 Preface to On the Nature of Things My business has been to give, in the following pages, a literal translation of the six books of Lucretius. This task I have carefully performed, and it will, I trust, be no presumption to say that he who wishes to know what is in Lucretius without reusing the original will learn it from this volume with greater certainty than from any other previously offered to the English reader. The text immediately followed is that of Forbeger, which may indeed be rather called Wakefields, for the one varies but little from the other. But I have not dismissed a single page of the translation without consulting the texts of Lumbinus, Creech and Haverkamp, which are substantially the same, and in many instances far more satisfactory than Forbeger's. During all disputed or obscure passages I have diligently examined the commentators, especially Lumbinus, who is almost Instaumium, Creech and Wakefield, and have added explanatory notes respecting either the subject matter or the translation of particular words or phrases. The words which it has been found necessary to supply are distinguished by italics. Where a part's point of verb, having a similar signification, come together in construction, they have occasionally been rendered as two verbs, thus sparsus disiquitur, will be translated as scattered and dispersed. The particle yam is sometimes omitted, and where a succession of copulative conjunctions occurs, which Lucretius uses super abundantly, one has occasionally been left out in the translation, or being rendered by while, as well as, or in some similar way, for the sake of variety. Any other deviations from the structure of the text, which in the least concern the student, are pointed out in the notes. Tu and tuus in the addresses of the poet to Memius, or the general reader, are sometimes translated by thou and thine, and sometimes by you and your. Where Lucretius seemed to be particularly earnest, I have adopted the former mode, and in other cases the letter. J.S.W. Remarks on the life and poem of Lucretius. Of the life of Lucretius, but little information has reached us, adnos weak stanwis fama i perlabitur aura. That he was a Roman by birth, is inferred from the passages in his poem, in which he speaks of the Roman world as his country, and of the Roman language as his native tongue. As to the time of his birth, it is stated by Eusebius, in his chronicle, that he was born in the second year of the 171st Olympiad, or 95 years before Christ. At this period, Enius had been dead about seventy years. Cicero was in his twelfth year. Twenty-five years were to relapse before the birth of Virgil, and four before that of Julius Caesar. His style, indeed, would make him seem older, but its antiquated character may be partly affected in imitation, perhaps, of Enius, for whom he expresses great veneration. Concerning his family, nothing is known. The name of Lucretius, from the time of Lucretia downwards, occurs frequently in the history of Rome, with the surnames Trisipotinus, Sinna, Ophela, and others attached to it. But with whom the poet was connected, or from whom descended, it is impossible to discover. There was a Lucretius Vespillo, contemporary with him, a senator mentioned by Cicero and Caesar, of whom Lumbina's conjectures that he may have been the brother, suggesting that the one brother, by engaging in public life, might have attained senatorial dignity, while the other, devoting himself to literature and retirement, might have continued in the equestrian, or even plebeian rank, in which he was born. But all this is mere empty conjecture. Equally groundless is the supposition, started also by Lumbina's, that in his youth he went to Athens to study, and there, under the instruction of Zeno, who was then at the head of the Epicureans, became imbued with the doctrines of Epicurus. That he attached himself to the tenets of Epicurus is certain, but when or where he studied them is not now to be ascertained. Dunlop, however, asserts that Lucretius was sent with other young Romans of rank to study at Athens. Thus it is that eras crapped into biography and history, the learned conjecture and the last learned affirm. Lumbina suggests that Lucretius might have gone to Athens, Dunlop states that he did go. Lumbina says that it is probable, Dunlop says it is fact. He wrote his poem, or part of it, as appears from a passage near the beginning of the first book, at a time when the Roman Commonwealth was in a disturbed state. But whether the disorders to which he alludes were, as is generally supposed, those excited by Catiline, or, as Forbeger suggests, those which were raised by Claudius eight years afterwards, there is no means of deciding. His poem and his life, if we may trust Eusebius, were ended in the manner following. Having been driven to madness by an ematory potion, and having composed several books in the intervals of his insanity, with Citro afterwards corrected, he died by his own hand in the forty-fourth year of his age. By whom the potion was administered, it's conjectured only from a passage in Saint Jerome who says that a certain Lycilia killed her husband, or her lover, by giving him a filter which was intended to secure his love, but of which the effect was to render him insane. This Lycilia is supposed to have been the wife or mistress of Lucretius, but by whom the supposition was first made, I am not able to discover. He is sad by Donatus, or whoever wrote the old life of Virgil, to have died on the day on which Virgil assumed the toga with Elise. That Citro corrected what he wrote, there is, except from the passage in Eusebius, no indication. From a passage in Varro it has been concluded that he wrote many more books than have reached us, for Lucretius, says he, Suorum Unius et Viginti Librorum Initium Fekit Hock, Eiferis et Terra e Genitabile Quaere de Tempus. But Lembinus has very plausibly conjectured that, for Lucretius, should be substituted Lysilius, or the name of some other writer known to us. This is the more probable, observes Eichstad, as Varro was older than Lucretius, and was not accustomed to draw examples and testimonies from younger writers. From the six books, as they now stand, there is no inference to be drawn that more were written. That something more was intended is perhaps true, for when we consider how the sixth book breaks off, we must either suppose that he designed to write a conclusion to it, or that he meant another book to follow. He signifies, however, that he was drawing to the conclusion of his undertaking, and indeed the doctrines of Epicurus are so fully set forth in the six books that little more could have been added respecting them. It is true that there are two or three illusions among the Grammarians, the passages and verses which are not now found in the six books, illusions which have led to the belief that there were more books, but which, with other considerations, led spaulding the editor of Quintillian to the suspicion that there were two editions given by the author himself, and that, though the second was generally followed, the first was not quite forgotten. Thus the 937th verse of the first book, which is now read, contingunt melis dulci fawoc queli cuore, is cited by Quintillian, aspirant melis dulci fawoc queli cuore. And Servius, on those lines in the georgics, non egocunt melis amplecti versibus opto, non melisi linguaicentum sint oraquequentum, ferre awox, says, the verses are Lucretius's, but he has aene awox, not ferre, verses which are not now to be found in Lucretius. His notion of two editions, Eichstad has noticed, at some length, in his dissertation, the Lucretii vitae carmine, and Forbeger has written a long essay to show that Lucretius's verses have been much altered. Fatior Enim, says Forbeger, exquo primum Lucretii carmen, sudiosius, perlegerim operam quemeam e inawawirim, plures me he oblatas esse causa suspicandi, nobis in his sex dererum natura libris, non unius Lucretii, seduorum scriptorum, lunged iversorum manum agoscendum, ideocque ung etiam autorem is anumerandum esse, quorum scripta asserioribus multis in locis mutata, auta welcontracta, emendata welcorrupta, denique lunge alia ab ea, quam autor ipsis de derit, forma induta, ad nostra tempora pervenerim. I confess that, since I first read the poem of Lucretius with attention, and bestowed serious labor upon it, many reasons occurred to me for suspecting that, in these six books concerning the nature of things, we have to recognize not the hand of Lucretius alone, but those of true writers of far different characters, and that this author is therefore to be numbered with those whose works have come down to us altered in many places by later writers, having been augmented or diminished in bulk, amended or corrupted, and invested with a different form from that which the author himself gave them. But perhaps, in the case of Lucretius, the variations which we find in the verses which are cited from him, are to be attributed not to any regular revision or amendation of his writings, but to the casual mistakes of transcribers, and the lapse of memory in grammarians. Perhaps also passages containing verses cited by Servius and others have been lost. Lachman, the last editor, finds, or imagines, that he finds, deficiencies in several pages. The Mamius to whom the poem is addressed was, as Lambinas and others think, Caius Mamius Gebellus, a Roman knight, who is described by Cicero as a learned man, well-read in Greek, but disdainful of Latin literature, a clever orator, and of an agreeable style, but shrinking from the labor, not only of speaking, but even of thinking, and doing injustice to his ability by his want of industry. He became preter, and after his pretership had the province of Bethenia, to which he was accompanied by Catelas, the poet. Being supported by Caesar, he stood for the consulship, but was unsuccessful, and after being accused and condemned of bribery, went into exile at Petrae, where he died. Cicero defended him on his trial, and addressed to him some letters, which may be found in the thirteenth book of his epistles to his friends. The general voice of criticism has awarded to Lucretius high praise as a poet. The earliest notice which we find of his works is that of Cicero, in a letter to his brother Quintus, in which he says, as the passage stands in Ernesti, Lucretii poemata ut scribis itasunt, non multis luminibus ingenii, multitamen artis. The poetry of Lucretius is such as you say, having not much splendor of genius, but a great deal of art. Wakefield would omit the non, but is opposed by Eistad and Schütz and by general opinion. Cicero, however, if we read his words rightly, seems hardly to do justice to the poet, or to hit the general character of his word. To us of the present day, he appears to be chiefly distinguished by a rough vigor, and to have been anxious, rather, to express his thoughts strongly than to clothe them in elegance or niceties of language. Not that he disdain poetical beauties, for Virgil and others have found in him many worthy of adoption, but vigor and animation seem to have been his chief aim. Stashes did him more justice when he spoke of the Dottifuror Arduus Lucretii, the lofty rage of the learned Lucretius. Ovid thoroughly understood his merit, and predicted that his poem was destined to be immortal. Carmina sublime stunson peritura Lucretii, exidio terras, condabit una dies. Cornelius Nepus ranks him in elegance with Catellus, for speaking of a certain Gileus Caledus, who was rescued from prescription by Pompanius Atticus, he calls him the most elegant poet since the death of Catellus and Lucretius. Quintilian gives him similar praise, saying that he is elegance in sua materia, elegant in his peculiar department, though he thinks him difficult for the student. Allus Gileus calls him a poet exiling ingenio et facundia, ingenious and force of language. Serena Simonica styles him the great Lucretius, and Vilius Protercalus, Vitrivious, Seneca, Macrovious, and Pliny the Younger, notice him as ranked among the most eminent poets, though without bestowing on him any specific commendation. He is recognized in a similar way by Perpercius and Tacitus. There was therefore a little cause for Dunlop to complain of the slight mention that is made of Lucretius by succeeding Latin authors, and of the coldness with which he is spoken of by all Roman critics and poets, with the exception of Ovid. Horus, indeed, who makes abundant mention of any as in Lysilius, has, it must be acknowledged, not named Lucretius. Dunlop, to account for this silence of Horus, and the supposed intended silence of others, suggests that the spirit of free thinking which pervaded his writings may have rendered it unsuitable or unsafe to extol his poetical talents. There was a time, he adds, when, in this country, it was thought scarcely decorous or becoming to express high admiration of the genius of Rousseau and Voltaire. With reference to Horus and his times, there may have been some ground for this opposition. Cicero, in his Dea Mechitia, introduces Lelius, saying that he does not agree with those who have lately begun to assert that souls perish together with their bodies and that death makes an end of all. I rather submit myself, he continues, to the authority of the ancients or of our own forefathers, who appointed religious rites for the dead, rites which they would not have instituted had they thought that the dead could not be affected by them, or to the authority of him who has pronounced by the oracle of Apollo the wisest of men, and who did not on this, as on most subjects, asserts sometimes one thing and sometimes another, but maintain invariably the same opinion, that the souls of men are divine, and that, when they are released from the body, a return to heaven is open to them, and first of all to the best and most worthy. But, he concludes, as if unwilling to side too closely with either party, should the opinion of those be true, who think that the soul and the body perish together, and that all sense is terminated by their separation, death will then be attended with neither good nor evil. The moderns have certainly not been less willing to praise Lucretius than the ancients. Bartheas and Turnibus commend the attractive simplicity of his antique latinity. Crenitas and Cosbun speak of his style in a similar manner, and Julius Scaliger calls him a divine man, an incomparable poet. The eleges bestowed upon him by Lumbines, Faber and his other commentators, I omit as they might be regarded as the offspring of partiality. Our own countrymen have not been behind others in offering their tribute of admiration, as exhibited in additions, translations, remarks, and quotations. Dr. Wharton, in his essay on Pope, calls the nature of things the noblest descriptive poem extant, and has most happily illustrated the poet's vigor of conception and execution. The Persians, says he, distinguish the different degrees of the strength of fancy in different poets by calling them painters or sculptors. Lucretius, from the force of his images, should be ranked among the latter. He is, in truth, a sculptor poet. His images have a bold relief. If Lucretius had not been spoiled by the Epicurean system, says Lord Byron, he should have had a far superior poem to any now in existence. As mere poetry it is the first of Latin poems. But the most discriminating and ample praise that has been given him by any English author is that of Dryden. If I am not mistaken, says he, the distinguished character of Lucretius, I mean of his soul and genius, is a certain kind of noble pride and positive assertion of his own opinions. He is everywhere confident of his own reason, and assuming an absolute command, not only over his vulgar readers, but even his patron, Memius, for he is always bidding him a tent, as if he had the rod over him and using a magisterial authority while he instructs him. He seems to disdain all manner of replies, and is so confident of his cause that he is beforehand with his antagonists, urging for them whatever he imagined they could say, and leaving them, as he supposes, without an objection for the future. All this, too, with so much scorn and indignation as if he were assured of the triumph before he entered into the lists. From this sublime and daring genius of his, it must of necessity come to pass that his thoughts must be masculine, full of argumentation, and that sufficiently warm. From the same fiery temper precedes the loftiness of his expressions, and the perpetual torrent of his verse, when the bareness of his subject does not too much restrain the quickness of his fancy. For there is no doubt to be made, but that he could have been everywhere as poetical as he is in his descriptions, and in the moral part of his philosophy, if he had not aimed more to instruct in his system of nature than to delight. With regard to the subject of his poem, Lucretius is to be contemplated as a natural and moral philosopher. The physical part of his philosophy, and most indeed of the moral part, he took from Epicurus, who, as Cicero observes, had previously adopted his physics from Democritus. Of this the great principle is that nothing can proceed from nothing, and that consequently this world in which we live and every other object in the universe was formed from matter that previously existed. How this matter came to exist we need not inquire, we are to suppose that it existed always. In its original state it was an infinitude of detached atoms moving or falling through unlimited space, for that space is unlimited is by Lucretius elaborately proved. These atoms are infrangeable and indestructible, for matter is not infinitely divisible. There must be a point at which division ends. They are hard and solid, or they would be unable to endure agitation and attrition throughout an infinity of ages. They are of different shapes, suited for the formation of various substances by combination. The number of their forms, however, is limited, but the number of each form is infinite. The atoms were moving, but whence had they the beginning of motion? From their own gravity, for all bodies moved downwards by their own weight. This is the commencement of absurdity in the system, for if space be infinite, one direction in it cannot be called downwards, more than another. As Lucretius himself indeed acknowledges, observing that new as funditus emum, nor can any reason be assigned why an atom should move from one part of infinite space to another. This commencement of motion, however, being assumed, it is next to be shown how atoms combined. Had they all moved, as might have been supposed, in straight lines, as they fell or proceeded through space, there could have been no coalition among them, unless the heavier had overtaken the lighter. But Lucretius, or Epicurus, had sufficient conception of the motion of bodies in empty space to understand that light bodies must move through it as speedily as heavy ones, and that, consequently, one atom could not overtake another. It was necessary, therefore, to make some of them deviate from the straight or perpendicular line, and it is accordingly assumed that some do deviate from it. This supposition, says Cicero, is mere puerility, for he introduces the deviation arbitrarily, he makes some atoms decline from the straight course without cause, and to say that anything takes place without a cause is, to a natural philosopher, the most disgraceful of all things. To assert, too, that some decline and some go straight onwards is, as it were, to give properties and duties to atoms despotically, determining which is to go in a right line in which, obliquely. But when, from partial deviations, some had come in contact with others, they began to form combinations. They strove, as it were, for a long time ineffectually, but at length the larger and heavier atoms coalesced into the denser substances as earth and water, the smaller and lighter into more subtle matters as air and fire. From combinations of such substances arose plants and animals, as trees and worms still spring from the earth when it is moistened and warmed. Of the rise of animals in general and of men especially, the reader will find an ample account, according to the notions of Epicuras, in the fifth book. Nature does not abhor a vacuum. On the contrary, it is necessary that there should be, throughout the whole of matter, certain portions of empty space or the movement of particles would be utterly impeded. Water, for instance, could not be a liquid unless there were vacuities among its atoms to allow them to yield to pressure. Man consists of a body and a soul. The body is constituted of coarser and a soul of finer matter. Both are produced together and grow up and decay together. At death the connection between them is dissolved. The soul takes its departure to be decomposed and mingled with other matter, and the body begins to decay that it may undergo a similar fate. The mind is intimately connected with the soul, so intimately that they must be said to form one substance. Both are composed of heat, vapor, air, and a certain fourth substance which has no name, but which is the most important of the four, as being the origin of motion in the whole man. That both are wholly corporeal is indisputable from their power to act on the body. Tange renim et tangi nisi corpus nula potestres. Ideas of objects in the mind are produced by the mysterious action of images of things on the soul and intellect. Images of a light vapor substance which are perpetually passing off from the surface of all bodies whatsoever and exhibiting the exact resemblance of the objects from which they are detached. Other images, too, are formed spontaneously in the atmosphere as we see clouds at times form themselves into likenesses of things on the face of the sky. Of images, accordingly, the number is infinite, so that whenever a man wishes to think on anything, the image of it is generally ready to present itself for his contemplation. If he cannot recollect what he wishes to think on, he may consider that an image of it is not at hand. Dreams are excited by images which, as they pass through the air penetrating the coverings of the body, come in contact with such atoms of the soul as are at the surface of the body and thus communicate their impressions to the whole of the soul and mind. Vision is produced by the same images flying off from the surface of the objects at which we look and striking on the eye. Reflection from mirrors and other smooth surfaces is produced by the image first striking the reflecting plane and then being reverberated to the eye. Voice, like all sounds, is a corporeal substance because it frequently, as it passes forth, causes abrasion of the throat and because much speaking exhausts the corporeal frame by detraction of atoms. The members and organs of the body were not formed with a design that they might be used, for there could have been no design in the offspring of fortuitously meeting atoms, but as they have been formed and we find them capable of being used, we apply them, accordingly, to the uses for which they seem adapted. The feet were not formed for walking, but as we find they enable us to walk, we employ them in walking. Of all our knowledge the foundation must rest on the perceptions of our senses. To our senses we can assuredly trust, for what shall refute them? Will anything distinct from them refute them, or will they refute one another? That which shall convict them of falsehood must be more trustworthy than they, but what can be more trustworthy? What shall convince us that those bodies which appear to the senses square, or hot, or black, are not possessed of those qualities? The motions and combinations of atoms being established are all natural phenomena, as thunder, lightning, rain, earthquakes, are easily shown to arise from their changes of place and effects on one another. Even were it not demonstrable that the world was fortuitously formed by the coalescence of atoms, it might yet be safely affirmed from the numerous faults apparent in it, and from the various causes of suffering to animal life which it contains, that it was not made by divine wisdom as an abode for living creatures. It sprung into being casually, and animals that casually sprung from it make the best of that abode to which they are confined, and from which there is no release but death. This world which we inhabit is not the only one in the universe. The number of atoms being infinite it is naturally to be supposed that they must have produced more worlds than one. It is therefore probable that there are many worlds of many kinds, and as these worlds have been generated we may fairly argue that they also decay. Men, other animals, and the trees of the forest are born but to die, and why should not a world be subject to the same fate as the things which grow in it? We see indeed the symptoms of decadence in the world which we inhabit, for the present productions of the earth are not of the same vigor as those of its earlier days. All then around us we may conclude is making progress towards dissolution. The great glow will continue to sink and grow infirm, until at last, mouldering and disruttured, it scatters its atoms through surrounding space to contribute to the formation of other worlds like or unlike itself. Star after star from Heaven's bright arch so rush, suns sink on suns, and systems systems crush, headlong, extinct, to one dark center fall, and death and night and chaos mingle all. Till, or the wreck emerging from the storm, immortal nature lifts her changeful form, mounts from her funeral pyre on wings of flame, and soars and shines another and the same. Darwin. Such were the general tenets of Lucretius as a natural philosopher, tenets on which the reader will find him amply enlarging in the following pages. His doctrines as a moral philosopher may be noticed with greater brevity. His great boast as a moralist was that he freed men from the terrors of death and of suffering after death. The soul, says he, when it is separated from the body, is dispersed among the matter from which it was collected, and the man seizes to be. His atoms continue to exist, for they are indestructible, but his own existence as an individual being is no more. He is separated into his parts, and his consciousness that he ever existed as a whole is at an end. Of what has been he will have no recollection, of what shall be he will have no knowledge. Why then should he dread to die when after death no suffering can ensue? He that is about to die young may felicitate himself that he shall escape that trouble and affliction of which some falls to the lot of every man. He that dies at an advanced age may be satisfied that he has had so long opportunity for those enjoyments of which no man fails to obtain some. After a certain period life offers nothing new, and why should we seek to prolong it? The greatest enjoyment of life consists in tranquil pleasure. To labor for honor and dignities which are unsatisfactory when attained is mere folly. Nature has supplied everything necessary to satisfy our wants, and to enable us to spend our existence in ease, contentment, and pleasure, if we only study the best method of making the most of what is said before us. A wise man can live on a little, and to live contentedly on a little is to be equal in enjoyment to him who has more than ourselves, and who, however much he may have, can have no solid satisfaction unless he is contented with that which he possesses. The highest degree of wisdom that we can attain is to be able to look down from the serene elevations of philosophy, on the unreasoning crowds wandering beneath us, seeking for the path of happiness, and vainly hoping to find it in the pursuit of the splendors and distinctions of the world. Whether he really believed in the existence of gods, that is, of beings of a similar but superior nature to ourselves, it is not easy from the perusal of his works to decide. He at times speaks of gods, like Epicurus, as certainly existing, and enjoying a state of tranquil felicity, unconcerned about the affairs of the world, and unaffected by human good or human evil. At other times he seems to consider them as mere creatures of the imagination to which men have attributed, in the operations of nature, those effects of which they cannot discover the causes. The first edition of Lucretius was printed at Breces, by Fernandes, without date, but as Wakefield and others think, about the year 1470. It is of all Edithionis Prinkipes, the most rare. The second edition appeared at Verona, printed by Freidenperger, in 1486, and the third at Venice, by T. De Ragazzonibus, in 1495. From Venice, too, in 1500, came forth the first edition of Aldus, and fifteen years afterwards the second, superintended by Nalgerius, who did more to make his author intelligible than had been done in the former edition. In the meantime, however, 1511, had appeared at Bononia the edition of Baptista Pius, who brought much learning and ability to bear upon his author, and many of whose notes are still worthy of preservation. To have been greatly improved, from the revised text of Mikael Marullus, which was published from his manuscripts after his death, by Petrus Candidus, whose name the edition bears, at Florence, in 1512, of which text, succeeding editors have overlooked the merits, or have been unwilling to do justice to them. But all other editions were thrown into the shade by those of Lambinus, of which the first appeared in 1563, the second in 1565, and the third in 1570. Of all editors and expounders of Lucretius, Lambinus still deserves to stand at the head. He is accused by Wakefield of inconsulta temeritas, in judicious rashness, in intruding his own conjectures into the text, and by Eistad of having had too high an opinion of his own judgment and ability. But though there be some grounds for such accusations, his character as an editor is still of the highest order. He brought to his work a powerful mind, and knowing that Lucretius always intended to write sense, he took upon himself to put sense, perhaps at times too arbitrarily, into verses which had been left meaningless by transcribers. And it is surely no dishonor to him to have shown his contempt for such a man as Giffanius, who, in 1565, printed an edition at Antwerp, and whose annotations have little other claim to notice than that of stacking Lambinus with the meanness with which a low mind always attacks a higher. There were some other editions, but of not much account, between Giffanius's and that of Tanakwe Faber, which was published in 1662, containing notes, brief indeed, but evincing the great learning and acuteness of the editor. To Faber, in 1695, succeeded Creech. His text is Lambinus' with scarcely any variation, and though he never fails to expose a mistake of Lambinus when he finds one in his commentary, he is very ready to profit by all Lambinus' instructions. His interpretatio, after the manner of the Delphin editions, is of little use, for wherever there is any difficulty of construction he invariably abbreviates. Yet, if we make credit the last editor, Lachman, multarectius interpretatus est cuamscripsit in filosofia explicanda sanediligens sed lingua latina imperitissimus. This is too strong, but there are in his notes inelegances and inaccuracies. In 1725 appeared a splendid edition of Haverkamp, which is extremely useful as containing all the notes of Lambinus, Bifanius, Creech, and Faber, with a selection from those of Pius, and with a few of considerable value from Abrahamus Pragerus, a friend of Haverkamp. Of Haverkamp's own, there is comparatively little. At length, in 1796, came out with a dedication to Fox, the well-known edition of Wakefield. Wakefield had discovered, by the inspection of a manuscript or two, that Lambinus had taken, as he thought, unjustifiable liberties with the text of Lucretius, and conceived that he should be enabled to restore it to something like its original integrity. Had he been content to reinstate only those words or phrases which Lambinus or others had unreasonably ejected, he might have done greater service, but he replaced also such readings as any editor would have been blamed for suffering to remain. I will give one instance. In Lambinus and Creech, the 863rd verse of the third book stands thus. This is intelligible, but Wakefield, finding in manuscripts nostrils, replaced it as a crux to his reader, who, as soon as he comes to it, is stuck fast. What, he inquires, is to be understood with nostrils. It is vain to seek for anything in what precedes, and he must consult Wakefield's notes to find that, according to Wakefield's notion, rebels must be supplied. How much the difficulties in an author may be increased by such changes is easily conceivable, but he who has only read Lambinus or Creech's edition of Lucretius can have no conception how much the difficulties in Lucretius have been increased by Wakefield's arbitrary alterations. Whether Wakefield ever construed through a brick wall, I do not know, but that he has raised abundance of brick walls through which others are left to construe his manifest. There is, in his notes, besides other unnecessary matter, a vast quantity of superfluous railing at the Inskithia and Inwericundia of Lambinus, and the Inskithia and Stupor of Creech, of which the reader may see an average specimen on six 582 and in various other places. A man worthy to edit Lucretius should have foreborn to apply the term Inskithia to such a predecessor as Lambinus. In 1801 Wakefield's text was reprinted at Leipzig by Eichstad, who had previously obtained repute by his edition of the Odorus Siculus. The first volume containing the text of the six books Juditius Prolegomena and an excellent index is the only one that has appeared. In 1828 came for the edition of Forbeger, which chiefly, perhaps from the convenience of its size, has been much used. His text is Wakefield's, with but very few alterations, and all his explanations of passages are Wakefield's. His work, says Lachman, was mercenary, and it would be doing him great injustice to suppose him capable of seeing anything by the light of his own intellect. In 1850 at Berlin appeared Lachman's edition in two thin volumes Octavo. He is a little too fond of transposing verses and discovering deficiencies in the text, but deserves great commendation for restoring many readings that Wakefield had ejected. His notes are not at all explanatory, but are wholly occupied about changes in the text. With regard to versions of Lucretius, the earliest attempt to render him into English was made by John Evelyn, the author of Silva, who, in 1656, published the first book Inverse with a commentary. His lady designed the frontispiece, and Waller prefixed a copy of verses. The translation is faithful but tame. In 1682 was published the translation by Creech, which, as the first complete version of the poet, was cordially welcomed. Evelyn furnished some laudatory couplets, saying how much he was pleased that the entire work had fallen to more vigorous hands than his own. Duke, Tate, and Ottway gave also their tribute of verse, and Creech was everywhere known as the English Lucretius. But posterity have had time to discover the faults in his performance. Many of his lines are vigorous, but many are stiff and awkward, and the licenses which he has taken with the original are almost beyond belief. Whoever will look at the commencement of his first book will find that between the 10th and 16th verses he inserts five lines of his own. Similar interpolations may be found in other places, and he likewise curtailed with equal freedom whenever it suits his purpose. About the same time Dryden produced some translations, or rather paraphrases of particular passages, executed with his usual vigor. In 1743 there appeared, in two volumes Octavo, a prose translation which Good calls Garnier's, but which was the work of an unknown hand. Garnier, with others, furnished the plates. The version is but indifferent. Some parts of it, though printed as prose, run into blank verse. In 1799 the first book was translated in rhyme by an anonymous author, and in 1808, also in rhyme, by the reverent W. Hamilton Drummond. Both versions have merit, but the greater share of praise belongs to Mr. Drummond. In 1805 Dr. Good laid before the public his two quarto volumes, containing a version of the whole poem in blank verse, with copious notes. This translation is in general pleasing and animated, but some parts are rather stiff. Taken as a whole, it is by far the best extent, and is deemed by my publisher a desirable addition to the present volume. In 1813 was published by subscription, in two pompous volumes' quarto, the rhyme version of Thomas Busby's music-daughter. He is, to do him justice, tolerably faithful to the sense, but his couplets are far inferior to those of Mr. Drummond's first book. His notes are heavy and tedious, and all his learning second hand. The whole book reminds the reader of the commencement of his well-known prologue, which Lord Byron says more, unnecessarily travested. When energizing objects men pursue, what are the prodigies they cannot do? In French, Lucretius has been translated several times. The earliest version is that of the Abbey de Maholle in prose, published in 1650, which has not obtained more esteem than his other translations of classical authors. In 1685 another prose translation was published by the Bachon de Couture, which is paraphrastic, but seems tolerably faithful to the sense. In 1768 La Grange published a third, which gives the thoughts of the poet with exactness, but once vigor and animation. And in 1794 Le Blanc de Guillet brought out a fourth, in verse, which I have not minutely examined, but on which his countrymen set no very high value. The last, in 1825, was that of Pugerville in prose, rather a paraphrase and a translation, and preserving nothing of the sententiousness of Lucretius. The Italian version of Marchetti, in blank verse, published in London 1717 and since several times reprinted, has always been highly esteemed. The Germans have three translations, one by Maier, 1784, in prose, which Degen, cited by Maas, calls pretty accurate. Another by Mainecke, 1795, in exameter verse, which is generally considered faithful to the sense. And the last by Gnebel, 1821, which is also in exameter verse, and which is the most highly valued of the three. The Dutch have a prose translation by David, printed in 1701, which Good says that he had seen, but without being induced to imitate it. I beg leave to observe that, in the notes attached to the following translation, I have not taken upon me to refute any of the doctrines of Lucretius or Epicurus. To have offered formal refutations of them would have occupied more space than could be afforded in the present volume, and many of them, in these days, require no refutation. I have therefore restricted myself to discharging that which Dryden admonishes me to be the duty of a translator, to do my author all the right I can, and to translate him to the best advantage. Those who seek for arguments against his tenets, physical or moral, may find them in lactantius and ornobius, in the entire Lucretius of Cardinal Polygneas, in the Bridgewater Treatises, and in abundance of other English books. The famous refutation by Cardinal Polygneas, called Anti-Lucretius, I might have quoted in every page, and the reader will perhaps wonder that I have not done so. But I forebored to quote him, as I forebored to quote others. He has saved Lucretius with great determination. His versification, though deficient in Lucretian order, is always respectable, and sometimes elevated, and he would perhaps be more read, had he not unluckily, as Voltaire observes, when he attacked Lucretius, attacked Newton. End of Remarks on the Life and Poem of Lucretius. Section 1 of On the Nature of Things. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. On the Nature of Things, by Lucretius. Translated by John Selby Watson. Section 1. Book 1, Part 1. Earth. Since by Thy influence every kind of living creature is conceived, and springing forth hails the light of the sun. Thee, O Goddess, Thee the winds flee. Before Thee, and Thy approach, the clouds of heaven disperse. For Thee, the variegated earth puts forth her fragrant flowers. On Thee, the waters of ocean smile, and the calmed heaven beams with effulgent light. For, as soon as the vernal face of day is unveiled, and the genial gale of Favonius exerts its power unconfined, the birds of the air first, O Goddess, testify of Thee and Thy coming, smitten in heart by Thy influence. Next, the wild herds bound over the joyous pastures, and swim across the rapid streams. So, all kinds of living creatures, captivated by Thy charms and Thy allurements, eagerly follow Thee with their so-ever Thou proceedest to lead them. In fine, throughout seas and mountains, and well-meaning rivers, and the leafy abodes of birds, and verdant plains, Thou, infusing balmy love into the breasts of all, causes them eagerly to propagate their races after their kind. Since Thou alone dost govern all things in nature, neither just anything without Thee springed into the ethereal realms of light, nor anything becomes gladsome or lovely, I desire Thee to be my associate in this my song, which I am essaying to compose on the nature of things, for the instruction of my friend Memius, whom Thou, O Goddess, hast willed at all times to excel, graced with every gift. The more, therefore, do Thou, O Goddess, bestow on my words an immortal charm. Cause the fierce pursuit of war, meanwhile, to seize, being lulled to rest throughout all seas and lands. For Thou alone can's bless mortals with tranquil peace, since Mars, the Lord of Arms, who controls the cruel tasks of war, often flings himself upon Thy lap, vanquished by the eternal wound of love. And thus, looking up, his graceful neck thrown back, he feasts his eager eyes with love, gazing intently on Thee, O Goddess, and his breath, as he reclines, hangs on Thy lips, bending over him, O Goddess, as he reposes, to embrace him with Thy sacred person, pour from Thy lips sweet converse, and treating unruffled peace, illustrious divinity, for Thy Romans. For neither can we pursue our task with tranquil mind in this untranquil time of our country, nor can the illustrious sign of Memius, at such a crisis, desert the common interest. For what remains, lend me, O Memius, Thy unprajudiced ears, and apply thyself, release from cares, to the investigation of truth, and leave not, as things despised, my offerings arranged for Thee with faithful zeal, before they are understood. For I shall proceed to discourse to Thee of the whole system of heaven and the gods, and unfold to Thee the first principles of all things, from which nature produces, develops, and sustains all, and into which she again resolves them at their dissolution. These, in explaining our subject, we are accustomed to call matter, and the generative bodies of things, and to designate as the seeds of all things, and to turn them primary bodies, because from them, as primary, all things are derived. For the whole nature of the gods must necessarily, of itself, enjoy immortality, in absolute repose, separated, and far removed from our affairs. For, exempt from all pain, exempt from perils, all sufficient in its own resources, and needing nothing from us, it is neither propitiated by services from the good, nor affected with anger against the bad. When the life of men lay foully groveling before our eyes, crushed beneath the weight of a religion, who displayed her head from the regions of the sky, lowering over mortals with terrible aspect, a man of Greece was the first that dared, to raise mortal eyes against her, and first to make a stand against her. Him, neither tales of God, nor thunderbolts, nor heaven itself with its threatening roar, repressed, but roused the more the active energy of his soul, so that he should desire to be the first to break the close bars of nature's portal. Accordingly, the vivid force of his intellect prevailed, and proceeded far beyond the flaming battlements of the world, and in mind and thought traversed the whole immensity of space. Hence triumphant he declares to us what can arise into being and what cannot. In fine, in what way the powers of all things are limited, and a deeply fixed boundary assigned to each. By which means religion, brought down under our feet, is bruised in turn, and his victory sets us on a level with heaven. In treating of these subjects, I fear thou mayest happily think that thou art entering on forbidden elements of philosophy, and commencing a course of crime. Whereas, on the contrary, that much extolled religion has too frequently given birth to criminal and impious deeds. As when, at all this, the chosen leaders of the Greeks, the chief of men, fouledly stained the altar of the virgin trivia with the blood of Iphigenia. When the fillet, clasping her virgin tresses, dropped from each cheek in equal length, and she saw her sire stand sorrowing before the altars, and the attendant priests, close by him, concealing the knife, and her countrymen shedding tears at the sight of her, she, dumb with fear, dropping on her knees, sank to the earth. Nor could it, at such a time, avail the hapless maiden, that she had been the first to bless the king with the name of Father. For, raised by the hands of men, and trembling, she was led to the altar. Not that the solemn service of sacrifice being performed, she might be accompanied with the loud bridal hymn. But spotless, though stained, she might, even in her wedding-prime, fall a sad victim by her father's immolating hand, that a successful and fortunate voyage might be granted to the fleet. To such evils could religion persuade mankind. Will thou, too, overcome by the frightful tales of bars, ever seek to turn away from me? Surely not, for doubtless I, even now, could invent for thee many dreams, which might disturb the tenor of thy life, and confound all thy enjoyments with terror. And with reason, too, under the present system of belief, for did man but know that there was a fixed limit to their woes, they would be able, in some measure, to defy the religious fictions and menaces of the poets. But now, since we must fear eternal punishment at death, there is no mode, no means of resisting them. For men know not what the nature of the soul is, whether it is engendered with us, or whether, on the contrary, it is infused into us at our birth, whether it perishes with us, dissolves by death, or whether it hounds the gloomy shades and vast pools of orcas, or whether, by divine influence, it infuses itself into other animals, as are Aeneas's song, who first brought from Pleasant Helican a crown of never-fading leaf, which should be distinguished in fame throughout the Italian tribes of men. Though, in addition, however, Aeneas, satting it forth in deathless song, declares that there are temples of Akiran, wither neither our souls nor our bodies penetrate, but only phantoms, strangely pale, from amongst whom he relates that the apparition of undying Homer, rising up before him, began to pour forth briny tears, and to expound in words the nature of things. Wherefore, with reason then, not only an inquiry concerning celestial affairs is to be accurately made by us, as by what means the courses of the sun and moon are effected, and by what influence all things individually are directed upon the earth, but especially also we must consider, with scrutinizing examination, of what the soul and the nature of the mind consist, and what it is, which, hounding us, sometimes when awake, and sometimes when overcome by disease or buried in sleep, terrifies the mind, so that we seem to behold and to hear speaking before us those whose bones after death its past the earth embraces. Nor does it escape my consideration that it is difficult to explain in Latin verse the profound discoveries of the Greeks, especially since we must treat of much in novel words on account of the poverty of our language and the novelty of the subjects. But yet thy virtues and the expected pleasure of thy sweet friendship prompt me to endure any labor whatsoever, and induce me to outwatch the clear cold nights, weighing with what words, with what possible verse, I may succeed in displaying to thy mind those clear lights by which thou mayst be able to gain a thorough insight into these abstruse subjects. This terror and darkness of the mind therefore, it is not the rays of the sun or the bright shafts of day that must dispel, but reason and the contemplation of nature, of which our first principle shall hence take its commencement, that nothing is ever divinely generated from nothing. For thus it is that fear restrains all men, because they observe many things effected on the earth and in heaven, of which effects they can by no means see the causes, and therefore think that they are wrought by a divine power. For which reasons, when we shall have clearly seen that nothing can be produced from nothing, we shall then have a more accurate perception of that of which we are in search, and shall understand whence each individual thing is generated, and how all things are done without the agency of the gods. For if things came forth from nothing, every kind of thing might be produced from all things, nothing would require seed. In the first place, man might spring from the sea, the scaly tribe and birds might spring from the earth, herds and other cattle might burst from the sky, the cultivated fields, as well as the deserts, might contain every kind of wild animal without any settled law of production, nor would the same fruits be constant to the same trees, what would be changed, and all trees might bear all kinds of fruit. Since when there should not be generative elements for each production, how could a certain parent producer remain invariable for all individual things? But now, because all things are severally produced from certain seeds, each is produced and comes forth into the regions of light from that spot in which the matter and first elements of each subsist. And for this cause all things cannot be produced from all, in as much as there are distinct and peculiar faculties in certain substances. Besides, why do we see the rose put forth in spring, corn in summer heat, and vines under the influence of autumn, if it be not because when the determinate seeds of things have united together at their proper time whatever is produced appears while the seasons are favorable, and while the vigorous earth securely brings forth her tender productions into the regions of light. But if these things were generated from nothing, they might arise suddenly at indefinite periods and at unsuitable seasons of the year, in as much as there would be no original elements which might be restrained from a generative combination at any season, however inconvenient. Nor moreover would there be need of time for the coming together of seed for the growth of things if they could grow out of nothing. For young man might on a sudden be formed from puny infants and groves springing up unexpectedly might dart forth from the earth, of which things it is plain that none happen since all things grow gradually as is fitting from unvarying atoms, and as they grow preserve their kind, so that you may understand that all things individually are enlarged and nourished from their own specific matter. Add to this that the earth cannot furnish her cheering fruits without certain rains in the year. Nor moreover can the nature of animals, if kept from food, propagate their kind and sustain life, so that you may rather deem that many elements are common to many things, as we see letters common to many words, than that anything can exist without its proper elements. Still further, why could not nature produce men of such a size that they might ford the sea and foot, and ran great mountains with their hands, and outlast in existence many ages of human life, if it be not because certain matter has been assigned for producing certain things, from which matter it is fixed what can or cannot arise. It must be admitted therefore that nothing can be made from nothing, since things have need of seed, from which all individually being produced may be brought forth into the gentle air of heaven. Lastly, since we observe that cultivated places excel the uncultivated, and yield to our hence better fruits, we may see that there are in the ground the primitive elements of things, which we, in turning their fertile gleam with the plowshare, and subjugating the soil of the earth, force into birth. But were there no such seeds, you might see things severly grow up and become much better of their own accord without our labor. Add, too, that nature resolves each thing into its own constituent elements, and does not reduce anything to nothing. For if anything were perishable in all its parts, everything might then dissolve, being snatched suddenly from before our eyes, for there would be no need of force to produce a separation of its parts and break their connection. Whereas now, since all things individually consist of eternal seed, nature does not suffer the destruction of anything to be seen, until such power assail them as to severe them with a blow or penetrate inwardly through the vacant spaces and dissolve the parts. Besides, if time utterly destroys whatever things it removes through length of age, consuming all their constituent matter, whence does Venus restore to the light of life the race of animals according to their kinds? Whence does the variegated earth nourish and develops them when restored, affording them sustenance according to their kinds? Whence do pure fountains and eternal rivers flowing from afar supply the sea? Whence does they either feed the stars? For infinite time already past and length of days ought to have consumed all things which are of mortal consistence. But if those elements of which this sum of things consists and is renewed have existed through that long space and that past duration of time, they are assuredly endowed with an immortal nature. Things, therefore, cannot return to nothing. Further, the same force and cause might destroy all things indiscriminately, unless an eternal matter held them more or less bound by mutual connection. For a mere touch, indeed, would be a sufficient cause of destruction, supposing that there were no parts of eternal consistence, but all perishable, the union of which any force might dissolve. But now, because various connections of elements unite together and matter is eternal, things continue of unimpaired consistence, until some force of sufficient strength be found to assail them, proportion to the texture of each. No thing, therefore, relapses into nonexistence, but all things at dissolution return to the first principles of matter. Lastly, you may say, perhaps, the showers of rain perish when father either has poured them down into the lap of mother earth. But it is not so. For, hence, the smiling fruits arise, and the branches become verdant on the trees. The trees themselves increase and are weighed down with produce. Hence, moreover, is nourished the race of men and that of beasts. Hence, we see joyous cities abound with youth, and the leafy woods resound on every side with newly-flagged birds. Hence, the weary cattle, sleek in the rich pastures, repose their bodies, and the white milky liquor flows from their distended others. Hence, the new offspring gamble sportive with tottering limbs over the tender grass, their youthful hearts exhilarated with pure milk. Things, therefore, do not utterly perish, which seem to do so, since nature recruits one thing from another, nor suffers anything to be produced unless its production be furthered by the death of another. Attend now further, since I have shown that things cannot be produced from nothing, and also that, when produced, they cannot return to nothing. Yet, last happily thou should begin to distrust my words, because the primary particles of things cannot be discerned by the eye. Here, in addition, what substances thou thyself must necessarily confess to exist, although impossible to be seen. In the first place, the force of the wind, when excited, lashes the sea, agitates the tall ships, and scatters the clouds, at times, sweeping over the earth with an impetuous hurricane, it strews the plains with huge trees, and harasses the mountaintops with forest-rending blasts, so violently does the deep chaff with fierce roar and rage with menacing murmur. The winds, then, are invisible bodies, which sweep the sea, the land, the clouds of heaven, and agitating them, carry them along with a sudden tornado. Not otherwise do they rush forth and spread destruction, than as when a body of liquid water is borne along in an overwhelming stream, which have vast torrent from the lofty mountain swell with large rain floods, dashing together fragments of woods and entire groves. Nor can the strong bridges sustain the sudden force of the sweeping water, with such overwhelming violence does the river, turbid with copious rain, rush against the opposing mounds. It scatters ruin with a mighty uproar, and rolls huge rocks under its waters. It rushes on, triumphant, wheresoever anything opposes its waves. Thus, therefore, must the blasts of the wind also be borne along, which, when, like a mighty flood, they have bent their force in any direction, drive all things before them, and overthrow them with repeated assaults, and sometimes catch them up in a writhing vortex, and rapidly bear them off in a whirling hurricane. Wherefore, I repeat, the winds are substances, though invisible, since in their effects and modes of operation they are found to rival mighty rivers, which are of manifest bodily substance. Moreover, we perceive various odours of objects, and yet never see them approaching our nostrils. Nor do we behold violent heat, or distinguish cold with our eyes. Nor are we in the habit of viewing sounds. All which things, however, must of necessity consist of a corporeal nature, since they have the power of striking the senses. For nothing, except bodily substance, can touch or be touched. Further, garments, when suspended upon a shore on which waves are broken, grow moist. The same, when spread out in the sun, become dry. Yet, neither has it been observed how the moisture of the water settled in them, nor, on the other hand, how it escaped under the influence of the heat. The moisture, therefore, is dispersed into minute particles, which our eyes can by no means perceive. Besides, in the course of many revolutions of the sun, a ring upon the finger is made somewhat thinner by wearing it. The fall of the drop from the eaves hollows a stone. The crooked chair of the plow, though made of iron, imperceptibly decreases in the fields. Even the stone pavements of the streets we see worn by the feet of the multitude, and the brazen statues, which stand near the gates, show their right hands made smaller by the touch of people frequently saluting them and passing by. These objects, therefore, after they have been worn, we observe to become diminished. But what particles take their departure on each particular occasion jealous nature has withheld from us the faculty of seeing. Lastly, whatever substances time and nature add little by little to objects, obliging them to increase gradually, those substances, no acuteness of vision, however earnestly exerted, can perceive. Nor, moreover, whatever substances waste away through age and decay, nor can you discern what the rocks which overhang the sea and are eaten by the corroding salt of the ocean lose every time that they are washed by the waves. Nature, therefore, carries on her operations by imperceptible particles. Nor, however, are all things held enclosed by corporeal substance, for there is a void in things, a truth which it will be useful for you, in reference to many points to know, and which will prevent you from wandering in doubt and from perpetually inquiring about the entire of things and from being distrustful of my words. Wherefore, I say, there is space, intangible, empty, and vacant. If this were not the case, things could by no means be moved. For that which is the quality of body, namely, to obstruct and to oppose, would be present at all times, and would be exerted against all bodies. Nothing, therefore, would be able to move forward, since nothing would begin to give way. But now, throughout the sea and land and heights of heaven, we see many things moved before our eyes in various ways and by various means, which, if there were no void, would not so much want their active motion, as being deprived of it, as they would, properly speaking, never, by any means, have been produced at all, since matter crowded together on all sides would have remained at rest and have been unable to act. Besides, although some things may be regarded as solid, yet you may, for the following reasons, perceive them to be of a porous consistency. In rocks and caves, the liquid moisture of the waters penetrates their substance, and all parts weep, as it were, with abundant drops. Food distributes itself through the whole of the body and animals. The groves increase and yield their fruits in their season, because nourishment is diffused through the whole of the trees, even from the lowest roots over all the trunks and branches. Voices pass through the walls, and fly across the closed apartments of houses. Keen frost penetrates through the very marrow of our bones, which kind of effects, unless there were void spaces in bodies, where the several particles might pass, you would never, by any means, observe to take place. Lastly, why do we see some things exceed other things in weight, though of no greater shape and bulk? For, if there is just as much substance in a ball of wool as there is in a ball of lead, it is natural that they should weigh the same, since it is the property of all bodily substance to press everything downwards. But the nature of a void, on the contrary, continues without weight. That body, therefore, which is equally large with another, and is evidently lighter, shows plainly that it contains a greater portion of vacuity. But the heavier body, on the other hand, indicates that there is in it more material substance, and that it comprises much less empty space. That, therefore, which we are now, by the aid of searching argument investigating, that, namely, which we call void, is doubtless mixed among material substances. In considering these matters, I am obliged to anticipate that objection, which some imagine, lest it should seduce you from the truth. They say, for instance, that water yields to fishes pushing forwards, and opens liquid passages, since the fish leave spaces behind them, into which the yielding waters may make a conflict. So also, that other things may be moved among themselves, and change their place, although all parts of space be full. But this notion, it is evident, has been wholly conceived from false reasoning. For in what direction, I pray, will fish be able to go forward, if the water shall not give them room? Or, in what direction, moreover, will the water have power to yield, supposing the fish shall have no power to go forward, to divide it? Either, therefore, we must deny motion to all bodies whatsoever, or we must admit, that vacuity is more or less inherent in all material substances, whence everything that moves derives the first commencement of its motion. Lastly, if two broad and flat bodies, after having come into collision, suddenly start asunder, it is clear that air must necessarily take possession of all the vacuum which is then formed between the bodies. And further, although that air may quickly unite to flow into the vacancy, with blasts blowing rapidly from all sides, yet the whole space will not be able to be filled at once, for the air must of necessity occupy some part first, then another, till in succession all parts be occupied. But if any person perchance, when the bodies have started asunder, thinks that that separation is thus effected by reason that the air condenses itself, he is in error, for a vacuum is then formed between the bodies, which was not there before, and the part likewise behind the bodies, which was vacant before, is filled. Nor can air be condensed in such a way, nor even if it could, would it have the power, I think, to draw itself into itself, and unite its particles together without the aid of a void. For which reason, although you may long hesitate, alleging many objections, you must, nevertheless, at last confess, that there is vacuum in bodies. I have the ability, moreover, to collect credit for my doctrines, by adducing many additional arguments. But these small traces, which I have indicated, will be sufficient for a sagacious mind, traces by which, indeed, you yourself may discover others. For as dogs, when they have once lighted upon certain tracks on the path, very frequently fined by their scent the lair of a wild beast that ranges over the mountains, though covered over with leaves, so you yourself will be able, in such matters as these, to note of your own sagacity one principle after another, and to penetrate every dark obscurity and then's twillicit truth. But if you shall be slow to ascend, O Memius, or if you shall at all shrink back from the subject, I can still certainly give you the following assurance. My tongue, so agreeable to you, will have the power of pouring forth from my well-stored breast such copious draughts from mighty sources, that I fear last slow old age may creep over our limbs and break down the gates of life within us, but for all the abundance of arguments in my verses concerning any one subject can have been poured into your ears. But now, that I may resume my efforts to complete in verse the weaving of the web which I have begun, give me a little more of your attention. As it is, therefore, all nature of itself has consisted and consists of two parts, for there are bodily substances and vacant space in which these substances are situated and in which they are moved in different directions. For the common perception of all men shows that there is corporeal consistence, of the existence of which, unless the belief shall be first firmly established, there will be no principle by reference to which we may succeed, by any means whatever, in settling the mind with argument concerning matters not obvious to sense. To proceed then, if there were no place and no space which we call vacant, bodies could not be situated anywhere, nor could at all move any wither in different directions, a fact which we have shown to you a little before. Besides, there is nothing which you can say is separate from all bodily substance and distinct from empty space, which would, indeed, be as it were a third kind of nature. For whatsoever shall exist must in itself be something either of large bulk or ever so diminutive provided it be at all, when, if it shall be sensible to the touch, however light and delicate, it will increase the number of bodies and be ranked in the multitude of them. But if it shall be intangible in as much as it cannot hinder in any part any object proceeding to pass through it, it then, you may be sure, will be the empty space which we call a vacuum. Moreover, whatsoever shall exist of itself will either do something or will be obliged to suffer other things acting upon it, or will simply be so that other things may exist and be done in it. But nothing can do or suffer without being possessed of bodily substance, nor, moreover, afford place for acting and suffering unless it be empty and vacant space. No third nature, therefore, distinct in itself, besides vacant space and material substance, can possibly be left undiscovered in the sum of things. No third kind of being, which can at any time fall under the notice of our senses, or which anyone can find out by the exercise of his reason. For, whatsoever other things are said to be, you will find them to be either necessary adjuncts of these two things, or accidents of them. Unnecessary adjunct is that which can never be separated and disjoined from its body without a disunion attended with destruction to that body, as the weight of a stone, the heat of fire, the fluidity of water, sensibility to touch in all bodies, insensibility to touch in empty space. On the other hand, such things as slavery, poverty, riches, liberty, war, conquer, and other things, by the coming or going of which the nature of the subject affected remains uninjured, these we are accustomed, as is proper, to call accidents. 2. Book 1, Part 2. Time likewise is not an existence in itself, but it is merely our understanding that collects from things themselves what has been done in the past age, what also is present, what, moreover, may follow afterwards, and it must be owned that no one has conceived of time existing by itself apart from progressive motion and quiet rest. Moreover, when writers say that Helen was carried off and that the Trojan people were subdued in war, we must take care, last perchance, those writers induce us to admit that those events, that is, the abduction of Helen and the subjugation of the Trojans, were of themselves, when time irrevocably past has carried away those generations of men of whom these transactions were the events or accidents. For whatever shall have been done will properly be called an event or accident, whether occurring to lands or to legions, that is, men themselves. Furthermore, if there were not this bodily substance in things, nor this room and space in which all things severally are done, the flame lighted up by the love of Helen's beauty, spreading through the breast of the Frigian Paris, would never have kindled the famous contests of cruel warfare, nor would the wooden horse have secretly set fire to the citadel of the Trojans by an octurnal delivery of Greeks, so that you may plainly see that all transactions whatsoever do not consist or exist of themselves as body does, nor are spoken of as existing in the same way as a vacuum exists, but rather that you may justly call them events or accidents of body or of space in which all transactions are brought to pass. Bodies, besides, are partly original elements of things, and partly those which are formed of a combination of those elements. But those which are elements of things no force can break, for they successfully resist all force by solidity of substance, although perhaps it seems difficult to believe that anything of so solid a substance can be found in nature, for the lightning of heaven passes through the walls of houses as also noise and voices pass, iron glows being penetrated by heat in the fire, rocks often burst with fervent heat, the hardness of gold losing its firmness is dissolved by heat, the icy coldness of brass overcome by flame melts. Heat and penetrable cold enter into the substance of silver, for we have felt both with the hand, when, as we held silver cups after our fashion, water was poured into them from above, so that, as far as these instances go, there seems to be nothing solid in nature. But because, however, right reason and the nature of things can tell me to hold a contrary opinion, grant me your attention a while, until I make it plain, in a few verses, that there really exists such bodies as are of a solid and eternal corporeal substance, which bodies will prove to be seeds and primary particles of things of which the whole generated universe now consists. In the first place, since a twofold nature of things, a twofold nature or rather two natures extremely dissimilar has been found to exist, namely matter and space in which everything is done, it must necessarily be that each exists by itself, for itself, independently of the other and pure from a mixture, for, wheresoever there is empty space, which we call a vacuum, there there is no matter, and likewise, wheresoever matter maintains itself, there by no means exists empty space. Original substances are therefore solid and without vacuity. Furthermore, since in things which are produced or compounded of matter, there is found empty space, solid matter must exist around it, nor can anything be proved by just argument to conceal vacuity and to contain it within its body, unless you admit that that which contains it is a solid. But that solid can be nothing but a combination of matter, such as may have the power of keeping a vacuity enclosed. That matter, therefore, which consists of solid body, may be eternal, while other substances, which are only compounds of this matter, may be dissolved. In addition, too, if there were no space to be vacant and unoccupied, all space would be solid. On the other hand, unless there were certain bodies to fill up completely the places which they occupy, all space which anywhere exists would be an empty void. Body, therefore, is evidently distinct from empty space, though each has its place alternately, since all space neither exists entirely full nor, again, entirely empty. There exist, therefore, certain bodies which can completely fill the places which they occupy and distinguish empty space from full. These bodies, which thus completely fill space, can neither be broken in pieces by being struck with blows externally, nor, again, can be decomposed by being penetrated internally, nor can they be made to yield if attempted by any other method, a principle which we have demonstrated to you a little above. For neither does it seem possible for anything to be dashed in pieces without a vacuum, nor to be broken, nor to be divided into two by cutting, nor to admit moisture, nor, moreover, subtle cold, nor penetrating fire, by which operations and means all things compounded are dissolved. And the more anything contains empty space within it, the more it yields when thoroughly tried by these means. If, therefore, the primary atoms are solid and without void, they must of necessity be eternal. Again, unless there had been eternal matter, all things before this time would have been utterly reduced to nothing, and whatsoever objects, with behold, would have been reproduced from nothing. But since I have shown above that nothing can be produced from nothing, and that that which has been produced cannot be resolved into nothing, the primary elements must be of an imperishable substance into which primary elements everybody may be dissolved, so that matter may be supplied for the reproduction of things. The primordial elements, therefore, are of pure solidity, nor could they otherwise preserved as they have been for ages repair things as they have done through that infinite space of time which has elapsed since the commencement of this material system. Besides, if nature had set no limit to the destruction of things, the particles of matter would, by this time, have been so reduced by reason of every former age wasting them, that nobody compounded of them could, from any certain time, however remote, reach full maturity of existence. For we see that anything may be sooner taken to pieces than put together again, for which reason that which the infinitely long duration of all past time had broken into parts, disturbing and disaviring it, could never be repaired in time to come. But now, as is evident, there remains appointed a certain limit to destruction, since we see everything recruited and stated portions of time assigned to everything according to its kind, in which it may be able to attain full vigor of age. To this is added that, though the primary particles of matter are perfectly solid, yet that all things which are formed of them may be rendered soft and yielding, as air, water, earth, fire, in whatever way they may be produced and by whatever influence they may be directed. But this happens, because there is vacant space intermingled with the substance of things compounded. But on the other hand, if the primordial elements of things were soft, how strong flints and iron could be produced, no explanation could be given, for, by this supposition, nature will be deprived of all possibility of commencing a foundation. The primordial elements, therefore, are endowed with pure solidity, by the dense combination of which all compound bodies may be closely compacted and exhibit powerful strength. Moreover, if you still persist to say that no limit has been appointed to the dissolution of bodies, you will then, however, have to allow that there must remain certain dissolvable bodies in the world which have not yet been assailed with any trial of their strength. But since the soluble bodies are endowed only with a fragile nature, it is inconsistent to suppose that they could have lasted through an infinite course of time if they had been harassed age after age with innumerable assaults. Further, since also a limit has been assigned for the growth of things according to their kinds and for their support of life, and since it is established by the laws of nature what each kind can or cannot do, and since nothing is changed, but all things remain constant to such a degree that even the birds of different plumage, all in succession, show existing upon their bodies spots distinctive of their species, we must grant that such bodies must have in them an immutable material substance. For if the primitive particles of things could be changed by being successfully wrought upon in any way, it would then also become uncertain what might or might not arise into being. It would be uncertain, moreover, how far limited power and a firmly fixed boundary is set to each kind, nor with such a possibility of alteration would the tribes of animals, according to their kinds, be so constantly able to reproduce the nature, motions, mode of life, and habits of their progenitors. Again, since even of such a body as our senses cannot receive, there is yet a certain extreme point, whatever it be, that point certainly exists without parts and consists of the least possible natural substance, nor has it ever existed of itself apart from its body, nor will it hereafter be able so to exist, since it is itself the first and last part of another body, after which other and other like parts in succession fill up in a condensed mass the substance of the body, which parts, since they cannot consist by themselves, must of necessity adhere to something else from which they can by no means be detached. Primordial atoms are therefore of pure solidity, which composed of the smallest points closely cohere, not combined of a union of any other things, but rather endowed with an eternal, simple, and indissoluble existence, from which nature allows nothing to be broken off, or even diminished, reserving these primordial atoms as seeds for her productions. Moreover, unless there shall be some least, some point where division ends, the smallest bodies will individually consist of infinite parts, as in that case any part of the half of any body will always have its own half, nor will anything set a limit to this division. What, therefore, will be the difference in their nature between the greatest and smallest of bodies? It will not be possible that there should be any difference, for though the whole entire sum of things, or the universe, be infinite, yet the smallest things which exist in it will equally consist of infinite parts, to which position, since just reasoning is opposed and denies that the mind can admit it, you must be prevailed upon to acknowledge that there are bodies which exist having no parts, and consist of the least possible substance, and since they are so, since they are indivisible and undiminishable, you must also concede that they are solid and eternal. Further, unless nature, the producer of things, had been accustomed to force all things to be resolved into minutest parts, the same nature would now be unable to recruit anything from those parts, because those generated bodies which are augmented and repaired by no parts cannot have and retain unimpaired those affections which generative matter ought to have, namely, various connections, weights, concussions, combinations, movements, by which things are severally brought to pass. For which reason, those who think that fire is the original principle of things, and that the universe is maintained from fire alone, seem to have greatly erred from true reason? Of which philosophers Heraclitus, as leader, first comes to the battle, a writer celebrated for the obscurity of his language, though rather among the vein and empty than among the sensible Greeks who seek for truth. For fools rather admire and delight in all things which they see hid under inversions and intricacies of words, and consider those assertions to be truths which have power to touch the ear agreeably, and which are disguised with pleasantness of sound. For how, I ask, could things be so various if they were produced from fire alone and pure from mixture? Since it would be to no purpose that hot fire should be condensed or rarefied if the parts of fire retain the same nature which the whole of fire still has. For though there might be a fiercer heat in the condensed parts, and a more languid warmth in the separated and dispersed, there is nothing more than this which you can conceive possible to be effected in or by such causes. Much less can so vast a variety of things originate from dense and rare fire. For though there might be a fiercer heat in the condensed parts, and a more languid warmth in the separated and dispersed, there is nothing more than this which you can conceive possible to be effected in or by such causes. Much less can so vast a variety of things originate from dense and rare fire. And this also is to be borne in mind that if they admit vacuity to be mixed with things, fire will then have the capability to be condensed or left rarefied. But because they see that in this admission of vacuity there are many things adverse to them and their doctrines, and therefore shrink from admitting a pure vacuum to exist among substances, they thus, while they fear difficulties, lose the true path, nor observe that, on the other hand, all vacuity being removed from substances, all things would be condensed, and one body would be formed from all which body could eject nothing from itself, as glowing fire emits light and heat, in such a manner that you may see it does not consist of condensed parts. But if they think that fire may by any means be extinguished in close condensation and change its natural consistence, and if indeed they shall not hesitate to allow that this may take place absolutely, then all heat, it is evident, will fall utterly to nothing, and whatever things are reproduced, supposing all to have been produced from fire, will be made out of nothing. For whatever being changed departs from its own limits, this change in it is straightway the death or termination of that which it was before. Something, therefore, supposing we admit their doctrine, must necessarily remain unchanged in that fire of theirs, that all things, as you may see, may not utterly fall to nothing, and that the multitude of objects in the universe may not have to flourish by being reproduced from nothing. And now, therefore, since there are certain most constant elements which always retain the same nature by the departure and accession of which, and by their change of order, things alter their nature, and compound bodies convert themselves into a different consistence, it is easy to understand that these elements of things are not fiery. For it would be to no purpose that some of these elements should detach themselves and depart from one place and be assigned to another, and that some should have their order changed if they all still retain the nature of fire. For whatever fire might produce would be in all forms only fire. But, as I am of opinion, the truth stands thus. There are certain elementary bodies whose combinations, movements, order, position, shapes, produce fire, and which, when their order is changed, change their nature as a compound. Nor, as I think, are they in themselves like to fire, or to any other thing which has the power of emitting particles from our senses and affecting our touch by its application. To say moreover that all things are fire and that no real substance exists in the whole number of things but fire, an assertion which this philosopher makes, seems to be in the highest degree absurd, since he himself, while arguing from his senses, combats against his senses and shakes the credit of those perceptions on which all things that we believe depend and by the aid of which that which he names fire is known to him. For he believes that his senses distinguish fire accurately. Other things, which are not at all less clear, he does not believe that they can distinguish, and inconsistency which seems to me both folly and madness. For to what shall we refer for information? What can be a more certain criterion to us than the senses themselves? How, if we cease to trust them, can we distinguish what is true and what is false? Besides, why should anyone rather set aside all other things and desire to admit the substance of fire as the only substance, than deny that fire exists, and still allow existence to all other substances? For to advance either assertion seems equal madness. Wherefore, those who have thought that fire is the primary matter of things and that the whole universe may originate from fire, and those who have determined that air is the first principle for the production of things, those who have imagined that water can itself form things of itself, and those who have supposed that the earth produces all things and is changed into all substances of things appear all to have wandered extremely far from the truth. To these add also those philosophers who couple the elements of things, uniting air with fire and earth with water, and who think that from these four things, namely from fire, earth and air and moisture, all bodies may proceed. Among the chief of whom is Empedocles of Egregentum, whom, within the triangular coasts of its land, that island produced around which the Ionian deep, flowing with vast windings, sprinkles on its salt from its blue ways, and the sea, rolling rapidly in a narrow channel, divides with its waves the shores of the lands of Aeolia from the boundaries of it. Here is the Vaskyriptus, and here the murmurs of Edna threaten, indicating that the mountain is again gathering its wrathful flames, that its violence may vomit forth afresh, the fires bursting from its jaws, and once more hurl to the sky its blazing lightnings, which great region, though it seems worthy of admiration to the human race on many accounts, and is extolled as deserving of being visited, being rich in valuable productions and defended with a mighty force of inhabitants, yet appears to have contained in it nothing more excellent than this man, nor anything more sacred and wonderful and estimable. The verses, moreover, which proceeded from his divine intellect, proclaim and expound his noble discovery so eloquently that he scarcely seems to have been strong from a human origin. He, however, and those whom I mentioned above, men distinguishably below him by many degrees and far inferior to him, although finding out many things excellently and divinely, they gave oracles, as it were, from the inmost temple of their heart, more sacredly and with much more true reason than the Pythia who speaks from the tripod and laurel of Phoebus, yet stumbled in attempting to expound the principles of things, and, great as they were, fell there with a heavy downfall. In the first place they erred, because they settled that motion may take place, though all vacant be excluded from matter, and because they admit that there exist soft and subtle bodies, air, sun, fire, earth, animals, vegetable productions, and yet mingle no vacuity in their composition. Secondly, they erred because they asserted that there is no limit at all to the division of material particles, and that no bound is set to their fracture, nor do they at all allow that any least exists in bodies, although we see that there is that least, namely, the extreme point of every body which seems to be least to our senses, so that you may hence conclude that there exists in bodies a least possible quantity which you yourself cannot perceive, but which nevertheless they have as an extreme. To this is also added that they make the elements of things to be soft bodies, which soft bodies we see to be generated and altogether of a perishable consistence. But if the elements of things were soft and perishable, the whole universe must fall back to nothing, and the abundance of things flourished by being reproduced from nothing. But how far each of these suppositions is distant from the truth you have already had proof? Besides, these four elements are in many ways hostile and destructive to one another, for which reason on coming together they will either be naturally destroyed, or will start away from one another, as we see when a tempest has risen, the lightnings and rains and winds not congregating together, but scattering themselves abroad. Moreover, if all things are produced from those four bodies, and all things are again dissolved into those bodies, how can those four be more justly called the primary elements of things? Then on the other hand, things may be called the primary elements of them, and a backward computation, as it were, be made. For, according to this hypothesis, they are produced alternately, and change their appearance and their whole substance among themselves, perpetually. But if perchance you imagine that the substances of fire and earth and ethereal air and the liquid of water meet together in such a way, that by their combination they make no change in their nature, nothing will be produced for you from them, neither animated creature nor anything of inanimate substance has a tree. For each element in the conflicts of the varying heat will exhibit only its own nature, and air will be seen to remain mixed together with earth and with some portion of liquid. But primary elements for the production of things must exercise a latent and unapparent influence, lest any element arise above the rest, which may resist their action, and prevent whatsoever is being formed from being able to attain its proper character. These philosophers, moreover, take a beginning from heaven and its fires, and make fire first to change itself into the air of the sky. From air, they say that water is produced, and that earth is generated from water. And then, they say again that all things return back from earth, first water, afterwards air, then heat, and that these elements do not cease to interchange, and to pass from heaven to earth, and from earth to the stars of heaven, which primary elements ought by no means to do. For it is necessary that there should remain something unchangeable, lest all things should be reduced utterly to nothing. Since whatsoever, being changed goes beyond its own limits, this change becomes forthwith the death or termination of that which it was before. Therefore, since these four bodies which we have previously mentioned pass into change, they must necessarily consist of other elements which cannot be changed in any way, lest all things should return, as you may suppose, utterly to nothing. But you may rather conclude that certain bodies exist, endowed with such a nature that, if per chance they have generated fire, the same bodies may, a few particles being taken away and a few being added, and their order and motion being changed, produce the air of heaven, and that, in like manner, all other bodies may be changed into other bodies. But manifest fact, you perhaps observe, evidently shows that all things grow, and are nourished upwards, from the earth into the air of heaven, and, unless the season is indulgent with favorable weather, unless the groves are shaking with rain and with the moisture of showers, and, you will add, unless the sun, for his part, cherishes the productions of nature and affords heat, corn, trees, and animals, would not be able to grow. Doubtless, and unless solid food and soft liquid were to sustain ourselves, our bodies, for one of them, being quickly exhausted, all life also would waste away from our nerves and bones. For we are, without all question, supported and nourished by certain substances, and other and other things are nourished by certain substances, because, as is evident, many common elements of many things are mixed in many bodies in many ways. Therefore, various things are sustained by various things, and it is often of great consequence with what other elements and in what position these same elements are combined, and what motions they reciprocally cause and suffer. For the same elements constitute the heaven, the sea, the earth, the rivers, the sun, the same elements constitute corn, woods, animals, but they are actuated and made effective by being mixed with other different elements and in different ways. Besides, even in my own verses you see everywhere many elements come into many words, although you must nevertheless allow that the verses and words differ one from another, both in sense and sound. So much can elements effect, even if their order only be changed. But those elements which are the principles of things, being more numerous, can attract to themselves more, and form more combinations, from which all the various things in the universe may severally be produced. End of section 2