Part 2 / Book 10 — THE TIMÆUS. (continued 2)

XXX.—Should any one then, after careful consideration of all these points, be at a loss to determine whether the number of worlds is infinite or finite,^[318] let him consider that to admit an infinite number thereof, would be the notion only of one who is ignorant of all that he should best know. Still it may with much propriety be questioned whether there is in reality only one world, or whether there are five. According to our opinion, indeed, which is founded on probable reasoning, there is but one world; though others perhaps, regarding the question in another point of view, may be of a different opinion. Let us now leave alone further speculations of this kind, and returning to the elementary forms that have now been created in our discussion, let us assign them respectively to fire, earth, water, and air. To earth, indeed, let us assign a cubical form; for of all the four kinds earth is the most immoveable, and is of all bodies the most easy to model,—such being necessarily the case with that which has the most secure bases. Among the triangles, then, that we originally mentioned, that which has equal 364sides possesses firmer bases than one having unequal sides; and of the two equilateral plane figures thus formed, the square has necessarily a firmer base than the triangle, whether considered with reference to its parts or the whole. On this account, in assigning this figure to the earth, we still preserve probability;—and we shall do this also by assigning to water that figure which is the least moveable of the whole, to fire that which is most so, and to air that which is intermediate between the two,—assigning also the smallest body to fire, the greatest to water, and to air one of a size intermediate between fire and water;—and again, the most subtile body to fire, the next in this respect to air, and the third to water. Among all these then, that body which possesses the fewest bases must necessarily be the most easily moveable, as well as most penetrating, and in every way most acute, being also exceedingly light, from being composed of the smallest possible number of elements:—and so also the second has these properties in a secondary degree, and the third in the third degree. Let it be agreed then, that, according both to strict and probable reasoning, the solid form of the pyramid is the element and germ of fire; that the second form described is air; and the third water. All these elements then, we must conceive to be so minutely small, that the individual parts of each kind may from their smallness escape notice, and yet when many of them are collected together, they become from their bulk the objects of our perception.^[319] Moreover, as respects their relative proportions, numbers, motions, and other properties, the Deity, so far as the nature of necessity has willingly and obediently given way, has firmly established and united them together in just proportion.^[320]

XXXI.—From all then that we have before said about the nature of these bodies, the following account seems to be the most probable:—Earth, when it meets with fire, and is dissolved by its subtility, is borne along hither and thither in a dissolved state either in the fire itself, or in the air, or in the 365water,—till its parts, meeting together, and again mutually harmonizing, once more become earth; for they can never take any other form. But water, when divided by fire or air, may, by the re-composition of its parts, become either one body of fire, or two bodies of air;—and as for the air, when it is decomposed, one only of its particles will produce two of fire. And again, likewise, when fire receives into itself either air or water or earth, though in small quantities relatively to the mass which contains it, if it be dragged along by the movements of these bodies and overcome in spite of all resistance, and at last be decomposed and broken in pieces, these two bodies of fire will coalesce into one of air; and if again the air is overcome and separated into parts, then from two wholes and a half there will be formed one whole body of water. Again, let us consider this matter as follows:—When any one of the other forms is enclosed by fire, and is cut by the acuteness of its angles and sides, it escapes further division by passing into the nature of fire:—for among bodies that are uniform and similar to each other, no one by itself can cause any change in one of the same class, or experience any itself, with respect to that which it resembles; whereas, when one class of bodies is contained within another, and the weak one contends with the stronger, it will not fail to be destroyed. And again, when the smaller, being comprehended in the greater, and the few by the many, are broken in pieces and extinguished, if they be disposed to adopt the form of the prevailing nature, they cease to be extinguished; and air becomes generated from fire,—water from air:—but if they attack and fall into contention with any of the rest that they may meet, the agitated parts continue to be dissolved, till being every way repulsed and dissolved, they fly to their kindred nature; or else, being overcome, and joined into one out of many similar to the prevailing power, they abide there in familiar union. And especially, as the result of these affections, all things whatever are mutually changing their positions;—for the numerous individuals of each class are distinguished according to their respective places through the motion of their receptacle, while those that are mutually dissimilar, but yet resemble others, are hurried on by the concussion [of other bodies] to the place occupied by the bodies they resemble. 366All unmixed and primary bodies then are generated from such causes as these:—but that other classes of bodies are naturally inherent in these forms, is owing to the composition of each rudimental part (στοιχεῖον); which not only at first produces one triangle, possessed of a certain magnitude, but others also, both greater and smaller, equal in number to the various classes existing in the forms themselves;—and hence, these being mingled with themselves and each other, are infinite in their variety,—-a fact which every one should consider, who means to argue with probability respecting the nature of things.

XXXII.—Concerning motion, then, and position, unless a person can clearly understand in what manner and in conjunction with what these two take place, he will meet with many hindrances in the subsequent part of this discourse. This matter indeed we have already partly discussed; but besides this, we must still inquire whether it be true, that motion never willingly resides in smoothness, inasmuch as it is difficult, or rather impossible, to conceive the existence of anything moving without a mover, or of a mover without something in motion;—motion being impossible while these are away, and it being equally impossible that these should be equable and smooth. Thus, then, we must assign a state of rest to smoothness, and motion to that which is unequal and rough; inequality indeed being the cause again of a rough uneven nature. Now, as regards the generation of inequality, that we have already discussed; but how the several bodies, when divided according to their classes, do not cease from their mutual courses and motions, this we did not explain:—and so we will once more make it the subject of inquiry. The revolution of the universe, since it comprehends the various classes of things, and is of circular shape and naturally desirous of uniting with itself, compresses all things together, and suffers no place to remain void. On this account is it, that fire most of all penetrates through everything, and air, in the next degree, being second to the former in subtility and tenuity;—and the rest in the same way [according to their degree:]—for such as are composed of very large parts have a very large vacuity in their composition,—those, on the contrary, that are very small, a very small vacuity. The union, then, resulting from compression drives 367together the small parts into the intervals of the larger; and thus, the small parts being placed side by side with the large, the smaller dividing the greater, while the latter compress the smaller, they are all borne upwards and downwards to the places respectively suitable to each;—for each, on changing its magnitude, changes its position likewise: and so, from these causes the production of diversity is constantly maintained, giving that perpetual motion to these bodies, which both now subsists and ever will continue.

XXXIII.—In the next place, we must understand that there are many kinds of fire;—as for instance, flame,—that which emanates from flame,^[321] which without burning furnishes light to the eyes,—and that which abides in ignited bodies, even after the flame has been extinguished. In like manner, with respect to air, one kind is of the greatest purity, that denominated æther,—a second most turbulent, cloudy, and dark; and besides these, there are other nameless kinds formed by the inequality of the triangles. As respects water, again, it admits of a twofold division, one kind being liquid, the other fusible. The liquid kind, therefore, being composed of very small and unequal parts of water, becomes moveable, both of itself and by other bodies, through the inequality of its composition and peculiar shape of its figure; whereas the fusible kind, which is composed of large and smooth parts, is more stable than the former, as well as heavier and more compact, owing to its smoothness;^[322]—and when fire enters into and dissolves its substance, it becomes more moveable, from losing its uniformity; and when it is thus rendered easily moveable, and is repelled by the surrounding air, and extended on the earth, it is said to be liquefied, by way of expressing the division of its masses, and is said to flow also, in order to show its extension over the earth:—and these two words express both the changes which it undergoes. Again, when fire escapes from this body, it does not retire into a vacuum, but the surrounding air repelled [by the fire] drives the easily-moveable mass of moisture into the place before occupied by the fire, 368with which at the same time it becomes mingled;—but when the mass by close compression once more becomes equable and smooth, it then resumes its smoothness and consistency, because fire, the artificer of inequality, has taken its departure;—and this departure of fire we denominate cooling, while the union that takes place without the presence of fire is termed a condensation [or hardening]. But among all those which we term fusible fluids, there is one that becomes most dense, though formed from the most subtile and equable parts, and is of an uniform character, and partaking of a lustrous yellow colour:—it is that most highly prized possession,—gold, which is produced by filtration through a rock. And a node (ὄζος) of gold, rendered by its density very hard and turned black, is called adamant. But that which consists of parts greatly resembling gold, and has more than one species, which surpasses gold in density, and that it may become the harder, contains but a small and insignificant portion of earth, though at the same time it is lighter, owing to the great intervals between its internal atoms;—this is a separate kind of lustrous and dense fluids, termed brass. But an earthy nature is therewith mingled, which, when through age the two parts become separated soon becomes visible of itself, and is denominated rust. All other such matters also, it would be no hard task further to discuss by pursuing the plan of probable arguments;—and any one, who by way of recreation interrupts for a while his reasonings on eternal being, and enters into probable speculations about the generation of material things, will by these means acquire a pleasure of which he need not repent, and establish for himself a moderate and wise recreation during life.

XXXIV.—Thus indulging ourselves, let us next recount certain probable reasons concerning what next follows of the same subject. Water that is mingled with fire, which being very thin and moist, takes its name^[323] (ὑγρὸν) from its motion and the manner in which it rolls on the earth, and which is 369also called soft and yielding, because its bases are less stable than those of earth,—this, when separated from fire and bereft of air, acquires more uniformity, and through their departure (i. e. of air and fire) is compressed into itself;—and when it is thus condensed above the earth, it becomes hail, if on the earth, ice; but when there is less of it and only half the amount of freezing, [the water so condensed] above the earth becomes snow, and that on the earth, which is formed from dew, is called hoar-frost. When again the numerous kinds of water are mingled together, the entire liquid thus formed, which is filtered from the earth through plants, takes the name of juices or saps. Owing, however, to their mode of admixture, these individual fluids present through their dissimilarity many different undescribed varieties, although four of them, which are of a fiery character, and particularly transparent, have obtained appropriate appellations;—that which heats the soul as well as the body being called wine,—secondly, that which is smooth, and dazzling to the sight,^[324] and hence bright, glittering, and apparently of an oily nature, such as pitch, the gum of the kiki-plant,^[325] oil, and other things having similar properties;—again, that which possesses a power, as far as nature permits, of diffusing the substances of nutrition over the palate, and by this property presents the idea of sweetness, has obtained the general name of honey;—and lastly, that frothy fluid, which dissolves the flesh by burning, has been distinguished from all the other juices by the name of opium (ὀπός).

XXXV.—As respects the different kinds of earth, one of them, stone, is produced by the filtration of water in the manner following. The commingled water, when it loses its coherence, passes into the form of air, but, on becoming air, rises to its appropriate place. As, however, there is no vacuum, it presses on the surrounding air; and this, being weighty, and impelled against the mass of earth that it surrounds, violently compresses it, driving it into the vacant spaces whence the new air had before ascended. The earth, also, by the compression of the air into indissoluble union with water, is formed into stones; the more beautiful sorts of 370which acquire a lustre from the equality and smoothness of their parts, the opposite being the case with those that are ugly and valueless. But when all the moisture is thrown off by the violence of fire, and the body is thus unusually dried up, then is formed the kind of earth that we call clay. Sometimes also, even without losing its moisture, the earth is fused by the fire, and on cooling becomes a stone of a black colour.^[326] In the same manner, when this earth is deprived of the water it holds in mixture, but yet has small particles and is of a saline nature, it forms a half-solid body, still capable of solution in water,—either nitre, which purifies both oil and earth, or else salt, a substance so well adapted to give flavours pleasing to the palate, and deemed by the law as agreeable to the gods. The compounds of these two substances are not soluble by water, but yet can be melted by fire, for the following reasons. Neither fire nor air liquefies masses of earth; because, being naturally composed of elements smaller than the interstices (or pores) of earth, they easily penetrate through these capacious pores without subjecting it either to dissolution or liquefaction. The parts of water, on the other hand, as they are larger, strive to force a passage, and so dissolve and liquefy the earthy mass:—and hence, when the earth has no strong consistency, water alone will dissolve it, whereas if in a compact state, nothing will affect it but fire, which is the only body that can find an entrance. As for water, again, its strong cohesiveness of parts, [when frozen], can be overcome only by fire, whereas, when the cohesion is less strong, it can be equally decomposed by fire and air, the latter entering its interstices and the former separating even its constituent triangles. Nothing, however, can dissolve air strongly condensed, without attacking its composing elements; though when it coheres less strongly, it may be dissolved, though only by fire. Again, in bodies composed of water and earth, while the water occupies all the interstices in its state of compression, the particles of water from without, not finding egress, flow round the entire mass without suffering decomposition; whereas the particles 371of fire that enter into the interstices of water, as water into those of earth, and have the same effect on water that fire has on air, alone possess the power of dissolving and liquefying the compound body. And among these, some contain less water than earth; such as all kinds of glass, and such stones as are termed fusible; while others, on the contrary, contain more water, such as wax and aromatic substances.

XXXVI.—Having thus then enumerated the several figures and classes of bodies variously formed by admixtures and mutual changes, we must now try to explain the causes of the feelings with which they impress us. First, then, the bodies here spoken of must be always perceptible. As yet, however, we have not discoursed on the generation of flesh, and what belongs to flesh, nor on that part of the soul which is mortal. This nevertheless cannot be suitably explained without at the same time explaining the sensations and impressions produced by external objects; and although one subject cannot be unfolded without a knowledge of the other, yet the two cannot be explained together. We must settle one first, and then proceed to the other. In order, then, in speaking of impressions, to observe the same order as in speaking of the bodies producing them, let our first inquiry be into those that concern the body and soul.

First, then, let us inquire why fire is called hot, the reason of which we shall perceive by considering its penetrating and cutting power about our bodies. Now, that this affection is a certain sharpness^[327] is nearly evident to all; and as regards the tenuity of its sides, the sharpness of its angles, the smallness of its particles, and the velocity of its motion, through all which it becomes violent, penetrating and capable of instantly dividing whatever it meets; this we should carefully consider, recalling to mind the generation of its figure;—inasmuch as it is this, and no other nature, which separates and parcels out our bodies into small portions, and produces in us that affection which is very properly denominated heat. Now the contrary to this is sufficiently manifest; but still we must not pass it without explanation:—for in truth, among the humid particles surrounding the body, those that have the largest elementary parts enter and drive out the smaller; 372but being unable to occupy their places, they compress our bodily humours, and from being uneven and in a state of agitation, fix them and render them motionless through their evenness and density;—whereas things brought into contact against nature are naturally opposed and mutually repel each other. From this contest and agitation then there resulted a certain trembling and numbness; and the whole of this affection, as well as the cause that produces it, has the name of cold. Again we call those bodies hard to which our flesh yields; and those soft, which yield to the pressure of our flesh;—thus using the terms comparatively, with reference to each other. Bodies also yield to pressure when placed on a small base, while those resting on quadrangular bases are the least impressible, owing to their very firm position, and because from their own extreme density they strongly resist all opposing pressure.

XXXVII.—Again, the nature of heavy and light will become most evident, if investigated with that of up and down;—for it is by no means right to assert that there are naturally two distinct places opposite one to the other;—one termed down, to which all bodies tend that are endued with bulk, but the other up, to which bodies ascend contrary to their inclination. The whole universe, indeed, being spherical, all such things as are at the extremities (or circumference) and equally distant from the centre must all in like manner naturally belong to the extremities, while the centre, being in the same proportion distant from all these extremities, must be said to occupy quite an opposite position. Such then being the nature of the world, would not any one who reversed the position of the above-mentioned objects be fairly thought to apply names to them that are quite unsuitable? For the middle place in it cannot be fairly said to be either naturally down or up, but only the centre itself; and the circumference is neither the middle, nor does it contain within it any parts more distant than the rest either from the centre, or any of the opposite extremities. But when all the parts are naturally so similar, how can any one with propriety assign to them contrary names?—For supposing there were any regular solid body in the centre of the universe, it would never be carried to any of the extremities, owing to their entire uniformity;—but on the other hand, if any one were to move 373in a circle round this solid, he would often stand with his feet opposite to where they before were, and so call the same part of himself both the upside and down. Since the universe, therefore, as we have just observed, is of a spherical figure, no prudent man should assert that it has any part which is [absolutely] either up or down;—yet, as regards the origin and usual application of these terms which we thus transfer to the universe, this we agree to be a proper subject of investigation. If, in that spot of the universe which specially belongs to fire, and where the principal mass is collected with which it has a tendency to unite, any one were to ascend thither and being possessed of the requisite power, were to take up the particles, place them in a balance, and raising the scale, were forcibly to draw the fire towards the air, with which it has no affinity, it is clear that in this case the smaller mass would be more easily impelled than the larger. Indeed, when two things are simultaneously raised by one and the same power, the smaller quantity must of course yield more readily than the greater to the impulsive force by which they are constrained; and hence, the one is called heavy and gravitating downwards, the other light and tending upwards. The same thing also is observable in what we ourselves do, who inhabit this place [the earth]. For when, in walking on the earth, we separate particles of an earthy nature, and sometimes even portions of the earth itself, forcibly and unnaturally drawing them towards the air which is dissimilar,—then that which is smaller yielding more readily to our impulse is sooner attracted towards the foreign element:—this then we call light and the place towards which it is drawn, up (or above), giving to their contraries the terms heavy and down (or below) respectively. Hence these must mutually differ from each other, owing to the contrary positions that the several elements occupy:—for that which is light in one place is contrary to one corresponding with it in an opposite position, and so also to a heavy body another that is heavy, and to bodies placed above or below others, opposed to them in their respective positions;—and they will all be found, whether in a state of becoming or actually existing, to be contrary, transverse, and every way differing from each other. This one thing, moreover, is to be understood concerning all these matters, that the tendency of 374each towards a body of similar nature gives to the body so attracted the name heavy, and the place to which it tends, down (or below); and thus to contrary things are assigned contrary appellations. Such are the causes that we assign to these phenomena. And again, as to the cause of the impression of smoothness and roughness, every one who has investigated it will be able to disclose it to others; for roughness comes from hardness joined with unevenness, while smoothness is the united effect of uniformity and density.

XXXVIII.—It remains for us now to consider what is most important in those affections common to the whole body, which are the chief causes of pleasure and pain, and to inquire how it is that certain impressions excite through the parts of the body certain sensations invariably attended by pleasure and pain. Thus then let us examine all our impressions, whether sensible or not, calling to mind the distinctions that we before made between bodies moved with ease and those with difficulty;—for this is the way to arrive at the point that we wish to determine. When a body by nature easily moveable has received an impression ever so slight, the several parts communicate it to the parts placed around them, producing on these parts the same effect, until at length they reach the intellect itself, to which they announce the power of the agents producing such impression;—whereas a body, which on the contrary is firm and stable and has no circular motion, is simply affected by itself without moving any of the surrounding bodies; and hence, as their components do not mutually communicate the first received impression, the entire animal remains unmoved, and experiences no sensation. This is the case indeed as respects the bones and hair, and such other parts of the body as are chiefly of an earthy nature; whereas the phenomena above described principally refer to the organs of sight and hearing, which contain an abundance of fire and air. This is what we should hold then concerning pleasure and pain:—an impression produced in us contrary to nature, and with violence, causes pain,—one that is conformable to our nature, however strong, pleasure;—whereas an impression that is gentle and gradual is unperceived, while the contrary to these produces contrary effects. An impression, again, the whole of which is easily produced, is pre-eminently an object of sensation, 375but is not affected by pleasure and pain:—and of this kind are the affections belonging to the sight; which indeed, as we have above asserted, is a body of a nature daily becoming allied to ourselves.^[328] For in this way the impressions caused by cuttings and burnings, and other similar accidents, do not cause pain to the sight; nor again, does it experience pleasure, from returning to its previous condition:—whereas the sensations that are strongest and most clear do this, so far as any one is affected by any object; and this is the reason why there is no violence whatever either in its expansion or contraction. But bodies composed from larger parts, which yield with difficulty to impelling agents, and distribute their motion over the whole body, do experience pleasure and pain; pain indeed, when they are often alienated from their own nature, but pleasure when restored to their former condition. Again, all bodies that admit of very gradual withdrawals, and, as it were, emptyings of their own nature, and at the same time receive supplies on a large scale, have no perception of loss, though they have of what accrues to them; and hence, they do not give pain to the mortal part of the soul, but on the contrary the greatest delight:—and the truth of this is manifest from the sensation of pleasant odours. But such bodies, on the other hand, as suffer excessive variation, and can scarcely be restored even gradually to their pristine condition, are affected in a manner quite the reverse of those we have just described; the truth of which is manifest in the case of burnings and wounds inflicted on the body.

XXXIX.—Having thus then pretty fully discussed the common affections of the whole body, and the appellations assigned to their effective causes, we must now endeavour to explain, as far as we can, the affections that arise in particular parts of us, as well as the causes by which they are induced. In the first place then, let us if possible complete the explanation of what we before left unfinished about those of the juices—namely, the particular affections subsisting about the tongue.^[329] And these, as well as most others, appear 376to be produced by certain expansions and contractions, the impressions formed thereby depending more on smoothness and roughness than all other circumstances; because, whenever anything falls on the small veins round the tongue (which are the arbiters, as it were, of the taste stretching to the heart), in such a way as to penetrate the moist and delicate texture of the flesh, which through its earthy nature is in a melting state, it contracts and dries up the veins:—and where these penetrating substances are rougher than usual, they have an acrid taste (στρυφνά), if less so, only one of sourness (αὐστηρά). Those on the contrary which purge, and wash away whatever adheres to the tongue, if they do this to such an immoderate degree, as somewhat to liquefy its nature, as nitre does;—all such as these are termed bitter; while substances of inferior power to nitre, which purge only moderately, we conceive to be salt, without that rough bitterness, and to be more friendly to our nature. Again, things heated by the temperature of the mouth, and thereby softened—which reciprocally heat and are heated by it—and which through their lightness are elevated towards the senses of the head, dividing at the same time whatever comes in their way;—all these, owing to such properties, are termed pungent (δριμέα). But when these same particles, thinned by putrefaction, enter into the narrow veins, and there come into contact with earthy and airy particles of a suitable size, and by making them mutually revolve, so mix them together as to cause a confusion of their elements, and thus by entering other veins form interstices in which the liquid, sometimes earthy, sometimes quite pure, forms, as it were, certain air-cavities enclosed by water, some of which formed of pure liquid are transparent, and called bubbles, while those composed of earthy liquid and in a state of agitation have received the name of seething (or boiling), and yeast (or leven);—the effective cause of all this being termed acid (ὀξύ). And an affection contrary to all that has been 377asserted about these, proceeds from a contrary cause; for, when the liquid compounds that enter the mouth are naturally suited to the quality of the tongue, they lubricate its asperities, as well as contract or relax such parts as were before unnaturally dilated or compressed, and restore them, as far as possible, to their proper and natural habit. Hence all such substances are pleasant and friendly to every one, become the remedies of violent passions, and are denominated sweet. And thus much may suffice concerning particulars of this kind.

XL.—As respects the faculty of the nostrils, it admits of no classification: for all odours whatever are but half-begotten,—there being no substances so proportioned, as to give forth any particular smell. Besides, our veins surrounding the nose are too narrow to admit the various kinds of earth and water, and too broad for those of fire and air; and hence no one ever perceives an odour from any of these,—odours being produced from bodies that are damp, putrefying, liquid, or vaporous;—for odours are generated by the change of water into air, or air into water; and all these are either smoke or vapour. And of these, that which passes from air into water is vapour,—that which is changed from water into air, smoke;—whence it comes to pass that all odours are more subtile than water, and denser than air. And these facts are clearly shown, when any one, owing to any obstruction of the respiration, draws his breath inwards; for then no odour filters through, but breath only—unattended by any odours. This is why these two varieties of them are without a name, being formed neither from many nor from a simple species, the only two distinct terms respecting them, being pleasant or unpleasant; the latter of which irritate and violently disturb the whole cavity lying between the top of the head and the navel, while the former soothe the same part, and kindly restore it to its natural condition.

XLI.—Let us next speak of and investigate the third kind of sense,—the hearing, and the causes giving rise to the affections peculiar thereto. Now we may generally define voice as a certain pulsation of the air, penetrating through the ears, brain, and blood, as far as the soul; and the motion hence arising, which commences from the head and ends in the seat of the liver, hearing;—and that when this motion is 378swift, it emits a sharp sound, when slow, a flat one,—the former being uniform and smooth, the latter quite the reverse and rough:—likewise, that when the motion is on a large scale it will produce a loud sound, and when on a small scale only a low one. But respecting the harmony of these sounds we must speak in the subsequent part of this discourse.

XLII.—The fourth kind of sense, which is still left for us to discuss, comprises a very large variety of what we generally term colours, which consist of a flame emanating from individual bodies, and having parts proportioned to the sight for producing sensation. But we have already considered the effective causes of sight.^[330] Here then we ought to speak of colours, and what seems to us the most probable theory respecting them.

Among the particles that fall from other bodies on the sight, some are greater, others less than, and others equal to, those of the visual fire. Such as are equal, then, are imperceptible, and are termed transparent; while, as for those that are larger or smaller, the former contract, the latter dilate the sight, having a power resembling that of heat and cold on the flesh, or of things acrid, heating and pungent, on the tongue. Particles affecting the sight in this manner are called black and white;—having the property, indeed, of producing the same modifications in bodies, though, being produced in different parts of the organ, they still appear to produce different impressions. It is thus, then, that we ought to term them,—white, that which dilates the sight; and that which is opposite in its effect, black;—whereas, when a sharper motion, and that, too, from a foreign fire, falls on and divides the sight even as far as the eyes themselves, and both separates and moistens the openings of the eyes, so as to force from them that united flow of fire and water that we call tears, and which are of a fiery nature coming from without,—these two fires meeting together with a force like that of lightning, and then saturated and extinguished by moisture, produce a great variety of colours, the impressions from which we term flashings (μαρμαρυγάς), and the objects producing them bright and lustrous. Another kind of fire, intermediate between those just mentioned, and which reaches the moisture of the eyes, and 379mingles with it, though by no means lustrous, and in which the rays of fire are mingled with moisture, and form a bloody colour; this we denominate red. A bright hue mingled with red and white forms the colour called yellow; but as regards the measure in which they mingle respectively, even a wise and thinking person could not explain it, were he ever so well informed on the matter, as he could not adduce concerning them any satisfactory reason, either necessary or probable. Again, red, when mingled with black and white, produces a purple colour; and a very deep colour is the result of their being mingled and burnt together, with a further addition of black. A tawny red is produced from the mixture of yellow and brown, and brown from the mixture of black and white; and a pale colour from the mingling of white and yellow. A brilliant white, falling on a large quantity of black, constitutes a dark blue (κυανοῦν); a deep blue mingled with white, a grey colour; and a tawny red mingled with black forms a green. All the other tints it will be easy to conjecture from the above examples, if one only reasons fairly from analogy. Nevertheless, any one who would prove them by the test of experiment evinces great ignorance of the difference between a divine and human nature; for a god indeed may be able to mingle many things into one, and again dissolve the one into many, through his united power and intelligence; but no man living can accomplish either of these tasks, nor will any one in time to come.

XLIII.—All these things which thus naturally subsist from necessity, the artificer of what is most beautiful and best took for his elements of creation, in producing a self-sufficient and most perfect god; employing secondary causes indeed, but at the same time performing his work well on all created beings. For this reason we must distinguish two species of causes; the one necessary, the other divine. And in all things we should inquire after the divine cause, with the view of obtaining a blessed life in the highest degree of which our nature admits, for the sake of which also we should investigate the necessary cause as well,—convinced, that without these two classes of causes, we can neither understand nor apprehend, nor otherwise engage in the several objects of our anxious pursuit. Since, then, we have now before us the various classes of causes, laid out like materials for our labour, 380and which will serve as the matter from which we are to interweave the remainder of our discourse, let us again briefly recur to our first observations, and thence pass rapidly on to the place at which we are now arrived; thus endeavouring to annex such an end and close to our discourse, as may harmonize with its beginning.

XLIV. Just as we stated in the opening of our discourse,—when all sensible things were in disorder, the Deity made each individually to harmonize with itself and mutually with all the rest, so far as things could possibly be brought into symmetry and proportion; because formerly, nothing had any order except by accident, nor did anything whatever deserve the names that things receive at present; such, for instance, as fire, water, and the rest of the elements. All these, however, the Creator put in order first of all, and then out of these constructed the universe, as a single animal, containing within itself different kinds of animals, mortal and immortal,^[331]—he himself being the artificer of Divine natures, but committing to his offspring (the junior gods) the charge of producing those that are mortal. The latter, in imitation of their father, receiving the immortal principle of the soul, next fashioned^[332] the mortal body, making it entirely to be a vehicle thereto, and forming within it a separate mortal kind of soul, possessed of certain dire and necessary passions: first, pleasure, the chief lure to evil; next, pain, the desertion of what is good;—after these again, temerity and fear, both mad advisers; anger, hard to be appeased; hope, which is easily misled both by irrational sense, and all-daring love. By mingling these together, they [the junior gods] necessarily composed the mortal race. And on this account, fearing to defile the Divine nature more than was absolutely necessary they lodged man’s mortal portion separately from the Divine, in a different receptacle of the body; forming the head and breast, and placing the neck between, as an isthmus and limit to separate the two extremes.^[333]

381In the breast, indeed, and what is called the thorax [or trunk],^[334] they seated the mortal part of the soul. And as one part of it was naturally better, and another worse, they formed the cavity of the thorax into two divisions (resembling the separate dwellings of our men and women), placing the midriff as a partition between them. That part of the soul, therefore, which partakes of fortitude and spirit, and loves contention, they seated nearer the head, between the midriff and the neck; as it is the business of the reason to unite with it in forcibly repressing the desires, whenever they will not obey the mandate and word issuing from the citadel above.

XLV.—The heart, which is the head and principle^[335] of the veins, as well as the fountain of the blood that impetuously circulates through all the members, they placed in a kind of sentry-house, that, in case of any outburst of anger, being informed by the reason of any evil committed in its members, owing either to some foreign cause, or else internal passions, it (the heart) might transmit through all its channels the threatenings and exhortations of reason, so as once more to reduce the body to perfect obedience, and so permit what is the best within us to maintain supreme command.

382But as the gods foreknew, with respect to the palpitation of the heart under the dread of danger and the excitements of passion, that all such swellings of the inflamed spirit would be produced by fire, they formed the lungs to be a sort of protection thereto; first, of all, soft and bloodless,^[336] and next, internally provided with cavities perforated like a sponge, in order to cool the breath which they receive, and give the heart easy respiration and repose in its excessive heat. On this account then, they led the channels of the windpipe into the lungs, which they placed like a soft cushion round the heart, in order that when anger rises in it to an extreme height, it might fall on some yielding substance, and so getting cool, yield cheerfully and with less trouble to the authority of reason.

XLVI. That part of the soul next, which has a desire for meats, drinks, and all else that is necessary for the natural supplies of the body, they placed between the midriff and the region of the navel; forming, as it were, in all this place a sort of manger for the nutriment of the body; and then they bound it on to it, like some savage animal, annexed as necessary to nourish the mortal race afterwards to be brought into existence. This place of course the gods assigned it, in order that ever feeding at its manger, and dwelling as far off as possible from the deliberative part of the soul, it might make the least possible degree of tumult and noise, and permit the best portion of our nature to consult in quiet for the common benefit of the whole. Knowing also that this part would not acquiesce with the reason, and, even if it had any faculty of sense, yet would not regard the processes of reasoning, but be chiefly lured away, both day and night, by images and phantasms,—reflecting on this, the Deity formed the liver, assigning it the place it occupies. And he made it compact and smooth, shiny and sweet, and yet somewhat bitter,—in order that the multitude of thoughts falling on it from the intellect as on a mirror that receives and presents images to the view, might on the one side terrify it by employing a bitterness akin to its nature; and proceeding to dreadful 383threats, gradually mingle this bitterness with the whole liver so as to present the dark hues of bile, and by contracting it, render it throughout rough and wrinkled;—or on the other, partly by removing the liver from its right place and contracting it, partly by obstructing and closing its ventricles and gates, cause impressions of pain and disgust:—whereas, on the contrary, when a gentle inspiration—the result of intelligence—depicts on it images of quite an opposite character, softens its bitterness by avoiding to agitate or touch anything contrary to its own nature,—it then gives it a softness peculiarly its own, and makes all its parts regular, polished, and free,—giving joy and peace to that part of the soul which resides near the liver, and making it enjoy a suitable repose at night, with the power of divination during sleep, to make up for its want both of reason and wisdom.^[337]

XLVII. Those, forsooth, who created us, calling to mind their father’s command, when he bid them make the mortal race as good as they possibly could, formed even the inferior part of us to have some connexion with truth, by establishing within it the faculty of divination. And a sufficiently clear proof, that the Deity assigned prophetic power^[338] to human madness, is found in the fact that no one in his right senses has any concern with divinely inspired and true prophecy, which takes place only when the reasoning faculty is fettered by sleep, or alienated by disease or enthusiasm; while, on the other hand, it requires a person of considerable wisdom to understand the recorded sayings, whether sleeping or waking, of a prophetic and divinely-inspired nature, and so to distinguish all the phenomena it beholds as to be able to explain in what way and to whom they portend any future, past, or present good or evil; it being by no means the office 384of one who either has been, or is still mad, to judge respecting things seen or spoken by himself:—and it has been well observed by the ancients, that to transact and know one’s own concerns and oneself is alone the province of a prudent man;—whence, indeed, the law directs that the race of prophets (or interpreters) should preside as judges over divine predictions,—whom some indeed call diviners, through entire ignorance that they are only the representers of enigmas and visions, and not at all entitled to be called diviners,—being, strictly speaking, interpreters of prophecies.

The liver then was constructed for this purpose, and seated where we have mentioned, for the sake of prediction. And besides, in every living individual, this organ gives forth unusually clear indications; but in those deprived of life, it becomes blind and delivers oracles too obscure for their meaning to be made intelligible. The nature and position of the intestines, again, which is next to it [the liver], is on the left side, for the purpose of always, like a sponge,^[339] keeping it clean and bright, ready to reflect images; on which account, therefore, when certain impurities are produced in the liver by bodily disease, then the spleen, by its rarity, receives and purifies them all, from being of a hollow and bloodless texture;—and hence, is it, that when filled with unclean matter, it grows to a large size and becomes wholly unsound. And again, when the body is purified, it subsides into its natural condition, as before.

XLVIII. As respects the soul, then, including both its mortal and divine portion, in what way it existed, and in what way and why it was consigned to a separate habitation, the truth can be firmly established only by the consent of the Deity:—still, that we have stated what is near the truth, we will now, quite open to investigation, venture the assertion; and here accordingly it is made.^[340] And what next follows we must treat in a similar manner; and this is no other, than how the rest of the body was produced. It is, therefore, in the most eminent degree becoming that they should be composed as follows:—Those 385who formed our race were aware, that we should be intemperate in eating and drinking, and that through madness we should use far more than is either necessary or moderate. For fear then of rapid destruction induced by disease, and lest our mortal race should perish without fulfilling its end,—to provide against this, the gods formed for the reception of the superfluous food a receptacle beneath, called a belly, and formed in it the convolutions of the intestines to prevent the food from passing so quickly as to require fresh and rapid supplies of nutriment for the body, and so by insatiable gluttony making our whole race unphilosophical and unmusical, insubordinate to the most godlike part of our composition.^[341]

XLIX. The nature of the bones and flesh, and other parts of this kind, was constituted as follows:—The first principle of all these is the generation of the marrow; for the life-bonds of the soul that united it with the body being herein woven together, constitute the foundation of the mortal race. The marrow itself, however, has a different origin; for among the triangles, those of the first order, that are unbent and smooth, were specially adapted by their accuracy for producing fire and water, air and earth:^[342]—these the Deity, separating each apart from its own class, and mingling them together in fixed proportions, composed by these means an all-varying mixture of seeds for the whole mortal race, and from these produced the marrow;—and he afterwards implanted this marrow, binding therein the various classes of souls; and as respects the number of figures and what individual forms the marrow was to receive, he divided it, both as regards the quality and quantity of the particles, at the original distribution,—giving to that part of it which was to be the field for containing the divine seed a completely globular shape; and this he called the brain, because in every 386animal that has arrived at its perfect form, the vessel containing this substance is called the head.^[343] But as respects the part destined to contain the remaining and mortal part of the soul, to this he gave both round and oblong shapes, giving to the whole the name of marrow; and from these, as from anchors, casting the bonds of the entire soul, he built around it our whole body, after first fixing round it a complete covering of bones.

L. The bones he composed as follows:—Having sifted pure and smooth earth, he mingled and moistened it with marrow; and after this he placed it in fire, then plunged it in water, once more placed it in fire, and after this dipped it in water: and thus by frequent transfers of each, he made it insoluble by either. With this bone, then, he fashioned a sphere, as on a lathe, placing it round the brain, and only leaving a narrow hole therein. At the same time also he formed of the same substance certain vertebræ about the marrow of the neck and back, extending them like hinges, from the head downwards through the whole trunk;—and thus he preserved all its seed, by fortifying it round with a stony covering,—forming in it joints also, for motion and flexion, employing the power of difference in their formation, as being possessed of a certain middle quality.^[344] Then, considering that the bone would have a tendency to become dry and inflexible, and that when heated and again cooled, it would become carious, and quickly corrupt the seed it contained, he on this account formed the sinews and flesh; that the former, by binding all the parts of the body, and being stretched and loosened about the vertebræ, might give the body a facility for either flexion or extension, as occasion required; while the flesh would serve as a covering from the heat and defence from the cold;—as likewise for a protection against falls, in the same manner as cushions do it, by gently and easily yielding to external bodies:^[345] and he implanted in it also a hot moisture, which perspires in summer, 387and gives forth an external dew, to impart a coolness to the whole body,—and again in winter, gently keeps out by its own fire the cold brought from without.

LI.—Our plastic Creator, reflecting on all this then, mingled and united water, fire, and earth, gradually mixing therewith a ferment of acid and salt;^[346]—and thus he composed a pulpy, soft flesh:—And as for the tendons, he formed them of a mixture of bone and unfermented flesh, so as to have the properties of both, tinging them also with a yellow colour. And on this account is it, that the tendons are firmer and more viscous than the flesh, but softer and moister than the bones. With these God bound together the bones and marrow, afterwards enshrouding the whole of them with the covering of the flesh. Such of the bones, then, as were most ensouled, he covered with the smallest quantity of flesh,—such as were least so, with the most and the densest flesh. And besides this, except where reason evinced the need of the contrary, he placed only a small quantity of flesh on the joints of the bones; lest they should make the body uneasy by impeding its flexions and motion; or else, from being many and frequent, and strongly pressed together, cause by their solidity a dulness of perception, imperfection of memory, and a sort of intellectual blindness. On this account then, the bones of the groin, legs, loins, the shoulders and the arms from the elbow to the wrist, and such other parts of our bodies as have no joints, and such inward bones as have no thought, owing to the scarcity of soul in the marrow, are fully provided with flesh;—whereas those that have thought, he covered with less, except the flesh were for perception, as in the case of the tongue. In other respects, the case is as we have described. For a being born and nurtured under necessity,^[347] does not receive a hard bone united with plenty of flesh, and with it also a quickness of sensation. 388And yet the head would have been thus constructed, if the two had exercised any will in thus coalescing; and the human race, having a fleshy, tendinous, and robust head, would enjoy healthy and unmolested a life twice as long as the present, or even yet longer than that: but the artificers of our race, after thoroughly considering whether they had better make it more lasting and of worse condition, or shorter but of a more excellent character, were agreed that a shorter but better life was wholly preferable to one longer, but inferior:—and this was why they covered the head with a thin bone, and not with flesh and fibre,—because it had no joints. On all these accounts, then, the body was provided with a head, which was the more perceptive and reflecting, in proportion as it was [physically] weaker than all the rest of man’s structure. From these causes, then, and in this manner,^[348] the Deity placing tendons round the lower extremity of the head, glued them, as it were, round the neck, and bound with them the lofty cheek-bones placed under the forehead;—and as for all the rest, he scattered them through all the members, connecting joint with joint.

LII.—We were next provided by those who formed us with the organs of the mouth, teeth, tongue, and lips,—arranged as they now are for purposes both necessary and the best; giving ingress for necessaries, and egress to what is best,—everything, indeed, that enters to feed the body being necessary—while the stream of words flowing outwards; if guided by wisdom, is by far the fairest and best of all streams whatever.

LIII.—Again, it was not possible that the head could bear a mere covering of thin bone, owing to the extremes of the different seasons; nor again, could it be allowed to become clouded, blind, and unperceptive, through the overcrowding of flesh. Hence a fleshy membrane, not dried, was left separate from the rest,—that now termed cuticle (or scalp). This, then, being brought into union with itself by the moisture about the brain, grows around and circularly invests the head. And it is the moisture flowing under the sutures that moistens this membrane, and causes it to close at the crown, connecting it as in a knot. But as for the ever-varying classes of 389sutures, these are generated through the power of the periodic changes caused by nutriment in the flesh;^[349] the variety becoming greater, when they struggle with each other more violently—less so, when less violently. All this membrane the Divine Being pierced all round with fire:—and hence, as it was wounded, and the moisture externally flowed through it, all that was pure of the moisture and heat was carried off, while that which was mixed, and of a nature allied to that of the membrane itself, being raised by the motion, was stretched outwards to a great size, having also a tenuity equal to the amount of puncture,—whereas, on the other hand, when continually thrust back through the slowness of its motion by the spirit surrounding it externally, it again revolves under the membrane and there becomes firmly rooted. And owing to these affections is it, that the hair springs up on the membrane of the head, being naturally allied, and serving as a rein to this membrane, but at the same time becoming harder and denser through the pressure of the cold, which hardens each hair, as it proceeds beyond the skin.^[350] Thus, then, by the means above mentioned, did our Creator plant the head with hairs, reflecting at the same time that instead of flesh a light covering was needed to guard the brain, and give it shade and protection from the extremes of heat and cold without hindering its acuteness of sensation.

LIV.—But the mass of tendon, skin, and bone that is interwoven about the fingers, being a mixture of three substances, becomes, when dried, one common hard membrane composed of all in common—fashioned indeed with these as instrumental causes, but effectively produced by that reflection which ever has an eye to the future:—for those who formed us well knew, that women and other animals would some day 390be generated from men, and that nails would be of the greatest use in several respects to many of the animals:—and this was the reason, why they stamped in men the pattern of the nails at their first birth. It was from these causes, then, and with these intentions, that they implanted skin, hairs, and nails at the extremities of the limbs.

LV.—As the parts and members of the mortal animal however were all allied in nature, and their life necessarily resulted from fire and spirit, the decay and exhaustion of which would cause it to perish quickly, the gods provided for it the following remedy:—Intermingling a nature resembling that of man with other forms and senses, they planted as it were other animals,—such as kindly-disposed trees, plants, and seeds, which are made useful to us by the nurture and training of agriculture; though before there were only those of a rustic kind, which are more ancient than those that are cultivated.^[351] Everything indeed that partakes of life we may justly and most correctly call an animal;—but that in particular, of which we are now speaking, is possessed of the third species of soul,^[352] which we place between the midriff and the navel: and which has no share either in opinion, reason, or intellect, though possessing a sense of pleasure and pain, as well as desire. It effects all things indeed by passion (or appetite); and it does this by the evolution of its internal power and the employment of its own motion to the exclusion of every other, as it has not been formed with a nature capable of reasoning on its own concerns.^[353] It thus lives in no way different from an animal, except in being firmly rooted in a fixed position and deprived of original motion.

391LVI.—Now after the directing artificers of our structure had implanted all these organs for giving nutriment to our inferior nature, they directed various channels through our body, so as to water it like a garden, by the constant accession of flowing moisture.^[354] And first, they cut two hidden channels beneath the juncture of the skin and flesh, viz. two veins going down the back to correspond with the double figure of the body, both on the right and left sides. These they placed close to the back-bone, so as to receive between them the marrow, the growth of which might be thus promoted, and that the flood supplied thence to other parts, might give an equable irrigation;—and then, dividing the veins about the head, and mutually interweaving them, they distributed them in opposite directions,—inclining some from the right to the left of the body, and some from the left to the right, that there might be a chain formed by the skin to unite the head to the body, there being no interlacing of tendons round the head,—and besides this, that the affection of sensation might from each of these parts pass round and through the body. It was in some such way as this, then, that they prepared the channel, of which we speak; and its truth we shall easily perceive by assenting to our previous position,—that all things composed of greater parts may envelop such as are less, while those consisting of less cannot envelop the greater. But fire is, of all classes of things, composed of the smallest parts; and hence it penetrates through water, earth, and air, and their several compounds,—and this to such an extent that nothing can retain it. The same remark is true of our belly, which is able to retain any food that has been introduced, but cannot hold spirit and fire, because they consist of smaller particles than those composing the belly.

LVII.—These channels therefore the Deity employed for the purpose of distributing moisture from the belly into the veins, by weaving with fire and air a network resembling 392basket-nets (or weeds), with two curved passages of entrance,—one of which he again twisted and divided into two branches, winding the continuations of these curved passages like coils of rope in every direction as far as the ends of the net. Now all the inner parts of the network he composed of fire, but the great flexures and the receptacle itself of air;—and lastly, he took and placed them in the new-formed animal, as follows. One of the curved passages he placed in the mouth; but, as this part has two flexures, he caused one (i. e. the trachea) to pass along the arteries into the lungs, the other (i. e. the œsophagus) by the side of the arteries into the belly. The other curved part he divided into two separate passages, making them pass in common to the channels of the nose, so that when the one does not reach the mouth, all the streams of the other might still be filled from this. But as for the remaining part of the hollow network, he made it extend all over the concavity of the body, and the whole of it flow gently together into the curved passages, as being of an airy texture, and at another time to flow through them backwards. But the net, which is of a thin structure, he so disposed as to make it penetrate through and again emerge.^[355] Besides this, he ordered that the interior rays of fire should follow in constant succession, the air at the same time passing into each, and that this should never cease to be the case, as long as the mortal animal’s life continued. And as respects the name of this kind of motion, we call it expiration and inspiration. Now this whole action and affection that it produces in our nature, is caused by certain bodily moistenings and coolings, alike conducive to our nutriment and life:—for as the breath passes in and out, an interior fire attends it in its course; and when it is diffused through the belly and meets with solid and liquid food, it reduces them both to a 393state of moisture, and by dividing them into very small parts, carries them along in its course; pouring them, as from a fountain, into the veins, and so cutting channels through the body as through an aqueduct.

LVIII.—But again let us consider the affection of breathing, and investigate the causes which gave it its present nature. We should reason on it, therefore, as follows:—As there is no such thing in nature as a vacuum into which a moving body can enter, and as breath passes from us outwards, every one is aware that it cannot escape into void space, but must thrust out whatever is nearest; again, that the body must always repel that ever nearest, and that from a necessity of this kind, everything impelled into the place vacated by the emitted breath must, after entering and filling up this space, attend on the breath as it travels. And all this must take place like the revolution of a wheel, through the impossibility of a vacuum. Hence, the breast and lungs, after dismissing the breath outwards, are again inflated by the entrance of the air surrounding the body into and around the cavities of the flesh. And when the air is again sent outwards and flows round the body, it drives the breath inwards through the mouth and nostrils.

LIX.—And as regards the cause from which they derive their origin, we may propose the following. In every animal in the universe those of its internal parts are the hottest which surround the veins and blood, just as if they contained a fountain of fire;^[356] and this heat we compared to a bow-net, extending through the middle of the body, and woven wholly of fire; all outside of it being composed of air. Yet heat, it must be agreed, naturally proceeds outward into a region with which it is allied. But as there are two passages for the heat,—one through the body outwards, the other again through the mouth and nostrils; hence, when the breath is impelled towards the latter, it in turn repels that latter. But that which is drawn into the fire becomes heated by so falling, while what is exhaled becomes cooled;—and so, owing to the change of temperature, they pass again into their former condition, whether hot or cold, through the mutual repulsion of 394each other; and as the same influence is constant and mutually operating, its circular agitation gives birth to the expiration and inspiration of the breath.

LX.—To the same causes may we ascribe the impressions produced by medical cupping-glasses, by swallowing drink, by the violent hurlings of bodies, whether upwards or on the ground, together with such sounds as appear swift or slow, sharp or flat,—and which at one time are discordant, owing to the dissimilitude of the motion which they cause within us, and at another harmonize, through the similitude of that motion. For the slower sounds catch up those antecedent and swifter, because the latter slacken their pace to one like their own; and by so following the swifter, they still urge them onward,—though without disturbing the motion by introducing another, but making their slower rate to approach gradually to that of the swifter;—and this mixed impression from the sharp and flat (i. e. the quick and slow) forms a single note; whence results the pleasure felt even by the unwise, but really entertained by the wise, which is owing to the imitation of Divine harmony that exists in mortal motions.^[357] And, indeed, with respect to all the motions of water, the fallings of thunder, and the wonderful circumstances observed in the attraction of amber, and the Herculean stone,^[358]—in all these, no real attraction takes place at all; but as a vacuum can nowhere be found, the particles are mutually impelled by each other; hence, as they all individually, both in a separate and mingled state, have an attraction for their own proper seats, it is by the mutual intermingling of these affections, that such admirable effects present themselves to the view of the accurate investigator.

LXI.—It is specially owing to this cause, that respiration (whence our discourse originated) is generated; and after the manner that we have before shown;—namely, that as fire divides the food and rises internally to attend on the breath, 395the veins from the belly become filled by this joint elevation, in consequence of drawing thence the divided portions of the food; so that by these means, through every animal body the streams of nutriment are abundantly diffused. But the parts which are recently cut apart and separated from their kindred natures,—some of them fruits and others grasses, and produced by the Deity for bodily food, acquire varieties of colour through their mutual admixture; though for the most part the red predominates,^[359] as its nature consists of fire combined with a lump of moist mud. Hence also the colour of that which flows about the body is just what it seems, and is also called blood, being the nurturing principle of the flesh and whole body; and so by everywhere diffusing its moisture, it copiously replenishes all the exhausted parts.

As for the manner of impletion and depletion, it is produced in the same way as the change of everything in the universe; viz. from the circumstance of all kindred natures having a common attraction:—for the natures with which we are clothed externally, are perpetually melting and being distributed, each form of matter departing to that with which it is allied. But the particles of blood which are contained in, and distributed throughout our bodies, as is the case with every animal created under heaven, necessarily imitate the motion of the universe. Each, therefore, of the divided parts within us, being borne along to its kindred nature, again replenishes what is void. But when the decretions exceed the accessions, the whole animal falls into decay; but in the contrary case, it acquires growth.

LXII.—The new composition therefore of every animal, as it has new triangles, [i. e. elementary principles,] formed as it were from fresh timbers, causes them to lock closely within each other,—the whole of its bulk being of a delicate structure, formed of fresh marrow and fed on milk. Those triangles, therefore, that compose the bodily aliment, having entered it from without and been received into the animal, from being older and weaker than the simple original triangles therewith agreeing, are overpowered and destroyed by the new triangles; and the animal grows to a large size, because it is 396supplied from a multitude of similar parts. But when the root of these triangles is relaxed by fatigue and dulness, brought on by the repulsion of many particles during a long period of time, then the food received can no longer cut into its own similitude; but they are themselves easily separated by the bodies that enter from without. Overcome by this, the whole animal at length decays; and this state is what we call old age:—and at last, when the jointed chains of the triangles about the marrow can no longer hold, but through long employment get unfastened and set free the bonds of the soul,—the soul thus loosened naturally flies off with pleasure and delight; for everything contrary to nature is painful, while the natural is pleasant. Hence the death caused by wounds and disease is painful and violent,—while that which follows old age, as the end agreeable to nature, is of all deaths the least irksome, and attended rather by pleasure than pain.^[360]

LXIII.—As to the origin of diseases, that must be obvious to every one:—for as there are four component elements of the body, viz. earth, fire, water, and air, the unnatural over-abundance or defect of these, and their removal from their own to a different position,—those of fire, we mean, and the other classes, for there are more than one,—these are the causes why they do not each receive what suits their peculiar nature, and they necessarily produce disturbances and diseases: for as these are severally generated and transferred in a way contrary to nature, such things as were formerly heated become cold, what were once dry moist, the light heavy—all things, in short, undergo all possible mutations. For we assert that it is only when the same thing approaches to and departs from the same in the same manner and according to analogy, that it will allow what is the same with itself to abide in health and safety: and should any of them be in discordance, whether approaching or departing, it will cause all varieties of alienations, as well as unnumbered diseases and corruptions. But having now found the second set of conditions suitable to nature, the second mode of considering diseases also 397is now open to any one desirous of so doing.^[361] For as the marrow, bone, flesh, and sinew are composed of those [elements,] as likewise the blood in another way, though from a similar origin, so also most other diseases owe their severity to the causes we have mentioned; though the greatest of them are to be traced to the following cause:—When the generation of these various [bodily substances] takes place inversely, then they become subject to corruption:—for the flesh and sinews are naturally formed from blood,—the sinews indeed from fibres, through the connexion between these, but the flesh from its union with that which when in a separate state becomes solid:—while the glutinous and fatty substance again which is formed from sinews and flesh, at once unites^[362] the flesh to the bone, and itself feeds the growth of the bone itself, with which the marrow is surrounded. And again, that which filters through the solid part of the bones, being the purest kind of the triangles, as well as most smooth and unctuous, moistens the marrow by falling drop by drop from the bones.

LXIV.—When these several things are the case, health mostly ensues; but when the contrary happens—disease. For when the flesh becomes liquefied and sends back what it loses into the veins, then the blood mingled with spirit flows abundantly, and of all kinds, through the veins, with different degrees of colours and bitterness;^[363] and yet further, from its acid and salt qualities, it generates all kinds of bile, lymph, and phlegm;—for as they are all generated and corrupted in an opposite way, they first of all destroy the blood itself;^[364] and the fluids that can no longer afford nutriment to the body, are borne along the veins without any natural order 398of circulation; at variance, indeed, with each other, because they derive no mutual advantages from the properties of each, but [positively] hostile to the constitution of the body, and its maintenance in health,—in short, destroying it and bringing it to putrefaction.

Such, therefore, of the flesh as becomes liquefied by its great age, being indisposed to putrefy, grows black from long burning; and from having been entirely macerated it becomes bitter, and falls into discontent with the other parts of the body not yet infected with corruption. And then, indeed, instead of bitterness, the black part assumes an acidity, if the bitter becomes more attenuated: but when the bitterness is tinged with blood, it becomes still redder; and when mixed with black, it assumes the nature of bile:—and yet further, to the bitterness is added a yellow colour through the melting of new flesh on the fire surrounding the flame. And this common name for all these some of the physicians assigned them,—or at any rate some who were able to consider many things dissimilar, and to detect in a single class a great number of particulars all deserving a special name. But all else that may be called kinds of bile, receive, according to colour, a name peculiar to each. As for lymph (ἴχωρ), the whey of the blood, it is gentle and mild: while the sediment of black, acid bile, is fierce and wild;—and when mingled by heat with anything of a saline quality, it is called acid phlegm. Again, the moisture running from new and tender flesh mingled with the air, which is afterwards inflated and enclosed by moisture, produces bubbles, which separately are invisible, owing to their small size, but when collected in a large bulk become visible, and acquire a white colour from the generation of froth. And all this liquefaction of delicate flesh, when woven together with spirit, we term white phlegm,—the sediment of recent phlegm, tears and sweat; together with all such secretions that the body sends forth for its purification.

LXV.—All these indeed become the instruments of disease, when the blood is not supplied naturally from liquid and solid food, but gains bulk from contraries in violation of the laws of nature. When any part of the flesh therefore becomes separated by disease,^[365] letting its first principles 399remain, half the trouble is removed; for it admits of an easy recovery. But when that which binds the flesh to the bones becomes diseased, and the blood flowing from the fibres and sinews no longer serves as food to the bones and a bond to the flesh, but, instead of being fat, smooth and glutinous, becomes rough and salt from being parched by bad diet; then, in consequence of suffering all this and being separated from the bones, it is itself crumbled down^[366] under the flesh and sinews;—while the flesh falling at the same time from its roots, leaves the sinews bare and saturated with salt; and thus, entering once more the circulation of the blood, it increases the number of the aforesaid maladies. And if these bodily ailments be severe, still more afflicting and troublesome are those that precede them; when the bone, owing to the density of the flesh, does not allow sufficient respiration, but becoming heated through rottenness, falls into decay, and will receive no nutriment, but on the contrary gradually crumble away,—bone falling on flesh, and flesh again on blood, diseases being by these means produced that are of a severer character than the former. By far the worst of all maladies however is,—when the marrow becomes diseased through some defect or excess;—because it is then productive of the most vehement and fatal diseases, the whole nature of the body being necessarily reversed and destroyed.

LXVI.—Again, as to the third species of diseases, we ought to consider them as divided into three classes,—one produced by spirit, a second by phlegm, and a third by bile. For when the lungs, the great guardian of the breath, through being obstructed by defluxions,^[367] will not allow a free passage to the breath, which thus has no egress one way, and in another enters in larger supplies than it ought, those parts which are not cooled by it become putrid, while those that receive too much of it, passing violently through the veins, distort them and become liquefied, being shut out with the diaphragm in the middle of the body: and thus ten thousand severe ailments hence arise, together with an abundance of sweat. And frequently, when the flesh becomes separated within the body, breath is produced, which not finding 400escape externally, causes the same torments as the breath entering from without. The greatest pains that it produces, however, are, when it surrounds and swells out the sinews and neighbouring veins, stretching and distorting the tendons and sinews continued from the back. Now these diseases, from their disposition to extension, are termed tensions and contortions from behind,^[368]—the cure of which it is difficult to find; because fevers supervene and generally bring them to a close. But the white phlegm, when it becomes troublesome through the formation of air-bubbles, being shut out by having breathing-vents outside the body, is of a milder kind, and variegates the body with white spots, generating other diseases also of a similar character. But when mingled with black bile, and dispersed about the most divine circulations of the head, it acts as a disturbing agent, though with less violence during sleep; but if it come to those who are awake, it cannot be expelled without difficulty; and as this is a disease of a sacred nature (or organ, i. e. the head), it is most justly called sacred.^[369] An acid and salt phlegm again is the source of all those diseases which are produced by a defluxion of humours: and because the places into which this phlegm flows are of infinite variety, it produces all kinds of diseases. But whatever parts of the body are said to be inflamed, all become so from being burnt and inflamed by bile.

LXVII. Now this bile, whenever it makes an expiration, boils and sends up all kinds of tumours, and when inwardly restrained, generates many inflammatory diseases,—but the greatest of all, when mingled with pure blood it disturbs the order of the fibres, which are scattered in the blood for this purpose,—namely, of giving it certain measures of tenuity and 401density, and that it may neither through heat (as being moist) flow from the thin body, nor from its density become unadapted to motion, and so experience difficulty in flowing back in the veins. The just temperament, then, of these things is under the natural guardianship of the fibres; because if any one collects them together in the blood when dead and in a state of coldness, all the remaining blood becomes diffused; and when let out quickly, it coagulates in consequence of the cold surrounding it. The fibres possessing this influence over the blood, the bile, which is of the nature of ancient blood, and again changed into it from flesh by liquefaction, first gradually falls in a warm, moist state, and becomes coagulated through the power of the fibres; though when coagulated and violently extinguished, it causes a tempest and tremor within. When it flows with still greater force, it overcomes the fibres by its own proper heat, and by its ebullition drives them into disorder;^[370] and if it retains its prevalence to the end, it penetrates into the marrow, and burning the bonds of the soul, as if they were the cables of a ship, dissolves their union, and sets it wholly free; but, on the other hand, when it flows less abundantly, and the body on becoming liquefied opposes its passage, it then, on finding itself overcome, either escapes through the whole body, or being driven through the veins into the upper or lower belly, escapes from the body like a fugitive from a seditious city, and introduces defluxions, dysenteries, or gripings of the intestines, and all diseases of a similar kind. When the body, therefore, is unusually diseased by an excess of fire, it then labours under continued burnings and fever; but when through excess of air, under quotidian fevers: under tertian through water, because water is less active than fire and air; and under quartan, through excess of earth;—for earth, being of all of them the least active, becomes purified in quadruple periods of time, and hence introduces quartan fevers, which are with difficulty dispelled.^[371]

LXVIII. In the above manner are the diseases of the body 402produced; but the diseases of the soul, resulting from the habit of the body, are as follows. We must admit that the disease of the soul is folly, or a privation of intellect; and that there are two kinds of folly; the one madness, the other ignorance. Whatever passion, therefore, a person experiences that induces either of them, must be called a disease. Excessive pleasures and pains, however, are what we should deem the greatest diseases of the soul:—for when a man is over-elevated with joy or unduly depressed with grief, and so hastens immoderately either to retain the one or fly from the other, he can neither perceive nor hear anything properly, but is agitated with fury, and very little capable of exercising the reasoning power. But he who possesses a great quantity of fluid-seed about the marrow, and is by nature like a tree over-laden with fruit, such a one having many throes,^[372] and also many pleasures in his desires and their attendant offspring,—being maddened too during most of his life by the greatest pleasures and pains, having a soul also rendered morbid and unwise by the body, is wrongly deemed to be—not diseased, but voluntarily bad.^[373] In truth, however, sexual intemperance generally becomes a disease of the soul, through a particular state of fluidity and moisture caused by the tenuity of the bones. And indeed it may almost be asserted, that all intemperance in any kind of pleasure, and all disgraceful conduct, is not properly blamed as the consequence of voluntary guilt. For no one is voluntary bad: but he who is depraved becomes so through a certain bad habit of body and an ill-governed education; and to every one these are inimical, as they result in a certain evil. And again, in the matter of pain, the soul suffers much depravity through the body. For where acid and salt phlegm, and likewise bitter and bilious humours, wandering through the body, get no external vent, but revolve inwardly, and mingle their exhalations with the circulation of the soul; they in this case produce within it an infinite variety of diseases, greater or less in degree,—more or less in numbers. They are introduced, indeed, to three seats of the soul; and according to the diversity of the place, each begets 403every variety of difficulty and sorrow, rashness and timidity, and still further of oblivion and indocility. Besides this also, the vicious manners of cities, and discourses both private and public, often contribute to increase this malady; nor are any branches of learning taught in early life which tend to serve as remedies for such mighty ills;—and thus all the vicious are vicious through two most involuntary causes, which we should always ascribe rather to the planters than the things planted, and to the trainers rather than those trained; but still it should be our anxious endeavour, as far as we can, by education, studies, and learning, to fly from vice, and acquire its contrary—virtue. These particulars, however, require another mode of argument.

LXIX. Again, as respects the contrary of these, it is quite fit and proper to explain concerning the cultivation both of the body and the intellect, by what means each is to be healthfully preserved. For it is more just to take account of good things, rather than of the evil. Now every thing good is beautiful; and the beautiful is not without measure:—an animal therefore destined to be such, must possess symmetry. Of symmetries, however, we perceive and understand those which are small; but as for the greatest and most important, of these we are quite ignorant. For indeed, no symmetry or want of measure is of more importance with respect to health and disease, virtue and vice, than that of the soul towards the body:—and yet into these we make no inquiry, nor do we reflect that when a weaker and inferior form is the vehicle of a strong and every way mighty soul, and when on the contrary these two pass into a state of compact union, then the animal is not wholly beautiful; for it is without symmetry in the most important points of symmetry, while an animal of opposite character is the fairest of all sights that can be beheld. Just therefore, as a body has immoderately long legs, or indeed any other superfluity of parts that hinders its internal symmetry, it at once becomes base, in the participation of labour suffers many afflictions and many convulsions, and through suffering an aggregation of accidents, becomes the cause to itself of innumerable ills. The same too must be understood concerning that compound essence [of body and soul,] which we term an animal;—as, for instance, when the 404soul in this compound is stronger than the body, and greatly prevails over it, then [the soul,] agitating the whole of it inwardly, fills it with diseases; and, by ardent application to learned pursuits and investigations, causes it to waste away. Lastly, when the soul employs itself in didactic pursuits and logomachies, publicly as well as in private, through a certain ambitious strife, it then inflames the body and dissolves its constitution, and by introducing distillations of humours, deceives the great part of those who are called physicians, inducing them to consider these effects as proceeding from contrary causes.

Also, when a body that is large and superior to the soul in power is joined with a small and weak intellect,—there being naturally two classes of desires in man, one of aliment on account of the body, the other of wisdom for the sake of our most divine part;—in this case, the motions of the more powerful prevailing and enlarging what is their own, but making the reflective part of the soul deaf, indocile, and oblivious, thus induce ignorance—the greatest of all diseases. There is one safety then for both—neither to move the soul without the body, nor the body without the soul; in order that by mutually resisting each other they may be equally balanced and in perfect health. The mathematician then, or any one else who ardently devotes himself to any intellectual pursuit, should at the same time engage the body in gymnastic exercises;—and the man, again, who is careful in rightly forming his body, should at the same time therewith unite the motions of the soul in the exercises of music and all philosophy; if at least he intends to be one, that may justly be called beautiful and at the same time right good.

LXX.—In this very same manner we ought to attend even to the parts of the body, that they may imitate the form of the whole:—for when the body is inwardly burnt and cooled by the things that enter it, and again, is moistened by things external, and suffers all the consequences of these affections; then if any one gives up his body when quiescent to these kinds of motions, he is overcome and perishes.^[374] But if any one will imitate what we called the tutor and nurse of the universe, and never allow the body to be at rest, but 405perpetually move it and assist its natural motions both within and without, by ever implanting in it certain agitations, and also by moderate agitation bring into order according to their mutual relations the wandering passions and parts of the body, he will not, as we said in our former discourse about the universe, place foe against foe, and suffer war and disease to be produced in the body,—but, on the other hand, combining friend with friend, will contrive to induce a state of sound health. Of all motions, again, that is the best which takes place in itself from itself: for this is particularly allied to intellect and the motion of the universe,—that produced by another being inferior:—whereas that is the worst of all motions, which, when the body is recumbent and at ease, moves it by means of others and only partially. Hence, therefore, of all modes of cleansing and giving consistence to the body, the best is that effected by gymnastics,—the second is that caused by easy conveyance, either in a ship or other suitable vehicle; but the third kind of motion, however useful perhaps to one in extreme need, must on no account be otherwise used by any one endued with intellect; and this is that medical kind of motion produced by pharmaceutical purgation:—for diseases, unless they are extremely dangerous, must not be irritated by medicines. Indeed, every form of disease in some respect resembles the nature of animals;—for the condition of the latter has allotted to it stated periods of life, both as respects individuals and entire races, and each animal separately of itself has its fated life apart from the affection arising from necessity:—because the triangles, which from the very first have power over each, are so composed, as to suffice only for a certain time: beyond which period no animal can extend its life. The same condition of things also takes place in the case of diseases; for if any one destroys them by medicine before the fated time, he will only produce great diseases out of small, and many out of few. On this account we must discipline all such maladies by proper diet, according as each has leisure, and not irritate by medicines an obstinate complaint.—And thus much may suffice to have been said concerning the common animal and its corporeal part,—how each governing himself and governed by himself, may pursue a life regulated by reason.

LXXI.—That part, however, which is to have the government 406of the animal, should, as far as possible, be better provided, and earlier also, with the power of being the fairest and best in the art of ruling. To treat accurately indeed of these matters, would require a separate work of itself: but even pursuing it by way of mere by-work (ἐν παρέργῳ), in accordance with what has preceded, we shall not be inconsistent, nor fail in the end of our inquiries. We have often then before asserted that there are three kinds of soul within us, in three parts of the body, each having its peculiar motions; and so in the same way we must now briefly affirm, that when any one of them is in a torpid state and rests from its own proper motions, it must necessarily become extremely weak, and only by constant exercise attains the highest degree of strength:—we should be careful therefore that each may preserve its own motions in symmetry with all the rest.

But with respect to the highest and most leading part of our soul, [i. e. the human soul,] we should conceive as follows:—that the Deity assigned this to each as a dæmon;—that, namely, which we say, and say correctly too, resides at the summit of the body and raises us from earth to our cognate place in heaven:—for we are plants, not of earth, but heaven; and from the same source whence the soul first arose, a divine nature, raising aloft our head and root, directs our whole corporeal frame. In him, therefore, who has eagerly striven to satisfy the cravings of desire and ambition, all the conceptions engendered in his soul must necessarily be mortal; and he will necessarily, as much as possible, become entirely mortal, omitting no effort to improve such a nature. For one, however, who is sedulously employed in the acquisition of knowledge and true wisdom, and is chiefly practised in this one pursuit, it is altogether necessary, if he would touch on the truth, that he should be endued with wisdom about immortal and divine concerns; and as far as human nature is capable of immortality, he should leave no part neglected; and thus, as he ever cultivates that which is divine, and has a dæmon most excellently adorned residing within him, he will be exceedingly happy. But the culture of all the parts is one only,—that of assigning to each their proper nutriment and motion. But the motions allied to the divine part of our nature, are the reflective energies and circulations of the universe. These, then, each of us should pursue; restoring the revolutions in 407our head that have been corrupted through being employed on generation, by a diligent investigation of the harmonies and circulations of the universe, with the view of assimilating the reflective power to the object of reflection according to its ancient nature;^[375] for, by this assimilation, we shall obtain the end of the best life proposed by the gods to men, both present and future.

LXXII.—And now the discussion which we announced at the beginning concerning the universe, as far at least as concerns the generation of man, is very nearly completed; for as to the rest of the animals, how they were generated, we will only briefly describe them, except where necessity bids us enlarge: for a person may think that he is thus more in measure as concerns such an inquiry. On this subject, then, let us speak as follows:—Of the men that were born, such as are timid, and have passed through life unjustly, are, we suppose, changed into women in their second generation. At that time, then, and for that reason, the gods devised the love of copulation; constructing an animated substance, and placing one in us men, another in the women,—forming each in the following manner:—That passage for the drink, by which these liquids run through the lungs under the reins into the bladder, and which sends them forth as it receives them, by the pressure of the breath,^[376]—this [the gods] made to pass into the condensed marrow, from the head, along the neck, and through the back-bone; and this we called seed in a former part of this discourse:—and this [the marrow], in consequence of being animated and endued with respiration, produces in the part where it respires a lively desire of emission,—thus perfecting in us the love of procreation. On this account, the nature of men, as respects their private parts, becoming insubordinate and imperious, like an animal not obedient to reason, tries through raging desire to gain absolute sway. The same is the case with the wombs, and 408other connected parts of women,—so called, as forming an animal desirous of procreating children. This, when it remains without fruit long beyond its proper time, becomes discontented and indignant; and wandering every way through the body, it obstructs the passage of the breath, and throws women into extreme difficulties, causing all varieties of diseases, till at length the desire and love of both parties [i. e. the man and woman] cause the emission of seed, like fruit from a tree; by which emission, they sow in the womb, as in a field, animals invisible from their minute size, and yet unformed, which, as they become larger, they nourish within; and lastly, by bringing them to light, perfect the generation of animals.