ON THE NATURE OF THE UNIVERSE

BOOK IV:  SENSATION AND SEX

I [1] am blazing a trail through pathless tracts of the Muses' Pierian realm, where no foot has ever trod before. What joy it is to light upon virgin springs and drink their waters. What joy to pluck new flowers and gather for my brow a glorious garland from fields whose blossoms were never yet wreathed by the Muses round any head. This is my reward for teaching on these lofty topics, for struggling to loose men's minds from the tight knots of superstition and shedding on dark material the bright beam of my song, which irradiates everything with the sparkle of the Muses. My art is not without a purpose. Physicians, when they wish to treat children with a nasty dose of wormwood, first smear the rim of the cup with the sweet yellow syrup of honey. The children, too young as yet for foresight, are lured by the sweetness at their lips into swallowing the bitter draught. So they are tricked but not trapped; for the treatment restores them to health. In the same way our doctrine often seems unpalatable to those who have not handled it, and the masses shrink from it. That is why I have tried to administer my philosophy to you in the dulcet strains of poesy, to touch it with the sweet honey of the Muses. My object has been to engage your mind with my verses while you gain insight into the nature of the universe and learn to appreciate the profit you are reaping.

I have already shown [2] what is the nature of the mind; by what forces it is brought to its full strength in union with the body; and how it is disintegrated and returns to its component atoms.

Now I will embark on an explanation of a highly relevant fact, the existence of what we call 'images' of things, a sort of outer skin perpetually peeled off the surface of objects and flying about this way and that through the air. It is these [3] whose impact scares our minds, whether waking or sleeping, on those occasions when we catch a glimpse of strange shapes and phantoms of the  dead. Often,  when we are sunk in slumber, they startle us with the notion that spirits may get loose from the Underworld and ghosts hover about among the living, and that some part of us may survive after death when body and mind alike have been disintegrated and dissolved into their component atoms. [4]

I maintain therefore that replicas or insubstantial shapes of things are thrown off from the surface of objects. This you may infer, however dull your wit, from the following facts.

[I have already shown what the component bodies of everything are like; how they vary in shape; how they fly spontaneously through space, impelled by a perpetual motion; and how from these all objects can be created. Now I shall begin to broach a subject of great relevance to this, namely the existence of what we call 'images' of things, which we should perhaps term 'skins' or 'bark', since the image wears an appearance and form similar to the object -whatever it is - that discharged it on its travels.]

In the  first place, within the range of vision, many objects give off particles. Some of these are rarefied and diffused, such as the smoke emitted by logs or the heat by fire. Others are denser and more closely-knit: cicadas, for instance, in summer periodically shed their tubular jackets; calves at birth cast off cauls from the surface of their bodies; or again the slippery green snake divests itself of its clothing on thorns - for we often see briars enriched by these fluttering scalps. Since these things happen, objects must also give off a much flimsier film from the surface of their bodies. For, since those more solid emanations fall off, no reason can be given why such flimsy ones should not. [5] Besides, we know that on the surface of objects there are lots of tiny particles, which could be thrown off without altering the order of their arrangement or the outline of their shape, and all the faster because, being relatively few and marshaled on the front line, they are less liable to obstruction.

We certainly see that many objects throw off matter in abundance, not only from their inmost depths, as we have said before, [6] but from their surfaces in the form of color. This is done conspicuously by the awnings, yellow, scarlet and maroon, stretched flapping and billowing on poles and rafters over spacious theatres. [7] The crowded pit below and the stage with all its scenery and the magnificence of the masked actors are made to glow and flow with the colors of the canopy. The more completely the theatre is hemmed in by surrounding walls, the more its interior, sheltered from the daylight, laughs in this flood of color. Since canvasses thus give off color from their surface, all objects must give off filmy images as a result of spraying particles from their surfaces this way and that. Here then, already definitely established, we have indications of images, flying about everywhere, extremely fine in texture and individually invisible.

Again, the  reason why smell, smoke, heat and the like come streaming out of objects in shapeless clouds is that they originate in the inmost depths; so they are split up in their circuitous journey, and there are no straight vents to their channels through which they may issue directly in close formation. When the thin film of surface color, on the other hand, is thrown off, there is nothing to disrupt it, since it lies ready positioned on the front line.

Lastly,  the reflections that we see in mirrors [8] or in water or any polished surface have the same appearance as actual objects. They must therefore be composed of films given off by those objects. There exist therefore flimsy but accurate replicas of objects, individually invisible but such that, when flung back in a rapid succession of recoils from the flat surface of mirrors they produce a visible image. That is the only conceivable way in which these films can be preserved so as to reproduce such a perfect likeness of each object.

Let me now explain how flimsy is the texture of these films. In the first place, the atoms themselves are vastly below the range of our senses - vastly smaller than the first objects, on a descending scale, that the eye can no longer discern. In confirmation of this, let me illustrate in a few words the minuteness of the atoms of which everything is composed. First, there are animals that are already so tiny that a third part of them would be quite invisible. How are we to picture the internal organs of these - the tiny globule of the heart, or the eyes? Of what size are its limbs or their joints? What must be the component atoms of its spirit and its mind? You cannot help seeing how slight and diminutive these must be. Or again, consider those substances that emit a pungent odor -all-healing opopanax, bitter wormwood, oppressive southernwood, the astringent tang of centaury. If you lightly crush one of these herbs between two <fingers, the scent will cling to your hand, but its particles will be quite invisible>. This will convey some notion of the number of surface-films from objects that must be flying about in a variety of ways without producing any effect on the senses. You must not suppose that the only films moving about are those that emanate from objects. There are also films spontaneously generated and composed in this lower region of the sky that we call the air. These assume a diversity of shapes and travel at a great height. So at times we see clouds smoothly condensing up aloft, defacing the bright aspect of the firmament and caressing the air by their motion. Often giant faces appear to be sailing by, trailing large patches of shadow. Sometimes it seems that great mountains, or crags uprooted from mountains, are drifting by and passing over the sun. Then other clouds, black with storm, appear to be towed along in the wake of some passing monster. [9] In their fluidity they never cease to change their form, assuming the outline now of one shape, now of another.

<Let us now consider> with what facility and speed the films are generated and ceaselessly stream out of objects and slide off their surfaces. For the outermost skin of all objects is always in readiness for them to shed. When this comes in contact with other objects, it may pass through, as it does in particular through glass. When it encounters rough rocks or solid wood, then it is promptly chopped up, so that it cannot reproduce an image. But when it is confronted by something both polished and solid, in particular a mirror, then neither of these things happens. The films cannot penetrate, as they do through glass; nor are they chopped up, because the smoothness guarantees their safety. That is why such surfaces reflect images that are visible to us. No matter how suddenly or at what time you set any object in front of a mirror, an image appears. From this you may infer that the surfaces of objects emit a ceaseless stream of flimsy tissues and filmy shapes. Therefore a great many films are generated in a brief space of time, so that their origin can rightly be described as instantaneous. Just as a great many particles of light must be emitted in a brief space of time by the sun to keep the world continually filled with it, so objects in general must correspondingly send off a great many images in a great many ways from every surface and in all directions instantaneously. Turn the mirror which way we will, all objects [10] are reproduced in it with corresponding shape and color.

Again, when the weather has been most brilliant, it becomes gloomy and overcast with amazing suddenness. You would fancy that all the nether darkness from every quarter had abandoned the Underworld and crowded the spacious vaults of heaven: so grim a night of storm gathers aloft, from which lours down the face of black fear. [11] In comparison with such a mass of matter, no one can express how minute a surface-film is, or convey any idea of the proportion in words.

Let me now explain in my verses how speedily the films move and what power they possess of swimming swiftly through the air, so that a brief hour is spent on a long journey, whatever course each one may pursue in response to its particular impulse. My account will be persuasive rather than exhaustive. Better the fleeting melody of the swan [12] than the long-drawn clangor of cranes high up among the northward-racing clouds.

First, then, it is a common observation that light objects and those composed of small particles are swift-moving.  A notable example is the light and heat of the sun: these are composed of minute atoms which are as it were beaten and lose no time in shooting right across the interspace of air driven on by the force following them. The supply of light is promptly renewed by fresh light, and one flash is goaded on by another as in a team of yoked animals. Similarly the films must be able to traverse an incalculable space in an instant of time, and that for two reasons. First, a very slight [13] initial impetus far away to their rear sufficed to launch them and they continue on their course with such bird-swift lightness. Secondly, they are thrown off with such a loose-knit texture that they can readily penetrate any object and filter through the interspace of air.

Again, certain particles thrown up to the surface from the inmost depths of objects, namely those that form the light and heat of the sun, are seen at the very instant of daybreak to drop and spray out across the whole space of the sky and fly over sea and lands and flood the sky. What then of particles that are already stationed on the front line when they are thrown off and whose egress is not hampered by any obstacle? Surely they must go all the faster [14] and the farther and traverse an extent of space many times as great in the time it takes for the sunlight to flash across the sky?

A further and especially convincing indication of the velocity of surface-films is this. Expose a smooth surface of water to the open sky when it is bright with stars: immediately the sparkling constellations of the firmament in all their unclouded splendor twinkle back reproduced in the water. Does not this indicate how instantaneous is the descent of the image from the borderland of ether to the borders of earth? Here then is proof upon proof that objects emit particles that strike upon the eyes and provoke sight.

From certain objects there also flows a perpetual stream of odor, as coolness flows from rivers, heat from the sun, and from the ocean waves as spray that eats away walls round the seashore. [15] Sounds of every sort are surging incessantly through the air. When we walk by the seaside, a salty tang of brine often enters our mouth; when we watch a draught of wormwood being mixed in our presence, a bitter effluence touches us. So from every object flows a stream of matter, spreading out in all directions. The stream must flow without rest or intermission, since our senses are perpetually alert and everything is always liable to be seen or smelt or to provoke sensation by sound.

Again, when some shape or other is handled in the dark, it is recognized as the same shape that in a clear and shining light is plain to see. It follows that touch and sight are provoked by the same stimulus. [16] Suppose we touch a square object and it stimulates our sense in the dark. What can it be that, given light, will strike upon our vision as square, if it is not the film emanating from the object? This shows that the cause of seeing lies in these films and that without these nothing can be seen.

It is established, then, that these films, as I call them, are moving about everywhere, sprayed and scattered in all directions. Since we can see only with our eyes, it is only when we direct our vision towards any particular quarter that all the objects there strike it with their shapes and colors. Our power of perceiving and distinguishing the distance from us of each particular object is also due to the film. For, as soon as it is thrown off, it  shoves and drives before it all the air that intervenes between itself and the eyes. All this air flows through our eyeballs and brushes through our pupils in passing. [17] That is how we perceive the distance of each object: the more air is driven in front of the film and the longer the draught that brushes through our eyes, the more remote the object is seen to be. Of course this all happens so quickly that we perceive the nature of the object and its distance simultaneously.

It need occasion no surprise that, while the individual films that strike upon the eye are invisible, the objects from which they emanate are perceived. [18] Wind too buffets us bit by bit, and cold strikes us in a piercing stream; yet we do not feel each particular unit of the wind or the cold, but simply the total effect. And we see that blows are then being delivered on our body with an effect as though some external object were buffeting it and making its presence felt. When we hit a stone with our toe, what we actually touch is only the outer surface of the rock, the overlying film of color; but what we feel ourselves touching is not that but the hard inner core of the rock. [19]

Let us now consider why the image is seen beyond the mirror - for it certainly does appear to be some distance behind the surface. It is just as though we were really looking out through a doorway, when the door offers a free prospect through itself and affords a glimpse of many objects outside the house. In this case also the vision is accompanied by a double dose of air. First we perceive the air within the door posts; then follow the posts themselves to right and left; then the light outside and a second stretch of air brushes through the eyes, followed by the objects that are really seen out of doors. A similar thing happens when a mirrored image projects itself upon our sight. On its way to us the film shoves and drives before it all the air that intervenes between itself and the eyes, so that we feel all this before perceiving the mirror. When we have perceived the mirror itself, then the film that travels from us to it and is reflected comes back to our eyes, pushing another lot of air in front of it, so that we perceive this air before we see the image, which thus appears to lie at some distance from the mirror. Here then is ample reason why we should not be surprised <that the same happens both in the case of things seen through doors, and also> at this appearance of objects reflected in the surface of a mirror, since they both involve a double journey with two lots of air.

Now for the question why our right side appears in mirrors on the left. The reason is that, when the film on its outward journey strikes the flat surface of a mirror, it is not slewed round intact, but flung straight back in reverse. It is just as if someone were to take a plaster mask before it had set and hurl it against a pillar or beam, so that it bounced straight back, preserving the features imprinted on its front but displaying them now in reverse. In this case what had been the right eye would now be the left and the left correspondingly would have become the right.

It may also happen that a film is passed on from one mirror to another, so that as many as five or six images are produced. Objects tucked away in the inner part of a house, however long and winding the approach to their hiding place, can thus be brought into sight along devious routes by a series of mirrors. So clearly is the image flashed from mirror to mirror. And on each occasion what is transmitted as the left becomes the right and is then again reversed and returns to its original relative position.

Again, mirrors with projecting sides whose curvature matches our own give back to us unreversed images. [20] This may be because the film is thrown from one surface of the mirror to the other and reaches us only after a double rebound. Alternatively, it may be that on reaching the mirror the film is slewed round, because the curved surface teaches it to twist round towards us.

You would fancy that images walk along with us, keeping step and copying our gestures. This is because, as soon as you withdraw from a bit of the mirror, no films can be reflected from that part. Nature ordains that every particle shall rebound from the reflecting surface at equal angles. [21]

Now [22] for the fact that the eyes avoid bright objects and refuse to gaze at them. The sun, indeed, actually blinds them if you persist in directing them towards it. The reason is that its force is immense and the films it gives off travel with great momentum through a great depth of pure air and hit the eyes hard, so as to disrupt their atomic structure. Besides, any bright light that is painful can often scorch the eyes, because it contains many particles of fire whose infiltration sets them smarting.

Sufferers from jaundice [23] again, see everything they look at as yellow. This is because many particles of yellowness from their own bodies are streaming out in the path of the approaching films. There are also many such particles blended in the structure of their own eyes, and by contamination with these everything is painted with their sallowness.

When we are in the dark we see objects that are in the light for the following reason. The black murky air that lies nearer to us enters first into our open eyes and takes possession of them. It is then closely followed by bright and shining air, which cleanses them and dispels the shadows of the earlier air. For the bright air is many degrees more mobile and many degrees finer-grained and more potent. As soon as this has filled the passages of the eyes with light and opened those that had previously been blockaded by dark air, they are immediately followed by films thrown off from the illuminated objects, and these stimulate our sense of sight. On the other hand, when we look out of light into darkness, we can see nothing: the murky air, of muddier consistency, arrives last and chokes all the inlets of the eyes and blockades their passages, so that they cannot be stirred by the impact of films from any object.

When we see the square towers of a city in the distance, they often appear round. [24] This is because every angle seen at a distance is blunted or even is not seen as an angle at all. Its impact is nullified and does not penetrate as far as the eyes, because films that travel through a great deal of air lose their sharp outlines through frequent collisions with it. When every angle has thus eluded our sense, the result is that the square ashlars look as if rounded off on the lathe - not that they resemble really round stones seen close up, but in a sketchy sort of way they counterfeit them.

Again, our shadow in the sunlight seems to us to move and keep step with us and imitate our gestures, incredible though it is that unillumined air should walk about in conformity with a man's movements and gestures. For what we commonly call a shadow can be nothing but air deprived of light. Actually the earth is robbed of sunlight in a definite succession of places wherever it is obstructed by us in our progression, and the part we have left is correspondingly replenished with it. That is why the successive shadows of our body seem to be the same shadow following us along steadily step by step. [25] New particles of radiance are always streaming down and their predecessors are consumed, as the saying goes, like wool being spun into the fire. So the earth is easily robbed of light and is correspondingly replenished and washes off the black stains of shadow.

Here, as always, we do not admit that the eyes are in any way deluded. It is their function to see where light is, and where shadow. But whether one light  is the same as another, and whether the shadow that was here is moving over there, or whether on the other hand what really happens is what I have just described - that is something to be discerned by the reasoning power of the mind. [26] The nature of phenomena cannot be understood by the eyes. You must not hold them responsible for this fault of the mind.

A ship [27] in which we are sailing is on the move, though it seems to stand still. Another that rides at anchor gives the impression of sailing by. Hills and plains appear to be drifting astern when our ship soars past them with sails for wings.

The stars [28] all seem motionless, embedded in the ethereal vault; yet they must all be in constant motion, since they rise and traverse the heavens with their luminous bodies till they return to the far-off scene of their setting. So too the sun and moon appear to remain at their posts, though the facts prove them travelers.

Mountains rising from the midst of the sea in the far distance, though there may be ample space between them for the free passage of a fleet, look as if linked together in a single island.

When children have come to a standstill after spinning round, they seem to see halls and pillars whirling round them - and so vividly that they can scarcely believe that the whole building is not threatening to tumble on top of them.

When nature is just beginning to fling up the light of day, ruddy with flickering fires, and lift it high above the hilltops, the glowing sun seems to perch upon the hills and kindle them by direct contact with its own fire. Yet these same hills are distant from us a bare two thousand bowshots - often indeed no more than five hundred javelin casts. But between hills and sun lie enormous tracts of ocean, overarched by vast ethereal vaults, and many thousands of intervening lands, peopled by all the various races of men and species of beasts.  

A puddle no deeper than a finger's breadth, formed in a hollow between the cobblestones of the highway, offers to the eye a downward view, below the ground, of as wide a scope as the towering immensity of sky that yawns above. You would fancy you saw clouds far down below you and a sky and heavenly bodies deep-buried in a miraculous heaven beneath the earth.

When the mettlesome steed we are riding stands stock-still in midstream and we glance down at the swift-flowing torrent, our stationary mount seems to be breasting the flood and forcing its way rapidly upstream; and, wherever we cast our eyes, everything seems to be surging and forging ahead with the same movement as ourselves.

When we gaze from one end down the whole length of a colonnade, [29] though its structure is perfectly symmetrical and it is propped throughout on pillars of equal height, yet it contracts by slow degrees in a narrowing cone that draws roof to floor and left to right till it unites them in the imperceptible apex of the cone.

To sailors at sea, the sun appears to rise out of the waves and to set in the waves and there hide its light. This is because they do in fact see only water and sky - another warning not to jump to the conclusion that the senses are shaky guides on all points.

To landsmen ignorant of the sea, ships in harbor seem to be riding crippled on the waves, with their poops broken. So much of the oars [30] as projects above the dew of the brine is straight, and so is the upper part of the rudder. But all the submerged parts appear refracted and wrenched round in an upward direction and almost as though bent tight back so as to float on the surface.

At a time when scattered clouds are scudding before the wind across the night sky, the sparkling constellations look as though they were gliding along in the teeth of the clouds and passing overhead in a direction quite different from their actual course.

If we press our hand against one eye [31] from below, a new sort of perception results. Whatever we look at, we see double: the lamplight, a flower with flame, becomes twin lights; the furniture throughout the house is doubled; men wear double faces and two bodies apiece.

When sleep has fettered all our limbs in the pleasant chains of slumber, and the whole body has sunk in utter tranquility, we still seem to ourselves to be wide awake and moving our limbs. In the blind blackness of night we fancy  ourselves gazing on the sun and the broad light of day. In a confined space, we seem to traverse sea and sky, rivers and mountains, and tramp on foot over open plains. With the solemn hush of night all around, we listen to sounds; we speak aloud without a word uttered. [32]

We have many other paradoxical experiences of the same kind, all of which seem bent on shaking our faith in the senses. But all to no purpose. Most of this illusion is due to the mental  assumptions [33] that we ourselves superimpose, so that things not perceived by the senses pass for perceptions. There is nothing harder than to separate the plain facts from the questionable interpretations promptly imposed on them by the mind.

If anyone thinks that nothing is ever known, he does not know whether even this can be known, since he admits that he knows nothing. [34] Against such an adversary, therefore, who deliberately stands on his head, [35] I will not trouble to argue my case. And yet, if I were to grant that he possessed this knowledge, I might ask several pertinent questions. Since he has had no experience of truth, how does he know what either knowledge or ignorance are? [36] What has originated the concept of truth and falsehood? Where is his proof that doubt is not the same as certainty?

You will find, in fact, that the concept of truth was originated by the senses and that the senses cannot be rebutted. The testimony that we must accept as more  trustworthy is that which can spontaneously overcome falsehood with truth. What then are we to pronounce more trustworthy than the senses? Can reason derived from the deceitful senses be invoked to contradict them, when it is itself wholly derived from the senses? If they are not true, then reason in its entirety is equally false. Or can the ears upbraid the eyes, or touch judge the ears? Can touch in turn be refuted by taste or silenced by the nostrils or rebutted by the eyes? This, in my view, is out of the question. Each sense has its own distinctive faculty, its specific function. It is thus necessary to perceive softness, icy cold and burning heat with sensation quite distinct from that with which we feel the various colors of things and whatever goes with the colors; taste in the mouth has its very own distinctive power, and scents are generated in quite a different way from sounds. This rules out the possibility of one sense confuting another. [37]  It will be equally out of the question for the senses to convict one another, since they will always be entitled to the same degree of credence.  Whatever the senses may perceive at any time is all alike true.  Suppose that reason cannot disentangle the cause why things that were square when close at hand are seen as round in the distance.  Even so, it is better, in default of reason, to assign fictitious causes to the two shapes than to let things clearly apprehended slip from our grasp.  This is to attack belief at its very roots -- to tear up the entire foundation on which life and safety depend.  It is not only reason that would collapse completely.  If you did not dare trust your senses so as to keep clear of precipices and other such things to be avoided and make for their opposites, there would be a speedy end to life itself.

So all this armament that you have marshaled against the senses is nothing but a futile array of words.  If you set out to construct a building with a crooked ruler, a faulty square that is set a little out of the straight and a level ever so slightly askew, there can be only one outcome -- a crazy, crooked, higgledy-piggledy huddle, sagging here and bulging there, with bits that look like falling at any moment and are all in fact destined to fall, doomed by the initial miscalculations on which the structure is based.  Just as crooked and just as defective must be the structure of your reasoning, if the senses on which it rests are themselves deceptive.

After this the problem that next confronts us -- to determine how each of the remaining senses perceives its own objects -- is not a particularly thorny one.

In the first place, all forms of sound and vocal utterance become audible when they have slipped into the ear and provoked sensation by the impact of their own bodies.  The fact that voices and other sounds can impinge on the senses is itself a proof of their corporeal nature.  Besides, the voice often scrapes the throat and a shout roughens the windpipe on its outward path.  What happens is that, when atoms of voice in greater numbers than usual have begun to squeeze out through the narrow outlet, the doorway of the mouth gets scraped as the throat is congested.  Undoubtedly, if voices and words have this power of causing pain, they must consist of corporeal particles.  Again, you must have noticed how much it takes out of a man, and what wear and tear it causes to his sinews and strength, to keep on talking from the first glow of dawn till the evening shadows darken, [38] especially if his words are poured forth at full volume.  Since much talking actually takes something out of the body, it follows that voice is composed of bodily stuff.  Finally, the harshness of a sound is due to the harshness of its component atoms, and its smoothness to their smoothness.  There is a marked difference in the shape of the atoms that enter our ears when a low-toned trumpet booms its basso profondo and the boxwood pipe, that virtuoso foreign instrument, re-echoes its hoarse roar, and when the swans' plaintive dirge floats up in doleful melody from the shrubbery of the gardens.

When we force out [39] these utterances from the depths of our body and launch them through the direct outlet of the mouth, they are cut up into lengths by the flexible tongue, the craftsman of words, and molded in turn by the configuration of the lips.  At a point reached by each particular utterance after traveling no great distance from its source, it naturally happens that the individual words are also clearly audible and distinguishable syllable by syllable.  For the utterance preserves its shape and configuration.  But if the intervening space is unduly wide, the words must inevitably be jumbled and the utterance disjointed by its flight through a long stretch of gusty air.  So it happens that, while you are aware of a sound, you cannot discern the sense of the words:  the utterance comes to you so muddled and entangled.

It often happens that a single word, uttered from the mouth of a crier, penetrates the ears of a whole crowd.  Evidently a single utterance must split up immediately into a multitude of utterances, since it is parceled out amongst a number of separate ears, imprinting upon each the shape of a word and its distinctive sound.  Such of these utterances as do not strike upon the ears float by and are scattered to the winds and lost without effect.  Some of them, however, bump against solid objects and bounce [40] back, so as to carry back a sound and sometimes mislead with the replica of a word. Once you have grasped this, you can explain to yourself and to others how it is that in desert places, when we are searching for comrades who have scattered and strayed among overshadowed glens and hail them at the top of our voices, the cliffs fling back the forms of our words in due sequence. I have observed places tossing back six or seven utterances when you have launched a single one: being trained to rebound, the words were reverberated and reiterated from hill to hill. According to local legend, [41] these places are haunted by goat-footed Satyrs [42] and by Nymphs. Tales are told of Fauns, [43] whose noisy night-time revels and merry pranks shatter the mute hush of night for miles around; of twanging lyre-strings and plaintive melodies poured out by pipes at the touch of the players' fingers; of music far-heard by the country folk when Pan, [44] tossing the pine-branches that wreathe his brutish head, runs his arched lips again and again along the wide-mouthed reeds, so that the pipe's wildwood rhapsody flows on unbroken. Many such fantasies and fairy tales are related by the rustics. Perhaps, in boasting of these marvels, they hope to dispel the notion that they live in backwoods abandoned even by the gods. Perhaps they have some other motive, since mankind everywhere has greedy ears for such romancing.

There remains the problem, not a very puzzling one, of how sounds can penetrate and strike on the ear through places through which objects cannot be clearly perceived by the eye. The obvious reason why we often see a conversation going on through closed doors is that an utterance can make its way intact through the labyrinthine passages in objects impervious to visual films. For these are broken up, unless they are passing through straight fissures such as those in glass, which is penetrable by any sort of image. Again, sounds are disseminated in all directions because each one, after its initial splintering into a great many parts, gives birth to others, just as a spark of fire often propagates itself by starting fires of its own. So places out of the direct path are filled with voices, and all around they boil and thrill with sound. But visual films all continue in straight lines along their initial paths, so that no one can see over a wall, though he can hear voices from inside it. Even a voice, however, is blunted in its passage through barriers and is blurred when it pierces our ears, so that we seem to hear a mere noise rather than words.

As for the organs of taste, the tongue and the palate, they do not call for lengthier explanation or more expenditure of labor. In the first place, we perceive taste in the mouth when we squeeze it out by chewing food, just as if someone were to grasp a sponge full of water in his hand and begin to squeeze it dry. Next, all that we squeeze out is diffused through the pores of the palate and the winding channels of the spongy tongue. When the particles of trickling savor are smooth, they touch the palate pleasantly and pleasurably tickle all the moist regions of the tongue in their circuitous flow. Others, in proportion as their shape is rougher, tend more to prick and tear the organs of sense by their entry.

The pleasure derived from taste does not extend beyond the palate. When the tasty morsel has all been gulped down the gullet and is being distributed through the limbs, it gives no more pleasure. It does not matter what food you take to nourish your body so long as you can digest it and distribute it through your limbs and preserve the sturdy condition of the stomach.

Let me now explain why one man's meat is not another's, [45] and what is bitter and unpalatable to one may strike another as delicious. The difference in reaction is indeed so great that what is food to one may be literally poison to others. There is even, for instance, a snake that is so affected by human saliva that it bites itself to death. [46] To us hellebore is rank poison; but goats and quails grow fat on it. [47] In order to understand how this happens, the first point to remember is one that I have already mentioned, [48] the diversity of atoms that are commingled in objects. With the outward differences between the various types of animal that take food - the specific distinctions revealed by the external contour of their limbs -there go corresponding differences in the shapes of their component atoms. These in their turn entail differences in the chinks and channels - the pores as we call them - in all parts of the body, including the mouth and palate itself. In some species these are naturally smaller, in others larger; in some triangular, in others square; while many are round, others are of various polygonal shapes. In short, the shapes and motions of the atoms rigidly determine the shapes of the pores: the atomic structure defines the inter-atomic channels. When something sweet to one is bitter to another, it must be because its smoothest particles caressingly penetrate the palate of the former, whereas the latter's gullet is evidently invaded by particles that are rough and jagged. On this basis the whole problem becomes easily soluble. Thus, when some person is afflicted with fever through superfluity of bile, or sickness is provoked in him by some other factor, his entire body is simultaneously upset and all the positions of the component atoms are changed. It follows that particles which used to be conformable to the channels of sensation are so no longer, whereas an easier ingress is afforded to those other particles whose entry can provoke a disagreeable sensation. For, as I have already demonstrated many times, the flavor of honey [49] actually consists of a mixture of both kinds, pleasant and unpleasant.

Let me now tackle the question how the nostrils are touched by the impact of smell.

First, then, there must be a multitude of objects giving off a multifarious effluence of smells, which is to be conceived as emitted in a stream and widely diffused. But particular smells, owing to their distinctive shapes, are better adapted to particular species of animals. Bees are attracted for unlimited distances through the air by the smell of honey, vultures by carcasses. Where the cloven hoof of wild game has planted its spoor, the hunter is guided by his vanguard of hounds. The scent of man is detected far in advance by that lily-white guardian of the citadel of the sons of Romulus, so the goose. So each by its own particular gift of smell is attracted to its proper food or repelled from noxious poison: and thus the various species are preserved.

As for the smells that assail our nostrils, it is clear that some of them have a longer range than others. None of them, however, travels as far as voices or  other sounds, not to speak of the films that strike the eyeballs and provoke sight. For smell is a straggling and tardy traveler and fades away before arriving, by the gradual dissipation of its flimsy body into the gusty air.  One reason for this is that smell originates in the depths of objects and is thus given off haltingly: an indication that odors thus seep out and escape from the inner core of objects is the fact that everything smells more strongly when broken or crushed or dissolved by fire. A further reason is that smell is evidently composed of larger atoms than sound, since it does not pass through stone walls, which are readily permeable by voices and other sounds. That is why you will not find it so easy to locate the source of a smell as of a sound. The effluence grows cold by dawdling through the air and does not rush with its tidings to the senses hotfoot from its source. So it is that hounds are often at fault and have to cast round for the scent.

This is not confined to smells and tastes. The visible forms and colors of things are not all equally conformable to the sense organs of all species, but in some cases particular sights act as irritants. The sight of a cock, that herald of the dawn who banishes the night with clapping wings and lusty crowing, is intolerable to ravening lions. [51] At the first glimpse they think only of flight. The reason is, of course, that the cock's body contains certain atoms which, when they get into the lion's eyes, drill into the eyeballs and cause acute pain, so that even their bold spirits cannot long endure it. But these atoms have no power to hurt our eyes, either because they never get in at all or because, once in, they have a clear way out, so that they do not hurt the eyeball in any part by lingering there.

Let me now explain briefly what it is that stimulates the imagination and where those images come from that enter the mind. [52]

My first point is thus. There are a great many flimsy films from the surface of objects flying about in a great many ways in all directions. When these encounter one another in the air, they easily amalgamate, like spider's web or gold-leaf. In comparison with those films that take possession of the eye and provoke sight, these are certainly of a much flimsier texture, since they penetrate through the chinks of the body and set in motion the delicate substance of the mind within and there provoke sensation. So it is that we see the composite shapes of Centaurs, [53] the limbs of Scyllas, [54] dogs with as many heads as Cerberus, [55] and phantoms of the dead whose bones lie in the embrace of earth. The fact is that the films flying about everywhere are of all sorts: some are produced spontaneously in the air itself; others are derived from various objects and composed by the amalgamation of their shapes. The image of a Centaur, for instance, is certainly not formed from life, since no living creature of this sort has ever existed. But, as I have just explained, where surface films from a horse and a man accidentally come into contact, they may easily stick together on the spot, because of the delicacy and flimsiness of their texture. So also with other such chimerical creatures. Since, as I have shown above, these delicate films move with the utmost nimbleness and mobility, any one of them may easily set our mind in motion with a single touch; for the mind itself is delicate and marvelously mobile.

The truth of this explanation may be easily inferred from the following facts. First, in so far as a vision beheld by the mind closely resembles one beheld by the eyes, the two must have been created in a similar fashion. Now, I have shown that I see a lion, for example, through the impact of films on the eyes. It follows that something similar accounts for the motion of the mind, which also, no less than the eyes, beholds a lion or whatever it may be by means of films. The only difference is that the objects of its vision are flimsier.

Again, when our limbs are relaxed in slumber, our mind is as wakeful as ever. [56] The same sort of films impinge upon it then as when we are awake, but now with such vividness that in sleep we may even be convinced that we are seeing someone who has passed from life into the clutches of death and earth. This results quite naturally from the stoppage and quiescence of all the bodily senses throughout the frame, so that they cannot refute false impressions by true ones. The memory also is put out of action by sleep and does not protest that the person whom the mind fancies it sees alive has long since fallen into the power of death and dissolution. It is not surprising that dream images should move about with measured gestures of their arms and other limbs. When this happens, it means that one film has perished and is succeeded by another formed in a different posture, so that it seems as though the earlier image had changed its stance. [57] We must picture this succession as taking place at high speed: the films fly so quickly and are drawn from so many sources, and at any perceptible instant of time there are so many atoms to keep up the supply.

This subject raises various questions that we must elucidate if we wish to give a clear account of it.

The first question is this: Why is it that, as soon as the mind takes a fancy to think about some particular object, it promptly does so? Are we to suppose that images are waiting on our will, so that we have only to wish and the appropriate film immediately runs into our mind, whether it be the sea that we fancy or the earth or the sky? Assemblages of men, processions, banquets, battles - does nature create all these at a word and make them ready for us? And we must remember that, at the same time and in the same place, the minds of others are contemplating utterly different objects.

Again, when in our dreams we see images walking with measured step and moving their supple limbs, why do they swing their supple arms in time with alternate legs and perform repeated movements before our eyes in a suitable rhythm? Are we to suppose the stray films are imbued with art and trained to spend their nights putting on dancing shows?

Another answer can be given to both questions that is surely nearer the truth. In one perceptible moment of time, that is, the time required to utter a single syllable, there are many unperceived units of time whose existence is recognized by reason. [58] That explains why, at any given time, every sort of film is ready to hand in every place: they fly so quickly and are drawn from so many sources.  When this happens, it means that one film has perished and is succeeded by another formed in a different posture, so that it seems as though the earlier image had changed its stance.  And, because they are so flimsy, the mind cannot distinctly perceive any but those it makes an effort to perceive.  All the rest pass without effect, leaving only those for which the mind has prepared itself.  And the mind prepares itself in the expectation of seeing each appearance followed by its natural sequel.  So this, in fact, is what it does see.  You must have noticed how even our eyes, when they set out to look at inconspicuous objects, make an effort and prepare themselves; otherwise it is not possible for us to perceive detail distinctly.  And, even when you are dealing with visible objects, you will find that, unless you direct your mind towards them, they have about them all the time an air of detachment and remoteness.  What wonder, then, if the mind misses every impression except those to which it surrenders itself?  The result is that we draw sweeping conclusions from trifling indications and lead ourselves into pitfalls of delusion. [59] [AB-1]

Sometimes it happens that an image is not forthcoming to match our expectation:  what was a woman seems to be suddenly transformed into a man before our eyes, or we are suddenly confronted by some swift change of feature or age.  Any surprise we might feel at this is checked by drowsy forgetfulness.

In this context, there is one illusion that you must do your level best to escape -- an error to guard against with all due caution.  You must not imagine that the bright orbs of our eyes were created purposely, [60] so that we might be able to look before us; that our need to stride ahead determined our equipment with the pliant props of thigh and ankle, set in the firm foundations of our feet; that our lower arms were fitted to stout upper arms, and helpful hands attached at either side, in order that we might do what is needful to sustain life.  To interpret these or any other phenomena on these lines is perversely to turn the truth upside down.  In fact, nothing in our bodies was born in order that we might be able to use it, but whatever thing is born creates its own use. [61]  There was no seeing before eyes were born, no verbal pleading before the tongue was created.  The origin of the tongue was far anterior to speech.  The ears were created long before a sound was heard.  All the limbs, I am well assured, existed before their use.  They cannot therefore have grown for the sake of being used.

Battles were fought hand to hand, limbs were mangled and bodies fouled with blood long before flashing spears were hurled.  Wounds were parried at the bidding of nature before the left arm interposed a shield using skill.  Yes, and laying the weary frame to rest is an earlier institution than spreading comfortable beds, and thirst was quenched before ever cups were thought of. [62]  We can believe, therefore, that these instruments, whose invention sprang from experience and life, have been designed to serve a purpose.  Quite different are those organs that were first born themselves and afterwards provided a mental picture of their own functioning.  And prominent in this latter class we find our sense-organs and bodily members.  Here, then, is proof upon proof that you must banish the belief that they could have been created for the purpose of performing particular functions.

Another fact that need occasion no surprise is that the body of every living creature by its own nature seeks after food.  I have already shown that vast numbers of particles in countless ways are passing off things in a stream.  But the greatest number of all must be emitted by living things.  Since animals are always on the move, they lose a great many atoms, some squeezed out from the inner depths by the process of perspiration, some breathed out through the mouth when they gasp and pant.  By these processes the body's density is diminished and its substance sapped.  This results in pain.  Hence food is taken so that, when duly distributed through limbs and veins, it may underpin the frame and rebuild its strength and sate its open-mouthed lust for eating.  Moisture is similarly diffused into all the members that demand moisture:  and the many accumulated particles of heat that inflame our stomach are dispelled by the advent of the fluid and quenched like a fire, so that the frame is no longer parched by burning drought.  So it is that the thirst that sets you gasping is swilled out of the body and the famished craving is stuffed.

Let me now explain how it comes about that we can stride forwards at will [63] and are empowered to move our limbs in various ways, and what it is that has learnt to lift along this heavy load of our body. I count on you to mark my words. I will begin by repeating my previous statement that images of walking come to our mind and impinge upon it. Hence comes the will. For no one ever initiates any action without the mind first foreseeing what it wills. [64] What it foresees is the substance of the image. So the mind, when the motions it experiences are such that it wishes to step forward, immediately jogs the vital spirit diffused through every limb and organ of the body. This is easily done, since mind and spirit are interconnected. The spirit in turn then jogs the body. And so bit by bit the whole bulk is pushed forward and set in motion.

A further effect is that the body grows less dense. The opened pores admit air, as is natural, since this is always highly mobile. The air rushes in in a stream and is thus diffused into every part of the body, however small. From the combination of these two factors it results that the body is pushed along, just as a ship is propelled by the combined action of wind and sails. [65]

There is no need to be surprised that bodies so minute can twist round a body of such bulk and divert the course of our whole weight. The wind is tenuous enough, and its particles are diminutive; but it shoves along the mighty mass of a mighty ship, and, however fast it is traveling, a single hand steers it - a single tiller twists it this way or that. And many a heavy load is shifted and hoisted with an easy swing by a derrick, with the aid of pulleys and winches.

And now for the problem of sleep: [66] by what contrivance does it flood our limbs with peace and unravel from our breasts the mind's disquietude? My answer will be persuasive rather than exhaustive: better the fleeting melody of the swan than the long-drawn clangor of cranes high up among the northward-racing clouds. [67] It rests with you to lend an unresisting ear and an inquiring mind. Otherwise you may refuse to accept my explanation as possible and walk away with a mind that flings back the truth, though the blame lies with your own blindness.

In the first place, sleep occurs when the vital spirit throughout the body is pulled to pieces: when part of it has been forced out and lost, part compressed and driven into the inner depths. At such times the limbs are unknit and grow limp. For undoubtedly the sensibility that is in us is caused by the spirit. When sensation is deadened by sleep, we must suppose that this is due to the derangement of the spirit or its expulsion. But it is not all expelled, or else the body would be steeped in the everlasting chill of death. If there were really no lurking particle of spirit left in the limbs, as smothered fire lurks in a heap of ashes, from what source could sentience be suddenly rekindled in the limbs, as flame leaps up from hidden fire? I will explain how this change is brought about and how the spirit can be disturbed and the body grow limp. You must see to it that I do not waste my words on the wind.

First, then, a body on its outer surface borders on the gusty air and is touched by it. It must therefore be pelted by it with a continual rain of blows. That is why almost all bodies are covered with hide of shell, rind or bark. In bodies that breathe, the interior also is battered by air as it is inhaled and exhaled. Since our body is thus bombarded outside and in and the blows penetrate through little pores to its primary parts and primal elements, our limbs are subject in a sense to a gradual demolition. The relative positions of the atoms of body and mind are mixed up. The result is that part of the spirit is forced out; part becomes hidden away in the interior; part is loosely scattered throughout the limbs, so that it cannot unite or engage in interacting motions, because nature interposes obstacles to combination and movement. This deep-seated change in motion means the withdrawal of sentience. [68] At the same time, since there is some lack of matter to support the frame, the body grows weak; all the limbs slacken; arms and eyelids droop; often, when a man is seeking rest, his knees lose their strength and give way under him. [69]

Food, again, induces sleepiness, because its action, when it is being distributed through all the veins, is the same as that of air. The heaviest kind of sleep is that which ensues on satiety or exhaustion, since it is then that the atoms are thrown into the greatest confusion under stress of their heavy labor. The same cause makes the partial congestion of spirit more deep- seated and the evacuation more extensive, and aggravates the internal separation and dislocation.

Whatever employment has the strongest hold on our interest or has last filled our waking hours, so as to engage the mind's attention, that is what seems most often to keep us occupied in dreams. Lawyers think that they are arguing cases and collating laws. Generals lead their troops into action. Sailors continue their pitched battle with the winds. And as for me, [70] I go on with my task, for ever exploring the nature of the universe and setting down my discoveries in my native tongue. The same principle generally applies when other crafts and occupations are observed to delude men's minds in dreams.

Similarly when men have devoted themselves wholeheartedly for days on end to the games, [71] we usually find that the objects that have ceased to engage the senses have left wide open channels in the mind for the entry of their own images. So for many days the same sights hover before their eyes: even when awake, they seem to see figures dancing and swaying supple limbs; to fill their ears with the liquid melody and speaking strings of the lyre, and to watch the same crowded theatre, its stage ablaze with many-tinted splendor.

Such is the striking effect of interest and pleasure and customary employment, and not on men only but on all living creatures. [72] You will see mettlesome steeds, when their limbs are at rest, still continuing in sleep to sweat and pant as if straining all their strength to win the palm, or as if racing out of the lifted barriers of the starting-post. And the huntsman's hounds, while wrapped in gentle slumber, often toss their legs with a quick jerk, bark suddenly and keep sniffing air into their nostrils as if they were hot on a newly found scent. Even when awake, they often chase after shadowy images of stags, as though they saw them in full flight, till they shake off the illusion and return to themselves. A friendly breed of domestic dogs are all agog to wriggle their bodies and lift them quickly from off the ground, just as if they were seeing the forms and faces of strangers. The fiercer the breed, the more savage must be their behavior in dreams. The various races of birds take to flight and startle the groves of the gods at dead of night with a sudden whirr of wings. Doubtless [73] their restless slumber is disturbed by visions of hawks swooping to the fray in fierce pursuit.

Very similar as a rule is the behavior in sleep of human minds, whose mighty machinations produce massive feats. Kings [74] take cities by storm, are themselves taken captive, join in battle and cry aloud as though their throats were being slit - and all without stirring from the spot. There are many who fight for their lives, giving vent to their agony in groans or filling the night with piercing screams as though they were writhing in the jaws of a panther or a ravening lion. [75] Many talk in their sleep about matters of great moment and have often betrayed their own guilt. [76] Many die. Many, who feel themselves hurled bodily down to earth from towering crags, [77] are terrified out of sleep; like men who have lost their wits, they are slow in returning to themselves, so shaken are they by the tumult of their body. The thirsty man finds himself seated beside a river or a delectable spring and is near to gulping down the whole stream. Little boys often fancy when fast asleep that they are standing at a lavatory or a chamber pot and lifting up their clothes. Then they discharge all the filtered fluid of their body, and even the costly splendor of oriental coverlets does not escape a soaking. [78] Those boys in whom the seed is for the first time working its way into the choppy waters of their youth are invaded from without by images emanating from some body or other with tidings of an alluring face and a delightful complexion. This stimulates the organs swollen with an accumulation of seed. Often, as though their function were actually fulfilled, they discharge a flood of fluid and stain their clothes. [79]

[American Buddha Librarian's Comment:  The section below seems to deviate from the general high quality of analysis exhibited by Lucretius' other writings.  He appears to be obsessed with the magnetic force of the female organism, which forces the male to give up his seed, under the influence of "tyrannical lust".  In a mood strikingly similar to that of Eastern mystics, he rails against the enslavement of males to the false charms of women who all share the fault of their sex.  While convincingly phrased in the literary style that characterizes the remainder of the text, it is possible that the text was tampered with by moralizers, perhaps of the pederast persuasion.  Unlike the remainder of the text, his speculations veer into mere ad hominem against the power of femininity, using moralistic terms like "evil, lust, delusion, purity, madness, foul, disgusting, degrading, slut, guilty conscience," and all the trappings used by the very priests that Lucretius attacked at the start of the book.  For comparison, read the first paragraphs of the book, in which Lucretius depicts all living beings as the children of Venus, fortunate to live and flourish from her abundant generosity, and ask yourself if this is the same person who describes Venus as a vicious force whose "fetters" bind lovers together in useless passion.  Thus, it is possible that Lucretius has been tampered with by persons not actually friendly to his doctrines.  Much as St. Jerome published the slander that Lucretius committed suicide after being overcome by a love philtre, the injection of this diatribe against women into the middle of a work that is otherwise notable for accurate perception, may be the product of deliberate disinformation.  See further cite below at AB-2]

In this last case, as I have explained, the thing in us that responds to the stimulus is the seed that comes with ripening years and stiffening limbs. For different things respond to different stimuli or provocations. The one stimulus that evokes human seed from the human body is a human form. [80] As soon as this seed is evicted from its abodes, [81] it travels through every member of the body, concentrating at certain reservoirs in the loins, and promptly awakens the generative organs. These organs are stimulated and swollen by the seed. Hence follows the will to eject it in the direction in which tyrannical lust is tugging. The body makes for the source from which the mind is pierced by love. For the wounded [82] normally fall in the direction of their wound: the blood spurts out towards the source of the blow; and the enemy who delivered it, if he is fighting at close quarters, is bespattered by the crimson stream. So, when a man is pierced by the shafts of Venus, whether they are launched by a lad [83] with womanish limbs or a woman radiating love from her whole body, he strives towards the source of the wound and craves to be united with it and to ejaculate the fluid drawn from out of his body into that body. His speechless [84] yearning foretells his pleasure.

This, then, is what we term Venus. This is the origin of the thing called love - that drop of Venus' honey that first drips into our heart, to be followed by icy heartache. Though the object of your love may be absent, images [85] of it still haunt you and the beloved name rings sweetly in your ears. If you find yourself thus passionately enamored of an individual, you should keep well away from such images. Thrust from you anything that might feed your passion, and turn your mind elsewhere. Ejaculate the build-up of seed promiscuously and do not hold on to it - by clinging [86] to it you assure yourself the certainty of heartsickness and pain. With nourishment the festering sore [87] quickens and strengthens. Day by day the madness [88] heightens and the grief deepens. Your only remedy is to lance the first wound with new incisions; to salve it, while it is still fresh, with promiscuous attachments or to guide the motions of your mind into a different direction.

Do not think that by avoiding romantic love you are missing the delights of sex. Rather, you are reaping the sort of profits that carry with them no penalty. Rest assured that this pleasure is enjoyed in a purer form by the sane than by the lovesick. Lovers' passion is storm-tossed, even in the moment of possession, by waves of delusion and incertitude. They cannot make up their mind what to enjoy first with eye or hand. They clasp the object of their longing so tightly that the embrace is painful. They kiss so fiercely that teeth are driven into lips. All this because their pleasure is not pure, but they are goaded by an underlying impulse to hurt the thing, whatever it may be, that gives rise to these budding shoots of madness.

In the actual presence of love Venus gives a slight break in the penalties she imposes, and her sting is assuaged by an admixture of alluring pleasure. For in love there is the hope that the flame of passion may be quenched by the same body that kindled it. But this runs clean counter to the course of nature. This is the one thing of which the more we have, the more our breast burns with the evil lust of having. Food and fluid are taken into our body; since they can fill their allotted places, the desire for meat and drink is thus easily appeased. [89] But a pretty face or a pleasing complexion gives the body nothing to enjoy but insubstantial images, which all too often pathetic hope scatters to the winds.

When a thirsty man tries to drink in his dreams but is given no drop to quench the fire in his limbs, he clutches at images of water with fruitless effort and in the middle of a rushing stream he remains thirsty as he drinks. Just so in the midst of love Venus teases lovers with images. They cannot glut their eyes by gazing on the beloved form, however closely. Their hands can rub nothing from off those dainty limbs in their aimless roving over all the body. Then comes the moment when with limbs entwined they pluck the flower of youth. Their bodies thrill with the joy to come, and Venus is just about to sow the seed in the female fields. [90] Body clings greedily to body; they mingle the saliva of their mouths and breathe hard down each other's mouths pressing them with their teeth. But all to no purpose. One can remove nothing from the other by rubbing, nor enter right in and be wholly absorbed, body in body; for sometimes it seems that that is what they are craving and striving to do, so hungrily do they cling together in Venus' fetters, while their limbs are unnerved and liquefied by the intensity of pleasure. At length, when the build-up of lust has burst out of their groin, there comes a slight intermission in the raging fever. But not for long. Soon the same frenzy returns. The madness is upon them once more. They ask themselves what it is they are craving for, but find no device that will master their malady. In aimless bewilderment they rot away, stricken by a secret [91] sore.

Add to this that they waste their strength and work themselves to death. Their days are passed at the mercy of another's whim. [92] Their wealth slips from them, transmuted to Babylonian brocades. Their duties are neglected. Their reputation totters and goes into a decline. Perfumes and lovely slippers from Sicyon [93] laugh on her dainty feet; settings of gold enclasp huge emeralds aglow with green fire, and sea-tinted garments are worn thin with constant use and drink the sweat of Venus in their exertions. A hard-won patrimony is metamorphosed into coronets and tiaras or, it may be, into robes from the looms of Malta [94] or Cos. [95] No matter how lavish the decor and the cuisine drinking parties (with no lack of drinks ), entertainments, perfumes, garlands, festoons [96] and all - they are still a waste of time. From the very heart of the fountain [97] of delight there rises a jet of bitterness that poisons the fragrance of the flowers. Perhaps the guilty conscience frets itself remorsefully with the thought of life's best years squandered slothfully in brothels. Perhaps the beloved has let fly some two- edged word, which lodges in the impassioned heart and glows there like a living flame. Perhaps he thinks she is rolling her eyes too freely and turning them upon another, or he catches in her face a hint of mockery.

And these are the evils inherent in love that prospers and fulfils its hopes. In starved and unrequited love the evils you can see plainly without even opening your eyes are past all counting. How much better to be on your guard beforehand, as I have advised, and take care that you are not enmeshed!

To avoid enticement into the snares of love is not so difficult as, once entrapped, to escape out of the toils and snap the tenacious knots of Venus. And yet, be you never so tightly entangled and embrangled, you can still free yourself from the danger unless you stand in the way of your own freedom. First, you should concentrate on all the faults of mind or body of her whom you pursue and lust after. For men often behave as though blinded by love and credit the beloved with charms to which she has no valid title. This is why we see foul and disgusting women basking in a lover's adoration! One man scoffs at another and urges him to propitiate Venus because he is the victim of such a degrading infatuation; yet as like as not the poor devil is in the same pathetic plight himself, but does not realize it. A black girl [98] is acclaimed as 'honey-colored'. A filthy stinking slut is admired for her 'beauty unadorned'. Her eyes are never green, but grey as Athene's. If she is stringy and woody, she is lithe as a gazelle. A stunted runt is 'one of the Graces', a 'sheer delight from top to toe'. A massive dragon is 'a knockout - a fine figure of a woman'. She cannot speak for  stammering - a charming lisp, of course. She's as mute as a stockfish - what modesty! A hateful blazing gossip is a 'livewire'; she's 'slender', 'a little love' when she is almost too skinny to live; she is 'delicate' when she is half-dead with coughing. The fat girl with enormous breasts is 'Ceres suckling Bacchus'. The girl with the stumpy little nose is 'a Faun', then, or 'a lady Satyr'. The one with balloon lips is 'all one big kiss'. It would be a wearisome task to run through the whole catalogue of euphemisms. But suppose her face in fact is all that could be desired and the charm of Venus radiates from her whole body. Even so, there are still others. Even so, we lived without her before. Even so, in her physical nature she is no different, as we well know, from the ugly slut. [99] She too has to fumigate her pathetic body with its disgusting smells. Her maids keep well away from her and snigger behind her back. The tearful lover, locked out [100] from her presence, heaps the threshold with flowers and garlands, anoints the disdainful doorposts with marjoram, and plants rueful kisses on the door. Often enough, were he admitted, one whiff would promptly make him cast round for some decent pretext to clear off. His fond elegy, long-pondered and drawn from the bottom of his heart, would fall dismally flat. He would curse himself for a fool to have endowed her with qualities above human in perfection.

To the daughters of Venus themselves all this is no secret. Hence they are at pains to hide all the backstage activities of life from those whom they wish to keep fast bound in the bonds of love. But their pains are wasted, since your mind has power to drag all these mysteries into the daylight and get at the truth behind all the giggling. Then, [101] if the woman is good-hearted and void of malice, it is up to you in your turn to accept unpleasant facts and make allowance for human imperfection.

Do not imagine that a woman is always sighing with feigned love when she clings to a man in a close embrace, body to body, and prolongs his kisses by the tension of moist lips. Often she is acting from the heart and is longing for a shared delight when she stimulates him to run love's race to the end. So, too, with birds and beasts, both tame and wild. Cows [102] and mares would never submit to the males, were it not that their female nature in its superabundance is all aglow thrusting in delight against the penis of the leaping male. Have you never noticed, again, how couples linked by mutual rapture are often tormented in their common bondage? How often dogs at a street corner, wishing to separate, tug lustily with all their might in opposite directions and yet remain united by the constraining fetters of Venus? This they would never do unless they knew the mutual joys which could entice them into the trap and hold them enchained. Here then is proof upon proof for my contention that the pleasure of sex is shared.

In the intermingling of seed [103] it may happen that the woman by a sudden effort overmasters the power of the man and takes control of it. Then children are conceived of the maternal seed and take after their mother.  Correspondingly children may be conceived of the paternal seed and take after their father. The children in whom you see a two-sided likeness, combining features of both parents, are products alike of their father's body and their mother's blood. At their making the seeds that course through the limbs under the impulse of Venus were dashed together by the collision of mutual passion in which neither party was master or mastered.

It may also happen at times that children take after their grandparents, or recall the features of great-grandparents. This character so that they too could fortify [108] their declining years with sons.

The vital thing is to ensure the right mixture of seeds for procreation, thick harmonizing with watery and watery with thick. Another important factor is diet: some foods thicken the seeds in the body, others in turn thin and diminish them. A third factor of great importance is the manner in which the pleasures of intercourse are enjoyed. It is thought that women conceive more readily in the manner of four-footed beasts with breasts lowered and hips uplifted so as to give access to the seed. Nor do our wives have any need of lascivious movements; [109] for a woman can resist and hamper conception if in her pleasure she thrusts away from the man's penis with her buttocks,  making her whole body floppy with sinuous wave-movements. She diverts the furrow from the straight course of the ploughshare and makes the seed fall wide of the plot. [110] These tricks are employed by prostitutes for their own ends, so that they may not conceive too frequently and be laid up by pregnancy and at the same time may make intercourse more attractive to men. But obviously our wives do not need any of them.

Lastly, it is by no divine intervention, no prick of Cupid's darts, that a woman deficient in beauty sometimes becomes the object of love. Often the woman herself, by her actions, by humoring a man's fancies and keeping herself fresh and smart, makes it easy for him to share his life with her. Over and  above this, love is built up bit by bit by mere usage. [111]

Nothing can resist the continually repeated impact of a blow, however light, as you see drops of water falling on one spot at long last drill through a stone.

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American-Buddha Librarian's Comments:

[AB-1] Obviously, the priests go here, too, with their moralistic, finger-shaking, anti-science lament:  "The result is that we draw sweeping conclusions from trifling indications and lead ourselves into pitfalls of delusion."  So I beg to differ with these priest revisioners.  Our minds perceive and store all possible information so that we will NOT be led into pitfalls of delusion. With data available, our mind exercises it's ability to perceive, judge, and protect, and engage in that most human of activity:  thinking.

In addition to what Lucretius has rightly described as the tautological nature of the mind, even when we look away from an object we slyly look at it from out of the corner of our eye so as to perceive what we can't see while looking directly at it, or what the entity will not reveal when we are looking at it in the face. There's a sense of the eye slicing into the corner of that object or entity to see what is hidden.  In this way, we work around our conditioning -- which hides things from us -- and also the desire of other creatures to not be fully seen.  Perception is panoramic coming and going.  When looking is no longer possible, sensing is.  Hearing, feeling, smelling are put on high alert.  They are our second eyes. 

But we don't need to get neurotic, like this:

The "protector" Rahula is covered with eyes.

Looking back, your perception is kind of like this.

[AB-2] Douglas Adams, "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy -- Life, the Universe, and Everything, wrote:

Time travel is increasingly regarded as a menace. History is being polluted.

The Encyclopedia Galactica has much to say on the theory and practice of time travel, most of which is incomprehensible to anyone who hasn't spent at least four lifetimes studying advanced hyper-mathematics, and since it was impossible to do this before time travel was invented, there is a certain amount of confusion as to how the idea was arrived at in the first place. One rationalization of this problem states that time travel was, by its very nature, discovered simultaneously at all periods of history, but this is clearly bunk. 

The trouble is that a lot of history is now quite clearly bunk as well.

Here is an example. It may not seem to be an important one to some people, but to others it is crucial. It is certainly significant in that it was this single event that caused the Campaign for Real Time to be set up in the first place (or is it last? It depends which way round you see history as happening, and this, too, is now an increasingly vexed question).

There is, or was, a poet. His name was Lallafa, and he wrote what are widely regarded throughout the Galaxy as the finest poems in existence, the Songs of the Long Land.

They are/were unspeakably wonderful. That is to say, you couldn't speak very much of them at once without being so overcome with emotion, truth and a sense of the wholeness and oneness of things that you wouldn't pretty soon need a brisk walk round the block, possibly pausing at a bar on the way back for a quick glass of perspective and soda. They were that good.

Lallafa had lived in the forests of the Long Lands of Effa. He lived there, and he wrote his poems there. He wrote them on pages made of dried habra leaves, without the benefit of education or correcting fluid. He wrote about the light in the forest, and what he thought about that. He wrote about the darkness in the forest, and what he thought about that.  He wrote about the girl who had left him and precisely what he thought about that.

Long after his death his poems were found and wondered over. News of them spread like morning sunlight. For centuries they illuminated and watered the lives of many people whose lives might otherwise have been darker and dryer.

Then, shortly after the invention of time travel, some major correcting fluid manufacturers wondered whether his poems might have been better still if he had had access to some high-quality correcting fluid, and whether he might be persuaded to say a few words to that effect.

They traveled the time waves; they found him. They explained the situation -- with some difficulty -- to him, and did indeed persuade him. In fact they persuaded him to such effect that he became extremely rich at their hands, and the girl about whom he was otherwise destined to write with such precision never got around to leaving him, and in fact they moved out of the forest to a rather nice pad in town and he frequently commuted to the future to do talk shows, on which he sparkled wittily.

He never got around to writing the poems, of course, which was a problem, but an easily solved one. The manufacturers of correcting fluid simply packed him off for a week somewhere with a copy of a later edition of his book and stacks of dried habra leaves to copy them out onto, making the odd deliberate mistake and correction on the way.

Many people now say that the poems are suddenly worthless. Others argue that they are exactly the same as they always were, so what's changed? The first people say that that isn't the point. They aren't quite certain what the point is, but they are quite sure that that isn't it. They set up the Campaign for Real Time to try to stop this sort of thing going on.  Their case was considerably strengthened by the fact that a week after they had set themselves up, news broke that not only had the great Cathedral of Chalesm been pulled down in order to build a new ion refinery, but that the construction of the refinery had taken so long, and had had to extend so far back into the past in order to allow ion production to start on time, that the Cathedral of Chalesm had now never been built in the first place.  Picture postcards of the cathedral suddenly became immensely valuable.

So a lot of history is now gone forever. The Campaigners for Real Time claim that just as easy travel eroded the differences between one country and another, and between one world and another, so time travel is now eroding the differences between one age and another. "The past," they say, "is now truly like a foreign country. They do things exactly the same there."

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