6. These things seemed to be reasonably well urged; and yet we thought

that much might be said in the defence of the contrary opinion, and

that it was possible enough to maintain that bulimy ariseth not from

condensation but rarefication of the stomach. For the spirit which

flows from the snow is nothing but the sharp point and finest scale of

the congealed substance, endued with a virtue of cutting and dividing

not only the flesh, but also silver and brazen vessels; for we see

that these are not able to keep in the snow, for it dissolves and

evaporates, and glazes over the outmost superficies of the vessels

with a thin dew, not unlike to ice, which this spirit leaves as it

secretly passes through the pores. Therefore this piercing spirit, like

a flame, seizing upon those that travel in the snow, seems to burn

their outsides, and like fire to enter and penetrate the flesh. Hence

it is that the flesh is more rarefied, and the heat is extinguished by

the cold spirit that lies upon the superficies of the body; therefore

the body evaporates a dewy thin sweat, which melts away and decays the

strength. Now if a man should sit still at such a time, there would

not much heat fly out of his body. But when the motion of the body

doth quickly heat the nourishment, and that heat bursts through the

thin skin, there must necessarily be a great loss of strength. Now we

know by experience, that cold hath a virtue not only to condense but

also to loosen bodies; for in extreme cold winters pieces of lead are

found to sweat. And when we see that bulimy happens where there is no

hunger, we may conclude that at that time the body is rather in a fluid

than condensed state. The reason that bodies are rarefied in winter is

because of the subtility of the spirit; especially when the moving and

tiring of the body excites the heat, which, as soon as it is subtilized

and agitated, flies apace and spreads itself through the whole body.

Lastly, it is very possible that apples and dry figs exhale some such

thing as this, which rarefies and attenuates the heat of the beasts;

for different things have a natural tendency as well to weaken as to

refresh different creatures.

_QUESTION IX._

WHY DOES HOMER APPROPRIATE A CERTAIN PECULIAR EPITHET TO EACH

PARTICULAR LIQUID, AND CALL OIL ALONE LIQUID?[92]

PLUTARCH AND OTHERS.

1. It was the subject once of a discourse, why, when there are several

sorts of liquids, the poet should give every one of them a peculiar

epithet, calling milk white, honey yellow, wine red, and yet for all

this bestow no other upon oil but what it hath in common with all other

liquids. To this it was answered that, as that is said to be most sweet

which is perfectly sweet, and to be most white which is perfectly white

(I mean here by _perfectly_ that which hath nothing of a contrary

quality mixed with it), so that ought to be called perfectly humid

whereof never a part is dry; and this is proper to oil.

2. First of all, its smoothness shows the evenness of its parts; for

touch it where you please, it is all alike. Besides, you may see your

face in it as perfectly as in a mirror; for there is nothing rough in

it to hinder the reflection, but by reason of its humidity it reflects

to the eyes the least particle of light from every part of it. As,

on the contrary, milk, of all other liquids, does not return our

images, because it hath too many terrene and gross parts mixed with

it; again, oil of all liquids makes the least noise when moved, for it

is perfectly humid. When other liquids are moved or poured out, their

hard and grosser parts fall and dash one against another, and so make

a noise by reason of their roughness. Moreover, oil only is pure and

unmixed; for it is of all other liquids most compact, nor has it any

empty spaces and pores between the dry and earthy parts, to receive

what chances to fall upon it. Besides, because of the similitude of

parts, it is closely joined together, and unfit to be joined to any

thing else. When oil froths, it does not let any wind in, by reason of

the contiguity and subtility of its parts; and this is also the cause

why fire is nourished by it. For fire feeds upon nothing but what is

moist, for nothing is combustible but what is so; for when the fire

is kindled, the air turns to smoke, and the terrene and grosser parts

remain in the ashes. Fire preys only upon the moisture, which is its

natural nourishment. Indeed water, wine, and other liquors, having

abundance of earthy and heavy parts in them, by falling into fire part

it, and by their roughness and weight smother and extinguish it. But

oil, because purely liquid, by reason of its subtility, is overcome by

the fire, and so changed into flame.

3. It is the greatest argument that can be of its humidity, that the

least quantity of it spreads itself a great way; for so small a drop

of honey, water, or any other liquid does not extend itself so far,

but very often, by reason of the dry mixed parts, is presently wasted.

Because oil is ductile and soft, men are wont to make use of it for

anointing their bodies; for it runs along and spreads itself through

all the parts, and sticks so firmly to them that it is not easily

washed off. We find by experience, that a garment wet with water is

presently dried again; but it is no easy matter to wash out the spots

and stains of oil, for it enters deep, because of its most subtile and

humid nature. Hence it is that Aristotle says, the drops of diluted

wine are the hardest to be got out of clothes, because they are most

subtile, and run farther into the pores of the cloth.

_QUESTION X._

WHAT IS THE REASON THAT FLESH OF SACRIFICED BEASTS, AFTER IT HAS

HUNG A WHILE UPON A FIG-TREE, IS MORE TENDER THAN BEFORE?

ARISTIO, PLUTARCH, OTHERS.

At supper we were commending Aristio’s cook, who, amongst other dishes

that he had dressed very curiously, brought a cock to table just

killed as a sacrifice to Hercules, as tender as though it had been

killed a day or two before. When Aristio told us that this was no

wonder,—seeing such a thing might be very easily done, if the cock, as

soon as he was killed, was hung upon a fig-tree,—we began to enquire

into the reason of what he asserted. Indeed, I must confess, our eye

assures us that a fig-tree sends out a fierce and strong spirit; which

is yet more evident, from what we have heard said of bulls. That is, a

bull, after he is tied to a fig-tree, though never so mad before, grows

presently tame, and will suffer you to touch him, and on a sudden all

his rage and fury cool and die. But the chiefest cause that works this

change is the sharp acrimonious quality of the tree. For of all trees

this is the fullest of sap, and so are its figs, wood, and bark; and

hence it comes to pass, that the smoke of fig-wood is most offensive to

the eyes; and when it is burned, its ashes make the best lye to scour

withal. But all these effects proceed from heat. Now there are some

that say, when the sap of this tree thrown into milk curds it, that

this effect does not arise from the irregular figures of the parts of

the milk, which the sap unites and (as it were) glues into one body,

the smooth and globose parts being squeezed out, but that by its heat

it loosens the unstable and watery parts of the liquid body. And we may

use as an argument the unprofitableness of the sap of this tree, which,

though it is very sweet, yet makes the worst liquor in the world. For

it is not the inequality in the parts that affects the smooth part,

but what is cold and raw is contracted by heat. And salt helps to

produce the same effect; for it is hot, and works in opposition to the

uniting of the parts just mentioned, causing rather a dissolution; for

to it, above all other things, Nature has given a dissolving faculty.

Therefore the fig-tree sends forth a hot and sharp spirit, which cuts

and boils the flesh of the bird. The very same thing may be effected

by placing the flesh upon a heap of corn, or near nitre; the heat will

produce the same that the fig-tree did. Now it may be made manifest

that wheat is naturally hot, in that wine, put into a hogshead and

placed among wheat, is presently consumed.

BOOK VII.

The Romans, Sossius Senecio, remember a pretty saying of a pleasant

man and good companion, who supping alone said that he had eaten

to-day, but not supped; as if a supper always wanted company and

agreement to make it palatable and pleasing. Evenus said that fire was

the sweetest of all sauces in the world. And Homer calls salt θεῖον,

_divine_; and most call it χάριτας, _graces_, because, mixed

with most part of our food, it makes it palatable and agreeable to

the taste. Now indeed the best and most divine sauce that can be at

an entertainment or a supper is a familiar and pleasant friend; not

because he eats and drinks with a man, but because he participates

of and communicates discourse, especially if the talk be profitable,

pertinent, and instructive. For commonly loose talk over a glass of

wine raiseth passions and spoils company, and therefore it is fit that

we should be as critical in examining what discourses as what friends

are fit to be admitted to a supper; not following either the saying or

opinion of the Spartans, who, when they entertained any young man or a

stranger in their public halls, showed him the door, with these words,

“No discourse goes out this way.” What we use to talk of may be freely

disclosed to everybody, because we have nothing in our discourses that

tends to looseness, debauchery, debasing of ourselves, or back-biting

others. Judge by the examples, of which this seventh book contains ten.

_QUESTION I._

AGAINST THOSE WHO FIND FAULT WITH PLATO FOR SAYING THAT DRINK PASSETH

THROUGH THE LUNGS.

NICIAS, PLUTARCH, PROTOGENES, FLORUS.

1. At a summer entertainment, one of the company pronounced that common

verse,

Now drench thy lungs with wine, the Dog appears.

And Nicias of Nicopolis, a physician, presently subjoined: It is no

wonder that Alcaeus, a poet, should be ignorant of that of which Plato

the philosopher was. Though Alcaeus may be defended; for it is probable

that the lungs, lying near the stomach, may participate of the steam

of the liquor, and be drenched with it. But the philosopher, expressly

delivering that most part of our drink passeth through the lungs, hath

precluded all ways of excuse to those that would be willing to defend

him. For it is a very great and complicated ignorance; for first, it

being necessary that our liquid and dry food should be mixed, it is

very probable that the stomach is the vessel for them both, which

throws out the dry food after it is grown soft and moist into the

guts. Besides, the lungs being a dense and compacted body, how is it

possible that, when we sup gruel or the like, the thicker parts should

pass through them? And this was the objection which Erasistratus

rationally made against Plato. Besides, when he considered for what end

every part of the body was made, and what use Nature designed in their

contrivance, it was easy to perceive that the epiglottis was framed on

purpose that when we drink the wind-pipe should be shut, and nothing

be suffered to fall upon the lungs. For if any thing by chance gets

down that way, we are troubled with retching and coughing till it is

thrown up again. And this epiglottis being framed so that it may fall

on either side, whilst we speak it shuts the weasand, but when we eat

or drink it falls upon the wind-pipe, and so secures the passage for

our breath. Besides, we know that those who drink by little and little

are looser than those who drink greedily and large draughts; for in

the latter the very force drives it into their bladders, but in the

former it stays, and by its stay is mixed with and moistens the meat

thoroughly. Now this could not be, if in the very drinking the liquid

was separated from the food; but the effect follows, because we mix

and convey them both together, using (as Erasistratus phraseth it) the

liquid as a vehicle for the dry.

2. Nicias having done, Protogenes the grammarian subjoined, that

Homer was the first that observed the stomach was the vessel of the

food, and the windpipe (which the ancients called ἀσφάραγον) of the

breath, and upon the same account they called those who had loud voices

ἐρισφαράγους. And when he describes how Achilles killed Hector, he says,

He pierced his weasand, where death enters soon,

and adds,

But not his windpipe, so that he could speak,[93]

taking the windpipe for the proper passage of the voice and breath....

3. Upon this, all being silent, Florus began thus: What, shall we

tamely suffer Plato to be run down? By no means, said I, for if we

desert him, Homer must be in the same condition, for he is so far from

denying the windpipe to be the passage for our drink, that the dry

food, in his opinion, goes the same way. For these are his words:

From his gullet (φάρυγος) flowed

The clotted wine and undigested flesh.[94]

Unless perchance you will say that the Cyclops, as he had but one eye,

so had but one passage for his food and voice; or would have φάρυγξ to

signify weasand, not windpipe, as both all the ancients and moderns use

it. I produce this because it is really his meaning, not because I want

other testimonies, for Plato hath store of learned and sufficient men

to join with him. For not to mention Eupolis, who in his play called

the Flatterers says,

Protagoras bids us drink a lusty bowl,

That when the Dog appears our lungs may still be moist;

or elegant Eratosthenes, who says,

And having drenched his lungs with purest wine;

even Euripides, somewhere expressly saying,

The wine passed through the hollows of the lungs,

shows that he saw better and clearer than Erasistratus. For he saw that

the lungs have cavities and pores, through which the liquids pass. For

the breath in expiration hath no need of pores, but that the liquids

and those things which pass with them might go through, it is made

like a strainer and full of pores. Besides, sir, as to the influence

of gruel which you proposed, the lungs can discharge themselves of

the thicker parts together with the thin, as well as the stomach. For

our stomach is not, as some fancy, smooth and slippery, but full of

asperities, in which it is probable that the thin and small particles

are lodged, and so not taken quite down. But neither this nor the other

can we positively affirm; for the curious contrivance of Nature in her

operations is too hard to be explained; nor can we be particularly

exact upon those instruments (I mean the spirit and the heat) which

she makes use of in her works. But besides those we have mentioned

to confirm Plato’s opinion, let us produce Philistion of Locri, a

very ancient and famous physician, and Hippocrates too, with his

pupil Dioxippus; for they thought of no other passage but that which

Plato mentions. Dioxippus knew very well that precious talk of the

epiglottis, but says, that when we feed, the moist parts are about that

separated from the dry, and the first are carried down the windpipe,

the other down the weasand; and that the windpipe receives no parts

of the food, but the stomach, together with the dry parts, receives

some portion of the liquids. And this is probable, for the epiglottis

lies over the windpipe, as a fence and strainer, that the drink may

get in by little and little, lest descending in a large full stream,

it stop the breath and endanger the life. And therefore birds have no

epiglottis, because they do not sup or lap when they drink, but take up

a little in their beak, and let it run gently down their windpipe.

These testimonies I think are enough; and reason confirms Plato’s

opinion by arguments drawn first from sense. For when the windpipe

is wounded, no drink will go down; but as if the pipe were broken it

runs out, though the weasand be whole and unhurt. And all know that

in the inflammation of the lungs the patient is troubled with extreme

thirst; the heat or dryness or some other cause, together with the

inflammation, making the appetite intense. But a stronger evidence

than all these follows. Those creatures that have very small lungs,

or none at all, neither want nor desire drink, because to some parts

there belongs a natural appetite to drink, and those that want those

parts have no need to drink, nor any appetite to be supplied by it. But

more, the bladder would seem unnecessary; for, if the weasand receives

both meat and drink and conveys it to the belly, the superfluous parts

of the liquids would not want a proper passage, one common one would

suffice as a canal for both that were conveyed to the same vessel

by the same passage. But now the bladder is distinct from the guts,

because the drink goes from the lungs, and the meat from the stomach;

they being separated as we take them down. And this is the reason

that in our water nothing can be found that either in smell or color

resembles dry food. But if the drink were mixed with the dry meat in

the belly, it must be impregnant with its qualities, and not come forth

so simple and untinged. Besides, a stone is never found in the stomach,

though it is likely that the moisture should be coagulated there as

well as in the bladder, if all the liquor were conveyed through the

weasand into the belly. But it is probable that the weasand robs the

windpipe of a sufficient quantity of liquor as it is going down, and

useth it to soften and concoct the meat. And therefore its excrement

is never purely liquid; and the lungs, disposing of the moisture, as

of the breath, to all the parts that want it, deposit the superfluous

portion in the bladder. And I am sure that this is a much more probable

opinion than the other. But which is the truth cannot perhaps be

discovered, and therefore it is not fit so peremptorily to find fault

with the most acute and most famed philosopher, especially when the

matter is so obscure, and the Platonists can produce such considerable

reasons for their opinion.

_QUESTION II._

WHAT HUMORED MAN IS HE THAT PLATO CALLS ΚΕΡΑΣΒΌΛΟΣ? AND WHY DO THOSE

SEEDS THAT FALL ON THE OXEN’S HORNS BECOME ἈΤΕΡΆΜΟΝΑ?

PLUTARCH, PATROCLES, EUTHYDEMUS, FLORUS.

1. We had always some difficulty started about κερασβόλος and ἀτεράμων,

not what humor those words signified (for it is certain that some,

thinking that those seeds which fall on the oxen’s horns bear fruit

which is very hard, did by a metaphor call a stiff untractable fellow

by these names), but what was the cause that seeds falling on the

oxen’s horns should bear hard fruit. I had often desired my friends to

search no farther, most of all fearing the discourse of Theophrastus,

in which he has collected many of those particulars whose causes we

cannot discover. Such are the hen’s purifying herself with straw after

she has laid, the seal’s swallowing her rennet when she is caught, the

deer’s burying his cast horns, and the goat’s stopping the whole herd

by holding a branch of sea-holly in his mouth; and among the rest he

reckoned this is a thing of which we are certain, but whose cause it

is very difficult to find. But once at supper at Delphi, some of my

companions—as if we were not only better counsellors when our bellies

are full (as one hath it), but wine would make us brisker in our

enquiries and bolder in our resolutions—desired me to speak somewhat

to that problem.

2. I refused, though I had some excellent men on my side, namely,

Euthydemus my fellow-priest, and Patrocles my relation, who brought

several the like instances, which they had gathered both from husbandry

and hunting; for instance, that those officers that are appointed to

watch the coming of the hail avert the storm by offering a mole’s

blood or a woman’s rags; that a wild fig being bound to a garden

fig-tree will keep the fruit from falling, and promote their ripening;

that deer when they are taken shed salt tears, and boars sweet. But if

you have a mind to such questions, Euthydemus will presently desire you

to give an account of smallage and cummin; one of the which, if trodden

down as it springs, will grow the better, and the other men curse and

blaspheme whilst they sow it.

3. This last Florus thought to be an idle foolery; but he said, that

we should not forbear to search into the causes of the other things as

if they were incomprehensible. I have found, said I, your design to

draw me on to this discourse, that you yourself may afterward give us a

solution of the other proposed difficulties.

In my opinion it is cold that causes this hardness in corn and pulse,

by contracting and constipating their parts till the substance becomes

close and extremely rigid; while heat is a dissolving and softening

quality. Therefore those that cite this verse against Homer,

The season, not the field, bears fruit,

do not justly reprehend him. For fields that are warm by nature, the

air being likewise temperate, bear more mellow fruit than others.

And therefore those seeds that fall immediately on the earth out of

the sower’s hand, and are covered presently, and cherished by being

covered, partake more of the moisture and heat that is in the earth.

But those that strike against the oxen’s horns do not enjoy what Hesiod

calls the best position, but seem to be scattered rather than sown; and

therefore the cold either destroys them quite, or else, lighting upon

them as they lie naked, condenseth their moisture, and makes them hard

and woody. Thus stones that lie under ground and plant-animals have

softer parts than those that lie above; and therefore stone-cutters

bury the stones they would work, as if they designed to have them

prepared and softened by the heat; but those that lie above ground are

by the cold made hard, rigid, and very hurtful to the tools. And if

corn lies long upon the floor, the grains become much harder than that

which is presently carried away. And sometimes too a cold wind blowing

whilst they winnow spoils the corn, as it hath happened at Philippi in

Macedonia; and the chaff secures the grains whilst on the floor. For

is it any wonder that husbandmen affirm, one ridge will bear soft and

fruitful, and the very next to it hard and unfruitful corn? Or—which

is stranger—that in the same bean-cod some beans are of this sort,

some of the other, as more or less wind and moisture falls upon this or

that?

_QUESTION III._

WHY THE MIDDLE OF WINE, THE TOP OF OIL, AND THE BOTTOM OF HONEY IS

BEST.

ALEXION, PLUTARCH, OTHERS.

1. My father-in-law Alexion laughed at Hesiod, for advising us to drink

freely when the barrel is newly broached or almost out, but moderately

when it is about the middle, since there is the best wine. For who,

said he, doth not know, that the middle of wine, the top of oil, and

the bottom of honey is the best? Yet he bids us spare the middle, and

stay till worse wine runs, when the barrel is almost out. This said,

the company minded Hesiod no more, but began to enquire into the cause

of this difference.

2. We were not at all puzzled about the honey, everybody almost knowing

that that which is lightest is so because it is rare, and that the

heaviest parts are dense and compact, and by reason of their weight

settle below the others. So, if you turn over the vessel, each in

a little time will recover its proper place, the heavier subsiding,

and the lighter rising above the rest. And as for the wine, probable

solutions presently appeared; for its strength consisting in heat, it

is reasonable that it should be contained chiefly in the middle, and

there best preserved; for the lower parts the lees spoil, and the upper

are impaired by the neighboring air. For that the air will impair wine

no man doubts, and therefore we usually bury or cover our barrels, that

as little air as can be might come near them. Besides (which is an

evident sign) a barrel when full is not spoiled so soon as when it is

half empty; because a great deal of air getting into the empty space

troubles and disturbs the liquor, whereas the wine that is in the full

cask is preserved and defended by itself, not admitting much of the

external air, which is apt to injure and corrupt it.

3. But the oil puzzled us most. One of the company thought that the

bottom of the oil was worst, because it was foul and troubled with

the lees; and that the top was not really better than the rest, but

only seemed so, because it was farthest removed from those corrupting

particles. Others thought the thickness of the liquor to be the reason,

which thickness keeps it from mixing with other humids, unless blended

together and shaken violently; and therefore it will not mix with air,

but keeps it off by its smoothness and close contexture, so that it

hath no power to corrupt it. But Aristotle seems to be against this

opinion, who hath observed that oil grows sweeter by being kept in

vessels not exactly filled, and afterwards ascribes this melioration

to the air; for more air, and therefore more powerful to produce the

effect, flows into a vessel not well filled.

4. Well then! said I, the same quality in the air may spoil wine, and

better oil. For long keeping improves wine, but spoils oil. Now the

air keeps oil from growing old; for that which is cooled continues

fresh and new, but that which is kept close up, having no way to exhale

its corrupting parts, presently decays, and grows old. Therefore it is

probable that the air coming upon the superficies of the oil keepeth it

fresh and new. And this is the reason that the top of wine is worst,

and of oil best; because age betters the one, and spoils the other.

_QUESTION IV._

WHAT WAS THE REASON OF THAT CUSTOM OF THE ANCIENT ROMANS TO REMOVE THE

TABLE BEFORE ALL THE MEAT WAS EATEN, AND NOT TO PUT OUT THE LAMP?

FLORUS, EUSTROPHUS, CAESERNIUS, LUCIUS.

1. Florus, who loved the ancient customs, would not let the table be

removed quite empty, but always left some meat upon it; declaring

likewise that his father and grandfather were not only curious in this

matter, but would never suffer the lamp after supper to be put out,—a

thing about which the ancient Romans were very precise,—while those

of the present day extinguish it immediately after supper, that they

may lose no oil. Eustrophus the Athenian being present said: What

could they get by that, unless they knew the cunning trick of our

Polycharmus, who, after long deliberation how to find out a way to

prevent the servants’ stealing of the oil, at last with a great deal of

difficulty happened upon this: As soon as you have put out the lamp,

fill it up, and the next morning look carefully whether it remains

full. Then Florus with a smile replied: Well, since we are agreed about

that, let us enquire for what reason the ancients were so careful about

their tables and their lamps.

2. First, about the lamps. And his son-in-law Caesernius was of opinion

that the ancients abominated all extinction of fire, because of the

relation it had to the sacred and eternal flame. Fire, like man, may

be destroyed two ways, either when it is violently quenched, or when

it naturally decays. The sacred fire was secured against both ways,

being always watched and continually supplied; but the common fire they

permitted to go out of itself, not forcing or violently extinguishing

it, but not supplying it with nourishment, like a useless beast, that

they might not feed it to no purpose.

3. Lucius, Florus’s son, subjoined, that all the rest of the discourse

was very good, but that they did not reverence and take care of this

holy fire because they thought it better or more venerable than other

fire; but, as amongst the Egyptians some worship the whole species of

dogs, wolves, or crocodiles, yet keep but one wolf, dog, or crocodile

(for all could not be kept), so the particular care which the ancients

took of the sacred fire was only a sign of the respect they had for

all fires. For nothing bears such a resemblance to an animal as fire.

It is moved and nourished by itself, and by its brightness, like the

soul, discovers and makes every thing apparent; but in its quenching

it principally shows some power that seems to proceed from our vital

principle, for it makes a noise and resists, like an animal dying or

violently slaughtered. And can you (looking upon me) offer any better

reason?

4. I can find fault, replied I, with no part of the discourse, yet

I would subjoin, that this custom is an instruction for kindness

and good-will. For it is not lawful for any one that hath eaten

sufficiently to destroy the remainder of the food; nor for him that

hath supplied his necessities from the fountain to stop it up; nor

for him that hath made use of any marks, either by sea or land, to

ruin or deface them; but every one ought to leave those things that

may be useful to those persons that afterwards may have need of them.

Therefore it is not fit, out of a saving covetous humor, to put out

a lamp as soon as we need it not; but we ought to preserve and let

it burn for the use of those that perhaps want its light. Thus, it

would be very generous to lend our ears and eyes, nay, if possible,

our reason and fortitude, to others, whilst we are idle or asleep.

Besides, consider whether to stir up men to gratitude these minute

observances were practised. The ancients did not act absurdly when they

highly reverenced an oak. The Athenians called one fig-tree sacred,

and forbade any one to cut down an olive. For such observances do not

(as some fancy) make men prone to superstition, but persuade us to be

communicative and grateful to one another, by being accustomed to pay

this respect to these senseless and inanimate creatures. Upon the same

reason Hesiod, methinks, adviseth well, who would not have any meat or

broth set on the table out of those pots out of which there had been no

portion offered, but ordered the first-fruits to be given to the fire,

as a reward for the service it did in preparing it. And the Romans,

dealing well with the lamps, did not take away the nourishment they had

once given, but permitted them to live and shine by it.

5. When I had said thus, Eustrophus subjoined: This gives us some light

into that query about the table; for they thought that they ought to

leave some portion of the supper for the servants and waiters, for

those are not so well pleased with a supper provided for them apart, as

with the relics of their master’s table. And upon this account, they

say, the Persian king did not only send portions from his own table to

his friends, captains, and gentlemen of his bed-chamber, but had always

what was provided for his servants and his dogs served up to his own

table; that as far as possible all those creatures whose service was

useful might seem to be his guests and companions. For, by such feeding

in common and participation, the wildest of beasts might be made tame

and gentle.

6. Then I with a smile said: But, sir, that fish there, that according

to the proverb is laid up, why do not we bring out into play together

with Pythagoras’s choenix, which he forbids any man to sit upon,

thereby teaching us that we ought to leave something of what we have

before us for another time, and on the present day be mindful of the

morrow? We Boeotians use to have that saying frequently in our mouths,

“Leave something for the Medes,” ever since the Medes overran and

spoiled Phocis and the marches of Boeotia; but still, and upon all

occasions, we ought to have that ready, “Leave something for the guests

that may come.” And therefore I must needs find fault with that always

empty and starving table of Achilles; for, when Ajax and Ulysses came

ambassadors to him, he had nothing ready, but was forced out of hand

to dress a fresh supper. And when he would entertain Priam, he again

bestirs himself, kills a white ewe, joints and dresses it, and in that

work spent a great part of the night. But Eumaeus (a wise scholar of

a wise master) had no trouble upon him when Telemachus came home, but

presently desired him to sit down, and feasted him, setting before him

dishes of boiled meat,

The cleanly reliques of the last night’s feast.

But if this seems trifling, and a small matter, I am sure it is no

small matter to command and restrain appetite while there are dainties

before you to satisfy and please it. For those that are used to abstain

from what is present are not so eager for absent things as others are.

7. Lucius subjoining said, that he had heard his grandmother say, that

the table was sacred, and nothing that is sacred ought to be empty.

Besides, continued he, in my opinion, the table hath some resemblance

of the earth; for, besides nourishing us, it is round and stable,

and is fitly called by some Vesta (Ἑστία, from ἵστημι). Therefore as

we desire that the earth should always have and bear something that

is useful for us, so we think that we should not let the table be

altogether empty and void of all provision.

_QUESTION V._

THAT WE OUGHT CAREFULLY TO PRESERVE OURSELVES FROM PLEASURE ARISING

FROM BAD MUSIC. AND HOW IT MAY BE DONE.

CALLISTRATUS, LAMPRIAS.

1. At the Pythian games Callistratus, procurator of the Amphictyons,

forbade a piper, his citizen and friend, who did not give in his name

in due time, to appear in the solemnity, which he did according to the

law. But afterwards entertaining us, he brought him into the room with

the chorus, finely dressed in his robes and with chaplets on his head,

as if he was to contend for the prize. And at first indeed he played a

very fine tune; but afterwards, having tickled and sounded the humor

of the whole company, and found that most were inclined to pleasure

and would suffer him to play what effeminate and lascivious tunes he

pleased, throwing aside all modesty, he showed that music was more

intoxicating than wine to those that wantonly and unskilfully use it.

For they were not content to sit still and applaud and clap, but many

at last leaped from their seats, danced lasciviously, and made such

gentle steps as became such effeminate and mollifying tunes. But after

they had done, and the company, as it were recovered of its madness,

began to come to itself again, Lamprias would have spoken to and

severely chide the young men; but as he feared he should be too harsh

and give offence, Callistratus gave him a hint, and drew him on by this

discourse:—

2. For my part, I absolve all lovers of shows and music from

intemperance; yet I cannot altogether agree with Aristoxenus, who says

that those pleasures alone deserve the approbation “fine.” For we call

viands and ointments fine; and we say we have finely dined, when we

have been splendidly entertained. Nor, in my opinion, doth Aristotle

upon good reason free those complacencies we take in shows and songs

from the charge of intemperance, saying, that those belong peculiarly

to man, and of other pleasures beasts have a share. For I am certain

that a great many irrational creatures are delighted with music, as

deer with pipes; and to mares, whilst they are horsing, they play a

tune called ἱππόθορος. And Pindar says, that his songs make him move,

As brisk as Dolphins, whom a charming tune

Hath raised from th’ bottom of the quiet flood.

And certain fish are caught by means of dancing; for during the dance

they lift up their heads above water, being much pleased and delighted

with the sight, and twisting their backs this way and that way, in

imitation of the dancers. Therefore I see nothing peculiar in those

pleasures, that they should be accounted proper to the mind, and all

others to belong to the body, so far as to end there. But music,

rhythm, dancing, song, passing through the sense, fix a pleasure and

titilation in the sportive part of the soul; and therefore none of

these pleasures is enjoyed in secret, nor wants darkness nor walls

about it, according to the women’s phrase; but circuses and theatres

are built for them. And to frequent shows and music-meetings with

company is both more delightful and more genteel; because we take a

great many witnesses, not of a loose and intemperate, but of a pleasant

and genteel, manner of passing away our time.

3. Upon this discourse of Callistratus, my father Lamprias, seeing the

musicians grow bolder, said: That is not the reason, sir, and, in my

opinion, the ancients were much out when they named Bacchus the son of

Forgetfulness. They ought to have called him his father; for it seems

he hath made you forget that some of those faults which are committed

about pleasures proceed from a loose intemperate inclination, and

others from heedlessness or ignorance. Where the ill effect is very

plain, there intemperate inclination captivates reason, and forces men

to sin; but where the just reward of intemperance is not directly and

presently inflicted, there ignorance of the danger and heedlessness

make men easily wrought on and secure. Therefore those that are

vicious, either in eating, drinking, or venery, which diseases, wasting

of estates, and evil reports usually attend, we call intemperate. For

instance, Theodectes, who having sore eyes, when his mistress came to

see him, said,

All hail, delightful light;

or Anaxarchus the Abderite,

A wretch who knew what mischiefs wait on sin,

Yet love of pleasure forced him back again;

Once almost free, he sank again to vice,

That terror and disturber of the wise.

Now those that take all care possible to secure themselves from all

those pleasures that assault them either at the smelling, touch,

or taste, are often surprised by those that make their treacherous

approaches either at the eye or ear. But such, though as much led away

as the others, we do not in like manner call loose and intemperate,

since they are debauched through ignorance and want of experience.

For they imagine they are far from being slaves to pleasures, if they

can stay all day in the theatre without meat or drink; as if a pot

forsooth should be mighty proud that a man cannot take it up by the

bottom or the belly and carry it away, though he can easily do it by

the ears. Therefore Agesilaus said, it was all one whether a man were a

_cinaedus_ before or behind. We ought principally to dread those

softening delights that please and tickle through the eyes and ears,

and not think that city not taken which hath all its other gates

secured by bars, portcullises, and chains, if the enemies are already

entered through one and have taken possession; or fancy ourselves

invincible against the assaults of pleasure, because stews will not

provoke us, when the music-meeting or theatre prevails. For in one

case as much as the other we resign up our souls to the impetuousness

of pleasures, which pouring in those potions of songs, cadences, and

tunes, more powerful and bewitching than the best mixtures of the

skilful cook or perfumer, conquer and corrupt us; and in the mean time,

by our own confession, as it were, the fault is chiefly ours. Now, as

Pindar saith, nothing that the earth and sea hath provided for our

tables can be justly blamed, nor doth it change; but neither our meat

nor broth, nor this excellent wine which we drink, hath raised such a

noisy tumultuous pleasure as those songs and tunes did, which not only

filled the house with clapping and shouting, but perhaps the whole

town. Therefore we ought principally to secure ourselves against such

delights, because they are more powerful than others; as not being

terminated in the body, like those which allure the touch, taste, or

smelling, but affecting the very intellectual and judging faculties.

Besides, from most other delights, though reason doth not free us, yet

other passions very commonly divert us. Sparing niggardliness will keep

a glutton from dainty fish, and covetousness will confine a lecher

from a costly whore. As in one of Menander’s plays, where every one of

the company was to be enticed by the bawd who brought out a surprising

whore, each of them, though all boon companions,

Sat sullenly, and fed upon his cates.

For to pay interest for money is a severe punishment that follows

intemperance, and to open our purses is no easy matter. But these

pleasures that are called genteel, and solicit the ears or eyes of

those that are frantic after shows and music, may be had without any

charge at all, in every place almost, and upon every occasion; they

may be enjoyed at the prizes, in the theatre, or at entertainments, at

others’ cost. And therefore those that have not their reason to assist

and guide them may be easily spoiled.

4. Silence following upon this, What application, said I, shall reason

make, or how shall it assist? For I do not think it will apply those

ear-covers of Xenocrates, or force us to rise from the table as soon as

we hear a harp struck or a pipe blown. No indeed, replied Lamprias, but

as soon as we meet with the foresaid intoxications, we ought to make

our application to the Muses, and fly to the Helicon of the ancients.

To him that loves a costly strumpet, we cannot bring a Panthea or

Penelope for cure; but one that delights in mimics and buffoons, loose

odes, or debauched songs, we can bring to Euripides, Pindar, and

Menander, that he might wash (as Plato phraseth it) his salt hearing

with fresh reason. As the exorcists command the possessed to read over

and pronounce Ephesian letters, so we in those possessions, amid all

the madness of music and dancing, when

We toss our hands with noise, and madly shout,

remembering those venerable and sacred writings, and comparing with

them those odes, poems, and vain empty compositions, shall not be

altogether cheated by them, or permit ourselves to be carried away

sidelong, as by a smooth and undisturbed stream.

_QUESTION VI._

CONCERNING THOSE GUESTS THAT ARE CALLED SHADOWS, AND WHETHER BEING

INVITED BY SOME TO GO TO ANOTHER’S HOUSE, THEY OUGHT TO GO; AND WHEN,

AND TO WHOM.

PLUTARCH, FLORUS, CAESERNIUS.

1. Homer makes Menelaus come uninvited to his brother Agamemnon’s

treat, when he feasted the commanders;

For well he knew great cares his brother vexed.[95]

He did not take notice of the plain and evident omission of his

brother, or show his resentments by not coming, as some surly testy

persons usually do upon such oversights of their best friends;

although they had rather be overlooked than particularly invited,

that they may have some color for their pettish anger. But about the

introduced guests (which we call shadows) who are not invited by

the entertainer, but by some others of the guests, a question was

started, from whom that custom began. Some thought from Socrates,

who persuaded Aristodemus, who was not invited, to go along with him

to Agatho’s, where there happened a pretty jest. For Socrates by

accident staying somewhat behind, Aristodemus went in first; and this

seemed very fitting, for, the sun shining on their backs, the shadow

ought to go before the body. Afterwards it was thought necessary at

all entertainments, especially of great men, when the inviter did

not know their favorites and acquaintance, to desire the invited to

bring his company, appointing such a set number, lest they should be

put to the same shifts which he was put to who invited King Philip

to his country-house. The king came with a numerous attendance, but

the provision was not equal to the company. Therefore, seeing his

entertainer much cast down, he sent some about to tell his friends

privately, that they should keep one corner of their bellies for a

great cake that was to come. And they, expecting this, fed sparingly

on the meat that was set before them, so that the provision seemed

sufficient for them all.

2. When I had talked thus waggishly to the company, Florus had a mind

to talk gravely concerning these shadows, and have it discussed whether

it was fit for those that were so invited to go, or no. His son-in-law

Caesernius was positively against it. We should, says he, following

Hesiod’s advice,

Invite a friend to feast,[96]

or at least we should have our acquaintance and familiars to

participate of our entertainments, mirth, and discourse over a glass of

wine; but now, as ferry-men permit their passengers to bring in what

fardel they please, so we permit others to fill our entertainments

with any persons, let them be good companions or not. And I should

wonder that any man of breeding being so (that is, not at all) invited,

should go; since, for the most part, he must be unacquainted with

the entertainer, or if he was acquainted, was not thought worthy to

be bidden. Nay, he should be more ashamed to go to such a one, if he

considers that it will look like an upbraiding of his unkindness, and

yet a rude intruding into his company against his will. Besides, to

go before or after the guest that invites him must look unhandsomely,

nor is it creditable to go and stand in need of witnesses to assure

the guests that he doth not come as a principally invited person, but

such a one’s shadow. Beside, to attend others bathing or anointing,

to observe his hour, whether he goes early or late, is servile and

gnathonical (for there never was such an excellent fellow as Gnatho to

feed at another man’s table). Besides, if there is no more proper time

and place to say,

Speak, tongue, if thou wilt utter jovial things,

than at a feast, and freedom and raillery is mixed with every thing

that is either done or said over a glass of wine, how should he behave

himself, who is not a true principally invited guest, but as it were a

bastard and supposititious intruder? For whether he is free or not, he

lies open to the exception of the company. Besides, the very meanness

and vileness of the name is no small evil to those who do not resent

but can quietly endure to be called and answer to the name of shadows.

For, by enduring such base names, men are insensibly customed and drawn

on to base actions. Therefore, when I make an invitation, since it is

hard to break the custom of a place, I give my guests leave to bring

shadows; but when I myself am invited as a shadow, I assure you I

refuse to go.

3. A short silence followed this discourse; then Florus began thus:

This last thing you mentioned, sir, is a greater difficulty than the

other. For it is necessary when we invite our friends to give them

liberty to choose their own shadows, as was before hinted; for to

entertain them without their friends is not very obliging, nor is it

very easy to know whom the person we invite would be most pleased

with. Then said I to him: Consider therefore whether those that give

their friends this license to invite do not at the same time give the

invited license to accept the invitation and come to the entertainment.

For it is not fit either to permit or to desire another to do that

which is not decent to be done, or to urge and persuade to that which

no man ought to be persuaded or to consent to do. When we entertain a

great man or stranger, there we cannot invite or choose his company,

but must receive those that come along with him. But when we treat

a friend, it will be more acceptable if we ourselves invite all, as

knowing his acquaintance and familiars; for it tickles him extremely

to see that others take notice that he hath chiefly a respect for

such and such, loves their company most, and is well pleased when they

are honored and invited as well as he. Yet sometimes we must deal

with our friend as petitioners do when they make addresses to a God;

they offer vows to all that belong to the same altar and the same

shrine, though they make no particular mention of their names. For no

dainties, wine, or ointment can incline a man to merriment, as much

as a pleasant agreeable companion. For as it is rude and ungenteel to

enquire and ask what sort of meat, wine, or ointment the person whom

we are to entertain loves best; so it is never disobliging or absurd

to desire him who hath a great many acquaintance to bring those along

with him whose company he likes most, and in whose conversation he

can take the greatest pleasure. For it is not so irksome and tedious

to sail in the same ship, to dwell in the same house, or be a judge

upon the same bench, with a person whom we do not like, as to be at

the same table with him; and the contrary is equally pleasant. An

entertainment is a communion of serious or merry discourse or actions;

and therefore, to make a merry company, we should not pick up any

person at a venture, but take only such as are known to one another

and sociable. Cooks, it is true, mix sour and sweet juices, rough and

oily, to make their sauces; but there never was an agreeable table or

pleasant entertainment where the guests were not all of a piece, and

all of the same humor. Now, as the Peripatetics say, the first mover

in nature moves only and is not moved, and the last moved is moved

only but does not move, and between these there is that which moves

and is moved by others; so there is the same analogy between those

three sorts of persons that make up a company,—there is the simple

inviter, the simple invited, the invited that invites another. We have

spoken already concerning the inviter, and it will not be improper, in

my opinion, to deliver my sentiments about the other two. He that is

invited and invites others, should, in my opinion, be sparing in the

number that he brings. He should not, as if he were to forage in an

enemy’s country, carry all he can with him; or, like those who go to

possess a new-found land, by the excessive number of his own friends,

incommode or exclude the friends of the inviter, so that the inviter

must be in the same case with those that set forth suppers to Hecate

and the Gods who avert evil, of which neither they nor any of their

family partake, except of the smoke and trouble. It is true they only

speak in waggery that say,

He that at Delphi offers sacrifice

Must after meat for his own dinner buy.

But the same thing really happens to him who entertains ill-bred guests

or friends, who with a great many shadows, as it were harpies, tear

and devour his provision. Besides, he should not take anybody that

he may meet along with him to another’s entertainment, but chiefly

the entertainer’s acquaintance, as it were contending with him and

preventing him in the invitation. But if that cannot be effected,

let him carry such of his own friends as the entertainer would

choose himself; to a civil modest man, some of complaisant humor; to

a learned man, ingenious persons; to a man that hath borne office,

some of the same rank; and, in short, such whose acquaintance he hath

formerly sought and would be now glad of. For it will be extremely

pleasing and obliging to bring such into company together; but one

who brings to a feast men who have no conformity at all with the

feast-maker, but who are perfect aliens and strangers to him,—as

hard drinkers to a sober man,—gluttons and sumptuous persons to a

temperate thrifty entertainer,—or to a young, merry, boon companion,

grave old philosophers solemnly talking through their beards,—will be

very disobliging, and turn all the intended mirth into an unpleasant

sourness. The entertained should be as obliging to the entertainer as

the entertainer to the entertained; and then he will be most obliging,

when not only he himself, but all those that come by his means, are

pleasant and agreeable.

The last of the three which remains to be spoken of is he that is

invited by one man to another’s feast. Now he that disdains and is much

offended at the name of a shadow will appear to be afraid of a mere

shadow. But in this matter there is need of a great deal of caution,

for it is not creditable readily to go along with every one and to

everybody. But first you must consider who it is that invites; for if

he is not a very familiar friend, but a rich or great man, such who,

as if upon a stage, wants a large or splendid retinue, or such who

thinks that he puts a great obligation upon you and does you a great

deal of honor by this invitation, you must presently deny. But if he

is your friend and particular acquaintance, you must not yield upon

the first motion: but if there seems a necessity for some conversation

which cannot be put off till another time, or if he is lately come

from a journey or designs to go on one, and out of mere good-will and

affection seems desirous of your company, and doth not desire to carry

a great many strangers but only some few friends along with him; or,

besides all this, if he designs to bring you thus invited acquainted

with the principal inviter, who is very worthy of your acquaintance,

then consent and go. For as to ill-humored persons, the more they seize

and take hold of us like thorns, we should endeavor to free ourselves

from them or leap over them the more. If he that invites is a civil and

well-bred person, yet doth not design to carry you to one of the same

temper, you must refuse, lest you should take poison in honey, that is,

get the acquaintance of a bad man by an honest friend. It is absurd to

go to one you do not know, and with whom you never had any familiarity,

unless, as I said before, the person be an extraordinary man, and, by

a civil waiting upon him at another man’s invitation, you design to

begin an acquaintance with him. And those friends you should chiefly

go to as shadows, who would come to you again in the same quality. To

Philip the jester, indeed, he seemed more ridiculous that came to a

feast of his own accord than he that was invited; but to well-bred and

civil friends it is more obliging for men of the same temper to come

at the nick of time with other friends, when uninvited and unexpected;

at once pleasing both to those that invite and those that entertain.

But chiefly you must avoid going to rulers, rich or great men, lest

you incur the deserved censure of being impudent, saucy, rude, and

unseasonably ambitious.

_QUESTION VII._

WHETHER FLUTE-GIRLS ARE TO BE ADMITTED TO A FEAST?

DIOGENIANUS, A SOPHIST, PHILIP.

At Chaeronea, Diogenianus the Pergamenian being present, we had a long

discourse at an entertainment about music; and we had a great deal of

trouble to hold out against a great bearded sophister of the Stoic

sect, who quoted Plato as blaming a company that admitted flute-girls

and were not able to entertain one another with discourse. And Philip

the Prusian, of the same sect, said: Those guests of Agatho, whose

discourse was more sweet than the sound of any pipe in the world,

were no good authority in this case; for it was no wonder that in

their company the flute-girl was not regarded; but it is strange

that, in the midst of the entertainment, the extreme pleasantness

of the discourse had not made them forget their meat and drink. Yet

Xenophon thought it not indecent to bring in to Socrates, Antisthenes,

and the like the jester Philip; as Homer doth an onion to make the

wine relish. And Plato brought in Aristophanes’s discourse of love,

as a comedy, into his entertainment; and at the last, as it were

drawing all the curtains, he shows a scene of the greatest variety

imaginable,—Alcibiades drunk, frolicking, and crowned. Then follows

that pleasant raillery between him and Socrates concerning Agatho, and

the encomium of Socrates; and when such discourse was going on, good

Gods! had it not been allowable, if Apollo himself had come in with his

harp ready, to desire the God to forbear till the argument was out?

These men, having such a pleasant way of discoursing, used these arts

and insinuating methods, and graced their entertainments by facetious

raillery. But shall we, being mixed with tradesmen and merchants, and

some (as it now and then happens) ignorants and rustics, banish out of

our entertainments this ravishing delight, or fly the musicians, as

if they were Sirens, as soon as we see them coming? Clitomachus the

wrestler, rising and getting away when any one talked of love, was much

wondered at; and should not a philosopher that banisheth music from a

feast, and is afraid of a musician, and bids his link-boy presently

light his link and be gone, be laughed at, since he seems to abominate

the most innocent pleasures, as beetles do ointment? For, if at any

time, certainly over a glass of wine, music should be allowed, and then

chiefly the harmonious God should have the direction of our souls; so

that Euripides, though I like him very well in other things, shall

never persuade me that music, as he would have it, should be applied

to melancholy and grief. For there sober and serious reason, like a

physician, should take care of the diseased men; but those pleasures

should be mixed with Bacchus, and serve to increase our mirth and

frolic. Therefore it was a pleasant saying of that Spartan at Athens,

who, when some new tragedians were to contend for the prize, seeing the

preparations of the masters of the dances, the hurry and busy diligence

of the instructors, said, the city was certainly mad which sported

with so much pains. He that designs to sport should sport, and not buy

his ease and pleasure with great expense, or the loss of that time

which might be useful to other things; but whilst he is feasting and

free from business, those should be enjoyed. And it is advisable to try

amidst our mirth, whether any profit is to be gotten from our delights.

_QUESTION VIII._

WHAT SORT OF MUSIC IS FITTEST FOR AN ENTERTAINMENT?

DIOGENIANUS, A SOPHIST, PHILIP.

1. When Philip had ended, I hindered the sophister from returning an

answer to the discourse, and said: Let us rather enquire, Diogenianus,

since there are a great many sorts of music, which is fittest for an

entertainment. And let us beg this learned man’s judgment in this

case; for since he is not prejudiced or apt to be biassed by any sort,

there is no danger that he should prefer that which is pleasantest

before that which is best. Diogenianus joining with me in this request,

he presently began. All other sorts I banish to the theatre and

play-house, and can only allow that which hath been lately admitted

into the entertainments at Rome, and with which everybody is not yet

acquainted. You know, continued he, that some of Plato’s dialogues are

purely narrative, and some dramatic. The easiest of this latter sort

they teach their children to speak by heart; causing them to imitate

the actions of those persons they represent, and to form their voice

and affections to be agreeable to the words. This all the grave and

well-bred men exceedingly approve; but soft and effeminate fellows,

whose ears ignorance and ill-breeding hath corrupted, and who, as

Aristoxenus phraseth it, are ready to vomit when they hear excellent

harmony, reject it; and no wonder, when effeminacy prevails.

2. Philip, perceiving some of the company uneasy at this discourse,

said: Pray spare us, sir, and be not so severe upon us; for we were

the first that found fault with that custom when it first began to

be countenanced in Rome, and reprehended those who thought Plato fit

to entertain us whilst we were making merry, and who would hear his

dialogues whilst they were eating cates and scattering perfumes. When

Sappho’s songs or Anacreon’s verses are pronounced, I protest I then

think it decent to set aside my cup. But should I proceed, perhaps

you would think me much in earnest, and designing to oppose you, and

therefore, together with this cup which I present my friend, I leave it

to him to wash your salt ear with fresh discourse.

3. Then Diogenianus, taking the cup, said: Methinks this is very sober

discourse, which makes me believe that the wine doth not please you,

since I see no effect of it; so that I fear I ought to be corrected.

Indeed many sorts of music are to be rejected; first, tragedy, as

having nothing familiar enough for an entertainment, and being a

representation of actions attended with grief and extremity of passion.

I reject the sort of dancing which is called Pyladean from Pylades,

because it is full of pomp, very pathetical, and requires a great many

persons; but if we would admit any of those sorts that deserve those

encomiums which Socrates mentions in his discourse about dancing,

I like that sort called Bathyllean, which requires not so high a

motion, but hath something of the nature of the Cordax, and resembles

the motion of an Echo, a Pan, or a Satyr frolicking with love. Old

comedy is not fit for men that are making merry, by reason of the

irregularities that appear in it; for that vehemency which they use

in the parabasis is loud and indecent, and the liberty they take to

scoff and abuse is very surfeiting, too open, and full of filthy words

and lewd expressions. Besides, as at great men’s tables every man hath

a servant waiting at his elbow, so each of his guests would need a

grammarian to sit by him, and explain who is Laespodias in Eupolis,

Cinesias in Plato, and Lampo in Cratinus, and who is each person that

is jeered in the play. Concerning new comedy there is no need of any

long discourse. It is so fitted, so interwoven with entertainments,

that it is easier to have a regular feast without wine, than without

Menander. Its phrase is sweet and familiar, the humor innocent and

easy, so that there is nothing for men whilst sober to despise, or when

merry to be troubled at. The sentiments are so natural and unstudied,

that midst wine, as it were in fire, they soften and bend the rigidest

temper to be pliable and easy. And the mixture of gravity and jests

seems to be contrived for nothing so aptly as for the pleasure and

profit of those that are frolicking and making merry. The love-scenes

in Menander are convenient for those who have already taken their

cups, and who in a short time must retire home to their wives; for

in all his plays there is no love of boys mentioned, and all rapes

committed on virgins end decently in marriages at last. As for misses,

if they are impudent and jilting, they are bobbed, the young gallants

turning sober, and repenting of their lewd courses. But if they are

kind and constant, either their true parents are discovered, or a time

is determined for the intrigue, which brings them at last to obliging

modesty and civil kindness. These things to men busied about other

matters may seem scarce worth taking notice of; but whilst they are

making merry, it is no wonder that the pleasantness and smoothness of

the parts should work a neat conformity and elegance in the hearers,

and make their manners like the pattern they have from those genteel

characters.

4. Diogenianus, either designedly or for want of breath, ended thus.

And when the sophister came upon him again, and contended that some

of Aristophanes’s verses should be recited, Philip speaking to me

said: Diogenianus hath had his wish in praising his beloved Menander,

and seems not to care for any of the rest. There are a great many

sorts which we have not at all considered, concerning which I should

be very glad to have your opinion; and the prize for carvers we will

set up to-morrow, when we are sober, if Diogenianus and this stranger

think fit. Of representations, said I, some are mythical, and some

are farces; neither of these are fit for an entertainment; the first

by reason of their length and cost, and the latter being so full of

filthy discourse and lewd actions, that they are not fit to be seen

by the foot-boys that wait on civil masters. Yet the rabble, even

with their wives and young sons, sit quietly to be spectators of such

representations as are apt to disturb the soul more than the greatest

debauch in drink. The harp ever since Homer’s time was well acquainted

with feasts and entertainments, and therefore it is not fitting to

dissolve such an ancient friendship and acquaintance; but we should

only desire the harpers to forbear their sad notes and melancholy

tunes, and play only those that are delighting, and fit for such as are

making merry. The pipe, if we would, we cannot reject, for the libation

in the beginning of the entertainment requires that as well as the

garland. Then it insinuates and passeth through the ears, spreading

even to the very soul a pleasant sound, which produceth serenity and

calmness; so that, if the wine hath not quite dissolved or driven away

all vexing solicitous anxiety, this, by the softness and delightful

agreeableness of its sound, smooths and calms the spirits, if so be

that it keeps within due bounds, and doth not elevate too much, and, by

its numerous surprising divisions, raise an ecstasy in the soul which

wine hath weakened and made easy to be perverted. For as brutes do not

understand a rational discourse, yet lie down or rise up at the sound

of a shell or whistle, or of a chirp or clap; so the brutish part of

the soul, which is incapable either of understanding or obeying reason,

men conquer by songs and tunes, and by music reduce it to tolerable

order. But to speak freely what I think, no pipe nor harp simply played

upon, and without a song with it, can be very fit for an entertainment.

For we should still accustom ourselves to take our chiefest pleasure

from discourse, and spend our leisure time in profitable talk, and

use tunes and airs as a sauce for the discourse, and not singly by

themselves, to please the unreasonable delicacy of our palate. For as

nobody is against pleasure that ariseth from sauce or wine going in

with our necessary food, but Socrates flouts and refuseth to admit that

superfluous and vain pleasure which we take in perfumes and odors at

a feast; thus the sound of a pipe or harp, when singly applied to our

ears, we utterly reject, but if it accompanies words, and together with

an ode feasts and delights our reason, we gladly introduce it. And we

believe the famed Marsyas was punished by Apollo for pretending, when

he had nothing but his single pipe, and his muzzle to secure his lips,

to contend with the harp and song of the God. Let us only take care

that, when we have such guests as are able to cheer one another with

philosophy and good discourse, we do not introduce any thing that may

rather prove an uneasy hindrance to the conversation than promote it.

For not only are those fools, who, as Euripides says, having safety

at home and in their own power, yet would hire some from abroad; but

those too who, having pleasantness enough within, are eager after some

external pastimes to comfort and delight them. That extraordinary piece

of honor which the Persian king showed Antalcidas the Spartan seemed

rude and uncivil, when he dipped a garland composed of crocus and roses

in ointment, and sent it him to wear, by that dipping putting a slight

upon and spoiling the natural sweetness and beauty of the flowers.

He doth as bad, who having a Muse in his own breast, and all the

pleasantness that would fit an entertainment, will have pipes and harps

play, and by that external adventitious noise destroy all the sweetness

that was proper and his own. But in short, all ear-delights are fittest

then, when the company begins to be disturbed, fall out, and quarrel,

for then they may prevent raillery and reproach, and stop the dispute

that is running on to sophistical and unpleasant wrangling, and bridle

all babbling declamatory altercations, so that the company may be freed

of noise and quietly composed.

_QUESTION IX._

THAT IT WAS THE CUSTOM OF THE GREEKS AS WELL AS PERSIANS TO DEBATE OF

STATE AFFAIRS AT THEIR ENTERTAINMENTS.

NICOSTRATUS, GLAUCIAS.

At Nicostratus’s table we discoursed of those matters which the

Athenians were to debate of in their next assembly. And one of the

company saying, It is the Persian fashion, sir, to debate midst your

cups; And why, said Glaucias rejoining, not the Grecian fashion? For it

was a Greek that said,

After your belly’s full, your counsel’s best.

And they were Greeks who with Agamemnon besieged Troy, to whom, whilst

they were eating and drinking,

Old Nestor first began a grave debate;[97]

and he himself advised the king before to call the commanders together

for the same purpose:

For the commanders, sir, a feast prepare,

And see who counsels best, and follow him.[98]

Therefore Greece, having a great many excellent institutions, and

zealously following the customs of the ancients, hath laid the

foundations of her polities in wine. For the assemblies in Crete called

Andria, those in Sparta called Phiditia, were secret consultations

and aristocratical assemblies; such, I suppose, as the Prytaneum and

Thesmothesium here at Athens. And not different from these is that

night-meeting, which Plato mentions, of the best and most politic men,

to which the greatest, the most considerable and puzzling matters are

assigned. And those

Who, when they do design to seek their rest,

To Mercury their just libations pour,[99]

do they not join reason and wine together, since, when they are

about to retire, they make their vows to the wisest God, as if he

was present and particularly president over their actions? But the

ancients indeed call Bacchus the good counsellor, as if he had no need

of Mercury; and for his sake they named the night εὐφρόνη, as it were,

_well-minded_.

_QUESTION X._

WHETHER THEY DID WELL WHO DELIBERATED MIDST THEIR CUPS.

GLAUCIAS, NICOSTRATUS.

1. Whilst Glaucias was discoursing thus, the former tumultuous talk

seemed to be pretty well lulled; and that it might be quite forgotten,

Nicostratus started another question, saying, he never valued the

matter before, whilst he thought it a Persian custom, but since it

was discovered to be the Greek fashion too, it wanted (he thought)

some reason to excuse or defend its seeming absurdity. For our reason

(said he), like our eye, whilst it floats in too much moisture, is

hard to be moved, and unable to perform its operations. And all sorts

of troubles and discontents creeping forth, like insects to the sun,

and being agitated by a glass of wine, make the mind irresolute and

inconstant. Therefore as a bed is more convenient for a man whilst

making merry than a chair, because it contains the whole body and keeps

it from all disturbing motion, so it is best to have the soul perfectly

at quiet; or, if that cannot be, we must give it, as to children that

will be doing, not a sword or spear, but a rattle or ball,—in this

following the example of the God himself, who puts into the hands of

those that are making merry a ferula, the lightest and softest of all

weapons, that, when they are most apt to strike, they may hurt least.

Over a glass of wine men should make only ridiculous slips, and not

such as may prove tragical, lamentable, or of any considerable concern.

Besides, in serious debates, it is chiefly to be considered, that

persons of mean understanding and unacquainted with business should

be guided by the wise and experienced; but wine destroys this order.

Insomuch that Plato says, wine is called οἶνος, because it makes those

that drink it think that they have wit (οἴεσθαι νοῦν ἔχειν); for none

over a glass of wine thinks himself so noble, beauteous, or rich

(though he fancies himself all these), as wise; and therefore wine

is babbling, full of talk, and of a dictating humor; so that we are

rather for being heard than hearing, for leading than being led. But a

thousand such objections may be raised, for they are very obvious. But

let us hear which of the company, either old or young, can allege any

thing for the contrary opinion.

2. Then said my brother cunningly: And do you imagine that any, upon

a sudden, can produce any probable reasons? And Nicostratus replying,

Yes, no doubt, there being so many learned men and good drinkers in

company; he with a smile continued: Do you think, sir, you are fit

to treat of these matters, when wine hath disabled you to discourse

politics and state affairs? Or is not this all the same as to think

that a man in his liquor doth not see very well nor understand those

that talk and discourse with him, yet hears the music and the pipers

very well? For as it is likely that useful and profitable things draw

and affect the sense more than fine and gaudy; so likewise they do the

mind. And I shall not wonder that the nice philosophical speculation

should escape a man who hath drunk freely; but yet, I think, if he

were called to political debates, his wisdom would become more strong

and vigorous. Thus Philip at Chaeronea, being well heated, talked very

foolishly, and was the sport of the whole company; but as soon as they

began to discourse of a truce and peace, he composed his countenance,

contracted his brows, and dismissing all vain, empty, and dissolute

thoughts, gave an excellent, wise, and sober answer to the Athenians.

To drink freely is different from being drunk, and those that drink

till they grow foolish ought to retire to bed. But as for those that

drink freely and are otherwise men of sense, why should we fear that

they will fail in their understanding or lose their skill, when we

see that musicians play as well at a feast as in a theatre? For when

skill and art are in the soul, they make the body correct and proper

in its operations, and obedient to the motions of the mind. Besides,

wine inspirits some men, and raises a confidence and assurance in them,

but not such as is haughty and odious, but pleasing and agreeable.

Thus they say that Aeschylus wrote his tragedies over a bottle; and

that all his plays (though Gorgias thought that one of them, the Seven

against Thebes, was full of Mars) were Bacchus’s. For wine (according

to Plato), heating the soul together with the body, makes the body

pliable, quick, and active, and opens the passages; while the fancies

draw in discourse with boldness and daring.

For some have a good natural invention, yet whilst they are sober are

too diffident and too close, but midst their wine, like frankincense,

exhale and open at the heat. Besides, wine expels all fear, which

is the greatest hindrance to all consultations, and quencheth many

other degenerate and lazy passions; it opens the rancor and malice,

as it were, the two-leaved doors of the soul, and displays the whole

disposition and qualities of any person in his discourse. Freedom of

speech, and, through that, truth it principally produceth; which once

wanting, neither quickness of wit nor experience availeth any thing;

and many proposing that which comes next rather hit the matter, than if

they warily and designedly conceal their present sentiments. Therefore

there is no reason to fear that wine will stir up our affections; for

it never stirs up the bad, unless in the worst men, whose judgment

is never sober. But as Theophrastus used to call the barbers’ shops

wine-less entertainments; so there is a kind of an uncouth wine-less

drunkenness always excited either by anger, malice, emulation, or

clownishness in the souls of the unlearned. Now wine, blunting rather

than sharpening many of these passions, doth not make them sots and

foolish, but simple and guileless; not negligent of what is profitable,

but desirous of what is good and honest. Now those that think craft to

be cunning, and vanity or closeness to be wisdom, have reason to think

those that over a glass of wine plainly and ingenuously deliver their

opinions to be fools. But on the contrary, the ancients called the God

the Freer and Loosener, and thought him considerable in divination;

not, as Euripides says, because he makes men raging mad, but because

he looseth and frees the soul from all base distrustful fear, and puts

them in a condition to speak truth fully and freely to one another.

BOOK VIII.

Those, my Sossius Senecio, who throw philosophy out of entertainments

do worse than those who take away a light. For the candle being

removed, the temperate and sober guests will not become worse than they

were before, being more concerned to reverence than to see one another.

But if dulness and disregard to good learning wait upon the wine,

Minerva’s golden lamp itself could not make the entertainment pleasing

and agreeable. For a company to sit silent and only cram themselves

is, in good truth, swinish and almost impossible. But he that permits

men to talk, yet doth not allow set and profitable discourses, is much

more ridiculous than he who thinks that his guests should eat and

drink, yet gives them foul wine, unsavory and nastily prepared meat.

For no meat nor drink which is not prepared as it ought to be is so

hurtful and unpleasant as discourse which is carried round in company

insignificantly and out of season. The philosophers, when they would

give drunkenness a vile name, call it doting by wine. Now doting is to

use vain and trifling discourse; and when such babbling is accompanied

by wine, it usually ends in most disagreeable and rude contumely and

reproach. It is a good custom therefore of our women, who in their

feasts called Agrionia seek after Bacchus as if he were run away, but

in a little time give over the search, and cry that he is fled to

the Muses and lurks with them; and some time after, when supper is

done, put riddles and hard questions to one another. For this mystery

teaches us, that midst our entertainments we should use learned and

philosophical discourse, and such as hath a Muse in it; and that such

discourse being applied to drunkenness, every thing that is brutish

and outrageous in it is concealed, being pleasingly restrained by the

Muses.

This book, being the eighth of my Symposiacs, begins that discourse in

which about a year ago, on Plato’s birthday, I was concerned.

_QUESTION I._

CONCERNING THOSE DAYS IN WHICH SOME FAMOUS MEN WERE BORN; AND ALSO

CONCERNING THE GENERATION OF THE GODS.

DIOGENIANUS, PLUTARCH, FLORUS, TYNDARES.

1. On the sixth day of May we celebrated Socrates’s birthday, and on

the seventh Plato’s; and that first prompted us to such discourse as

was suitable to the meeting, which Diogenianus the Pergamenian began

thus: Ion, said he, was happy in his expression, when he said that

Fortune, though much unlike Wisdom, yet did many things very much like

her; and that she seemed to have some order and design, not only in

placing the nativities of these two philosophers so near together,

but in setting first the birthday of the most famous of the two, who

was also the teacher of the other. I had a great deal to say to the

company concerning some notable things that fell out on the same day,

as concerning the time of Euripides’s birth and death; for he was

born the same day that the Greeks beat Xerxes by sea at Salamis, and

died the same day that Dionysius the elder, the Sicilian tyrant, was

born,—Fortune (as Timaeus hath it) at the same time taking out of the

world a representer, and bringing into it a real actor, of tragedies.

Besides, we remembered that Alexander the king and Diogenes the Cynic

died upon the same day. And all agreed that Attalus the king died on

his own birthday. And some said, that Pompey the great was killed in

Egypt on his birthday, or, as others will have it, a day before. We

remember Pindar also, who, being born at the time of the Pythian games,

made afterwards a great many excellent hymns in honor of Apollo.

2. To this Florus subjoined: Now we are celebrating Plato’s nativity,

why should we not mention Carneades, the most famous of the whole

Academy, since both of them were born on Apollo’s feast; Plato, whilst

they were celebrating the Thargelia at Athens, Carneades, whilst

the Cyrenians kept their Carnea; and both these feasts are upon the

same day. Nay, the God himself (he continued) you, his priests and

prophets, call Hebdomagenes, as if he were born on the seventh day.

And therefore those who make Apollo Plato’s father[100] do not, in my

opinion, dishonor the God; since by Socrates’s as by another Chiron’s

instructions he is become a physician for the greater diseases of the

mind. And together with this, he mentioned that vision and voice which

forbade Aristo, Plato’s father, to come near or lie with his wife for

ten months.

3. To this Tyndares the Spartan subjoined: It is very fit we should

apply that to Plato,

He seemed not sprung from mortal man, but God.[101]

But, for my part, I am afraid to beget, as well as to be begotten, is

repugnant to the incorruptibility of the Deity. For that implies a

change and passion; as Alexander imagined, when he said that he knew

himself to be mortal as often as he lay with a woman or slept. For

sleep is a relaxation of the body, occasioned by the weakness of our

nature; and all generation is a corruptive parting with some of our

own substance. But yet I take heart again, when I hear Plato call the

eternal and unbegotten Deity the father and maker of the world and

all other begotten things; not as if he parted with any seed, but as

if by his power he implanted a generative principle in matter, which

acts upon, forms, and fashions it. Winds passing through a hen will

sometimes impregnate her; and it seems no incredible thing, that the

Deity, though not after the fashion of a man, but by some other certain

communication, fills a mortal creature with some divine conception.

Nor is this my sense; but the Egyptians say Apis was conceived by

the influence of the moon, and make no question but that an immortal

God may have communication with a mortal woman. But on the contrary,

they think that no mortal can beget any thing on a goddess, because

they believe the goddesses are made of thin air, and subtle heat and

moisture.

_QUESTION II._

WHAT IS PLATO’S MEANING, WHEN HE SAYS THAT GOD ALWAYS PLAYS THE

GEOMETER?

DIOGENIANUS, TYNDARES, FLORUS, AUTOBULUS.

1. Silence following this discourse, Diogenianus began and said: Since

our discourse is about the Gods, shall we, especially on his own

birthday, admit Plato to the conference, and enquire upon what account

he says (supposing it to be his sentence) that God always plays the

geometer? I said that this sentence was not plainly set down in any of

his books; yet there are good arguments that it is his, and it is very

much like his expression. Tyndares presently subjoining said: Perhaps,

Diogenianus, you imagine that this sentence intimates some curious and

difficult speculation, and not that which he hath so often mentioned,

when he praiseth geometry as a science that takes off men from sensible

objects, and makes them apply themselves to the intelligible and

eternal Nature, the contemplation of which is the end of philosophy,

as a view of the mysteries of initiation into holy rites. For the nail

of pain and pleasure, that fastens the soul to the body, seems to do

us the greatest mischief, by making sensible things more powerful over

us than intelligible, and by forcing the understanding to determine

rather according to passion than reason. For the understanding, being

accustomed by the vehemency of pain or pleasure to be intent on the

mutable and uncertain body, as if it really and truly were, grows blind

as to that which really is, and loses that instrument and light of the

soul, which is worth a thousand bodies, and by which alone the Deity

can be discovered. Now in all sciences, as in plain and smooth mirrors,

some marks and images of the truth of intelligible objects appear,

but in geometry chiefly; which, according to Philo, is the chief and

principal of all, and doth bring back and turn the understanding, as

it were, purged and gently loosened from sense. And therefore Plato

himself dislikes Eudoxus, Archytas, and Menaechmus for endeavoring

to bring down the doubling the cube to mechanical operations; for by

this means all that was good in geometry would be lost and corrupted,

it falling back again to sensible things, and not rising upward and

considering immaterial and immortal images, in which God being versed

is always God.

2. After Tyndares, Florus, a companion of his, who always jocosely

pretended to be his admirer, said thus: Sir, we are obliged to you for

making your discourse not proper to yourself, but common to us all; for

you have made it possible to refute it by demonstrating that geometry

is not necessary to the Gods, but to us. Now the Deity doth not stand

in need of science, as an instrument to withdraw his intellect from

things engendered and to turn it to the real things; for these are

all in him, with him, and about him. But pray consider whether Plato,

though you do not apprehend it, doth not intimate something that is

proper and peculiar to you, mixing Lycurgus with Socrates, as much as

Dicaearchus thought he did Pythagoras. For Lycurgus, I suppose you

know, banished out of Sparta all arithmetical proportion, as being

democratical and favoring the crowd; but introduced the geometrical,

as agreeable to an oligarchy and kingly government that rules by

law; for the former gives an equal share to every one according to

number, but the other gives according to the proportion of the deserts.

It doth not huddle all things together, but in it there is a fair

discretion of good and bad, every one having what is fit for him, not

by lot or weight, but according as he is virtuous or vicious. The same

proportion, my dear Tyndares, God introduceth, which is called δίκη and

νέμεσις, and which teacheth us to account that which is just equal,

and not that which is equal just. For that equality which many affect,

being often the greatest injustice, God, as much as possible, takes

away; and useth that proportion which respects every man’s deserts,

geometrically defining it according to law and reason.

3. This exposition we applauded; and Tyndares, saying he envied him,

desired Autobulus to engage Florus and confute his discourse. That

he refused to do, but produced another opinion of his own. Geometry,

said he, considers nothing else but the accidents and properties

of the extremities or limits of bodies; neither did God make the

world any other way than by terminating matter, which was infinite

before. Not that matter was really infinite as to either magnitude

or multitude; but the ancients used to call that infinite which by

reason of its confusion and disorder is undetermined and unconfined.

Now the terms of every thing that is formed or figured are the form

and figure of that thing, without which the thing would be formless

and unfigured. Now numbers and proportions being applied to matter, it

is circumscribed and as it were bound up by lines, and through lines

by surfaces and profundities; and so were settled the first species

and differences of bodies, as foundations from which to raise the four

elements, fire, air, water, and earth. For it was impossible that,

out of an unsteady and confused matter, the equality of the sides,

the likeness of the angles, and the exact proportion of octahedrons,

icosahedrons, pyramids, and cubes should be deduced, unless by some

power that terminated and shaped every particle of matter. Therefore,

terms being fixed to that which was undetermined or infinite before,

the whole became and still continues agreeable in all parts, and

excellently terminated and mixed; the matter indeed always affecting

an indeterminate state, and flying all geometrical confinement, but

proportion terminating and circumscribing it, and dividing it into

several differences and forms, out of which all things that arise are

generated and subsist.

4. When he had said this, he desired me to contribute something to

the discourse; and I applauded their conceits as their own devices,

and very probable. But lest you despise yourselves (I continued) and

altogether look for some external explication, attend to an exposition

upon this sentence, which your masters very much approve. Amongst

the most geometrical theorems, or rather problems, this is one: Two

figures being given, to construct a third, which shall be equal to one

and similar to the other. And it is reported that Pythagoras, upon

the discovery of this problem, offered a sacrifice to the Gods; for

this is a much more exquisite theorem than that which lays down, that

the square of the hypothenuse in a right-angled triangle is equal to

the squares of the two sides. Right, said Diogenianus, but what is

this to the present question? You will easily understand, I replied,

if you call to mind how Timaeus divides that which gave the world its

beginning into three parts. One of which is justly called God, the

other matter, and the third form. That which is called matter is the

most confused subject, the form the most beautiful pattern, and God the

best of causes. Now this cause, as far as possible, would leave nothing

infinite and indeterminate, but adorn Nature with number, measure and

proportion, making one thing of all the subjects together, equal to

the matter, and similar to the form. Therefore proposing to himself

this problem, he made and still makes a third, and always preserves

it equal to the matter, and like the form; and that is the world. And

this world, being in continual changes and alterations because of

the natural necessity of body, is helped and preserved by the father

and maker of all things, who by proportion terminates the substance

according to the pattern. Wherefore in its measure and circuit this

universal world is more beautiful than that which is merely similar to

it....

_QUESTION III._

WHY NOISES ARE BETTER HEARD IN THE NIGHT THAN THE DAY.

AMMONIUS, BOETHUS, PLUTARCH, THRASYLLUS, ARISTODEMUS.

1. When we supped with Ammonius at Athens, who was then the third time

captain of the city-bands, there was a great noise about the house,

some without doors calling, Captain! Captain! After he had sent his

officers to quiet the tumult, and had dispersed the crowd, we began to

enquire what was the reason that those that are within doors hear those

that are without, but those that are without cannot hear those that are

within as well. And Ammonius said, that Aristotle had given a reason

for that already; for the sound of those within, being carried without

into a large tract of air, grows weaker presently and is lost; but that

which comes in from without is not subject to the like casualty, but is

kept close, and is therefore more easy to be heard. But that seemed a

more difficult question, Why sounds seem greater in the night than in

the day, and yet altogether as clear. For my own part (continued he)

I think Providence hath very wisely contrived that our hearing should

be quickest when our sight can do us very little or no service; for

the air of the “blind and solitary Night,” as Empedocles calls it,

being dark, supplies in the ears that defect of sense which it makes in

the eyes. But since of natural effects we should endeavor to find the

causes, and to discover what are the material and mechanical principles

of things is the proper task of a natural philosopher, who shall first

assist us with a rational account hereof?

2. Boethus began, and said: When I was a novice in letters, I then

made use of geometrical postulates, and assumed as undoubted truths

some undemonstrated suppositions; and now I shall make use of some

propositions which Epicurus hath demonstrated already. Bodies move in

a vacuum, and there are a great many spaces interspersed among the

atoms of the air. Now when the air being rarefied is more extended,

so as to fill the empty space, there are but few vacuities scattered

and interspersed among the particles of matter; but when the atoms of

air are condensed and laid close together, they leave a vast empty

space, convenient and sufficient for other bodies to pass through.

Now the coldness of the night makes such a constipation. Heat opens

and separates the parts of condensed bodies. Therefore bodies that

boil, grow soft, or melt, require a greater space than before; but on

the contrary, the parts of the body that are condensed or freeze are

contracted closer to one another, and leave those vessels and places

from which they retired partly empty. Now the voice, meeting and

striking against a great many bodies in its way, is either altogether

lost or scattered, and very much and very frequently hindered in its

passage; but when it hath a plain and smooth way through an empty

space, and comes to the ear uninterrupted, the passage is so sudden,

that it preserves its articulate distinctness, as well as the words

it carries. You may observe that empty vessels, when knocked, answer

presently, send out a noise to a great distance, and oftentimes the

sound whirled round in the hollow breaks out with a considerable

force; whilst a vessel that is filled either with a liquid or a solid

body will not answer to a stroke, because the sound hath no room or

passage to come through. And among solid bodies themselves, gold and

stone, because they want pores, can hardly be made to sound; and when

a noise is made by a stroke upon them, it is very flat, and presently

lost. But brass is sounding, it being a porous, rare, and light metal,

not consisting of parts closely compacted, but being mixed with a

yielding and uncompacted substance, which gives free passage to other

motions, and kindly receiving the sound sends it forward; till some

touching the instrument do, as it were, seize on it in the way, and

stop the hollow; for then, by reason of the hindering force, it stops

and goes no farther. And this, in my opinion, is the reason why the

night is more sonorous, and the day less; since in the day, the heat

rarefying the air makes the empty spaces between the particles to be

very little. But, pray, let none argue against the suppositions I first

assumed.

3. And I (Ammonius bidding me oppose him) said: Sir, your suppositions

which require a vacuum to be granted I shall admit; but you err in

supposing that a vacuum is conducive either to the preservation or

conveyance of sound. For that which cannot be touched, acted upon,

or struck is peculiarly favorable to silence. But sound is a stroke

of a sounding body; and a sounding body is that which is homogeneous

and uniform, easy to be moved, light, smooth, and, by reason of its

tenseness and continuity, obedient to the stroke; and such is the air.

Water, earth, and fire, are of themselves soundless; but each of them

makes a noise when air falls upon or gets into it. And brass hath in it

no vacuum; but being mixed with a smooth and gentle air it answers to a

stroke, and is sounding. If the eye may be judge, iron must be reckoned

to have a great many vacuities, and to be porous like a honey-comb,

yet it is the dullest, and sounds worse than any other metal.

Therefore there is no need to trouble the night to contract and

condense its air, that in other parts we may leave vacuities and wide

spaces; as if the air would hinder and corrupt the substance of the

sounds, whose very substance, form, and power itself is. Besides, if

your reason held, misty and extreme cold nights would be more sonorous

than those which are temperate and clear, because then the atoms in

our atmosphere are constipated, and the spaces which they left remain

empty; and, what is more obvious, a cold day should be more sonorous

than a warm summer’s night; neither of which is true. Therefore, laying

aside that explication, I produce Anaxagoras, who teacheth that the sun

makes a tremulous motion in the air, as is evident from those little

motes which are seen tossed up and down and flying in the sunbeams.

These (says he), being in the day-time whisked about by the heat, and

making a humming noise, lessen or drown other sounds; but at night

their motion, and consequently their noise, ceaseth.

4. When I had thus said, Ammonius began: Perhaps it will look like a

ridiculous attempt in us, to endeavor to confute Democritus and correct

Anaxagoras. Yet we must not allow that humming noise to Anaxagoras’s

little motes, for it is neither probable nor necessary. But their

tremulous and whirling motion in the sunbeams is oftentimes sufficient

to disturb and break a sound. For the air (as hath been already

said), being itself the body and substance of sound, if it be quiet

and undisturbed, gives a straight, easy, and continuous way to the

particles or the motions which make the sound. Thus sounds are best

heard in calm still weather; and the contrary is seen in tempestuous

weather, as Simonides hath it:—

No tearing tempests rattled through the skies,

Which hinder sweet discourse from mortal ears.

For often the disturbed air hinders the articulateness of a discourse

from coming to the ears, though it may convey something of the loudness

and length of it. Now the night, simply considered in itself, hath

nothing that may disturb the air; though the day hath,—namely the sun,

according to the opinion of Anaxagoras.

5. To this Thrasyllus, Ammonius’s son, subjoining said: What is the

matter, for God’s sake, that we endeavor to solve this difficulty by

the unintelligible fancied motion of the air, and never consider the

tossing and divulsion thereof, which are sensible and evident? For

Jupiter, the great ruler above, doth not covertly and silently move the

little particles of air; but as soon as he appears, he stirs up and

moves every thing.

He sends forth lucky signs,

And stirs up nations to their proper work

and they obey; and (as Democritus saith) with new thoughts for each

new day, as if newly born again, they fall to their worldly concerns

with noisy and effectual contrivances. And upon this account, Ibycus

appositely calls the dawning κλυτόν (from κλύειν, _to hear_),

because then men first begin to hear and speak. Now at night, all

things being at rest, the air being quiet and undisturbed must

therefore probably transmit the voice better, and convey it whole and

unbroken to our ears.

6. Aristodemus the Cyprian, being then in company, said: But consider,

sir, whether battles or the marches of great armies by night do

not confute your reason; for the noise they make seems as loud as

otherwise, though then the air is broken and very much disturbed. But

the reason is partly in ourselves; for our voice at night is usually

vehement, we either commanding others to do something or asking short

questions with heat and concern. For that, at the same time when Nature

requires rest, we should stir to do or speak any thing, there must be

some great and urgent necessity for it; and thence our voices become

more vehement and loud.

_QUESTION IV._

Why, when in the Sacred Games one sort of Garland was given in one, and

another in another, the Palm was common to all. And why they call the

great Dates Νικόλαοι.

SOSPIS, HERODES, PROTOGENES, PRAXITELES, CAPHISUS.

1. The Isthmian games being celebrated, when Sospis was the

second time director of the solemnity, we avoided other

entertainments,—he treating a great many strangers, and often all his

fellow-citizens,—but once, when he entertained his nearest and most

learned friends at his own house, I was one of the company. After the

first course, one coming to Herodes the rhetorician brought a palm

and a wreathed crown, which one of his acquaintance, who had won the

prize for an encomiastic exercise, sent him. This Herodes received very

kindly, and sent it back again, but added that he could not tell the

reason why, since each of the games gave a particular garland, yet all

of them bestowed the palm. For those do not satisfy me (said he) who

say that the equality of the leaves is the reason, which growing out

one against another seem to resemble some striving for the prize, and

that victory is called νίκη, from μὴ εἴκειν, _not to yield_. For a

great many other trees, which almost by measure and weight divide the

nourishment to their leaves growing opposite to one another, show a

decent order and wonderful equality. They seem to speak more probably

who say the ancients were pleased with the beauty and figure of the

tree. Thus Homer compares Nausicaa to a palm-branch. For you all know

very well, that some threw roses at the victors, and some pomegranates

and apples, to honor and reward them. But now the palm hath nothing

evidently more taking than many other things, since here in Greece it

bears no fruit that is good to eat, it not ripening and growing mature

enough. But if, as in Syria and Egypt, it bore a fruit that is the

most pleasant to the eyes of any thing in the world, and the sweetest

to the taste, then I must confess nothing could compare with it. And

the Persian monarch (as the story goes), being extremely taken with

Nicolaus the Peripatetic philosopher, who was a very sweet-humored man,

tall and slender, and of a ruddy complexion, called the greatest and

fairest dates Nicolai.

2. This discourse of Herodes seemed to give occasion for a query about

Nicolaus, which would be as pleasant as the former. Therefore, said

Sospis, let every one carefully give his sentiments of the matter in

hand. I begin, and think that, as far as possible, the honor of the

victor should remain fresh and immortal. Now a palm-tree is the longest

lived of any, as this line of Orpheus testifies:

They lived like branches of a leafy palm.

And this almost alone enjoys the privilege (though it is said to belong

to many beside) of having always fresh and the same leaves. For neither

the laurel nor the olive nor the myrtle, nor any other of those trees

called evergreen, is always seen with the very same leaves; but as the

old fall, new ones grow. So cities continue the same, where new parts

succeed those that decay. But the palm, never shedding a leaf, is

continually adorned with the same green. And this power of the tree, I

believe, men think agreeable to, and fit to represent, the strength of

victory.

3. When Sospis had done, Protogenes the grammarian, calling Praxiteles

the commentator by his name, said: What then, shall we suffer those

rhetoricians to be thought to have hit the mark, when they bring

arguments only from probabilities and conjectures? And can we produce

nothing from history to club to this discourse? Lately, I remember,

reading in the Attic annals, I found that Theseus first instituted

games in Delos, and tore off a branch from the sacred palm-tree, which

was called spadix (from σπάω, _to tear_.)

4. And Praxiteles said: This is uncertain; but perhaps some will

demand of Theseus himself, upon what account, when he instituted

the game, he broke off a branch of palm rather than of laurel or of

olive. But consider whether this be not a prize proper to the Pythian

games, as belonging to Amphictyon. For there they first, in honor of

the God, crowned the victors with laurel and palm, as consecrating to

the God, not the laurel or olive, but the palm. So Nicias did, who

defrayed the charges of the solemnity in the name of the Athenians at

Delos; the Athenians themselves at Delphi; and before these, Cypselus

the Corinthian. For this God is a lover of games, and delights in

contending for the prize at harping, singing, and throwing the bar,

and, as some say, at cuffing; and assists men when contending, as Homer

witnesseth, by making Achilles speak thus,

Let two come forth in cuffing stout, and try

To which Apollo gives the victory.[102]

And amongst the archers, he that made his address to Apollo made the

best shot, and he that forgot to pray to him missed the mark. And

beside, it is not likely that the Athenians would rashly, and upon

no grounds, dedicate their place of exercise to Apollo. But they

thought that the God which bestows health gives likewise a vigorous

constitution, and strength for the encounter. And since some of the

encounters are light and easy, others laborious and difficult, the

Delphians offered sacrifices to Apollo the cuffer; the Cretans and

Spartans to Apollo the racer; and the dedication of spoils taken in the

wars and trophies to Apollo Pythias show that he is of great power to

give victory in war.

5. Whilst he was speaking, Caphisus, Theon’s son, interrupted him,

and said: This discourse smells neither of history nor comment, but

is taken out of the common topics of the Peripatetics, and endeavors

to persuade; besides, you should, like the tragedians, raise your

machine, and fright all that contradict you with the God. But the God,

as indeed it is requisite he should be, is equally benevolent to all.

Now let us, following Sospis (for he fairly leads the way), keep close

to our subject, the palm-tree, which affords us sufficient scope for

our discourse. The Babylonians celebrate this tree, as being useful to

them three hundred and sixty several ways. But to us Greeks it is of

very little use, but its want of fruit makes it proper for contenders

in the games. For being the fairest, greatest, and best proportioned

of all sorts of trees, it bears no fruit amongst us; but by reason of

its strong constitution it spends all its nourishment (like an athlete)

upon its body, and so has very little, and that very bad, remaining

for seed. Beside all this, it hath something peculiar, which cannot be

attributed to any other tree. The branch of a palm, if you put a weight

upon it, doth not yield and bend downwards, but turns the contrary way,

as if it resisted the pressing force. The like is to be observed in

these exercises. For those who, through weakness or cowardice, yield

to them, their adversaries oppress; but those who stoutly endure the

encounter have not only their bodies, but their minds too, strengthened

and increased.

_QUESTION V._

WHY THOSE THAT SAIL UPON THE NILE TAKE UP THE WATER THEY ARE TO USE

BEFORE DAY.

One demanded a reason why the sailors take up the water for their

occasions out of the river Nile by night, and not by day. Some thought

they feared the sun, which heating the water would make it more liable

to putrefaction. For every thing that is heated or warmed becomes more

easy to be changed, having already suffered when its proper quality

was remitted. And cold constipating the parts seems to preserve every

thing in its natural state, and water especially. For that the cold

of water is naturally constringent is evident from snow, which keeps

flesh from corrupting a long time. And heat, as it destroys the proper

quality of other things, so of honey, for it being boiled is itself

corrupted, though when raw it preserves other bodies from corruption.

And that this is the cause, I have a very considerable evidence from

standing pools; for in winter they are as wholesome as other water, but

in summer they grow bad and noxious. Therefore the night seeming in

some measure to resemble the winter, and the day the summer, they think

the water that is taken up at night is less subject to be vitiated and

changed.

To these seemingly probable reasons another was added, which confirmed

the ingenuity of the sailors by a very natural proof. For some said

that they took up their water by night because then it was clear and

undisturbed; but at daytime, when a great many fetched water together,

and many boats were sailing and many beasts swimming upon the Nile,

it grew thick and muddy, and in that condition it was more subject to

corruption. For mixed bodies are more easily corrupted than simple

and unmixed; for from mixture proceeds disagreement of the parts,

from that disagreement a change, and corruption is nothing else but

a certain change; and therefore painters call the mixing of their

colors φθοράς, _corrupting_; and Homer expresseth dyeing by μιῆναι

(_to stain_ or _contaminate_). Commonly we call any thing

that is simple and unmixed incorruptible and immortal. Now earth being

mixed with water soonest corrupts its proper qualities, and makes it

unfit for drinking; and therefore standing water stinks soonest, being

continually filled with particles of earth, whilst running waters

preserve themselves by either leaving behind or throwing off the earth

that falls into them. And Hesiod justly commends

The water of a pure and constant spring.[103]

For that water is wholesome which is not corrupted, and that is not

corrupted which is pure and unmixed. And this opinion is very much

confirmed from the difference of earths; for those springs that run

through a mountainous, rocky ground are stronger than those which

are cut through plains or marshes, because they do not take off much

earth. Now the Nile running through a soft country, like the blood

mingled with the flesh, is filled with sweet juices that are strong

and very nourishing; yet it is thick and muddy, and becomes more so if

disturbed. For motion mixeth the earthly particles with the liquid,

which, because they are heavier, fall to the bottom as soon as the

water is still and undisturbed. Therefore the sailors take up the water

they are to use at night, by that means likewise preventing the sun,

which always exhales and consumes the subtler and lighter particles of

the liquid.

_QUESTION VI._

Concerning those who come Late to an Entertainment; and from whence

these Words, ἀκράτισμα, ἄριστον, and δεῖπνον, are Derived.

PLUTARCH’S SONS, THEON’S SONS, THEON, PLUTARCH, SOCLARUS.

1. My younger sons staying too long at the plays, and coming in too

late to supper, Theon’s sons waggishly and jocosely called them

supper-hinderers, night-suppers, and the like; and they in reply

called them runners-to-supper. And one of the old men in the company

said τρεχέδειπνος signified one that was too late for supper; because,

when he found himself tardy, he mended his pace, and made more than

common haste. And he told us a jest of Battus, Caesar’s jester, who

called those that came late supper-lovers, because out of their love to

entertainments, though they had business, they would not desire to be

excused.

2. And I said, that Polycharmus, a leading orator at Athens, in his

apology for his way of living before the assembly, said: Besides a

great many things which I could mention, fellow-citizens, when I

was invited to supper, I never came the last man. For this is more

democratical; and on the contrary, those that are forced to stay

for others that come late are offended at them as uncivil and of an

oligarchical temper.

3. But Soclarus, in defence of my sons, said: Alcaeus (as the story

goes) did not call Pittacus a night-supper for supping late, but for

delighting in base and scandalous company. Heretofore to eat early

was accounted scandalous, and such a meal was called ἀκράτισμα, from

ἀκρασία, _intemperance_.

4. Then Theon interrupting him said: By no means, if we must trust

those who have delivered down to us the ancients’ way of living.

For they say that those being used to work, and very temperate in a

morning, ate a bit of bread dipped in wine, and nothing else, and

that they called that meal ἀκράτισμα, from the ἄκρατον (_wine_).

Their supper they called ὄψον, because returning from their business

they took it ὀψέ (_late_). Upon this we began to enquire whence

those meals δεῖπνον and ἄριστον took their names. In Homer ἄριστον and

ἀκράτισμα seem to be the same meal. For he says that Eumaeus provided

ἄριστον by the break of day; and it is probable that ἄριστον was so

called from αὔριον, because provided in the morning; and δεῖπνον was so

named from διαναπαύειν τῶν πόνων, _easing men from their labor_.

For men used to take their δεῖπνον after they had finished their

business, or whilst they were about it. And this may be gathered from

Homer, when he says,

Then when the woodman doth his supper dress.[104]

But some perhaps will derive ἄριστον from ῥᾷστον, _easiest

provided_, because that meal is usually made upon what is ready and

at hand; and δεῖπνον from διαπεπονημένον, _labored_, because of

the pains used in dressing it.

5. My brother Lamprias, being of a scoffing, jeering nature, said:

Since we are in a trifling humor, I can show that the Latin names of

these meals are a thousand times more proper than the Greek; δεῖπνον,

_supper_, they call coena (κοῖνα διὰ τὴν κοινωνίαν), from

community; because they took their ἄριστον by themselves, but their

coena with their friends. Ἄριστον, _dinner_, they call prandium,

from the time of the day; for ἔνδιον signifies _noon-tide_, and to

rest after dinner is expressed by ἐνδιάζειν; or else by prandium they

denote a bit taken in the morning, πρὶν ἐνδεεῖς γενέσθαι, _before

they have need of any_. And not to mention stragula from στρώματα,

vinum from οἶνος, oleum from ἔλαιον, mel from μέλι, gustare from

γεύσασθαι, propinare from προπίνειν, and a great many more words which

they have plainly borrowed from the Greeks,—who can deny but that they

have taken their comessatio, _banqueting_, from our κῶμος, and

miscere, _to mingle_, from the Greeks too? Thus in Homer,

She in a bowl herself mixt (ἔμισγε) generous wine.[105]

They call a table mensam, from τῆς ἐν μέσω θέσεως, _placing it in

the middle_; bread, panem, from satisfying πεῖναν, _hunger_; a

garland, coronam, from κάρηνον, _the head_;—and Homer somewhat

likens κράνος, _a head-piece_, to a garland;—caedere _to

beat_, from δέρειν; and dentes, _teeth_, from ὀδόντας; lips

they call labra, from λαμβάνειν τῆν βόραν δι’ αὐτῶν, _taking our

victuals with them_. Therefore we must either hear such fooleries as

these without laughing, or not give them so ready access by means of

words....

_QUESTION VII._

CONCERNING PYTHAGORAS’S SYMBOLS, IN WHICH HE FORBIDS US TO RECEIVE A

SWALLOW INTO OUR HOUSE, AND BIDS US AS SOON AS WE ARE RISEN TO RUFFLE

THE BEDCLOTHES.

SYLLA, LUCIUS, PLUTARCH, PHILINUS.

1. Sylla the Carthaginian, upon my return to Rome after a long absence,

gave me a welcoming supper, as the Romans call it, and invited some

few other friends, and among the rest, one Lucius an Etrurian, the

scholar of Moderatus the Pythagorean. He seeing my friend Philinus ate

no flesh, began (as the opportunity was fair) to talk of Pythagoras;

and affirmed that he was a Tuscan, not because his father, as others

have said, was one, but because he himself was born, bred, and taught

in Tuscany. To confirm this, he brought considerable arguments

from such symbols as these:—As soon as you are risen, ruffle the

bedclothes; leave not the print of the pot in the ashes; receive not

a swallow into your house; never step over a besom; nor keep in your

house creatures that have hooked claws. For these precepts of the

Pythagoreans the Tuscans only, as he said, carefully observe.

2. Lucius having thus said, that precept about the swallow seemed to be

most unaccountable, it being a harmless and kind animal; and therefore

it seemed strange that that should be forbid the house, as well as

the hooked-clawed animals, which are ravenous, wild, and bloody. Nor

did Lucius himself approve that only interpretation of the ancients,

who say, this symbol aims directly at backbiters and tale-bearing

whisperers. For the swallow whispers not at all; it chatters indeed,

and is noisy, but not more than a pie, a partridge, or a hen. What

then, said Sylla, is it upon the old fabulous account of killing her

son, that they deny the swallow entertainment, by that means showing

their dislike to those passions which (as the story goes) made Tereus

and Procne and Philomel act and suffer such wicked and abominable

things? And even to this day they call the birds Daulides. And Gorgias

the sophister, when a swallow muted upon him, looked upon her and said,

Philomel, this was not well done. Or perhaps this is all groundless;

for the nightingale, though concerned in the same tragedy, we willingly

receive.

3. Perhaps, sir, said I, what you have alleged may be some reason; but

pray consider whether first they do not hate the swallow upon the same

account that they abhor hook-clawed animals. For the swallow feeds on

flesh; and grasshoppers, which are sacred and musical, they chiefly

devour and prey upon. And, as Aristotle observes, they fly near the

surface of the earth to pick up the little animals. Besides, that alone

of all house-animals makes no return for her entertainment. The stork,

though she is neither covered, fed, nor defended by us, yet pays for

the place where she builds, going about and killing the efts, snakes,

and other venomous creatures. But the swallow though she receives

all those several kindnesses from us, yet, as soon as her young are

fledged, flies away faithless and ungrateful; and (which is the worst

of all) of all house-animals, the fly and the swallow only never grow

tame, suffer a man to touch them, keep company with or learn of him.

And the fly is so shy because often hurted and driven away; but the

swallow naturally hates man, suspects, and dares not trust any that

would tame her. And therefore,—if we must not look on the outside

of these things, but opening them view the representations of some

things in others,—Pythagoras, setting the swallow for an example of a

wandering, unthankful man, adviseth us not to take those who come to us

for their own need and upon occasion into our familiarity, and let them

partake of the most sacred things, our house and fire.

4. This discourse of mine gave the company encouragement to proceed, so

they attempted other symbols, and gave moral interpretations of them.

Philinus said, that the precept of blotting out the print of the pot

instructed us not to leave any plain mark of anger, but, as soon as

ever the passion hath done boiling, to lay aside all thoughts of malice

and revenge. That symbol which adviseth us to ruffle the bedclothes

seemed to some to have no secret meaning, but to be in itself very

evident; for it is not decent that the impression and (as it were)

stamped image should be left to be seen by others, in the place where

a man hath lain with his wife. But Sylla thought the symbol was rather

intended to prevent men’s sleeping in the daytime, all the conveniences

for sleeping being taken away in the morning as soon as we are up.

For night is the time for sleep, and in the day we should rise and

follow our affairs, and not suffer so much as the print of our body

in the bed, since a man asleep is of no more use than one dead. And

this interpretation seems to be confirmed by that other precept, in

which the Pythagoreans advise their followers not to take off any man’s

burthen from him, but to lay on more, as not countenancing sloth and

laziness in any.

_QUESTION VIII._

WHY THE PYTHAGOREANS COMMAND FISH NOT TO BE EATEN, MORE STRICTLY

THAN OTHER ANIMALS.

EMPEDOCLES, SYLLA, LUCIUS, TYNDARES, NESTOR.

1. Our former discourse Lucius neither reprehended nor approved,

but, sitting silent and musing, gave us the hearing. Then Empedocles

addressing his discourse to Sylla, said: If our friend Lucius is

displeased with the discourse, it is time for us to leave off; but if

these are some of their mysteries which ought to be concealed, yet I

think this may be lawfully divulged, that they more cautiously abstain

from fish than from other animals. For this is said of the ancient

Pythagoreans; and even now I have met with Alexicrates’s scholars, who

will eat and kill and even sacrifice some of the other animals, but

will never taste fish. Tyndares the Spartan said, they spared fish

because they had so great a regard for silence, and they called fish

ἔλλοπας, because they had their voice _shut up_ (ἰλλομένην); and

my namesake Empedocles advised one who left the school of Pythagoras

to shut up his mind, ... and they thought silence to be divine, since

the Gods without any voice discover their meaning to the wise by their

works.

2. Then Lucius gravely and composedly saying, that perhaps the true

reason was obscure and not to be divulged, yet they had liberty to

venture upon probable conjectures, Theon the grammarian began thus: To

demonstrate that Pythagoras was a Tuscan is a great and no easy task.

But it is confessed that he conversed a long time with the wise men

of Egypt, and imitated a great many of the rites and institutions of

the priests, for instance, that about beans. For Herodotus delivers,

that the Egyptians neither set nor eat beans, nay, cannot endure to

see them; and we all know, that even now the priests eat no fish; and

the stricter sort eat no salt, and refuse all meat that is seasoned

with it. Various reasons are given for this; but the only true reason

is hatred to the sea, as being a disagreeable, or rather naturally a

destructive element to man. For they do not imagine that the Gods,

as the Stoics did that the stars, were nourished by it. But, on the

contrary, they think that the father and preserver of their country,

whom they call the deflux of Osiris, is lost in it; and when they

bewail him as born on the left hand, and destroyed in the right-hand

parts, they intimate to us the ending and corruption of their Nile by

the sea. Therefore they do not believe that its water is wholesome, or

that any creature produced or nourished in it can be clean or wholesome

food for man, since it breathes not the common air, and feeds not on

the same food with him. And the air that nourisheth and preserves all

other things is destructive to them, as if their production and life

were unnecessary and against Nature; nor should we wonder that they

think animals bred in the sea to be disagreeable to their bodies, and

not fit to mix with their blood and spirits, since when they meet a

pilot they will not speak to him, because he gets his living by the sea.

3. Sylla commended this discourse, and added concerning the

Pythagoreans, that they then chiefly tasted flesh when they sacrificed

to the Gods. Now no fish is ever offered in sacrifice. I, after they

had done, said that many, both philosophers and unlearned, considering

with how many good things it furnisheth and makes our life more

comfortable, take the sea’s part against the Egyptians. But that the

Pythagoreans should abstain from fish because they are not of the same

kind, is ridiculous and absurd; nay, to butcher and feed on other

animals, because they bear a nearer relation to us, would be a most

inhuman and Cyclopean return. And they say that Pythagoras bought a

draught of fishes, and presently commanded the fishers to let them all

out of the net; and this shows that he did not hate or not mind fishes,

as things of another kind and destructive to man, but that they were

his dearly beloved creatures, since he paid a ransom for their freedom.

Therefore the tenderness and humanity of those philosophers suggest a

quite contrary reason, and I am apt to believe that they spare fishes

to instruct men, or to accustom themselves to acts of justice; for

other creatures generally give men cause to afflict them, but fishes

neither do nor are capable of doing us harm. And it is easy to show,

both from the writings and religion of the ancients, that they thought

it a great sin not only to eat but to kill an animal that did them no

harm. But afterwards, being necessitated by the spreading multitude

of men, and commanded (as they say) by the Delphic oracle to prevent

the total decay of corn and fruit, they began to sacrifice, yet they

were so disturbed and concerned at the action, that they called it

ἔρδειν and ῥέζειν (_to do_), as if they did some strange thing

in killing an animal; and they are very careful not to kill the beast

before the wine has been thrown upon his head and he nods in token of

consent. So very cautious are they of injustice. And not to mention

other considerations, were no chickens (for instance) or hares killed,

in a short time they would so increase that there could be no living.

And now it would be a very hard matter to put down the eating of flesh,

which necessity first introduced, since pleasure and luxury hath

espoused it. But the water-animals neither consuming any part of our

air or water, or devouring the fruit, but as it were encompassed by

another world, and having their own proper bounds, which it is death

for them to pass, they afford our belly no pretence at all for their

destruction; and therefore to catch or be greedy after fish is plain

deliciousness and luxury, which upon no just reason disturb the sea and

dive into the deep. For we cannot call the mullet corn-destroying, the

trout grape-eating, nor the barbel or sea-pike seed-gathering, as we do

some land-animals, signifying their hurtfulness by these epithets. Nay,

those little mischiefs which we complain of in these house-creatures,

a weasel or fly, none can justly lay upon the greatest fish. Therefore

the Pythagoreans, confining themselves not only by the law which

forbids them to injure men, but also by Nature, which commands them to

do violence to nothing, fed on fish very little, or rather not at all.

But suppose there were no injustice in this case, yet to delight in

fish would argue daintiness and luxury; because they are such costly

and unnecessary diet. Therefore Homer doth not only make the Greeks eat

no fish whilst encamped near the Hellespont, but he mentions not any

sea-provision that the dissolute Phaeacians or luxurious wooers had,

though both islanders. And Ulysses’s mates, though they sailed over so

much sea, as long as they had any provision left, never let down a hook

or net.

But when the victuals of their ship was spent,[106]

a little before they fell upon the oxen of the Sun, they caught fish,

not to please their wanton appetite, but to satisfy their hunger,—

With crooked hooks, for cruel hunger gnawed.

The same necessity therefore made them catch fish and devour the oxen

of the Sun. Therefore not only among the Egyptians and Syrians, but

Greeks too, to abstain from fish was a piece of sanctity, they avoiding

(as I think) a superfluous curiosity in diet, as well as being just.

4. To this Nestor subjoining said: But, sir, of my citizens, as of the

Megarians in the proverb, you make no account; although you have often

heard me say that our priests of Neptune (whom we call Hieromnemons)

never eat fish. For Neptune himself is called the Generator. And the

race of Hellen sacrificed to Neptune as the first father, imagining, as

likewise the Syrians did, that man rose from a liquid substance. And

therefore they worship a fish as of the same production and breeding

with themselves, in this matter being more happy in their philosophy

than Anaximander; for he says that fish and men were not produced in

the same substances, but that men were first produced in fishes, and,

when they were grown up and able to help themselves, were thrown out,

and so lived upon the land. Therefore, as the fire devours its parents,

that is, the matter out of which it was first kindled, so Anaximander,

asserting that fish were our common parents, condemneth our feeding on

them.

_QUESTION IX._

WHETHER THERE CAN BE NEW DISEASES, AND HOW CAUSED.

PHILO, DIOGENIANUS, PLUTARCH.

1. Philo the physician stoutly affirmed that the elephantiasis was

a disease but lately known; since none of the ancient physicians

speak one word of it, though they oftentimes enlarge upon little,

frivolous, and obscure trifles. And I, to confirm it, cited Athenodorus

the philosopher, who in his first book of Epidemical Diseases says,

that not only that disease, but also the hydrophobia or water-dread

(occasioned by the biting of a mad dog), were first discovered in the

time of Asclepiades. At this the whole company were amazed, thinking it

very strange that such diseases should begin then, and yet as strange

that they should not be taken notice of in so long a time; yet most of

them leaned to this last opinion, as being most agreeable to man, not

in the least daring to imagine that Nature affected novelties, or would

in the body of man, as in a city, create new disturbances and tumults.

2. And Diogenianus added, that even the passions and diseases of the

mind go on in the same old road that formerly they did; and yet the

viciousness of our inclination is exceedingly prone to variety, and our

mind is mistress of itself, and can, if it please, easily change and

alter. Yet all her inordinate motions have some sort of order, and the

soul hath bounds to her passions, as the sea to her overflowings. And

there is no sort of vice now among us which was not practised by the

ancients. There are a thousand differences of appetites and various

motions of fear; the schemes of grief and pleasure are innumerable;

Yet are not they of late or now produced,

And none can tell from whence they first arose.[107]

How then should the body be subject to new diseases, since it hath not,

like the soul, the principle of its own alteration in itself, but by

common causes is joined to Nature, and receives a temperature whose

infinite variety of alterations is confined to certain bounds, like

a ship rolling and tossing in a circle about its anchor. Now there

can be no disease without some cause, it being against the laws of

Nature that any thing should be without a cause. Now it will be very

hard to find a new cause, unless we fancy some strange air, water, or

food never tasted by the ancients, should descend to us out of other

worlds or intermundane spaces. For we contract diseases from those very

things which preserve our life; since there are no peculiar seeds of

diseases, but the disagreement of their juices to our bodies, or our

excess in using them, disturbs nature. These disturbances have still

the very same differences, though now and then called by new names.

For names depend on custom, but the passions on Nature; and these being

constant and those variable, this mistake has arisen. As, in the parts

of a speech and the syntax of the words, it is possible for some new

sort of barbarism or solecism suddenly to arise; so the temperature

of the body hath certain deviations and corruptions into which it may

fall, those things which are against and hurtful to Nature being in

some sort contained in Nature herself. The mythographers are in this

particular very ingenious, for they say that monstrous uncouth animals

were produced in the time of the Giants’ war, the moon being out of its

course, and not rising where it used to do. And those who think Nature

produces new diseases like monsters, and yet give neither likely nor

unlikely reasons of the change, err, as I imagine, my dear Philo, in

taking a less or a greater degree of the same disease to be a different

disease. The intension or increase of a thing makes it more or greater,

but does not make the subject of another kind. Thus the elephantiasis,

being an intense scabbiness, is not a new kind; nor is the water-dread

distinguished from other melancholic and stomachical affections but by

the degree. And I wonder we did not observe that Homer was acquainted

with this disease, for it is evident that he calls a dog rabid from the

very same rage with which when men are possessed they are said to be

mad.

3. Against this discourse of Diogenianus Philo himself made some

objections, and desired me to be the old physicians’ patron; who

must be branded with inadvertency and ignorance, unless it appears

that those diseases began since their time. First then Diogenianus,

methinks, very precariously desires us to think that the intenseness or

remissness of degrees is not a real difference, and does not alter the

kind. For, were this true, then we should hold that downright vinegar

is not different from pricked wine, nor a bitter from a rough taste,

darnel from wheat, nor garden-mint from wild mint. For it is evident

that these differences are only the degrees of the same qualities,

in some being more intense, in some more remiss. So we should not

venture to affirm that flame is different from a white spirit, daylight

from flame, hoar-frost from dew, or hail from rain; but that the

former have only more intense qualities than the latter. Besides, we

should say that blindness is of the same kind with short-sightedness,

violent vomiting (or cholera) with weakness of the stomach, and that

they differ only in degree. Though what they say is nothing to the

purpose; for if they admit the increase in intensity and vehemency, but

declare that this came but now of late,—the novelty appearing in the

quantity rather than the quality,—the same difficulties which they

urged against the other opinion oppress them. Sophocles says very well

concerning those things which are not believed to be now, because they

were not heretofore,—

Once at the first all things their being had.

And it is probable that not all diseases, as in a race, the barrier

being let down, started together; but that one rising after another, at

some certain time, had its beginning and showed itself. It is rational

to conclude (continued I) that all diseases that rise from want, heat,

or cold bear the same date with our bodies; but afterwards over-eating,

luxury, and surfeiting, encouraged by ease and plenty, raised bad and

superfluous juices, and those brought various new diseases, and their

perpetual complications and mixtures still create more new. Whatever is

natural is determined and in order; for Nature is order, or the work

of order. Disorder, like Pindar’s sand, cannot be comprised by number,

and that which is beside Nature is straight called indeterminate and

infinite. Thus truth is simple, and but one; but falsities innumerable.

The exactness of motions and harmony are definite, but the errors

either in playing upon the harp, singing, or dancing, who can

comprehend? Indeed Phrynichus the tragedian says of himself,

As many figures dancing doth propose

As waves roll on the sea when tempests toss.

And Chrysippus says that the various complications of ten single axioms

amount to 1,000,000. But Hipparchus hath confuted that account, showing

that the affirmative contains 101,049 complicated propositions, and

the negative 310,952. And Xenocrates says, the number of syllables

which the letters will make is 100,200,000. How then is it strange

that the body, having so many different powers in itself, and getting

new qualities every day from its meat and drink, and using those

motions and alterations which are not always in the same time nor in

the same order, should upon the various complications of all these be

affected with new diseases? Such was the plague at Athens described

by Thucydides, who conjectures that it was new because that birds and

beasts of prey would not touch the dead carcasses. Those that fell sick

about the Red Sea, if we believe Agatharcides, besides other strange

and unheard diseases, had little serpents in their legs and arms, which

did eat their way out, but when touched shrunk in again, and raised

intolerable inflammations in the muscles; and yet this kind of plague,

as likewise many others, never afflicted any beside, either before or

since. One, after a long stoppage of urine, voided a knotty barley

straw. And we know that Ephebus, with whom we lodged at Athens, threw

out, together with a great deal of seed, a little hairy, many-footed,

nimble animal. And Aristotle tells us, that Timon’s nurse in Cilicia

every year for two months lay in a cave, without any vital operation

besides breathing. And in the Menonian books it is delivered as a

symptom of a diseased liver carefully to observe and hunt after mice

and rats, which we see now nowhere practised.

Therefore let us not wonder if something happens which never was

before, or if something doth not appear among us with which the

ancients were acquainted; for the cause of those accidents is the

nature of our body, whose temperature is subject to be changed.

Therefore, if Diogenianus will not introduce a new kind of water or

air, we, having no need of it, are very well content. Yet we know some

of Democritus’s scholars affirm that, other worlds being dissolved,

some strange effluvia fall into ours, and are the principle of new

plagues and uncommon diseases. But let us not now take notice of the

corruption of some parts of this world by earthquake, droughts, and

floods, by which both the vapors and fountains rising out of the

earth must be necessarily corrupted. Yet we must not pass by that

change which must be wrought in the body by our meat, drink, and other

exercises in our course of life. For many things which the ancients

did not feed on are now accounted dainties; for instance mead and

swine’s paunch. Heretofore too, as I have heard, they hated the brain

of animals so much, that they abominated the very name of it; as when

Homer says, “I value him at a brain’s[108] worth.” And even now we

know some old men, that will not taste cucumber, melon, orange, or

pepper. Now by these meats and drinks it is probable that the juices

of our bodies are much altered, and their temperature changed, new

qualities arising from this new sort of diet. And the change of order

in our feeding having a great influence on the alteration of our

bodies, the cold courses, as they were called formerly, consisting of

oysters, sea-urchins, salads, and the like, being (in Plato’s phrase)

transferred “from tail to mouth,” now make the first course, whereas

they were formerly the last. Besides, the glass which we usually take

before supper is very considerable in this case; for the ancients never

drank so much as water before they ate, but now we drink freely before

we sit down, and fall to our meat with a full and heated body, using

sharp sauces and pickles to provoke appetite, and then we fall greedily

on the other meat. But nothing conduceth more to alterations and new

diseases in the body than our various baths; for here the flesh, like

iron in the fire, grows soft and loose, and is presently constipated

and hardened by the cold. For, in my opinion, if any of the last age

had looked into our baths, he might have justly said,

There burning Phlegethon meets Acheron.

For they used such mild gentle baths, that Alexander the Great being

feverish slept in one. And the Gauls’ wives carry their pots of pulse

to eat with their children whilst they are in the bath. But our baths

now inflame, vellicate, and distress; and the air which we draw is a

mixture of air and water, disturbs the whole body, tosses and displaces

every atom, till we quench the fiery particles and allay their heat.

Therefore, Diogenianus, you see that this account requires no new

strange causes, no intermundane spaces; but the single alteration of

our diet is enough to raise new diseases and abolish old.

_QUESTION X._

WHY WE GIVE LEAST CREDIT TO DREAMS IN AUTUMN.

FLORUS, PLUTARCH, PLUTARCH’S SONS, FAVORINUS.