On the Nature of the Universe (Oxford World’s Classics) Read online

  Before the foul and evil event occurred.

  Indeed it would be wiser to maintain

  That this happened somewhere in the universe,

  Somewhere among the many different worlds

  Created in so many different ways,

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  Than to credit it to any particular globe.

  They did this not in hope of victory

  But to dismay their enemies (and perish themselves),

  Mistrustful of their numbers and lacking in arms.

  The plaited garment came before woven cloth.

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  And cloth comes after iron, since iron is needed

  To make the loom: only iron can give the smoothness

  Needed for treadles and spindles and shuttles and clattering leash-rods.

  Nature ordained that this should be men’s work

  Before it was women’s (for the male sex as a whole

  Is much more skilled than women and more clever)

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  Until the farm-folk called it a disgrace.

  So men preferred to leave it to women’s hands

  And join themselves with others in hard toil

  And by hard labour hardened limbs and hands.

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  A model for sowing and for grafting plants

  Nature herself the great creatress formed.

  Berries and acorns fallen beneath the trees

  Sent up in season due a swarm of shoots.

  From this they learnt too to graft slips in branches

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  And plant young tender saplings in the fields.

  Next, different types of husbandry they tried

  One after another in their cherished plots,

  And saw wild fruits grow tame in the sweet soil

  With loving care and gentle humouring.

  And day by day they made the woods retreat

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  Ever higher up the hills, surrendering

  The place below to tilth, to make for them

  Meadows and crops, pools, streams, and smiling vineyards

  O’er hills and plains, and running in between

  The grey-green olives marking out the land,

  O’er hills and valleys and across the plains;

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  As now we see the countryside laid out

  In charming patterns, studded and adorned

  With luscious orchards everywhere, and full

  Of fertile woods and groves enclosing them.

  To imitate the liquid notes of birds

  With mouth and lips came long before men learnt

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  To charm the ears by singing tuneful songs.

  And zephyrs whistling through the hollow reeds

  First taught the country-folk to blow through pipes.

  Then gradually they learnt the sweet laments

  The flute pours out pressed by a player’s fingers,

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  Through pathless woods and glades and forests sounding

  And shepherds’ lonely haunts beneath the sky.

  These melodies would soothe and cheer their hearts

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  When they had had their fill of food; for then

  All things go well and please the minds of men.

  So often, lying in company together

  On the soft grass beside a flowing stream

  Beneath a tall tree’s shade, at little cost

  They found sweet rustic pleasure; most of all

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  When weather smiled and the season of the year

  Painted the meadows and green lanes with flowers.

  Then jests and talk and happy bursts of laughter

  Were there, and the rustic muse was in her prime.

  And then in joyful sport their heads and shoulders

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  They crowned with garlands, of leaves and flowers woven,

  And danced, all out of step, with clumsy limbs,

  And stamped with clumsy feet on mother earth.

  What mirth was there, what peals of happy laughter!

  For these things then were new and wonderful

  And flourished in the charm of novelty.

  And when at night they watched, bereft of sleep,

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  Their solace was to raise the tuneful voice

  In song, with many a varied melody,

  And run the curving lip along the reeds;

  So watchmen now this old tradition keep,

  Learning to play in tune; and not one whit

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  Of greater pleasure do they get from it

  Than those old earth-born woodland people got.

  For what we have, unless we have seen before

  Something more lovely, pleases most of all,

  And seems the best; till afterwards some new

  And better thing is found which spoils and mars

  What was before, and blunts the taste for it.

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  So acorns fell from favour. So the beds

  Of piled up leaves and herbage were abandoned.

  So wild beasts’ skins for clothing were despised.

  And yet this form of dress when first discovered

  Was I think so much envied that the wearer

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  Was murdered for it, and then the coat of skins

  Was torn to pieces by men fighting for it

  And stained with blood and lost, no use at all.

  So skins in those days, gold and purple now,

  Distract men’s lives and weary them with war.

  And blame for this I think lies in ourselves.

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  For lacking skins the naked sons of earth

  Were tortured by the cold; but we no harm

  Can suffer from a lack of purple robes

  With stars of gold emblazoned, so we have

  Some commonplace attire to cover us.

  Therefore always in vain and uselessly

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  Men labour, and waste their days in empty cares,

  Because they fail to see what bounds are set

  To getting, and what limits to true pleasure.

  And gradually this evil discontent

  Has carried life quite out to sea, and from

  The depths has roused the mighty tides of war.

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  But sun and moon the watchmen of the world

  Circling with light the vast rotating vault

  Have taught men well that seasons of the year

  Revolve, and that in all things is established

  A pattern and order fixed which governs them.

  Men lived already fenced in with strong towers,

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  And a land split up and parcelled out,

  And ships with flying sails bedecked the sea,

  And they had friends and allies bound by treaties,

  And poets began to celebrate in verse

  The mighty deeds of old; but letters then

  Had been not long discovered. Therefore our age

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  Cannot look back to see those early things

  Except where reason may point out the traces.

  Seafaring and farming, city walls, and laws

  And arms, roads, clothing, and all such other things,

  All the rewards, all the delights of life,

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  Songs, pictures, statues curiously wrought,

  All these they learnt by practice gradually

  And by experiments of eager minds

  As step by step they made their forward way.

  So each thing in its turn by slow degrees

  Time doth bring forward to the lives of men,

  And reason lifts it to the light of day.

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  For as one concept followed on another

  Men saw it form and brighten in their minds

  Till by their arts they scaled the highest peak.

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  BOOK SIX

  Athens of glorious name in former days

  First brought corn-bearing crops to suffering mortals,

  Brought them new life, established laws for them,

  And Athens first sweet solace gave to life

  When she brought forth a man of genius

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  Who from his lips revealed the truth of things.

  His glory, though he be dead, from ancient times

  For his divine discoveries so far renowned,

  Is even now exalted to the skies.

  For when he saw that nearly all those things

  Which need demands for living were enjoyed

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  By mortal men, their life established safe

  So far as might be, and when he saw them flourish

  With all that wealth and praise and honour bring,

  And glorying in the fair fame of their sons,

  And saw no less that deep in every home

  Were aching hearts and torments of the mind

  All hapless, self-inflicted without pause,

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  And sorrows breeding furious laments,

  He understood then that the vessel itself

  Produced the flaw, and by this flaw corrupted

  All that came into it however lovely.

  He saw that it must leak, being riddled with holes,

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  And so could not by any means be filled.

  He saw that, as it were with a noisome flavour,

  It tainted everything that entered it.

  Therefore with words of truth he purged men’s hearts

  And set a limit to desire and fear.

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  He showed the nature of that highest good

  For which all mankind strives, and showed the way,

  The strait and narrow path which leads to it

  If we go forward with unswerving steps.

  He showed the evil in the lives of men

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  Flying far and wide, caused either by natural chance

  Or else by force, as nature so ordained.

  He showed the sally-ports within the walls

  From which each different attack could best be met.

  He proved that mankind mostly without cause

  Stirred up sad waves of care within their breasts.

  For we, like children frightened of the dark,

  Are sometimes frightened in the light—of things

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  No more to be feared than fears that in the dark

  Distress a child, thinking they may come true.

  Therefore this terror and darkness of the mind

  Not by the sun’s rays, nor the bright shafts of day,

  Must be dispersed, as is most necessary,

  But by the face of nature and her laws.

  So all the more I press on to complete

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  The woven fabric of my argument.

  I have shown that all the realms of the universe

  Are mortal, and that the substance of the heavens

  Had birth; and I have explained most of those things

  That in the heavens occur and must occur.

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  Please listen now to what remains to tell.

  Since I have dared to mount the Muses’ glorious chariot,

  I will now tell how storms of wind arise,

  And then are calmed again, so that all things

  Return to what they were, all fury spent;

  And all those other things in earth and sky

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  Which men observe, and tremble, wondering,

  Their hearts laid low through fear of gods, oppressed,

  Crushed down to earth, because their ignorance

  Of causes makes them yield to power divine

  Kingdom and Empire over all that is.

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  For men who have been well taught about the gods

  That they live free from care, may wonder still

  By what design the world goes on, not least

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  Those things they see in heaven above their heads;

  And then to the old religions back they turn,

  And cleave to cruel masters whom they think,

  Unhappy fools, to be all-powerful,

  Not knowing what can be and what cannot,

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  Not knowing in a word how everything

  Has finite power and deep-set boundary stone.

  So all the more by blindness of the mind

  They are driven astray, and wander in the dark.

  Unless you spew these notions from your mind

  And banish far away from you all thoughts

  Unworthy of the gods and alien to their peace,

  These holy powers, objects of your insults,

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  Will often do you mischief. Not because

  The majesty of the eternal gods

  Can suffer injury, so that in wrath they seek

  To wreak revenge. No. You yourself will picture

  Those quiet beings in their untroubled peace

  As tossed by violent waves of wrath, and be unable

  To come before their shrines with quiet mind;

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  And those sweet images which to men’s hearts

  Are borne from holy bodies, messengers

  Of form divine, these images no more

  Will come to you, your heart at peace and tranquil.

  What kind of life must follow is plain enough.

  That such a life by truest reasoning

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  May be banished far from us, though many words

  I have uttered, much remains to tell, adorned

  In polished verse. The order of the heavens

  And visage of the sky must be my theme

  And storm and lightning flash must be my song,

  Both what they do and from what cause they spring;

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  Lest senselessly you tremble at the sky

  Divided into parts and speculate

  Which one the flying fire came from or to which other

  It went, and in what way it penetrated

  Through walls of buildings, and having worked its will

  Inside, made its way out again and so away.

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  Calliope, most skilful of the Muses,

  Solace of men, delight of gods, do you

  Now go before me as the last lap I run

  And point the way to the white winning post

  Marked out for me, that led by you renown

  May greet me as I win the victor’s crown.

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  First, thunder shakes the blue expanse of sky

  Because clouds flying high across the ether

  Are dashed together by conflicting winds.

  For no sound comes from a clear sky, but where

  The clouds in close formation are deployed

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  Often the mighty crash of thunder rolls.

  Besides, the substance of the clouds can’t be

  As thick as that of stones or logs, nor yet

  As thin as that of mist or flying smoke.

  For either they must fall, by their dead weight

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  Dragged down, like stones, or like smoke they’ld be too thin

  To contain freezing snow or showers of hail.

  Above the levels of the world outspread

  They make a noise like that of awnings stretched

  Across the beams of some great theatre

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  That flap and crack under the riotous winds

  And split and break and make the crackling sound

  Of tearing paper (for that kind of sound

  Also you can detect in thunderstorms).

  Or as when clothing hanging on a line

  Or sheets of paper whirling in the wind

  Are slapped and beaten by the sudden gusts.

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  S
ometimes it happens also that the clouds

  Cannot meet front to front, but scrape each other

  Along the sides, moving in opposite directions,

  And then that dry sound comes which on the ears

  Grates, long drawn out, until they make their exit

  Out of close quarters and move free in the sky.

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  Another way by which a thunderstorm

  Has seemed to make the whole earth quake and tremble,

  By which in sudden shock the mighty walls

  Of the embracing firmament have seemed

  To leap apart, is when a sudden gale

  Of strong winds massed together has thrust its way

  Into the clouds, and there enclosed in them

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  With whirling motion everywhere has scooped out

  An ever-growing hollow, with a shell

  Of cloud all round compacted more and more;

  Then when the force and impulse of the wind

  Has weakened it, the cloud is torn, and splits,

  Exploding with a terrifying crash.

  No wonder: since a small bladder full of air

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  Makes such a loud noise when it suddenly bursts.

  Another way that clouds produce a noise

  Is when winds blow through them. We often see

  Clouds branching out in many ways and tattered

  Driven through the sky, just as, we may be sure,

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  When the strong blasts of the north-west wind

  Blow through a wood, leaves rustle and branches crack.

  Sometimes also a furious force of wind

  Shears through a cloud head on and splits it up.

  For what the blast can do there, we can tell

  From our own experience, seeing that here on earth,

  Where it is gentler, none the less tall trees

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  It overturns and tears up from the roots.

  And there are waves among the clouds, which make

  A kind of low roar as they break, as happens

  Likewise in deep rivers and when the sea

  Breaks with its rolling tide upon the shore.

  Thunder comes also when a flaming stroke

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  Of lightning falls from a cloud upon a cloud.

  If the receiving cloud is full of water

  It makes a great noise quenching it at once,

  As red-hot iron taken from the furnace

  Hisses when plunged into a tank of water.

  And if a drier cloud receives the fire

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  It lights at once and burns with mighty roar,

  As on the mountains crowned with laurel came

  A flame that driven by a whirling wind

  Burnt all the woodlands with its rushing fire.

  No other thing than Phoebus’ Delphic laurel

  Burns with such fearful sound and crackling flame.

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  Lastly, the crack of ice and fall of hail