Lucretius · a new plain-English translation from the original language
Mother of the line of Aeneas, delight of gods and men,
nurturing Venus, who beneath the gliding constellations of the sky
fill the ship-bearing sea and the crop-bearing lands,
since through you every kind of living thing
is conceived and, once risen, looks upon the light of the sun:
before you, goddess, the winds flee, before you and your coming
the clouds of the sky depart; for you the skillful earth
sends up sweet flowers, for you the plains of the sea laugh,
and the sky, grown calm, shines with light poured everywhere.
For as soon as the springtime face of day is uncovered
and the life-giving breath of the west wind, unbarred, grows strong,
first the birds of the air signal you, goddess, and your entry,
their hearts struck through by your force.
Then the wild herds bound over the glad pastures
and swim across the racing rivers: so, seized by delight,
each eagerly follows you, wherever you go on to lead it.
Then through the seas and mountains and rushing rivers,
the leaf-bearing homes of birds and the green plains,
striking sweet love into the hearts of all,
you bring it about that each kind eagerly propagates its generations.
Since you alone govern the nature of things
and without you nothing rises up into the divine shores of light,
nor does anything joyful or lovely come to be,
I long for you to be my partner in the writing of these verses,
which I am attempting to compose on the nature of things
for our friend Memmius, whom you, goddess, have willed
at every time to excel, adorned with every distinction.
Grant, then, all the more, goddess, an everlasting charm to my words.
Bring it about meanwhile that the savage works of war,
over every sea and land, fall lulled to rest;
for you alone are able to aid mortals
with tranquil peace, since the savage works of war are ruled
by Mars, mighty in arms, who often casts himself
into your lap, conquered by the everlasting wound of love,
and so, gazing upward, his smooth neck thrown back,
feeds his hungry eyes with love, gaping upon you, goddess,
and as he lies back his breath hangs upon your mouth.
Him, as he reclines upon your sacred body,
goddess, wrapped around and over him,
pour out sweet words from your mouth, seeking, glorious one, a peaceful calm for the Romans;
for neither can we work at this task with an untroubled mind
in this hard time for our country, nor can the noble line of Memmius
fail the common welfare in such matters.
For the whole nature of the gods of necessity
must enjoy its own immortal age in utter peace,
set apart and far removed from our affairs;
for free from all grief, free from dangers,
strong in its own resources, needing nothing from us,
it is neither won over by merits nor touched by anger.
When human life lay before all eyes, foul upon the ground,
crushed on earth beneath the heavy weight of religion,
which showed its head from the regions of the sky,
looming over mortals with a horrible aspect,
a man of Greece was first, a mortal, who dared
to raise his eyes against it, and first to stand against it;
him neither the fame of the gods nor lightning nor the sky's
threatening rumble could hold down, but all the more they sharpened
the keen courage of his mind, so that he desired to be first
to break through the narrow bars of nature's gates.
Therefore the living force of his mind prevailed, and he went forward
far beyond the flaming walls of the world,
and traversed the whole immeasurable universe in mind and spirit,
from where he brings back to us, victorious, what can come to be,
what cannot, and by what principle each thing at last has its power
bounded, and its deep-set limit fixed.
And so religion in turn is cast down beneath our feet
and trampled, and the victory raises us level with the sky.
In these matters this I fear: that you might perhaps think
you are entering upon impious first principles of reasoning
and setting foot on a path of wickedness. But on the contrary, it is that
religion which has more often given birth to wicked and impious deeds.
As at Aulis the chosen leaders of the Greeks, the first among men,
foully defiled the altar of the virgin goddess of the crossroads
with the blood of Iphigenia.
For as soon as the sacred band, placed around her maiden hair,
hung down equally from either side of her cheeks,
and she perceived her father standing sorrowful before the altar,
and, near him, the attendants hiding the knife,
and the citizens pouring out tears at the sight of her,
mute with fear, sinking on her knees, she reached toward the ground.
Nor could it help the poor girl, in such a moment,
that she had first bestowed the name of father on the king;
for lifted up by the hands of men, trembling, she was led
to the altars, not so that, after the solemn rite of sacrifice
had been completed, she might be escorted by the bright wedding-song,
but so that, chaste, at the very moment of her unholy marriage,
she might fall, sorrowful, a victim slaughtered by her own father's hand,
so that a happy and favorable departure might be granted to the fleet.
So great is the evil that religion has been able to persuade.
You yourself, at some point, defeated by the terror-speaking words
of the prophets, will seek to desert us.
For indeed, how many dreams they can now invent for you,
dreams that could overturn the reasoned plan of your life
and throw all your fortunes into confusion with fear!
And rightly so; for if men saw that there was a fixed end
to their sufferings, they would somehow have the strength
to stand against the religions and threats of the prophets.
As it is, there is no way, no means, to resist,
since eternal punishments must be feared in death.
For it is not known what the nature of the soul is,
whether it is born, or whether instead it steals into those being born,
and whether it perishes together with us, torn apart by death,
or visits the darkness of Orcus and its vast pools,
or by some divine power inserts itself into other beasts,
as our own Ennius sang, who first brought down
from pleasant Helicon a crown of everlasting leaves,
which would be renowned throughout the Italian peoples of men;
even though, besides this, Ennius also
sets forth in undying verses that Acherusian realms exist,
where neither our souls nor our bodies remain,
but certain images, pale in wondrous ways;
from which he recalls that the likeness of ever-flourishing Homer
rose up before him and began to pour out salt tears
and to unfold the nature of things in words.
For this reason we must properly hold a rational account
of matters above us, of how the courses of sun and moon
come to be, and by what force each thing on earth
is governed, and then, first of all, with keen reasoning
we must look into what the soul and the mind's nature consist of,
and what thing, meeting us while we are awake, terrifies
our minds when afflicted by disease, or buried in sleep,
so that we seem to see and hear before us, in person,
those whose bones the earth embraces, their death already met.
As for what remains, apply an unoccupied ear and a keen mind,
set apart from cares, to the true account,
lest my gifts, laid out for you with faithful care,
you abandon in scorn before they are understood.
For I shall begin to discourse to you on the highest system
of sky and gods, and I shall lay open the first beginnings of things,
from which nature creates all things, and makes them grow and feeds them,
and into which that same nature, once things are destroyed, resolves them again —
those things which we, in giving our account, are accustomed
to call matter and generative bodies of things, and the seeds
of things, and we are accustomed to use these same terms
as first bodies, because from these first things all things come.
Nor does it escape my mind that it is difficult to illuminate
in Latin verses the obscure discoveries of the Greeks,
especially since much must be done with new words
because of the poverty of our tongue and the newness of the matter;
but still your worth, and the hoped-for pleasure
of sweet friendship, persuade me to undertake any labor whatever
and lead me to keep watch through calm nights,
seeking with what words and in what song at last
I might be able to spread bright light before your mind,
by which you might see thoroughly into things hidden deep.
This terror of the mind, then, and these darknesses must
be dispelled not by the rays of the sun nor the shining shafts of day,
but by the outward appearance and inner reason of nature.
The starting point of this shall take its beginnings from here:
that nothing is ever born from nothing by divine power.
For indeed such fear holds all mortals bound,
because they see many things happen on earth and in the sky
whose causes they can perceive by no reasoning,
and so they think they come about by divine will.
For which reason, once we have seen that nothing can be created
out of nothing, then what we are pursuing we shall perceive
more correctly from that point on, both from where each thing can be created
and in what way each thing comes about without the gods.
For if things came to be from nothing, from all things
every kind could be born, nothing would need seed.
Men could first arise from the sea, and from the earth
the scaly race, and birds could burst forth from the sky;
cattle and other herds, every kind of wild beast,
with uncertain birth, would occupy the tilled land and the wild.
Nor would the same fruits be constant on the trees,
but they would change, and all could bear anything.
For indeed, where there were no generative bodies for each thing,
how could any fixed mother stand behind each thing?
But as it is, since each thing is created from fixed seeds,
it is born from that source and comes forth into the shores of light,
where the matter and the first bodies of each thing are present;
and for this reason not all things can be born from all things,
because a separate power resides in fixed things.
Besides, why in spring do we see the rose, in summer heat the grain,
and the vines pour forth as autumn urges,
if not because, when the fixed seeds of things
have flowed together at their proper season, whatever is created is revealed,
while the seasons are present and the vigorous earth
safely brings forth its tender things into the shores of light?
But if they came from nothing, they would spring up suddenly
at uncertain intervals and in seasons foreign to them,
since indeed there would be no first-beginnings that could be kept apart
from generative union at an unfavorable time.
Nor further would there be any need of time for things to grow
by the coming together of seed, if they could grow from nothing;
for suddenly small infants would become grown men,
and trees would spring up in a moment, risen from the earth.
But it is plain that none of this happens, since all things
grow little by little, as is fitting from fixed seed,
and in growing preserve their kind; so that you can recognize
that each thing grows and is nourished from its own proper matter.
To this is added that without the fixed rains of the year
the earth could not send up its joyful produce,
nor further could the nature of living things, kept apart from food,
propagate its kind and preserve life;
so that you might rather think that bodies are shared in common
among many things, as we see letters shared among words,
than that any thing could exist without first-beginnings.
Finally, why could nature not prepare men so large
that on foot they could wade across the sea's shallows,
to cross over and tear apart great mountains with their hands
and by living to outlast many generations of life,
if the matter given to things for their begetting were not fixed,
that from which each thing that can arise consists?
we must therefore admit that nothing can come from nothing,
since things need a seed, from which each thing once created
can be brought forth into the soft air's breezes.
Finally, since we see that cultivated ground
outdoes untended land and yields better produce under our hands,
it is clear that there are in the earth first-beginnings of things
which we rouse up when we turn the fertile clods with the ploughshare
and work the soil of the earth, driving it to bring forth;
but if there were none, you would see everything grow much better
of its own accord, without any labor of ours.
To this is added that nature dissolves each thing back again
into its own bodies, and does not destroy things into nothing.
for if anything were mortal in all its parts,
each thing would perish, snatched suddenly from before our eyes;
for there would be no need of any force to bring about
the separation of its parts and loosen their bonds.
whereas now, because each thing is made of everlasting seed,
until some force meets it that shatters the thing with a blow
or penetrates within through the void spaces and dissolves it,
nature allows the destruction of nothing to be seen.
Besides, whatever things age removes with the passage of time,
if it destroys them utterly, consuming all their matter,
from where does Venus bring back the race of living things,
generation by generation, into the light of life, or where, once brought back,
does the cunning earth nourish and increase them, generation by generation, providing food?
from where do the native springs and far-off foreign
rivers supply the sea? from where does the sky feed the stars?
for infinite age and days gone by must have consumed
everything that has a mortal body.
but if in that span, in that age gone before,
there existed things from which this sum of the world is renewed and made whole,
they are surely endowed with an immortal nature.
things cannot, then, return to nothing.
Again, one and the same force and cause would destroy
all things alike, unless eternal matter held them together,
bound to each other more or less tightly;
for mere touch would then be cause enough for death,
since none of the things whose fabric that force
must dissolve would have an everlasting body.
but as it is, because the bonds between the first-beginnings
are of different kinds and the matter is eternal,
things remain with their body unharmed, until a force
sharp enough is found, matched to each thing's structure.
nothing, then, returns to nothing, but all things
return, once separated, into the bodies of matter.
finally, rains perish, once father sky has hurled them down
into the lap of mother earth;
but bright crops spring up and branches turn green
on the trees, they themselves grow and are weighed down with fruit.
from this in turn our race and that of wild beasts is fed,
from this we see happy cities flourish with children
and the leafy woods everywhere ring with new birds,
from this the weary herds lay down their fattened bodies
through the glad pastures, and the shining milky moisture
flows from their swollen udders, from this new offspring
on unsteady limbs frolic through the tender grass,
their young minds struck giddy by the pure milk.
nothing, then, that seems to perish, perishes utterly,
since nature restores one thing from another and allows no
thing to be born unless helped by another's death.
Now come, since I have taught that things cannot be created
from nothing, nor likewise, once born, be called back to nothing,
lest by chance you begin to distrust my words on this account,
because the first-beginnings of things cannot be seen by the eyes,
hear besides of other bodies which you must
admit exist among things, yet which cannot be seen.
First of all, the force of the wind, driven hard, lashes at bodies
and sinks huge ships and scatters clouds,
and sometimes, racing over the plains in a swift whirlwind,
it strews them with great trees and batters the highest mountains
with forest-splitting blasts: so fiercely does the sea rage too
with a sharp roaring and threatening murmur.
winds, then, are surely bodies unseen,
which sweep the sea, the lands, and the clouds of the sky as well,
and harass and sweep them along, suddenly caught up in a whirlwind,
and flow on and spread ruin in no other way
than when the soft substance of water is swept along suddenly
in an overflowing stream, which a great rush of water
down from the high mountains swells with its heavy rains,
hurling together fragments of forests and whole thickets;
nor can even sturdy bridges withstand the sudden
force of the oncoming water: so, turbulent with a great downpour,
the river crashes against the piers with mighty force,
it makes a great crash of ruin and rolls beneath its waves
huge boulders, sweeping away whatever stands against its currents.
so too, then, must the gusts of wind be carried along,
which, like a strong river when they have swept down
in whatever direction, drive things before them and hurl them headlong
with repeated blows, and sometimes in a twisting eddy
they snatch things up and carry them along in a swirling whirlwind.
therefore, again and again, winds are bodies unseen,
since in their deeds and behavior they are found to rival
great rivers, which are of a visible body.
Then again, we sense the various smells of things,
yet we never see them coming to our nostrils,
nor do we behold hot heat, nor are we able
to perceive cold with our eyes, nor are we used to seeing sounds;
yet all these things must consist of a bodily
nature, since they are able to strike upon the senses;
for nothing but body can touch or be touched.
Again, clothes hung up on a wave-beaten shore
grow damp, and the same clothes, spread out in the sun, dry off.
yet neither has it been seen in what way the moisture of water settled into them,
nor again in what way it fled from the heat.
the moisture, then, is scattered into tiny parts
which the eyes can in no way see.
indeed, as many yearly returns of the sun come round,
a ring on a finger grows thin underneath from wearing,
the fall of dripping water hollows out a stone, the curved iron
ploughshare wastes away unseen in the fields,
and we see the stone-paved streets of the city
worn down by the feet of the crowd; likewise, next to the gates, the bronze
statues show their right hands growing thin
from the frequent touch of those greeting them and passing by.
we see these things, then, grow smaller once they are worn away.
but what bodies depart at each given moment,
grudging nature has shut off the sight of them from our seeing.
Finally, whatever time and nature add to things
little by little, forcing them to grow by degrees,
no straining sharpness of the eyes can make out,
nor again whatever things grow old with age and wasting,
nor can you see what the rocks overhanging the sea,
eaten by the corrosive salt, lose at any given time.
it is by unseen bodies, then, that nature does her work.
And yet not all things are packed everywhere
with bodily matter; for there is void in things.
knowing this will be useful to you in many matters,
and will not let you wander in doubt, forever questioning
the sum of things and distrusting my words.
therefore there is a place untouched, void and empty.
for if this were not so, things could in no way
be able to move; for the function that body performs,
to obstruct and block, would be present at every moment
to all things; nothing, then, could go forward,
since no thing would give the first beginning of yielding.
but as it is, through seas and lands and the heights of the sky
we see many things before our eyes moving in many ways
by various means, which, if there were no void,
would not so much lack the restless motion they are deprived of
as never have been born at all in any way,
since matter, packed everywhere, would have remained at rest.
Besides, however solid things are thought to be,
you can yet see from this that they have a porous body.
in rocks and caves the liquid moisture of water
seeps through, and everything weeps with abundant drops.
food distributes itself through the whole body of living creatures;
trees grow and pour forth their fruit in due season,
because food is spread all through them, from the deepest roots
all the way through the trunks and through every branch.
sounds travel between walls and through the closed rooms
of houses they fly through, stiffening cold seeps to the bones.
unless there were empty spaces through which each body could
pass, you would see this happen in no way at all.
Again, why do we see some things surpass
others in weight, though their size is no greater?
for if there is as much body in a ball of wool as
there is in lead, it is right that they weigh the same,
since it is the function of body to press everything downward,
while on the other hand the nature of void remains weightless.
therefore, whatever is equal in size but seems lighter
surely shows that it has more void in itself;
while, on the contrary, what is heavier declares that it has
more body within it, and far less empty space inside.
there exists, then, without doubt, that which our keen reasoning
seeks, mixed in with things, which we call void.
I am forced to anticipate this point here, lest something
which certain people invent should lead you away from the truth.
they say that the waters yield to the scaly creatures pressing forward
and open liquid paths, because the fish leave places
behind them, into which the yielding waves can flow together;
so too other things, they say, can move among themselves
and change place, even though everything is full.
but clearly this whole notion is based on false reasoning.
for where, in the end, will the scaly creatures be able to advance,
unless the waters give them space? and where, further, will the waves
be able to withdraw, when the fish cannot go forward?
therefore either every body must be deprived of motion,
or it must be said that void is mixed in with things,
from which each thing can take the first beginning of its motion.
Finally, if two bodies, carried together in collision,
should spring apart swiftly, surely the air must take possession
of all the void that comes to be between the bodies.
and however swiftly it flows together on all sides with rushing
currents, still it will not be able all at once
to fill the whole space; for it must occupy each place
in turn first, and only then can the whole be possessed.
but if by chance someone, when the bodies have sprung apart,
thinks this happens because the air condenses,
he is wrong; for then a void comes to be that did not exist before,
and likewise a void that existed before is filled again,
nor can air be condensed in that way,
nor, even if it could, could it, I think, without void
draw itself in upon itself and gather its parts into one.
Therefore, however long you delay by raising many objections,
you must still admit that there is void in things.
and I can furthermore, by calling many things to mind,
to heap up proof to secure faith for my words.
yet these are traces small enough for a keen mind;
through them you may recognize the rest yourself.
for as hounds very often find by scent
the leaf-covered lair of the mountain-roaming beast,
once they have fixed on the sure tracks of the trail,
so you yourself, on your own, will be able in matters
such as these to see one thing after another
and work your way into every hidden lair and draw the truth out from there.
but if you grow slack or fall back even a little from the subject,
this much I can promise you plainly, Memmius:
so abundant will be the draughts my tongue will pour
sweet from the rich store of my heart, from great fountains,
that I fear slow old age will creep through our limbs
and loosen the bars of life within us
before the whole abundance of arguments on any single point
has been sent through your ears in verse.
But now, to resume weaving together what I began to say,
the whole of nature, then, as it is in itself, consists
of two things: for there are bodies and there is void,
in which those bodies are placed and through which they move in different directions.
that body exists in itself, the sense common to all
declares; and unless faith in this is first laid down firm,
we will have nothing on which to rely, when speaking of hidden things,
by which to confirm anything to the mind by reasoning.
then further, place and space, which we call void,
if it were nothing, bodies could nowhere
be situated, nor move at all in any direction;
this I showed you a little above already.
besides, there is nothing you could name that is set apart
and separate from every body and from void alike,
as though it were some third nature found in the count.
for whatever will exist must be something in itself,
of some bulk, whether great or small, so long as it exists;
and if it can be touched, however light and slight the touch,
it will add to the count of bodies and follow their sum;
but if it is untouchable, with no part able
to stop any thing passing through it on its own course,
clearly this will be what we call empty void.
Besides, whatever exists on its own will either act in some way
or must itself be acted upon by other agents,
or be such that things can exist and be done within it.
but nothing can act or be acted upon without body,
nor further offer room except what is void and empty.
therefore besides void and bodies no third nature
can be left remaining in the count of things,
neither one that could ever fall under our senses
nor one that anyone could grasp by reasoning of the mind.
For whatever things are named, you will find them either joined
to these two things, or you will see them as their events.
that is joined which can nowhere be separated and parted from a thing
without ruinous severance,
as weight is to stones, heat to fire, wetness to water,
touch to all bodies, untouchability to void.
slavery, on the other hand, poverty and riches,
freedom, war, harmony, and other things like these, at whose
coming and going the nature of a thing remains unharmed,
these we are accustomed, as is fitting, to call events.
time likewise does not exist by itself, but from things themselves
comes the perception of what has passed in time,
then what state is now present, and further what will follow next;
and it must be admitted that no one senses time by itself
apart from the motion of things and their quiet stillness.
finally, when men say that the daughter of Tyndareus was ravished, and the Trojan-born
peoples subdued in war, one must take care
that they not force us to admit that these things exist by themselves,
since those generations of men, whose events these were,
an irrevocable age has already carried off as past;
for one thing can be called an event of the earth, another of the regions
themselves, whatever has been done.
finally, if there had been no matter of things
nor place and space, in which each thing is done,
never would the fire kindled by love for the beauty of Tyndareus' daughter,
smoldering beneath the Phrygian breast of Alexander,
have set ablaze the famous contests of savage war,
nor would the wooden horse have secretly set Pergama aflame
for the Trojans, by its nighttime birth of Greek-born men;
so that you can see clearly through and through that all deeds done
do not stand or exist by themselves as body does,
nor exist by the same reasoning as that by which void exists,
but rather that you may rightly call them events
of body and of place, in which each thing is done.
Bodies, moreover, are partly the first-beginnings of things,
partly what is formed by a combination of those first elements.
but those which are the first-beginnings of things, no force
can extinguish; for they prevail by their solid body in the end.
although it seems difficult to believe that anything
can be found among things with a solid body.
for lightning from the sky passes through the walls of houses
just as shouting and voices do; iron grows white-hot in fire,
and stones burst apart from the fierce heat of the fire;
when the hardness of gold is broken down and melts in the heat,
then the ice of bronze, overcome by flame, liquefies;
heat permeates silver and likewise cold penetrates to the core,
since we have felt both, holding cups properly in hand,
when the dew of water is poured in from above.
so thoroughly does it seem that there is nothing solid in things.
but since true reasoning and the nature of things nevertheless
compel it, attend, while in a few verses I explain
that there are things which consist of a solid and eternal body,
which we teach are the seeds and first-beginnings of things,
from which the whole sum of things is now made up and stands.
To begin with, since a twofold nature, of two things
far different, is found to stand apart,
that of body and of place, in which each thing is done,
each must necessarily be by itself, pure in itself.
for wherever space is empty, which we call void,
body is not there; and wherever, further, body
holds its place, there empty void does not exist at all.
therefore the first bodies are solid and without void.
Besides, since there is void in things that are born,
solid matter must stand around it;
nor can any thing be proved by true reasoning
to hide void within its own body and hold it inside,
unless you grant that what encloses it is solid.
and that, further, can be nothing but a combination
of matter, able to enclose the void within things.
matter, therefore, which consists of solid body,
can be eternal, even while other things are dissolved.
Then further, if there were nothing that could be called void,
everything would be solid; unless, on the other hand, definite bodies
existed to fill whatever places they occupied,
the whole of what exists as space would be empty void.
alternating, then, no doubt, body and void
are distinct, since it is neither full throughout without a break
nor further empty; there are, then, definite bodies
which can mark off empty space from the full.
these cannot be broken apart by blows struck from outside,
nor further be undone once penetrated to the core,
nor can they be made to give way when tried by any other means;
this I showed you a little above already.
for it seems that nothing can be struck together without void,
nor broken, nor split into two by cutting,
nor take in moisture, nor likewise penetrating cold,
nor piercing fire, by which all things are undone.
and the more each thing holds void within itself,
the more, when tried, it gives way deep within.
therefore if the first bodies are solid and without void
as I have taught, they must necessarily be eternal.
Besides, if matter had not been eternal,
before now everything would have utterly returned to nothing,
and whatever we now see would have been reborn from nothing.
but since I have taught above that nothing can be created
from nothing, nor can what has been born be called back to nothing,
the first-beginnings must be of undying body,
into which each thing can be dissolved at its final moment,
so that matter may be available for renewing things.
therefore the first-beginnings are solid in their simplicity,
nor can they, kept through the ages by any other means,
from infinite time now still renew things.
finally, if nature had set no limit
to the breaking of things, already the bodies of matter
would have been reduced by the breaking of past ages,
so that nothing formed from them from a fixed time
could reach the utmost limit of its age.
for we see that anything can be dissolved more quickly
than it can be remade; and so whatever the long
infinite age of past time before now
had broken, still disturbing and dissolving,
could never be restored in the time remaining.
but as it is, no doubt, a fixed limit
to breaking clearly remains, since we see each thing restored
and likewise fixed periods of time set for things by kind,
within which they can reach the flower of their age.
To this it may be added that, though the bodies of matter
are most solid, all things can still be accounted for
that turn soft, air, water, earth, vapors,
how they come to be and by what force each is carried on,
since void is once mixed in among things.
but on the other hand, if the first-beginnings of things were soft,
from which strong flints and iron could be created,
no account could be given; for from the very start
every nature would lack the foundation to build on.
therefore the first-beginnings are strong in their simplicity,
and by a denser combination of them all things
can be packed tight and show forth strong powers.
further, if no limit to the breaking of bodies
had been granted, yet from eternal time each of the bodies
must still now survive among things,
which have not yet been tried by any peril.
but since they are endowed with a breakable nature,
it is inconsistent that they could have remained through eternal time
battered by countless blows through the ages.
Finally, since now a limit assigned by kind
stands fixed for things' growing and holding life,
and since what each thing can do under the laws of nature,
and what it cannot, is ordained, seeing that it stands so,
and nothing changes, but all things remain
so constant that all the varied birds in order
show the marks proper to their kind upon their bodies,
they must, no doubt, also have a body of unchangeable
matter; for if the first-beginnings of things
could be changed, overcome by some means,
it would then also be uncertain what could arise
and what could not, and by what fixed power, finally, for each thing,
and by what law a boundary clings deep within,
nor could the generations so often, kind by kind, reproduce
the nature, habits, way of life, and movements of their parents.
Then further, since there is an outermost point
of that body, which our senses
now they cannot, since this in fact stands without parts,
and consists of a minimal nature, and never
has been separate by itself, nor will it be able to be so hereafter,
since it is itself the first and single part of another,
and then other and further similar parts in sequence
fill out the nature of the body in a packed array;
and since these cannot stand by themselves, it must be
that they cling where they can never by any means be torn away.
The first-beginnings, therefore, are solid in their simplicity,
packed tightly together and cohering by their smallest parts.
They are not compounded by a gathering-together of those parts,
but rather strong through an everlasting simplicity,
from which nature, keeping the seeds of things in reserve,
allows nothing now to be torn away or diminished.
Moreover, unless there is a smallest limit, the tiniest
bodies of all will consist of infinite parts,
since indeed the half of a half will always have
a further half, and no thing will set a limit to it.
Then what difference will there be between the sum of things and the smallest thing?
There will be none; for although the whole sum
be utterly infinite, still, the very smallest things
will equally consist of infinite parts.
Since true reasoning cries out against this and denies
that the mind can believe it, you must, defeated, confess
that there are things which now exist endowed with no parts at all
and consist of a minimal nature; and since these exist,
you must confess that they too are solid and everlasting.
Finally, if creating nature were accustomed to force
the resolution of all things into their smallest parts,
then she would no longer be able to remake anything out of them,
because things which are increased by no parts at all
cannot have what generative matter ought to have —
the varied linkings, weights, blows,
collisions, motions, through which each thing is brought about.
For this reason those who have thought the matter of things
is fire, and that the sum of things stands from fire alone,
seem to have slipped far from true reasoning.
Heraclitus leads them, first chief of that battle,
famed more for his obscure speech among the shallow
than among the weighty Greeks who seek the truth;
for fools admire and love above all
those things they see lurking hidden under inverted words,
and they hold as true whatever can pleasingly touch
the ears, and whatever is dressed up with a charming sound.
For I ask, why could things be so varied,
if they are all created from fire alone, pure fire?
It would do no good for that fire to be made denser when hot,
nor rarer, if the parts of fire had the same
nature that the whole fire has besides.
For the heat would be sharper when the parts are drawn together,
and fainter again when scattered and dispersed.
Beyond this, there is nothing more you could suppose possible
from such causes — let alone that so great a variety
of things could come from fires dense and rare.
This too: if they make void mixed in with things,
then fires will be able to be condensed, and to be left rare;
but since they see many things contrary to themselves in this,
and shrink from leaving pure void among things,
fearing the steep path, they lose the true way,
nor do they see, on the other hand, that if void is removed from things,
everything is condensed and becomes, out of all things, one
body, which can send nothing swiftly from itself,
as the heat-bearing fire casts out light and warmth,
so that you may see it does not consist of tightly packed parts.
But if perhaps they believe that on some other reasoning
fire can be quenched in its coming-together and change its body,
clearly, if they hold back from doing this in no part at all,
the whole heat will surely perish utterly to nothing,
and whatever things are created will come to be from nothing;
for whatever changes and departs from its own boundaries —
this is at once the death of that which it was before.
Accordingly something must remain unharmed in those things,
lest for you all things return utterly to nothing
and the abundance of things, reborn from nothing, grow strong again.
Now therefore, since there are certain bodies wholly fixed,
which always keep the same nature,
by whose departure or arrival, and by a changed order,
things change their nature and bodies turn themselves about,
one may know that these are not fiery bodies of things.
For it would make no difference for certain ones to depart, to leave,
and other ones to be added and things changed in order,
if nonetheless all of them kept the nature of heat;
for whatever they created would be fire in every way.
But, as I think, it is this way: there are certain bodies, whose
collision, motion, order, position, and shapes
produce fire, and by a changed order they change
their nature, and are not made in the likeness of fire, nor of any
other thing besides which could send bodies
to our senses and touch our sense of touch by contact.
Moreover, to say that fire is all things, and that no
thing is real in the number of things except fire,
as this same man does, seems utterly mad.
For he himself fights against the senses on behalf of the senses,
and undermines them, from which all beliefs hang,
from which this very fire he names is itself known;
for he believes the senses truly recognize fire,
but does not believe them about other things, which are no less clear.
This seems to me both empty and mad;
for to what shall we refer? what can be more certain for us
than the senses themselves, by which we mark the true and the false?
Besides, why should anyone rather do away with everything
and wish to leave only the nature of heat,
than deny that fire exists, yet allow that something else does?
For it seems equal madness to say either.
For this reason those who have thought the matter of things
is fire, and that the sum of things could stand from fire,
and those who have set up air as the origin
for the begetting of things, or whoever have thought
that moisture by itself shapes things, or that earth creates
all things, and that they turn into every nature of things,
seem to have strayed very far from the truth.
Add also those who double up the first-beginnings of things,
joining air to fire and earth to liquid,
and those who think all things can grow
from four things — from fire, earth, air, and rain.
Among these Empedocles of Acragas stands foremost,
whom that three-cornered island of lands bore,
around which the Ionian sea, flowing with great windings,
sprinkles its brine from grey-green waves,
and with a narrow channel the rushing sea divides with its waves
the shores of the Aeolian lands from Sicily's own borders.
Here is the vast Charybdis, and here Etna's rumblings
threaten that its fiery wrath gathers itself again,
so that the force of fire may again vomit forth what erupts from its throat,
and again carry the flashes of flame to the sky.
And though this great region seems in many ways
a wonder to human nations, and is said to be worth seeing,
rich in good things, fortified by great strength of men,
yet it seems to have held nothing in itself more glorious than this man,
nor does anything seem more sacred, more wondrous, and more dear.
Indeed the songs of his divine breast
proclaim aloud and set forth his splendid discoveries,
so that he scarcely seems to have been born of human stock.
Yet he, and the others we have mentioned above, who are
inferior to him, and much and greatly lesser in many respects,
although discovering many things well and as if by divine inspiration,
and giving them forth, as it were, as oracles from the shrine of the heart,
more sacredly and with far surer reasoning than
the Pythia who speaks forth from Phoebus's tripod and laurel,
yet at the first-beginnings of things they brought about their own ruin,
and there, great men, fell heavily in a great fall.
First, because they establish motion while removing void from things,
and yet leave things soft and rarefied —
air, sun, fire, earth, living creatures, crops —
and still do not mix void into their body;
then, because they will make there be no limit at all to the cutting
of bodies, nor any pause standing to the breaking,
nor that any smallest thing at all stands firm among things,
though we see that the outermost point of each thing
is what seems to be the smallest as far as our senses go,
so that you can infer from this that, for things whose outermost point
you cannot perceive, a smallest part of things stands firm.
To this is added also, since they establish the first-beginnings
of things as soft, which we see to be born
and to have a mortal body, it follows utterly that the whole
sum of things must return to nothing again,
and the abundance of things, reborn from nothing, grow strong again;
and you will see how far each of these is from the truth.
Then, they are in many ways hostile and poisonous
to one another among themselves; wherefore either, meeting together, they will perish,
or they will scatter apart, just as we see lightning-bolts
scatter apart when a storm has gathered them, and rains and winds too.
Finally, if all things are created from four things,
and all things are in turn dissolved back into those,
how can those be called the first-beginnings of things
any more than things be thought their reverse and opposite?
For they are begotten in turn and change their color
and their whole nature between themselves for all time.
[we see lightning-bolts scatter apart, and rains and winds too.]
But if perhaps you think that the body of fire and earth
come together with airy breezes and the dew of water,
so that in their combination nothing changes the nature of them,
then no thing at all will be able to be created from them,
neither living, nor lifeless in body, such as a tree;
for each thing, in the mixture of the varied heap, will show
its own nature, and air will be seen mixed
together with earth, and remaining with a certain dew.
But the first-beginnings must, in the begetting of things,
bring to bear a hidden and unseen nature,
lest something stand out that fights against and obstructs
whatever is created from being properly what it is.
Indeed they trace things back to the sky and its fires,
and make fire the first to turn itself into the breezes
of air, and from this rain is born, and earth is created
from the rain, and all things turn back again from earth,
first moisture, then air, then heat,
and these never cease to change among themselves, to pass
from sky to earth, from earth to the stars of the universe.
This is something the first-beginnings ought not to do in any way.
For something unchangeable must remain,
lest all things be reduced utterly to nothing;
for whatever changes and departs from its own boundaries —
this is at once the death of that which it was before.
Wherefore, since the things we mentioned a little before
come into mutual change, they must consist
of other things, which can nowhere be turned into something else,
lest for you all things return utterly to nothing.
Rather you should establish that certain bodies are endowed
with such a nature that, if by chance they created fire,
the same bodies, with a few taken away and a few added,
with order and motion changed, could make the breezes of air,
so that all things could equally be changed one into another?
"But a plain fact shows clearly," you say, "that into the breezes
of air from earth all things grow and increase;
and unless the weather grants, at the right season,
rains enough that the trees stagger under the downpour of clouds,
and the sun for its part warms and gives its heat,
crops and trees and living things could not grow."
Of course — and unless dry food and moist drink
sustain us, once the body is lost, all life too
would be released from every sinew and bone;
for beyond doubt we are helped and nourished
by definite things, and other things by other definite things,
no doubt because many first-beginnings, common to many things
in many ways, lie mixed within things,
and so different things are nourished by different things.
And it often matters greatly with what other
first-beginnings, the same ones, and in what arrangement they are held,
and what motions they give and receive among themselves;
for the same ones make up sky, sea, lands, rivers, sun,
the same make crops, trees, living things,
but mixed with other things and in another way, they move.
Indeed everywhere, in these very verses of mine,
you see many elements common to many words,
though you must admit that verses and words among themselves
differ both in sense and in the sound they make.
So much can the letters do by a mere change of order;
but the first-beginnings of things can bring more resources to bear,
from which the various things can each be created.
Now let us also examine the homoeomeria of Anaxagoras,
as the Greeks call it, which our own tongue
does not allow us to say, for our native speech is too poor,
yet the thing itself is easy to set out in words.
To begin with, when he speaks of the homoeomeria of things,
he means that bones are born from tiny, minute
bones, and that from tiny, minute
innards, flesh is generated and blood is created
from many drops of blood coming together among themselves,
and he thinks gold can be composed of grains of gold,
and that earth grows together out of small bits of earth,
fires out of fires, moisture out of moisture,
and he imagines and supposes the rest by a similar reasoning.
And yet he does not admit that there is any void anywhere
in things, nor any limit to the cutting of bodies.
So on both counts alike it seems to me
he errs, just as those did whom we mentioned before.
Add to this that he makes his first-beginnings too feeble;
if they are first-beginnings endowed with a nature
like that of the things themselves, and suffer equally
and perish, and nothing holds any of them back from destruction —
for what among them will endure under crushing force,
so as to escape death, right under the very teeth of destruction?
Fire, or moisture, or air? Which of these? Blood, or bone?
None, I think, since equally, in the end, everything
will be as mortal as what we plainly see
perish, overcome by some force, before our own eyes.
But I call to witness things already proven, that matter cannot
fall back into nothing, nor grow from nothing.
Furthermore, since food increases and nourishes the body,
we may know that our veins and blood and bones
* * *
if they say that all foods are of a mixed body
and have within them small bodies of sinew
and of bone, and altogether of veins and portions of blood,
it will follow that all food, both dry and liquid itself,
will be thought to be composed of things foreign to it —
bone and sinew and gore and blood all mingled together.
Furthermore, whatever bodies grow out of the earth,
if they are already in the earth, then earth must be composed
of things foreign to it, which arise out of the earth.
Carry the same reasoning over — you may use the very same words:
if flame and smoke and ash lie hidden in logs,
the logs must be composed of things foreign to them —
[furthermore whatever bodies the earth nourishes and increases]
of things foreign to it, which arise out of the wood.
Here there remains some slight room for hiding,
which Anaxagoras takes for himself, supposing that all things
lie mixed and hidden within all things, but that only that one
appears of which there is the greatest mixture present
and which is more to the fore, set in the very front.
Yet this is driven far from true reasoning;
for it would then be fitting that grain too, often, when it is crushed
by the threatening force of stone, should give off some sign
of blood, or of something of what is nourished within our body.
When we grind stone against stone, blood ought
by the same reasoning often to flow from grasses too,
and waters ought to give off sweet drops of a flavor
like that of the milk in a woolly ewe's udder;
and likewise, when clods of earth are crumbled,
the kinds of grasses and grains and leaves ought often to be seen
lying hidden, minutely scattered throughout the earth,
and finally ash and smoke ought to be seen in logs
when they are broken, and tiny fires ought to lie hidden.
But since plain fact teaches that none of this happens,
we may know that things are not so mixed within things,
but rather that seeds common to many things,
mixed in many ways, must lie hidden within things.
"But often," you say, "it happens on great mountains that the neighboring
topmost crowns of tall trees are rubbed together,
forced by strong south winds against one another,
until the bright bloom of flame breaks out."
Of course — and yet fire is not implanted in the wood;
rather there are many seeds of heat, and by the rubbing,
when these have flowed together, they create fires in the forest.
But if a flame lay ready-made, hidden away in the woods,
the fires could not be concealed for any length of time;
they would consume the forests everywhere, would burn up the trees.
Do you see now, then, what we said a little before,
that it matters enormously with what other
first-beginnings, the same ones, and in what arrangement they are held,
and what motions they give and receive among themselves,
and that the same ones, slightly rearranged among themselves, create
fires and wood? In the same way that words themselves
are, among themselves, made by a slight rearrangement of their elements,
when we mark "wood" and "fires" by distinct sounds.
Finally, whatever things you observe happening openly,
if you think it cannot happen unless you endow
the bodies of matter with a like nature,
by this reasoning the first-beginnings of things perish on you:
it will follow that they shake with quivering laughter and cackle,
and moisten their faces and cheeks with salty tears.
Now come, learn what remains, and hear it more clearly.
Nor does it escape my mind how obscure these things are; but a great
hope of praise has struck my heart with its sharp thyrsus,
and at the same time has struck into my breast a sweet love
of the Muses, by which I now, inspired with a lively mind,
range through the trackless places of the Pierides, trodden
by no one's foot before. It delights me to approach untouched springs
and to drink from them, and it delights me to pluck new flowers
and to seek from them a distinguished crown for my head,
from a place where the Muses have veiled no one's temples before;
first, because I teach of great matters, and press on
to loose the mind from the tight knots of superstition,
next, because on so dark a subject I compose verses so clear,
touching everything with the charm of the Muses.
For this too seems to be done not without some reason;
but just as, when physicians try to give children
foul wormwood, they first touch the rim of the cup all around
with the sweet golden liquid of honey,
so that the unwary age of children may be beguiled
as far as the lips, and meanwhile drink down the bitter
draught of wormwood, and, though deceived, not be harmed,
but rather, by such means restored, may grow strong,
so I now, since this doctrine generally seems
too harsh to those who have not handled it, and the common crowd
shrinks back from it, have wished to set out our reasoning
to you in sweetly speaking song of the Muses
and, as it were, to touch it with the sweet honey of the Muses,
in case I might in this way hold your mind
by my verses, while you look closely at the whole
nature of things, in what form it is compounded.
But since I have taught that the most solid bodies
of matter fly about, unconquered, through all time,
come now, let us unfold whether there is some limit
to their sum or not; likewise, that void which we have found,
or place and space, in which each thing is carried on,
let us look closely at whether it is altogether bounded and finite,
or whether it lies open immense and vastly deep.
All that exists, then, in no direction of its extent
is bounded; for it would have to have an outer edge.
Now an outer edge of anything seems impossible
to have, unless there is something beyond to bound it, so that
a point appears beyond which this nature of sense cannot follow.
Now, since it must be admitted that there is nothing outside the sum of things,
it has no outer edge, and therefore lacks bound and limit.
Nor does it matter in which region of it you take your stand;
so much is this so, that whatever place anyone occupies,
the infinite whole leaves an equal amount stretching in every direction.
Furthermore, if the whole of space that exists
were now supposed to be bounded, and someone ran to its
outermost edges and hurled a flying spear,
do you prefer that, hurled with strong force, it should go
wherever it was sent and fly far,
or do you think something can block it and stand in its way?
For you must admit one or the other and adopt it.
But whichever of the two you choose closes off your escape
and forces you to grant that the whole extends without limit.
For whether there is something that checks it and brings it about
that it does not arrive where it was sent and settle at a bound,
or whether it is carried on beyond, it did not set out from a boundary.
In this way I will pursue you, and wherever you set
the outermost edges, I will ask: what will finally happen to the spear?
It will follow that nowhere can a limit stand,
and the possibility of escape will always extend the flight further.
Furthermore, if the whole space of the entire sum
were enclosed on every side within fixed bounds
and were finite, then by now the store of matter,
by its solid weights, would have flowed together everywhere to the bottom,
and nothing could be carried on beneath the roof of the sky,
nor would there be any sky at all, nor the light of the sun,
since all matter, settling down, would lie piled up
from time everlasting now already.
But as it is, no doubt, no rest is given
to the bodies of the first-beginnings, because there is no bottom at all,
where, as it were, they might flow together and where they might settle.
Everything is always carried on in ceaseless motion
in all its parts, and from below there are supplied
swift bodies of matter out of the infinite.
Finally, one thing seems, before our eyes, to bound another;
air separates hills, and mountains separate the air,
land and sea, and sea in turn, bound every land;
but truly there is nothing that bounds the all outside.
there exists, then, a nature of place and a space of depth,
through which not even the bright lightning bolts, in their course,
could run, gliding on through the unbroken stretch of time,
nor bring it about that less remains for them still to travel;
so vast, everywhere, lies open this huge abundance for things,
with all bounds removed, in every direction on all sides.
further, nature holds fast that the sum of things
cannot set a limit for itself, since it compels body
to be bounded by void, and void in turn to be bounded by body,
so that by this alternation it renders all things infinite,
or else, unless one of the two should set a limit on the other,
each by its own single nature nonetheless lies open unmeasured,
and neither sea nor earth nor the shining halls of heaven
nor the race of mortals nor the holy bodies of gods
could stand firm for the briefest span of an hour;
for, torn apart from its gathering, the supply of matter
would be carried off, dissolved through the great void,
or rather, still more, it would never have compacted and created
any single thing, since scattered it could not have been forced together.
for certainly the first-beginnings of things did not by design,
each with a shrewd mind, arrange themselves in their proper order,
nor indeed did they agree beforehand what motions each would produce,
but because many of them, changed in many ways throughout the all,
driven on by blows, are tossed about from infinity,
trying out every kind of motion and combination,
at last they arrive at just such arrangements
as those by which this sum of things, once created, stands assembled,
and preserved too, through many years, and great ones,
once it has been cast into motions that suit one another,
it brings it about that the greedy sea is replenished
by the generous waters of rivers, and that the earth, warmed
by the sun's heat, renews its offspring, and that the race of living creatures,
brought forth, flourishes, and that the gliding fires of the upper air live on.
which they could accomplish by no means, unless a supply of matter
could rise up again out of the infinite,
from which each thing is accustomed to repair, in due time, what it has lost.
for just as the nature of living creatures, deprived of food,
wastes away, losing its substance, so all things must
be dissolved as soon as matter fails to be supplied,
turned aside by some circumstance from its course.
nor can blows from outside, on every side, preserve
the whole sum of any thing that has been assembled;
they can indeed strike it often and hold a part of it back,
until others arrive and the sum can be made whole again;
but sometimes they are forced to rebound, and at the same time
to grant to the first-beginnings of things space and time for flight,
so that they can be carried off free from the gathering.
wherefore it is necessary that many things rise up again, again and again,
and yet, so that the blows themselves too can be kept in supply,
an infinite force of matter is needed, on every side.
In this matter, flee far from believing this, Memmius,
what they say, that all things strive toward the middle of the sum,
and that for this reason the nature of the world stands firm without any
blows from outside, and can nowhere be dissolved,
top and bottom, because all things are pressed toward the middle,
if you believe that anything can rest upon itself,
and that all the weights that are beneath the earth press
upward, and rest reversed, set upon the earth,
just as we now see reflections of things through water;
and by similar reasoning they maintain that living creatures wander
upside down, and that they cannot fall back from the earth
into the regions of the sky below any more than our bodies
can fly of their own accord into the halls of heaven;
that when they see the sun, we behold the stars of night,
and that they share with us, in alternation, the seasons of heaven,
and pass nights equal in length to our days.
but empty error offers this to fools * * *
who have embraced it, holding as they do a perverse * * *
for there can be no middle at all * * *
the all is infinite; nor at all, even if there were now a middle,
could anything come to rest there * * *
any more than, by any other reasoning whatsoever, far removed * * *
for every place and space, which we call void,
through the middle, through what is not the middle, must yield
equally to weights, wherever their motions carry them.
nor is there any place at all where bodies, once they have arrived,
can, their weight's force lost, come to stand still in the void;
nor ought that which is void to hold anything back,
from continuing to yield to what its own nature seeks.
therefore, by such reasoning, things cannot be held fast,
gathered into a union at the middle, overcome by its craving.
besides, since they do not claim that all bodies
strive toward the middle, but only the moisture of earth
and of the sea's water, and the great waves from the mountains,
and whatever is contained, as it were, in an earthy body,
while on the other hand they set forth that the thin breezes of air
and the hot fires at the same time are carried away from the middle,
and that for this reason the whole surrounding ether trembles with its stars,
and the sun's flame is fed throughout the blue depths of heaven,
because heat, fleeing from the middle, gathers itself entirely there,
and that the topmost branches of trees could not put forth leaves at all,
unless nourishment were supplied to each of them, little by little, from the earth
* * *
lest the ramparts of the world, in the swift manner of flames,
should suddenly scatter, dissolved through the great void,
and lest all the rest should follow by a like reasoning,
and lest the thundering halls of heaven should crash down from above,
and the earth swiftly withdraw itself from beneath our feet, and, amid
the ruins of things and of heaven mingled together,
should slip away, its body dissolving, through the deep void,
so that in a moment of time nothing at all would remain behind,
save an empty space and the invisible first-beginnings.
for from whatever quarter you determine first that bodies are lacking,
this quarter will be, for things, the gateway of death,
through it the whole crowd of matter will pour itself outward.
These things, thus, once led on a little by this small labor, you will come to know thoroughly;
for one thing will grow clear from another, and blind night
will not steal the road from you, before you have seen through
to the furthest things of nature: so will things kindle lights for other things.