Argument of the Book and New Proem
AGAINST A TELEOLOGICAL CONCEPT
And walking nowIn his own footprints, I do follow throughHis reasonings, and with pronouncements teachThe covenant whereby all things are framed,How under that covenant they must abideNor ever prevail to abrogate the aeons’Inexorable decrees,—how (as we’ve found),In class of mortal objects, o’er all else,The mind exists of earth-born frame createAnd impotent unscathed to abideAcross the mighty aeons, and how comeIn sleep those idol-apparitions,That so befool intelligence when weDo seem to view a man whom life has left.Thus far we’ve gone; the order of my planHath brought me now unto the point where IMust make report how, too, the universeConsists of mortal body, born in time,And in what modes that congregated stuffEstablished itself as earth and sky,Ocean, and stars, and sun, and ball of moon;And then what living creatures rose from outThe old telluric places, and what onesWere never born at all; and in what modeThe human race began to name its thingsAnd use the varied speech from man to man;And in what modes hath bosomed in their breastsThat awe of gods, which halloweth in all landsFanes, altars, groves, lakes, idols of the gods.Also I shall untangle by what powerThe steersman nature guides the sun’s courses,And the meanderings of the moon, lest we,Percase, should fancy that of own free willThey circle their perennial courses round,Timing their motions for increase of cropsAnd living creatures, or lest we should thinkThey roll along by any plan of gods.For even those men who have learned full wellThat godheads lead a long life free of care,If yet meanwhile they wonder by what planThings can go on (and chiefly yon high thingsObserved o’erhead on the ethereal coasts),Again are hurried back unto the fearsOf old religion and adopt againHarsh masters, deemed almighty,—wretched men,Unwitting what can be and what cannot,And by what law to each its scope prescribed,Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time.
But for the rest,—lest we delay thee hereLonger by empty promises—behold,Before all else, the seas, the lands, the sky:O Memmius, their threefold nature, lo,Their bodies three, three aspects so unlike,Three frames so vast, a single day shall giveUnto annihilation! Then shall crashThat massive form and fabric of the worldSustained so many aeons! Nor do IFail to perceive how strange and marvellousThis fact must strike the intellect of man,—Annihilation of the sky and earthThat is to be,—and with what toil of words’Tis mine to prove the same; as happens oftWhen once ye offer to man’s listening earsSomething before unheard of, but may notSubject it to the view of eyes for himNor put it into hand—the sight and touch,Whereby the opened highways of beliefLead most directly into human breastAnd regions of intelligence. But yetI will speak out. The fact itself, perchance,Will force belief in these my words, and thouMayst see, in little time, tremendouslyWith risen commotions of the lands all thingsQuaking to pieces—which afar from usMay she, the steersman Nature, guide: and mayReason, O rather than the fact itself,Persuade us that all things can be o’erthrownAnd sink with awful-sounding breakage down!
But ere on this I take a step to utterOracles holier and soundlier basedThan ever the Pythian pronounced for menFrom out the tripod and the Delphian laurel,I will unfold for thee with learned wordsMany a consolation, lest perchance,Still bridled by religion, thou supposeLands, sun, and sky, sea, constellations, moon,Must dure forever, as of frame divine—And so conclude that it is just that those,(After the manner of the Giants), should allPay the huge penalties for monstrous crime,Who by their reasonings do overshakeThe ramparts of the universe and wishThere to put out the splendid sun of heaven,Branding with mortal talk immortal things—Though these same things are even so far removedFrom any touch of deity and seemSo far unworthy of numbering with the gods,That well they may be thought to furnish ratherA goodly instance of the sort of thingsThat lack the living motion, living sense.For sure ’tis quite beside the mark to thinkThat judgment and the nature of the mindIn any kind of body can exist—Just as in ether can’t exist a tree,Nor clouds in the salt sea, nor in the fieldsCan fishes live, nor blood in timber be,Nor sap in boulders: fixed and arrangedWhere everything may grow and have its place.Thus nature of mind cannot arise aloneWithout the body, nor have its being farFrom thews and blood. Yet if ‘twere possible?—Much rather might this very power of mindBe in the head, the shoulders, or the heels,And, born in any part soever, yetIn the same man, in the same vessel abideBut since within this body even of oursStands fixed and appears arranged sureWhere soul and mind can each exist and grow,Deny we must the more that they can dureOutside the body and the breathing formIn rotting clods of earth, in the sun’s fire,In water, or in ether’s skiey coasts.Therefore these things no whit are furnishedWith sense divine, since never can they beWith life-force quickened.
Likewise, thou canst ne’erBelieve the sacred seats of gods are hereIn any regions of this mundane world;Indeed, the nature of the gods, so subtle,So far removed from these our senses, scarceIs seen even by intelligence of mind.And since they’ve ever eluded touch and thrustOf human hands, they cannot reach to graspAught tangible to us. For what may notItself be touched in turn can never touch.Wherefore, besides, also their seats must beUnlike these seats of ours,—even subtle too,As meet for subtle essence—as I’ll proveHereafter unto thee with large discourse.Further, to say that for the sake of menThey willed to prepare this world’s magnificence,And that ’tis therefore duty and behoofTo praise the work of gods as worthy praise,And that ’tis sacrilege for men to shakeEver by any force from out their seatsWhat hath been stablished by the Forethought oldTo everlasting for races of mankind,And that ’tis sacrilege to assault by wordsAnd overtopple all from base to beam,—Memmius, such notions to concoct and pile,Is verily—to dote. Our gratefulness,O what emoluments could it conferUpon Immortals and upon the BlessedThat they should take a step to manage aughtFor sake of us? Or what new factor could,After so long a time, inveigle them—The hitherto reposeful—to desireTo change their former life? For rather heWhom old things chafe seems likely to rejoiceAt new; but one that in fore-passed timeHath chanced upon no ill, through goodly years,O what could ever enkindle in such an onePassion for strange experiment? Or whatThe evil for us, if we had ne’er been born?—As though, forsooth, in darkling realms and woeOur life were lying till should dawn at lastThe day-spring of creation! WhosoeverHath been begotten wills perforce to stayIn life, so long as fond delight detains;But whoso ne’er hath tasted love of life,And ne’er was in the count of living things,What hurts it him that he was never born?Whence, further, first was planted in the godsThe archetype for gendering the worldAnd the fore-notion of what man is like,So that they knew and pre-conceived with mindJust what they wished to make? Or how were knownEver the energies of primal germs,And what those germs, by interchange of place,Could thus produce, if nature’s self had notGiven example for creating all?For in such wise primordials of things,Many in many modes, astir by blowsFrom immemorial aeons, in motion tooBy their own weights, have evermore been wontTo be so borne along and in all modesTo meet together and to try all sortsWhich, by combining one with other, theyAre powerful to create, that thus it isNo marvel now, if they have also fallenInto arrangements such, and if they’ve passedInto vibrations such, as those wherebyThis sum of things is carried on to-dayBy fixed renewal. But knew I never whatThe seeds primordial were, yet would I dareThis to affirm, even from deep judgments basedUpon the ways and conduct of the skies—This to maintain by many a fact besides—That in no wise the nature of all thingsFor us was fashioned by a power divine—So great the faults it stands encumbered with.First, mark all regions which are overarchedBy the prodigious reaches of the sky:One yawning part thereof the mountain-chainsAnd forests of the beasts do have and hold;And cliffs, and desert fens, and wastes of sea(Which sunder afar the beaches of the lands)Possess it merely; and, again, thereofWell-nigh two-thirds intolerable heatAnd a perpetual fall of frost doth robFrom mortal kind. And what is left to till,Even that the force of nature would o’errunWith brambles, did not human force oppose,—Long wont for livelihood to groan and sweatOver the two-pronged mattock and to cleaveThe soil in twain by pressing on the plough.
Unless, by the ploughshare turning the fruitful clodsAnd kneading the mould, we quicken into birth,[The crops] spontaneously could not come upInto the free bright air. Even then sometimes,When things acquired by the sternest toilAre now in leaf, are now in blossom all,Either the skiey sun with baneful heatsParches, or sudden rains or chilling rimeDestroys, or flaws of winds with furious whirlTorment and twist. Beside these matters, whyDoth nature feed and foster on land and seaThe dreadful breed of savage beasts, the foesOf the human clan? Why do the seasons bringDistempers with them? Wherefore stalks at largeDeath, so untimely? Then, again, the babe,Like to the castaway of the raging surf,Lies naked on the ground, speechless, in wantOf every help for life, when nature firstHath poured him forth upon the shores of lightWith birth-pangs from within the mother’s womb,And with a plaintive wail he fills the place,—As well befitting one for whom remainsIn life a journey through so many ills.But all the flocks and herds and all wild beastsCome forth and grow, nor need the little rattles,Nor must be treated to the humouring nurse’sDear, broken chatter; nor seek they divers clothesTo suit the changing skies; nor need, in fine,Nor arms, nor lofty ramparts, wherewithalTheir own to guard—because the earth herselfAnd nature, artificer of the world, bring forthAboundingly all things for all.