WHICH TREATS OF WINDS AND ATMOSPHERIC MOVEMENT IN GENERAL
I
Wind is the atmosphere in motion. Some have put the definition thus: 1
Wind is the atmosphere in motion in one direction. The latter seems the
more accurate, because the atmosphere is never so still as not to be in
agitation of some kind. In a similar way the sea is called calm when
it is only slightly moved and does not set in a particular direction.
Thus, if you read the verse:
When the winds slumbered and the sea was still,
you must bear in mind that the sea was not actually still, but heaved
gently; and that it is called calm in a comparative sort of way 2
because it receives no distinct impulse to this side or to that. The
same opinion is likewise to be adopted in regard to the atmosphere:
it is never absolutely motionless, even though it be still. This you
may gather from the following observation: When the sun pours into
any circumscribed space, one sees minute particles carried through
the air in different directions, some up, some down, meeting each
other in a great variety of ways. Therefore, if one say: a wave is 3
an agitation of the sea, one will very imperfectly express what is
meant, because even when at rest the sea is agitated. But one will
more than sufficiently safeguard oneself if the definition be: a
wave is an agitation of the sea in one direction. So in the subject
which at the moment forms our special topic, the definition will not
be unduly restricted if one is careful to say: wind is the atmosphere
flowing in one direction; or, wind is atmosphere flowing through some
impulse, or, is the force of the atmosphere going in one direction,
or, is a rush of the atmosphere more forcible than usual in some one
direction. I am aware of a criticism that may be made in regard to
the first definition. What need is there to add that it is in one 4
direction that the atmosphere flows? For surely whatever flows, flows
in one direction. No one says that water flows if there is simply
an internal movement of it, but only if it is borne in a particular
direction. So a substance may be in motion and yet not flow; but, on
the other hand, it cannot flow except in one direction. Well, if, on
the one hand, the shorter definition is free from cavil, let us employ
it; but if, on the other, any one is a stickler, let him not omit the
phrase whose addition will serve to preclude all ambiguity. Now that we
have sufficiently discussed our terms, let us come to grapple with our
problem at closer quarters.
II
Democritus avers that when there are many particles, which he calls
atoms, in a small empty space (_i.e._ vacuum), wind is the outcome.
But, on the contrary, when the space is large and the particles few,
there is a still peaceful condition of the atmosphere. To illustrate:
in the market square or in a side street as long as there is a
sprinkling of people there is no disturbance as one walks along it;
but when a crowd meets in a narrow space, then they jostle against each
other, and quarrelling arises. Similarly in this space which surrounds
our earth; when many bodies have crowded a very small portion, it is
unavoidable that they should jostle one another and be driven back
and forward, and be intertwined and squeezed. Hence results wind; the
particles that were struggling have had to give way, and after being
tossed about and remaining in suspense for a long time they at length
lean their weight toward one side. But when a few bodies occupy a large
roomy place, they can neither ram each other nor be jostled by one
another.
III
The falsity of this view may be inferred merely from the fact that 1
wind by no means invariably accompanies a cloud-laden atmosphere,
and yet more particles have gathered at that than at any other time
in a narrow space, where they produce condensation and heaviness in
the clouds. Besides, in the neighbourhood of rivers and lakes cloud
is frequent from the confinement and accumulation of particles, and
yet there is no attendant wind. Indeed, sometimes such a darkness
over-spreads the place that the view of objects in the immediate
vicinity is cut off; which would never happen unless numerous particles
were massed in a small space. Yet no period is more free from 2
wind than a period of cloud. Add now a consideration of an opposite
character: When the sun rarefies at his rising the thick dank morning
air, then a breeze springs up; the particles have got more room now,
and the thickly packed crowd of them is broken up.
IV
But how, you will say, are winds then formed, for you won’t deny that 1
they are formed? Not in any single way, I reply. Sometimes the earth
herself emits a great quantity of air, which she breathes out of her
hidden recesses. At other times a great and long-continued evaporation
drives the emissions from the depths up on high, where the change
which the mixed breath undergoes issues in wind. A suggestion has been
made which I cannot make up my mind to believe, and yet I cannot pass
over without mention. In our bodies food produces flatulence, the
emission of which causes great offence to one’s nasal susceptibilities;
sometimes a report accompanies the relief of the stomach, sometimes
there is a more polite smothering of it. In like manner it is 2
supposed the great frame of things when assimilating its nourishment
emits air. It is a lucky thing for us that nature’s digestion is good,
else we might apprehend some less agreeable consequences. Is it not,
then, nearer the truth to say that numerous particles are constantly
borne up from every part of the world; and when they are accumulated
and subsequently begin to be rarefied by the sun, wind starts up? It is
a general principle that anything contained in a narrow space when it
expands tries to get more room.
V
Well, then, do I ask you to believe that evaporation from land and 1
water is the sole cause of wind? Do I affirm that it produces a weight
in the atmosphere, the breaking up of which causes a rush of air? that
at that moment what was previously dense and stationary gets rarefied
and strives, as its nature requires, to obtain a wider space? I do
approve of this as sometimes the explanation. But there is a far truer
and more potent one, to wit, that the atmosphere by its constitution
possesses a native capacity of movement, this power not being derived
from an external source, but being like others of its powers inherent.
For can you suppose that we men have been endued with strength to 2
move about, while the atmosphere has been left sluggish and immovable?
Water, too, has its own motion, even though the winds are at rest;
otherwise it could not produce animal life. We see also forms of
vegetable life like moss produced by water, and certain kinds of
herbage floating on its surface.
VI
Well, then, I take it, in water there resides some vital principle. In
water, did I say? Why, fire, the universal destroyer, has a creative
function; it may not seem a likely thing, but all the same it is but
the truth that some animals are generated by fire. The atmosphere,
then, possesses some power of this kind; and that is why it sometimes
grows thick, sometimes expands and throws off impurities, sometimes
contracts, at others opens up and disperses. There is thus the same
difference between air and wind as between lake and river.[72] There
are occasions when the sun is the sole cause of wind, as he rarefies
the stiff atmosphere and opens it out from its thick contracted state.
[72] This remark would have been more apposite in Chap. I., above;
possibly that is its correct place.
VII
Having spoken of the winds in general, let us now proceed to the
discussion of individual winds. Perchance the discovery of the time and
place of their origin will conduce to the discovery of their manner of
formation. First, then, let us look at breezes before dawn, which are
borne either from rivers or hollow valleys or from some bay. None of
these winds lasts long, but falls when the sun has got stronger; nor
is it carried up out of sight of the earth. This class of wind sets
in in spring, and does not last beyond summer. It comes chiefly from
a quarter where there are spaces of water and mountains. Plains, for
instance, may have abundance of water, and yet they have no breeze; I
mean a breeze strong enough to be called wind.
VIII
How, then, is a blast of this kind, which is called by the Greeks 1
a gulf breeze (ἐγκολπίας), formed? This is the theory of them: All
the exhalations of marshes and rivers--and they are abundant and
constant--form by day the sun’s nourishment. By night, however,
there is no drain on them, and they are enclosed by the mountains
and accumulate in one quarter. When they have filled up this quarter
and can no longer find accommodation in it, but are squeezed out on
one side and move in a particular direction, then you have the wind.
It inclines, of course, toward the side to which it is invited by
the freer exit, and by the openness of the place toward which the
accumulated elements can rush. A proof of this is that a wind of 2
this kind does not blow in the early part of the night. At that time
the gathering only begins, but by daybreak it has reached the full,
and seeks relief by flowing off. It chooses its exit by preference
where there is the largest empty space and a great expanse of open.
It is stimulated by the rays of the rising sun striking on the chilly
air. Even before he makes his appearance his light of itself has an
influence. The sun does not at that stage, it is true, drive away the
atmosphere with his beams; still, he already attacks and harasses it by 3
the shafts of light he sends before him. When he comes out himself in
his power, part of the gathering is carried off to a greater altitude,
part is dissipated by his heat. Wherefore power is not granted to these
winds to continue longer than the morning. All their strength collapses
at sight of the sun. Even if their blast is somewhat violent, yet they
begin to subside as mid-day approaches; in fact, the breeze[73] never
lasts as long as noon. Any other variety of the breeze is weaker and
shorter in duration; they vary according as the causes to which they
owe their origin are more or less powerful.
[73] The precise meaning of this and the following sentence is
doubtful; one would suspect that the latter originally ran--varieties
of the breeze are longer or shorter in duration according as, etc.
IX
But why, again, are winds of this nature stronger in spring and 1
summer? For during the remainder of the year they are very light,
never rising sufficiently to fill the sails of a boat. The reason is
that spring is a wetter season. There is at that time more evaporation
going on, both from the abundance of water lying about, and from the
saturation of the ground to overflowing through the moist character of
the sky. And the reason why this wind is equally prevalent in summer
is that the heat of the day remaining after sundown and lasting during
a great part of the night draws out exhalations, and attracts more
forcibly any of them that are wont to be given off spontaneously by
the ground. But subsequently the heat has not sufficient strength to
use up what it drew out. This is the reason, I say, why the soil and 2
its moisture give off for a longer period [at certain seasons] the
particles derived from the earth’s wonted emanations and exhalations.
The sunrise produces wind by its stroke as well as by its warmth. For,
as I have already said, the light which precedes the sun does not as
yet heat up the atmosphere, but merely smites upon it; being smitten
the air retires to one side. And yet I cannot go so far as to admit
that the light is quite devoid of heat, inasmuch as it is derived from
heat. Probably it does not contain as great an amount as would appear
from its effect. Still, it accomplishes its own task by separating and
rarefying the dense exhalations. Moreover, places which through some 3
disservice of nature are so shut in that they cannot receive the direct
rays of the sun, even they, I say, are heated somewhat by the dull
cloudy light that can pierce to them and are less rigid during the day
than by night. Furthermore, all heat naturally dispels cloud and drives
it off from itself. Therefore the sun likewise has the same effect.
For that reason some people suppose that the blast must come from the
direction in which the sun lies. But this opinion is manifestly false,
seeing that the breeze sets in any direction, and one can sometimes
sail right toward the sunrise with all canvas set. That could not
happen if the wind were always coming from the direction of the sun.
X
The Etesian winds, too, which some drag into the discussion, do not 1
give much support to their contention. First, I will tell you what
their opinion is, and, secondly, why it is not mine. The Etesians, say
they, do not blow in winter, because at the season of the shortest days
the effect of the sun ceases before the cold is overcome. So, snow
accumulates then and freezes hard. In summer the Etesian winds begin
to blow at the time when the day is lengthened out and the sun’s rays
come down straight upon us. Probably, therefore, the snows smitten by
the greater heat exhale more moisture. The earth likewise breathes more
freely when uncovered and relieved of the snow. So more particles issue
from the northern portion of the heavens, and are wafted toward our 2
quarter, which lies lower and is warmer. From this the Etesians derive
their impulse; wherefore they begin at the summer solstice, and do not
blow strongly after the rise of the Dog-star, because by that time a
great part of the cold northern exhalations has been carried down to
our regions. But when the sun has changed his course he still directs
his beams straight down on our hemisphere; and one part of the air he
attracts, but another he thrusts before him.[74] Thus the blast of the
Etesians breaks the force of the summer heat, protecting us from the
full severity of the most broiling months.
[74] The meaning is very obscure. The text has been suspected, not
without cause: the words “he still ... hemisphere” are out of place,
to say the least of it.
XI
I must now, as I promised, tell you why the Etesian winds do not
give any assistance to their advocates nor contribute aught to their
argument. We have said that the breeze is stirred by the morning light,
but it no less surely subsides when the full sun has touched it. And
yet the Etesians are called by sailors sleepy-headed and dainty, for
the very reason that, as my brother Gallio puts it, they cannot get
up in the morning. They begin to show face at the time when even the
most persistent morning breeze has fallen. This would not occur if the
sun reduced the force of the Etesians as he does that of the morning
breezes. Add also that, if the cause of their rise was the lengthened
space of the day, they would blow even prior to the solstice when the
days are at their longest, and when the thaw of the snow is at its
height. By the month of July everything is clear of snow, or, at any
rate, very few places are still covered with it.
XII
There are some species of winds which issue from clouds that are rent 1
and pour down their contents. They are called by the Greeks cloud winds
(ἐκνεφίας). Their method of formation, as I suppose, is this: among the
particles given off by the earth’s vapour and carried aloft there is
great inequality and dissimilarity, some being dry and others moist.
When the particles have massed in one body there is great discord and
internal strife, which probably leads to the forming of certain hollow
clouds with narrow pipe-shaped spaces left between, much like a flute
in shape. In these gaps there is shut up rarefied air, which, being 2
buffeted about in the confined space and becoming heated, strives to
get more room. It expands and rends its envelope, breaking forth in
wind, which, as a rule, is squally, since it descends from above and
falls on us with fierce vehemence. It is not diffused, nor does it
come through a wide open space, but it struggles and opens up its way
by main force. As a rule, it is a brief gust. As it bursts through 3
the cloudy receptacle by which it was confined and overleaps the
battlements, it comes in tumultuous energy, sometimes not unattended
with fire and the sound of thunder in the heavens. Such winds are much
more violent and of longer duration if they have taken up in their
course other gusts proceeding from a like cause, and thus several
have conspired to form one. It is just like the flow of torrents of
moderate size, not serious as long as each has its separate course. But
when a number of them have combined their streams, they surpass in 4
size regular, constant rivers. The same thing may probably happen in
squalls; they are short-lived whenever they are alone. But when they
have joined forces, and the air expelled from several parts of the sky
at once has all combined in one, both force and duration are added to
them.
XIII
So, then, wind results from the breaking up of a cloud, which breach 1
is effected in several different ways. The accumulation of air is
burst sometimes by the internal struggle, as it seeks to gain an exit;
sometimes by the heat produced either simply by the sun or else by the
mutual ramming and friction of the roaming bodies.
At this point, if you have no objection, one may raise the question
why a whirlwind occurs. In rivers, when their course has been without
any obstacle for a long distance, the channel is a straight, uniform
one. But when they meet some boulder that juts from the bank, the 2
stream is driven back and whirls the waters in a circle without a way
of escape, so that in their revolution they are constantly sucked in
toward the centre to form a whirlpool. In like manner the wind pours
out in full force as long as no obstacle stands in the way. But when it
is reflected from some jutting projection, or is massed in a quarter
which combines to form a thin downward channel, then it revolves upon
its own axis, and produces an eddy similar to that in which, as we
have just said, the water revolves. This revolving wind, which 3
always traverses the same spot and is roused to fury by the mere giddy
whirling, is a whirlwind. If it is a very fierce one, and revolves
longer than ordinary, it ignites and causes what the Greeks call a
fire-wind (πρηστήρ), which is just a fiery whirlwind. The bursting of
such winds from the clouds produces almost all the disasters by which
herds are carried off and ships lifted, bodily, right out of the water.
Further, some winds produce different ones by dispersing the air and
driving it before them in other directions than that toward which they
themselves have bent their course.
It occurs to me at the moment to mention a parallel to wind that 4
may be drawn from drops of moisture. The single drops may begin to
incline downwards and be on the verge of giving way, but yet do not
manage to fall. When, however, several have united and the mass has
imparted strength, then they are said to flow and to move. So, as long
as there are slight movements of the atmosphere disturbed at several
points, they do not produce wind. The latter begins only when all those
movements are united and concentrated in a single effort. Air differs
from wind in degree alone. A more violent air is a wind; air in turn is
gently flowing atmosphere.
XIV
Let me now recall a remark that I had made early in this book, 1
namely, that wind issues from cave or inner recess of earth. The
whole earth is not of solid compact constitution down to its lowest
foundations, but at many points is hollow,
... hung over dark retreats.
In some places it contains voids that have no moisture. Though there
is no light there to show the distinctions in the air, yet I venture
to assert that cloud and mist settle in that gloom. Above ground 2
cloud and mist surely do not exist because they are seen; but, rather,
they are seen because they exist. Well, there too rivers none the less
exist that they are not seen. You must understand that down there
rivers flow equal in size to our own. Some glide gently, others resound
as they tumble down headlong over the broken ground. So must not you
equally allow that there are some lakes underground and some water
in pools without an exit? This being so, it is of necessity that 3
the air be charged with moisture, and that, being charged, it lean in
one direction, raising the wind by its propulsion. We must recognise,
therefore, that from those subterranean clouds blasts of wind are
raised in the dark, what time they have gathered strength sufficient
to remove the obstacles presented by the earth, or can seize upon
some open path for their exit, and from this cavernous retreat can
escape toward the abodes of men. Now it is obvious that underground 4
there are large quantities of sulphur and other substances no less
inflammable. When the air in search of a path of escape works its
tortuous way through ground of this nature, it necessarily kindles fire
by the mere friction. By and by, as the flames spread more widely, any
sluggish air there may be is also rarefied and set in motion; a way of
escape is sought with great roaring and violence. This point I will
elaborate in more detail when I go on to treat of earthquakes.
XV
You must now allow me to tell you a little story! Asclepiodotus 1
vouches for the tale. Once on a time a large party of miners was sent
down by Philip into an old mine, long since abandoned, to ascertain its
prospects and condition, and to see whether ancient avarice had left
anything for posterity to glean. Down they went with plenty of light to
last for days. In due time, when they were quite tired by the length
of the road, they saw a sight to make their hair stand on end--huge
rivers and vast reservoirs of sluggish waters, equal in size to any
above ground, not pressed down either with a weight of earth above, but
overarched with an open vault. I confess I felt lively satisfaction in
reading the story. It showed me that the vices from which our age 2
suffers are not new; they have been handed down from ancient days.
Nor is it in our age that avarice has for the first time ransacked
the reefs of soil and stone, searching in the dark for treasure badly
hidden. Those ancestors of ours, whom we are always vaunting, our
declension from whose standard we constantly bemoan, were also lured
by hope to cut down the mountains and stand beneath the ruins to gloat
over their filthy lucre.
Before the time of Philip of Macedon there were kings who pursued 3
treasure down to its deepest lurking-places; leaving the free air
and light of day behind, they lowered themselves into those caverns,
which no distinction of night from day could reach. What expectation
could lead them on? What necessity caused man, whose head points to
the stars, to stoop below, burying him in mines and plunging him in
the very bowels of innermost earth to root up gold? The quest for the
precious bane is no less perilous than its possession. For this he 4
drove shafts and crawled round his dirty, uncertain booty, forgetful of
day, forgetful of his better nature, which he abjured. On no dead man
does earth lie so heavily as it lies on those on whom insistent avarice
has cast earth’s weight, from whom it has withdrawn the light of day,
whom it has buried in the depths where that noxious poison lurks. They
had the hardihood to descend to a region where they found a new order
of nature, forms of overhanging earth and winds raving through the
blind void, where are dread fountains of waters whose streams none
drink, and night reigns deep and unbroken. And then, after all that has
come and gone, they dread the gods of the nether world!
XVI
But to return to the matter in hand; there are four winds, divided, 1
according to the cardinal points, into east, west, south, and north.
The rest of the winds, which are called by different names, are
attached to these:
Eurus has gone toward the dawn and the realms of Nebaioth
And Persia and the peaks that lie beneath the rays of morn.
Evening and the coasts that are warmed by the setting sun
Are close to Zephyrus. Scythia and the Great Bear
Are under the sway of dread Boreas. The land that faces these
Is bathed in unbroken cloud and rainy Auster.
Or, if you prefer a briefer enumeration, you may gather them in one 2
great storm--a physical impossibility, by the way:
Eurus and Notus (south) rush together, and with squall upon squall
Africus (south-west).
And we may add Aquilo (north), which has no place in the famous battle
of the winds to which Virgil refers. Some make the number of the winds
twelve. They divide the four quarters of heaven into three parts
each, adding two subsidiary winds to each of the principal ones. On
this principle that diligent author, Varro, classifies them. And 3
there is good ground for it; the other method, which refers them to
seasonal changes, is very unsatisfactory. For instance, the sun does
not always rise or set at the same point. He has one place of rising
at the equinox--indeed, the equinox occurs twice a year--another at
the summer, and still another at the winter, solstice. The wind which
sets in from the direction of sunrise at the equinoxes is with us
called Subsolane (near the sun); the Greeks call it ἀφηλιώτης (from
the sun). From sunrise in winter Eurus comes, named by our countrymen
Vulturnus (_i.e._ from Mt. Vultur in the S.E.). Livy also calls it 4
by this name, in connection with that famous battle of Cannae, which
proved so disastrous to Rome. Hannibal on that occasion managed to
get our army with its face to the rising sun and to the wind; by the
aid of the wind and the glare that dazzled the eyes of the enemy he
snatched the victory. Varro likewise uses the same name. But Eurus is a
name now naturalised, and has a place in our vocabulary that does not
suggest any foreign origin. The wind that is raised by sunrise at the 5
summer solstice was called by the Greeks καικίας;[75] we have no name
for it. Sunset at the equinox sends us Favonius, which even people
who cannot speak Greek will tell you is called the Zephyr. Corus,
which is by some called Argestes [from its clearness], comes from the
sunset at the summer solstice. I do not approve of the identification;
Corus is a vehement wind, rushing in one uniform direction, while
Argestes is, as a rule, a gentle wind, and blows impartially on
travellers coming and going along the same road (_i.e._ is constantly 6
shifting). From sunset in midwinter comes the rushing furious Africus
(African wind), named by the Greeks the Libyan (λίψ). In the northern
quarter the highest (_i.e._ most easterly) is Aquilo, the central
one is Septemtrio, the lowest Thracias,[76] for which there is no
corresponding word in Latin. In the southern region there is Euronotus,
then Notus, or in Latin Auster, then Libonotus, which has no Latin name.
[75] No explanation of this name of the nor’-easter is forthcoming.
[76] _I.e._ the Thracian; Thrace must have been N.W. of the region in
which the name had its origin.
XVII
We Stoics hold that there are twelve winds; not that there are 1
everywhere so many (the slope of the earth [_i.e._ of the earth’s axis]
excludes some), but because there are nowhere more than twelve. We
speak of six cases in the same way, not because every noun possesses
six, but because none has more than six. Those who assert the number
of the winds to be twelve adopt the principle that the number must be
the same as the divisions of the heavens. Now the heavens are divided
into five zones passing through the cardinal points of the world. These
are the northern, the solstitial, the equinoctial, the wintry, 2
the one that faces the northern. A sixth is added in the zone which
separates the upper part of the world from the lower. As you know,
there is always one-half the world above our head, and one-half beneath
our feet. This line which lies between the visible and the concealed
parts of the sky is called by the Greeks the Horizon (ὁρίζων = bounding
line): our school call it the Bounder; others, the Bounding [line].
To this must be added the meridian circle, which cuts the horizon 3
at right angles. Some of these zones run transversely, intersecting
others. Now there must necessarily be as many divisions of the heavens
as there are parts. So, then, the horizon or bounding circle cuts those
five zones, of whose position I have just spoken, making ten parts,
five to east and five to west. The meridian circle which meets the
horizon gives two additional divisions. Thus the air receives its 4
twelve divisions, and yields a like number of winds.
There are some of the winds that are peculiar to certain localities;
they do not carry far, but reach only the immediate vicinity. They do
not derive their impulse from a particular quarter of the world at
large. For example, the wind Atabulus haunts Apulia; the Iapygian,
Calabria; the Scironian, Athens; Cataegis, Pamphylia; Circius, Gaul.
To the last mentioned, though it shakes their houses, the people are
very grateful, believing they are indebted to it for the healthiness
of their climate. At any rate, the late Emperor Augustus, when he was
staying in Gaul, erected to it a temple he had vowed. My task would
never be done if I were to attempt to enumerate the individual winds.
There is hardly any district that has not some particular wind that
arises in it and falls not far from it.
XVIII
Wherefore among the other works of Providence this one must be 1
regarded as worthy of all admiration. Heaven had many purposes in view
in devising the winds and distributing them through all the varied
quarters of the earth. The first object was to prevent the atmosphere
from becoming gross; by their constant tossing the winds were meant to
render it beneficial, a source of life to those who were to breathe
it. In the second place, they were to supply the earth with rain, and
at the same time to restrain excess of rain. This they accomplish by 2
now gathering, now scattering the clouds, so that the rainfall should
be fairly distributed over the whole world. The south wind drives it
toward Italy, the north sends it back to Africa. The Etesian winds will
not suffer the clouds to settle in our quarter; but yet the whole of
India and Ethiopia are watered with constant rain during the period
of their prevalence. Moreover, crops could not be gathered in unless
the worthless elements were winnowed by the blast from the good grain
with which it is mixed. The breeze is needed, too, to rouse the seed
and bring to light the latent fruit, by causing it to burst through
its covering, those wrappings which the farmers call follicles.
Furthermore, the wind has established intercommunication among all 3
the different nations, and has united tribes far removed from each
other in place.
A great service is this that nature here renders, did not man’s
madness turn it to his own injury! As it is, the remark may be applied
to the winds which was commonly made regarding Caesar the Elder
(Julius), as recorded by Titus Livius (Livy); it was doubtful whether
his birth was a blessing or a curse to the state. In like manner
all the useful and necessary services performed by the winds cannot
outweigh the devices which man’s madness has through them framed for
his own destruction. But they do not cease to be inherently good, 4
even though, through fault of those who degrade their use, they are
turned to instruments of harm. Surely Providence and God, the great
Disposer of the world, had a beneficent aim in establishing the winds,
and diffusing them on every side, to wit, that the atmosphere might
be kept in motion by them, that no part of the world should become
unsightly through inactivity. His object was not that we might man our
fleet with armed soldiers to seize every quarter of the main, and that
we might go in search of foes either in or beyond the sea. What frenzy
goads us on, and matches us in strife for our mutual destruction? We
spread the sails to the winds to go in quest of war, and we run 5
risks of sea for the sake of meeting risks of battle! We tempt the
uncertainty of fortune, the force of tempests that no human effort can
overcome, death without hope of burial. The prize would not be worth
the toil if the voyage conducted us to peace. As it is, when we have
passed so many hidden rocks and hidden shoals of a treacherous sea;
when we have escaped the billows that rise like mountains above us,
into which the raging wind forces all voyagers; when we have passed
through days enveloped in mist, and nights rendered still more awful 6
by cloud and thunder, and by whirlwinds that rend the frail bark in
pieces; what reward shall we have for all the toil and anxiety? What
harbour will give us hospitable shelter, worn out as we are with so
many sufferings? War, I trow, will meet us, and an enemy ready prepared
on shore and tribes destined to cruel slaughter, but not without much
damage to the conqueror, and ancient cities in flames. Why do we press
whole nations into arms? Why do we enrol armies to marshal their lines
amid the billows? Why do we disquiet the seas? The land, I suppose, 7
is not wide enough to compass our death. Fortune deals too tenderly
with us: she has given us too hardy bodies, too sound health. No ravage
of plague cuts us off: each one may comfortably fill up the measure of
his years and reach the haven of old age. So let us launch upon the
deep and call toward us the loitering fates. Poor wretches, what is it
ye seek? Death, which is always too much with us? It will attack you,
even in your couch; well, see that the victims it attacks are innocent
of crime. It will seize you in your house; be sure it find you planning
no mischief.
But what can one call it but plain insanity actually to carry 8
destruction in your train, to rush in anger against men you never saw,
to lay waste without provocation all that comes in your path, and,
after the fashion of wild beasts, to kill a man you do not hate? We are
worse than beasts, for they bite only in retaliation or from hunger;
but we, utterly lavish of our own and others’ blood, harass the seas by
the vessels we launch, entrust our safety to the waves, and pray for
favouring winds, counting it our good fortune to be borne in safety
to the wars! To what lengths have our crimes hurried us criminals? It
is not enough to vent one’s madness within one’s own sphere. Your 9
stupid King of Persia must cross into Greece, filling it with an army
with which he has failed to conquer it. Your Alexander, leaving behind
Bactra and India, must needs seek to learn what lies beyond the great
sea, and will chafe that there is any point beyond which he cannot go.
Crassus in like manner will fall a prey to the Parthians through his
lust of gold. He will not dread the imprecations of the tribune who
calls him back, nor the storms of the tedious sea, nor the lightning
by Euphrates that foretold destruction, nor the resistance of heaven
itself. Through the wrath of man and God alike gold shall be sought. 10
Not without good cause, therefore, it may be said that nature would
have done better by us had she forbidden the winds to blow at all, had
she checked their roaming abroad in their fury, and ordered each one
to abide in his own land. If this had served no other end, at any rate
the mischief of each human life would have been restricted to itself
and its own nation. As it is, the ills of home are too little for us;
we must toil to share those abroad as well. No land is so far removed
from neighbours that it cannot send forth in some direction its evil
propensities. How do I know but that some ruler of a great nation 11
meantime concealed from view, swollen by fortune’s kindness, may choose
not to confine his arms within the boundaries of his own realm, but
with secret design may even now be fitting out his fleet against us?
How can I tell whether this wind or that shall convey war to me? It
would go far to ensure the peace of the world if the seas could be
shut up.
Still, as I said a little ago, we cannot put the blame on God, our
Author, if we corrupt His blessings and turn them into curses. He gave
us the winds to maintain the equable temperature of earth and sky, 12
to call forth or to repress the waters, to nourish the produce of field
and tree; the crops are brought to maturity, among other causes, by
their mere tossing in the wind, which attracts the nourishment to the
top, and by movement prevents the stagnation of decay. He gave the
winds that we might gain acquaintance with foreign lands. Man would
have been an untutored creature without much experience of the world if
circumscribed by the bounds of his native soil. He gave the winds 13
that the blessings of each region might become common to all; not to
convey across the sea regiments of horse and foot, nor arms for the
destruction of mankind. If we simply estimate nature’s boons by the
degraded uses to which they have been put, there is nothing that we
have not received for our own hurt. Who is aught the better of the
gift of sight? or of speech? To whom is life itself not a torment? I
defy you to find anything of such undoubted utility that it cannot by
misuse be converted into a curse. So it is with the winds: nature had
designed them for a boon; we have ourselves made them the opposite.
They all lead us to some disaster: one man has not the same motive 14
as his neighbour for putting to sea, but none has a good one. Diverse
temptations lead us to essay the way. Above all, we love to go to sea
in order to damage some one. Plato, with whose testimony I may close,
has observed, with great aptness, it is mere trifles that men purchase
with their lives. Yes, my dear Lucilius, if you estimate aright man’s
madness, in other words, our own--for we all wallow in the same
herd--you will be still more amused by the reflection that we amass for
life what in the end wears life out.