Philo of Alexandria · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
In the previous book we discussed general farming, as far as the occasion allowed; in this one we will treat, as best we can, the specific art of viticulture. For Scripture presents the just man not merely as a farmer but specifically as a vine-dresser, saying: "Noah began to be a man, a farmer of the earth, and he planted a vineyard" (Genesis 9:20).
It is fitting that anyone who intends to go through the particular kinds of planting and farming should first understand the most perfect plants of the universe and the great planter and overseer of them. Now the greatest of planters, and the most perfect in his art, is the Ruler of all things, and the plant that contains within itself all the particular plants, sprouting together in countless number like shoots from a single root, is this world.
For when the Craftsman of the cosmos began to shape the substance that was in itself disordered and confused, bringing it from disorder into order and from confusion into distinction, he rooted earth and water at the center, while he drew up the trees of air and fire toward the region raised above the center, and he fortified the ethereal region in a circle around it, setting it as both boundary and guard of the things within—from which it also seems to have been named heaven. And <he made> the dry earth ride upon water, though it was in danger of being dissolved by water, and cold air by nature to be borne upon fire—a strange marvel the Wonder-worker accomplished.
For is it not a prodigy that the dissolving element should be held together by the very element it can dissolve—water beneath earth—and that the hottest, unquenchable fire should be set upon the coldest, air upon fire? These, then, were the perfect shoots of the universe, while this cosmos is the vast and most fruit-bearing sprout, of which the growths just mentioned are the offshoots.
Where, then, has it sent down its roots, and what is its base, on which it stands fixed like a statue? This we must consider. It is likely that no body was left wandering outside, since God worked and set in order the whole of matter through and through;
for it befitted the greatest of works to be fashioned as the most perfect by the greatest Craftsman, and it would not have been most perfect unless it were completed with perfect parts. And so this cosmos was composed of all earth and all water and air and fire, with nothing left outside, not even the smallest part.
It is therefore necessary that outside it there be either void or nothing. Now if it is void, how does the full and solid, the heaviest of existing things, not sink, hanging in the balance with nothing solid to support it? From this it might seem like a mere phantom, since the mind always seeks a bodily base for anything, expecting it to have one—and especially for the cosmos, since it is the greatest of bodies and has embraced within its bosom a multitude of other bodies as its own parts. If, then, one wished to escape the perplexities in these difficulties,
let him say boldly that nothing among material things is so mighty as to be strong enough to carry the weight of the cosmos, but that the eternal Word of the eternal God is the most secure and steadfast support of the universe.
This Word, stretched from the middle to the outer limits and from the extremities to the middle, runs the unconquerable course of nature, drawing together and binding tight all its parts; for the Father who begot it made it an unbreakable bond of the whole.
It is fitting, then, that the whole earth is not dissolved by all the water that its hollows have received, nor is fire quenched by air, nor conversely is air kindled into flame by fire, because the divine Word stations himself as a boundary between them, like a vowel among voiceless letters, so that the whole may resound together as in articulate speech, mediating and adjudicating the threats of the opposing elements by his persuasive power of union.
In this way, then, the most fruit-bearing plant was rooted, and once rooted, held fast; and of the particular and lesser plants, some were made to move from place to place, while others, without such movement, were made to stand fixed, as it were, in the same location.
Those, then, that make use of locomotion—which we call living creatures—were assigned to the more general divisions of the universe: land creatures to earth, swimming creatures to water, winged creatures to air, and fire-born creatures to fire (whose more conspicuous origin, tradition says, is manifest in Macedonia), and the stars to heaven—for those who have philosophized say that these too are living creatures, intelligent through and through—of which the planets seem to change their places by their own motion, while the fixed stars are carried around together with the revolution of the whole.
Those, however, that are governed by an unperceiving nature—which are specifically called plants—have no share in locomotion. Two kinds the Maker made, one in earth and one in air.
To air he assigned the winged creatures, both those perceptible to sense and other powers not apprehended by sense in any way at all—for the company of souls is bodiless, and they are arranged not all in the same ranks. Some, tradition says, are inserted into mortal bodies and, after certain fixed periods, depart again; but others, having obtained a more divine constitution, have no regard at all for any region of earth, and the purest of them are stationed highest, next to the very ether itself—these those who have philosophized among the Greeks call heroes, but Moses, using a well-aimed name, calls angels, since they serve as envoys and proclaim both the good things from the Ruler to his subjects and whatever the subjects need to the King whose subjects they are. To earth, in turn, he assigned land creatures and plants, two kinds again, wishing it to be both mother and nurse of them;
for just as for a woman, and for every female, springs of milk pour forth as she is about to give birth, so that she may water her offspring with the nourishment they need and that suits them, in the same way God assigned to earth, mother of land creatures, every kind of plant, so that her offspring might use nourishment akin to them and not foreign.
Moreover, he made the plants head-downward, fixing their heads in the deepest parts of the earth, but for the irrational animals he drew their heads up away from the earth and fitted them at the top of an elongated neck, as he had set their forelegs as a kind of platform beneath that neck.
But man was allotted an exceptional constitution: for he bent the others' faces down, which is why they incline toward the ground, but man's, on the contrary, he set upright, so that he might gaze upon heaven, being a plant not of earth but of heaven, as the ancient saying goes.
But others, calling our mind a portion of the ethereal nature, have made kinship between man and the ether. The great Moses, however, likened the form of the rational soul to nothing among created things, but said it was a genuine coin, stamped and impressed with the seal of God, whose imprint is the eternal Word, of that divine and invisible spirit: "he breathed in,"
for it says, "God breathed into his face the breath of life" (Genesis 2:7), so that it is necessary that the recipient be modeled after him who sent it forth; for this reason it is also said that man was made according to the image of God (Genesis 1:27), and not indeed according to the image of any created thing.
It followed, then, that since man's soul had been modeled after the archetypal Word of the Cause, the body too should be raised up and its gaze turned toward the purest portion of the universe, heaven, so that through what is visible the invisible might be clearly apprehended.
Since, then, it was impossible to see the mind's attraction toward Being except in those drawn to it by God himself—for what each person experiences, he alone knows in particular—God makes the parts of the body a clear image of the unseen eye, capable of inclining toward the ether.
For if eyes formed of perishable matter have advanced so far as to run up from this region of earth to heaven, so distant, and to touch its very limits, how great must we suppose the course of the soul's eyes to be in every direction? These, winged by their intense longing to behold Being in its full radiance, stretch not only to the outermost ether but, passing beyond it,
and beyond the very boundaries of the whole cosmos, press on toward the Uncreated. For this reason those in the oracles who continue insatiable for wisdom and knowledge are said to have been called up; for it is right that those inspired by the Divine should be called upward toward it.
For it would be strange indeed if, while whole trees are torn up by their roots and swept into the air by whirlwinds and hurricanes, and ships laden with countless cargo, heavy with freight, are snatched up from the midst of the seas as though the lightest of things, and lakes and rivers are borne aloft, the streams having abandoned the earth's hollows, drawn up by the mightiest and most tangled eddies of the winds—while, on the other hand, the mind, which by nature is light and is lifted by the divine spirit, all-powerful and victorious over the things below, should not be raised and carried up to the greatest height, and above all the mind of one who philosophizes genuinely.
For such a mind does not sink downward, hanging in the balance toward the things dear to body and earth, from which it has always labored to separate and estrange itself, but is borne upward, insatiably in love with the sublime, most sacred, and blessed natures.
For this reason Moses, the steward and guardian of the mysteries of the Existent One, will be "called up"; for it is said in the book of Leviticus, "He called Moses up" (Lev. 1:1). And Bezalel too, who was judged worthy of second place, will be "called up"; for God calls him too, for the construction and oversight of the sacred works (Exod. 31:2ff.).
But Bezalel will carry off the second prize of this calling, while Moses the all-wise will carry off the first; for the one shapes shadows, as painters do, who are not permitted to fashion anything ensouled - Bezalel's name is interpreted as "working in shadows" - whereas Moses was allotted the task of impressing not shadows but the archetypal natures of things themselves. And besides, the Cause is accustomed to display what belongs to it more clearly and more distinctly to some, as it were in pure sunlight, and more dimly to others, as it were in shadow.
Having then gone through the more general plants in the cosmos, let us see in what manner the all-wise God fashioned the trees that are in the human being, the small cosmos. To begin with, then, taking our body as a deep-soiled plot of land, he made for it the senses to serve as reservoirs.
And then, as a cultivated and most beneficial plant, he set each one of them in place: hearing in the ear, sight in the eyes, smell in the nostrils, and the others in their own kindred regions. And the divinely inspired man bears witness to my account, saying in the hymns: "He who plants the ear, does he not hear? He who forms the eyes, will he not look upon?" (Psalm 93:9 [94:9]).
And likewise all the faculties that extend through to the legs and hands and the other parts of the body, both those within and those without, all happen to be noble offshoots.
But the better and more perfect faculties he rooted in the middle part, the ruling faculty, which is capable, above all, of bearing fruit; these are understanding, apprehension, sound judgment, study, memories, dispositions, changes of state, the manifold forms of the arts, the firmness of the sciences, and the unforgettable grasp of the contemplation of every virtue. None of these is any mortal capable of cultivating; but the one uncreated craftsman is sufficient for all of them together, having not only made them once but continually making these plants anew in each of those who are born.
Consistent with what has been said is also the planting of paradise; for it is said: "God planted a paradise in Eden, toward the east, and placed there the man he had formed" (Gen. 2:8). To suppose, then, that vines and olive trees or apple trees or pomegranates or the like are meant... is a piece of great and incurable foolishness.
For to what end, one might ask, would this be? So that he might have pleasant places to dwell in? But the whole cosmos would rightly be considered a most sufficient dwelling for God, the ruler of all; or would it not seem inferior to countless other things, so as to be judged worthy to receive the great King? Not to mention that it would not even seem reverent to suppose that the Cause is contained within its effect, any more than that the trees bear their yearly fruits for him.
For whose enjoyment and use, then, will the paradise bear fruit? Not for any human being's; for no one at all is represented as dwelling in the paradise, since even the first man formed from earth, whose name was Adam, is said to have migrated from there.
And indeed God, like all else, has no need of food; for whoever partakes of food must first be in need of it, and then must have organs prepared, by which he will both receive what enters and expel what has been chewed and sent out again. These things are out of tune with the blessedness and happiness that surround the Cause - they belong to those who represent it as having human form, and even human passions, for the destruction of piety and holiness -
these are the most lawless discoveries of great vices. One must therefore proceed to the allegory dear to men of vision; for indeed the oracles themselves present most clearly the starting points toward it; for they say that in the paradise there are plants resembling nothing among us, but rather of life, immortality, knowledge, apprehension, understanding, and the perception of good and evil.
These could not be plants of barren ground, but must necessarily be plants of the rational soul, whose path toward virtue holds life and immortality, and whose path toward vice holds flight from these and death. One must therefore suppose that the God who loves to give plants within the soul, as it were a paradise of virtues and of the actions in accordance with them, leading it toward complete happiness.
For this reason he also assigned to the paradise the most fitting place, called Eden - which is interpreted as "delight" - a symbol of the soul that sees perfectly, that dances in the virtues and leaps up from the abundance and greatness of its joy, setting before itself one single enjoyment in place of the countless pleasures most delightful among human beings: the service of the only wise one.
One who had drunk deep of this unmixed radiance, a companion of Moses, one who was not among the neglected, cried out in his hymns to his own mind, saying, "Delight yourself in the Lord" (Psalm 36:4 [37:4]), stirred to heavenly and divine love by that utterance, having grown displeased with the endless luxuries and indulgences found among the so-called visible human goods, and having been carried off, his whole mind, by divine possession, in a frenzy and rejoicing in God alone.
And indeed the fact that the paradise is toward the east (Gen. 2:8) is a proof of what has been said; for folly is dark and setting and night-bringing, while wisdom is most radiant and most luminous and truly rising. And just as the rising sun fills the whole circle of the sky with light, in the same way the rays of virtue, once they have shone forth, render the whole region of the understanding full of pure radiance.
Now the possessions of a human being have the fiercest wild beasts as guards and watchers, for defense against those who attack and assail them; but the possessions of God have rational natures - for it says, "he placed there the man whom he had formed," which applies only to the virtues that are rational.
The exercises and uses of these, then, received this as an especial prize from God beyond other souls; wherefore it is said most significantly that he placed the man within us who is turned toward divine truth - that is, the mind - among the most sacred shoots and plants of nobility and goodness, since nothing that has no share in understanding is capable of cultivating the virtues, of which it is by nature incapable of grasping anything at all.
One need not be at a loss, then, as to why all the forms of the wild beasts were brought into the ark, which came to be built for the greatest flood, but none into the paradise; for the ark was a symbol of the body, which of necessity has made room for the untamed and savage plagues of the passions and vices, while the paradise is a symbol of the virtues; and the virtues admit nothing wild or altogether irrational.
And it is with careful precision that he says it was not the man fashioned according to the image, but the one molded from clay, who was brought into the paradise; for the man engraved with the breath after the image of God differs in nothing, as it seems to me, from the tree that bears immortal life as its fruit - for both are incorruptible and have been judged worthy of the most central and most ruling portion; for it is said that the tree of life is in the middle of the paradise (Gen. 2:9) - whereas the man of the composite and more earthy body has no share in the unmolded and simple nature, whose house the one who practices virtue alone knows how to dwell in, the house and courts of the Lord - for Jacob is represented as "an unmolded man, dwelling in a house" (Gen. 25:27) - but instead has dealings with a manifold disposition, compounded and molded out of every sort of thing.
It was fitting, then, that the middle mind, rooted in the paradise, that is, in the whole cosmos, using its faculties as forces drawing it toward opposite directions, should be called up to the discernment of these, so that, setting out toward choice or avoidance, if it should welcome the better things, it might gain the benefit of immortality and good repute, but if instead the worse things, it would find blameworthy death.
Such, then, are the trees that the only wise one rooted in rational souls. But Moses, taking pity on those who have become exiles from the paradise of the virtues, prays that the self-sufficient power of God himself, and his gracious and gentle faculties, from which the earthly mind, Adam, has been banished, might there implant the men of vision; for he says:
"Bring them in and plant them in the mountain of your inheritance, in your ready dwelling place which you prepared, O Lord, a sanctuary, O Lord, which your hands have prepared; the Lord reigning forever and ever and still beyond" (Exod. 15:17-18).
It is therefore most clearly understood, if by anyone at all, that God, having laid down the seeds and roots of all things, is the cause of the sprouting up of the greatest plant, this cosmos, which even now he seems to hint at through the very song just quoted, calling it a "mountain of inheritance"; since what has come into being is most closely akin to its maker, both as possession and as inheritance.
He prays, then, that we be planted in this, not so that we might become irrational and unruly in our natures, but so that, following the governance of the most perfect one and imitating his course, which remains ever the same and in the same manner, we might live a life of sound-mindedness and steadfastness; for the ancients said that the end of happiness is to have the strength to live in accordance with the sequence of nature.
And indeed what is said afterward accords with what has been proposed: that the cosmos is a ready and prepared perceptible house of God; that it has been made and is not uncreated, as some have supposed, the "sanctuary," as it were a radiance of holy things, an imitation of an archetype, since things beautiful to perception are images of things beautiful to the understanding; that it has been prepared by the hands of God, that is, by his cosmos-making powers.
But so that no one might suppose the Maker to be in need of anything that has come into being, he will proclaim the most necessary word: ‘Reigning for the age and unto the age and still beyond’ (Exodus 15:18); for a king needs nothing, and it is right that all his subjects belong to the king.
Some have said that the good is, and is called, God's portion, and that Moses now prays that its use and enjoyment might come to us. For, he says, having led us in, like children just beginning to learn, through the doctrines and contemplations of wisdom, and not leaving us untaught in the rudiments, plant us firmly in a lofty and heavenly account.
For this portion is the most ready and most convenient house, the most fitting dwelling, which ‘you have made holy’ (Exodus 15:17); for you, Master, happen to be the maker of good and holy things, just as, conversely, the corruptible is the origin of evil and profane things. Reign, then, for the boundless age over the suppliant soul, and do not for a single instant leave her without a guide; for unbroken servitude to you and to your supreme rule
is better than freedom alone. But it might perhaps raise a question for many what sense there is in the phrase ‘into the mountain of your inheritance’ (Exodus 15:17): for it is necessary that God bestow an inheritance, but it is perhaps not reasonable that he should inherit one, since all things are already his possessions.
But surely this is said of those who are mastered by him according to a special bond of kinship, just as kings rule over all their subjects, but rule differently over their household servants, whom they are accustomed to employ for the care of the body and the rest of daily life.
Though these same kings are masters of all the possessions throughout the land, and of whatever private citizens seem to hold, they are thought to have only those possessions which they have entrusted to stewards and overseers, from which they also collect the yearly revenues; and it is to these estates that they often resort for the sake of relaxation and good cheer, setting aside there the heaviest burden of the cares that belong to statecraft and kingship. And indeed these possessions are called their royal estates.
Moreover, the silver and gold and whatever other treasures are kept safe among the subjects belong rather to the rulers than to those who hold them; yet those very things are called the kings' own treasuries, into which the officials appointed to collect taxes deposit the revenues from the land.
Do not wonder, then, if the company of wise souls is also said to be the special portion of God, the ruler of all, who has obtained mastery over everything — the company that sees most keenly, employing the blameless and unsullied eye of the intellect, an eye that never closes but is always open and gazes straight ahead.
Is it not for this reason that it is also said in the Greater Song: ‘Ask your father, and he will tell you; your elders, and they will say to you: when the Most High divided the nations, as he scattered the sons of Adam, he set the boundaries of the nations according to the number of the angels of God,
and the Lord's portion became his people, Israel’ (Deuteronomy 32:7–9). See, here again he has called the seeing character — God's genuine servant — God's portion and lot, while the children of earth, whom Adam named his sons, were scattered and dispersed and only afterward gathered together, becoming a mere crowd, unable to take right reason as their guide. For indeed virtue truly is the cause of harmony and union, while the opposite disposition is the cause of dissolution and disunity.
A proof of what has been said is what happens every year on the day called the Day of Atonement; for it is then prescribed to ‘cast lots over two goats, one for the Lord and the other for the scapegoat’ (Leviticus 16:8) — a twofold reasoning, one assigned to God and the other to created being. The one who reveres the Cause will be allotted honor along with him, while the one who honors created being will be driven into exile, banished from the most sacred places and cast into
profane places and pits. Moses, indeed, makes use of such abundant assurance that, trusting in this very point above all, he customarily employs words and doctrines more fervent and grander than our ears can generally bear; for he claims not only that man may inherit God, but also — the most paradoxical thing of all — that God himself is the portion of others.
For a whole tribe, his fugitive and suppliant, he did not think worthy to receive a share of the land, as the other eleven tribes did, but instead to receive a special prize — the priesthood — a possession not earthly but Olympian. ‘For the tribe of Levi,’ he says, ‘shall have no share or portion among the sons of Israel, because the Lord himself is their portion’ (Deuteronomy 10:9). And indeed, in the person of God, it is sung through the oracles in this way: ‘I am your portion and your inheritance’ (Numbers 18:20).
For truly the mind that has been completely purified, and that renounces everything else, knows and recognizes one thing only — the unbegotten, to whom it has drawn near, and by whom in turn it has been taken up. For to whom is it permitted to say, ‘He alone is God to me,’ except to the one who embraces nothing that comes after him? This is the Levite character; for ‘he to me’ is so interpreted because different things are honored by different people, while to him alone belongs the highest and best of all
causes. They say that one of the ancients, having become as it were enamored of the beauty of wisdom, as though of a most splendid woman, once beheld the lavish preparations of a most costly procession and, turning to some of his companions, said: ‘See, my friends, how many things I have no need of’ — though he possessed nothing beyond the bare necessities, so that, not even being puffed up by the greatness of wealth, as has happened to countless others, he might not seem, by that remark, to boast arrogantly against God.
This is what the lawgiver teaches those to think who recognize no possession among the things that have come into being, but who renounce whatever is created, because of their kinship with the unbegotten, whom alone they have considered wealth and the boundary of the most complete happiness.
Let those who have assumed kingdoms and dominions no longer boast — some because they have subdued a single city or country or nation, others because they have acquired every region of the earth to its very ends, every Greek and barbarian nation, every river, and seas boundless in number and size.
For even if, along with all this, they had also mastered the nature on high — a thing not even reverent to say — which alone of all things the Maker fashioned unenslaved and free, they would still be reckoned mere commoners in comparison with the great kings who have obtained God as their portion; for by as much as the one who possesses a possession is better than the possession itself, and the one who made a thing is better than the thing made, by so much are those kings more truly royal.
Some have thought that those who assert everything belongs to the virtuous man are speaking paradoxes, since they look only at outward want and abundance, and consider no one wealthy who lacks money or property. But Moses regards wisdom as so admirable and so worth contending for that he considers not only the whole universe a fitting portion for her, but even the ruler of all things himself.
These doctrines belong not to men who waver, but to those held fast by a firm faith; since even now there are some who merely put on the outward form of piety, who maliciously distort the plain sense of the statement, claiming that it is neither reverent nor safe to say that God is a man's portion.
I would say to them: you have come to the contemplation of these matters not out of a genuine feeling, but out of a spurious and counterfeit one; for you have supposed that vineyards or olive groves or similar possessions of their owners are spoken of in the same sense when God is called the portion of the wise, and you have not considered that painting, too, is called the portion of the painter, and, in general, art the portion of the craftsman — not as an earthly possession, but as an Olympian achievement.
For none of these things is possessed as property; rather, it benefits those who hold it. So then, you slanderers, do not hear the statement that Being is a portion as resembling ownership of a possession, but as the cause of the greatest benefits to those who see fit to serve him.
Having said, then, what is fitting concerning the first Planter and his planting, let us proceed next to the study of the lessons and imitations that follow. At once, then, the wise Abraham is said to have ‘planted a field at the well of the oath, and to have called upon the name of the Lord, the eternal God’ (Genesis 21:33). And the kind of the plants is not made clear — only the size of the plot itself.
Those who are accustomed to investigate such matters say that everything belonging to God's possessions has been worked out with special precision — the tree, the place, and the tree's fruit alike. The tree, then, is the field itself, though not like the things that sprout from the earth, but rooted after the manner of the man beloved of God; the place is the well of the oath; and the fruit is the
taking up of the name of the Lord as the eternal God. It is necessary now to render the plausible account of each of the things proposed. The field, then, being a hundred cubits in length and the same in width, when these are multiplied together according to the nature of a square, comes to a total of ten thousand square cubits.
This is the greatest and most perfect limit of the numbers that grow from the unit, so that the unit is the beginning of numbers, and the myriad is the end of the first stage of their composition. This is why some people, not without reason, have likened the unit to the starting-post and the myriad to the turning-post, and all the numbers in between to runners in a race: for starting, as it were, from the starting-post of the unit, they run their course and come to a stop beside the myriad, their finish line.
Proceeding from these facts, as it were from symbols, some have said that God is the beginning and end of all things—a doctrine that establishes piety. This doctrine, once planted in the soul, bears the most beautiful and most nourishing fruit: holiness.
The place most fitting for this plant is the well that is called Oath, in which, the account tells us, no water was found to be there. For it says, "Isaac's servants came and reported to him about the well they had dug, and said, 'We have not found water,' and he called it Oath" (Gen. 26:32-33). Let us consider what force this has.
Those who search out the nature of things and pursue their investigations into each subject without slackness do something like those who dig wells: for they too search for springs that are hidden from sight. The longing to find something to drink is common to all, but for some it is that by which the body is nourished, for others that by which the soul is by nature nourished.
Just as some of those who dig into wells often fail to find the water they seek, so those who press further into the sciences and go deeper into them are unable to touch the goal. Indeed, they say that the very learned convict themselves of a terrible ignorance, for they perceive only how far short of the truth they fall. And there is a story of one of the ancients, admired for his wisdom, who fittingly said he was admired for this alone: that he knew that he knew nothing.
Choose, if you will, whatever art you please to consider, small or great, along with the man who has become the best and most approved practitioner of it; then observe whether the professed claims of the art are equal to the works of its craftsman. For upon examination you will find these falling short of those not by small but by great distances—since it is virtually impossible for anyone to bring any art whatsoever to perfection, an art that, like a spring, is forever renewing itself and pouring forth ideas and theorems of every kind.
For this reason the well was most fittingly named Oath, being the symbol of the most secure trust, which contains the testimony of God. For just as the one who swears calls God as witness of the matters in dispute, so there is no surer way to keep one's oath than by finding that no art brings its craftsman to a final end in any branch of knowledge.
The same account applies also to nearly all the other faculties within us. For just as they say water was not found in the well just mentioned, so neither is the visible found residing in the eyes, nor hearing in the ears, nor smelling in the nostrils, nor, in general, sense-perception in the organs of sense; and in the same way, comprehension is not found residing in the mind either.
For how could it happen that we see amiss, or hear amiss, or think amiss, if the apprehension of each of these things were fixed and secure in them, rather than it being God who sows
the assurance that came to be in them by nature? Having discussed sufficiently, then, the place in which the tree blossoms, let us finally work out the matter of the fruit. What, then, is its fruit? He himself will show us: for "he called upon the name of the Lord, the everlasting God" (Gen. 21:33).
The titles just mentioned, then, display the powers that pertain to the One who Is: for "Lord" refers to the power by which he rules, and "God" to that by which he does good. This is why, throughout the whole account of the creation of the world according to the most sacred Moses, the name "God" is used: for it was fitting that the power by which the Maker brought things into being and set them in order should be the one by which he was also called.
In so far, then, as he is ruler, he is capable of both, of doing well and of doing ill, changing along with the recompense due to the one who has acted; but in so far as he is benefactor, he wills only the one thing—to do good.
It would be the greatest good a soul could gain, no longer to be in doubt about the King's power in either direction, but without hesitation to dissolve the fear that hangs over it on account of the might of his rule, while kindling the most secure hope arising from his being, by free choice, generous with good things both to possess and to use.
"Everlasting God," then, is equivalent to saying: he who bestows favor, not at one time and not at another, but always and continuously; he who does good without interruption; he who unceasingly links together the successive procession of his gifts; he who wheels his graces round, each holding to the next, fitted together by unifying powers; he who leaves out no occasion for doing good; and yet, being Lord, is also able to harm.
This too is what Jacob the athlete of virtue asked for at the end of his most sacred prayers; for he said somewhere, "and the Lord shall be to me for God" (Gen. 28:21), which is equivalent to saying: he will no longer show me the masterful aspect of his sovereign rule, but rather the beneficent aspect of his gracious and saving power over all things—removing the fear one has toward a master, and providing the soul instead with the friendship and goodwill one has toward a benefactor.
What soul, then, could suppose this: that the Master and Ruler of the universe, changing nothing of his own nature but remaining ever the same, is continuously good and unfailingly generous? Hence he is, in the truest sense, the most perfect cause of the unstinting and ever-flowing goods enjoyed by those who are truly blessed—
blessed. And to have put one's trust in a king who is not exalted by the greatness of his rule into harming his subjects, but who chooses, out of love for humankind, to set right whatever is lacking in each, is the greatest bulwark of good cheer and security.
What we promised, then, has now been shown almost in full: that the plant which is taken as the beginning and end of all things is God; that the place that follows from this is that no perfection is found in anything that comes to be, though it may sometimes shine forth in it through the graces of the Cause; and that the fruit is that the graces of God go on forever, raining down without ceasing and never coming to an end.
In this way, then, the sage too, following the art of the first and greatest of all planters, displays the art of husbandry. But the sacred word wishes that we too, who are not yet perfected but are still being tested in the middle rank of the so-called duties, should work hard at the tasks of husbandry. For it says:
"When you enter the land which the Lord your God gives you, and you plant every tree for food, you shall trim away its uncleanness; its fruit shall be untrimmed for three years and shall not be eaten. But in the fourth year all its fruit shall be holy, a thing of praise to the Lord; and in the fifth year you shall eat the fruit, its produce being added for you. I am the Lord your God" (Lev. 19:23-25).
It is therefore impossible to plant the edible trees before entering the land given by God. For it says, "When you enter the land, you shall plant every edible tree," so that while we are dwelling outside it we could not cultivate trees of this kind—and not without reason.
For as long as the mind has not yet come onto the road of wisdom, but has turned aside and wanders far off, it tends the plants of the wild wood, which are either barren and sterile, or, if they do bear, are unfruitful of anything edible.
But when it sets foot on the road of prudence and joins in with its doctrines and runs along with all of them, it will begin to cultivate the cultivated tree, bearer of cultivated fruits, in place of that wild one—dispassion in place of the passions, knowledge in place of ignorance, and good things in place of evil ones.
Since, then, the one just being introduced stands far off from the goal, it was fitting that he, once he had planted, should be commanded to trim away the uncleanness of what was planted. Let us consider together what this is.
The middle-ranked among the duties seem to me to bear an analogy to trees: for each of the two kinds bears the most beneficial fruits, the one for bodies, the other for souls. But many harmful things sprout up and grow upon them together in their middle stage, and these would necessarily be cut away, so that the better things not be harmed.
Or should we not call the return of a deposit entrusted to it the cultivated plant of the soul? But this plant, at any rate, needs cleansing and more than ordinary care. What then is this cleansing? Having received a deposit from a sober man, you must not repay it to one who is drunk, or dissolute, or out of his mind—for the one who receives it will have no chance to profit from getting it back. Nor must you repay it to debtors or slaves while their creditors or masters lie in wait—for that is betrayal, not repayment. Nor should you keep faith in small matters merely as bait for catching greater trust.
Fishermen who cast small bait in order to hook the larger fish would not be much to blame, since they can claim to be providing for the market's abundance and securing an ample daily diet for people.
But let no one offer the repayment of a small deposit as bait for catching something greater, holding out in his hands the small possessions of one man while in his mind pilfering the countless possessions of all. If, then, you strip away from the deposit, as from a tree, its unclean growths—the harms that come from those lying in wait, the ill-timed moments, the ambushes, and all things of that kind—you will tame what would otherwise grow wild.
And in the plant of friendship, too, it is necessary to cut away and remove these very same side-growths, for the sake of guarding the better part. The side-growths are these: the seductions of courtesans toward their lovers, and the deceptions of parasites toward those they flatter.
One can see women who sell themselves for the bloom of their body clinging to their lovers as though they loved them intensely—yet they do not love those men at all, but only themselves, and they gape open-mouthed after each day's gain. And one can see flatterers who at times harbor an unspeakable hatred for the very men they attend, while loving instead delicacies and gluttony, and who by these means persuade the men who fund their measureless appetites to keep courting them.
But the tree of unadulterated friendship, once it has shaken off and let go of these things, will bear the most beneficial fruit for those who make use of it: incorruptibility. For goodwill is the wish that good things belong to one's neighbor for that neighbor's own sake. But the streetwalkers and the flatterers labor for their own sake—the one class bringing good things to their lovers, the other to those they flatter, for their own advantage, not for the other's. The pretenses and seductions, then, that cling to the plant of friendship like clinging plagues
must be cut away. Sacred rites, indeed, and the reverent practice of sacrifice are the finest of growths—but alongside it a weed has sprouted, superstition, which it is profitable to cut out before it turns green. For some have thought that slaughtering oxen constitutes piety, and from whatever they have stolen, denied owing, defaulted on, seized, or plundered, they set aside a portion for the altars—men hard to purify—believing that escaping justice for their wrongdoing can be bought.
But—someone might say—God's tribunal, you people, cannot be bought: it turns away from those whose mind is culpable even if they bring up a hundred oxen every single day, while it accepts those who are blameless even if they sacrifice nothing at all. For God delights in fireless altars, around which the virtues dance, not in altars blazing with great fire—the very fire that the unholy sacrifices of the impious kindle together, calling to mind each one's ignorance and wrongdoing. Indeed, Moses somewhere called such a sacrifice one that 'brings sin to remembrance' (Numbers 5:15).
All such things, then, since they become causes of great harm, must be removed and cut away, following the oracle in which it is prescribed to remove
the impurity of the planted, edible tree. But we, even when taught, make no progress toward ready learning; while some, relying on a nature self-taught, have stripped the good of the harms wrapped around it, as did the ascetic surnamed Jacob. For he 'peeled the rods, stripping off white peelings and pulling away the green bark' (Genesis 30:37), so that, once the mottled coloring in the middle—dark and murky everywhere—had been removed, the plain white color, its sister, not colored by artifice but produced by nature, might be revealed.
For this reason too, in the law laid down concerning leprosy, it is prescribed that a person no longer variegated with a mottled coloring, but made completely white throughout, from the very top of the head to the soles of the feet, is clean (Leviticus 13:12–13)—so that, transferring the meaning from the body, we might let go of the mottled, cunning, wavering, and double-minded passion of the intellect, and receive instead the unmottled, unhesitating, simple color of truth.
To say, then, that the tree is pruned clean makes good sense, and is confirmed by plain truth. But to say that the fruit is pruned clean is not at all confirmed by observable fact—for no farmer prunes figs or grapes, or any fruit at all.
And yet the text says, 'its fruit shall be uncleansed for three years; it shall not be eaten,' as though it were, presumably, its normal custom to be cleansed. So it must be said that this too is one of those things given over to allegorical interpretation, since the literal statement does not entirely fit the case. The wording is in fact ambiguous: for it can indicate one thing thus—'its fruit shall be for three years,' and then separately, 'uncleansed, it shall not be eaten'—or, alternatively, 'its fruit for three years is uncleansed,' and only after that, so eaten.
According to the first meaning, one might understand it this way: the three years being taken to stand for threefold time, which by nature is divided into past, present, and future—the fruit of education will exist, will endure, and will remain sound through every division of time, since it undergoes no decay throughout the age; for the nature of the good is incorruptible. And 'the uncleansed fruit shall not be eaten' insofar as words that are refined, cleansed, and sound nourish the soul and cause the mind to grow, while their opposites are not nourishing at all, but send disease and decay upon it instead.
According to the other meaning, just as 'indemonstrable' is said in two senses—the one difficult to demonstrate on account of its obscurity, and the other known directly from itself, its clarity confirmed not by another's testimony but by its own manifest evidence, in the sense dialectic customarily applies to syllogistic arguments—so too 'uncleansed fruit' can mean both the fruit that needs cleansing and has not been cleansed, and the fruit that is most radiantly clear.
Such is the fruit of education for three years—that is, for threefold time, for the whole age: utterly pure and utterly transparent, shadowed by nothing harmful, in no way whatsoever
in need of washings, sprinklings, or, in general, any other thing conducive to cleansing. 'But in the fourth year,' it says, 'all its fruit shall be holy, praised to the Lord.' The prophetic word seems to hold the number four in special honor in many places throughout the legislation, but most of all in the account of the creation of the universe.
For the perceptible and honored light—the clearest mark both of itself and of all other things—and its parents, the sun and the moon, and the most sacred chorus of the stars, which by their risings and settings marked the bounds of night and day, and further of months and years, and revealed the nature of number, on which the soul's greatest good depends—these, Scripture says, were created on the fourth day (Genesis 1:14).
And here too, in a special way, Scripture has honored the number four, consecrating the fruit of the trees to God in no other year than the fourth year of their planting.
For this has a rationale that is both deeply natural and deeply ethical. The roots of the universe, from which the world is composed, happen to be four—earth, water, air, fire—and the seasons of the year are equal to them in number: winter and summer, and the two that lie between them, spring and autumn.
Again, the number four, when examined among figures with right angles, is found to be the oldest of the squares, as the geometrical figure shows; and right angles are clear evidence of right reason, while right reason is the ever-flowing spring of the virtues.
Now the sides of a square must necessarily be equal, and equality gave birth to justice, the leading and governing virtue; so that, apart from all other considerations, the number four is shown to be a symbol of equality, of justice, and of virtue as a whole.
The number four is also called 'all,' because it contains potentially all the numbers up to ten, including ten itself. That it contains the numbers before it is plain to everyone; but that it also contains those after it is easy to see by calculation, in the following way.
By adding one, two, three, and four together, we will find what we were seeking. For from one and four will come five; from two and four, six; and seven from three and four. And by a double combination, from one and three and four comes eight; and again from two and three and four comes the number nine; and ten comes from all of them together—for one and two and three and four generate ten.
For this reason Moses also said, 'in the fourth year all its fruit is holy'—for the number four has, so to speak, in outline, the meaning of being even, whole, and complete, as does the sum of all things, because ten, which four generates, stands as the first turning point of the numbers built up from unity. Both ten and four, then, are said to be 'all' among numbers—ten in actuality, four in potentiality.
He says that the fruit of education is not only holy but rightly praiseworthy as well; for each of the virtues is a holy possession, but thanksgiving surpasses them all. And it is not possible to give genuine thanks to God through the things that most people think of as furnishings, dedications, and sacrifices — for not even the whole universe could become a temple worthy of honoring him in this way — but rather through praises and hymns, not such as the audible voice will sing, but such as the invisible and purest mind will resound and chant.
An ancient account, then, is sung, discovered by wise men and, as memory is wont to do, handed down through successive generations to those who came after, and it has not escaped even our own ears, ever hungry for learning. It runs like this: when, they say, the Maker had brought the whole universe to completion, he asked one of his attendant spirits whether it longed for anything not yet made, of all that had come to be upon earth and in water, or in the upper air, or in the outermost nature of the universe, the heaven.
He answered that all things were perfect and complete throughout every part, and that one thing alone was wanting: the word that would praise them, which would not so much praise as proclaim the excellences present in all things, even in those that seem smallest and most obscure; for the narrations of God's works are themselves the most sufficient praise of those works, needing no further external adornment, but having in the unfalsified truth their most perfect encomium.
Hearing what was said, the Father of the universe approved it, and not long after there appeared the whole race devoted to music and song, sprung from a single virgin among the powers around him, Memory, whom the many, distorting the name, call Mnemosyne.
Such, then, is the ancient myth. Following it, we for our part say that it is the most proper work of God to do good, and of created being to give thanks, since it can offer nothing else in return beyond this that is greater than what it has received; for whatever it might wish to give in return will be found to belong properly to him who has made all things, not to nature which merely conveys them.
Learning, then, that only one work falls to us in what pertains to the honor of God — the giving of thanks — let us practice this always and everywhere, through speech and through elegant writings, and let us never cease composing either words of praise or poems, so that both in melody and without melody, and in each form the voice takes, whether speaking or singing, the maker of the world and the world itself may be honored — "the one", as someone said, "the best of causes, the other the most perfect of things that have come to be".
So then, whenever in the fourth year, according to the count, all the soul's fruit has been consecrated, in the fifth we ourselves shall have the enjoyment and use of it. For it says: "In the fifth year you shall eat the fruit", since it is an unimpeachable law of nature that what has come to be should in all things be examined after what has made it, so that even
if we should receive second place, we should consider it a marvel. And this indeed is why it assigns to us the fruit of the fifth year, because five is the number proper to sense-perception, and, if the truth must be told, it is sense-perception that nourishes our mind — whether by supplying, through the eyes, the qualities of colors and shapes, or through the ears the manifold peculiarities of sounds, or through the nostrils smells, or through the mouth flavors, or softnesses that yield readily and hardnesses that resist, or smoothness and roughness, and in turn heats and colds through the power that is diffused throughout the whole body
and that is customarily called touch. The clearest example of what has been said is the sons of Leah — of virtue — not all of them, but the fourth and the fifth. Of the fourth Moses says that "she ceased bearing" (Gen. 29:35), and he is called Judah, which is interpreted as "confession to the Lord." The fifth she names Issachar, which when translated means "reward." And the soul, having borne offspring in this manner, immediately declared what she had experienced: for it says, "she called his name Issachar, which is reward" (Gen. 30:18).
Judah, then, is the mind that blesses God and unceasingly practices thankful hymns to him; he himself, in truth, was the "holy and praiseworthy fruit," borne not by trees of the earth but by a rational and excellent nature. That is why the nature that bore him is said to have "ceased bearing," since she no longer had anywhere else to turn, having arrived at the boundary of perfection; for of all the good deeds ever brought to birth, the best and most perfect offspring is the hymn to the Father of the universe.
The fifth son is not unrelated to the use of what has been planted, reckoned in the fifth year; for just as the farmer's labor receives its wage, in a sense, from the trees in the fifth year, so too the soul's offspring, Issachar, was called "reward," and fittingly so, since he was born after the thankful Judah; for to the one who gives thanks, the very act of giving thanks is itself the most sufficient reward.
The fruits of trees, then, are called the offspring of those who possess the trees, but the fruit of education and understanding belongs no longer to a human being, but, as Moses says, to the Ruler of all alone; for having said "its produce," he adds: "I am the Lord your God," showing most clearly that the one whose produce and fruit of the soul it is, is God alone.
In agreement with this is a saying used by one of the prophets: "From me your fruit is found. Who is wise, and will understand these things? Understanding, and will know them?" (Hos. 14:9–10). For it is not for everyone but only for the wise to know whose fruit the fruit of the understanding is.
Concerning, then, that most ancient and most sacred husbandry which the Cause employs toward the world, the most fruit-bearing of all plants, and concerning the husbandry that follows it, which the good man practices, and concerning the fourfold series of contests it bears, and what was framed according to the commands and instructions of the laws —
we have said as much as was possible. Let us now examine the viticulture of righteous Noah, which is a form of husbandry. For it is said that "Noah began to be a man, a tiller of the soil; and he planted a vineyard, and drank of the wine, and became drunk" (Gen. 9:20–21).
The righteous man, then, cultivates the plant of drunkenness skillfully and with understanding, while fools give it their care in an unskilled and disorderly manner, so that it is necessary to say what is fitting concerning drunkenness; for at once we shall also know the power of the plant that furnishes the occasions for it. What the lawgiver has said concerning drunkenness we shall come to know precisely on another occasion; for now let us investigate what has seemed true to others as well.
The inquiry has been pursued in no small measure by many of the philosophers. It is proposed in this form: whether the wise man will get drunk. Now to "get drunk" is twofold: one sense equivalent to being filled with wine, the other equivalent to talking nonsense in wine.
Of those who have taken up the question, some have said that the wise man will neither indulge in more unmixed wine than is proper, nor will he talk nonsense; for the one is an error, the other productive of error, and each is foreign to a man who acts rightly.
Others have declared that being filled with wine is indeed fitting even for the excellent man, but talking nonsense is unfitting; for the prudence within him is sufficient to withstand those who attempt to harm it and to put down any revolution they raise against the soul; and prudence is invested with a power that extinguishes the passions, whether stirred up by the goads of inflamed desire or kindled by an abundance of hot wine, a power because of which he will stand above them — just as, among those who plunge into a deep river or the sea, the inexperienced in swimming perish while those skilled in the matter are saved most quickly. Indeed, just as a torrent of much unmixed wine, flooding the soul, at one time casts it down, weighed low, into the utter depths of ignorance, but at another time, when the soul is buoyed up and made light by saving education, has no power at all to harm it.
Others, not grasping, I think, the magnitude of the excess involved in this passion, have brought the wise man down from heaven to earth as if he were soaring aloft, like fowlers bringing down birds, so as to lead him into the same disasters, and, failing to see the height of virtue, have said that if he uses more wine than is moderate he will altogether lose mastery of himself and go astray, and will not only, like defeated athletes, let his hands fall from weakness, but will also drop his neck and head, and sink to his knees, and having his whole
body dragged down, will collapse. Knowing this beforehand, he would never willingly consent to enter a contest of heavy drinking, unless the stakes at issue were great — the safety of his country, or the honor of his parents, or the security of his children and those dearest to him in body, or, in general, the correction of matters both private and public.
For he would not administer a deadly drug either, unless the circumstances utterly compelled him, as it were, to remove himself from life as from his native land; and it happens that the drug, even if not of death, is at any rate the cause of unmixed madness. Why, indeed, should madness not be called death as well, since by it the best part within us, the mind, dies? But it seems to me that anyone would reasonably choose, without hesitation, if there were a choice, the lighter rather than the heavier of the two — that which separates and dissolves soul and body, in comparison with madness.
This, indeed, is why the first men called the inventor of the practice of wine "the maddener," and the Bacchant women possessed by it "maenads," since wine is the cause of madness and derangement for those who fill themselves with it insatiably.
Such, then, are the preliminaries, so to speak, of the inquiry; let us now bring to its conclusion the argument concerning it, which is naturally twofold: the one establishing that the wise man will get drunk, the other confirming the contrary, that he will not get drunk.
It is fitting to state first the proofs of the former position, taking our starting point from here: of things, some happen to be homonymous, others synonymous. Homonymy and synonymy are agreed to be opposites, in that homonymy is one name applied to many subjects,
It is fitting to state the proofs of the former point first, taking our starting point from this: things are of two kinds, some homonymous and some synonymous. Homonymy and synonymy are agreed to be opposites, since homonymy is one name applied to many underlying things,
whereas synonymy is many names applied to one underlying thing. The utterance "dog" is entirely homonymous, since many unlike things are brought together and signified through it: the land animal that barks is called dog, and so is the sea beast, and so is the heavenly star which the poets call "the star of late summer," because it rises just as the late-summer fruit is ripening in order that it may be brought to perfection and ripen fully, and besides these there is the philosopher who set out from the Cynic school, Aristippus and Diogenes and countless others who saw fit to pursue the same way of life.
But there are also different appellations for one and the same thing signified, as with "ios," "oistos," and "belos" — for all these words are used of whatever is shot from the bowstring's cord at a mark — and again "eiresia," "kope," and "platē," which have the same force for sailing as sails do; for whenever a ship cannot make use of sails, in a calm or against the wind, men sit at the oars, the ones charged with this task, and stretching out oars on either side like wings they force the ship to be carried along as if winged, and it, lifted up to a height, runs over the waves rather than cutting through them, and speeding along makes swift passage and comes to anchor in the most sheltered harbors.
And again, "skipōn," "baktēria," and "rhabdos" are different names for one and the same underlying thing, with which one can strike, and lean unshakenly, and press one's weight, and do many other things besides. We have said these things not at length in themselves, but for the sake
of making clearer what is being sought. The ancients called unmixed wine "oinos," and likewise "methu"; indeed in many places in poetry this word occurs, so that if synonymous terms are said of one and the same underlying thing — wine and methu — then the things derived from them will differ in nothing but the mere sounds, and "to be wine-affected" and "to be drunk" are one and the same thing.
Each of the two expressions indicates the use of a considerable quantity of wine, which the man of worth would not turn away from for many reasons. And if he is affected by wine, he will also be made drunk, having been put in no worse a condition by his drunkenness than the one affected by mere wine-taking.
One proof concerning the wise man's being made drunk has now been stated; the second is as follows. Nearly all people today, apart from a small remnant, see fit to emulate nothing that resembles the ways of those who came before, but display in both words and deeds what is out of tune and discordant.
For words that were once sound and vigorous they have led into an incurable passion and corruption, contriving, instead of a truly robust and athletic good condition, nothing but a diseased state, and having brought the swollen and bloated fullness that someone once spoke of, through excessive tension, into a morbid condition swollen contrary to nature, and puffing it up with an empty tension alone, which, for want of the strength that would hold it together, bursts precisely when it is stretched most tight.
As for deeds, with the same bombast of praise and zeal they have made effeminate even those actions that should, so to speak, be manly, working out shameful things instead of noble ones, so that there are altogether few in either respect, in deeds and in words, who love the ancient manner of emulation.
In the case of those men of old, therefore, poets and prose writers and all who were devoted to the other arts of the Muses flourished, not sweetening and enervating the ears through rhythmic sound, but rousing whatever was broken and shattered in the understanding and fitting together whatever was harmonious in it, using the instruments of nature and virtue; but among us, cooks and bakers and craftsmen skilled in the elaborate arts of dyeing and perfumery are always laying siege to the senses with some new color or shape or vapor or flavor, so as to storm and take the mind that ought to be their ruler.
Why, then, have I mentioned these things? So as to show that people today do not partake even of unmixed wine in the same manner as those of old. For nowadays they drink all at once and without pausing for breath, until body and soul are entirely relaxed, and they still gape open-mouthed and order more to be brought to those who are pouring the wine, and grow angry if there is any delay, because they are cooling down what they call the "hot drink." It was of these that I made mention, of those from the gymnastic contests who display before their companions the drinking-bout as a contest, in which they do great and "fine" things to one another, gnawing off each other's ears and noses and fingertips and whatever part of the body happens to be within reach.
These are, it would seem, the prizes of a merriment that is young and recent and only now coming into its bloom, whereas the ancient and older merriment had the opposite character. For the men of former times began every noble action from perfect and complete sacred rites, believing that in this way, above all, its outcome would turn out favorable, and before praying and sacrificing, even if circumstances pressed them hard to act, they always waited, not supposing that haste is always better than delay; for unconsidered speed is harmful, while delay accompanied by good hope is beneficial. Knowing, then, that the enjoyment and use of wine also requires great care,
they partook of unmixed wine neither to excess nor at every occasion, but in an orderly manner and at the appropriate time. For first, having prayed and offered up sacrifices and propitiated the divine, and having purified body and soul, the one by ablutions, the other by the streams of the laws and right education, radiant and rejoicing they turned to a more relaxed way of life, often not even returning home but remaining in the sanctuaries where they had sacrificed, so that, remembering the sacrifices and reverencing the place, they might conduct a truly most sacred festivity, going wrong neither in word nor in deed.
It is from this, they say, that "to be drunk" [methuein] got its name, because it was the custom of the men of old to take wine "after sacrificing" [meta to thuein]. To whom, then, would the manner just described be more proper for the use of unmixed wine than to wise men, for whom the act of sacrificing before drunkenness is also fitting?
For hardly a single one of the base performs sacrifice in truth, even if he leads up ten thousand oxen continually every day; for the most fitting victim of all has been maimed in him — the mind — and it is not lawful for maimed things to touch the altars.
This second argument has now been stated, showing that being made drunk is not foreign to the man of worth; the third depends on a differing but persuasive account of etymology. For some think that methē (drunkenness) is so called not only because it is accomplished after sacrifice, but also because it becomes a cause of the release [methesis] of the soul.
Now what is released in the foolish is their slack self-control, released into a further outpouring of errors, but what is released in the sensible is released into the enjoyment of relaxation and good cheer and gladness; for the wise man, once affected by wine, becomes more agreeable to himself than he is when sober, so that we would not go wrong even on this ground in saying that he will be made drunk. And besides these points, this too must be said:
that the form of wisdom is not sullen and stern, drawn tight with gloom and dejection, but on the contrary cheerful and calm, full of gladness and joy, under the influence of which a man is often led forward to play and jest in no unrefined way — yet a playfulness that resounds together with dignity and seriousness into the blending of a single melody, as in a well-tuned lyre with answering notes.
In the sacred writing of Moses, at any rate, the end of wisdom is play and laughter — not the sort of things all infants practice without understanding, but the sort practiced by those who have already grown grey, not only in years but in good counsels. Do you not see that the man who has drawn from knowledge by his own hearing, his own learning, and his own working, he says, does not merely partake of laughter, but is himself laughter?
This is Isaac, whose name is interpreted "laughter," with whom it is fitting to play together with endurance, whom the Hebrews call Rebecca. But the divine play of the soul is not lawful for a private person to see; it is permitted only to the king with whom wisdom has dwelt for a very long time as a neighbor, even if it has not dwelt within him for the whole of eternity. This king is called Abimelech, who, peering through the window — that is, through the opened and light-bearing eye of the understanding — saw Isaac playing with Rebecca his wife.
For what other work is fitting for a wise man than to play, and to be radiant with joy, and to rejoice together with the endurance of noble things? From all this it is clear that he will indeed be made drunk, since drunkenness forms character and produces both relaxation and benefit.
For unmixed wine seems to intensify and heighten whatever qualities are already present by nature, whether good ones or their opposites, just as many other things do as well; since wealth too is a cause of good things, but, as someone said, of evils to the evil man; and again, reputation makes the vice of the fool more conspicuous, but the virtue of the just man more renowned. So too, then, unmixed wine, once poured out, makes the man given over to the passions more subject to passion, but makes the man given to good states of feeling more benevolent and gracious.
Who indeed does not know that when one of two opposite kinds applies to a greater number, the other kind must necessarily follow as well? For instance, since white and black are opposites, if white belongs to both the refined and the base, then black too, presumably in equal measure, will belong to both alike, not to only one of the two groups. Now sobriety and drunkenness are likewise opposites, and both good men and base men partake of sobriety, as the earlier argument showed; so that drunkenness too applies to each of the two kinds. Therefore the refined man too will be made drunk, without casting away any part of his virtue.
But if, as in a court of law, one ought to make use not only of proofs based on art but also of the so-called artless proofs, of which one is that furnished through witnesses, we shall produce as witnesses many well-reputed sons of physicians and philosophers, who have signified their testimony not only in words but also in writings.
For they have left behind countless treatises entitled "On Drunkenness," in which they examine only the bare use of wine by itself, without further inquiring into those who are accustomed to babble nonsense, but passing over the whole category of drunken behavior; so that even among these it is most clearly agreed that to be drunk was the same as to be affected by wine. And to have drunk a fair quantity of wine at the appropriate time would not be a worse thing for the wise man; we shall not, then, go wrong in saying that he will be made drunk.
But since no one is recorded as winning a contest fought against himself — and if he does contend in such a way, he would rightly seem to be shadow-boxing rather — it is necessary also to state the arguments that establish the opposite case, so that the judgment reached may be most just, with neither side condemned by default.
The first and strongest argument is this: if one would not reasonably entrust a secret to a man who is drunk, but one would to a person of good character, then the person of good character is not drunk. But before stringing the other arguments together in sequence, it is better to argue against each of the propositions individually, so that we do not seem to trouble the reader further by speaking at length.
Someone opposing this will say that, according to the argument as stated, the wise man will never be melancholic, nor will he sleep, nor will he die at all; and whoever experiences none of these things is either soulless or divine, and could not be a human being at all. For imitating the pattern of the argument, one will apply this same reasoning to the melancholic person, or the sleeping person, or the dying person: no one would reasonably entrust a secret to such a person, but to the wise man one reasonably would — therefore the wise man is neither melancholic, nor asleep, nor dying.