Section 1.

Section 2.

Section 3.

Section 4.

Section 5.

Section 6.

Section 7.

Section 8.

TIMAEUS

INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

Of all the writings of Plato the Timaeus is the most obscure and

repulsive to the modern reader, and has nevertheless had the

greatest influence over the ancient and mediaeval world. The

obscurity arises in the infancy of physical science, out of the

confusion of theological, mathematical, and physiological

notions, out of the desire to conceive the whole of nature

without any adequate knowledge of the parts, and from a greater

perception of similarities which lie on the surface than of

differences which are hidden from view. To bring sense under the

control of reason; to find some way through the mist or labyrinth

of appearances, either the highway of mathematics, or more

devious paths suggested by the analogy of man with the world, and

of the world with man; to see that all things have a cause and

are tending towards an end—this is the spirit of the ancient

physical philosopher. He has no notion of trying an experiment

and is hardly capable of observing the curiosities of nature

which are ‘tumbling out at his feet,’ or of interpreting even the

most obvious of them. He is driven back from the nearer to the

more distant, from particulars to generalities, from the earth to

the stars. He lifts up his eyes to the heavens and seeks to guide

by their motions his erring footsteps. But we neither appreciate

the conditions of knowledge to which he was subjected, nor have

the ideas which fastened upon his imagination the same hold upon

us. For he is hanging between matter and mind; he is under the

dominion at the same time both of sense and of abstractions; his

impressions are taken almost at random from the outside of

nature; he sees the light, but not the objects which are revealed

by the light; and he brings into juxtaposition things which to us

appear wide as the poles asunder, because he finds nothing

between them. He passes abruptly from persons to ideas and

numbers, and from ideas and numbers to persons,—from the heavens

to man, from astronomy to physiology; he confuses, or rather does

not distinguish, subject and object, first and final causes, and

is dreaming of geometrical figures lost in a flux of sense. He

contrasts the perfect movements of the heavenly bodies with the

imperfect representation of them (Rep.), and he does not always

require strict accuracy even in applications of number and figure

(Rep.). His mind lingers around the forms of mythology, which he

uses as symbols or translates into figures of speech. He has no

implements of observation, such as the telescope or microscope;

the great science of chemistry is a blank to him. It is only by

an effort that the modern thinker can breathe the atmosphere of

the ancient philosopher, or understand how, under such unequal

conditions, he seems in many instances, by a sort of inspiration,

to have anticipated the truth.

The influence with the Timaeus has exercised upon posterity is

due partly to a misunderstanding. In the supposed depths of this

dialogue the Neo-Platonists found hidden meanings and connections

with the Jewish and Christian Scriptures, and out of them they

elicited doctrines quite at variance with the spirit of Plato.

Believing that he was inspired by the Holy Ghost, or had received

his wisdom from Moses, they seemed to find in his writings the

Christian Trinity, the Word, the Church, the creation of the

world in a Jewish sense, as they really found the personality of

God or of mind, and the immortality of the soul. All religions

and philosophies met and mingled in the schools of Alexandria,

and the Neo-Platonists had a method of interpretation which could

elicit any meaning out of any words. They were really incapable

of distinguishing between the opinions of one philosopher and

another— between Aristotle and Plato, or between the serious

thoughts of Plato and his passing fancies. They were absorbed in

his theology and were under the dominion of his name, while that

which was truly great and truly characteristic in him, his effort

to realize and connect abstractions, was not understood by them

at all. Yet the genius of Plato and Greek philosophy reacted upon

the East, and a Greek element of thought and language overlaid

and partly reduced to order the chaos of Orientalism. And kindred

spirits, like St. Augustine, even though they were acquainted

with his writings only through the medium of a Latin translation,

were profoundly affected by them, seeming to find ‘God and his

word everywhere insinuated’ in them (August. Confess.)

There is no danger of the modern commentators on the Timaeus

falling into the absurdities of the Neo-Platonists. In the

present day we are well aware that an ancient philosopher is to

be interpreted from himself and by the contemporary history of

thought. We know that mysticism is not criticism. The fancies of

the Neo-Platonists are only interesting to us because they

exhibit a phase of the human mind which prevailed widely in the

first centuries of the Christian era, and is not wholly extinct

in our own day. But they have nothing to do with the

interpretation of Plato, and in spirit they are opposed to him.

They are the feeble expression of an age which has lost the power

not only of creating great works, but of understanding them. They

are the spurious birth of a marriage between philosophy and

tradition, between Hellas and the East—(Greek) (Rep.). Whereas

the so-called mysticism of Plato is purely Greek, arising out of

his imperfect knowledge and high aspirations, and is the growth

of an age in which philosophy is not wholly separated from poetry

and mythology.

A greater danger with modern interpreters of Plato is the

tendency to regard the Timaeus as the centre of his system. We do

not know how Plato would have arranged his own dialogues, or

whether the thought of arranging any of them, besides the two

‘Trilogies’ which he has expressly connected; was ever present to

his mind. But, if he had arranged them, there are many

indications that this is not the place which he would have

assigned to the Timaeus. We observe, first of all, that the

dialogue is put into the mouth of a Pythagorean philosopher, and

not of Socrates. And this is required by dramatic propriety; for

the investigation of nature was expressly renounced by Socrates

in the Phaedo. Nor does Plato himself attribute any importance to

his guesses at science. He is not at all absorbed by them, as he

is by the IDEA of good. He is modest and hesitating, and

confesses that his words partake of the uncertainty of the

subject (Tim.). The dialogue is primarily concerned with the

animal creation, including under this term the heavenly bodies,

and with man only as one among the animals. But we can hardly

suppose that Plato would have preferred the study of nature to

man, or that he would have deemed the formation of the world and

the human frame to have the same interest which he ascribes to

the mystery of being and not-being, or to the great political

problems which he discusses in the Republic and the Laws. There

are no speculations on physics in the other dialogues of Plato,

and he himself regards the consideration of them as a rational

pastime only. He is beginning to feel the need of further

divisions of knowledge; and is becoming aware that besides

dialectic, mathematics, and the arts, there is another field

which has been hitherto unexplored by him. But he has not as yet

defined this intermediate territory which lies somewhere between

medicine and mathematics, and he would have felt that there was

as great an impiety in ranking theories of physics first in the

order of knowledge, as in placing the body before the soul.

It is true, however, that the Timaeus is by no means confined to

speculations on physics. The deeper foundations of the Platonic

philosophy, such as the nature of God, the distinction of the

sensible and intellectual, the great original conceptions of time

and space, also appear in it. They are found principally in the

first half of the dialogue. The construction of the heavens is

for the most part ideal; the cyclic year serves as the connection

between the world of absolute being and of generation, just as

the number of population in the Republic is the expression or

symbol of the transition from the ideal to the actual state. In

some passages we are uncertain whether we are reading a

description of astronomical facts or contemplating processes of

the human mind, or of that divine mind (Phil.) which in Plato is

hardly separable from it. The characteristics of man are

transferred to the world-animal, as for example when intelligence

and knowledge are said to be perfected by the circle of the Same,

and true opinion by the circle of the Other; and conversely the

motions of the world-animal reappear in man; its amorphous state

continues in the child, and in both disorder and chaos are

gradually succeeded by stability and order. It is not however to

passages like these that Plato is referring when he speaks of the

uncertainty of his subject, but rather to the composition of

bodies, to the relations of colours, the nature of diseases, and

the like, about which he truly feels the lamentable ignorance

prevailing in his own age.

We are led by Plato himself to regard the Timaeus, not as the

centre or inmost shrine of the edifice, but as a detached

building in a different style, framed, not after the Socratic,

but after some Pythagorean model. As in the Cratylus and

Parmenides, we are uncertain whether Plato is expressing his own

opinions, or appropriating and perhaps improving the

philosophical speculations of others. In all three dialogues he

is exerting his dramatic and imitative power; in the Cratylus

mingling a satirical and humorous purpose with true principles of

language; in the Parmenides overthrowing Megarianism by a sort of

ultra-Megarianism, which discovers contradictions in the one as

great as those which have been previously shown to exist in the

ideas. There is a similar uncertainty about the Timaeus; in the

first part he scales the heights of transcendentalism, in the

latter part he treats in a bald and superficial manner of the

functions and diseases of the human frame. He uses the thoughts

and almost the words of Parmenides when he discourses of being

and of essence, adopting from old religion into philosophy the

conception of God, and from the Megarians the IDEA of good. He

agrees with Empedocles and the Atomists in attributing the

greater differences of kinds to the figures of the elements and

their movements into and out of one another. With Heracleitus, he

acknowledges the perpetual flux; like Anaxagoras, he asserts the

predominance of mind, although admitting an element of necessity

which reason is incapable of subduing; like the Pythagoreans he

supposes the mystery of the world to be contained in number.

Many, if not all the elements of the Pre-Socratic philosophy are

included in the Timaeus. It is a composite or eclectic work of

imagination, in which Plato, without naming them, gathers up into

a kind of system the various elements of philosophy which

preceded him.

If we allow for the difference of subject, and for some growth in

Plato’s own mind, the discrepancy between the Timaeus and the

other dialogues will not appear to be great. It is probable that

the relation of the ideas to God or of God to the world was

differently conceived by him at different times of his life. In

all his later dialogues we observe a tendency in him to personify

mind or God, and he therefore naturally inclines to view creation

as the work of design. The creator is like a human artist who

frames in his mind a plan which he executes by the help of his

servants. Thus the language of philosophy which speaks of first

and second causes is crossed by another sort of phraseology: ‘God

made the world because he was good, and the demons ministered to

him.’ The Timaeus is cast in a more theological and less

philosophical mould than the other dialogues, but the same

general spirit is apparent; there is the same dualism or

opposition between the ideal and actual—the soul is prior to the

body, the intelligible and unseen to the visible and corporeal.

There is the same distinction between knowledge and opinion which

occurs in the Theaetetus and Republic, the same enmity to the

poets, the same combination of music and gymnastics. The doctrine

of transmigration is still held by him, as in the Phaedrus and

Republic; and the soul has a view of the heavens in a prior state

of being. The ideas also remain, but they have become types in

nature, forms of men, animals, birds, fishes. And the attribution

of evil to physical causes accords with the doctrine which he

maintains in the Laws respecting the involuntariness of vice.

The style and plan of the Timaeus differ greatly from that of any

other of the Platonic dialogues. The language is weighty, abrupt,

and in some passages sublime. But Plato has not the same mastery

over his instrument which he exhibits in the Phaedrus or

Symposium. Nothing can exceed the beauty or art of the

introduction, in which he is using words after his accustomed

manner. But in the rest of the work the power of language seems

to fail him, and the dramatic form is wholly given up. He could

write in one style, but not in another, and the Greek language

had not as yet been fashioned by any poet or philosopher to

describe physical phenomena. The early physiologists had

generally written in verse; the prose writers, like Democritus

and Anaxagoras, as far as we can judge from their fragments,

never attained to a periodic style. And hence we find the same

sort of clumsiness in the Timaeus of Plato which characterizes

the philosophical poem of Lucretius. There is a want of flow and

often a defect of rhythm; the meaning is sometimes obscure, and

there is a greater use of apposition and more of repetition than

occurs in Plato’s earlier writings. The sentences are less

closely connected and also more involved; the antecedents of

demonstrative and relative pronouns are in some cases remote and

perplexing. The greater frequency of participles and of absolute

constructions gives the effect of heaviness. The descriptive

portion of the Timaeus retains traces of the first Greek prose

composition; for the great master of language was speaking on a

theme with which he was imperfectly acquainted, and had no words

in which to express his meaning. The rugged grandeur of the

opening discourse of Timaeus may be compared with the more

harmonious beauty of a similar passage in the Phaedrus.

To the same cause we may attribute the want of plan. Plato had

not the command of his materials which would have enabled him to

produce a perfect work of art. Hence there are several new

beginnings and resumptions and formal or artificial connections;

we miss the ‘callida junctura’ of the earlier dialogues. His

speculations about the Eternal, his theories of creation, his

mathematical anticipations, are supplemented by desultory remarks

on the one immortal and the two mortal souls of man, on the

functions of the bodily organs in health and disease, on sight,

hearing, smell, taste, and touch. He soars into the heavens, and

then, as if his wings were suddenly clipped, he walks

ungracefully and with difficulty upon the earth. The greatest

things in the world, and the least things in man, are brought

within the compass of a short treatise. But the intermediate

links are missing, and we cannot be surprised that there should

be a want of unity in a work which embraces astronomy, theology,

physiology, and natural philosophy in a few pages.

It is not easy to determine how Plato’s cosmos may be presented

to the reader in a clearer and shorter form; or how we may supply

a thread of connexion to his ideas without giving greater

consistency to them than they possessed in his mind, or adding on

consequences which would never have occurred to him. For he has

glimpses of the truth, but no comprehensive or perfect vision.

There are isolated expressions about the nature of God which have

a wonderful depth and power; but we are not justified in assuming

that these had any greater significance to the mind of Plato than

language of a neutral and impersonal character... With a view to

the illustration of the Timaeus I propose to divide this

Introduction into sections, of which the first will contain an

outline of the dialogue: (2) I shall consider the aspects of

nature which presented themselves to Plato and his age, and the

elements of philosophy which entered into the conception of them:

(3) the theology and physics of the Timaeus, including the soul

of the world, the conception of time and space, and the

composition of the elements: (4) in the fourth section I shall

consider the Platonic astronomy, and the position of the earth.

There will remain, (5) the psychology, (6) the physiology of

Plato, and (7) his analysis of the senses to be briefly commented

upon: (8) lastly, we may examine in what points Plato approaches

or anticipates the discoveries of modern science.

Section 1.

Socrates begins the Timaeus with a summary of the Republic. He

lightly touches upon a few points,—the division of labour and

distribution of the citizens into classes, the double nature and

training of the guardians, the community of property and of women

and children. But he makes no mention of the second education, or

of the government of philosophers.

And now he desires to see the ideal State set in motion; he would

like to know how she behaved in some great struggle. But he is

unable to invent such a narrative himself; and he is afraid that

the poets are equally incapable; for, although he pretends to

have nothing to say against them, he remarks that they are a

tribe of imitators, who can only describe what they have seen.

And he fears that the Sophists, who are plentifully supplied with

graces of speech, in their erratic way of life having never had a

city or house of their own, may through want of experience err in

their conception of philosophers and statesmen. ‘And therefore to

you I turn, Timaeus, citizen of Locris, who are at once a

philosopher and a statesman, and to you, Critias, whom all

Athenians know to be similarly accomplished, and to Hermocrates,

who is also fitted by nature and education to share in our

discourse.’

HERMOCRATES: ‘We will do our best, and have been already

preparing; for on our way home, Critias told us of an ancient

tradition, which I wish, Critias, that you would repeat to

Socrates.’ ‘I will, if Timaeus approves.’ ‘I approve.’ Listen

then, Socrates, to a tale of Solon’s, who, being the friend of

Dropidas my great-grandfather, told it to my grandfather Critias,

and he told me. The narrative related to ancient famous actions

of the Athenian people, and to one especially, which I will

rehearse in honour of you and of the goddess. Critias when he

told this tale of the olden time, was ninety years old, I being

not more than ten. The occasion of the rehearsal was the day of

the Apaturia called the Registration of Youth, at which our

parents gave prizes for recitation. Some poems of Solon were

recited by the boys. They had not at that time gone out of

fashion, and the recital of them led some one to say, perhaps in

compliment to Critias, that Solon was not only the wisest of men

but also the best of poets. The old man brightened up at hearing

this, and said: Had Solon only had the leisure which was required

to complete the famous legend which he brought with him from

Egypt he would have been as distinguished as Homer and Hesiod.

‘And what was the subject of the poem?’ said the person who made

the remark. The subject was a very noble one; he described the

most famous action in which the Athenian people were ever

engaged. But the memory of their exploits has passed away owing

to the lapse of time and the extinction of the actors. ‘Tell us,’

said the other, ‘the whole story, and where Solon heard the

story.’ He replied—There is at the head of the Egyptian Delta,

where the river Nile divides, a city and district called Sais;

the city was the birthplace of King Amasis, and is under the

protection of the goddess Neith or Athene. The citizens have a

friendly feeling towards the Athenians, believing themselves to

be related to them. Hither came Solon, and was received with

honour; and here he first learnt, by conversing with the Egyptian

priests, how ignorant he and his countrymen were of antiquity.

Perceiving this, and with the view of eliciting information from

them, he told them the tales of Phoroneus and Niobe, and also of

Deucalion and Pyrrha, and he endeavoured to count the generations

which had since passed. Thereupon an aged priest said to him: ‘O

Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are ever young, and there is no old

man who is a Hellene.’ ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘In mind,’

replied the priest, ‘I mean to say that you are children; there

is no opinion or tradition of knowledge among you which is white

with age; and I will tell you why. Like the rest of mankind you

have suffered from convulsions of nature, which are chiefly

brought about by the two great agencies of fire and water. The

former is symbolized in the Hellenic tale of young Phaethon who

drove his father’s horses the wrong way, and having burnt up the

earth was himself burnt up by a thunderbolt. For there occurs at

long intervals a derangement of the heavenly bodies, and then the

earth is destroyed by fire. At such times, and when fire is the

agent, those who dwell by rivers or on the seashore are safer

than those who dwell upon high and dry places, who in their turn

are safer when the danger is from water. Now the Nile is our

saviour from fire, and as there is little rain in Egypt, we are

not harmed by water; whereas in other countries, when a deluge

comes, the inhabitants are swept by the rivers into the sea. The

memorials which your own and other nations have once had of the

famous actions of mankind perish in the waters at certain

periods; and the rude survivors in the mountains begin again,

knowing nothing of the world before the flood. But in Egypt the

traditions of our own and other lands are by us registered for

ever in our temples. The genealogies which you have recited to us

out of your own annals, Solon, are a mere children’s story. For

in the first place, you remember one deluge only, and there were

many of them, and you know nothing of that fairest and noblest

race of which you are a seed or remnant. The memory of them was

lost, because there was no written voice among you. For in the

times before the great flood Athens was the greatest and best of

cities and did the noblest deeds and had the best constitution of

any under the face of heaven.’ Solon marvelled, and desired to be

informed of the particulars. ‘You are welcome to hear them,’ said

the priest, ‘both for your own sake and for that of the city, and

above all for the sake of the goddess who is the common foundress

of both our cities. Nine thousand years have elapsed since she

founded yours, and eight thousand since she founded ours, as our

annals record. Many laws exist among us which are the counterpart

of yours as they were in the olden time. I will briefly describe

them to you, and you shall read the account of them at your

leisure in the sacred registers. In the first place, there was a

caste of priests among the ancient Athenians, and another of

artisans; also castes of shepherds, hunters, and husbandmen, and

lastly of warriors, who, like the warriors of Egypt, were

separated from the rest, and carried shields and spears, a custom

which the goddess first taught you, and then the Asiatics, and we

among Asiatics first received from her. Observe again, what care

the law took in the pursuit of wisdom, searching out the deep

things of the world, and applying them to the use of man. The

spot of earth which the goddess chose had the best of climates,

and produced the wisest men; in no other was she herself, the

philosopher and warrior goddess, so likely to have votaries. And

there you dwelt as became the children of the gods, excelling all

men in virtue, and many famous actions are recorded of you. The

most famous of them all was the overthrow of the island of

Atlantis. This great island lay over against the Pillars of

Heracles, in extent greater than Libya and Asia put together, and

was the passage to other islands and to a great ocean of which

the Mediterranean sea was only the harbour; and within the

Pillars the empire of Atlantis reached in Europe to Tyrrhenia and

in Libya to Egypt. This mighty power was arrayed against Egypt

and Hellas and all the countries bordering on the Mediterranean.

Then your city did bravely, and won renown over the whole earth.

For at the peril of her own existence, and when the other

Hellenes had deserted her, she repelled the invader, and of her

own accord gave liberty to all the nations within the Pillars. A

little while afterwards there were great earthquakes and floods,

and your warrior race all sank into the earth; and the great

island of Atlantis also disappeared in the sea. This is the

explanation of the shallows which are found in that part of the

Atlantic ocean.’

Such was the tale, Socrates, which Critias heard from Solon; and

I noticed when listening to you yesterday, how close the

resemblance was between your city and citizens and the ancient

Athenian State. But I would not speak at the time, because I

wanted to refresh my memory. I had heard the old man when I was a

child, and though I could not remember the whole of our

yesterday’s discourse, I was able to recall every word of this,

which is branded into my mind; and I am prepared, Socrates, to

rehearse to you the entire narrative. The imaginary State which

you were describing may be identified with the reality of Solon,

and our antediluvian ancestors may be your citizens. ‘That is

excellent, Critias, and very appropriate to a Panathenaic

festival; the truth of the story is a great advantage.’ Then now

let me explain to you the order of our entertainment; first,

Timaeus, who is a natural philosopher, will speak of the origin

of the world, going down to the creation of man, and then I shall

receive the men whom he has created, and some of whom will have

been educated by you, and introduce them to you as the lost

Athenian citizens of whom the Egyptian record spoke. As the law

of Solon prescribes, we will bring them into court and

acknowledge their claims to citizenship. ‘I see,’ replied

Socrates, ‘that I shall be well entertained; and do you, Timaeus,

offer up a prayer and begin.’

TIMAEUS: All men who have any right feeling, at the beginning of

any enterprise, call upon the Gods; and he who is about to speak

of the origin of the universe has a special need of their aid.

May my words be acceptable to them, and may I speak in the manner

which will be most intelligible to you and will best express my

own meaning!

First, I must distinguish between that which always is and never

becomes and which is apprehended by reason and reflection, and

that which always becomes and never is and is conceived by

opinion with the help of sense. All that becomes and is created

is the work of a cause, and that is fair which the artificer

makes after an eternal pattern, but whatever is fashioned after a

created pattern is not fair. Is the world created or

uncreated?—that is the first question. Created, I reply, being

visible and tangible and having a body, and therefore sensible;

and if sensible, then created; and if created, made by a cause,

and the cause is the ineffable father of all things, who had

before him an eternal archetype. For to imagine that the

archetype was created would be blasphemy, seeing that the world

is the noblest of creations, and God is the best of causes. And

the world being thus created according to the eternal pattern is

the copy of something; and we may assume that words are akin to

the matter of which they speak. What is spoken of the unchanging

or intelligible must be certain and true; but what is spoken of

the created image can only be probable; being is to becoming what

truth is to belief. And amid the variety of opinions which have

arisen about God and the nature of the world we must be content

to take probability for our rule, considering that I, who am the

speaker, and you, who are the judges, are only men; to

probability we may attain but no further.

SOCRATES: Excellent, Timaeus, I like your manner of approaching

the subject—proceed.

TIMAEUS: Why did the Creator make the world?...He was good, and

therefore not jealous, and being free from jealousy he desired

that all things should be like himself. Wherefore he set in order

the visible world, which he found in disorder. Now he who is the

best could only create the fairest; and reflecting that of

visible things the intelligent is superior to the unintelligent,

he put intelligence in soul and soul in body, and framed the

universe to be the best and fairest work in the order of nature,

and the world became a living soul through the providence of God.

In the likeness of what animal was the world made?—that is the

third question...The form of the perfect animal was a whole, and

contained all intelligible beings, and the visible animal, made

after the pattern of this, included all visible creatures.

Are there many worlds or one only?—that is the fourth

question...One only. For if in the original there had been more

than one they would have been the parts of a third, which would

have been the true pattern of the world; and therefore there is,

and will ever be, but one created world. Now that which is

created is of necessity corporeal and visible and

tangible,—visible and therefore made of fire,—tangible and

therefore solid and made of earth. But two terms must be united

by a third, which is a mean between them; and had the earth been

a surface only, one mean would have sufficed, but two means are

required to unite solid bodies. And as the world was composed of

solids, between the elements of fire and earth God placed two

other elements of air and water, and arranged them in a

continuous proportion—

fire:air::air:water, and air:water::water:earth,

and so put together a visible and palpable heaven, having harmony

and friendship in the union of the four elements; and being at

unity with itself it was indissoluble except by the hand of the

framer. Each of the elements was taken into the universe whole

and entire; for he considered that the animal should be perfect

and one, leaving no remnants out of which another animal could be

created, and should also be free from old age and disease, which

are produced by the action of external forces. And as he was to

contain all things, he was made in the all-containing form of a

sphere, round as from a lathe and every way equidistant from the

centre, as was natural and suitable to him. He was finished and

smooth, having neither eyes nor ears, for there was nothing

without him which he could see or hear; and he had no need to

carry food to his mouth, nor was there air for him to breathe;

and he did not require hands, for there was nothing of which he

could take hold, nor feet, with which to walk. All that he did

was done rationally in and by himself, and he moved in a circle

turning within himself, which is the most intellectual of

motions; but the other six motions were wanting to him; wherefore

the universe had no feet or legs.

And so the thought of God made a God in the image of a perfect

body, having intercourse with himself and needing no other, but

in every part harmonious and self-contained and truly blessed.

The soul was first made by him—the elder to rule the younger; not

in the order in which our wayward fancy has led us to describe

them, but the soul first and afterwards the body. God took of the

unchangeable and indivisible and also of the divisible and

corporeal, and out of the two he made a third nature, essence,

which was in a mean between them, and partook of the same and the

other, the intractable nature of the other being compressed into

the same. Having made a compound of all the three, he proceeded

to divide the entire mass into portions related to one another in

the ratios of 1, 2, 3, 4, 9, 8, 27, and proceeded to fill up the

double and triple intervals thus—

- over 1, 4/3, 3/2, - over 2, 8/3, 3, - over 4, 16/3, 6, - over 8:

- over 1, 3/2, 2, - over 3, 9/2, 6, - over 9, 27/2, 18, - over 27;

in which double series of numbers are two kinds of means; the one

exceeds and is exceeded by equal parts of the extremes, e.g. 1,

4/3, 2; the other kind of mean is one which is equidistant from

the extremes—2, 4, 6. In this manner there were formed intervals

of thirds, 3:2, of fourths, 4:3, and of ninths, 9:8. And next he

filled up the intervals of a fourth with ninths, leaving a

remnant which is in the ratio of 256:243. The entire compound was

divided by him lengthways into two parts, which he united at the

centre like the letter X, and bent into an inner and outer circle

or sphere, cutting one another again at a point over against the

point at which they cross. The outer circle or sphere was named

the sphere of the same—the inner, the sphere of the other or

diverse; and the one revolved horizontally to the right, the

other diagonally to the left. To the sphere of the same which was

undivided he gave dominion, but the sphere of the other or

diverse was distributed into seven unequal orbits, having

intervals in ratios of twos and threes, three of either sort, and

he bade the orbits move in opposite directions to one

another—three of them, the Sun, Mercury, Venus, with equal

swiftness, and the remaining four—the Moon, Saturn, Mars,

Jupiter, with unequal swiftness to the three and to one another,

but all in due proportion.

When the Creator had made the soul he made the body within her;

and the soul interfused everywhere from the centre to the

circumference of heaven, herself turning in herself, began a

divine life of rational and everlasting motion. The body of

heaven is visible, but the soul is invisible, and partakes of

reason and harmony, and is the best of creations, being the work

of the best. And being composed of the same, the other, and the

essence, these three, and also divided and bound in harmonical

proportion, and revolving within herself—the soul when touching

anything which has essence, whether divided or undivided, is

stirred to utter the sameness or diversity of that and some other

thing, and to tell how and when and where individuals are

affected or related, whether in the world of change or of

essence. When reason is in the neighbourhood of sense, and the

circle of the other or diverse is moving truly, then arise true

opinions and beliefs; when reason is in the sphere of thought,

and the circle of the same runs smoothly, then intelligence is

perfected.

When the Father who begat the world saw the image which he had

made of the Eternal Gods moving and living, he rejoiced; and in

his joy resolved, since the archetype was eternal, to make the

creature eternal as far as this was possible. Wherefore he made

an image of eternity which is time, having an uniform motion

according to number, parted into months and days and years, and

also having greater divisions of past, present, and future. These

all apply to becoming in time, and have no meaning in relation to

the eternal nature, which ever is and never was or will be; for

the unchangeable is never older or younger, and when we say that

he ‘was’ or ‘will be,’ we are mistaken, for these words are

applicable only to becoming, and not to true being; and equally

wrong are we in saying that what has become IS become and that

what becomes IS becoming, and that the non-existent IS

non-existent...These are the forms of time which imitate eternity

and move in a circle measured by number.

Thus was time made in the image of the eternal nature; and it was

created together with the heavens, in order that if they were

dissolved, it might perish with them. And God made the sun and

moon and five other wanderers, as they are called, seven in all,

and to each of them he gave a body moving in an orbit, being one

of the seven orbits into which the circle of the other was

divided. He put the moon in the orbit which was nearest to the

earth, the sun in that next, the morning star and Mercury in the

orbits which move opposite to the sun but with equal

swiftness—this being the reason why they overtake and are

overtaken by one another. All these bodies became living

creatures, and learnt their appointed tasks, and began to move,

the nearer more swiftly, the remoter more slowly, according to

the diagonal movement of the other. And since this was controlled

by the movement of the same, the seven planets in their courses

appeared to describe spirals; and that appeared fastest which was

slowest, and that which overtook others appeared to be overtaken

by them. And God lighted a fire in the second orbit from the

earth which is called the sun, to give light over the whole

heaven, and to teach intelligent beings that knowledge of number

which is derived from the revolution of the same. Thus arose day

and night, which are the periods of the most intelligent nature;

a month is created by the revolution of the moon, a year by that

of the sun. Other periods of wonderful length and complexity are

not observed by men in general; there is moreover a cycle or

perfect year at the completion of which they all meet and

coincide...To this end the stars came into being, that the

created heaven might imitate the eternal nature.

Thus far the universal animal was made in the divine image, but

the other animals were not as yet included in him. And God

created them according to the patterns or species of them which

existed in the divine original. There are four of them: one of

gods, another of birds, a third of fishes, and a fourth of

animals. The gods were made in the form of a circle, which is the

most perfect figure and the figure of the universe. They were

created chiefly of fire, that they might be bright, and were made

to know and follow the best, and to be scattered over the

heavens, of which they were to be the glory. Two kinds of motion

were assigned to them—first, the revolution in the same and

around the same, in peaceful unchanging thought of the same; and

to this was added a forward motion which was under the control of

the same. Thus then the fixed stars were created, being divine

and eternal animals, revolving on the same spot, and the

wandering stars, in their courses, were created in the manner

already described. The earth, which is our nurse, clinging around

the pole extended through the universe, he made to be the

guardian and artificer of night and day, first and eldest of gods

that are in the interior of heaven. Vain would be the labour of

telling all the figures of them, moving as in dance, and their

juxta-positions and approximations, and when and where and behind

what other stars they appear to disappear—to tell of all this

without looking at a plan of them would be labour in vain.

The knowledge of the other gods is beyond us, and we can only

accept the traditions of the ancients, who were the children of

the gods, as they said; for surely they must have known their own

ancestors. Although they give no proof, we must believe them as

is customary. They tell us that Oceanus and Tethys were the

children of Earth and Heaven; that Phoreys, Cronos, and Rhea came

in the next generation, and were followed by Zeus and Here, whose

brothers and children are known to everybody.

When all of them, both those who show themselves in the sky, and

those who retire from view, had come into being, the Creator

addressed them thus:—‘Gods, sons of gods, my works, if I will,

are indissoluble. That which is bound may be dissolved, but only

an evil being would dissolve that which is harmonious and happy.

And although you are not immortal you shall not die, for I will

hold you together. Hear me, then:—Three tribes of mortal beings

have still to be created, but if created by me they would be like

gods. Do ye therefore make them; I will implant in them the seed

of immortality, and you shall weave together the mortal and

immortal, and provide food for them, and receive them again in

death.’ Thus he spake, and poured the remains of the elements

into the cup in which he had mingled the soul of the universe.

They were no longer pure as before, but diluted; and the mixture

he distributed into souls equal in number to the stars, and

assigned each to a star—then having mounted them, as in a

chariot, he showed them the nature of the universe, and told them

of their future birth and human lot. They were to be sown in the

planets, and out of them was to come forth the most religious of

animals, which would hereafter be called man. The souls were to

be implanted in bodies, which were in a perpetual flux, whence,

he said, would arise, first, sensation; secondly, love, which is

a mixture of pleasure and pain; thirdly, fear and anger, and the

opposite affections: and if they conquered these, they would live

righteously, but if they were conquered by them, unrighteously.

He who lived well would return to his native star, and would

there have a blessed existence; but, if he lived ill, he would

pass into the nature of a woman, and if he did not then alter his

evil ways, into the likeness of some animal, until the reason

which was in him reasserted her sway over the elements of fire,

air, earth, water, which had engrossed her, and he regained his

first and better nature. Having given this law to his creatures,

that he might be guiltless of their future evil, he sowed them,

some in the earth, some in the moon, and some in the other

planets; and he ordered the younger gods to frame human bodies

for them and to make the necessary additions to them, and to

avert from them all but self-inflicted evil.

Having given these commands, the Creator remained in his own

nature. And his children, receiving from him the immortal

principle, borrowed from the world portions of earth, air, fire,

water, hereafter to be returned, which they fastened together,

not with the adamantine bonds which bound themselves, but by

little invisible pegs, making each separate body out of all the

elements, subject to influx and efflux, and containing the

courses of the soul. These swelling and surging as in a river

moved irregularly and irrationally in all the six possible ways,

forwards, backwards, right, left, up and down. But violent as

were the internal and alimentary fluids, the tide became still

more violent when the body came into contact with flaming fire,

or the solid earth, or gliding waters, or the stormy wind; the

motions produced by these impulses pass through the body to the

soul and have the name of sensations. Uniting with the

ever-flowing current, they shake the courses of the soul,

stopping the revolution of the same and twisting in all sorts of

ways the nature of the other, and the harmonical ratios of twos

and threes and the mean terms which connect them, until the

circles are bent and disordered and their motion becomes

irregular. You may imagine a position of the body in which the

head is resting upon the ground, and the legs are in the air, and

the top is bottom and the left right. And something similar

happens when the disordered motions of the soul come into contact

with any external thing; they say the same or the other in a

manner which is the very opposite of the truth, and they are

false and foolish, and have no guiding principle in them. And

when external impressions enter in, they are really conquered,

though they seem to conquer.

By reason of these affections the soul is at first without

intelligence, but as time goes on the stream of nutriment abates,

and the courses of the soul regain their proper motion, and

apprehend the same and the other rightly, and become rational.

The soul of him who has education is whole and perfect and

escapes the worst disease, but, if a man’s education be

neglected, he walks lamely through life and returns good for

nothing to the world below. This, however, is an after-stage—at

present, we are only concerned with the creation of the body and

soul.

The two divine courses were encased by the gods in a sphere which

is called the head, and is the god and lord of us. And to this

they gave the body to be a vehicle, and the members to be

instruments, having the power of flexion and extension. Such was

the origin of legs and arms. In the next place, the gods gave a

forward motion to the human body, because the front part of man

was the more honourable and had authority. And they put in a face

in which they inserted organs to minister in all things to the

providence of the soul. They first contrived the eyes, into which

they conveyed a light akin to the light of day, making it flow

through the pupils. When the light of the eye is surrounded by

the light of day, then like falls upon like, and they unite and

form one body which conveys to the soul the motions of visible

objects. But when the visual ray goes forth into the darkness,

then unlike falls upon unlike—the eye no longer sees, and we go

to sleep. The fire or light, when kept in by the eyelids,

equalizes the inward motions, and there is rest accompanied by

few dreams; only when the greater motions remain they engender in

us corresponding visions of the night. And now we shall be able

to understand the nature of reflections in mirrors. The fires

from within and from without meet about the smooth and bright

surface of the mirror; and because they meet in a manner contrary

to the usual mode, the right and left sides of the object are

transposed. In a concave mirror the top and bottom are inverted,

but this is no transposition.

These are the second causes which God used as his ministers in

fashioning the world. They are thought by many to be the prime

causes, but they are not so; for they are destitute of mind and

reason, and the lover of mind will not allow that there are any

prime causes other than the rational and invisible ones—these he

investigates first, and afterwards the causes of things which are

moved by others, and which work by chance and without order. Of

the second or concurrent causes of sight I have already spoken,

and I will now speak of the higher purpose of God in giving us

eyes. Sight is the source of the greatest benefits to us; for if

our eyes had never seen the sun, stars, and heavens, the words

which we have spoken would not have been uttered. The sight of

them and their revolutions has given us the knowledge of number

and time, the power of enquiry, and philosophy, which is the

great blessing of human life; not to speak of the lesser benefits

which even the vulgar can appreciate. God gave us the faculty of

sight that we might behold the order of the heavens and create a

corresponding order in our own erring minds. To the like end the

gifts of speech and hearing were bestowed upon us; not for the

sake of irrational pleasure, but in order that we might harmonize

the courses of the soul by sympathy with the harmony of sound,

and cure ourselves of our irregular and graceless ways.

Thus far we have spoken of the works of mind; and there are other

works done from necessity, which we must now place beside them;

for the creation is made up of both, mind persuading necessity as

far as possible to work out good. Before the heavens there

existed fire, air, water, earth, which we suppose men to know,

though no one has explained their nature, and we erroneously

maintain them to be the letters or elements of the whole,

although they cannot reasonably be compared even to syllables or

first compounds. I am not now speaking of the first principles of

things, because I cannot discover them by our present mode of

enquiry. But as I observed the rule of probability at first, I

will begin anew, seeking by the grace of God to observe it still.

In our former discussion I distinguished two kinds of being—the

unchanging or invisible, and the visible or changing. But now a

third kind is required, which I shall call the receptacle or

nurse of generation. There is a difficulty in arriving at an

exact notion of this third kind, because the four elements

themselves are of inexact natures and easily pass into one

another, and are too transient to be detained by any one name;

wherefore we are compelled to speak of water or fire, not as

substances, but as qualities. They may be compared to images made

of gold, which are continually assuming new forms. Somebody asks

what they are; if you do not know, the safest answer is to reply

that they are gold. In like manner there is a universal nature

out of which all things are made, and which is like none of them;

but they enter into and pass out of her, and are made after

patterns of the true in a wonderful and inexplicable manner. The

containing principle may be likened to a mother, the source or

spring to a father, the intermediate nature to a child; and we

may also remark that the matter which receives every variety of

form must be formless, like the inodorous liquids which are

prepared to receive scents, or the smooth and soft materials on

which figures are impressed. In the same way space or matter is

neither earth nor fire nor air nor water, but an invisible and

formless being which receives all things, and in an

incomprehensible manner partakes of the intelligible. But we may

say, speaking generally, that fire is that part of this nature

which is inflamed, water that which is moistened, and the like.

Let me ask a question in which a great principle is involved: Is

there an essence of fire and the other elements, or are there

only fires visible to sense? I answer in a word: If mind is one

thing and true opinion another, then there are self-existent

essences; but if mind is the same with opinion, then the visible

and corporeal is most real. But they are not the same, and they

have a different origin and nature. The one comes to us by

instruction, the other by persuasion, the one is rational, the

other is irrational; the one is movable by persuasion, the other

immovable; the one is possessed by every man, the other by the

gods and by very few men. And we must acknowledge that as there

are two kinds of knowledge, so there are two kinds of being

corresponding to them; the one uncreated, indestructible,

immovable, which is seen by intelligence only; the other created,

which is always becoming in place and vanishing out of place, and

is apprehended by opinion and sense. There is also a third

nature—that of space, which is indestructible, and is perceived

by a kind of spurious reason without the help of sense. This is

presented to us in a dreamy manner, and yet is said to be

necessary, for we say that all things must be somewhere in space.

For they are the images of other things and must therefore have a

separate existence and exist in something (i.e. in space). But

true reason assures us that while two things (i.e. the idea and

the image) are different they cannot inhere in one another, so as

to be one and two at the same time.

To sum up: Being and generation and space, these three, existed

before the heavens, and the nurse or vessel of generation,

moistened by water and inflamed by fire, and taking the forms of

air and earth, assumed various shapes. By the motion of the

vessel, the elements were divided, and like grain winnowed by

fans, the close and heavy particles settled in one place, the

light and airy ones in another. At first they were without reason

and measure, and had only certain faint traces of themselves,

until God fashioned them by figure and number. In this, as in

every other part of creation, I suppose God to have made things,

as far as was possible, fair and good, out of things not fair and

good.

And now I will explain to you the generation of the world by a

method with which your scientific training will have made you

familiar. Fire, air, earth, and water are bodies and therefore

solids, and solids are contained in planes, and plane rectilinear

figures are made up of triangles. Of triangles there are two

kinds; one having the opposite sides equal (isosceles), the other

with unequal sides (scalene). These we may fairly assume to be

the original elements of fire and the other bodies; what

principles are prior to these God only knows, and he of men whom

God loves. Next, we must determine what are the four most

beautiful figures which are unlike one another and yet sometimes

capable of resolution into one another...Of the two kinds of

triangles the equal-sided has but one form, the unequal-sided has

an infinite variety of forms; and there is none more beautiful

than that which forms the half of an equilateral triangle. Let us

then choose two triangles; one, the isosceles, the other, that

form of scalene which has the square of the longer side three

times as great as the square of the lesser side; and affirm that,

out of these, fire and the other elements have been constructed.

I was wrong in imagining that all the four elements could be

generated into and out of one another. For as they are formed,

three of them from the triangle which has the sides unequal, the

fourth from the triangle which has equal sides, three can be

resolved into one another, but the fourth cannot be resolved into

them nor they into it. So much for their passage into one

another: I must now speak of their construction. From the

triangle of which the hypotenuse is twice the lesser side the

three first regular solids are formed—first, the equilateral

pyramid or tetrahedron; secondly, the octahedron; thirdly, the

icosahedron; and from the isosceles triangle is formed the cube.

And there is a fifth figure (which is made out of twelve

pentagons), the dodecahedron—this God used as a model for the

twelvefold division of the Zodiac.

Let us now assign the geometrical forms to their respective

elements. The cube is the most stable of them because resting on

a quadrangular plane surface, and composed of isosceles

triangles. To the earth then, which is the most stable of bodies

and the most easily modelled of them, may be assigned the form of

a cube; and the remaining forms to the other elements,—to fire

the pyramid, to air the octahedron, and to water the

icosahedron,—according to their degrees of lightness or heaviness

or power, or want of power, of penetration. The single particles

of any of the elements are not seen by reason of their smallness;

they only become visible when collected. The ratios of their

motions, numbers, and other properties, are ordered by the God,

who harmonized them as far as necessity permitted.

The probable conclusion is as follows:—Earth, when dissolved by

the more penetrating element of fire, whether acting immediately

or through the medium of air or water, is decomposed but not

transformed. Water, when divided by fire or air, becomes one part

fire, and two parts air. A volume of air divided becomes two of

fire. On the other hand, when condensed, two volumes of fire make

a volume of air; and two and a half parts of air condense into

one of water. Any element which is fastened upon by fire is cut

by the sharpness of the triangles, until at length, coalescing

with the fire, it is at rest; for similars are not affected by

similars. When two kinds of bodies quarrel with one another, then

the tendency to decomposition continues until the smaller either

escapes to its kindred element or becomes one with its conqueror.

And this tendency in bodies to condense or escape is a source of

motion...Where there is motion there must be a mover, and where

there is a mover there must be something to move. These cannot

exist in what is uniform, and therefore motion is due to want of

uniformity. But then why, when things are divided after their

kinds, do they not cease from motion? The answer is, that the

circular motion of all things compresses them, and as ‘nature

abhors a vacuum,’ the finer and more subtle particles of the

lighter elements, such as fire and air, are thrust into the

interstices of the larger, each of them penetrating according to

their rarity, and thus all the elements are on their way up and

down everywhere and always into their own places. Hence there is

a principle of inequality, and therefore of motion, in all time.

In the next place, we may observe that there are different kinds

of fire—(1) flame, (2) light that burns not, (3) the red heat of

the embers of fire. And there are varieties of air, as for

example, the pure aether, the opaque mist, and other nameless

forms. Water, again, is of two kinds, liquid and fusile. The

liquid is composed of small and unequal particles, the fusile of

large and uniform particles and is more solid, but nevertheless

melts at the approach of fire, and then spreads upon the earth.

When the substance cools, the fire passes into the air, which is

displaced, and forces together and condenses the liquid mass.

This process is called cooling and congealment. Of the fusile

kinds the fairest and heaviest is gold; this is hardened by

filtration through rock, and is of a bright yellow colour. A

shoot of gold which is darker and denser than the rest is called

adamant. Another kind is called copper, which is harder and yet

lighter because the interstices are larger than in gold. There is

mingled with it a fine and small portion of earth which comes out

in the form of rust. These are a few of the conjectures which

philosophy forms, when, leaving the eternal nature, she turns for

innocent recreation to consider the truths of generation.

Water which is mingled with fire is called liquid because it

rolls upon the earth, and soft because its bases give way. This

becomes more equable when separated from fire and air, and then

congeals into hail or ice, or the looser forms of hoar frost or

snow. There are other waters which are called juices and are

distilled through plants. Of these we may mention, first, wine,

which warms the soul as well as the body; secondly, oily

substances, as for example, oil or pitch; thirdly, honey, which

relaxes the contracted parts of the mouth and so produces

sweetness; fourthly, vegetable acid, which is frothy and has a

burning quality and dissolves the flesh. Of the kinds of earth,

that which is filtered through water passes into stone; the water

is broken up by the earth and escapes in the form of air—this in

turn presses upon the mass of earth, and the earth, compressed

into an indissoluble union with the remaining water, becomes

rock. Rock, when it is made up of equal particles, is fair and

transparent, but the reverse when of unequal. Earth is converted

into pottery when the watery part is suddenly drawn away; or if

moisture remains, the earth, when fused by fire, becomes, on

cooling, a stone of a black colour. When the earth is finer and

of a briny nature then two half-solid bodies are formed by

separating the water,—soda and salt. The strong compounds of

earth and water are not soluble by water, but only by fire. Earth

itself, when not consolidated, is dissolved by water; when

consolidated, by fire only. The cohesion of water, when strong,

is dissolved by fire only; when weak, either by air or fire, the

former entering the interstices, the latter penetrating even the

triangles. Air when strongly condensed is indissoluble by any

power which does not reach the triangles, and even when not

strongly condensed is only resolved by fire. Compounds of earth

and water are unaffected by water while the water occupies the

interstices in them, but begin to liquefy when fire enters into

the interstices of the water. They are of two kinds, some of

them, like glass, having more earth, others, like wax, having

more water in them.

Having considered objects of sense, we now pass on to sensation.

But we cannot explain sensation without explaining the nature of

flesh and of the mortal soul; and as we cannot treat of both

together, in order that we may proceed at once to the sensations

we must assume the existence of body and soul.

What makes fire burn? The fineness of the sides, the sharpness of

the angles, the smallness of the particles, the quickness of the

motion. Moreover, the pyramid, which is the figure of fire, is

more cutting than any other. The feeling of cold is produced by

the larger particles of moisture outside the body trying to eject

the smaller ones in the body which they compress. The struggle

which arises between elements thus unnaturally brought together

causes shivering. That is hard to which the flesh yields, and

soft which yields to the flesh, and these two terms are also

relative to one another. The yielding matter is that which has

the slenderest base, whereas that which has a rectangular base is

compact and repellent. Light and heavy are wrongly explained with

reference to a lower and higher in place. For in the universe,

which is a sphere, there is no opposition of above or below, and

that which is to us above would be below to a man standing at the

antipodes. The greater or less difficulty in detaching any

element from its like is the real cause of heaviness or of

lightness. If you draw the earth into the dissimilar air, the

particles of earth cling to their native element, and you more

easily detach a small portion than a large. There would be the

same difficulty in moving any of the upper elements towards the

lower. The smooth and the rough are severally produced by the

union of evenness with compactness, and of hardness with

inequality.

Pleasure and pain are the most important of the affections common

to the whole body. According to our general doctrine of

sensation, parts of the body which are easily moved readily

transmit the motion to the mind; but parts which are not easily

moved have no effect upon the patient. The bones and hair are of

the latter kind, sight and hearing of the former. Ordinary

affections are neither pleasant nor painful. The impressions of

sight afford an example of these, and are neither violent nor

sudden. But sudden replenishments of the body cause pleasure, and

sudden disturbances, as for example cuttings and burnings, have

the opposite effect.

>From sensations common to the whole body, we proceed to those of

particular parts. The affections of the tongue appear to be

caused by contraction and dilation, but they have more of

roughness or smoothness than is found in other affections. Earthy

particles, entering into the small veins of the tongue which

reach to the heart, when they melt into and dry up the little

veins are astringent if they are rough; or if not so rough, they

are only harsh, and if excessively abstergent, like potash and

soda, bitter. Purgatives of a weaker sort are called salt and,

having no bitterness, are rather agreeable. Inflammatory bodies,

which by their lightness are carried up into the head, cutting

all that comes in their way, are termed pungent. But when these

are refined by putrefaction, and enter the narrow veins of the

tongue, and meet there particles of earth and air, two kinds of

globules are formed—one of earthy and impure liquid, which boils

and ferments, the other of pure and transparent water, which are

called bubbles; of all these affections the cause is termed acid.

When, on the other hand, the composition of the deliquescent

particles is congenial to the tongue, and disposes the parts

according to their nature, this remedial power in them is called

sweet.

Smells are not divided into kinds; all of them are transitional,

and arise out of the decomposition of one element into another,

for the simple air or water is without smell. They are vapours or

mists, thinner than water and thicker than air: and hence in

drawing in the breath, when there is an obstruction, the air

passes, but there is no smell. They have no names, but are

distinguished as pleasant and unpleasant, and their influence

extends over the whole region from the head to the navel.

Hearing is the effect of a stroke which is transmitted through

the ears by means of the air, brain, and blood to the soul,

beginning at the head and extending to the liver. The sound which

moves swiftly is acute; that which moves slowly is grave; that

which is uniform is smooth, and the opposite is harsh. Loudness

depends on the quantity of the sound. Of the harmony of sounds I

will hereafter speak.

Colours are flames which emanate from all bodies, having

particles corresponding to the sense of sight. Some of the

particles are less and some larger, and some are equal to the

parts of the sight. The equal particles appear transparent; the

larger contract, and the lesser dilate the sight. White is

produced by the dilation, black by the contraction, of the

particles of sight. There is also a swifter motion of another

sort of fire which forces a way through the passages of the eyes,

and elicits from them a union of fire and water which we call

tears. The inner fire flashes forth, and the outer finds a way in

and is extinguished in the moisture, and all sorts of colours are

generated by the mixture. This affection is termed by us

dazzling, and the object which produces it is called bright.

There is yet another sort of fire which mingles with the moisture

of the eye without flashing, and produces a colour like blood—to

this we give the name of red. A bright element mingling with red

and white produces a colour which we call auburn. The law of

proportion, however, according to which compound colours are

formed, cannot be determined scientifically or even probably.

Red, when mingled with black and white, gives a purple hue, which

becomes umber when the colours are burnt and there is a larger

admixture of black. Flame-colour is a mixture of auburn and dun;

dun of white and black; yellow of white and auburn. White and

bright meeting, and falling upon a full black, become dark blue;

dark blue mingling with white becomes a light blue; the union of

flame-colour and black makes leek-green. There is no difficulty

in seeing how other colours are probably composed. But he who

should attempt to test the truth of this by experiment, would

forget the difference of the human and divine nature. God only is

able to compound and resolve substances; such experiments are

impossible to man.

These are the elements of necessity which the Creator received in

the world of generation when he made the all-sufficient and

perfect creature, using the secondary causes as his ministers,

but himself fashioning the good in all things. For there are two

sorts of causes, the one divine, the other necessary; and we

should seek to discover the divine above all, and, for their

sake, the necessary, because without them the higher cannot be

attained by us.

Having now before us the causes out of which the rest of our

discourse is to be framed, let us go back to the point at which

we began, and add a fair ending to our tale. As I said at first,

all things were originally a chaos in which there was no order or

proportion. The elements of this chaos were arranged by the

Creator, and out of them he made the world. Of the divine he

himself was the author, but he committed to his offspring the

creation of the mortal. From him they received the immortal soul,

but themselves made the body to be its vehicle, and constructed

within another soul which was mortal, and subject to terrible

affections—pleasure, the inciter of evil; pain, which deters from

good; rashness and fear, foolish counsellors; anger hard to be

appeased; hope easily led astray. These they mingled with

irrational sense and all-daring love according to necessary laws

and so framed man. And, fearing to pollute the divine element,

they gave the mortal soul a separate habitation in the breast,

parted off from the head by a narrow isthmus. And as in a house

the women’s apartments are divided from the men’s, the cavity of

the thorax was divided into two parts, a higher and a lower. The

higher of the two, which is the seat of courage and anger, lies

nearer to the head, between the midriff and the neck, and assists

reason in restraining the desires. The heart is the house of

guard in which all the veins meet, and through them reason sends

her commands to the extremity of her kingdom. When the passions

are in revolt, or danger approaches from without, then the heart

beats and swells; and the creating powers, knowing this,

implanted in the body the soft and bloodless substance of the

lung, having a porous and springy nature like a sponge, and being

kept cool by drink and air which enters through the trachea.

The part of the soul which desires meat and drink was placed

between the midriff and navel, where they made a sort of manger;

and here they bound it down, like a wild animal, away from the

council-chamber, and leaving the better principle undisturbed to

advise quietly for the good of the whole. For the Creator knew

that the belly would not listen to reason, and was under the

power of idols and fancies. Wherefore he framed the liver to

connect with the lower nature, contriving that it should be

compact, and bright, and sweet, and also bitter and smooth, in

order that the power of thought which originates in the mind

might there be reflected, terrifying the belly with the elements

of bitterness and gall, and a suffusion of bilious colours when

the liver is contracted, and causing pain and misery by twisting

out of its place the lobe and closing up the vessels and gates.

And the converse happens when some gentle inspiration coming from

intelligence mirrors the opposite fancies, giving rest and

sweetness and freedom, and at night, moderation and peace

accompanied with prophetic insight, when reason and sense are

asleep. For the authors of our being, in obedience to their

Father’s will and in order to make men as good as they could,

gave to the liver the power of divination, which is never active

when men are awake or in health; but when they are under the

influence of some disorder or enthusiasm then they receive

intimations, which have to be interpreted by others who are

called prophets, but should rather be called interpreters of

prophecy; after death these intimations become unintelligible.

The spleen which is situated in the neighbourhood, on the left

side, keeps the liver bright and clean, as a napkin does a

mirror, and the evacuations of the liver are received into it;

and being a hollow tissue it is for a time swollen with these

impurities, but when the body is purged it returns to its natural

size.

The truth concerning the soul can only be established by the word

of God. Still, we may venture to assert what is probable both

concerning soul and body.

The creative powers were aware of our tendency to excess. And so

when they made the belly to be a receptacle for food, in order

that men might not perish by insatiable gluttony, they formed the

convolutions of the intestines, in this way retarding the passage

of food through the body, lest mankind should be absorbed in

eating and drinking, and the whole race become impervious to

divine philosophy.

The creation of bones and flesh was on this wise. The foundation

of these is the marrow which binds together body and soul, and

the marrow is made out of such of the primary triangles as are

adapted by their perfection to produce all the four elements.

These God took and mingled them in due proportion, making as many

kinds of marrow as there were hereafter to be kinds of souls. The

receptacle of the divine soul he made round, and called that

portion of the marrow brain, intending that the vessel containing

this substance should be the head. The remaining part he divided

into long and round figures, and to these as to anchors,

fastening the mortal soul, he proceeded to make the rest of the

body, first forming for both parts a covering of bone. The bone

was formed by sifting pure smooth earth and wetting it with

marrow. It was then thrust alternately into fire and water, and

thus rendered insoluble by either. Of bone he made a globe which

he placed around the brain, leaving a narrow opening, and around

the marrow of the neck and spine he formed the vertebrae, like

hinges, which extended from the head through the whole of the

trunk. And as the bone was brittle and liable to mortify and

destroy the marrow by too great rigidity and susceptibility to

heat and cold, he contrived sinews and flesh—the first to give

flexibility, the second to guard against heat and cold, and to be

a protection against falls, containing a warm moisture, which in

summer exudes and cools the body, and in winter is a defence

against cold. Having this in view, the Creator mingled earth with

fire and water and mixed with them a ferment of acid and salt, so

as to form pulpy flesh. But the sinews he made of a mixture of

bone and unfermented flesh, giving them a mean nature between the

two, and a yellow colour. Hence they were more glutinous than

flesh, but softer than bone. The bones which have most of the

living soul within them he covered with the thinnest film of

flesh, those which have least of it, he lodged deeper. At the

joints he diminished the flesh in order not to impede the flexure

of the limbs, and also to avoid clogging the perceptions of the

mind. About the thighs and arms, which have no sense because

there is little soul in the marrow, and about the inner bones, he

laid the flesh thicker. For where the flesh is thicker there is

less feeling, except in certain parts which the Creator has made

solely of flesh, as for example, the tongue. Had the combination

of solid bone and thick flesh been consistent with acute

perceptions, the Creator would have given man a sinewy and fleshy

head, and then he would have lived twice as long. But our

creators were of opinion that a shorter life which was better was

preferable to a longer which was worse, and therefore they

covered the head with thin bone, and placed the sinews at the

extremity of the head round the neck, and fastened the jawbones

to them below the face. And they framed the mouth, having teeth

and tongue and lips, with a view to the necessary and the good;

for food is a necessity, and the river of speech is the best of

rivers. Still, the head could not be left a bare globe of bone on

account of the extremes of heat and cold, nor be allowed to

become dull and senseless by an overgrowth of flesh. Wherefore it

was covered by a peel or skin which met and grew by the help of

the cerebral humour. The diversity of the sutures was caused by

the struggle of the food against the courses of the soul. The

skin of the head was pierced by fire, and out of the punctures

came forth a moisture, part liquid, and part of a skinny nature,

which was hardened by the pressure of the external cold and

became hair. And God gave hair to the head of man to be a light

covering, so that it might not interfere with his perceptions.

Nails were formed by combining sinew, skin, and bone, and were

made by the creators with a view to the future when, as they

knew, women and other animals who would require them would be

framed out of man.

The gods also mingled natures akin to that of man with other

forms and perceptions. Thus trees and plants were created, which

were originally wild and have been adapted by cultivation to our

use. They partake of that third kind of life which is seated

between the midriff and the navel, and is altogether passive and

incapable of reflection.

When the creators had furnished all these natures for our

sustenance, they cut channels through our bodies as in a garden,

watering them with a perennial stream. Two were cut down the

back, along the back bone, where the skin and flesh meet, one on

the right and the other on the left, having the marrow of

generation between them. In the next place, they divided the

veins about the head and interlaced them with each other in order

that they might form an additional link between the head and the

body, and that the sensations from both sides might be diffused

throughout the body. In the third place, they contrived the

passage of liquids, which may be explained in this way:—Finer

bodies retain coarser, but not the coarser the finer, and the

belly is capable of retaining food, but not fire and air. God

therefore formed a network of fire and air to irrigate the veins,

having within it two lesser nets, and stretched cords reaching

from both the lesser nets to the extremity of the outer net. The

inner parts of the net were made by him of fire, the lesser nets

and their cavities of air. The two latter he made to pass into

the mouth; the one ascending by the air-pipes from the lungs, the

other by the side of the air-pipes from the belly. The entrance

to the first he divided into two parts, both of which he made to

meet at the channels of the nose, that when the mouth was closed

the passage connected with it might still be fed with air. The

cavity of the network he spread around the hollows of the body,

making the entire receptacle to flow into and out of the lesser

nets and the lesser nets into and out of it, while the outer net

found a way into and out of the pores of the body, and the

internal heat followed the air to and fro. These, as we affirm,

are the phenomena of respiration. And all this process takes

place in order that the body may be watered and cooled and

nourished, and the meat and drink digested and liquefied and

carried into the veins.

The causes of respiration have now to be considered. The

exhalation of the breath through the mouth and nostrils displaces

the external air, and at the same time leaves a vacuum into which

through the pores the air which is displaced enters. Also the

vacuum which is made when the air is exhaled through the pores is

filled up by the inhalation of breath through the mouth and

nostrils. The explanation of this double phenomenon is as

follows:—Elements move towards their natural places. Now as every

animal has within him a fountain of fire, the air which is

inhaled through the mouth and nostrils, on coming into contact

with this, is heated; and when heated, in accordance with the law

of attraction, it escapes by the way it entered toward the place

of fire. On leaving the body it is cooled and drives round the

air which it displaces through the pores into the empty lungs.

This again is in turn heated by the internal fire and escapes, as

it entered, through the pores.

The phenomena of medical cupping-glasses, of swallowing, and of

the hurling of bodies, are to be explained on a similar

principle; as also sounds, which are sometimes discordant on

account of the inequality of them, and again harmonious by reason

of equality. The slower sounds reaching the swifter, when they

begin to pause, by degrees assimilate with them: whence arises a

pleasure which even the unwise feel, and which to the wise

becomes a higher sense of delight, being an imitation of divine

harmony in mortal motions. Streams flow, lightnings play, amber

and the magnet attract, not by reason of attraction, but because

‘nature abhors a vacuum,’ and because things, when compounded or

dissolved, move different ways, each to its own place.

I will now return to the phenomena of respiration. The fire,

entering the belly, minces the food, and as it escapes, fills the

veins by drawing after it the divided portions, and thus the

streams of nutriment are diffused through the body. The fruits or

herbs which are our daily sustenance take all sorts of colours

when intermixed, but the colour of red or fire predominates, and

hence the liquid which we call blood is red, being the nurturing

principle of the body, whence all parts are watered and empty

places filled.

The process of repletion and depletion is produced by the

attraction of like to like, after the manner of the universal

motion. The external elements by their attraction are always

diminishing the substance of the body: the particles of blood,

too, formed out of the newly digested food, are attracted towards

kindred elements within the body and so fill up the void. When

more is taken away than flows in, then we decay; and when less,

we grow and increase.

The young of every animal has the triangles new and closely

locked together, and yet the entire frame is soft and delicate,

being newly made of marrow and nurtured on milk. These triangles

are sharper than those which enter the body from without in the

shape of food, and therefore they cut them up. But as life

advances, the triangles wear out and are no longer able to

assimilate food; and at length, when the bonds which unite the

triangles of the marrow become undone, they in turn unloose the

bonds of the soul; and if the release be according to nature, she

then flies away with joy. For the death which is natural is

pleasant, but that which is caused by violence is painful.

Every one may understand the origin of diseases. They may be

occasioned by the disarrangement or disproportion of the elements

out of which the body is framed. This is the origin of many of

them, but the worst of all owe their severity to the following

causes: There is a natural order in the human frame according to

which the flesh and sinews are made of blood, the sinews out of

the fibres, and the flesh out of the congealed substance which is

formed by separation from the fibres. The glutinous matter which

comes away from the sinews and the flesh, not only binds the

flesh to the bones, but nourishes the bones and waters the

marrow. When these processes take place in regular order the body

is in health.

But when the flesh wastes and returns into the veins there is

discoloured blood as well as air in the veins, having acid and

salt qualities, from which is generated every sort of phlegm and

bile. All things go the wrong way and cease to give nourishment

to the body, no longer preserving their natural courses, but at

war with themselves and destructive to the constitution of the

body. The oldest part of the flesh which is hard to decompose

blackens from long burning, and from being corroded grows bitter,

and as the bitter element refines away, becomes acid. When tinged

with blood the bitter substance has a red colour, and this when

mixed with black takes the hue of grass; or again, the bitter

substance has an auburn colour, when new flesh is decomposed by

the internal flame. To all which phenomena some physician or

philosopher who was able to see the one in many has given the

name of bile. The various kinds of bile have names answering to

their colours. Lymph or serum is of two kinds: first, the whey of

blood, which is gentle; secondly, the secretion of dark and

bitter bile, which, when mingled under the influence of heat with

salt, is malignant and is called acid phlegm. There is also white

phlegm, formed by the decomposition of young and tender flesh,

and covered with little bubbles, separately invisible, but

becoming visible when collected. The water of tears and

perspiration and similar substances is also the watery part of

fresh phlegm. All these humours become sources of disease when

the blood is replenished in irregular ways and not by food or

drink. The danger, however, is not so great when the foundation

remains, for then there is a possibility of recovery. But when

the substance which unites the flesh and bones is diseased, and

is no longer renewed from the muscles and sinews, and instead of

being oily and smooth and glutinous becomes rough and salt and

dry, then the fleshy parts fall away and leave the sinews bare

and full of brine, and the flesh gets back again into the

circulation of the blood, and makes the previously mentioned

disorders still greater. There are other and worse diseases which

are prior to these; as when the bone through the density of the

flesh does not receive sufficient air, and becomes stagnant and

gangrened, and crumbling away passes into the food, and the food

into the flesh, and the flesh returns again into the blood. Worst

of all and most fatal is the disease of the marrow, by which the

whole course of the body is reversed. There is a third class of

diseases which are produced, some by wind and some by phlegm and

some by bile. When the lung, which is the steward of the air, is

obstructed, by rheums, and in one part no air, and in another too

much, enters in, then the parts which are unrefreshed by air

corrode, and other parts are distorted by the excess of air; and

in this manner painful diseases are produced. The most painful

are caused by wind generated within the body, which gets about

the great sinews of the shoulders—these are termed tetanus. The

cure of them is difficult, and in most cases they are relieved

only by fever. White phlegm, which is dangerous if kept in, by

reason of the air bubbles, is not equally dangerous if able to

escape through the pores, although it variegates the body,

generating diverse kinds of leprosies. If, when mingled with

black bile, it disturbs the courses of the head in sleep, there

is not so much danger; but if it assails those who are awake,

then the attack is far more dangerous, and is called epilepsy or

the sacred disease. Acid and salt phlegm is the source of

catarrh.

Inflammations originate in bile, which is sometimes relieved by

boils and swellings, but when detained, and above all when

mingled with pure blood, generates many inflammatory disorders,

disturbing the position of the fibres which are scattered about

in the blood in order to maintain the balance of rare and dense

which is necessary to its regular circulation. If the bile, which

is only stale blood, or liquefied flesh, comes in little by

little, it is congealed by the fibres and produces internal cold

and shuddering. But when it enters with more of a flood it

overcomes the fibres by its heat and reaches the spinal marrow,

and burning up the cables of the soul sets her free from the

body. When on the other hand the body, though wasted, still holds

out, then the bile is expelled, like an exile from a factious

state, causing associating diarrhoeas and dysenteries and similar

disorders. The body which is diseased from the effects of fire is

in a continual fever; when air is the agent, the fever is

quotidian; when water, the fever intermits a day; when earth,

which is the most sluggish element, the fever intermits three

days and is with difficulty shaken off.

Of mental disorders there are two sorts, one madness, the other

ignorance, and they may be justly attributed to disease.

Excessive pleasures or pains are among the greatest diseases, and

deprive men of their senses. When the seed about the spinal

marrow is too abundant, the body has too great pleasures and

pains; and during a great part of his life he who is the subject

of them is more or less mad. He is often thought bad, but this is

a mistake; for the truth is that the intemperance of lust is due

to the fluidity of the marrow produced by the loose consistency

of the bones. And this is true of vice in general, which is

commonly regarded as disgraceful, whereas it is really

involuntary and arises from a bad habit of the body and evil

education. In like manner the soul is often made vicious by the

influence of bodily pain; the briny phlegm and other bitter and

bilious humours wander over the body and find no exit, but are

compressed within, and mingle their own vapours with the motions

of the soul, and are carried to the three places of the soul,

creating infinite varieties of trouble and melancholy, of

rashness and cowardice, of forgetfulness and stupidity. When men

are in this evil plight of body, and evil forms of government and

evil discourses are superadded, and there is no education to save

them, they are corrupted through two causes; but of neither of

them are they really the authors. For the planters are to blame

rather than the plants, the educators and not the educated.

Still, we should endeavour to attain virtue and avoid vice; but

this is part of another subject.

Enough of disease—I have now to speak of the means by which the

mind and body are to be preserved, a higher theme than the other.

The good is the beautiful, and the beautiful is the symmetrical,

and there is no greater or fairer symmetry than that of body and

soul, as the contrary is the greatest of deformities. A leg or an

arm too long or too short is at once ugly and unserviceable, and

the same is true if body and soul are disproportionate. For a

strong and impassioned soul may ‘fret the pigmy body to decay,’

and so produce convulsions and other evils. The violence of

controversy, or the earnestness of enquiry, will often generate

inflammations and rheums which are not understood, or assigned to

their true cause by the professors of medicine. And in like

manner the body may be too much for the soul, darkening the

reason, and quickening the animal desires. The only security is

to preserve the balance of the two, and to this end the

mathematician or philosopher must practise gymnastics, and the

gymnast must cultivate music. The parts of the body too must be

treated in the same way—they should receive their appropriate

exercise. For the body is set in motion when it is heated and

cooled by the elements which enter in, or is dried up and

moistened by external things; and, if given up to these processes

when at rest, it is liable to destruction. But the natural

motion, as in the world, so also in the human frame, produces

harmony and divides hostile powers. The best exercise is the

spontaneous motion of the body, as in gymnastics, because most

akin to the motion of mind; not so good is the motion of which

the source is in another, as in sailing or riding; least good

when the body is at rest and the motion is in parts only, which

is a species of motion imparted by physic. This should only be

resorted to by men of sense in extreme cases; lesser diseases are

not to be irritated by medicine. For every disease is akin to the

living being and has an appointed term, just as life has, which

depends on the form of the triangles, and cannot be protracted

when they are worn out. And he who, instead of accepting his

destiny, endeavours to prolong his life by medicine, is likely to

multiply and magnify his diseases. Regimen and not medicine is

the true cure, when a man has time at his disposal.

Enough of the nature of man and of the body, and of training and

education. The subject is a great one and cannot be adequately

treated as an appendage to another. To sum up all in a word:

there are three kinds of soul located within us, and any one of

them, if remaining inactive, becomes very weak; if exercised,

very strong. Wherefore we should duly train and exercise all

three kinds.

The divine soul God lodged in the head, to raise us, like plants

which are not of earthly origin, to our kindred; for the head is

nearest to heaven. He who is intent upon the gratification of his

desires and cherishes the mortal soul, has all his ideas mortal,

and is himself mortal in the truest sense. But he who seeks after

knowledge and exercises the divine part of himself in godly and

immortal thoughts, attains to truth and immortality, as far as is

possible to man, and also to happiness, while he is training up

within him the divine principle and indwelling power of order.

There is only one way in which one person can benefit another;

and that is by assigning to him his proper nurture and motion. To

the motions of the soul answer the motions of the universe, and

by the study of these the individual is restored to his original

nature.

Thus we have finished the discussion of the universe, which,

according to our original intention, has now been brought down to

the creation of man. Completeness seems to require that something

should be briefly said about other animals: first of women, who

are probably degenerate and cowardly men. And when they

degenerated, the gods implanted in men the desire of union with

them, creating in man one animate substance and in woman another

in the following manner:—The outlet for liquids they connected

with the living principle of the spinal marrow, which the man has

the desire to emit into the fruitful womb of the woman; this is

like a fertile field in which the seed is quickened and matured,

and at last brought to light. When this desire is unsatisfied the

man is over-mastered by the power of the generative organs, and

the woman is subjected to disorders from the obstruction of the

passages of the breath, until the two meet and pluck the fruit of

the tree.

The race of birds was created out of innocent, light-minded men,

who thought to pursue the study of the heavens by sight; these

were transformed into birds, and grew feathers instead of hair.

The race of wild animals were men who had no philosophy, and

never looked up to heaven or used the courses of the head, but

followed only the influences of passion. Naturally they turned to

their kindred earth, and put their forelegs to the ground, and

their heads were crushed into strange oblong forms. Some of them

have four feet, and some of them more than four,—the latter, who

are the more senseless, drawing closer to their native element;

the most senseless of all have no limbs and trail their whole

body on the ground. The fourth kind are the inhabitants of the

waters; these are made out of the most senseless and ignorant and

impure of men, whom God placed in the uttermost parts of the

world in return for their utter ignorance, and caused them to

respire water instead of the pure element of air. Such are the

laws by which animals pass into one another.

And so the world received animals, mortal and immortal, and was

fulfilled with them, and became a visible God, comprehending the

visible, made in the image of the Intellectual, being the one

perfect only-begotten heaven.