On the Nature of the Universe (Oxford World’s Classics) Page 15

  And winding passages and tiny pores

  The spirit has seeped out. So you may learn

  That in many ways the spirit was dispersed

  When from the limbs it made its exit, and

  While in the body had been torn apart

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  Before it emerged outside, you see, and swam

  Into the winds of air and so away.

  Let’s take another case. Sometimes the spirit

  While moving still within the bounds of life

  Gets hurt by something (never mind the cause!)

  And wants to leave the body and be free.

  The face grows pale, as at the point of death,

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  Blood leaves the limbs and all collapse and fall.

  This we call fainting. Everyone’s distressed,

  Wants to hold fast again the chains of life.

  This happens because the mind and spirit are shaken

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  And fail, within the fading body. It needs

  Only a slightly stronger shock to kill them.

  Why then do you doubt that, driven from the body,

  Weak, in the open, out of doors, unclothed,

  Not only not for ever could the spirit

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  Endure, but not for the smallest length of time?

  For it is evident that no one, dying,

  Feels that the soul intact deserts the body

  Nor that it rises first to the throat and then

  Through the gullet. Instead he feels it fail

  Seated in some fixed place, just as he feels

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  His other senses, each in its part, to fail.

  But if the mind were immortal, then in dying

  It would not complain of being dispersed, but rather

  Of going out and shedding its skin, like a snake.

  The wisdom and intelligence of mind

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  Never in head or feet or hands are born,

  But in one fixed and certain region stay.

  This is because fixed places are assigned

  To everything that is, in which it must

  Be born and grow and have its being. A man

  Has legs and arms and head and all the rest

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  And nothing’s ever upside down. So sure

  One thing follows another. You’ll not find

  Flames in a river, no, nor frost in fire.

  Now, if the mind is immortal and can feel

  When parted from the body, we must assume

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  It has the five senses. Only in this way

  Can we imagine the spirits of the dead

  Go wandering in Hades. Painters and poets

  Have always shown us spirits endowed with senses.

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  But what do you think? Can a spirit without body

  Have eyes or nose or hand or tongue, and can

  The ears hear by themselves without a body?

  And since we feel that vital sense inheres

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  In the whole body and that it is the whole

  That lives, if suddenly some force

  With a swift blow shall cut the body through

  So as to sever the two parts asunder,

  No doubt the spirit too will be cleft apart,

  Divided and cut together with the body.

  But what is cut and divided into parts

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  Surely can make no claim to be eternal.

  They tell how chariots bearing scythes cut off

  A man’s limb in the heat of battle. It falls

  And quivers on the ground, shorn from the trunk,

  But the man feels no pain—the blow’s too sudden.

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  A man may lose his left arm and his shield

  Torn off amidst the horses by the scythes

  Of the chariot wheels and never notice it,

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  Drunk with the fight; or losing his right arm

  Press on regardless. Another has lost his leg

  And the foot lies on the ground twitching its toes.

  The head cut off from the hot and living trunk

  Stares through its open eyes until what’s left

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  Of the spirit is given up and passes away.

  Now let’s consider a snake, with flickering tongue,

  Long body, and menacing tail. Take your knife

  And cut it up. You’ll see the separate parts

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  All writhing while the wound is fresh,

  Spattering the earth with gore. See how its head

  Turns round and back and tries to gnaw its tail,

  Wanting to bite away the burning pain.

  Shall we then say that in each separate piece

  There is a separate spirit? If we do,

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  That means that in one single animal

  There are many spirits spread throughout the body.

  It follows that one single spirit has been

  Divided, just as the body has, so each

  Must be considered mortal, since they both

  Have been alike cut into many parts.

  Now also, if the spirit is immortal

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  And creeps into the body when we are born,

  Why can we not remember time that’s past,

  Why do we keep no traces of things done?

  For if the mind has been so greatly changed

  As to lose all remembrance of past acts,

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  That, I think, is not far removed from death.

  Wherefore, you must admit, it follows that

  The spirit that was before has perished and

  The spirit which now is has now been born.

  Moreover, if the body is complete

  Before the quickened mind can enter it

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  When we are born and tread the threshold of life,

  It makes no sense that in our body and limbs

  And in the blood itself it lives and grows;

  Better by far to find a quiet hole

  For itself, and let the body do the feeling.

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  But all experience shows the contrary,

  So interwoven is it with the body

  Through veins, flesh, sinews, even bones, that teeth

  Also have feeling like the rest. We get toothache,

  A twinge from icy water, and grind on grit

  That’s found in lumps of bread, all hard and rough.

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  Wherefore again and yet again I say

  It is unthinkable that spirits have

  No beginning or are free from the law of death.

  If they come into our bodies from outside

  It is unthinkable that they could have

  Such close connection with them; and since so close

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  Is this connection, safe and unharmed they can’t

  Extract themselves from sinews, bones, and joints.

  But if by any chance you think that the spirit

  Can get into our bodies from outside

  And seep through our limbs, then all the more it must,

  Fused with the body, perish. What permeates

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  Must also dissolve, and therefore perishes.

  Consider food: it goes into our bodies,

  Into our limbs, dispersed through many channels,

  And perishes; and in so doing supports

  Another body. So spirit and mind

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  May enter the body whole, yet permeating

  Dissolve, their elements widely dispersed

  Into the limbs through the channels of the body,

  Those elements of which the mind consists

  Which now, in our body born, is lord of it,

  Born of that mind which perished when through our limbs

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  It was distributed. Wherefore the spiri
t

  Has both a birthday and a funeral.

  Now here’s another question. When the body

  Is dead do any seeds of spirit remain in it?

  If any do, and stay with it, then clearly

  The spirit can’t be immortal, since it has gone

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  Away and left some parts of itself behind.

  And if it has so completely fled away

  That not one particle of itself is left,

  How do you explain worms? The body rots

  And worms appear. Where from? And the other things

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  Boneless and bloodless that swarm through the limbs,

  Where do they come from? Do you really think

  That spirits creep into the worms from outside

  One by one into a thousand worms—

  A thousand spirits where only one has died?

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  Do the spirits go hunting for seeds of the worms

  To make a home of them? Or perhaps they creep

  Into the bodies of worms already formed?

  Why should they do this, why take all this trouble?

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  It’s quite a question—worth considering.

  For when they are without body they’re not plagued

  With illnesses or cold or hunger. No,

  The body it is that suffers all these ills

  And the mind is often sick through contact with it.

  Suppose, however, that they find it useful

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  To have a body to enter, there’s no way

  That they can do this. Spirits therefore do not

  Make bodies for themselves. Nor is it possible

  That they creep into bodies already made;

  For then they’d never make the subtle links

  They have with body, and the touch of common feeling.

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  Another point. Why are lions strong and fierce

  And foxes cunning, and deer timid and swift,

  And every animal has its character

  Born in it, when its life begins? It’s breed

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  That does this, the fixed power of mind conjoined

  Working with body to establish it.

  But if it were immortal and could pass

  From body to body, then the behaviour

  Of animals would be all mixed up. The hound

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  Would flee before the charging stag’s attack,

  The hawk would tremble, flying through the air

  From the dove pursuing it. Reason, in men

  No more, to the wild beasts of the field

  Would move her seat. So false it is to say

  That an immortal spirit can be altered

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  By a change of body. For that which changes is

  Dissolved and therefore perishes, since its parts

  Are transposed, and move from their positions.

  Wherefore throughout the limbs these parts must be

  Capable of being dissolved and in the end

  Die when the body dies, along with it.

  But what if human spirits always go

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  Into human bodies? Then I still ask why

  A foolish spirit can be made of a wise one,

  Why children are never wise, and why a foal,

  Well trained though it may be, can’t match a horse.

  No doubt they’ll tell you that in a tender body

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  The mind becomes tender. But even if this is so,

  The spirit must still be mortal, since being changed

  In the body it loses so much life and feeling.

  And how could any mind in any body

  Grow strong and reach the longed-for flower of life

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  Unless from the beginning it were its consort?

  Why does it want to flee from limbs grown old?

  Does it fear that a rotting corpse will be its prison

  Or that its house worn by the years will fall

  And crush it? But the immortal has no dangers.

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  And really it is ridiculous to imagine

  That spirits at the coupling and birth of animals

  Stand waiting to get in, immortal spirits

  Awaiting mortal bodies, numberless,

  Jostling and fighting to get in. Unless, that is,

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  They’ve made some sort of contract among themselves,

  First come first served, that puts an end to squabbling.

  To continue. A tree can’t grow in the sky, nor clouds

  Float in the sea, nor fish live on dry land,

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  Nor blood exist in logs nor sap in stones.

  Everything has its place, certain and fixed,

  Where it must live and grow and have its being.

  So mind cannot arise without the body

  Alone, nor exist apart from blood and sinews.

  But if the mind (and this would be much easier)

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  Could be by itself in head or shoulders or heels

  And be born in any part, still it would stay

  In the same man, the same vessel, enclosed.

  And since, within the body, mind and spirit

  By a fixed rule and ordinance are given

  The place where they may live and grow apart,

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  It is clearly all the more impossible

  For them to live and last outside the body.

  Wherefore when body has died you must confess

  That spirit through body torn has also died.

  It really is quite stupid to suppose

  That mortal with immortal can be joined

  And feel as one and act upon each other.

  What could be more absurd and inconsistent

  And contradictory than this: that mortal

  Linked with immortal could weather furious storms?

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  Few things there are that last eternally.

  First, solid bodies that repel assaults,

  And allow nothing to penetrate them

  And break apart the close-knit parts within,

  Such as the atomic particles of matter

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  The nature of which we have described before;

  Next, things which last through all the length of time

  Because no blow can hit them; such is the void,

  Which stays untouched and nothing can ever strike it;

  Next, things which have no space around them

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  Into which they can dissolve and be dispersed;

  Such is the eternal sum of the sum of things.

  Outside it nowhere any place exists

  Into which its elements can spring away,

  And nothing exists to impact it or destroy it.

  But if you think the spirit is immortal

  Because it’s fortified against all forms of death,

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  Or nothing ever comes to do it harm

  Or, if it does, for some reason turns back

  Repulsed before we can see what harm it does,

  Yet many ills and dangers harass it.

  It sickens when the body itself is sick;

  But that’s not all; for often something comes,

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  Some doubt about the future that tortures it,

  Racks it with fear and wears it out with worry.

  Remorse about the past for evil done

  Bites it, with madness and forgetfulness,

  And lethargy’s black waters cover it.

  Therefore death nothing is to us, nothing

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  That matters at all, since mind we know is mortal.

  Long years ago, when the Phoenicians

  Were coming in upon us from all sides,

  When the world shook with the tumult of war

  And quaked, and shivered to the heights of heaven, />
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  When all men doubted where by land and sea

  The victory would lie, we were untroubled.

  So, when the end shall come, when the close bonds

  Of body and spirit that hold us here shall part

  And we shall be no more, nothing can harm us

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  Or make us feel, since nothing of us remains,

  Though earth be joined with sea and sea with sky.

  And if it were true that mind and spirit can still

  Have feeling torn from the body, that means to us

  Nothing, since the marriage bonds of body and spirit

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  Weld us together in one single whole.

  No more, again, if time should after death

  Collect our matter and bring it back, and if

  The lights of life were given back to us,

  Would that concern us, not one whit, when once

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  Our memory of ourselves has passed away.

  And nothing now comes back to us from that self

  That was before, nor from it now can fear

  Or anguish ever touch us.

  When you review the whole past length of time

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  Existing measureless, and think how mixed

  And various the motions of matter are,

  You will easily believe that the same seeds

  Of which we now are made, have often before

  Been placed in the positions they are now in.

  But memory cannot recall it, since in between

  A great gulf is fixed, a halt of life, and all

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  The wandering motions have been scattered far

  From things we know. If in a future time

  A man is to suffer pain and misery,

  He must exist, or else he could not feel it.

  But death makes this impossible and forbids

  The man to exist to whom these ills could come.

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  Therefore we may be certain that in death

  There is nothing to fear, that he who does not exist

  Cannot feel pain, that it makes no difference

  Whether or not a man has been born before,

  When death the immortal has taken his mortal life.

  So when you see a man resent his fate

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  That after death his body in the tomb

  Must rot, or perish in flames or by wild beasts,

  You will know that he rings false, that in his heart

  Lies deep some hidden sting, though he denies

  That he believes there’s feeling after death.

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  He does not really accept what he professes,

  He does not wholly remove himself from life,

  But all unknown to himself he makes something

  Of himself to survive and go on living.

  For when in life he tells himself his future

  That after death his body by wild beasts

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  And birds will be devoured, torn to pieces,