nothing

either to fear or hope.

LI

Let me revert for a moment to the lightning that portends something,

but a something that does not concern us; for instance, whether the

same kind of lightning as has occurred will again occur in the same

year. Sometimes lightning contains no indication at all, or one whose

grasp eludes us; as, for example, those manifestations of it that are

scattered through the spaces of the sea or in lonely deserts. Their

indication, if any, is lost.

LII

I have still a few remarks to add in order to show more fully the 1

force of lightning in various ways, for its power is not always

displayed in just the same way in every kind of material. For instance,

the stronger bodies are shattered with greater violence on account of

their resistance; it sometimes passes through the yielding ones without

doing any damage. With stone and iron and all the hard substances

it enters into conflict, because in its impetuous course it must

find a way through them; so it makes a way by which to escape. The

more flexible and thinner substances, though they seem very suitable

material for flames, it spares, mitigating its fury when it encounters

no obstacle to its passage. And so, as I said at a previous point,

coin is found fused, while the purse that contained it is untouched;

the extremely thin fire runs through the invisible interstices of the

latter. But whatever solidity it meets in a beam it subdues as being

refractory. For, as I have just said, its fury does not always 2

take the same form; the nature of the force in each case is revealed

merely by the kind of the damage, and you can tell the species of the

lightning by its effect. Again, the force of the same flash produces

many varieties of damage in the same material. For example, in a tree

it scorches any portion that is very dry; what is firm and hard it

bores through and smashes; the outer bark it scatters, the inner layers

nearer the centre it bursts and cuts up, the leaves it lashes and

strips off. Wine is frozen, iron and copper fused.

LIII

It is a strange fact that when wine that has been thus frozen is used 1

after it returns to its liquid state, it either kills or drives mad

those who have drunk of it. When one inquires why this effect should be

produced, the suggestion presents itself that the lightning contains

a pestilential force, some taint of which probably is left in the

liquid it has condensed and frozen. Indeed, the substance could never

have been solidified had not some bond of cohesion been introduced.

Moreover, in oil and every kind of unguent there is a foul smell

after lightning has touched them. Whence it is manifest that this 2

subtle fire, driven in a direction contrary to its nature, contains a

pestilential power, for not only its blow but even its mere breath is

overwhelming. Moreover, wherever lightning has struck there is sure

always to be a smell of sulphur, a substance which, being naturally

poisonous, causes delirium if breathed too freely. But we shall return

to this point when we are more at leisure. For I should like some day

to prove the extent to which the world is indebted to philosophy, the

parent of the arts, for knowledge of all such matters. She it was that

first both investigated the causes of things and noted their effects.

She performed a service far more valuable than the inspection of

lightning in thus comparing results with the principles from which they

are derived.

LIV

I will at this point revert to Posidonius’ opinion of the cause of 1

thunder. From the earth and its confines are exhaled certain elements,

partly moist, partly dry and smoke-like. The latter element remains in

the sky as material for lightning, while the former falls in rain. The

dry smoky particles that reach the atmosphere will not allow themselves

to be enclosed in clouds, but burst their envelope. Thence comes the

report which we name thunder. Besides this, anything in the atmosphere

itself that is rarefied is at the same time dried and heated up. This

also, if it is enclosed, seeks an exit with equal eagerness, and 2

causes a report as it escapes. On one occasion it makes a complete

burst, and the thunder is consequently the more violent; on another it

escapes by degrees in small portions. Air of this kind, then, by either

bursting or flying through the clouds, produces peals of thunder. The

rolling of the air enclosed in a cloud is the most potent cause of

setting fire to what is struck.

LV

Thunder is, in short, simply the report of explosions of dry air, 1

which cannot occur unless there is either friction or a rent in a

cloud. Posidonius adds that if the clouds merely collide with each

other, the kind of blow needed to produce an explosion is given,

but not completely; clouds do not meet through their whole extent,

but only part with part. And again, soft substances do not resound

unless knocked against hard ones; a wave is not heard unless when it

beats on the hard shore. But fire, which is soft, says an opponent,

when let into water, also a soft substance, produces sound in being

extinguished. Well, suppose it is so, it makes for the opposite view 2

which I urge. For it is not really the fire that makes the sound,

but the air escaping through the water that is quenching it. Granted

that fire is both produced and extinguished in the cloud, it arises

from air and friction. Well then, it is urged, may not some of the

shooting stars plunge into a cloud and be extinguished? Even supposing

that such a thing can and sometimes does occur, it does not remove

the difficulty. It is not the occasional chance cause but the natural

normal one that we are in search of. Suppose I admit the truth of your

contention that occasionally after thunder fires gleam in the heavens

much like shooting and falling stars. Yet this does not prove that 3

the thunder was caused by them; it merely shows that the thunder

occurred simultaneously with this other phenomenon. Clidemus asserts

that a lightning flash is an empty reflection, and not real fire; for

in the same way after nightfall a gleam appears from the motion of oars

in water. His illustration is not on all fours with the phenomenon. In

the latter case the gleam is seen actually within the water; in the

former, in the atmosphere, it bursts and leaps out of its element.

LVI

Heraclitus is of opinion that the flash of lightning is the first 1

attempt of a fire to kindle; just as on earth when the flame is at

first unsteady, now dying down and now darting up again. The ancients

used to call this summer lightning. We now say in the plural thunder

peals (_tonitrua_); the ancients said either thunder (_tonitruum_,

sing.) or merely peal (noise, _tonus_). The foregoing remark I 2

find in Caecina, an eloquent man, who would have had a considerable

reputation as such had he not been overshadowed by Cicero’s towering

form. Besides, the ancients had other variants of a similar kind. They

employed with the penult short the word that we use with it long; we

say _fulgēre_ (to lighten) just as we do _splendēre_ (to gleam). But in

order to denote this sudden burst of light from the clouds their usage

was to shorten the middle syllable so as to make it _fulgěre_.

LVII

What do I think myself about the matter, you ask. For up to this 1

point I have been reproducing the opinions of others. Well, I will tell

you. There is lightning when light bursts out suddenly and widely.

This occurs when the atmosphere has been changed, by the rarefaction

of the clouds, into fire, which has not gathered strength to issue to

any considerable distance. There is, I presume, no cause for surprise

either that movement rarefies air or that rarefaction kindles fire.

In the same way a leaden bullet is liquefied when discharged from a

sling, and falls in drops by reason of atmospheric friction just as

it would do through fire. Bolts of lightning are more numerous in 2

summer, for the reason that there is most heat at that season. Fire

naturally starts more readily when the friction is in warmer air. A

flash of lightning which merely gleams and a bolt which is discharged

are produced in exactly the same way. But there is less force in the

former case and less fuel. To put my opinion on the point shortly: a

bolt is just lightning in its most intense form. So then, when a body 3

of the nature of heat or smoke is exhaled from the earth and, meeting

with clouds, is for a long time rolled about in their hollows, at last

it bursts out. Since it possesses no strength, it is merely a flash.

But when lightnings have more material and burn with fiercer glow, they

not merely become visible, but also fall to the earth.

LVIII

Some writers are firmly convinced that the lightning bolt always 1

returns to the clouds. Others hold that the bolt settles in the

ground, at least when its fuel is heavy, and when it has comparatively

little force in its stroke as it glides down. But why, it may be

asked, does the bolt make its appearance suddenly, and is there not a

continuous trail of fire? It is on account of the extreme rapidity of

its motion; it fires the air at the same moment as it bursts through

the cloud. By and by when the motion ceases, the flame subsides. For

the course of the air that forms the bolt is intermittent, which 2

prevents continuity in the fire. As often as the air by its more

violent agitation sets itself on fire it conceives an impulse toward

flight. When the internal conflict has been ended by its escape, it is

afterwards for the same reason sometimes carried down as far as the

earth, and sometimes, if urged down with less force, it is dissipated

in air. Why, again, is the course of the lightning oblique? The

reason is that the air current of which it is composed is oblique and

tortuous. Nature summons fire upward, violence presses it downward, 3

and so it begins to be zigzag. Sometimes, when neither force gives way

to the other, the fire is at the same moment urged toward the upper and

depressed toward the nether regions. Why are the peaks of mountains

frequently struck by it? Because they are exposed to the clouds, and

objects falling from heaven to earth must pass by way of them.

LIX

I know quite well what you have long been anxious to say and what you 1

demand. I had rather, you say, get rid of fear of thunderbolts than

learn all about them. So you may reserve for others your instruction

regarding their origin. Let me be delivered from fear of them rather

than be informed of their nature. Well, I will follow your invitation,

for I quite allow that some moral should be attached to all studies

and all discourse. As we dive into the secrets of nature and treat 2

of things in the heavens, the soul must be delivered from its errors

and from time to time reassured. Even the learned who devote themselves

exclusively to this pursuit require such reassurance; not in order to

escape the arrows of fortune, for her missiles are hurled on us from

every side, but in order to bear them with resolution and constancy.

Unvanquished we may be, unassailed we cannot be, though meantime the

hope sometimes insinuates itself that even this is possible. How? you

exclaim. Despise death and then everything that leads to death is 3

despised, be it war or shipwreck, or the jaws of wild beasts, or the

weight of roofs rushing down with sudden fall. What more can they do

than part the body from the soul? And this parting no care can shun, no

good fortune can remove, no power can prevent. Other features in human

lot are variously assigned; to death’s call all are alike subject. 4

Whether heaven is propitious or wrathful, die we must.

Let courage be derived from our very despair. The most cowardly of

animals which nature has created for flight, if they find no way of

escape open to them, show fight with their unwarlike body. In fact, no

foe is more deadly than one into whom a tight corner has put courage.

Far more violent resistance is offered to death through necessity

than through valour. A desperate soul shows as much daring as a 5

courageous, probably more. Let us assume that, so far as concerns

death, we are given over to it; and so we are. The fact is so,

Lucilius; we are all destined to death. All this nation that you see,

all the people you can anywhere suppose to exist, will some day soon

be recalled by nature to the grave. There is no question of the fact,

only of the day. Sooner or later we must all go to the one place. Well,

then, does not he seem to you the most fearful and silliest of men 6

who by great entreaty seeks to delay death? Would you not despise a

man who was set in a company of those appointed to death if he asked

by way of favour to be allowed to be the last to lay his head upon the

block? We do the same in setting such store upon a little delay in the

time of death. Capital punishment is the sentence on all mankind, and

the sentence is most just. We possess what is wont to be regarded as 7

the greatest consolation that those sentenced to the extreme penalty

could enjoy; the circumstances of all being the same, our fate is the

same. If handed over by a judge or magistrate to execution, we should

follow and render obedience to our executioner; what difference does it

make whether it is by order of another or of our own accord that we go

to death?

How foolish you must be, how forgetful of your feebleness if you are

afraid of death every time it thunders! Does your abiding safety really

depend on this? Will life be secure if you escape the lightning? You 8

will be a victim of the sword, of a stone, of a fever. The lightning

is not the most serious of dangers, it is only the most conspicuous.

Your fate, I should think, would not be a bad one if the inconceivable

rapidity of your death prevented any sense of it, if your death was

the occasion of sacrificial ceremonies, if even when you breathe your

last, you are not quite a superfluity, but remain as a sign of some

great event. Your fate is surely not bad if you are buried along 9

with the bolt of lightning. And yet you are in panic at a crash in the

sky, you tremble at the sound of a hollow cloud; as often as there is

a flash you are ready to give up the ghost. Well then, is it in your

judgment more creditable to die of sheer chicken-heartedness than to be

killed by lightning? Rather, say I, confront all the more resolutely

the threats of the heavens, and when the universal world is in flames

around you, consider that in such a mighty mass you have nothing to

lose. But if you can bring yourself to believe that that wreck of 10

heaven, that conflict of the stormy winds, is aimed at you, if it is on

your account that the clouds are piled up and collide and roar, if it

is for your destruction that such a mass of fire is scattered abroad,

then you may surely regard it as some consolation that your death has

cost so dear! But there will then be no room for such a reflection.

The fate of one struck by lightning removes all fear. Among other

advantages it includes this, that it anticipates your expectation; no

man ever was afraid of lightning except one who had escaped it.